The City Beautiful

Orlando, Florida, that is.  The city of my birth in 1947.  At the time, it was an exquisite small southern city, oozing charm with its cobblestone streets, huge oaks with cascading Spanish moss, flower-filled parks surrounding pristine lakes.

Going north on Orange Avenue into the main part of town, you had to drive around Lake Lucerne illuminated by gas street lanterns.  I didn’t really appreciate its beauty until a super causeway was constructed right through the middle of the lake.

During my childhood, Orlando was the fastest growing city in the country.  Citrus groves were replaced by housing developments, parking lots and malls.  Dairy farmers sold out to developers who couldn’t get their money out fast enough.  County commissioners were all too happy to get fat and happy.  Zoning?  What was that?

And, that was before Disney moved in.  That was the nail on the coffin.  I left before I had to witness any further destruction.

Of course, I return often to see my family and high school friends who still live there.  There’s no happy medium on Disney for native Orlandoans.  You hate them or love them.  I have one cousin who is a serious muckety-muck there.  She started working in high school asThe Hat Girl, sewing names onto Disney hat souvenirs.  Forty years later, we still call her The Hat Girl.

Most of my family falls into the other camp.  Hate it.  The worst thing that ever happened to central Florida.  Wouldn’t step foot on Disney grounds.  Especially, those who remember what Orlando was like pre-concrete jungle days.

I remember taking the city bus with my mother, sister and brother into the middle of town and being dropped off at Central Street.  There was only one stop.

Back in those days, no southern girl or woman would go downtown without wearing white gloves and a hat.  Pants?  Are you serious?  No female wore pants back then.  Only Katharine Hepburn.  But, she wasn’t from the South.  Blue jeans?  That was what farmers wore.

No day in downtown was complete without going to Lake Eola to feed the ducks and swans.  My mother was terrified of swans because one had chased her when she was a child, honking at the top of its lungs, trying to bite her toes. She was brave for us, though.

We loved going to the public library with its overwhelming children’s section.  Every week, I took out as many books as I could carry home.

There was Ivey’s and Dickson & Ives, the two major department stores with their creaky, wood floors and elevators that took forever to get to the next floor.  I loved hearing the elevator operator stop, open the door and announce, “Mezzanine.”  I didn’t even know what language that was.  It just sounded so exotic.

We always got out on the third floor of Dickson & Ives.  That’s where the fabrics were located.  Tears immediately flooded my eyes due to the strong chemicals in the dyes.  This was my mom’s favorite place.  Practically every dress my sister and I wore was sewn by our mother.  On rare occasions, like Easter, we got something “store bought.”  I loved the clothes she made…we had quite the wardrobe.  I wasn’t particularly fond of fittings; my patience was sorely lacking.

When I look back on the prom dresses she created, I am in awe.

Toward the end of the day, we hit McCrory’s or Kresge’s, the 5 & 10 cent stores, for a little treat for each of us.  Maybe, a toy paper windmill or jacks or paper dolls.  It thrilled us to no end.  Life was a bit simpler then.

I wore dresses all through high school.  I didn’t get jeans until after college.  Culture change has been lightning fast.  The only time I wear a dress now is to a wedding, a funeral or the beach.  White gloves?  Nowhere to be found.  Hats?  Only as a sun shield.

It’s impossible to take a Sunday drive in the City Beautiful these days.  On any day, you have to plan around the traffic that has gridlocked the area.  Just to drive on Interstate 4 on our way back to Maryland, we plan around the Orlando traffic.

Going to visit my aunt, I exit I-4 onto Sand Lake Road, encountering hundreds of cars, passing such high end shops, you’d think we were on Rodeo Drive in LA.  I just laugh to myself.  Sand Lake Road in Dr. Phillips, Florida.  When I was a teenager, this was a packed sand two lane road where all the ‘hoods’ came out to drag race.  At least, that’s what I ‘heard’….lol!

Florida has seen what can happen when zoning laws have no meaning or, more to the point, when greed trumps conservation.

I love this state, but I miss my City Beautiful.