The stadium was demolished in 1999. (1968 Palm Beach Post file photo)

The stadium was demolished in 1999. (1968 Palm Beach Post file photo)

The history of Palm Beach County since World War II has been one of continuous growth. In a series of articles beginning with this one, I’d like to give a picture, as well as I can, of how Palm Beach County looked before that great boom got started.

In his book Pioneer Life in Southeast Florida, Charles Pierce defined a pioneer as someone who was in South Florida before the railroad came through in the 1890s. I agree. Someone who moved into Palm Beach County in 1943, as I did, is in no way a pioneer. We had paved roads, electricity, telephones (sort of, see below), water and sewer systems. In many ways the area looked as it does today.

Yet, in many other ways, it was vastly different. There were miles of open beachfront and relatively few people living between the CSX (then Seaboard Air Line) tracks and the Lake Okeechobee communities. There were six miles of open country between Delray Beach and Boca Raton, the latter
then a sleepy community of roughly 1,000.

World War II visible here

World War II was the dominant reality everywhere in 1943. Today’s Palm Beach International Airport was Morrison Field. Much of Boca Raton, including today’s Florida Atlantic University, was an Army Signal Corps base. Resort hospitals had been converted into hospitals or convalescent facilities.

I will try to re-create those days for people who never knew them, and to remind those who did know as to how it was. I have focused on the 11 years between my arrival in the county and our family’s move away from the center of Lake Worth in 1954. This is not entirely arbitrary, as I will explain later. In any case, almost any ending point would be somewhat arbitrary.

I have no intention of trying to glorify the “good old days” and suggest we were better off then. Consider the gas system of the 1940s. The natural-gas pipeline to South Florida had not yet been
built, so we relied on gas manufactured (from coal, I assume) at a plant in West Palm Beach – in the African-American community, of course.

The problem was capacity, or rather the lack of it. Our home has a gas heater in the living room. When it got cold enough to need the heat, however, the demand overtaxed the gas plant and pressure dropped to the point that appliances all but quit working.

Telephone service was not always easy to get

Telephones were another problem. Southern Bell also was short on capacity, to handle all who wanted service, and had to ration it. We did not have a phone until several years after we arrived in Lake Worth. We started out with a four-digit number, 5766. Later, it became 2-5766, and still later JUstice 2-5766. I had left town before the final change, to 582-5766.

The family of two of my schoolmates managed to get service more quickly, because an aunt who was a registered nurse lived with them. When applying for a phone, they neglected to tell Southern Bell she was retired.

At 72, I have several of the infirmities of aging but they are under control, thanks to drugs and techniques that were unknown in the 1940s. My computer keeps me in touch with the world from my country home in the mountains of North Carolina. I wouldn’t trade either of these advances for things the way they were.

Rather than glorify the past, I simply want to tell newer generations what used to be. While I must of necessity tell the tale as seen through my own memory, the real subject is not me but a Palm Beach County that will never be again.

My story begins with the prelude to our move, a visit to Lake Worth in 1941. Our neighbors in Sharon, Pa., the Smiths, were bringing their daughter Janet south for the winter to see if the climate would help arrest the wasting disease she had contracted working as a hospital nurse. (It didn’t; she died several years later.) Somehow, Mother and I wangled an invitation to come along.

We took lodgings with the McIntoshes, who had rental apartments over the garages behind their home in the 200 block of S. Federal Highway. The McIntoshes were the parents of long-time judge Russell McIntosh. Being but four years old, I have little memory of that winter. One day, however, stands out.

The road to Clewiston

One Sunday we headed west on State Road 80 to the Sugar House in Clewiston. In those days, that was one of South Florida’s tourist attractions. Cast-metal signs with an outline of the building, the wording “The Road to Clewiston” and an arrow pointing the way were on posts in West Palm Beach (pictured below).

I don’t recall what the road to Clewiston was like in 1941 but it was probably just as bad as it was when I first drove it in 1954. Between 20-Mile Bend and Belle Glade it was today’s State Road 880, with one exception. The curving concrete bridge over the Hillsboro Canal six miles east of Belle Glade wasn’t there. In its place was a one-lane wooden bridge. Coming east from Belle Glade you had to make a sharp left turn to go onto it.

Some drivers didn’t make it. The worst single traffic disaster in Palm Beach County history was in 1963, when a farm labor bus missed the turn and 27 workers died.

West of South Bay the old road was south of the present highway, going through such communities as Bare Beach and Bean City. The only one of those communities that still exists is Lake Harbor. Portions of the old road still exist but most are barely passable.

The only thing I recall about the visit itself was learning that the sugar was only partially refined in Clewiston, producing a brown substance that was shipped in Savannah, Ga., for further processing. What I remember most about that day was the return home.

The Smith car, like most automobiles in those days, did not have a radio.

When we reached Lake Worth people were all about, standing on the sidewalk talking excitedly and gesturing.

“What’s going on?” we asked.

“What do you mean, what’s going on? Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“The Japs have bombed Pearl Harbor! We’re at war!”

(I know “Jap” is a pejorative. It is a word I wouldn’t think of using today. But, trust me, no one on that day was concerned about the feelings of the Japanese.)

Along with the indignation and shock, many people had a question: “Where is Pearl Harbor?” In those days, Hawai’i was an exotic far-off location that few mainlanders had visited. Many people would have been hard put to locate Honolulu on a map. Of course, that may still be true today.

I can recall nothing of the rest of the winter. In the spring, Dad took his vacation from Penn Power Co. and came to Florida to fetch us. I believe the Smiths stayed on, though I’m not sure of that.

I do remember stopping in Birmingham, Ala., on the way north and seeing the statue of Vulcan. I had no idea at the time that within two years we would be living in Lake Worth.

NEXT: The War Years.

Palm Beach Post file photo

From 1942-44, The Breakers served as a World War II Army hospital with a medical staff of about 400 people, many of them pictured above. In 1944, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt toured the hospital, “attractively attired in her favorite shade of Eleanor blue, complemented by contrasting navy,” noted a March 6, 1944, Palm Beach Daily News article. (Photo courtesy of the Palm Beach County Historical Society)

Red Cross blood bank during World War II. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

Captain Kenny Lyman (standing) poses with the day’s catch ‘around 50 years ago.’ With him are (from left) Fred Benson, Allan Hall, Dr. Robert Raborn with Richard, and Dr. Donald Hunter with Donald. Note the four-digit phone number on the sign at bottom left. (Photo courtesy of the Raborn family)

Bill McGoun is a retired editorial writer for The Palm Beach Post. He is the author of four history books, including Lake Worth High School: A History and Southeast Florida Pioneers, which tells the history of Palm Beach County, the Treasure Coast and the Lake Okeechobee region through the lives of noted individuals. He is working on a history of the Palm Beach County school system.

The history of Palm Beach County since World War II has been one of continuous growth. In a series of articles beginning with this one, I’d like to give a picture, as well as I can, of how Palm Beach County looked before that great boom got started.

In his book Pioneer Life in Southeast Florida, Charles Pierce defined a pioneer as someone who was in South Florida before the railroad came through in the 1890s. I agree. Someone who moved into Palm Beach County in 1943, as I did, is in no way a pioneer. We had paved roads, electricity, telephones (sort of, see below), water and sewer systems. In many ways the area looked as it does today.

Yet, in many other ways, it was vastly different. There were miles of open beachfront and relatively few people living between the CSX (then Seaboard Air Line) tracks and the Lake Okeechobee communities. There were six miles of open country between Delray Beach and Boca Raton, the latter
then a sleepy community of roughly 1,000.

World War II visible here

World War II was the dominant reality everywhere in 1943. Today’s Palm Beach International Airport was Morrison Field. Much of Boca Raton, including today’s Florida Atlantic University, was an Army Signal Corps base. Resort hospitals had been converted into hospitals or convalescent facilities.

I will try to re-create those days for people who never knew them, and to remind those who did know as to how it was. I have focused on the 11 years between my arrival in the county and our family’s move away from the center of Lake Worth in 1954. This is not entirely arbitrary, as I will explain later. In any case, almost any ending point would be somewhat arbitrary.

I have no intention of trying to glorify the “good old days” and suggest we were better off then. Consider the gas system of the 1940s. The natural-gas pipeline to South Florida had not yet been
built, so we relied on gas manufactured (from coal, I assume) at a plant in West Palm Beach – in the African-American community, of course.

The problem was capacity, or rather the lack of it. Our home has a gas heater in the living room. When it got cold enough to need the heat, however, the demand overtaxed the gas plant and pressure dropped to the point that appliances all but quit working.

Telephone service was not always easy to get

Telephones were another problem. Southern Bell also was short on capacity, to handle all who wanted service, and had to ration it. We did not have a phone until several years after we arrived in Lake Worth. We started out with a four-digit number, 5766. Later, it became 2-5766, and still later JUstice 2-5766. I had left town before the final change, to 582-5766.

The family of two of my schoolmates managed to get service more quickly, because an aunt who was a registered nurse lived with them. When applying for a phone, they neglected to tell Southern Bell she was retired.

At 72, I have several of the infirmities of aging but they are under control, thanks to drugs and techniques that were unknown in the 1940s. My computer keeps me in touch with the world from my country home in the mountains of North Carolina. I wouldn’t trade either of these advances for things the way they were.

Rather than glorify the past, I simply want to tell newer generations what used to be. While I must of necessity tell the tale as seen through my own memory, the real subject is not me but a Palm Beach County that will never be again.

My story begins with the prelude to our move, a visit to Lake Worth in 1941. Our neighbors in Sharon, Pa., the Smiths, were bringing their daughter Janet south for the winter to see if the climate would help arrest the wasting disease she had contracted working as a hospital nurse. (It didn’t; she died several years later.) Somehow, Mother and I wangled an invitation to come along.

We took lodgings with the McIntoshes, who had rental apartments over the garages behind their home in the 200 block of S. Federal Highway. The McIntoshes were the parents of long-time judge Russell McIntosh. Being but four years old, I have little memory of that winter. One day, however, stands out.

The road to Clewiston

One Sunday we headed west on State Road 80 to the Sugar House in Clewiston. In those days, that was one of South Florida’s tourist attractions. Cast-metal signs with an outline of the building, the wording “The Road to Clewiston” and an arrow pointing the way were on posts in West Palm Beach (pictured below).

I don’t recall what the road to Clewiston was like in 1941 but it was probably just as bad as it was when I first drove it in 1954. Between 20-Mile Bend and Belle Glade it was today’s State Road 880, with one exception. The curving concrete bridge over the Hillsboro Canal six miles east of Belle Glade wasn’t there. In its place was a one-lane wooden bridge. Coming east from Belle Glade you had to make a sharp left turn to go onto it.

Some drivers didn’t make it. The worst single traffic disaster in Palm Beach County history was in 1963, when a farm labor bus missed the turn and 27 workers died.

West of South Bay the old road was south of the present highway, going through such communities as Bare Beach and Bean City. The only one of those communities that still exists is Lake Harbor. Portions of the old road still exist but most are barely passable.

The only thing I recall about the visit itself was learning that the sugar was only partially refined in Clewiston, producing a brown substance that was shipped in Savannah, Ga., for further processing. What I remember most about that day was the return home.

The Smith car, like most automobiles in those days, did not have a radio.

When we reached Lake Worth people were all about, standing on the sidewalk talking excitedly and gesturing.

“What’s going on?” we asked.

“What do you mean, what’s going on? Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“The Japs have bombed Pearl Harbor! We’re at war!”

(I know “Jap” is a pejorative. It is a word I wouldn’t think of using today. But, trust me, no one on that day was concerned about the feelings of the Japanese.)

Along with the indignation and shock, many people had a question: “Where is Pearl Harbor?” In those days, Hawai’i was an exotic far-off location that few mainlanders had visited. Many people would have been hard put to locate Honolulu on a map. Of course, that may still be true today.

I can recall nothing of the rest of the winter. In the spring, Dad took his vacation from Penn Power Co. and came to Florida to fetch us. I believe the Smiths stayed on, though I’m not sure of that.

I do remember stopping in Birmingham, Ala., on the way north and seeing the statue of Vulcan. I had no idea at the time that within two years we would be living in Lake Worth.

NEXT: The War Years.

Palm Beach Post file photo

From 1942-44, The Breakers served as a World War II Army hospital with a medical staff of about 400 people, many of them pictured above. In 1944, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt toured the hospital, “attractively attired in her favorite shade of Eleanor blue, complemented by contrasting navy,” noted a March 6, 1944, Palm Beach Daily News article. (Photo courtesy of the Palm Beach County Historical Society)

Red Cross blood bank during World War II. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

Captain Kenny Lyman (standing) poses with the day’s catch ‘around 50 years ago.’ With him are (from left) Fred Benson, Allan Hall, Dr. Robert Raborn with Richard, and Dr. Donald Hunter with Donald. Note the four-digit phone number on the sign at bottom left. (Photo courtesy of the Raborn family)

Bill McGoun is a retired editorial writer for The Palm Beach Post. He is the author of four history books, including Lake Worth High School: A History and Southeast Florida Pioneers, which tells the history of Palm Beach County, the Treasure Coast and the Lake Okeechobee region through the lives of noted individuals. He is working on a history of the Palm Beach County school system.

It was fun to see new furniture that had arrived from North Carolina, where my Dad went each fall to see the new lines and determine what to order.

Prior to the North Carolina market’s existence, he went to the Chicago Merchandise Mart, and I remember seeing him off at the tiny Palm Beach International Airport as he carried a heavy overcoat and the type of formal hat men wore with suits then.

My dad had a knack for buying items that would sell well, even if they were not his personal taste. He somehow knew that the blue floral sofa he secretly did not like was destined to be a best seller. Or that a certain coffee table would be a hit.

People didn’t constantly buy new furniture. When they did, they wanted it to last. There were no credit cards, just Cater’s credit. Of course, computers did not exist. Each item in inventory was on an index card that had its number and its location at the warehouse or one of the three stores.

A highlight of a trip downtown was walking across the alley behind Cater’s to McCrory’s or Woolworth’s for an ice cream soda, Coke or maybe a grilled cheese sandwich.

The pace was slower. Downtown workers took morning and afternoon breaks at lunch counters where they drank lots of coffee from clattering, clinking white china and ate doughnuts, pies and other treats made from scratch. Cater’s closed its downtown location in the early ’80s after building a new store on Military Trail. The lot at 333 Datura St. where most of the furniture store stood is empty. The former fire station, which Cater’s also occupied, is now Datura Station. It’s important to note that two merchants that were on Datura back then are still there. They are Halsey & Griffith, an office supply store founded in 1921, and Bechtel Jewelers , in business since 1930 on the ground floor of the historic Harvey Building.

Cater’s Furniture in downtown Lake Worth, looking eastward from Dixie Highway, was one of the store’s three locations. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

It was fun to see new furniture that had arrived from North Carolina, where my Dad went each fall to see the new lines and determine what to order.

Prior to the North Carolina market’s existence, he went to the Chicago Merchandise Mart, and I remember seeing him off at the tiny Palm Beach International Airport as he carried a heavy overcoat and the type of formal hat men wore with suits then.

My dad had a knack for buying items that would sell well, even if they were not his personal taste. He somehow knew that the blue floral sofa he secretly did not like was destined to be a best seller. Or that a certain coffee table would be a hit.

People didn’t constantly buy new furniture. When they did, they wanted it to last. There were no credit cards, just Cater’s credit. Of course, computers did not exist. Each item in inventory was on an index card that had its number and its location at the warehouse or one of the three stores.

A highlight of a trip downtown was walking across the alley behind Cater’s to McCrory’s or Woolworth’s for an ice cream soda, Coke or maybe a grilled cheese sandwich.

The pace was slower. Downtown workers took morning and afternoon breaks at lunch counters where they drank lots of coffee from clattering, clinking white china and ate doughnuts, pies and other treats made from scratch. Cater’s closed its downtown location in the early ’80s after building a new store on Military Trail. The lot at 333 Datura St. where most of the furniture store stood is empty. The former fire station, which Cater’s also occupied, is now Datura Station. It’s important to note that two merchants that were on Datura back then are still there. They are Halsey & Griffith, an office supply store founded in 1921, and Bechtel Jewelers , in business since 1930 on the ground floor of the historic Harvey Building.

Cater’s Furniture in downtown Lake Worth, looking eastward from Dixie Highway, was one of the store’s three locations. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

· sponsors two youth groups - one for middle school girls and one for young ladies in high school; and

· gives support to cancer research, the American Lung Association, The Salvation Army, The Red Cross and several other community organizations.

To make these contributions, including the $20,000 in scholarships last year, the Sorority hosts such fundraisers as: the Emerald Elegance dance, The Mother/Daughter Luncheon, and the Fashionetta youth pageant, luncheon and fashion show, featuring the Hamilton Vogue Esquire models of Chicago. This year’s Mother/Daughter Luncheon will be held at the PGA National Resort and Spa in Palm Beach Gardens on May 1, 2010, at 11:30 a.m.
Under the leadership of Chapter President Maxine Perry DuPont, the Chapter aims this year to focus on the economic growth of the Black family, health issues facing elementary school students and their parents, and financial literacy. The Chapter also supports such annual grassroots programs as the Thelma R. Jones Prayer Breakfast, the Martin Luther King Jr. Day parade and the provision of Thanksgiving Food Baskets.
The 15 charter members who launched the Zeta Tau Omega Chapter 55 years ago had a vision of sisterhood and service – a vision that thrives in Palm Beach County today. Zeta Tau Omega Chapter is one of three graduate chapters of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Inc., in the county. There also is a chapter in Belle Glade and in Delray Beach.
To find out more about the Mother/Daughter Luncheon, how your daughter can become a part of the Twenty Pearls or Precious Pearls youth groups, or other information about Zeta Tau Omega’s activities, please contact Maxine DuPont at (561) 655-3978.

Following are the chapter’s 15 founding members:

Charter Members in 1955

Geneva Boynton
Myrtis Edgecombe Burke
Vernice Williams Butler
Clayton Lowe Coleman*
Naomi Daniels Cole
Lillian Hearst
Bernadine E. Lazier
Doris Matthews*
E. Bernadine Cousins Murray
Louise Murray
Ardis Orr*
Juanita Orr
Marian Orr*
Delores Robinson Powdrill
Novik Mitchell Stubbs*
Evangeline Wilburn*
*Deceased

· sponsors two youth groups - one for middle school girls and one for young ladies in high school; and

· gives support to cancer research, the American Lung Association, The Salvation Army, The Red Cross and several other community organizations.

To make these contributions, including the $20,000 in scholarships last year, the Sorority hosts such fundraisers as: the Emerald Elegance dance, The Mother/Daughter Luncheon, and the Fashionetta youth pageant, luncheon and fashion show, featuring the Hamilton Vogue Esquire models of Chicago. This year’s Mother/Daughter Luncheon will be held at the PGA National Resort and Spa in Palm Beach Gardens on May 1, 2010, at 11:30 a.m.
Under the leadership of Chapter President Maxine Perry DuPont, the Chapter aims this year to focus on the economic growth of the Black family, health issues facing elementary school students and their parents, and financial literacy. The Chapter also supports such annual grassroots programs as the Thelma R. Jones Prayer Breakfast, the Martin Luther King Jr. Day parade and the provision of Thanksgiving Food Baskets.
The 15 charter members who launched the Zeta Tau Omega Chapter 55 years ago had a vision of sisterhood and service – a vision that thrives in Palm Beach County today. Zeta Tau Omega Chapter is one of three graduate chapters of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Inc., in the county. There also is a chapter in Belle Glade and in Delray Beach.
To find out more about the Mother/Daughter Luncheon, how your daughter can become a part of the Twenty Pearls or Precious Pearls youth groups, or other information about Zeta Tau Omega’s activities, please contact Maxine DuPont at (561) 655-3978.

Following are the chapter’s 15 founding members:

Charter Members in 1955

Geneva Boynton
Myrtis Edgecombe Burke
Vernice Williams Butler
Clayton Lowe Coleman*
Naomi Daniels Cole
Lillian Hearst
Bernadine E. Lazier
Doris Matthews*
E. Bernadine Cousins Murray
Louise Murray
Ardis Orr*
Juanita Orr
Marian Orr*
Delores Robinson Powdrill
Novik Mitchell Stubbs*
Evangeline Wilburn*
*Deceased

Map of Florida in 1845, showing the state’s geographical boundary lines and internal divisions that had been established at that time. (United States Geological Survey map)

Map of Florida in 1845, showing the state’s geographical boundary lines and internal divisions that had been established at that time. (United States Geological Survey map)

Click here to check out this comprehensive site.

Click here to check out this comprehensive site.

Tour-goers will see Payne Chapel African Methodist Episcopal Church and Tabernacle Missionary Baptist Church, both founded in January 1893; Pine Ridge Hospital, which opened as a hospital for African-Americans in 1916; the Sunset Cocktail Lounge, a showplace for black entertainers in the 1940s and 50s; and the home of Haley and Alice Mickens, where Dr. Alice Moore still resides.

The tour is Saturday, February 27, 2010, beginning with a program at 8:30 a.m. at the Salvation Army Community Center at 600 N. Rosemary Avenue, followed by the tour at 10:00 a.m. The program, including a display of Ineria Hudnell’s photo collections, and tour are free and open to the public. Registration is required. Please call 561-820-4872 to register. Click here to see a map of the tour route.

The Sunset Cocktail Lounge in West Palm Beach was the “Cotton Club of the South” in the 1950s. Ella Fitzgerald, Count Basie and Duke Ellington were among the performers at the Sunset, owned by Dennis and Thelma Starks. Mrs. Starks, who died in 2008 at 91, recalled, “We had music on those days.” (Palm Beach Post file photo)

The Sunset Cocktail Lounge and Ballroom in 1930s. (Palm Beach Post file photo/Courtesy of the Historical Society of Palm Beach County)

The Sunset Cocktail Lounge in 1973. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

The Sunset Cocktail Lounge in 2003. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

The Payne Chapel at the corner Ninth and Division streets. The church’s origins lie in old Palm Beach, when blacks worshiped at Bethel AME Church in the shanty town called the Styx. When it moved to Banyan Street in West Palm Beach in 1902, it was known as Payne Chapel, named after one of the bishops. In the ’20s, it
moved to Ninth and Division streets, meeting in the basement. In 1937, the church was completed and services were held upstairs for the first time. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

Retired teacher Alice Moore stands in front of her 1917 historic home on Fourth Street. Moore is the adopted daughter of Dr. Alice Frederick Mickens, a West Palm Beach civil-rights leader. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

This photo from the Collie family shows John Collie’s son, Warren (in black suit) and one unidentified gentleman standing in front of the new Pine Ridge Hospital shortly after it opened. The hospital served black patients in five counties until 1956, when St. Mary’s Medical Center integrated. In 2008, the property was sold to the Charmettes Inc., an international service organization. Charmettes was founded locally by Frankie Drayton Thomas and Gwendolyn Rodgers, whose husband, Edward Rodgers, was Palm Beach County’s first black judge. (Palm Beach Post file photo/Courtesy of the Historical Society of Palm Beach County)

Tour-goers will see Payne Chapel African Methodist Episcopal Church and Haley and Alice Mickens, where Dr. Alice Moore still resides.

The tour is Saturday, February 27, 2010, beginning with a program at 8:30 a.m. at the Salvation Army Community Center at 600 N. Rosemary Avenue, followed by the tour at 10:00 a.m. The program, including a display of here to see a map of the tour route.

The Sunset Cocktail Lounge in West Palm Beach was the “Cotton Club of the South” in the 1950s. Ella Fitzgerald, Count Basie and Duke Ellington were among the performers at the Sunset, owned by Dennis and Thelma Starks. Mrs. Starks, who died in 2008 at 91, recalled, “We had music on those days.” (Palm Beach Post file photo)

The Sunset Cocktail Lounge and Ballroom in 1930s. (Palm Beach Post file photo/Courtesy of the Historical Society of Palm Beach County)

The Sunset Cocktail Lounge in 1973. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

The Sunset Cocktail Lounge in 2003. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

The Payne Chapel at the corner Ninth and Division streets. The church’s origins lie in old Palm Beach, when blacks worshiped at Bethel AME Church in the shanty town called the Styx. When it moved to Banyan Street in West Palm Beach in 1902, it was known as Payne Chapel, named after one of the bishops. In the ’20s, it
moved to Ninth and Division streets, meeting in the basement. In 1937, the church was completed and services were held upstairs for the first time. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

Retired teacher Alice Moore stands in front of her 1917 historic home on Fourth Street. Moore is the adopted daughter of Dr. Alice Frederick Mickens, a West Palm Beach civil-rights leader. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

This photo from the Collie family shows John Collie’s son, Warren (in black suit) and one unidentified gentleman standing in front of the new Pine Ridge Hospital shortly after it opened. The hospital served black patients in five counties until 1956, when St. Mary’s Medical Center integrated. In 2008, the property was sold to the Charmettes Inc., an international service organization. Charmettes was founded locally by Frankie Drayton Thomas and Gwendolyn Rodgers, whose husband, Edward Rodgers, was Palm Beach County’s first black judge. (Palm Beach Post file photo/Courtesy of the Historical Society of Palm Beach County)

In the 1950s and 1960s, before the Palm Beach Mall opened, downtown West Palm Beach was booming. It was the area’s primary shopping destination for the average person who wasn’t wealthy enough to go to Worth Avenue in Palm Beach.

Many of the businesses were family-owned, rather than the more typical chain stores we know today, and their owners worked on the premises, not in a distant corporate office.

Among those was Cater’s Furniture at 333 Datura St. My grandfather started the company in 1925, farther north at 711 N. Dixie, and in 1935, moved to a two-story building on Datura Street next to a fire station.

The company’s main office was at the store, and that’s where my father, John Cater, worked.

Back then, change was not as rapid as it is now. Customers could count on getting waited on and having questions answered by a salesman who knew the merchandise, and probably knew them by name also.

Everything was very low-key. People knew they would see the same familiar faces when they walked through the door and might run into their neighbors there, too. People stayed in the same job for years, and the company had loyal people who spent their careers there.

There was a gigantic, ancient cash register that sat in the office, which was open to the showroom and surrounded by a wooden railing, later replaced by a counter. Nearby was a red and white, waist-high Coca-Cola machine which dispensed “ice cold” glass bottles from the top. I think they were 10 cents, but I was rarely allowed to drink one. As a child, my visits to the store were exciting; my sister and I zoomed around trying out the recliners and popping out the footrests. Sometimes, we ran up the wide staircase to the second floor, and tried to run across all the mattresses that were lined up in a long row before someone caught us. What fun, and what a great thing the security of life in a small city was.

Read part 2 of Susan Salisbury’s column here.

Cater’s Furniture, founded in 1925, was first on North Dixie Highway, then moved to this Datura Street building downtown West Palm Beach. The owning family worked on the premises and many employees spent their entire working lives there. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

John Cater in his store in 2002, just before he retired. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

In the 1950s and 1960s, before the Palm Beach Mall opened, downtown West Palm Beach was booming. It was the area’s primary shopping destination for the average person who wasn’t wealthy enough to go to Worth Avenue in Palm Beach.

Many of the businesses were family-owned, rather than the more typical chain stores we know today, and their owners worked on the premises, not in a distant corporate office.

Among those was Cater’s Furniture at 333 Datura St. My grandfather started the company in 1925, farther north at 711 N. Dixie, and in 1935, moved to a two-story building on Datura Street next to a fire station.

The company’s main office was at the store, and that’s where my father, John Cater, worked.

Back then, change was not as rapid as it is now. Customers could count on getting waited on and having questions answered by a salesman who knew the merchandise, and probably knew them by name also.

Everything was very low-key. People knew they would see the same familiar faces when they walked through the door and might run into their neighbors there, too. People stayed in the same job for years, and the company had loyal people who spent their careers there.

There was a gigantic, ancient cash register that sat in the office, which was open to the showroom and surrounded by a wooden railing, later replaced by a counter. Nearby was a red and white, waist-high Coca-Cola machine which dispensed “ice cold” glass bottles from the top. I think they were 10 cents, but I was rarely allowed to drink one. As a child, my visits to the store were exciting; my sister and I zoomed around trying out the recliners and popping out the footrests. Sometimes, we ran up the wide staircase to the second floor, and tried to run across all the mattresses that were lined up in a long row before someone caught us. What fun, and what a great thing the security of life in a small city was.

Read part 2 of Susan Salisbury’s column here.

Cater’s Furniture, founded in 1925, was first on North Dixie Highway, then moved to this Datura Street building downtown West Palm Beach. The owning family worked on the premises and many employees spent their entire working lives there. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

John Cater in his store in 2002, just before he retired. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

Read more about the history of Palm Beach International Airport here.

Aerial view of Morrison Field as an Army post in the 1940s. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

Read more about the history of Palm Beach International Airport here.

Aerial view of Morrison Field as an Army post in the 1940s. (Palm Beach Post file photo)

Riviera Beach’s majority black population makes it a rarity among South Florida’s waterfront municipalities. But the city’s complexion was quite different in its early days.

White settlers in the area voted to incorporate the city as the Town of Riviera in September 1922. It was re-incorporated in June 1923, and a volunteer fire department began in 1926, according to the book “A History of Riviera Beach, Florida,” edited by former Library Director Lynn Brink.

The 1928 hurricane destroyed Kelsey City, Riviera’s northern neighbor, and caused widespread damage to homes and businesses. During the next two decades, the sleepy town relied mainly on the commercial fishing industry and tourism, earning the nickname “Conch Town.”

During the 1940s, the town expanded, at one point buying 1,000 feet of beach on Singer Island (named for developer Paris Singer) for $40,000. The town, which changed its name to Riviera Beach in 1941, later acquired much of the south end of the island.

The civil rights era brought major changes to the city, which saw its black population more than double between 1950 and 1970. In 1962, attorney F. Malcolm Cunningham became the city’s first black councilman.

The Rev. Herman McCray moved to Riviera Beach in 1966. The area’s affordable homes attracted a large number of black professionals, McCray said.

He and his neighbors in the Imperial Point neighborhood founded the Imperial Men’s Club to fight for services like trash collection and street lights. The club grew to more than 100 members at one time, he said, and the group’s goals expanded citywide.

 “It’s just something that needed to be done,” said McCray, who later became the city’s sanitation superintendent, served on the city council, owned a successful business and sat on the county school district’s biracial committee. He and the club earned a mention in the book “Blacks and Social Change” by James W. Button.

Many of the city’s newer residents aren’t aware that before integration, Riviera Beach, like many municipalities, had separate facilities for blacks and whites, he said.

“We’ve had a used car lot, black drive-in theater, pool, gymnasium,” he said. “A lot of people didn’t have that.”

Riviera Beach’s majority black population makes it a rarity among South Florida’s waterfront municipalities. But the city’s complexion was quite different in its early days.

White settlers in the area voted to incorporate the city as the Town of Riviera in September 1922. It was re-incorporated in June 1923, and a volunteer fire department began in 1926, according to the book “A History of Riviera Beach, Florida,” edited by former Library Director Lynn Brink.

The 1928 hurricane destroyed Kelsey City, Riviera’s northern neighbor, and caused widespread damage to homes and businesses. During the next two decades, the sleepy town relied mainly on the commercial fishing industry and tourism, earning the nickname “Conch Town.”

During the 1940s, the town expanded, at one point buying 1,000 feet of beach on Singer Island (named for developer Paris Singer) for $40,000. The town, which changed its name to Riviera Beach in 1941, later acquired much of the south end of the island.

The civil rights era brought major changes to the city, which saw its black population more than double between 1950 and 1970. In 1962, attorney F. Malcolm Cunningham became the city’s first black councilman.

The Rev. Herman McCray moved to Riviera Beach in 1966. The area’s affordable homes attracted a large number of black professionals, McCray said.

He and his neighbors in the Imperial Point neighborhood founded the Imperial Men’s Club to fight for services like trash collection and street lights. The club grew to more than 100 members at one time, he said, and the group’s goals expanded citywide.

 “It’s just something that needed to be done,” said McCray, who later became the city’s sanitation superintendent, served on the city council, owned a successful business and sat on the county school district’s biracial committee. He and the club earned a mention in the book “Blacks and Social Change” by James W. Button.

Many of the city’s newer residents aren’t aware that before integration, Riviera Beach, like many municipalities, had separate facilities for blacks and whites, he said.

“We’ve had a used car lot, black drive-in theater, pool, gymnasium,” he said. “A lot of people didn’t have that.”