Little Talbot Island Shipwreck

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On either end of this vessel in time, neither Kim nor the captain could guess this craft would (did) drown at sea, wash ashore, bury itself in the gradual accretion of a sand dune among dunes, then, sometime in the mid-1980s, lay increasingly vulnerable to the salt air and sunshine again as the dune eroded around it.

“However,” the archaeologists write, “three likely candidates for the identity of this vessel correspond to the general time period and location.”

The Board of Health bought the bark and burned it in the waves, leaving the German boat’s blackened remains to time and sand and salt and sea. 

The Oldest Christianity Renews the Newer Abandoned

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From the Matthews Bridge downtown, you can see the red, yellow, and green—the colors of the Ethiopian flag—that stripe the old gothic belltower, a bright dab of color in the center of a drab post-urban emptiness.

Within these walls, former slaves shed tears, sweated, beat their whip scars with flagellant fists. In this holy space rose cris de coeur, roared and collapsed a thousand times the ghost of a chance, and soared skyward the hymns of a black Moses leading his people home. Try to imagine all the pain, cumulative, felt through every prayer. Who came here for succor? Who died? Who was hungry and given supper? Who came into the world? Who married, and who else, and whom? Who found all the truth they’d ever need and died believing?

You Know this City if You’ve Crossed its Central Divisions: Myrtle Avenue Underpass / Subway / Tunnel

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For well more than a century, the crossroads sunken into the Myrtle Avenue Underpass has taken lives, defined neighborhoods, separated beneficiaries from the poor the city’s more harshly judged.

Streetcars crossed the sump betwixt downtown and urban black Jax and an innocent electrician died liked a serial killer. 

The crossroads flooded and the crossroads flooded and the crossroads flooded and the crossroads flooded.

JaxPsychoGeo is Six Years Old: Here’s the Dunehouses and Pyramid, First Posted in 2012

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JaxPsychoGeo first published this story about William Morgan’s Dunehouses and Pyramid when the site launched six years ago. Since then, the writing and scope have ev0lved, while the core artistic, spiritual and geographic pursuit has remained.

At Morgan’s own house next door, the architect told the detective the proportions of the rectangular interior of the Dunehouses are golden. Did she know what this meant?

The house William Morgan built for himself now more than 40 years ago stood next door. But first the Dunehouses, which he’d built in 1974 and ’75.

Archetypes and Avengers on Avenue B

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His name is Algie. It’s unusual. I’ve just read of the 1958 murder of Algie Nevels. Stagga Lee’s been hangin’ ’round Avenue B most of this past century.

The 1950 State Beverage agents descend on Avenue B. Algie Nevels must have heard the noise and stopped by to look and stayed awhile.

“One of the most notorious figures in Jacksonville’s police and underworld history,” murdered 70 years ago, involves himself in a 2018 Avenue B shootout. 

Craig Creek: From River Oaks to Oriental Gardens to Jax Ghats

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Craig Creek floods herons and frogs and oak roots. William Craig prepared to lead his army for the Republic of East Florida against the Spanish Empire. “Oriental Gardens” overflowed from George W. Clark’s Riverside residence across the St. Johns River to just south of San Marco.

The cypress trees along Craig Creek rise yet, love letters still molder in a particular attic, and the gardens still descend stone steps, Jax ghats, into the ancient river.

Hammond Boulevard Exit & the “Perfect Pedophile Paradise”

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Did God so love the world that he directed the Florida Department of Transportation to cut a new exit from Interstate-10 down to the northern entrance of what Dennis Cassell called Bob Gray’s “perfect pedophile paradise”? 

Whatever Tom Messer believed about God’s desires for his predecessor Bob Gray, whose sexual abuse of children Messer shielded from the law, he believes God wants 20,000 people daily to take the new I-10 exit by the church. 

So let’s do that. Let’s go. Here’s what we find.

The Jacksonville Free Public Library–Whose Heads These Are I Think I Know

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Shakespeare and Herodotus look out across downtown from the tops of these columns. Whose heads would I stake here?

In a special election, Jacksonville nearly rejected Andrew Carnegie’s magnanimous donation for a new library.

I’d still like to find Elizabeth Long. I wonder if she’d touch me the way she touched the armless Hermes.

When Ideal Trailer Park (and Trailer Parks in General) Were New

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Ideal Trailer Park has claimed these four acres along U.S. 1 at the old City Limits for six decades. Nobody here knows why the trailer park is called “Ideal” or who named it.

In the back of her trailer, Channa’s made a small shrine to the Virgin Mary. One cat has but one eye. When Alexander Wellington writes of a little girl bitten by a rat in a trailer park, he sneers, “Good thing it wasn’t her face they chewed, isn’t it?”

 

In Memory of Walter Whetstone

Walter and Dorothy Whetstone, photo by Maura Wolfson-Foster

Last Friday, May 4th, the state of Florida lost a treasure, when Walter Whetstone–sweet, kind, gracious man, and the brilliant creator of the Whetstonian–passed away. He was 81.

With JaxPsychoGeo, please celebrate the life of Walter Whetstone. Below you’ll find 1) a gofundme drive to “Support the Whetstones” and “Save the Whetstonian,” 2) Walter’s obituary, and 3) two JaxPsychoGeo reveries of this great man and his art.

Here’s the gofundme drive: “Support the Whetstones” / “Save the Whetstonian”

“Walter Whetstone, 1937 to 1981: https://www.bivensfuneralhome.com/notices/Walter-Whetstone

the first JaxPsychoGeo story, February, 2012: LaVilla: Whetstonian

the second JaxPsychoGeo story, November, 2016: Whetstonian’s Last Days? / Mural of the Life of Walter Whetstone