I’ll never forget the old Springfield Library–the Temple of Knowledge at Tenth & Silver Streets –or Mrs. Porter, the librarian, its “Priestess.”
The Springfield Library of the Forties was a far cry from today’s suburban libraries with their “shopping center modern” décor, computerized checkout system, and librarians seemingly more knowledgeable about the catalog system than of knowledge itself.
Jacksonville, Florida, my home town, was officially renamed Jacksonville after Andrew Jackson, who served as provisional governor of Florida for all of seven months and never even visited the area. Before that, it was a very small community that existed mostly on the north bank of the St. Johns River where it was shallow enough to cross. Logically enough, the residents of the time called it simply, “Cow Ford,” a rough English translation of the native American term, “Wacca Pilatka,” the place of the cows crossing.
The area that would become known as Springfield, one of Jacksonville’s oldest, and arguably most famous neighborhoods, was recognized by the Spanish government long before Florida was even a part of the United States. A tract of higher land about 500 acres just north of the city’s small center, Springfield did not begin to establish itself as a neighborhood until about 1880, when the first street car line was built.
By 1893, there were nearly one hundred substantial residences as Springfield began to grow into Jacksonville’s premier neighborhood. After Jacksonville’s disastrous fire of 1901 burned most of the city’s center, the number of substantial residences in Springfield grew even faster.
By the late 1940’s the Springfield neighborhood wasn’t what it once was–even then–to this kid who could not remember a time when he had not been taken to the library. Formerly a prestigious neighborhood of Jacksonville’s influential families, it was slowly giving way to For Rent” signs as THE FAMILIES moved across the river to San Jose. The Springfield houses were big, solid, respectable chunks of Southern architecture, reflecting the wide variety of values and life styles of the families that built them. The Barnett residence on East First Street, the Horace Drew residence on West Third Street, the Klutho Apartments and Henry J. Klutho’s own Prairie-style house on West Ninth Street, are present day monuments to Springfield’s rich architectural heritage.
“Temple” continued on pages 2, 3, and 4. Links at bottom of page
© Copyright 2018 BelleAire Press
Other works by Dr. Connors…
Now Available As E-Pub
Baited Trap, The Ambush of Mission 1890 is the story of helicopter rescue Mission 1890, one of the most heroic—and costly—air rescues of the Korean War. This harrowing Air Force-Navy mission is explained in compelling detail, creating a detailed personal account of what five incredibly brave and determined Air Force and Navy airmen achieved on June 25, 1952 in the infamous “Iron Triangle.”
The Korean War’s Greatest Love Story
Baited Trap is much more than a heroic war story from the “forgotten war.” It is also the Korean War’s greatest love story, following Wayne and Della Lear, Bobby Holloway, Ron Eaton and Dolly Sharp, and Frankie and Archie Connors as they tried to put their lives and families together even as the Korean War was reaching out to engulf them.
Truckbusters From Dogpatch: the Combat Diary of the 18th Fighter-Bomber Wing in the Korean War, 1950-1953
Truckbusters from Dogpatch is the most comprehensive Korean War unit history yet prepared–over 700 pages summarizing squadron histories and first person accounts—and includes over 1,000 never before published photographs and images, highlighted by the 8 ½ x 11-inch format.
Arguably, Truckbusters From Dogpatch is the most authoritative unit history ever prepared on the Korean War. In addition to consulting formerly classified squadron histories filed monthly throughout the conflict, the author was in touch with hundreds of veterans of the 18th—pilots and ground crew—whose personal recollections add vivid detail and emotion to the facts recounted in the official documents.
Recent Log Entries by CAPT Connors…
After reading these Night Orders you can better appreciate what training, attention to duty, and vigilance was required by underway watchstanders in those days. What has changed since then that has resulted in the recent tragic collisions between U.S. Navy ships and other vessels?
Saipan CO, CAPT Jack Renard, was not exaggerating when he noted that “without exception, SAIPAN is the most versatile instrument of peace or war on the seas today.” Like its motto pointed out, SAIPAN could do it all.
I had never taken the ship (aircraft carrier F. D. ROOSEVELT) through the Straits before as the OOD. Now I was expected to do so while the rest of the ship—including the Captain—was fast asleep.
The reliance today by U.S. Navy afloat units on satellites and highly complex electronics, all of which are vulnerable to compromise or destruction by an enemy, can also leave us highly vulnerable, particularly if our ships and Surface Warfare Officers are not trained in more traditional methods of navigation and seamanship.
Losing satellites could badly compromise or eliminate satellite navigation. Funny, I trusted the star fixes, but the GPS readings that came later, were suspect. As this Log Entry points out, satellites are vulnerable. They can be hacked or “taken out” in a variety of ways.
But with training, a sextant, the right tables and a handful of stars or a noon day sun, the cosmos will tell you where you are on planet Earth.
The watch team cheered, we even heard cheering from PriFly aft of our level. The Captain was happy, the bridge watch team was ecstatic. The Russians on our tail? Not so much! Main Control had “gotten into the War,” and I wrote in the ROOSEVELT’s deck log: “Blew tubes at 1430.”
“Not that I can think of,” I replied, then added the required legal response: “I relieve you Sir.”
The fateful words are spoken. From this point on, anything that happens on this watch will be my responsibility.
“Very well, I stand relieved. Quartermaster, LTJG Connors has the deck,” the now off-watch OOD announced to the Watch Team.
I, in turn, step back out onto the quarterdeck to take a look around to see if there are any boats headed towards the ship.
The air is very cold, but refreshing, in small doses.
The far off boats of Cannes, swing in the breeze.
At this distance, the beautiful city rolls itself like a white wave, far into the hills. On the distant horizon, covers the mountains like a picture post card.
When the USS Franklin D. Roosevelt (CV A-42) was towed toward the oblivion of the scrap yard in 1978, she consisted of some 65,000 tons of obsolete steel and equipment–but she left many more tons of memories with the tens of thousands of Navy men who had served aboard her during her 32 years of commissioned service.
The “Rosy” or “Fru Dee Roo” or “Rusty Bucket” to those of us who alternately cussed her amongst ourselves and who fought for her honor with outsiders, was more than just a ship. She was home for some 4,000 men–a floating “town” some 1,000 feet long with over 500 miles of wiring, 150 television receivers, 111 storerooms where some 81,000 items were kept in readiness, and with 12 oil-fired steam boilers that drove it at speeds up to 32 knots. A bit of a “gas hog,” the ship’s boilers burned some four million gallons of fuel per month on average. This “town” carried over 70 warplanes of many types and could launch them at a rate of two per minute.
We were “the stick” in case the “talk softly” part was not successful.
The day the ROOSEVELT got the What the Hell Flag Signal. As the OOD, you knew you had really screwed things up when an oiler gave you the “What the Hell” Flag Signal.
On this afternoon, as we were making our high speed approach on the oiler, the Captain suddenly announced that he had the conn (was maneuvering the ship himself), then announced that Commander “Neversail” had the conn. I was amazed. I assumed that he wanted the new Navigator to get some experience, but to actually let him maneuver the ship (with the Captain making “recommendations” while standing right beside him), was risky as we were barreling down on the unsuspecting oiler. “Things” didn’t go well, as they say.