Notes from our October 17 talk in Philippe Park

Last Thursday, Laura and I were asked to speak to a continuing education class from Eckerd College in and about Philippe Park. Philippe Park is one of my favorite places in Safety Harbor—I go jogging there a few times a week—and the number of historic events that have occurred through the centuries on this small strip of land is really astounding. To summarize: About a thousand years ago, a group of indigenous people first established a permanent settlement there, relying on the abundant sea life of the bay for sustenance and the nearby springs for a source of fresh water. In the sixteenth century, Spanish explorers and missionaries came to the area, interacting with the descendants of those early Floridians while searching for riches and a waterway to the Atlantic coast. Later, in the mid-nineteenth century, pioneer Odet Philippe chose this spot to establish his homestead and plantation, eventually leading to the development of Florida’s citrus industry. In the twentieth century, lengthy excavations of the remains of the Tocobaga village in the park led to many discoveries about the culture shared by the early communities scattered around the Tampa Bay region, a society that is now known as the “Safety Harbor culture” in recognition of this extensive site. We only had an hour for this discussion, but I could talk all day about this place!

During our talk, we were asked whether the village here was always called Tocobaga. This is a great question. In truth, we know very little about the society that existed here, because they didn’t leave a written record of their history or day-to-day lives. Archaeologists have been able to piece together some details from what has been found during their excavations, but those details are mostly limited to the Tocobaga diet, their size (from skeletal remains), their pottery and tools, and their burial customs. The Spanish explorers and missionaries who visited the area in the mid-sixteenth century wrote something about the people they encountered here, but unfortunately their descriptions were brief and did not include much detail. The Spanish weren’t trained anthropologists, and they didn’t make much effort to describe the people or cultures they encountered during their expeditions. We don’t know, for instance, what sort of clothes the Tocobaga wore, or how they interacted with their children, and only have short anecdotal accounts of what their homes looked like.

There were also cultural differences between the Tocobaga and the Spanish, and this really shows with regard to the naming conventions. The native cultures here don’t seem to have had the same interest in giving everything their own names as the Europeans did. To them, things didn’t have to have their own names; everything just was. So when the Spanish tried to extract factual information from the local peoples, the likely result was almost comical. What was the name of their leader? “Tocobaga.” What was the name of their society? “Tocobaga.” What was the name of their village? “Tocobaga.” As far as researchers can tell, to the local people, all these things seem to have been one and the same—or at least were referred to by the same name.

What could be better than a morning in Philippe Park in the fall?

So, to answer the question: We really don’t know if the village was always called Tocobaga. We can’t even say for sure if the indigenous people used the word “Tocobaga” to refer to their village. Perhaps “Tocobaga” was simply the name of their chief, and that they had a custom of identifying themselves by the name of their leader during each generation. It’s also possible that “Tocobaga” was the name of a venerated previous leader, and that every subsequent chief would assume that name upon becoming their ruler. There really is no way to know for certain. All we have is a single snapshot of time from when Pedro Menendez visited Tampa Bay in 1567, which is the first known mention of the Tocobaga people. Previous expeditions may have also encountered the Tocobaga people, but they weren’t identified by this particular name in any surviving Spanish documents. Thus, we can only say with certainty that this was the name that the local people ascribed to themselves at this particular point in their history. After the 1560s, there appear to have been no formal attempts by Europeans to contact the Tocobaga around Tampa Bay. In 1677, a Tocobaga settlement was discovered near Tallahassee, but it is unclear whether these people self-identified themselves as Tocobaga (and if so, why) or whether they were classified as Tocobaga by the Spanish who encountered them there.

One of my biggest frustrations while conducting research on the history of Safety Harbor is that we know so little about the Tocobaga people. We just have little bits and pieces, and the most visible reminders of their society--large, plain, earthen mounds covered by vegetation--don’t provide a good picture of the scope and breadth of their communities, of what they may have been like as people, how they interacted with each other and what they did for entertainment. Perhaps someday future archaeological discoveries will shed more light on what must have once been a vibrant culture. I will keep hoping.

Laura, Warren, and the group from Eckerd College

In the meantime, if you are part of a group that is interested in a talk and short history tour of Philippe Park, please contact us through this website, and we’ll see if we can set something up for you.

The Incomplete Life of Shedrick Whitter

One of the less-known places covered in A Brief History of Safety Harbor is the Safety Harbor African American Cemetery, which is located on a small plot of land in Clearwater, near the intersection of Sunset Point Road and U.S. 19. The property was originally donated for its use as a cemetery for the African American community by Solomon Smith Coachman in the early part of the twentieth century.

The first time I visited the cemetery, I was immediately struck by the paucity of gravestones. Many of the graves are unmarked, and their locations were once remembered by pieces of paper tacked in the grass by grieving family members. But one notable exception stands out: A granite marker with a small floral pattern etched in the corners, appearing out of place among the simple gravestones that dot the field. This headstone marks the grave of Shedrick Whitter, born November 9, 1892, died January 10, 1941, at the age of 48. Something about this gravestone struck me as particularly poignant, and I photographed it. But my visit just piqued my interest further. Just who was this man? What was his story? After conducting some research, I was able to discover two things of note about him, which provide some answers about his identity but leave many other unresolved questions.

First: On November 12, 1917, days after his 25^th birthday, Mr. Whitter filed for a patent for his design of an electrical wire support tree. The patent was later granted to Mr. Whitter on August 6, 1918, and assigned U.S. Patent No. 1,275,116. Mr. Whitter’s patent application can be found here, and a digest containing a description of Mr. Whitter’s invention can be found here. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it must have taken for a 25-year-old African American man to file for a U.S. patent in the deep South in 1917. For one thing, Mr. Whitter must’ve been a pretty smart guy, even though he may not have had much of a formal education. Dedicated. Inventive. Ingenious even. But courageous, too, for to file for a patent, he likely had the help of the local white community. He may have developed the design of his invention while working for a business owned by a white man, who probably 

encouraged him. Also, it is notable that the owner of this (presumed) business and his (probably white) coworkers didn’t try to steal Mr. Whitter’s invention and take credit for it themselves. According to the patent application, an attorney named George Kimmel helped him file the necessary forms. So, he was undoubtedly well-respected and well-liked in the community, too—at least that is the way I am picturing him as a 25-year-old. Confident, proud, achievement-oriented. 

The second piece of information I uncovered about Mr. Whitter does not end happily. For this, I’ll simply quote the St. Petersburg Times of December 16, 1936:

“Shedrick Whitter, 40 [note: he was actually 44], negro, of Safety Harbor, charged with the murder of Leonard Henry, 19, negro, Oct. 10, was found guilty of murder in the first degree with recommendation of mercy here tonight. The jury took the case at 8:48 and returned at 9:25 o’clock. The verdict automatically carries a life sentence in the penitentiary. Whitter will be sentenced Friday.”

The details are sketchy. Apparently the deceased was having an argument with Mr. Whitter’s son in the grocery store and beer garden operated by Whitter. Henry supposedly took a beer from the younger Whitter boy during a quarrel and threatened to “drive his head through the wall.” According to one witness, Mr. Whitter then followed Henry out of the store and exclaimed, “Boy, don’t hit that boy or I’ll kill you.”

“Kill me, kill me, looks like you been wantin’ to for the last three or four Saturdays,” Henry reportedly replied.

The primary eyewitness stated that Mr. Whitter then “reached into his bosom and drew out a pistol and while holding the 19-year old Henry boy with his left hand he shot him, holding the pistol in his right.”

Despite testimony from “a number of” witnesses attesting to Mr. Whitter’s good character, including Mayor Louis Zinsser and Constable John Strickland, he was convicted by the 12-man jury after just a half-hour of deliberations. Not a single Safety Harbor resident served on the panel. 

What really happened on October 10, 1936? Did Shedrick Whitter kill Leonard Henry, or was he framed? Did Henry do more than just threaten Mr. Whitter’s son, possibly drawing his own weapon first? The primary witness, it should be noted, was Henry’s brother-in-law, married to the deceased’s sister. Was he covering for what really happened?

We’ll probably never know. There are likely few, if any, people still alive who know the details of this incident or would have known Shedrick at all. I’ve also been unable to uncover any other details about his life. Presumably, Shedrick Whitter was given a life sentence, and he passed away four years later, an incomplete life of great potential ended on a tragic note. But I won’t stop wondering what Shedrick’s life could have been like had he lived in a different time, under different circumstances.

We welcome any comments about Mr. Whitter's experiences, particularly from those who may have known him or one of his family members.

--posted by Warren Firschein-- 

An introduction

Odet Philippe

Hello and welcome to the History of Safety Harbor blog! In this space, we plan to occasionally write about the people, events, and folklore that helped shape the Safety Harbor community, and that may have not made the pages of our book for space or other reasons. Safety Harbor’s history spans centuries, and includes the Tocobaga people, early pioneers such as Odet Philippe (whose legacy includes large contributions to the establishment of the Florida citrus industry), and the development of the world-famous Safety Harbor Resort and Spa. But there are also many other characters and historical events relating to this city that are not as well-known but are equally fascinating, and we hope to memorialize some of them here. Check in every now and then to see what we’re discussing and feel free to leave your comments.