St. Augustine, Florida, is a very beautiful, very old town, 50 miles south of Jacksonville, sitting on the Atlantic coast in the north of the state. It is in contention with that other Saint on the north Atlantic coast, St. John’s, Newfoundland, as the oldest city in North America. Both boast of that place in history, and maybe they are both right. St. Augustine soon will be celebrating it’s 450 birthday, and has other claims to fame, such as another beautiful, old and operating lighthouse; Castillo De San Marcos ( a wonderful many sided ancient fortification, reminiscent of the Citadel in Halifax); Ponce de Leon’s Fountain of Youth; and Ripley’s Believe it or Not. We had visited all of these on visits before, but did get to rediscover several other highpoints, and find several new treasures, during our rest and recuperation at The Barney’s household between the seashore and intercoastal just outside of St. A.
Our greatest pleasure was revisiting the Lightner Museum in the charming downtown. Situated in a many storied old hotel complex, just across the street from Flagler College, it is the culmination of a lifetime passion of a man who described himself as a “collector of collections.” Inside, there are rooms and rooms of the weird and wonderful that he had found and acquired over the years in the early 1900’s. Shaving mugs, tobacco tins, and match holders; buttons, coins, and cigar box lables; crystal, mercury glass, and fine china; hair jewellery, valentine cards, and antique dolls: furniture , oil paintings, and Tiffany stained glass; top hats, lady’s bonnets, and beaded purses; fantastic, elaborate music boxes, player pianos, and orchestras in a box; stuffed animals, hooked rugs, and embroidery samplers; orange crate lables, matchbox covers, and cigar band art; and this is only a smattering of the things that you can discover as you wander the halls, and climb the various stairways. It also is housed in a famous old hotel, that once boasted that largest indoor pool in all of the United States. At one time, St. Augustine was the farthest point south on the railway line that Flagler had built to bring the rich and beautiful people from the cold north to enjoy the warmer clime of the state of Florida. It was the first stop of the brand new migration of snowbirds to the beaches of the Sunshine State. Flagler himself constructed a number of magnificent buildings, including the hotels that have become the core of the campus of Flagler College, and a wonderful Presbyterian Church. In an effort to lure the rich and famous, he spared no expense, and the buildings have numerous, original Tiffany lamps and windows, casting colored light onto the oblivious students lounging in the commons area, or eating in the lunch rooms. Yes, there is a lot of schlock and hype today, with the tourist trolleys, and horse drawn carts wandering around the city, extolling the history of the town and buildings; but the city in spite of it all has a pace and charm and beauty that is worth a visit and stay. Eventually, Flagler realized that the weather was even better farther south, and extended his railroad and tourist industry all the way to Miami, again building famous hotels and structures catering to those with the time and money to spend on a winter in the sun. We don’t have the bags of disposable income that the fabulously wealthy original patrons had, but we did enjoy several hours on several days, discovering the artefacts of a time long gone.
We also rediscovered the Gypsy Cab company, one of the few restaurants that has survived all the turmoil and changes since we first visited St. Augustine years and years ago. They catered (via take-out orders) the 80th birthday celebration we had for my father a decade ago, and the food, prices, and peanut butter pie are still as good as they were, and brought us back again for two different take-out lunches Donna and I, and Dixie Dawg, enjoyed in the shadow of the St. Augustine Lighthouse. We found several quiet, town parks or historic places around the town; well posted with “no overnite parking” signs, but welcoming nonetheless, with clean washrooms, picnic tables under groves of moss draped oak trees, access to beaches or waterways, and sanctuaries from the congestion and roadways just yards away. At the beach just minutes away from my parents place, we spent a quiet morning at the site of the Surfside Dance Hall and Bathhouse, part of the Capo family resort, that started in the early 1900’s bringing people from St. Augustine , to the hotel and restaurant, beaches and horse races. It continued through both World Wars, serving as a famous dance hall and meeting place. It survived into the 70’s, when it was torn down, and the site has become a county oceanfront park.. Florida as a state has countless parks and forests and areas that are set aside as public places, many with fees, but also many free. On some other trip, months could be spent just exploring the state, and all it has to offer .
Our final discovery was made when I attempted to solve our furnace problems. Yes, we were in the deep South, but this was already a winter to remember, or forget, due to the extremely cold temperatures and snowy conditions. I anticipated needing supplemental heat again before this journey was over. so first went to an on line forum. I had an earlier thought confirmed, that it might be a propane pressure problem, and the logical first step was to get our regulator checked. Calling a local propane company, Coutesy Gas, I was told that I could come on in, and have them check the lines and regulator. So Thursday morning, I hooked the trailer back up, and cruised to the closer of their two locations. Unfortunately, there was no one there at the time who could help me, but the gal at the desk, and the guy filling the propane bottles, figured Teir, over at the other location, was who I really needed to see. They called him, to make sure he wasn’t out on call, and he confirmed, sure, he was there, and would look at the furnace and see if he could sort out the problem. To this point, all of the advice I had been able to find was consistently ”it’s a really old furnace, you’ll never get parts, you should buy a new one.” This might still be the ultimate solution, but the furnace has served us well before, and is an older model that doesn’t require electrical power of any sort to run and keep us toasty warm. The newer ones all have an electric fan at least, and when you are boondocking, are a constant drain on your 12 volt batteries. So I leapt, or drove quickly, to the site of someone whose first response was, well, let me look at it, and see what I can do. Teir is a forty something, black gentleman, who manages this branch of Coutesy Gas. In Florida, much of the heating and cooking is done with propane, and he runs a office, workshop, and propane depot that employs 5 or six technicians. It’s located in a old residential neighborhood by the railroad tacks west of the historic downtown. He immediately told the secretary he’d be out back, pocketed a mobile phone, and settled in on the floor of our little trailer. He methodically took the furnace apart, immediately determined that the pressure was fine, but the pilot jet was probably partially clogged, and the thermopile might be faulty. He took the assemblies all apart, cleaned out the jet, found a replacement thermopile (a little gizmo housed in a small brass tube that uses the heat from the pilot light to generate 40 millivolts of current). This activates both the thermostat and opens the valve to allow gas to flow to the furnace. If the furnace goes out, there’s no heat to generate this tiny charge of electricity, so the valve closes, safely shutting off the flow of propane. So simple, but so miraculous. Electricity from heat, changing thermal energy to electrical energy, as is done by the atomic power plants and coal fired generators around the world, and by our little furnace in the belly of the Buug. As he put it back together, he found a problem with the head of the pilot light. It has a spreader, that directs part of the flame to and around the thermopile, and the clip holding this in place was broken. When we were stationary, it would be fine, but the bounces along the road would shake it loose, and cause our furnace to become inoperable once again. He figured he could order one, and have it in by the next afternoon. It sounded good to me, so I left with the hopes of having heat again, and with the very, very reasonable quote of $127 to have it all working. He gave me a deal on the thermopile ( as he figured he would never sell it to anyone else), would charge me the price he was paying for the jet and spreader, and then added $45 for his time and labour. He had already worked for several hours; and also was a source of propane knowledge, and general wisdom, as I worked along side of him, handing him tools, aiming the flashlight, and asking him countless questions. I think he may have enjoyed my company and interest as much as I enjoyed his expertise and compassion. He also liked the challenge of fixing something that others had written off as too old, and maintaining a furnace that still was serviceable and right for our needs. I said his quote was too low, so he laughingly said OK, $227; but we settled back at his original price. It was a wonderful way to spend the middle of the day, getting to know a special person, and the innards of my furnace.
The rest of the story had several glitches, as the parts company, despite the requests I had heard him make to have the part shipped overnight, sent it via two-day service. Friday afternoon, amid humble apologies which he did not need to make, because I knew it wasn’t his fault, we agreed to come back on Monday, when the part would be there. The next segment will recount how we spent our weekend, but we did return on Monday to find the ordered part there, but the wrong size for the housing. Never one to give up, Teir took the unit apart again, and then rebuilt the old jet and spreader so that it would hold. I also watched the process, knowing that if it breaks down again eventually, I should be able to at least have a good working knowledge, and starting point, to fix it myself. When it was all back together, after 90 minutes more work, we did up the bill…$35 for the thermopile, as agreed, and $45 for labor, his original under priced quote. He’d see what he could do about returning the newly arrived part. I gave him $100 cash and my sincere thanks, and said I didn’t need any paperwork. I think I still got a real deal, as I had a furnace that was working again, and had a new friend and a whole bunch of new knowledge. I hope he also feels that the interaction was as worthwhile as he indicated, and that my respect and our shared time away from his desk were worth the discounted price for he gave us. If anyone out there has problems with their old propane furnace, and is anywhere near northern Florida, maybe calling up Teir at Courtesy Gas in St. Augustine might give you the help you can’t find in other places. If you do, say hi and thanks again from Lance and Donna and Dixie Dawg.
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