Not the Island I Remember
Not the Island I Remember
My vacation to Key West, Florida
Just got back from Key West, Florida, the last island off the coast of Florida, and the southernmost point of the continental U.S. It’s a place where both my parents were born and raised, the place where my father is buried (along with grandparents and other family from both sides), and the place where, after my parents divorced, I spent my summers growing up. It’s a place I hadn’t returned since May of 1996 when my dad passed away…until the second day of June 2024.
My mother, who is now 83 and suffers from macular degeneration, wanted to see the island where she spent her childhood while she can still see a little. So, I made the travel plans and booked our four-day trip, which coincided with my older brother’s trip there with his wife. We went on a Sunday through Thursday, and they booked Monday through Friday. While we’d lightly discussed going together, I never told him mom and I were going. I kept it as a surprise and waited until they arrived to spring it on him. Pulled it off! Brother and sister were on the island of Key West together again for the first time since we said goodbye to our father. I’m rather proud of the fact that I pulled it off. We prank each other a lot, but never at this level before. I am now the GOAT. Going to wear that badge proudly forever.
Gwynns in paradise was the theme, but Key West isn’t the paradise any of us remembers. Sadly, it has become an overpopulated tourist trap where the natives aren’t even the original Conchs who inhabited the place anymore but rather new residents from all over the U.S. and beyond who have to work at least two jobs to afford to live on the island where resorts, hotels, and even wild chickens have taken over every corner of sand and land once easily accessible and available to enjoy by locals. This, I discovered while chatting with the hospitality workers everywhere I went.
While the streets remain the same, they are overcrowded by too many cars, and the sidewalks overrun by too many visitors. Finding parking anywhere near Duval Street and the surrounding streets, on either end, is impossible. There really just isn’t enough room for all that is happening every day. That said, there were still places to visit for us that had nothing at all to do with tourism.
We went to our paternal grandfather’s old house, now completely renovated from a typical Key West house with a screened-in front porch to a multi-million-dollar mansion with a pool and a tree sculpture by a famous artist. Definitely not the same house where I visited my grandpa. No plastic covered couch, no old recliner in front of a box fan. No Spanish-speaking granddad asking me all the questions a loving granddad does and listening with a smile. No grandma bringing me a cold glass of orange juice. That house has been erased. (You can check it out here on Zillow: 1211 Margaret St, Key West, FL 33040 | Zillow
Our maternal grandmother’s property on Stock Island no longer has the tall pine trees and chain link fencing but is still residential at the corner of 5th Street and 5th Avenue.
We went by my father’s last known address, and it still looks the same. The house where my mother grew up is no longer there, replaced by a new-build government building and a parking lot. Once upon a time, her childhood home sat right in that parking lot, directly across the street from the park (still there) where, as she explained it, some cowardly Ku Klux Klansmen once gathered to burn crosses. Her father, a commercial fisherman, sent my mom and her brothers inside because he didn’t want the kids to see that. A little too late though. They saw it.
Years later, my now-teenaged mom worked as a waitress at the S.H. Kress Co. lunch counter on Duval. One of the memories she shared was of a sit-in at that lunch counter by Black civil rights activists (during the late 50s). Later, a known mobster came around a few times leaving big tips for the waitresses. The building is still there, but Kress is no longer.
Another location that hasn’t changed is the old Key West cemetery. Dad’s grave still sits above ground at the corner of Angela and Frances Streets in the Catholic corner, as it’s called. There, after I drove my rented Pacifica minivan through the extremely narrow lanes between graves and mausoleums (didn’t kill anyone!), we paid our respects to our dad, our grandmother, and a great-grandmother. I’m sure, if it’s possible, that dad was surprised to see us, but happy. It was an emotional moment, and we introduced him to his daughter-in-law. I like to imagine he was probably wondering what his ex-wife was doing there, too, but that’s another story. There are so many stories in my family!
We did make it to Kino Sandals, a staple of Key West since I was a little girl, and a couple of shops nearby after getting lucky and finding a parking spot. It was absolutely broiling outside. One thing that has not changed is the suffocating humidity. As a kid, I struggled with it. As an adult, I refuse! I’m an air condition baby and not likely to change that fact. I prefer cooler temperatures if I’m going to be outdoors. I was born in December, after all! Give me fall, give me winter. Those are my faves.
One of the shops we visited had coins (called Cobs) recovered from the Nuestra Senora de Atocha, a Spanish Galleon that sank off the Florida Keys in 1622. Treasure hunter Mel Fisher found the wreckage and sold some of the booty discovered. This shop had not only some of the coins but also jewelry made from gold and silver bars recovered from the site. I treated myself to a bracelet made with silver from the Atocha that is over 370 years old. I love history. Plus, a gal has to spoil herself a little.
We also enjoyed the local cuisine. Although I regularly make Cuban food at home, it’s almost impossible to find a good Cuban Mix sandwich in Texas. It’s the Cuban bread that makes it followed by the pork. We tried a couple of places, but none better than El Jabanero on the boulevard (in the Winn-Dixie shopping center). They bake the bread fresh every day! And that shredded Cuban pork is on point! When it came out, wrapped in paper and smelling like my childhood, I nearly cried. I almost forgot to take a picture (I’d already eaten half of it).
In all, although Key West is not the place I remember as a child, it was enjoyed as a family, and we saw what we came see. The children of Al Gwynn returned and a Demeritt daughter and original Conch named Lynda made the trip down memory lane and was finally able to pay respects to her childhood best friend, Julie, who passed away suddenly several years ago.
We may never return to Key West again in our lifetimes, but I’m so glad we went now, while we all could. At least, in our memories, nothing has changed.
