BOY MOORE

My mother had a winning way with little boys. They were her favorite and main reliance as household helpers. She had the patient, sympathetic understanding of their potential abilities; the faculty of forgiving and overcoming their weaknesses that won their undying loyalty and affection and, what was equally important, made them competent, reliable workers and Christian characters for life.

The '99 freeze was a terrible catastrophe. The wind blew a gale from the northwest up to forty miles an hour. The temperature dropped to 14⁰ when the wind died. Oranges on the trees were frozen solid. Trees were killed absolutely to the surface of the ground. All citrus income stopped. New income must be found. George Wilkinson entered the post office, shivering, hugged the roaring stove and whimsically said, in his English accent, "After the '95 freeze dollars looked like wash tubs. Now they look like cartwheels". Economy was essential.

My mother's helper, Lincoln Hawkins, had graduated and gone North with one of the winter families to Boston. A new apprentice helper was needed as my mother spent much time managing our store which was, first opened as a commissary to supply our field hands and ourselves with fresh, economical food. With the coming of Mr. Hodges and his logging camp up Deep Creek and the expansion of the early potato industry, the population of the Point grew. Money flowed more freely; others asked if they, as well as our hands, could buy at our store. It became a country store with a varied supply of the simple necessities of life. It took considerable of my mother's time.

Of the many boys whose parents would have been proud to have had their sons work for my mother, one was so appealing in personal charm that he was taken on trial. Recently he said, “I was nine years old when I started working for your mother. I've been working for the family ever since. I hope I always will."

When I came back from school, the winter of 1901-'2, Boy Moore was a well trained house boy nine or ten years old.

Boy was, and is, a complete personality. He was living with his father, Nelson Moore, back in the woods near Deep Creek swamp, over a mile from the grove land, where he waited on table. Host children would have been terrified to walk through the woods in deep winter darkness. Not Boy.

Boy had a little 22 rifle with live ammunition which he could handle efficiently and competently.

When asked if he was afraid he said, "No, I'se not afraid. I has my rifle."

School claimed Boy for a time. Then Aunt Belle and Cousins Dora and Lucy needed someone to help with their winter guests, The Van Wyck's, and to help with their truck garden, orange grove and ornamentals.

Boy had an intelligent, inquiring, understanding mind. He possessed the rare faculty of getting along with notional, vacillating women--of learning, teaching and doing while keeping the respect and friendship of his employers and his fellow workers. He was honest, dependable, calm and courteous. A controlled, twinkle lurked in the depths of his eyes compelling confidence in his intentions and performance.

The Tabors of Glen St. Mary's nursery bought many palms and ornamentals from Cousin Dora. Boy learned the tricks of digging them and of propagation. What he learned he comprehended. For many years he helped the women struggle for a living in their, sometimes, impractical fashion.

At last the place was sold to the Atkinsons. Boy helped my father from time to time with potatoes and rose garden.

Uncle Edmund owned land near Deep Creek swamp. Boy bought a piece of this land, built a house and grew potatoes and garden truck on the land. He married a fine girl, Willie Hay. They had four children.

When Cousin Dora's estate was settled I took over the mortgage on Boy's place. During the depression wages were low, work was often lacking. With growing children to feed, clothe and educate Boy could do little more than make token payments on interest and mortgage. When he received his soldier's bonus his first thought was to pay off the mortgage and better furnish house and wardrobe.

After my father died Boy kept his eye on “Rose Lawn” and my step-mother, Frances. He would keep track of his time cleaning up the place and keeping the house, roofs, water system in order and a supply of fire wood on hand. He took suckers off the cyads in the front yard, planting them in a nursery. He sold surplus rose bushes and rose blooms on trips to town with his vegetables.

We had absolute confidence in his honesty, ability and faithfulness in working for our best interests.

Boy bought another place on the William Evans place by Mays swamp.

After World War II Boy came up “Two Falls” and helped with the apple harvest. He got along harmoniously with William Edwards and his colored crew. He was in charge of a nailing crew of men and white women. His tact, ability and personality overcame any prejudice. All worked harmoniously and efficiently.

Boy worked for J. French, Jr., who built a house on the Cole place and operated a business in Jacksonville later he built a motor court near Ocala. Boy landscaped the motor court, painted and did light plumbing and maintenance work. He drove home occasionally and kept an eye on “Rose Lawn”.

Boy Moore is an example of the development of character and skill that can come when children have the opportunity and privilege of working with sympathetic, understanding Christian people, one of the tragedies of our labor dominated civilization is the forbidding of employment of children under 14 years of age, even under ideal circumstances.

The "mustard seeds" when planted in good ground, is the strength of the America which we know and love.

Note: Francis wrote the following on receipt of the first installment of Memories".

Dear Mr. Stuart. I received your Memories of Florida. It is a well done job. I enjoyed every word in it since reading it I have been living in the past beginning in 1899. One incident I remember the morning of the freeze of '99 my sister carried me down to the post office. And I saw the two Wheeler Brothers, Mr. Preist, J. F. Tenney and Frank Tenney standing around the wood stove cutting oranges and I could hear the knife blade cutting through ice in the orange & Mr. Tenney said the fruit is all gone.

There is just a few of us left that remembers how Federal Point, Orange Mills, Esperanza or the Warner Section use to look.

I prize this gift of Memories of Fla. as one of my most valued possessions.

Francis E. Moore

(I stopped at Tuskegee University when passing through Alabama at Thanksgiving '52 to see Boy's son, John. He received his degree of Master of Science in Agriculture in August and was teaching there.

From an unpublished manuscript, Memories of Florida by E. Stuart Hubbard. Distributed to family and friends for Christmas 1951--1958. Verbal permission given to Lynn Hoffmann and Mary E. Murphy-Hoffmann to reprint and/or publish by E. Stuart Hubbard, a descendant of the author, some years ago by telephone.