What has happened

Many in my HUGE and loving family moved to Florida, into Hernando County in the early months of 1959. Although you can still find some of us spread around in the United States, England, Canada and a few other places, my Grandfather, Joseph Smith brought most of his family: sons and daughters and brothers and sisters. Together with a partner, he purchased three of the four corners of Gower's Corners.

S.R. 41 and S.R. 52 Intersection.

I don't remember the place but it was the enormous and rural playground of the older cousins and one of my older sisters and it has a huge impact on our family history but other family members are much more informative on this matter. Unfortunately some of them will not even allow a computer into their home due to security risks so I'm stuck relying on what I know and was told, some of which I have forgotten. This is a good month for me to talk about this as this is the sad anniversary of my father's unsolved murder and it helps me to assimilate a bit. As well, some of my favorite pictures of him stem from those taken in the orange groves in the area at the time. He is standing on a ladder; smiling and pretending to pick oranges, or actually picking them, perhaps. ~~~~ A very handsome man, slim, with HUGE green eyes, looking very much like ME. Does that make me very handsome??? ROFLMFAO! It is easy to see why my Mama fell in love with him .. he has a beautiful, open smile ... I miss you daddy ... My earliest picture of their house shows the recently installed telephone poles but at the time there were no wires attached. It's VERY COOL. My grandfather and grandmother and some family members actually occupied the home portion of the gas-station/restaurant located at Gower's Corners. This was the site of many family memories and many of the older children reminisce of their time spent in and around Gower's Corners. Joseph Chapman who is mentioned in the link I provided was my Grandfather's partner.

Neither my Gramps or(perhaps as a result of his influence) any of my family, including myself; are much for publicity, preferring to work our magic from behind the scenes.

My Grandfather was extremely instrumental in organizing labor unions for the car manufacturers in Detroit. (more on this another day) ... in the family archives are front page articles heralding his arrival in Great Britain to help the auto-workers set up their own unions and to help the car factories organize and maximize the potential of their equipment.

My Grandfather was also a confidant and friend of President Franklin D. Roosevelt. On numerous occasions my beloved Grandpa and dimunitive Grandma, Ginny were dinner guests in the White House when Franklin and Eleanor resided there.

As an example of how UNpublic my Grandpa endeavored to live his life: I never knew this about he and FDR. You can't buy class, you're born with it. Just look around.

My Grandpa was my best friend and I followed him everywhere (due to my Daddy being murdered, he was my role model) ... but he never told me of his incredible accomplishments. My Aunt and other family members did.

Once I mentioned to a friend that my Grandpa was at the White House numerous times. I guess it's clear that I wouldn't be talking about it if it had been an invite to a Bush soiree... hehe.
But, I'm NOT bragging.
Anyhooooo, the friend said, "Wow, that is QUITE an honor for your family." And I gave that some thought over a long period of time (years!!). He's right. Not everybody gets into the WhiteHouse. My Grandfather was invited there because he was a decent and honorable man and an astute businessman who was furthering the goals of the Franklin D. Roosevelt administration, not all of which I agree with, by the way.

Eventually my Grandfather moved to Tampa (and then later out to Lutz) and went to work for Judge Lenfesty and when he retired (again! that man NEVER quit) he did some part-time stuff with Shelley ...... names escape me gotta fill this in later --- but he worked and was good friends with Pay-Less Furniture on Nebraska and other locations and also with John Alessi, owner of the bakery on Cypress Ave. John Alessi used to deliver my beloved Grandma's birthday cakes all the way out to Lutz. Very respectful. My Grandfather and he were very close and my Grandmother always felt extremely special due to this show of affection. When John would arrive, sometimes bringing his son, Phil we would all move to greet them and gather around as the cake was opened. Just as you have come to expect delights from Alessi today, the cakes were almost sinful in their over-the-top beauty and taste. When you sliced into them, all sorts of wonderful surprises were in store. Truly an incredible gift and much admired by all those present.
This takes me to too many other subjects that time constraints won't allow me to cover today but ---

The reason why we moved to FL was because my Father was killed in a rail-road train/car accident. I look upon that as a 'hit' now, knowing what I know. My Grandpa wanted my Mom out of MI and so here we came, down South.
My Grandfather brought his entire decent family to FL but apparently Florida did not really WANT decent people. This is becoming increasingly obvious to me.


I have to move this along fast to get up to the present time but soon after we moved to Tampa .....

One thing I'll mention: Now that I have set naivete' aside as much as possible -- I DO understand why my beloved Grandpa had enemies in Florida before he got to Florida.

Decency is actually HATED by the corrupt.


Corruption ---- it's how we WIN. I would like to suggest this as the new
slogan for Tampa. And for Florida.
When you cross the border into FL you fall into a category of being a mark if you are not connected to the muddy, bloody hands which seek to enslave everyone in Fl. and most especially it seems currently, in Tampa.


Mark — A carnival term for a townsperson, in the sense of 'victim.' When a carny spotted a towny with a big bankroll, he would give him a friendly slap on the back leaving a chalk mark so other carnies would know that this customer had lots of money. Often the ticket seller would mark the 'mark.' The booth would have a high counter, above the average person's eyesight, and the ticket seller would short-change the customer, leaving the change on the counter. If the customer didn't notice or didn't count his change, the ticket seller would lean over to give him some "friendly" advice about the best attractions, putting his hand on the customer's shoulder to point him toward the show he simply must see … and simultaneously dusting his back with chalk from a hidden supply. If the customer instead complained about the wrong change, the ticket seller could always push the remaining change to him and say "I told you to take it." And what do you do when you spot a mark? You "play" him - that's right, just like you play a fish.