The Fruit Growers Express began operations on March 18, 1920, in Jacksonville, Florida. A row of warehouses contained within a single building situated alongside rail tracks provided incredible logistical efficiency for the times. Men labored, loading, and unloading refrigerated boxcars. Fruit grown in Florida was shipped all over the nation from the location. Bib overalls and work boots were the uniform for those needing protection from wooden fruit crates containing shiv-like splinters.
Atlantic Coast Line Railroad established the hub in Jacksonville that brought opportunity to an otherwise depressed community. Its influence would be felt until 1986 when purchased by CSX Transportation. The area thrived for decades, but 1936 still proved a struggle for those incapable of employing requisite foresight to see good times ahead.
It had been three years since Roosevelt outlawed private ownership of gold, making physical dollars the only representation of wealth with properties that stimulated tactile senses of security. Those who’d trusted banks lost all in the 1929 stock market crash. By 1936, resilient ones reached a point of recovery through brute strength.
Criminals suffered due to the repeal of prohibition in 1933. Illegal spirits provided men who flaunted the law a means by which to amass wealth. Lucrative revenue streams disappeared, and the void required filling.
Occupying one end of the warehouse complex was a small lunch counter operated by John and Mayme Surrency. The couple had been married for thirty years. John was ten years his wife’s senior and possessed the strength of Joab. He witnessed the struggles that possessed his wife. Resolute was the man to do everything possible to provide her happiness.
Years earlier Mayme had a hysterectomy. Post operation therapy included morphine, to which she became addicted. John witnessed his once stunning wife as she withered beneath external influences. Fleeting blame was rationalized as nothing more than an aging visage. Employed intellect stoked awareness that drugs exacerbated his wife’s decline. It pained him, but he resolved to stand by the commitment he’d made on their wedding day.
November 25, 1936, was the day before Thanksgiving. There was an air of happiness along the warehouse platform. Men busied about their day, looking forward to spending time with extended family for the holiday. In addition to food service, John and Mayme were allowed by the owner of the lunch counter to operate a check cashing business for the workers. Weekly paychecks were normally cashed on Fridays. The holiday pressed the couple to provide not only food and cash, but for Mayme to help with Thanksgiving preparations.
The couple’s daughter Miriam hosted Thanksgiving in her Arlington home on Windermere Drive. The daughter was married to Noble Enge, a man of Norwegian descent. His parents lived next door and were always included in festivities. Miriam’s father-in-law, Nils Enge, was a stoic man who wore a long gray beard. During most family occasions he could be seen wearing a black suit, with gray shirt and tie and a black cowboy hat.
Noble had two brothers. The three operated a successful graphic design studio on East Forsyth. During a time of black and white print, the brothers brought color into the fledgling graphic design profession.
Miriam’s home was plenty large to host everyone. A large lot covered the length of the block, offering room for relatives to mingle outside during cool fall afternoons. Her youngest sister and family would be there. She was also called Mayme. Everyone called her Baby.
Most days John and Mayme spent together operating the food concession and doing that which was necessary to make a living during economically depressed times. The day before Thanksgiving offered the opportunity for Mayme to gather provisions and make the trek to Arlington and Miriam’s house to help set up for the following day. Her daughter had three young children. Theodore Noble, Junior, who everyone referred to as Ted, was nearly eight years old. Polio rendered the boy’s left leg nearly useless, and the only thing that gave his body support was a metal brace wrapped by leather straps. Bess was nearly six years old, and Carol nearly three. Baby and her two-year-old son were at Aunt Miriam’s house. The children loved when their grandmother came for a visit. Anticipation on that day was palpable.
John knew time with family would be good for his wife. There was purpose in her matriarchy. The man understood love conquered all and possessed the power to eradicate her demons. John stood atop the elevated platform, wearing a soiled apron, and waved goodbye to his wife as she set off on errands, and then to their daughter’s home.
Mayme drove from work over the Saint Johns River Bridge into San Marco. Although she preferred the personal attention of her grocer in Springfield, time was of the essence.
Excitement abounded as the woman filled her car with items she and John could contribute to a bountiful Thanksgiving for children and grandchildren. Times had been hard for so long, and the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel was coming into view. Anticipation of the joy experienced with family pushed any thought of morphine from the woman’s consciousness. Visions of grandchildren’s cherub-like faces drew back the corners of her mouth and manifested a grin felt genuinely within her soul. For all of her troubles, Mayme understood her daughters, and grandchildren, represented her thriving contribution to the human race. Evil’s grip might not loosen control upon her, but her family was alive, well, and most importantly, happy.
Mayme’s circuitous route took her from San Marco east on Highway 90, and then to Chaseville Road south for a quarter mile, and then onto the northern section of the road. Once over the Chaseville Bridge, she maneuvered the ninety-degree curve that set her path straight to Windermere Drive. Better economic times afforded her and John the opportunity to purchase a new 1936 Ford 4 door Sedan. In the backseat was a fresh turkey, a bag of cranberries for sauce, and two fresh loaves of bread: one to be used for dressing. Flour and eggs provided the raw materials for rolls and pie crusts. Mayme’s heart was full.
Two-year-old Carol was the first grandchild to meet Mayme at her car upon arrival. There was purpose on the toddler’s face as she walked quickly on unsteady legs to the driver’s door. She held her tiny hands fist-like, as if pulling herself closer to her grandmother. Taking caution to not knock her granddaughter over, the old woman opened the door slowly. Once the little countenance appeared in the gap, she picked her from the ground and quickly placed the little girl in her lap. Carol babbled incessantly sharing all of her new words with her grandmother.
Moments later she looked to see Bess and Ted emerge from the house. The two, more mature children, approached the car in a more controlled manner. Ted moved almost business-like, dragging his left leg along with him.
After all requisite hugs were given, Mayme looked up to see her daughter standing in the doorway, holding the screen door open and standing in its gap. “Do you need any help?” she called to her mother.
“I think Ted and I can handle it.”
“Okay,” Miriam replied before disappearing inside the house.
After Ted gave a muted hug with one arm and leaned in with his shoulder, he opened the back door of the car and grabbed bags for the trek inside.
“I’ll get the eggs, Ted.” It was the day before Thanksgiving. Grocers would have run out of fresh eggs. She didn’t wish to risk their celebration on a mishap.
Mayme walked slowly down the sidewalk holding the tray of eggs as Bess and Carol danced about her legs like gnats vying for attention. She walked all the way inside the house, through the living room and into the kitchen at the rear of the home. Placing the eggs on the table, she then reached with her free hands and embraced both girls. She pressed them into her legs with a hand on each girl’s back. Boundless affection was returned by each granddaughter squeezing Mayme’s legs as tightly as little arms allowed.
Without noticing, Miriam walked into the kitchen and alerted her mother to the first Thanksgiving tragedy. “Baby dropped the pumpkin pies on the floor. We have no pie for Thanksgiving.”
Mayme shot a quick look at her daughter. From inside the living room, she heard her youngest daughter’s voice. “Mama, I didn’t drop them. I put them on the washing machine to cool and decided to get some laundry done. The shaking of the machine pushed them right off onto the floor. It’s not my fault,” she proclaimed, as tears welled in her eyes. “I swear my life is like the dark hinges of hell.”
“Don’t worry, Baby. I can run by the farmer’s market and get another pumpkin. I’ll make the pie tonight at home and bring it in the morning.” Mayme reassured her daughter everything was going to be alright.
With granddaughters still attached to her legs, Mayme leaned into a hug with Miriam and then Baby, who’d entered the room. “I’ve got to go pick up your father at the bank and get him back to the lunch counter to cash the guys’ checks.”
“Okay, mama,” both women replied, before Baby offered a bit of advice. “You drive that fancy new Ford safely, okay?”
“I will,” Mayme responded before turning to leave the house.
As she entered the living room at the front of the home, she saw Ted had taken up a seat next to his Norwegian grandfather. “Bye, Ted.” She shifted her gaze to the old, bearded man who spoke little English. Feeling the need to speak loudly so the man could understand her, Mayme called to the old man, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Enge.”
The old man responded with a wave of his hand as he sat with a crossword puzzle in his lap, and a pencil in his hand. Miriam helped her father-in-law with the game as a means of learning English.
Mayme exited the house, walked down the sidewalk, and loaded into her new Ford. Although John waited for her at the bank just across the river, the fact that Jacksonville only had one bridge made the route time consuming. She glanced at the underside of her left wrist where she kept her watch. Making John wait wasn’t top of mind, it was the men who worked at the Fruit Growers Express who counted on them to cash checks. She raced to get there before the 12:30 lunch break ended.
As she approached Barnett Bank, she saw her husband standing outside talking with the bank president. Maneuvering the car into an empty space in front of the men, she waved.
The president returned the gesture. He knew time was short and they needed to get back to the warehouse.
Mayme slid across the front seat, allowing her husband to drive them back to work. They exchanged a pleasant kiss before John turned and looked over his right shoulder while backing out of the space. “Did everything go okay at Miriam’s?”
“Perfectly. Well, except for Baby.”
The man looked at his wife. “What did she do now?”
His wife smiled. “She placed the pumpkin pies on the washing machine in order for them to cool, and then did a load of laundry. The vibration of the machine sent the pies onto the floor.” She paused. “Oh, and we need to stop and get a pumpkin on the way home.”
John leaned toward his wife, turned the steering wheel in the same direction using the hand-over-hand technique and smiled. “Sometimes I think that girl is cursed,” and then chuckled.
The couple retraced a path they’d driven hundreds of times over their seventeen years at the Grower’s Express. As the man straightened the vehicle’s path on Kings Road, he noticed a car blocking the street ahead. He slowed the vehicle’s speed and came to a stop yards from the car. Inside he saw two, young, black men. “I’ll see if they need help,” John told his wife.
Inside the supposedly stalled car were Alvin Tyler and James Baker, the latter drove the car. Between them was a .45 caliber pistol. Intent on robbing the couple, the men had been told John would be carrying at least two hundred dollars. Baker’s nerves got the better of him and pleaded with his acquaintance to not go through with it. “Let me just drive away. We can’t do this.”
Tyler barked his response as he reached for the gun between the two. “I’ll take care of this. They say this man is a scared man. He’ll be easy to rob.”
“Don’t do it, man.” Baker pled.
His accomplice sat silently holding the gun in his lap.
John approached the car with a smile. “You fellas need some help?”
Without conscience, Tyler stepped out of the car and approached Mr. Surrency. When the men were close enough to shake hands, the young man brandished the gun which he’d been holding behind his back. Without thought, John lunged at the man and began punching him. A cut opened on the left eye of the young man, who pushed toward his victim. When his momentum carried John to the ground, the young man swung the butt of his gun toward the man’s head. Defensively, the old man was able to grab the wrist of his assailant just enough to slow its progress. Nevertheless, a blow was struck that stung the old man. Feeling at a disadvantage Surrency gathered himself and crawled, before standing, and hurrying back to his car. There he had a weapon of his own.
The old man felt nervously under the driver’s seat until he sensed the familiar form of his .38 caliber weapon. Tyler chased after him. John fell into his seat and faced the assailant as he approached.
Baker emerged from the assailant’s car in order to retrieve his accomplice and leave before things got worse. Mayme saw the second man approaching to seemingly assault her husband. She got out of the car, made her way around the front, and began pulling Baker away from the altercation.
Before John was able to aim and fire, Tyler unloaded five bullets into the man’s chest and torso. Mayme and Baker heard the gunfire and turned to witness the murder. The woman saw her husband bleeding profusely from several wounds. Stepping back away from the scene, Mayme stumbled and fell into the roadside ditch. Without remorse, Tyler walked around the front of the car while reloading his pistol. He faced the fifty-three-year-old woman. She looked at him stoically, unafraid of what was to come. The robber turned murderer raised his gun and shot twice. The first bullet pierced her abdomen and lodged next to her spine. The second missed her body but was caught in the fabric of her dress.
As the reality of the carnage set into the psyches of the young men, they quickly ran back to their car. Once inside, they drove speedily, but only to the end of the road. Slamming on the brakes and becoming engulfed in a cloud of dust from the dirt road. The two men bounced out of their car and ran toward an open field. Jumping the fence, they scurried across the pasture. Baker possessed more speed and easily beat the assassin to an awaiting getaway car on the far side of the field.
Tyler made it to the car and found his accomplice lying on the floor of the backseat. A white man was driving and implored the second assailant to get in so they could leave the crime scene. The second man jumped across the backseat and lay flat. The driver sped away and the back door slammed shut under the influence of the undulating car that swerved along the dirt road.
When the trio felt safely away from the scene, the two men sat up in the back seat. Tyler admitted to the driver, “you said that man was a scared man. He’s got more guts than any man I ever see’d. You know I had to shoot him. I think I killed him.”
Seemingly without concern for their lost loot, the driver replied, “what of it; let the motherfucker die.”