impact to the reorganization, nearly a century later, of Ma Bell into all those little Baby Bells. For anyone who held substantial stock in a parent company of such clout, money was hardly an issue.
Flagler had amassed a fortune, it is true, but at the same time his monumental business achievements had brought him the apparent enmity of an entire nation. In addition, he had lost his wife, the virtual supporting pillar of his private life.
It should have come as no surprise, then, that a man in Flagler’s position—wealthy beyond imagination, his public life a source of never-ending condemnation, his personal life virtually obliterated—should be poised for a sea change.
But Flagler had begun to see the possibilities of satisfaction to be derived from sources outside the arena of business. His renovations at Satan’s Toe, along with the favor it found in the eyes of friends and business associates, had provided him with unexpected pleasure, and another uncharacteristic force had entered the purview of his life as well.
One of the nurses who had attended Mary Flagler during her final years was a young woman of thirty-five named Ida Alice Shourds, an attractive woman with flaming red hair, bright blue eyes, and a volatile temper. Flagler, who had lived thirty years with an attractive though restrained and often bedridden mate, found himself smitten. Though Ida Alice had no formal education and did not share Flagler’s own enthusiasm for reading and modest cultural interests, neither that nor the general disapproval of his friends and family seemed to bother the fifty-three-year-old Flagler greatly. His courtship was as resolute as his acquisition of wealth had been; in June of 1883, Flagler and Ida Alice were married.
Even Ida Alice’s fabled shopping sprees, which netted her one of the most elaborate wardrobes in New York City, didn’t faze him, for Flagler was a wealthy man, his net worth at $20 million and climbing with every barrel of crude oil that the vast Standard Oil combine pumped out of the ground. He had made it beyond his wildest expectations, this poor, puritanical boy from the sticks, and it seemed that he was ready to enjoy the fruits of his labor at last.
4
Paradise Found
Though Flagler, then fifty-three, and Ida Alice, thirty-five, had married in June, business considerations delayed their honeymoon until December. To escape the frigid New York weather, Flagler proposed a return to Jacksonville, where he and Mary had spent some of their more pleasurable days.
Flagler and his new bride traveled by rail to Jacksonville, and, after a few days rest, embarked on a sail down the St. Johns River to the historic town of Saint Augustine, founded by Spanish explorers in 1565 and the oldest settlement in the United States. To the Flaglers, harried by the press of city life, and mindful of a subzero cold wave that gripped the North, balmy St. Augustine, with its two thousand inhabitants, waving palms, and blooming orange groves, seemed like paradise itself. The honeymoon would last until March, and less than a year later, Flagler and Ida would return.
This time Flagler combined business with pleasure. He’d heard that a new hotel was being built in St. Augustine, and had been developing ideas of his own. He met with a Boston architect who had built a winter home of his own in St. Augustine, using a new poured-concrete process that allowed for considerable fluidity in styling, even where larger structures were concerned.
It was the key that Flagler had been looking for. In short order he had bought up a large section of unproductive orange groves, had hired himself a New York architect, and embarked upon the building of a lavish Mediterranean-themed hotel—the Ponce de Leon—in St. Augustine.
News of Flagler’s project swept through New York City financial circles like wildfire. For a man whose stature was the equal of John D. Rockefeller’s to embark upon a project of such magnitude at that time would
Flagler had amassed a fortune, it is true, but at the same time his monumental business achievements had brought him the apparent enmity of an entire nation. In addition, he had lost his wife, the virtual supporting pillar of his private life.
It should have come as no surprise, then, that a man in Flagler’s position—wealthy beyond imagination, his public life a source of never-ending condemnation, his personal life virtually obliterated—should be poised for a sea change.
But Flagler had begun to see the possibilities of satisfaction to be derived from sources outside the arena of business. His renovations at Satan’s Toe, along with the favor it found in the eyes of friends and business associates, had provided him with unexpected pleasure, and another uncharacteristic force had entered the purview of his life as well.
One of the nurses who had attended Mary Flagler during her final years was a young woman of thirty-five named Ida Alice Shourds, an attractive woman with flaming red hair, bright blue eyes, and a volatile temper. Flagler, who had lived thirty years with an attractive though restrained and often bedridden mate, found himself smitten. Though Ida Alice had no formal education and did not share Flagler’s own enthusiasm for reading and modest cultural interests, neither that nor the general disapproval of his friends and family seemed to bother the fifty-three-year-old Flagler greatly. His courtship was as resolute as his acquisition of wealth had been; in June of 1883, Flagler and Ida Alice were married.
Even Ida Alice’s fabled shopping sprees, which netted her one of the most elaborate wardrobes in New York City, didn’t faze him, for Flagler was a wealthy man, his net worth at $20 million and climbing with every barrel of crude oil that the vast Standard Oil combine pumped out of the ground. He had made it beyond his wildest expectations, this poor, puritanical boy from the sticks, and it seemed that he was ready to enjoy the fruits of his labor at last.
4
Paradise Found
Though Flagler, then fifty-three, and Ida Alice, thirty-five, had married in June, business considerations delayed their honeymoon until December. To escape the frigid New York weather, Flagler proposed a return to Jacksonville, where he and Mary had spent some of their more pleasurable days.
Flagler and his new bride traveled by rail to Jacksonville, and, after a few days rest, embarked on a sail down the St. Johns River to the historic town of Saint Augustine, founded by Spanish explorers in 1565 and the oldest settlement in the United States. To the Flaglers, harried by the press of city life, and mindful of a subzero cold wave that gripped the North, balmy St. Augustine, with its two thousand inhabitants, waving palms, and blooming orange groves, seemed like paradise itself. The honeymoon would last until March, and less than a year later, Flagler and Ida would return.
This time Flagler combined business with pleasure. He’d heard that a new hotel was being built in St. Augustine, and had been developing ideas of his own. He met with a Boston architect who had built a winter home of his own in St. Augustine, using a new poured-concrete process that allowed for considerable fluidity in styling, even where larger structures were concerned.
It was the key that Flagler had been looking for. In short order he had bought up a large section of unproductive orange groves, had hired himself a New York architect, and embarked upon the building of a lavish Mediterranean-themed hotel—the Ponce de Leon—in St. Augustine.
News of Flagler’s project swept through New York City financial circles like wildfire. For a man whose stature was the equal of John D. Rockefeller’s to embark upon a project of such magnitude at that time would
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