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table of Issue 17 | Fall 2010 Copyright © Pulse the Magazine, Inc. PO Box 1896 • Tavares, FL 32778 Publisher Calvin Arnold Managing Editor Richard Huss Marketing & Development Mari Henninger Design Director Kimberly Smith Ditto’s Print Shop Advertising Design Lorri Arnold Photography Bill Casey Steven Paul Hlavac Marc Vaughn Illustration Jennifer Cahill Harper Contributing Writers Jeanne Fluegge Pam Myers Mari Henninger Ella Paets Susan Green Jaillet Copy Editors Susan Green Jaillet Nancy Butler-Ross Advertising Sales Calvin Arnold 407.421.6686 Don Thibodeau 352.552.2655 Pulse the Magazine is published quarterly. We are advertiser– supported and available without charge at participating businesses in the Mount Dora, Eustis and Tavares area. Mail subscription information is available upon request. All opinions expressed in these pages are those of the writers. Letters to the Editor are welcome. Please type or print clearly. Letters must carry the writer’s name and city of residence, a signature if sent through hard mail, and at least one type of contact information: e-mail address, phone number, or physical address. Only the writer’s name and city will be published. All letters sent to Pulse the Magazine may be published in print and/or at our Web site. We reserve the right to edit for accuracy, brevity, clarity, legality, and taste. Letters should be e-mailed to pulsethemagazine@gmail.com or hard mailed to Publisher at Pulse the Magazine, PO Box 1896, Tavares, FL, 32778.

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contents

Ramblin’ with Richard From Ma Bell to Pa Gates... The Technology Wars

6

Natural Florida Vultures

8

Writers One Flight Up Introduces Al Chiodi

10

After the Apocalypse “Alas, Babylon”

14

Marc Vaghn A People Photographer

20

Discovery Gardens Experience the Creation of Beautiful Gardens

24

Montessori Comes to Roseborough Merry Hadden and Maria Montessori Converge

28

I Once Was Lost But Now I’m Found Resurrecting Mount Dora’s African American Cemetery

32

about the

cover

Our cover for Issue #17 is one of the “Portraits of a Small Town” by Marc Vaughn, a Mount Dora resident and professional photographer. According to Marc, “If it has a person in it, I want to ‘shoot’ it.” Marc and his photography is our feature article – see page 20.


from the

publisher

Wow … we went to 40 pages this issue thanks to advertiser support, stellar writing and incredible photography. We certainly hope you enjoy a bigger, better and more beautiful “Pulse”. Ella Paets spent a lot of time talking with Merry Hadden, the Director of the Mount Dora Montessori School. We especially like the fact that an old, dilapidated, abandoned structure was renovated and rehabilitated into a useful and efficient building.

of Harvest and the glittering Magic

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20

Mari Henninger has two articles – one article about a novel written by a local author about post apocalyptic Mount Dora. The other article is a discussion with a very talented local photographer, Marc Vaughn. You’ll enjoy both of these pieces, particularly the photographs of Marc’s incredible work.

Celebrate the colors

ddecorative de corative acce accents e nts

20

And Jeanne Fluegge worked equally as hard uncovering the stories behind the Simpson Cemetery. Once again we have found a story about local people giving their time and energy to uncover stories of our historic past. Also, for many folks, these stories and memories about past loved ones has allowed them to achieve a sense of closure.

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Our second Kudos Panel is about the achievements of Justin Weber, a local resident now studying music composition at Stetson University. Accolades at such a young age – makes one almost want to be young again. We welcome a new writer to the Pulse fold – Susan Green Jaillet. Susie is taking over the Green Scene and promises to bring us an unadulterated view of what it means to “be green” – to help preserve our environment and be able to still enjoy our lifestyle. We look forward to Susie bringing new information, ideas and points of view to Pulse. And, we direct you to our website for additional information, photos and references. Just go to pulsethemagazine.com to connect with us electronically. We also provide direct links to the websites of our advertisers and contributors. Thanks for your support and let us hear from you, our readers. Sincerely, Calvin Arnold, Publisher

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SP O

Ramblin’ with Richard

ED BY: OR NS

From Ma Bell to Pa Gates … The Technology Wars I’m not one of the Luddites

photo by Michelle Pedone©

who hates technology – thinks technology is the spawn of the devil. I began embracing technology when I mastered the Ma Bell party line and became telephone proficient.

My love-hate relationship with computers, however, began in the mid-90s with my first PC, and heated up circa 1998 about the same time Tom Hanks’ cinema relationship heated up with Meg Ryan in “You’ve got Mail.” I remember hearing the cool ding of an email received followed by the synthesized voice announcing to both Hanks and Ryan, “You’ve got mail.” The future was here, and it was mine to enjoy. Well, almost. Hollywood certainly made it look a helluva lot easier for Hanks and Ryan to use technology than it has been for me. But, then, that’s Hollywood.

The cause? I’m not a touch typist. To use the current vernacular, “I don’t keyboard.” I hunt and smash the keys with relatively fat index fingertips. Since I stare intensely at my fat fingers, willing them to smash the proper keys, I pay no attention to the trailing opposing appendages, my thumbs, which occasionally strike other keys in a random pattern. When the finger and the trailing thumb activated a simultaneous dual-key smash, I was immediately thrown into a strange “program screen.”

Icons are not Byz antine religious paintings.

Take a simple matter like the opening screen containing all of your “icons.” My first adjustment was to not think of icons as Byzantine religious paintings of obscure saints hanging in churches, museums and scattered throughout Middle Eastern history books. And, what did each little icon symbolize? Some were easy to decipher, like “AOL” for email. But others were symbolic mysteries only to be solved by ace cryptographers housed in the bowels of the CIA. And, regularly, my icons simply disappeared, replaced

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with a strange foreign screen heretofore unseen by us non-geeks. When this happened, my only recourse was to disrupt my wife’s day in corporate-ville. She was always in meetings and never available to take my calls, therefore, my frantic voicemails started with, “Help me. Please. I’ve lost all my icons.” This may sound like a simple matter, but it took both of us several years to finally discover the cause of the mysterious loss and the emergence of these unknown surprise replacement screens.

I solved the case of the missing icons by learning to hold my thumbs higher, just a bit, as I continued to hunt and smash at my keyboard. I think I’m the only guy who has actually worn out his keyboard. Incessant pounding evidently is not the “touch system” intended for sensitive equipment. Even more comical for me to understand was the alleged simple task of “saving a document.” I had to place my cursor on the toolbar on an icon (I amaze myself with my new technical vocabulary) that in no


way resembled anything to do with “saving a document.” After many futile attempts, I learned that the little icon third from the left on the tool bar is the one you click to save your work. Years after mastering the use of this indecipherable icon, I innocently asked my wife, “Honey, could you please explain to me why I have to click on the ‘console TV set’ in my toolbar to save a document?” The look on her face said it all: Where did this incredible technological dumb bunny come from? But instead of laughing out loud and totally embarrassing me, she sweetly said, “What TV set? What are you talking about?” I said, “You know, the one on the toolbar. I’ll show you.” We got up from the table, walked to my computer, and I pointed to it with the same fat index finger that had been destroying keyboards. “That one,” I said pointing to the third icon from the left. At that point she did burst into an uncontrollable fit of howling laughter through which I heard the garbled phrase, “That’s a diskette. You save your document to a diskette.” I didn’t need to ask her what a diskette was. She promptly gave me a succinct history of storage devices from pre-floppy discs to the current flash drive – a device the size of your thumb that supposedly has

the storage capacity of your entire computer. Yippee. I still do not understand why we “save to” an icon of a diskette. Get with it Misters Gates and Jobs. The tool bar should show an icon of a CD, or at least a file folder. Geeks, I’ll never understand them. I’m proud to say I’m now proficient at many computer tasks and am no longer totally dependent on my wife, who now works next to me in our shared office. Google is special fun for me, rendering obsolete the laborious task of scanning countless reference books for information. I still marvel at the wealth of knowledge I have at my fat index finger tips. And I owe special thanks to my youngest son who refused to answer my emails, forcing me to use my cell phone to text him. Ahh, finally we have a legitimate reason to allow teenagers to live with us.

T he VCP Wall:

“ B l owing o ut t he ot her fel l ow’s candle wil l not mak e y o urs shine brighter.”

7 • PULSE • FALL 2010


Natural Florida

SPONSORED BY:

by: Pam Myers photography by: Bill Casey

If

you have traveled down Lakeshore Drive between Mount Dora and Tavares in recent weeks, you surely have encountered dozens and dozens of vultures. Both Turkey Vultures and Black Vultures have been hanging around the shoreline, hopping along in the grass, and loitering on the docks. They have a single mission in mind: to devour the numerous dead fish along the water’s edge. These birds feed mainly on dead carcasses…carrion. They provide a valuable service to the planet as nature’s clean-up crew. Turkey Vultures (Cathartes aura) have a keen sense of smell and can locate carrion from miles away as they soar high in the sky. Black Vultures (Coragyps atratus) locate food mainly by sight and will often seek out the band of feasting Turkey Vultures then join the banquet as uninvited guests. The banquet along Lakeshore Drive has been mainly catfish. John Benton of the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission (FWC) told me that the above normal heat this summer has raised the water temperatures in our lakes. Hot water does not hold much oxygen and the fish that feed on the bottom of the lakes where the oxygen is zero percent struggle and die. Biologists have a term for the struggling, near death state of these oxygen-starved fish. It is referred to as moribund.* The prevailing southwest winds that have persisted over much of the summer have pushed the moribund fish toward the north shore of Lake Dora. The resulting piles of rotting carcasses are very attractive indeed to the local vultures! The slang term for vultures is “buzzards.” Don’t make the mistake of using that generalized term when you are out with experienced birders. Birders don’t like it and will sharply correct you. If you are lucky, they will forgive you and point out the features of the two

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Black Vulture

vultures we see throughout the state of Florida. Both types of vultures are seen roosting and soaring in groups. When vultures soar, they hold their wings up in a slight V and wobble high in the sky between choppy wing beats. The Turkey Vulture has a small red head a two toned underwing. The Black Vulture has a wrinkled gray head, a shorter tail, a silvery patch on the wing tips. Both species often spread their wings when


The slang term for vultures is “buzzards.” “In the land of Mickey Mouse, Bambi and Donald Duck, workers routinely beat vultures to death with a stick . . ”.

they roost. They both have naked heads and necks which enable them to feed deep into animal cavities without fouling their feathers. These birds mate for life and in Florida nest in hollow trees or on the ground in palmetto thickets. They lay 1-3 eggs and feed their young by regurgitating into their mouths. If you were in Central Florida in the late 1980’s, you may recall the unflattering stories about Disney deliberately killing some of their vulture population. The Orlando Sentinel, on September 24, 1989, reported that:

“In the land of Mickey Mouse, Bambi and Donald Duck, workers routinely beat vultures to death with a stick according to state and federal investigators.

employees–most dealing with the death of vultures which were crammed into a tiny, overheated shed for days with limited food and water. Disney officials first blamed the incident on a misunderstanding surrounding the conditions of a federal permit that allowed the company to trap and relocate 100 black vultures. The vultures were pecking at park animals, bothering visitors and destroying vinyl seats and other park property. This was indeed a disgrace for Disney as a state report concluded that many of the employees at Discovery Island carried out illegal activities at the direction of curator Charlie Cook and that the workers were acting with the understanding that those activities were legal and authorized under Walt Disney World permits.'' This type of incident perpetuates the notion that vultures are our foes and not to be valued. In reality, they are a protected species and provide the valuable service of cleaning up carcasses that would otherwise emit a terrible stench and create breeding grounds for parasites and diseases. So next time you see vultures, take a minute to thank them for all of the free clean up services they provide and apologize if you have mistakenly referred to them as “buzzards!”

That's what they found behind the scenes at Disney World's Discovery Island, an 11-acre zoological park. A two-month investigation resulted in 16 state and federal charges filed against Disney and five of its

Turkey Vulture 9 • PULSE • FALL 2010


Sponsored by One Flight Up

photography by: Bill Casey

New WOFU Writing Contest Writers One Flight Up in partnership with Pisces Rising Restaurant presents: The Inaugural Pisces Rising Flash Fiction Contest. Writers are challenged to submit a maximum of 650 words of prose (not including title) based on an original painting by local artist, Norman Rinne. The painting is on display at Pisces Rising in Mount Dora and can be viewed online. Go to writersoneflightup. com, pulsethemagazine.com or partnersincrimepublishers.com to view the painting online and to get full details including the contest deadline and a description of the prizes. Prizes for first, second and third places will be awarded.

Whistling

by Al Chiodi

OK, so one day I could whistle. Starting in an early morning dream, my talent rose over my mid-Florida bungalow. When I awoke, I was whistling like Billy Joel on “The Stranger,” then like Hoagy Carmichael on “Stardust.” Whistled clean through shaving, I did, then through breakfast but had to stop for the corn flakes, of course. I never could whistle before. Oh sure, maybe a half-assed childhood tune now and then. But this was virtuoso stuff, with subtlety, volume, and tone. My wife, Gale, was amazed. She’d name a tune and I’d blow through it like a kind of Miles “Lips” Davis. Our cats, drawn mystically from their food bowls, gathered for the jam. They piled around like fluffy beatniks, for there was no doubt that the sub- and ultra-human frequency were also cool, round, and perfect to their pointy ears. I whistled all the way to work listening to those crappy oldies on Q-bomb 102.7 on my radio dial. Knew every flippin’, freakin’ song, by God. I was getting better as the

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PULSE • FALL 2010 • 10

“…I wasn’t embarrassed because I had real “David Letterman Show” talent…” seconds passed! However, at work response to my good fortune took a sinister tone. Oh sure, the first few people commented, “He’s in a good mood,” or “Musta got laid last night,” because whistling about those events is appropriate. However, once I was in my cubicle and whistling to my CD player, I noticed people were getting very irritated. One so-called friend came by and begged, “Could you please stop? I can’t get any work done and aren’t your lips tired anyway?” But no, my lips weren’t tired at all.

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At lunch, I got nothing but dirty looks. I sat around the central fountain eating my Cuban sandwich with potato salad. Then as soon as I downed a Coke to wet my whistle, I began a bouncy salsa number. The crowd quickly dispersed around me until I was alone. So I kicked off my Hush Puppies and splashed in the fountain blowing “Singing in the Rain.” Doobie, doop, doobie, doobie, doobie, doop, doobie… And that cooked it. Comment after comment came to my little cubical as co-workers went out of their way to offer unwarranted critiques about the high pitches of my puckered lips. “Too Sunny” “Too Happy” “Off Key” “No Talent” “Stupid Tune” “Simpleton” “Idiot” “Sucks.” I was flipped off twice in the halls and once at the urinal. I knew everyone would hate me by the end of the day but how do you stop the sun from shining? I just had to whistle.

was too late. I puckered to whistle to Gale that “Whew! That was hot!” But my mouth was too blistered and swollen. Even that most insignificant form of whistling was lost to me forever. I have no regrets. Now and then, I reminisce with my colleagues about that day so long ago. I know they love me again and that’s OK with me. Sometimes though I do sit in my cube, staring at the computer screen for hours, and wondering what it would be like to be in Hollywood puckering for this or for that.

At noon-thirty my group leader came by. “Al, you’ve done a good day’s work. Why don’t you go home now?” She’s never done that in the twelve years I’ve labored here. Not once. Not ever. I suspected the dismissal was because of my whistling. So I did go home where I became a human jukebox. While I whistled my way through our CD collection, Gale would harmonize, or play the bongos. I will love that afternoon as long as I live. About sevenish I ordered a pizza. I called the place where those guys carry portable pizza heaters plugged into the cigarette lighters of their light blue ’83 Firebirds painted with big black birds on the hoods and glowing signs on their roofs. A young woman answered and I was put on hold. So I whistled “Moon River” with the Muzac on the telephone. When she returned to take my order, she laughed at me, but I wasn’t embarrassed because I had real “David Letterman Show” talent, real “Stupid People Trick” kind of talent. My wife and I had already agreed I would and should and could do something with this gift. We had plotted my career as a Hollywood “whistle-over” professional for commercials. Wealth and fame would surely follow me the rest of my days. When the pizza came in less than thirty minutes as promised, it was fresh and hot and it smelled delicious. I was famished from my all day pucker fest. As I paid the pizza guy, I whistled his company’s jingle. When I took the first bite of our tasty repast, the cheese and pepperoni bubbled like a roiling cauldron of molten metal. My lips and tongue scalded instantly. I rushed to drink my icy cold Frosty Root Beer to cool the heat, but I

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After the Apocaly pse Imagine

by: Mari Henninger

waking one morning to a glorious sunrise and seeing the sun burst over the lake behind your house, creating a bright orange ball of fire as it reflects on the water. Then, while you’re still in that place between sleep and full awareness, you see a second, even brighter sun flash on the horizon. You think you're in a dream, until you feel a thunderous shaking of your house. Now fully awake, you know this is Florida – there are no earthquakes. You know something is seriously wrong, and from someplace deep inside, you know your world will never be the same.

living on Lake Beauclaire in Tangerine. Much of the fictional town of Fort Repose was modeled after nearby Mount Dora.

Welcome to Fort Repose and the world, created by Pat Frank in his 1959 post-nuclear holocaust novel, "Alas, Babylon." Frank drafted the novel between 1957 and 1958 - at the height of Cold War tensions - while

The Mount Dora of that time is seen through the eyes of Randy Bragg, a sometime lawyer who often begins his morning with a hangover and bourbon in his coffee. He's from an illustrious family of founding

illustration by: Kimberly Smith

"Alas, Babylon," was reprinted 30 times between 1959 and 1975 and remains a best seller today. It's one of Amazon's 10 top-selling titles of 20th century American literature, keeping company with books by Ernest Hemingway and William Faulkner while eclipsing the works of John Steinbeck, Jack Kerouac and Pearl Buck. But beyond its literary merits, "Alas, Babylon" provides intriguing insights into life in 1950's Mount Dora and the surrounding areas.

PULSE • FALL 2010 • 14


fathers and grove owners but is a bit lost after returning from Korea to his hometown Thanks to a small trust fund and yearly checks from the orange cooperative, he has time to adjust. During a Christmas visit, his brother Mark, an intelligence officer for the Strategic Air Command in Omaha, impresses on Randy the dire threat of war due to the Soviet Union's weapons advantage. Inspired to be the type of leader that Mark thinks the country needs, Randy runs for the state legislature. Though a moderate on desegregation, he's labeled a "traitor to his race" by his opponent, Porky Logan, who brags about his own seventh grade education and claims Randy isn't smart enough to know the Supreme Court is controlled by Moscow. Randy loses by a resounding margin. Like Mount Dora at the time, Fort Repose is segregated into three distinct sections: The main part of town where the affluent whites live, the black section where those of color are sequestered and Pistolville, a rough and tumble area on the outskirts of town where the "white trash" live. Everybody knows their place and stays there except for Randy, who sees the world differently after Korea and his failed election attempt. He questions why he can no longer talk in the same way to his black neighbor and close childhood friend, Malachi. Reflecting on the social conventions that limit his interaction with Malachi, Pat Frank pens, "It was difficult. From the days when they fished and hunted together, he (Randy) had always felt close to Malachi. They could still work in the grove, side by side, and discuss as equals the weather and the citrus and the fishing, but never any longer share any personally important matters. They could not talk politics or women or finances."

of one sibling's nose. As "Time" noted, "Last week the FBI said it would investigate for possible violations of civil rights. Otherwise, Mount Dora seemed to be trying to forget the whole affair...No one besides Editor Reese seemed to care." Randy’s ruminations and rebellion end when he receives a telegram from his brother with their code word for imminent disaster, "Alas, Babylon." The worst happens the next morning: Miami, Orlando, Jacksonville and Tampa are all hit by atomic bombs launched from submarines. Due to favorable winds, Fort Repose is spared radiation. But it loses everything else: electricity, telephone service, food deliveries, gasoline and its social order. Seeing the town quickly dissolve into chaos, Randy removes himself, along with a few good friends, to an enclave near his grove house a few miles out of town. Through ingenuity, perseverance and grueling, unceasing labor, they survive. Class and race distinctions disappear as the poor, once denied modern amenities, are the ones possessing the knowledge to produce tradable goods; they know how to fish, grow food and have the tools to live without electricity. The social reordering is epitomized by a notice posted in downtown Fort Repose, "WILL SWAP - Late model Cadillac Coupe de Ville, radio, heater, air-conditioned...for two good 28-inch bicycle tires and pump."

While today few worry about nuclear holocaust, new “end of the world” scenarios are emerging as the year 2012 approaches.

Randy rebels against the small mindedness of local citizens. Wives of wealthy men work to ban books that are "subversive and anti-South." Fort Repose's librarian fights back by threatening to bring in the media. National media reporting was in fact an embarrassment for 1950's Mount Dora. In December 1954, "Time" magazine ran a story based on Mabel Reese's editorials in the “The Mount Dora Topic." Her editorials opposed the county's decision to bar a family's children from the all-white Mount Dora school based on the shape

In addition to the emerging social and economic equality, Randy sees many other improvements in the post-apocalyptic world. Retired people, once languishing in their uselessness, find new purpose as they put their skills back to work. People visit the library instead of watching TV. They regain a communal spirit that was lost when technology began isolating them from one another. "Alas, Babylon" has been criticized as a simplistic morality tale. But for readers of the time it provided a glimmer of hope in a world that felt it was one human error away from annihilation. Unlike similar books of the period, "Alas, Babylon" assured people that the end was not the end, but that through faith, ingenuity and perseverance humans had the capacity to survive and flourish. This hopeful voice, in a wilderness of doom, ensured the book's success during the Cold War. 15 • PULSE • FALL 2010


The book's effect on Mount Dora was more concrete. Residents knew that Fort Repose was modeled after Mount Dora: The fictional Riverside Inn was the Lakeside Inn, Yulee Street was Donnelly, and Pistolville was located on Mount Dora's Highland Avenue. The leaders of Fort Repose were not only portrayed as inept, they were reduced to powerless, frightened caricatures of their former inflated selves. Frank's fiction struck too close to home. So, like Randy, a number of Mount Dora residents took the future into their own hands. Many built fallout shelters in their homes and, in 1961, a group of 25 prominent families built a secret 5,000-square-foot shelter known as "The Catacombs" under a local orange grove. They planned for every eventuality, from seeds to provide uncontaminated food when they emerged six months later, to vaults to hold the dead. In a 1991 article about that time in our local history, "The Orlando Sentinel" reported that many Catacomb families had stockpiled guns, liquor and cans of coffee, items which "Alas, Babylon" identified as crucial commodities in a postnuclear holocaust world. "Alas, Babylon" probably also inspired the extremely stringent regulations governing the most minute aspects of daily life in the Mount Dora shelter. As Bill Sievert, founding editor of “Pulse,” noted in his extensive article on "The Catacombs" in the magazine's inaugural issue (August/September, 2006), the rules were frightening, granting broad enforcement authority to the Security Committee. The committee would have been responsible for distributing all food and other supplies, controlling all firearms and settling disputes. Sievert mused that it was left unstated how the Security Committee intended to punish infractions of policies when, as time wore on, children misbehaved and adult tempers flared. Pat Frank wrote about "The Catacombs" in his subsequent book, "How to Survive the H Bomb - And Why" published in 1962. He called the complex the country's most elaborate privately financed group shelter, but declined membership himself. He explained, "I can't imagine being visited by my sister PULSE • FALL 2010 • 16

The new look of disaster shelters. and brother-in-law and their children at the precise moment the balloon goes up. What do I say? Do I say, 'Sorry, Dolly old girl, we can't take you into our shelter. You and Leonard and the kids will have to stay here and be irradiated. But meanwhile feel free to use anything you find around the house.' No, I don't think I can say that." As the Cold War ended, the Catacombs complex was abandoned. All that remains are the haunting images of nuclear war that baby boomers and their elders harbor in the remote recesses of their minds. While today few worry about nuclear holocaust, new “end of the world” scenarios are emerging as the year 2012 approaches. Vivos, a San Diego company, is offering shares in the equivalent of high-end communal fallout shelters located across the country for a mere $50,000 per adult and $25,000 per child. While far cushier than their predecessors, the existence of Vivos' shelters is indicative of the fear stoked by our 24-hour cable news cycle of death and destruction. Let's hope that today's fears are as unfounded as those held during the Cold War. In an ideal world, we would skip the fear and fallout shelters and move toward creating communities of mutual support and respect. That might be too much for us to expect at this stage of human development. But like Randy in "Alas, Babylon," our belief in the possibility of peace and cooperation might just make the unthinkable possible.


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Al lives in Mount Dora with his wife, Gale and their two girls. "Whistling" is included in his fourth book, "Eight", a collection of Zen poems and short stories.

Jeanne Fluegge : Jeanne loves to write and participates, when time permits, in the writing groups in Mount Dora. Primarily a fiction writer, she has turned to magazine articles as one of her creative outlets.

Jennifer Cahill Harper :

A native of Mount Dora, Jenny spent several years illustrating for Random House. This is her third contribution to Pulse. She can be reached at jenhpr@gmail.com.

Mari Henninger : Mari Henninger is President of a strategic marketing and research company working with Fortune 100 companies and large arts organizations. Her articles in Pulse have reconnected her with her love of writing. Susan Green Jaillet :

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PULSE • FALL 2010 • 20


Marc Vaughn

An Advertising Photographer by Trade, A People Photographer by Passion by: Mari Henninger

Until recently I believed that the Native Americans were right – photographs steal your soul. I did not come to this opinion without ample evidence. I have a lifetime of ID photos, snapshots and corporate head shots to support my position. While by no means a great beauty, contrary to my photographic history, I do not resemble a cockroach, a prisoner of war or an alien from another planet. So it was with great trepidation that I asked Marc Vaughn to do a PR photo for my Web site. For 12 years I’ve run a successful international consulting business with neither a Web site nor a personal photo. I prefer to operate in the invisible realm. But the need for an electronic presence convinced me that it was time to face the dreaded, inevitable need for a Web site and the requisite head shot. Resigned to my fate, I had the luxury of choosing from a number of high-end professional commercial photographers living in the tri-city area. Ultimately, I asked Marc to do the shoot. I knew of his professional credentials, but I also knew him as a neighbor who I often met when walking around Lake Gertrude. He was always pleasant, often funny and seemed unlikely to “truly shoot me” rather than take my picture.

as it has a person it, I like shooting it.” He’s a master of intuiting who people really are and what they care about, often aided by his reading of their physical environment. He’s built a connection with people ranging from Carmen Elektra to CEOs of the country’s largest corporations. That’s the key to Marc’s magic -he focuses on you, connects with you and as he helps you focus on what you most love, you forget you’re being photographed.

“Marc has a gift for evoking inner beauty so that it can be seen on

I was fortunate that Marc agreed to do my PR shoot. It was unfortunate that he let me schedule it. Three, six, then nine months passed and I’d yet to set a date -- avoidance in full bloom. But when “Pulse” offered me the opportunity to write a story about Marc’s unique portraits of local people, I jumped at the chance. First, because I love his portraits, but also because I knew it would force me to schedule the dreaded PR photo shoot I’d been so assiduously avoiding.

As background for writing this article, I interviewed two of the local people Marc photographed for his “Portraits of a Small Town” exhibition beginning October 1st at the Schacknow Museum of Fine Arts in Plantation, Florida. The setting for each portrait is carefully selected to tell a story about the person in the photograph.

the outside.”

Marc is unlike many of the most successful photographers. Despite his stellar credentials, including a degree from the Art Institute in Fort Lauderdale, prestigious clients such as American Express, Motorola, Florida Tourism, and Walmart, along with numerous creative awards for his work, Marc remains a real person. He sees people as individuals, not as objects to be photographed. His down-to-earth perspective comes from years of working construction with his dad, Stephen Vaughn, a Mount Dora contractor. Remembering his roots, his mantra is, “It’s a whole lot easier being a photographer than pounding nails.” Shortly after beginning his career, he became known as “the people photographer.” According to Marc, “As long

Rick, the tree farmer whose photo graces our cover, said, “Marc just makes you comfortable enough to show who you really are. There’s a lot of me in that picture.” The tractor and two Great Danes in Marc’s original portrait mirror key aspects of Rick’s life. He describes the dogs as his babies and the tractor as a reflection of himself -- he remembers every dent he put in it. Rick looks a lot like the Marlboro Man, so it’s not surprising that other photographers have asked him to model for them. But he found their direction less than stellar, remembering one photographer who kept saying, “You’re the star, you’re the man.” Marc, in 21 • PULSE • FALL 2010


Rick’s nephew, Dyson, with a big boy hat. contrast, asked Rick to think about what really made him happy. Rick imagined what he most wanted in life. The result: a portrait of world weariness lighted by hope.

photo because it had more energy and was just more alive. Reflecting on the photo shoot Sandy says, “Marc has a gift for evoking inner beauty so that it can be seen on the outside.”

The portrait of Rick’s six year old nephew, Dyson, reflects the flip side of world weariness. While Dyson “took a header” right before Marc shot his photo, Marc calmed him down, a bit like a horse whisperer, and captured the beauty and light of his untouched innocence.

Encouraged, I finally scheduled my shoot with Marc. When I first talked with him, I shared my belief that photos steal your soul, and challenged him to capture my soul in the photos he shot of me. Not at all fazed by the request, Marc asked me to describe my soul. That stumped me, but seemed like a really good question. In the end, I invited him to my house, feeling it expressed non-verbally what I couldn’t articulate about the nature of my soul. When he saw the house, he immediately “got who I was.” He loved the colors and the feeling of my home, so we agreed to do the shoot there rather than outside as originally planned. Marc also helped me select what to wear, coached me on makeup and generally talked me down from incipient panic.

Sandy Boldini, “the lady in green” in one of Marc’s portraits, hadn’t planned to model for Marc. He’d asked to use her vintage 1950s living room as a backdrop for a photo shoot with a professional model. While they waited for the model, he offered to take a few shots of Sandy dressed in her trademark vintage clothing. Sandy describes the experience as “a blast.” She watched as Marc carefully adjusted the most minute aspects of the room to create the perfect balance reflected in her photo. A few shots turned into many, one of which produced the final portrait. Ultimately, the model arrived, beautiful and practiced in the art of posing. But in the end, Marc chose Sandy’s PULSE • FALL 2010 • 22

He arrived on a hot and sweaty day dragging a studio’s worth of equipment into the house. We began with a portrait to give me a sense of how he approaches the portraits he shoots. My first shots had the panicked


Sandy at home in her green world. deer-in-headlights look that has made me so photophobic. But Marc quickly adjusted lighting, got me thinking of something other than “being shot,” and made me feel so comfortable in front of the camera that my first PR shot looked great. This is a miracle rivaling the parting of the Red Sea. Marc, like many of the people he photographs, is a study in contrasts. His effervescent and trusting nature engage you, but he’s a consummate professional. He brings years of expertise and artistic intuition to his work, making what he does seem effortless. And I confess, he’s changed my belief that photographs steal your soul. As I previewed the untouched photos he’d taken, I realized they not only reflected who I am, but revealed a part of my soul I’d never seen. How cool is that? Marc’s exhibit runs from October 1st - 31st, 2010 at the Schacknow Museum of Fine Arts, 7080 Northwest 4th Street, Plantation, Florida 33317. To find out more about Marc and his portraits visit: vaughnportraits.com

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23 • PULSE • FALL 2010


Discovery Gardens Are you frazzled by today’s events just from reading the headlines? Newspaper or news group, they’re rarely uplifting. Do thoughts of being in nature and learning to live peacefully in the world calm your racing nerves? If you answer yes, then close your eyes, imagine yourself in a beautiful yard, surrounded by butterflies, dragonflies, colorful flowers, all accompanied by gentle breezes rustling fronds and leaves and the sounds of birds calling. Let me guide you on some short trips, virtual and physical, that will not only inform you, but inspire you to plan a simple yard project or two and give yourself some at home respite. Discovery Gardens, a part of the University of Florida, Lake County Extension and Horticultural Service, is located on Highway 19, Tavares. Florida Extension Services have been around for a long time. As a result of the University of Florida being one of two land grant colleges funded by the Federal Government back in 1862 and 1890, in 1909 the Florida State Legislature gave $7500 to the Extension program designed to promote “teaching, developed through research.” Extension services as we know them today have been with us since 1915. Still funded through state and

PULSE • FALL 2010 • 24

by: Susan Green Jaillet photography by: Steven Paul Hlavac

county government, Extension services provide information and education on agriculture, conservation, and consumer sciences. Isn’t it great to know that at least some of your tax dollars go for a good cause? One you can benefit from without paying extra? Lake County’s Discovery Garden was incubated in July 1994 by Charles Fedunak, Environmental Horticultural Agent, University of Florida, when he first started work at the Extension Center. Charles and one volunteer started the existing 3.5 acre Discovery Gardens on the 4.5 acre site. They even had to bring their own shovels. Charles grew up on a working ranch in Oklahoma and worked in construction, as a journeyman electrician, carpenter and plumber. He has a Bachelor’s degree in Horticulture and a Master’s in Education. His diverse background and a visit to the Smithsonian helped him conceptualize Discovery Gardens, a place where “kids could be outside doing stuff” and folks could have the experience of seeing and growing beautiful gardens. Charles wanted an educational garden, set up like a room, with some of the workings left exposed so people could see how they functioned. He wanted to give people an idea where to start. A favorite part of his job is the educational programs for


over 2000 pubic, private and home-school students who toured the Gardens last year. In addition to school children, visitors include professional landscapers looking for ideas or visiting with clients to develop landscaping plans. Visit their webpage, http://lake.ifas.ufl.edu/discoverygardens/, click on the Tour Discovery Gardens link, and you’ll see everything from a vineyard to a Spanish garden. There’s a Sub Tropical Garden, Tropical Fruit Garden, Children’s Garden with a Native American chickee built by two members of Florida’s Seminole tribe, a hydroponic area and an orchid display. The butterfly garden is filled with local species and plants to attract them. With 20 gardens to visit, you can spend some time meandering.

funding for the two part-time staff has been cut, leaving only one professional in charge of the 3.5 acre garden. Volunteers must complete a Lake County screening application and be accepted into the class which is offered yearly in September. This year’s class is full, so just like applying as a freshman at the University of Florida, put your application in now if you’re at all interested in next year’s class. It’s rigorous, and yes, you have to pass a final exam. “Rain barrels and the use of water are so important to everyone," Yvonne said. Once you’ve seen the rain barrels, you’re going to want to go home and create your own. Here are three local places where you can obtain barrels. The City of Mt. Dora Water Department has them pre-screened on the top with a spigot in the side for a hose. For a flyer you can print that gives you all the details, go to http://www. ci.mount-dora.fl.us and follow the Water Conservation link. Barrels cost $30 if you’re a Mt. Dora resident, $40 if you’re not. These 55-gallon food grade plastic barrels can be obtained by calling Christina at the Water Department, (352) 735-7151 or emailing at the above address. An appointment is needed to purchase a barrel.

“We don’t inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children.”

Visiting Discovery Gardens in person offers a wealth of information and experience. Twenty separate and distinct gardens are maintained by staff professionals and Master Gardener volunteers. The Gardens are open Monday through Friday, from 9 – 4. They’re close and you can stop for some lunch at one of Tavares great new eateries. Over 60,000 people received services through the Extension Center last year and another estimated 60,000 visited the Gardens. After you’ve toured each garden, stop by their new Education Building.

Back on the outside, you’ll see two bright white rains barrels resting on concrete blocks on either side of the building. Butterflies and plants decorate each barrel, painted by one of the Master Gardner volunteers, Yvonne Wolfe. Yvonne is a long-time Florida resident, but when she moved to Lake County and had the time in retirement to pursue her gardening interests, found she didn’t know what would grow here. Upon checking with friends, she found the Extension Center and the Master Gardner class. After completing the class, Yvonne was able to pursue her hands-on interest in gardening–growing, pruning, germinating, cultivating, fertilizing, and pest control. Master Gardeners are special people who’ve taken the 90-100 hour training program offered through the Extension and agreed to volunteer at least 100 hours of time during their first year as a certified Master Gardner. Currently 113 people are certified, but Charles Fedunak who teaches the class would like to have at least 200. Given the fight over scarce tax dollars,

Other places you can purchase rain barrels are: Industrial Container Services, located in Zellwood on Jones Avenue, cost including tax is $38.34. Sandy at the desk is friendly, helpful and excited about being a part of recycling and water conservation; also Reliable Peat Company, www.organicpro.com, located at 27650 County Road 33 in Okahumpka. With some interesting on-line exploration and a personal visit to Discovery Gardens to gather inspiration as well as information, you’ll be well on your way to creating a beautiful garden spot of your own. You can have a place to relax and forget today’s cares at the same time you’re learning new skills and meeting new friends, two-legged and otherwise. There’s an old Native American proverb: “We don’t inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children.” Let’s take that next step and leave a legacy we’ll all be proud of, as proud as the staff and volunteers at the Ag Center are of Lake County’s Discovery Gardens. Visit the Ag Center Lake County Extension Services at 1951 Woodlea Road, Tavares, Florida 32778 Phone: (352) 343-4101 25 • PULSE • FALL 2010


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Montessori Comes to Roseborough

by: Ella Paets, EdD photography by: Steven Paul Hlavac

Things

are different now at the once abandoned Roseborough Elementary School which has recently undergone major architectural changes.   For years it languished, unused and uncared for, with a leaky roof, drooping ceiling tiles, spongy floors and growing unhealthy mold within its walls.  Reborn as the Montessori School in Mount Dora, both the building and the educational program have been transformed.  Director Merry Hadden, armed with years of training and experience, created the Montessori School with all it social and educational aspects intact.        But first, the building had to be remodeled and made habitable.  Merry and her brother, Michael did everything they could to create a “green” building.  It took three years from the time she began negotiations with the city for this now healthy school building to be ready for occupancy.  Still awaiting renewal is a large gymnasium that Merry has a plan for, once it is brought up to code so that it can be used.  Merry and I were in her office discussing her plans when Sebastian Tomayo, age 7, and Jack Morgan, age 6, made dignified entrances.  “Coffee or tea,” Sebastian asked,

then, scampered out, once our orders were taken. Both boys quickly returned, carefully serving us cookies and tea on china dishes.  This event was part of the social behavior education the 126 young children receive. First trained in the Montessori methods in India, Merry then worked for three years in Chicago, went for additional training in Italy, and studied in Rome under Dr. Silvana Montanaro, a neuropsychiatrist. In 1983, Merry and a teacher friend opened the Montessori Nest in Leesburg.  In 1994 she opened the Montessori nest in Mount Dora and for one very busy year directed both schools. Her school program at that time included a “Nest” (for infants to three year olds), and the Children’s House (for children up to the age of 12).   For the 20102011 school year, Merry expanded the Mount Dora program to include middle school students.  Roseborough Montessori School is accredited by the American Montessori International Standards.  This is an important certificate for any Montessori School.  Merry also follows the Florida Sunshine Standards.  “We use the Florida Sunshine Standards as a minimum of what we teach.  Through the Montessori curriculum, we go

Elementary level students engaged in morning learning activities.

PULSE • FALL 2010 • 28


above and beyond.” Merry wanted to be certain I understood the significance of each of the educational tools we examined. She removed a set of 12 small, wooden boxes from their container.  Each box was the same size, color and shape.  She shook one box, and holding it close to her ear listened with childlike concentration to the sound made by the box’s contents.  Then she shook another box, again tilting her head toward the sound, comparing that sound with the sounds from the first box.  “A two or three year old,” Merry told me, “would be shaking the boxes and making the comparisons in much the same manner.”  A youngster working with the sound boxes would develop skills that are precursors to the complex process of reading.  He can find pairs of boxes that produce the same sound and then place the sounds in order from softest to loudest.  Each manipulative tool handled by a child is there so he can explore the variables of sound the shaken boxes make.     

Studying medicine was a bold step for any woman in that time. Merry proudly adds, “Only Montessori’s determination and feisty spirit helped her persevere. She was fighting for women’s rights.  She was one of the forerunners.” Montessori was permitted to enroll in medical school, but faced extreme barriers to her study. She was required to sit apart from fellow medical students, excluded from study groups, interfered with attempts to ask questions, required to dissect cadavers at the end of the day working under gaslight.  And the final insult, since there were no female students, there were no toilets for her to use.  Montessori left her successful medical practice to return to The University of Rome as a professor of Anthropology.  While there, she investigated how children learn.  This led to opening up the Casa dei Bambini, or Children’s House, where she began her revolutionary advances in educational practices.  Her original work was with children who were neglected, considered mentally disabled, and isolated without training or education.  Her successes there led to international attention.  Her son, Mario continued advancing Montessori’s methods after her death. 

“Montessori’s determination and feisty spirit helped her

persevere…she was fighting

Many of the toys parents purchase for their toddlers have the appearance of a Montessori manipulative. Every adult under the age of 60 has probably learned to place the set of rainbow colored plastic doughnut shapes onto a spindle so they are in order by size.  Today’s babies are using the same manipulative to practice that skill. 

for women’s rights.”.

Reading is critical to a child’s education and the Montessori Method outlines a series of steps to effectively teach reading. Before learning letter names, the child traces large, textured, cursive letters with his finger.  Cursive writing is easier to learn because the child traces the letter in one continuous movement, without having to pick up his hand.  He practices tracing the letter while saying the letter name or sound.  Using the letters “p-e-t”, saying their sounds, and putting the sounds together, a child is learning to decode the sounds, read and spell the word.   The person whose intellect and hard work created the Montessori Method is Maria Montessori.  Born in the small town of Chiaravalle, Italy, in 1870, she rejected the traditional woman’s role her parents planned for her.  She discovered her love of mathematics early, graduated from school at sixteen and ente-red college to study medicine. 

Merry says, “I was attracted to education because I had a horrible one. In the early 70s in the first Children’s House I attended, I saw the teachers ‘guiding’ the children.  There was an amazing order to all of it.  Visitors to Montessori at Roseborough often tell me they would have done much more with their life if they had an education like this one.”  Via Italy, India, the Netherlands and approximately 100 years of experience, the Montessori School at Roseborough and Merry Hadden have become a welcome addition to the town of Mount Dora. Mount Dora Lake County

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29 • PULSE • FALL 2010


Tri-City Kudos Justin Ward Weber In a nationwide contest involving thousands of entrants, Mount Dora’s Justin Ward Weber competed won and jumpstarted his career in music composition by winning the Young Composer’s Challenge. Talented in three instruments, trombone, baritone and piano, Justin wrote his symphony while still a senior at Mount Dora High School. That symphony won him a $1000 scholarship which has helped him as a freshman at Stetson University, where he is currently studying Music Composition. But more importantly for Justin, his winning symphony was recorded and played live by the Orlando Philharmonic Orchestra. According to Justin, “It’s an incredible mind blowing experience when they put the bows to the strings and you hear your work come alive . . . become real.”

Quite a kudo for a high school senior.

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PULSE • FALL 2010 • 30

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200 West 5th Avenue, Mount Dora 735-4451 • Open 7 Days 31 • PULSE • FALL 2010


“I Once Was Lost but Now I’m Found.” Honoring Mount Dora’s Forgotten People

After

decades of silence, Mount Dora’s African American cemetery has a voice. The little hilltop graveyard was muted long before the last burials took place, and wild phlox crept in. Thorny bushes, pines, and poisonous snakes became sentries, driving visitors away for fifty years. Hidden beneath indifference and neglect, its stories were mostly forgotten, until one day last year when Reverend Eugene Burley walked into the Royellou History Museum.

Catholic Church. Intrigued, Andrew couldn’t resist mounting a search for the lost graves. “When I finally pushed my way into the middle of the cemetery, I couldn’t believe what I found – stones covered in vines and brush, vaults encased in tree roots, everything abandoned.” Standing among the forgotten, Andrew refused to accept that these people had no visitors, no legacy. The meager clues didn’t name most of the dead, tell their stories, or reveal who owned the land they rested in. Ownership of the cemetery lay hidden in legal documents spanning two centuries. Sleepless weekends dogged Deborah Burchill, a tenacious and fearless researcher, as she followed the paper trail of deeds starting with homesteader Milton Simpson. In

illustration by: Jennifer Cahill Harper

Andrew Mullin, president of Mount Dora’s Historical Society, was in the museum that day, and the two started talking about local cemeteries. Reverend Burley said his grandfather had been buried in an abandoned graveyard few people remembered, hidden in the woods next to Saint Patrick’s

by: Jeanne Fluegge

These stark white UKG markers are indicators of “Unknown Graves” in the Simpson Cemetery. PULSE • FALL 2010 • 32


the 1880s, he put a square acre of land aside for his black orange grove workers to bury their dead. Simpson’s son deeded the land over to the Trustees of the Mount Carmel Cemetery Association who in turn deeded the land to developers in 1925. The subdivision was never built, and the burials quietly continued throughout the Depression. Then in the 1940s, the Florida State Road Department bought the land for an expansion project on Old 441. The state never used the property, and the burials continued until 1960. It doesn’t matter who holds the deed anymore. After over a century of occupation, the dead have legally earned the right to claim their land. With ownership established, earth penetrating radar equipment began locating unmarked bones deep below the surface, chain saws removed trees from grave tops, and gravesites were roped off and numbered. Fifty-seven graves were uncovered. As difficult as this work was, unearthing stories of the dead was harder still.

When it was time for the school bus to drop Sam’s two sisters off in the driveway, the gray-haired man and little boy would go into the garden to cut a tall stalk of sugar cane, careful not to disturb the roots. Ben would lift Sam on his knee while they waited. His worn hands peeled and shaped the sugar cane stalk with a rusty pocket knife until the juiciest first plug was neatly sliced and handed to Sam to chew on. This simple act, done by a kind old black man, was Sam’s first childhood memory, and he’s carried the sweetness with him for sixty years. Lizzie Pool was sure that her mother’s grandchildren and great grandchildren would always be able to visit her graveside. She purchased a solid granite headstone with Louvone Pool 1876 to 1960 perfectly chiseled on its smooth face. Every Mother’s Day Lizzie visited the cemetery, tended the grave as best she could, never neglecting to bring flowers or to say a prayer. Each year the brush grew thicker, the snakes more brazen, until wilderness covered Louvone Pool’s resting place and drove her children away for good.

…earth penetrating radar

equipment began locating

Recollections dim with each new generation, and many stories have been lost forever. But some, like the tragedy in August of 1928, when a sudden summer storm hit Mount Dora, are still remembered. The Cooper boys aged 11, 12 and 14 were playing baseball when storm clouds darkened the field. Lightning struck ground just beyond the outfield chasing Woodrow under a nearby tree. His older brothers Ben, Ed and their friend C.S. Torrance reached him seconds before another bolt of lightning slammed into the oak tree he was cowering under. All three brothers and their friend died together holding on to bats and gloves and one another. Today, across the road and up the hill from the old baseball field, the Cooper boys are still together. Their three identical depressions rest side by side in the heart of the cemetery.

unmarked bones deep

Trees and vines have become the caretakers for thousands of African Americans buried in abandoned cemeteries throughout Central Florida; their voices have almost disappeared. We only know their stories by looking at black faces inside Florida’s white history books. Andrew Mullin inspired the people of Mount Dora to do better than this. Volunteers from the Mount Carmel/Simpson Cemetery Project have changed an acre of forgotten land into a place for people to honor their dead and to connect with the history of their town.

below the surface…

Another unmarked grave holds the remains of Sam Sadler’s Uncle Ben who worked on the Sadler homestead in Tangerine from around 1915 until his death in 1956. When diabetes prevented him from doing field labor, Sam’s grandmother brought Ben into her kitchen and parlor to work beside her as a “Jack of all trades” butler. Ben Benifield tended her garden, answered her doorbell, and served her formal dining room dinners on his silver tray. He also nurtured her grandson and created a lasting memory for a little boy.

Louvone Pool, Jesse Fletcher, Emmaline Green, William Dawson, Mike and Angeline Dunn, Johnnie Gains, Annte Pearson, Jessie Burley, Ben Benified and scores of others buried in the cemetery were members of this community. These men and women did the heavy lifting for the town. They were the orange pickers, cattlemen, draymen, day labors, clothes washers, housecleaners, waiters, maids, and cooks in Mount Dora and Tangerine; their stories are part of the town’s legacy. All we have to do is listen – and remember.

33 • PULSE • FALL 2010


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THE PARTY STARTS HERE!

The IceHouse Theatre

A Family Christmas Classic! Adapted by W. SeveriN, P.Di BeNeDetto SNyDer and J. vreeke Novel by v. DavieS • Incidental Music by W. SeveriN

Directed by Darlin Barry

Nov. 19 - Dec. 19

Tickets: Adults $20, Seniors $18, Students $10/$12/$15, Groups $16

extra ShoWS: Dec. 18 at 2:00 PM, Dec. 19 at 2:00 PM thursdays 7:30 pm, Fridays & Saturdays 8 pm, Sundays 2 pm

Box Office (352) 383-4616 • www.icehousetheatre.com 1100 N. Unser Street, Mount Dora

The IceHouse Youth Theatre For more information, call (352) 383-3133, ext. 3 or email info@icehousetheatre.com adapted by Joseph Robinette

Music and Lyrics by Richard M. Sherman, Robert B. Sherman and Terry Gilkyson

Ages 12-18

Additional lyrics by Marcy Heisler

Shows: Oct.14 - 16th, 7 pm Oct. 17th, 2 pm PULSE • FALL 2010 • 36

Book Adapted by Marcy Heisler Music Adapted and Arranged by Bryan Louiselle

Ages 5-9

Music and Lyrics by Matthew Wilder, David Zippel, Stephen Schwartz, Jeanine Tesori and Alexa Junge • Music Adapted and Arranged and Additional Music and Lyrics by Bryan Louiselle • Book Adapted and Additional Lyrics by Patricia Cotter • Based on the 1998 Disney film MULAN and the story FA MULAN by Robert D. San Souci

Both Shows: Nov. 4 - 6, 7 pm

Ages 10-13


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352-385-3905 37 • PULSE • FALL 2010


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39 • PULSE • FALL 2010


Have you been

downtown lately? Discover a new Mount Dora.

Unique kitchenware, award-winning gourmet foods,

hand-crafted entertaining pieces and delicious Key Lime specialties are in abundance at The Gourmet Spot.

This ‘boutique in good taste’ is perfect for hostesses, cooks and anyone that loves having fun in the kitchen.

Synergy the Studio...it's new!

The place for yoga and pilates sits on the top floor above Synergy Salonspa and across from Synergy Well Being Center. The scenic lakeview studio offers classes six days a week with fitness for mind, body and spirit. Everyone's invited.

E xplore the town’s best selection of wines ‘buy’ the glass or bottle at The Wine Den, a

unique combination of wine bar and wine shop. ‘First Friday Wine Tastings’ and 3rd Friday ‘Yappy Hours’ are big local favorites.

411 N. Donnelly St. TheGourmetSpot.com 352.735.4777 PULSE • FALL 2010 • 40

Enter at Donnelly & 3rd Ave, 3rd floor synergysalonspamtdora.com 352.383.2900

109 4th Avenue thewinedenonline.com 352.735.5594

Pulse fall 2010  

PULSE The Magazine of Mount Dora, Eustis and Tavares

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