Mama also formed great friendships with Raymond’s other brothers and sisters. She loved Charlie, who was also a piano player, and loved to sing. Joe, the youngest, was studious, and Mama respected that about him, and wasn’t surprised when in later years, he became an attorney and was elected to the Florida Legislature. She always told us that the sisters, Juliet, Rafaela (always called “Fela“) and Alice were all wonderful to her. These warm friendships with Raymond’s family were to last a lifetime.

Since she had practically become a member of the family, no one was surprised when Raymond and Adelaide announced that they were to be married. On the 26th of September, 1906, they had a big wedding that was surely a big party, since that’s the way the Dillons did everything. Raymond was 22, Adelaide was 20.

During the first few years of their marriage, they lived with the Dillons. Today, people find it hard to believe, but the Dillon house was right on Flagler Street, between NE 1st and 2nd Avenues, where there are nothing but skyscrapers today. The Dillons not only lived there with the big family; they also kept chickens! Miami was growing, but it was still small.

Flagler’s famous Royal Palm Hotel at the mouth of the Miami River, as seen from the opposite riverbank. The big grand hotel dominated the small village of Miami until it was destroyed by fire in the 1930’s. The land is filled with skyscrapers today.

By the time Mama and Papa were married, the elegant Royal Palm Hotel was up and running, a huge sprawling wooden palace at the mouth of the Miami River, where it flowed into Biscayne Bay, only about 4 blocks from the Dillon home. The hotel and its service buildings made up more than half the town, and Henry Flagler’s other projects were in evidence everywhere. He had built streets of bungalows to house his railroad workers, and had actually begun the final dream—his overseas railroad to Key West.

That meant that Captain Dillon, Raymond’s father, was working harder than ever. There’s an old newspaper clipping explaining that Mr. Flagler had been cruising recently out in the ocean off Miami Beach in his yacht with Captain Dillon. The newspaper noted that they had been looking at the coastline and discussing where to make the “Government Cut.“ Government Cut is still the name of Miami’s harbor entrance, and leads to what is now the busiest cruise ship port in the world. The “cut“ needed to be dredged through the thin barrier island of Miami Beach so large ships could enter the harbor and dock up close to Miami’s downtown. Henry Flagler saw the need, and ordered it done.

The Key West Extension took Flagler's Florida East Coast Railway overseas!

But the big news, and the big job was the Key West Extension. Flagler had the work begun in 1904, and for the next eight years, 3000 to 4000 men labored on what everyone was already calling the “Eighth Wonder of the World.“ South of Miami and down into the keys, the crews worked day and night, and of course, it really was an incredible plan. When it was all done, it would be a string of 38 bridges, crossing some 37 miles of open ocean and 41 islands. The famous seven-mile bridge was the longest bridge in the world. For the entire time, the workers endured hurricanes, alligators, mosquitoes and all kinds of setbacks. The track crossed one huge body of water they named “Lake Surprise“ since it wasn’t on the plans. Most of the bridges utilized a new kind of German cement that would harden underwater. And of course, most of the work required a fleet of ships and all kinds of work in the water. That meant Captain Dillon was called on to manage it all, working under Flagler’s Chief Construction Engineer, Joseph Carroll Meredith.

Captain Dillon’s assignments involved managing a large fleet of barges and supply ships with the men quartered on many of them, since there were no other places for the workers to stay. The barges filled with sleeping quarters and piles of supplies were lashed to one bridge structure after another, as the line crept south.

The unrelenting work took its toll on Captain Dillon, now in his late fifties. During the summer and fall of 1907, his fleet and workers were slammed by two hurricanes, lives were lost, and it was a sad, difficult time.

As if the storms weren’t enough, immediately after them, Captain Dillon received the alarming news that his oldest son, Eddie, was very ill in New York and was coming home. The captain quickly returned to Miami, and found his son confined to his bed, very weakened by an accident he had suffered a few weeks earlier. Eddie, just 33, was suffering from gangrene, and his infected leg was not getting better.

The doctors did all they could, but Captain and Mrs. Dillon knew there was really no cure. In a few days, the anxiety took its toll. Captain Dillon had complained of chest pains for years. Mrs. Dillon told how he’d pace the floor at night beating his chest, trying to quell the pain. The hurricanes, the work, and now this family tragedy were just too much. A few days after he had come home to see Eddie, it happened. George Washington Dillon suffered a fatal heart attack at his home in Miami on September 22nd , 1907. His son, Eddie, in another bedroom downstairs, died of gangrene 7 days later on September 29th. The Dillon home did not ring with music and laughter that fall.

Soon after Captain Dillon’s death, a heartfelt, hand-written letter arrived for Mrs. Dillon from Mr. Flagler himself. He expressed his deep sympathy and also the great respect he had had for Captain Dillon. Flagler’s letter has been a family treasure ever since.

Papa and Mama with their first child, Melville Edmund Dillon in 1907.

Amid all the sadness, there was one happy event that followed the family deaths by just a few weeks. Adelaide and Raymond’s first baby was born on October 22. Adelaide had decided that if he were a boy, his middle name was going to be Edmund, after his Uncle Eddie. The baby was a healthy boy, and the name was Melville Edmund Dillon, who was to be my oldest uncle.

Life went on as usual in early Miami, which meant the little city continued to rocket into the future, growing into more and more of a nationally recognized resort every year. Mr. Flagler’s Royal Palm Hotel was now very famous, and each season, there were more and more trains bringing wealthy northerners to enjoy Miami’s balmy winter months.

From the beginning, Miami loved liquor for two reasons. After all, it was a frontier town, and strong drink has always been a major commodity in a boom town where men, often without their families, are there to work hard. Add the fact that Miami was also a tourist community, catering to people on vacation, and it’s obvious. From elegant cocktails on the veranda at the Royal Palm to the shady saloons that had cropped up in North Miami, booze was everywhere. Papa was particularly fond of good Cuban rum.

It just happened that this was also the time of major national campaigns for “temperance“, the word that led to the growing movement against alcohol that climaxed with the passage of the 18th Amendment in 1919, making prohibition the law of the land.

Carrie Nation with her signature hatchet.

By 1909, Miami had obviously become well-known enough to be included in traveling celebrities’ appearances. Because Carrie Nation came to town.

She was the famous lady traveling the country preaching on the evils of alcohol. She was a formidable old woman known for fiery speeches and actual raids on saloons. She always wore a long black dress, stormed around town, and would be quick to berate anyone she met on various issues of morality. With a passionate entourage, she often burst into saloons herself, with her signature weapon. She’d stalk straight to the bar, and proceed to attack the bottles behind it with a hatchet, sending broken glass and wasted liquor everywhere, all the while shouting and accusing everyone around about the evils of “Demon rum.“

Even though national prohibition was years away, Miami was already “dry.“ When that was the case, Carrie Nation always had some contact buy her a bottle of bootleg liquor locally and then use the bottle during her fiery speech. Miami was no exception. When she appeared, she attracted the largest crowd seen to date in Miami—over 2,000 people flocked to her program, held in a large tent. She proceeded with her bombast of loud, shouting, oratory. And then, suddenly, she held a bottle aloft, and screamed, “This very bottle was bought this afternoon in your fair city!“ The crowd oohed and ahhed, but certain people in the audience weren’t surprised. Papa was there, of course, and he knew who had bought the bottle. It was none other than Fred Moody, his brother in law. Mama’s older brother, Fred, had always been a straight-laced prohibitionist, and standing there in the crowd, the two men must have glanced at each other, knowing their complete disagreement over the “liquor question.“ Carrie Nation didn’t mention the name of the booze buyer, but the Dillon and Moody families all knew, and laughed about it for years.

About this time, even though he was only 23, Papa already had years of experience at sea. Thanks to his upbringing on his father’s ships, he was much sought after for various seagoing assignments. He captained yachts. He signed aboard Caribbean freighters. He took boats back and forth to Key West and Havana all the time. Another Captain Dillon was being born.

But he was not always gone. Papa loved Miami, and was everybody's friend. He and Adelaide’s family grew over the next few years, too. Elizabeth arrived in 1907, Eugenia, my mother, in 1912, and soon after the family built a brand new house, Ruth Rosemary, their youngest, was born in 1919. Three girls and one boy.

The home built by the Dillons at 843 N.W. 12th Street in 1917. Always called “The Old Nest“, it was the family home for 50 years. The fancy wall Papa enjoyed shows clearly in this photo, and the side yard he used for botanical experiments is to the left.

The house was planned in something new called a “subdivision.“ Miami’s very first one was named Highland Park, Papa knew the builders, and he plunged into the project with great enthusiasm.

But to Papa, not just any house would do. His experiences at sea with hurricanes, and his ideas about inventing new things all came together when he began planning the house. It would be hurricane proof. It would have a large yard since he insisted on having avocado and mango trees. And it would be big enough to house his growing family.

In 1917, the building began, and the comfortable, two-story home which Mama always called “The Old Nest“ took shape, at 843 NW 12 Street. By this time, Papa was often at sea, but he took plenty of time to work on the house construction with the builders. Beautiful patterned Cuban tile was brought home for the wide front porch. And most of all, the walls were put up to Papa’s personal specifications. They were solid poured concrete, about 10 inches thick. He was sure no hurricane could damage such strong walls, and he was right. From the time they were built, they weathered hundreds of hurricanes, some historically severe. He ordered the surface of the walls scored deeply to give the impression of concrete block, in an oversized brickwork pattern. Unlike many of Papa’s projects, this one was quite attractive, and I remember running my hand through the deep scorings between the Old Nest’s white “blocks“ as a kid. Between each block design, there was a deep, 2“ v-shaped crevice. But behind all this, there was nothing but solid cement. The Old Nest was to be the family home for the next 50 years.

During these early years, everybody knew everybody else in Miami, and everybody pronounced the town’s name “Miama.“ For years since, northerners arriving in town have always thought the pronunciation with the soft a at the end was due to Southern accents, but Papa always insisted that wasn’t true. Mi-am-a is the way the Seminoles pronounced the name, and of course, it’s a Seminole word. In their language, it means “Sweet Water“, after the fresh waters of the Miami River, flowing from the Everglades west of the city into Biscayne Bay.

From the time the Moodys and Dillons arrived in Miami, it was truly a frontier town, and stayed that way into the 1920’s. If the streets were more than dirt, they were “paved“ with crushed shells, something that every early account mentions since with Miami’s hot, bright sun, the crushed shell streets were blinding.

Marjory Stoneman Douglas arrived in Miami in 1915, and lived to be over 100 years old, dying just a few years ago. Her book, River of Grass, was world famous, and her descriptions of Miami were the best.

The writings of Marjory Stoneman Douglas describe it best. She arrived in Miami in 1915, a daughter of the founder of the Miami Herald, and never left. She was the famous lady who was to live over 100 years, and for almost the whole time hold the position of Miami’s most celebrated resident writer. Her book, River of Grass, about the Everglades, made her a national figure during the 1940’s, but I prefer her book called The Long Frontier, which is all about Florida history and her impressions of Miami when she arrived. Like everyone else, she tells about the mosquitoes, the heat, and the beautiful blue bay.

“…the great bay shimmering and streaked with pale jade and azure, holding the creamy reflections of clouds in its fine polish.“

As is clear, she had a particular talent for description, and she wrote that soon after she arrived she was struck by the magnificent skies over Miami, something she had never enjoyed back in her native Massachusetts. In most places, a perfect day is usually described as having “not a cloud in the sky.“ Not so in Miami. Here, in summer, every single day the fluffy white clouds pile up as high as 40,000 feet creating a tapestry of rich, brightly lit white against clear blue that you simply don’t see in other places. These same clouds make Miami’s sunsets unique, because when 40,000 feet of cloud formations are painted red and gold, it’s unforgettable. Mrs. Douglas explains the big fluffy cloud banks are created by evaporation of moisture from the great sheet of shallow water just west of the city in the Everglades.

My favorite description of all the ones in her books is the way she described the balmy nighttime in Miami when there is a breeze and a bright moon. The moon always lights up the big clouds:

“I was learning also every day what life was like here in these tropics under the unrelenting sun, in the sweet enormous nights.“

South Florida's skies are spectacular - and after the sunsets, "sweet enormous nights." Photo Credit: Lezhous (Roger) Zhan, University of Florida, Gainesville

That’s it precisely, in three perfect words—“sweet, enormous nights“. Once the sun is down, the bright night sky looms huge over the city, and there are always palms rustling in the breeze, and plants and flowers scenting the air. Today, the skyscrapers and neon make it a little more difficult to appreciate, but if you get out of the city on one of those nights, and let your senses take it all in, it’s still thrilling.

I had the pleasure of meeting Marjory Stoneman Douglas during the 1970s and interviewing her for a magazine article. She was a truly fascinating person, then in her eighties, and even at that age, a successful activist. At that time, she was starting a brand new organization called Friends of the Everglades. During the next couple of decades, her organization had great impact in the restoration plans for today’s Everglades, which are being restored to their original state, to preserve Miami’s prime water source.

People always have to be reminded that before the 1920’s, Miami wasn’t only small, it was very isolated. Ships arrived regularly, but there were really no land connections with the outside world other than the railroad. This isolation created some frontier characteristics that many people find hard to believe today, and one of them was public hangings. Just like in old western movies, the judges, courts and police of Miami in its earliest days had to carry out their sentences locally. And when the penalty was death, it was done right on the courthouse steps.

The last public hanging in Miami was in 1916, and we used to get Papa to tell us about it. He once told me that he had learned in those days the proper way to put a noose around a condemned man’s neck. As a wide-eyed kid, I listened carefully as he explained that the rope must go straight up from the knot. If that isn’t done, when the floor under the man’s feet drops away, the noose can slide across under the man’s chin and cut his throat. He told me he had seen that happen, and no hangman ever did it the wrong way more than once.

The Seminole Indians were a common sight along the Miami River as they came into Miami in their dugout canoes to shop, from their homes in the Everglades.

All during the early days, the Seminole Indians were an exotic presence in the little city. They’d always arrive by canoe along the river, in their colorful native dress. The women wore multiple strands of beads, and had a unique way of creating high piled-up hair-dos of their long black hair, which created a sort of glistening black halo around their faces. The women’s long skirts and the men’s and boy’s shirts were made from a distinctive patchwork craft unique to the tribe. It was a complex, multicolored design using strips of the brightest colored fabric patches available. In school, every Miami school kid learned that our local Indians, the Seminoles, were runaways from the Creek Nation north of the Florida border and had chosen the Everglades for their home soon after Creek Wars in the early 1800’s.

Also, everyone learned that they were the only tribe in the country that had never signed a peace treaty with the United States. Technically, they’re still at war.

The Indians would canoe into town to shop, of course, and their main destination was always the trading post on the south side of the river run by the Brickell family. The old riverside trading post had been one of Miami’s very first businesses. The Brickells owned almost all the land south of the river, and became very wealthy in later years as Brickell Avenue and the surrounding real estate became one of Miami’s most fashionable neighborhoods.

As for the Seminoles, they had no interest in the growing city. They never stayed in town long. Families could be seen walking silently down Flagler Street during the afternoons, but they never lived in town. They always disappeared as quietly as they had arrived, preferring to keep their culture miles away in the heart of the Great Swamp. Even I remember Seminole families paddling up the river from the Everglades with their colorful clothing and exotic jewelry, as late as the 1950s.

The same year he was busy building the “Old Nest”, Papa began thinking about running for office. He was well-known in town, and well-liked. He had a lot of friends on the growing Miami police force, and several had suggested he run for chief. Miami’s Chief of Police was elected in those days, and after talking it over with his family, Papa decided to run. After all, his father had been elected Marshall of Key West; why shouldn’t he be Miami’s Chief of Police? The fact that he had absolutely no experience at law enforcement didn’t seem to matter to him or the voters. It was truly a popularity contest, and he was popular.

When the votes were counted, there was a big celebration and in the center of it all, Chief Dillon received a magnificent gift from the force—a sold gold badge, elaborately decorated with the palm tree symbol of Miami, and the word “Chief” emblazoned across the front. On the back of the badge, beautiful engraving records his name and the year, “Raymond M. Dillon, 1917.” Today, that badge is one of our family’s treasures, glittering gold and in perfect condition.

That day in 1917, Adelaide and his children were proud, but the new position in the spotlight also meant a much more public life for the young Dillon family. Papa was only 33, one of the youngest chiefs ever, and Mama, just 31. The children were 10, 8, and 4 with one more baby to arrive two years later.

As for running the Police Department, as soon as his term began, Papa became very serious about it. He was smart enough to know that he would be supervising some well-experienced men, and the way the city was growing, the job became more important with each passing day. Looking back, the local residents at this time thought Miami’s growth was wonderful, but they surely had no idea what they were facing. Chief Dillon took over the Miami Police Department when it had 30 officers, he was elected for a second term, and by the time his 4 years as chief ended in 1921, the force numbered 352. The almost unbelievable growth up until that time gave Miami its still-applicable nickname of “The Magic City”, but even in 1921, the growth had barely begun. The 1920’s will always be called “The Boom” in South Florida, and even when Papa left the force in 1921, they literally “hadn’t seen nothin’ yet..”

For Mama, being the Chief’s wife wasn’t all prestige. It seems the jail had no kitchen, so a plan was made for her to cook all the meals for the prisoner population at the jail, which in those days numbered between 10 and 20 men. As unimaginable as it seems today, she was asked to prepare everything in her big new kitchen at home, and have the food trundled downtown to the jail by one of the police officers every day. That meant more heavy work for Mama, who had done all the cooking and cleaning for her stepmother’s rooming house, and now, she was to cook for the prisoners in addition to her growing family. All with no help. In later years, she never complained about it all. Instead, she viewed it as an adventure, and was always happy to do whatever was needed.

For Papa, being Chief was something he enjoyed, and it made him even more well-known in town. He cut a dashing figure in his uniform, and everyone took notice, especially the ladies. Papa was always a man of great charisma, and friendly to everyone. One of his old friends once told me, “Ray was the No. 1 man about town in the old days.” From all the stories I’ve heard all my life, I understood completely.

James Deering

A few years before he was chief, a famous man named James Deering had arrived in Miami, and begun building what was to be the grandest estate ever created in South Florida. Villa Vizcaya rose on the shore of Biscayne Bay, with a mansion copied after a famous Italian palace, hundreds of acres all around it, ten of which were developed into magnificent fountain gardens that were arrayed around the villa’s terraces and verandas. Today Vizcaya with all its priceless furnishings is owned by the county, and is one of Miami’s top visitor attractions. It’s always the place for formal visits to the city by Popes and Presidents.

The building of Vizcaya had begun in 1912, the year Henry Flagler finished the railroad to Key West, and the two projects had something in common. Both required thousands of workers. When Vizcaya’s mansion, fountains, grand walls and entrances were being built, more than a fourth of the little city’s workforce was employed there, but that wasn’t enough. Hundreds more were brought in, many from Europe, to create the statuary and other artistic treasures which were created on site, joining thousands of precious antique paintings, statues and furniture Mr. Deering’s traveling designers were shipping from France, Italy and Greece by the boatload. James Deering was the heir to the International Harvester fortune, and money was no object. Vizcaya took four years to build, so when Papa was chief of police, it was brand new.

Villa Vizcaya

The Police Chief, of course, became a friend of Mr. Deering’s and visited his magnificent new home often. Papa always told us how Mr. Deering, who had a large private yacht, and welcomed famous guests from places like New York and Newport all the time, was very interested in the waters around Miami and the history of the area. After all, the tropical jungle on his estate and the clear blue bay directly in front of the beautiful mansion were all brand new to this wealthy man from the Midwest. He was somewhat of an intellectual, and when he was in residence, he had plenty of time to absorb the local color. That was Raymond Dillon’s specialty, of course, and the two became quite close friends.

Close enough, in fact, that when Chief Dillon’s fourth child was born in 1919, he was down on the waterfront at Vizcaya spearing crabs with Mr. Deering. A servant ran out on the bay front terrace and called to Captain Dillon to come up immediately to receive an important call. Then she plugged the new-fangled phone she was carrying into a jack in the stone base of one of the nearby statues and offered the handset to Papa. Villa Vizcaya had telephones everywhere.

The baby was a girl, and Adelaide and Raymond named her Ruth, after Adelaide’s sister. Right then and there, Mr. Deering, who had no children, asked if he could add a middle name of his choosing. He chose Rosemary, a name my aunt never liked. But certainly she did like the gifts that followed until Mr. Deering’s death. He sent little dresses from Paris, toys from New York, and other exotic gifts that only he could provide. As she always joked, she was in his heart, but not in his will.

My mother, just 7 at the time, remembers having a wonderful time “playing in the fountains” at Vizcaya, as hundreds of servants and gardeners worked all around her. The Dillons had special access.

Meanwhile, back at the Police Department, Papa quickly found out that being Chief was not all fun. Political squabbles cropped up quickly. A new Police Commissioner and the Mayor decided to replace almost half the force without even consulting the new Chief. A major building burned down in the black section of the city, and the Police were accused of taking their time getting to the crisis scene and not doing much once they were there. But as one of the city’s histories says, “Despite the fractious political situation and two near race riots, Chief Dillon made impressive gains.” He oversaw the installation of the first police call boxes around town, and hired the first policewoman to work with delinquent girls.

Of course World War I began the same year as Papa’s police career. The war led to Miami’s Dinner Key becoming the home of a new Naval Air Station, and there were various other new military installations around town. The military brought the Military Police with them, and the MP’s joined with Chief Dillon’s department to beef up local law enforcement. Gambling, bootlegging and prostitution began to be more than just annoyances in Miami, and gave the city just a small preview of things to come. Papa’s entire four years in the Department were highlighted by “clean-up campaigns” when the girls and the booze would be rounded up. A book about the history of the Miami Police Department says “Chief Dillon received major community support after he announced the police had ended prostitution in Miami.” I can just imagine Papa making such a grand overstatement with a straight face.

Al Capone moved to Miami in 1922, and died there from syphillis a few years later. This is his Spanish-style home on Palm Island, which was recently (2007) on the market for over $6,000,000.

Even back then, the city fathers were very concerned about tourism, and tended to wink at the “evils” that many of the northern visitors came to Miami to enjoy. In Papa’s day, this small town corruption was nothing compared to what was to come in the twenties and thirties when even Al Capone made Miami home. But it was made clear to Papa that the police were not to stand in the way of tourists enjoying themselves. And they didn’t.

Prohibition became federal law in 1919, in the midst of Chief Dillon’s administration, but he had been dealing with problems of rum-running from Cuba and the local speakeasies for years. By law, Miami had been “dry” for six years before the federal law was passed. But as anyone could guess, Miami was never really “dry.”

And then in 1921, Miami’s city government went thorough a dramatic change when it switched to a reform-based commissioner-manager form. From then on, the Police Chief would be appointed by the city manager, not elected. Papa didn’t like this new system, and the people running it didn’t like him.

Miami’s first City Manager under the new system was a man named Colonel Charles Coe. And although Col. Coe lasted only four months, that was long enough to fire the Police Chief who had opposed the new form of government. It happened just a few weeks before Papa’s second 2-year term expired.

As he said years later, “Doggone, I believe the Police Chief should be elected by the people! Not appointed by some crook.” So now that the chief would be appointed, Papa decided to run for Sheriff. He knew he was still popular with the people, and the sheriff’s job was up for election.

He quickly planned to run, and if family history is any gauge, the main thrust of his campaign was a song created by his family—so typical of the Dillons. All Chief Dillon’s kids and their cousins piled into the back of an old pickup truck, and rode around town for days singing to the tune of a popular song of the day, “Oh Yes, We Have no Bananas.”

Even the song didn’t work. He lost the election, and that was the end of Papa in law enforcement and politics.

But it wasn’t the end of his campaign song. I remember my mother and her sisters singing it just for fun whenever they’d get together over the next 50 years.

That same year, there was a Presidential election in Cuba. Even while Chief of Police, Papa had visited the island often, usually on hunting trips with a large group of friends from Miami and Havana, since he had always had many friends in both cities.

And in these years, his position as Chief had introduced him to even more people in Cuba, but of course, as always, he was close friends with everybody he met, from taxi drivers to important politicians. By this time, he had learned to speak fluent Spanish, but since we always joked about his less-than-perfect command of English, we wondered about his Spanish. In any case, his personality fit perfectly with his Cuban friends, who were almost always smiling and happy, and they never criticized his Spanish. As Papa used to say, “Cubans are the best-natured people in the world.” He loved them.

Alfredo Zayas, 1861-1934 President of Cuba, 1921-1925

One of his hunting buddies was a Cuban man named Alfredo Zayas, probably one of the most unlikely friends Papa ever had. . When Papa met him, Zayas was Mayor of Havana, and probably enjoyed knowing Chief Dillon, and joining in his hunting parties. But I wonder if Papa ever knew this man’s background.

Zayas was a highly intellectual lawyer and poet from an aristocratic family who had earlier served Cuba as prosecutor, judge, Secretary of the Constitutional Convention, Senator, President of the Senate, and Vice President. And since this was a man who mixed literature with politics, he also served years as co-editor of the highly respected journal, “Cuba Literaria.”

Most important to Papa, I’m sure, was that Zayas was one of the big heroes of the Spanish American War, fought in 1898, and of course, a huge event to everyone in Key West and Miami. Since the US had helped Cuba win its independence from Spain, Papa surely had high respect for Zayas who was a major Cuban patriot. Zayas also had two important brothers—a doctor who had been another great revolutionary and had been killed during the War, and another who was Cuba’s longtime Minister to Paris and Brussels. Somehow, with his 5th grade education and lots of charm, Papa mixed with such people with ease. No one intimidated him, and he treated everyone the same, obviously the key to his popularity.

When Zayas announced that he was to be a candidate for Cuba’s presidency, Papa had a plan. He contacted another close friend in Havana who was a sea captain named Monolo Itturiaga. The Itturiagas and the Dillons had been friends for decades, visiting in each other’s homes regularly. Both knew Zayas, and were excited about his campaign. The two seaman got together, and decided that if their hunting friend won the election, they’d present him with an elaborate inaugural gift. Papa’s idea was to have a large ship model made, and named after Senora Zayas, “Maria.” I don’t know if the two men had the model made in Havana or Miami, but it is a magnificent three-masted ship, fully rigged with working pulleys and yardarms, flagged as a US warship during the Spanish-American War. The hull is carved from one piece of mahogany, and is 37” long from bow to stern. The whole ship is set in painted waves of plaster, and has a 4-foot long glass case with matching mahogany frame. There are little cast iron soldiers on deck, and at the wheel, a small Chinese boy doll. I learned years later that the doll is there because Alfredo Zayas’ nickname was “El Chino”, or “The Chinaman”, since everyone thought he had a very oriental way of quietly analyzing everything.

When Election Day arrived, and Alfredo Zayas won, the big gift was ready, and presented in Havana. From that day in 1921, until he left office in 1925, the ship model was on display in Havana’s Presidential Palace.

In his few remaining years after leaving office, Zayas published his major literary work, the 2-volume “Lexicografia Antillana” and served as the President of the “Academia de la Historia” in Cuba.

But when he died, Senora Zayas decided to return many of his Presidential inaugural gifts. The ship model came back to Miami, and I remember it at Papa’s house when I was little. As I grew a little older, he told me he thought I was the only grandchild he had who showed any interest in ships, so he gave me the big model of the “Maria” when I was 11. From that day to this, it has been one of our family’s greatest treasures—the large ship in its big glass case. I show it to all my Cuban friends in Miami today, and tell them about Alfredo Zayas, Monolo Iturriaga and Papa.