Port St. Joe, Florida: Paradise Lost . . . And Found
Six years after the mill closed its doors for the final time, a different Port St. Joe, and a new, more balanced economy, has emerged. Unemployment rates have dipped below 4.1 percent. Former mill workers have opened businesses: hotels, restaurants and stores. To understand this miracle of rebirth, one must first follow the long and winding road it took to get here.
ST. JOE, THE WORKER
The city of Port St. Joe was founded in 1912, approximately two miles north of the ruins of “Old St. Joseph,” the site of the drafting of the original 1839 Florida constitution (see sidebar). More than fifty years after St. Joseph had been lost to time, Port St. Joe’s deep-water bay attracted big shipping interests. In anticipation of increased trade through the Panama Canal, the Apalachicola Northern Railroad extended its network to Port St. Joe with plans to load large ships with goods to be taken through the canal. It was advertised as the “Panama Route.”
When a national economic depression hit, the plan did not work out as railroad executives had hoped. In the early 1930s, as Alfred I. DuPont, the Gilded Era entrepreneur who created a financial empire in Florida, purchased the struggling railroad, hundreds of thousands of acres of Panhandle timberland and created the St. Joe Paper Company.
Dupont drew up elaborate plans for the development of his mill town as “The Model City of the South,” and then died. His brother-in-law, Ed Ball, took control of the St. Joe Company in 1935 but never acted on the master city plan. Still, as the mill commenced operation in 1938, Port St. Joe was already a booming town supporting a population of about 1,000. Mill workers were well paid, and related forestry and maritime industries flourished as well. Nearby Kenney’s Sawmill sawed lumber night and day throughout World War II.
Rise and Fall
By some reports, close to 6,000 people lived in Port St. Joe, exclusive of the beaches, by the end of the 1960s. Production at the paper mill increased as products were marketed directly to company-owned box plants around the country.
The area was enjoying some of the highest per capita earnings in the Florida Panhandle: Per capita income for 1969 in Gulf County is reported at $2,577, while neighboring Franklin County was projected at $1,974. Per capita income statewide that year was $3,659. When you factor in the extremely low cost of living for the area, Port St. Joe was experiencing an economic boom.
A nine-month mill worker strike in the mid-1970s seemed to herald the changing times. The wage dispute was ultimately resolved, but the crisis wasn’t over. The country was in a recession, and Port St. Joe suffered in the one-sidedness of its local economy. “You either serviced the mill or its people,” says local dentist Dusty May who grew up in Port St. Joe. “If you didn’t want to work in that industry, there was really no opportunity.” May returned to his hometown in 1989, and says little had changed: “There’s a picture of downtown in a Chamber guide from the 1950s, and then we had one from the 1980s. The only thing that changed in the picture was the car models.”
The 80s and 90s did bring change to the paper industry. Increased environmental regulations required upgrading the mill’s technology at prohibitive cost to the St. Joe Company. Containerboard prices fluctuated and continued to drop, dramatically affecting the box industry.
In 1996, the mill was sold to Florida Coast Paper for $390 million. Fear spread among workers as a nine-month mill shutdown dragged on. Unemployment skyrocketed as the telephone company eliminated over 100 jobs, the Woodlands Division of the company closed and a container plant shut its doors. Eventually, a contract agreement was signed December 18, 1996, between workers and Florida Coast Paper Company that reduced the average worker’s earnings by approximately $5,000 annually – a major financial hit for a county with per capita earnings of $16, 843 (compared with a statewide average of $23,909 for the same year).
At the beginning of 1999, the local newspaper, “The Star,” estimated the number of jobs lost in Port St. Joe at over 1,500; Gulf County’s unemployment rate topped twenty percent. An “indefinite” mill closing became permanent as Florida Coast Paper filed for bankruptcy.
Sandra Chafin moved back to her hometown of Port St. Joe the same month the mill closed; she had been away 34 years. “There was no optimism then,” she said. “It was just the worst news anyone could hear.” The first holiday season after the mill closed was hard on the town. Local Piggly Wiggly owner George Duren and other area merchants gave away over $18,000 in free groceries to neighbors in need to help them survive the holidays that year.
A CITY IN TRANSITION
“Even a year after the closing of the mill, there was a lot of stress and emotion in town,” remembers John Hendry, vice president of strategic planning for the St. Joe Company. “That all changed when the mill finally came down. The whole town turned out. There was a sense of closure.” Some had tears in their eyes as they watched the demolition of an icon. Completed in 2003, the demolition project took nearly two years and generated 130,000-150,000 tons of rubble and over 41,000 tons of steel.
But it seems the phoenix of Port St. Joe has risen from the ashes once again. On the blank slate of the former mill site, the St. Joe Company has unveiled a $344 million plan that’s not too far from Alfred I. DuPont idealized Southern town – an integrated city with upscale residential districts, entertainment venues, a thriving port and a diverse economy. “It would have been easy for us to turn our backs on this town,” says Hendry, “but that wouldn’t make sense for us. Port St. Joe is a fundamental part of the St. Joe Company, and we are a fundamental part of this town.”
Sandra Chafin is now executive director of the Gulf County Chamber of Commerce, and in six short years, her outlook has changed as well. “In 2001, we had less than 100 members of the Chamber,” she says. “Today, we have 350, and 25 new businesses have joined since January 1st of this year.”
BUILDING BUSINESS
In 2002, the future of tourism in Gulf County received a welcome jolt. Stephen Leatherman, the Florida International University professor known as “Dr. Beach,” named St. Joseph Peninsula State Park, a nine-mile stretch along the northern half of Cape San Blas, “best beach in the United States.” However, there has been no rush to throw up high-rise condominiums and open the town’s arms to hordes of Spring Breakers.
The growth of Port St. Joe will be limited by certain county and city restrictions. “The limits on construction in Gulf County,” says David Warriner, owner of the re-opened Port Inn, “are three habitable floors, which is OK by me.” Warriner cites the area’s unique combination of inland waterways and pristine b eaches as a draw to those wanting a quiet escape.
Nowhere can Port St. Joe’s reverence for the past and optimism for the future be more clearly illustrated than in the quaint, historic Port Inn. Originally established in 1907 on the same site, the inn burned to the ground in the 1940s and was rebuilt and opened as the St. Joe Motel. Warriner and his wife Tricia, daughter of the late Senator George G. Tapper, purchased the hotel, completed a $2 million renovation / restoration and re-opened as the Port Inn in February of 2003. “Those of us who live here,” he says, “have a stake in keeping Port St. Joe a real town. That’s what makes this area special.”
Some critics question whether a tourist-based economy is just as one-sided as the former mill town, but without the high-paying union jobs. “We’re trying to bring in some industry [to Gulf County],” says Alan MacNair, Economic Development Council executive director, “to keep all the jobs from becoming service jobs.”
Morris Palmer believes the groundwork for a balanced economy is already in place and that industry will come. “In the next five years,” he says, “Port St. Joe can have just about anything it wants.”
MacNair’s recruitment efforts are geared toward bringing manufacturing to the northern end of the county and tourism and health care into Port St. Joe. At press time, troubled Gulf Pines Hospital has closed its doors again, and one of the plans in the works to fill this gap is a critical access hospital to be built by Sacred Heart Health System.
County Commissioner Bill Williams is aware of the health care crisis facing his county and is working on the development team to recruit Sacred Heart. “Our beach is selling faster than we can build the health care infrastructure to support the new population,” he says. “People are re-locating here, and we need to be able to take care of them.”
EXERTING PORT AUTHORITY
The same deep-water port that once proved so essential to Old St. Joseph is once again emerging as an essential asset in the new St. Joe. In 1999, the Port St. Joe Marina was completed. Overlooking St. Joseph Bay, the marina features 128 wet slips and 79 dry storage units, as well as a marina store and a waterside restaurant. But the plans don’t stop there.
The local Port Authority would like to see an industrial port – and the jobs that accompany it – put to work sooner rather than later in St. Joseph Bay. With the temporary rights to the bulkhead, the Port Authority could throw a monkey wrench into the St. Joe Company’s plans for a multi-million dollar mixed-use entertainment / residential / retail complex.
“We don’t disagree that there should be a working industrial port,” says John Hendry. “We just disagree about its location.” He says that while the port could bring 50-100 jobs to the area, the St. Joe Company’s plans represent a $3.2 million tax base for the local economy.
According to local developer Morris Palmer of A&E Development, moving the port further away from the center of town is a project could cost $15 million and take 5-10 years. “It sounds daunting to normal people,” he says. “But if a port works and it takes 15 years, those are small numbers.”
“We’ve had a list of companies call us already,” says Port Authority marketing coordinator Ken Karpinski. “And I hate to tell them no. But if we went into operation tomorrow, we wouldn’t have a full economic impact on the community for a number of years,” he admits. Both sides say they are committed to reaching an “amicable resolution” soon.
LAND RUSH
Local landowners have watched the value of their homes and property skyrocket in the past few years. “It’s just gone nuts,” says Morris Palmer. “Lots that were $15,000 [a few years ago] are now $250,000. We’re in a kind of Gold Rush right now.”
The height and density restrictions for the area safeguard the area’s natural resources, he says, and in the long run, these same restrictions will drive prices higher. New developments, such as the St. Joe Company’s WindMark residential project, are some of the lowest density communities along the coastline. “And everybody who loves Destin,” Palmer comments, “would love it even more with a third as many people.” Upon completion, WindMark will represent over 1600 new homes, with waterfront lots selling for more than $1 million.
But as new home prices soar far past the $150,000 mark, affordable housing becomes a real challenge for the former mill town. “I was just involved in the process of finding a new youth minister for my church,” says Palmer, “and there’s nowhere for people making $20,000-30,000 per year to live.”
The Community Development Coalition is planning to research options including rezoning and possibly developing bedroom communities closer to the Wewahitchka or White City areas. Palmer says that he would love to get into the more mainstream housing markets, and perhaps build some apartments and quadriplexes in the area. “The biggest problem right now,” says Palmer, “is getting your hands on the land.”
THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD
The relocation of U.S. 98 will be the first phase in managing a growing transportation challenge. After moving the highway inland, St. Joe plans to develop the beachfront property, but John Hendry promises that plenty of public access beach space will be designated. Future transportation plans in the works include a connector between U.S. 98 and U.S. 231, as well as a north-south expressway from Alabama down to the beach.
“I’m very excited and optimistic about this city’s future,” says Dusty May. As a native son who moved back to fill the need for a local dentist, he’s excited about the prospect that there will be even more opportunity for his children one day, should they choose to settle in Port St. Joe. “Even the people who opposed the closing of the mill are now optimistic.”
Sandra Chafin hears this sentiment echoed in the small business owners she meets: “I actually hear people say, ‘You know, I’m doing fine now.'” There appears to be a touch of wonder in their voices at this realization. “People are our greatest asset in this community,” she says. “We get folks moving in here from all over now – from up north and even South Florida – and they say, ‘You remind us here of the way we used to be.'”
SIDEBAR: “Old St. Joseph — Florida’s Lost City”
Founded in the 1830s, “Old St. Joseph” was situated near the mouth of the Apalachicola River and was the most populated city in the territory of Florida in its heyday. The city boasted one of the few newspapers in print in the nation, the “St. Joseph Telegraph,” one of the first operational railroads, and thanks to one of the deepest natural bays in Florida, a thriving port rivaling Savannah, Charleston and New Orleans.
Several thousand permanent residents enjoyed affluence by early 19th century standards, fueled by a brisk cotton market. The wealthiest citizens ordered impressive pre-fabricated homes from northeast builders. Pleasure cruises on their way to New Orleans stopped at St. Joseph so its passengers could to hunt black bear, fish, or even gamble at one of the country’s first thoroughbred race tracks.
An on-going rivalry between St. Joseph and neighboring Apalachicola was waged in the local newspapers. Tales of St. Joseph’s pretty women, ice cream socials and brandy served over ice were transformed into evidence of “wickedness” in reports detailed in the Apalachicola Gazette. In fact, it was the ice – rather than the whiskey and women – that drew the most envy from neighbors; St. Joseph’s deep-water port allowed frequent shipments from iceboats, whereas outlying towns rarely saw such luxuries.
In 1839, St. Joseph enjoyed the honor of being selected as the site of the drafting of the first Florida constitution. A forced northern migration of over 200 local Native Americans blackens the memory of what was otherwise a red-letter year for the town. The following year, the territory of Florida applied for statehood.
And then just as St. Joseph was enjoying its zenith, its light was extinguished. A Spanish freighter docking in the town in 1841 brought Yellow Fever; two weeks later, 69 percent of the population was dead. Building were dismantled; the population dwindled to less than 400, and two subsequent hurricanes destroyed the remaining traces of what was once considered the “Sin City” of Florida. (Despite legend and a popular fictionalized account, no giant tidal wave ever wiped out the town.)
Today, the only remaining traces of the ghost town are a few railroad ties, some rubble at the mouth of the Apalachicola River, and The Constitution Convention Museum, commemorating the one momentous event that keeps the legend of Old St. Joseph in the history books.
