Every Friday afternoon, the Suwannee Express chugged slowly out of the Jacksonville Union Depot at 3:20, spewing thick coal smoke, leaving a coat of black soot over everything in sight. This accommodated a 4:25 arrival in White Springs. Lucas Porter was aboard, just as he had been the second Friday of every month for several years. He sipped at a glass of pretty good whiskey and wondered again how soaking in ice-cold water which stinks of rotten egg could do anything for his rheumatic knees. This particular therapy had been recommended by his son-in-law, who ought to know, being a well-schooled druggist with his own line of products available at stores throughout the Southeast. It gave Lucas cause to wonder about the veracity of the medical establishment in general. Only one unanticipated aspect of the treatment kept him coming back – Colleen O’Bannon, the beautiful young Irish girl who worked as a treatment room attendant at the Sulfur Spring Spa.

Twenty-five years his junior, Colleen melted when the first thing Porter said to her was, “You’re the second most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes upon. The first, of course being my dear late wife.” Colleen suffered no shortage of fat old men in ill health flirting with her as she helped them hobble from their rooms at the hotel to the pools in the spa through which flowed the stinking, healing sulfur waters. Most of them were rich enough to be worth going after, too. The trip from the pool back to the changing room was even worse, as the old men bragged about how rejuvenated they felt from their soak and invariably sought to demonstrate their latent virility. But Porter’s sentiment was sincere; she could tell that. So she tended to him lovingly, massaging his knees and bringing him a pot of tea after his soak. She often asked him questions about his ailments, as though she were really concerned, and as though there might be some hope that the magic waters and her ministrations might help. After several visits, Porter started talking about his deceased wife, his daughter who had married and moved away, and how he was very happy with his life, had lots of friends, and even more money, but still suffered a void that could only be filled by a wife. Later that night, Colleen came to his room and filled the void. They spoke not a word all night. In the morning, she silently left. Thus was set the stage for his monthly visits for the next several years.
The Sheffield Hotel had its usual carriage there to meet him at the Suwannee River Depot. There were several luxury hotels in the town of White Springs, but the Sheffield was closest to the springs and offered special rates to patients who were visiting the Sulfur Spring Medical Spa which owned the spring house. The spring house, a three story structure built around the actual spring, had changing rooms, soaking pools and other amenities to make it easy to take advantage of the magical healing powers of the spring water. Porter checked in and was welcomed obsequiously by the general manager, Ernest, who assured him that his usual suite awaited him.
“Welcome back, Mr. Porter,” said Ernest effusively. “We are so happy to see you. You look well, sir. The treatments must be agreeing with you.”
“Well, I suppose they are. But I’ll bet that water is going to be uncomfortably cold this time of year. I can hardly see how sitting in freezing cold water can be good for you.”
“Now, now, Mr. Porter, I am sure this has been explained to you. Unlike the warm springs you will find in other places, the Sulfur Springs have long-term medical benefits more than just immediate relief from aching muscles. It’s the ‘mystery of the chemistry,’ as they say.” Although Porter had heard all this before from his son-in-law and others who swore by the therapeutic benefits of soaking in cold water, his knees still hurt. But he didn’t mind it so much as long as he was with Colleen. “Now, I see that Miss O’Bannon has prescribed a meatless meal for you tonight, which the kitchen has prepared. It will be served to you in the dining room whenever you wish, then she will see you for a pre-treatment consultation tonight at eight-thirty.” Ernest rang a bell and a young boy of about thirteen with very bad skin and worse teeth ran forward to take Lucas Porter’s bag, running on ahead to the assigned room.
Porter dropped his considerable bulk into an upholstered wing chair by the door to the balcony, and fished a nickel out of his pocket for the pitiful young fellow who carried his luggage. “Just put it there by the bed,” he barked. The boy obeyed and seemed indifferent to the nickel. Porter knew that Colleen would be along later to unpack his things and arrange them for him. For now, he was content to sit, stare out the window and think about the business he had to conduct in Tallahassee the following week. A man of his wealth and age has no reason to keep carrying on like this, helping friends build railroads, get streetcar franchises and the like. But Porter had always tried to help get good people into government and honest men into business and, to the extent possible, get them to work together. As a testament to his success, people kept coming back to him when they needed to navigate the murky halls of the state capitol. During the reconstruction and recovery years after the War of Secession, Porter managed to function as an intermediary between factions trying to control government and finance. In the quest to drive corruption out of government, civic leaders turned to creating boards of trustees for every imaginable situation. In order to have any effect, these trustees had to borrow money and have a source of revenue from which to repay the debt, so they all had to get a charter from the state legislature. Porter led delegations of concerned citizens to Tallahassee and gained a reputation among state officials as a competent leader. Though never actually elected to any office, he had controlled significant public resources by serving on the Board of Sanitary Trustees, empowered to borrow money to build sewer systems. Widow’s and orphan’s societies, Confederate Soldiers and Sailors homes, the hospital board – anything that bettered the community, Luke Porter had a hand in. He had also chaired the Jacksonville Street Rail Company, created to oversee the consolidation of the four near-bankrupt streetcar companies in Jacksonville. These things and many more, he did as a young man. Now on in years, he was still remembered by many people and treated with great respect.
He was so deep in thought about the railroad proposal he was to discuss in the coming days that Colleen came into the room without being noticed. She wanted to sneak up and surprise him, but he noticed her first, and reached an arm out and grabbed her, pulling her to him. She landed in his lap and they both laughed. “Is this how you treat your old feeble patients? Sneaking up and jumping on them?” he asked, jokingly.
“All part of the therapy,” She said as she kissed him on the forehead. “You go down to the dining room and eat the supper they’ve got fixed for you. I’ll unpack your things and we’ll go over your treatments later.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said sarcastically, as he hobbled out of the room and down the grand staircase to the lobby.
In the dining room, he was served a thick vegetable stew over rice with a small square of cornbread and a pot of tea brewed with the odiferous spring water. The dining room was beginning to fill up. Though White Springs did not attract the big winter crowds that Jacksonville did, it had long had a reputation as a place that one must visit if one is in Florida for the winter anyway. The perceived medical benefits of the waters of White Springs had made the town a destination for hypochondriacs. The Sulfur Springs Medical Spa that was attached to the Sheffield Hotel even had a medical staff of sorts. Andrew Orben, a retired Union Army doctor, had convinced rich Yankees of the curative properties of the sulfur water, using the phrase “the mystery of the chemistry.” He trained everyone affiliated with the hotel and the spa to use the phrase as often as possible. Even the driver of the carriage that picked people up at the depot said, “Come back for more of the mystery of the chemistry, eh?” And he trained young ladies as medical attendants at the spa to help the usually old and sometimes frail, but always wealthy, patients from their rooms to the private bathing quarters.
Porter finished the unexciting meal and returned to his room, and found Colleen there tending to all his things. She had taken her supper in the staff dining room, since fraternizing with the guests beyond what was necessary to help them bathe was frowned upon.
“Why was there no meat for supper?” asked Porter in a good-natured sort of grumble.
“A meatless meal now and then is no harm. Doctor Orben thinks your diet may be too high in proteins and that is contributing to your joint pain.”
“Well, a bit of ham for seasoning would not have been unkind. Now, what kind of rigors am I to be put through tomorrow?”
“Not rigorous at all. Why don’t you sleep as late as you like, and we’ll have some fresh fruit for breakfast. We’ll have your first soak at ten-thirty. After lunch, you can sit on your terrace in the warm sunshine, then another thirty-minute soak around four. But I really want you to try to bend your knees as much as possible tomorrow.” Colleen wrinkled her brow and formed her mouth into a devious smile. “Then we will continue with the other brand of treatments tomorrow night after another light meal. Two more soaks on Sunday, then you can take over and tell me what to do for a few days. I’ve never been to Tallahassee. What kind of business do you have there?”
“Trying to help a friend build a new rail-road.”
“Ooh, that sounds terribly important.” She spoke almost automatically as she continued to unpack his clothes. The staff had been trained to carry on conversations with patients even when they had no interest in the subject. “So does your friend live in Tallahassee?”
“No, child. The Florida Railroad Commission is in Tallahassee and I need to get their support or the Legislature may not let us build it.”
“It all sounds so terribly complicated, it does.”
“It is complicated, so never you mind about it. Besides, it will only take a part of Monday afternoon. You just come along and we’ll have a few days together. I have a friend with a large farmhouse out north of town. He is never there, and I keep a key to one of the servant’s cottages. Now, why torture me with all this knee-bending exercise and such and not even feed me anything worthy of comment?”
“Lucas Porter, if you live three more years, it will only be because of me and the torturous exercises I put you through. Whether you approve or not, I have fallen madly in love with you, and I intend to keep you healthy.” Colleen suddenly took a more serious tone.
“I didn’t mean to strike such a chord with you, dear. You know I love you, too. So much so that I dread exposing you to the calumny that will be heaped upon you should you make an appearance in Jacksonville on my arm. The scandal that the old widows would make of it is more than I can bear, frankly. I wish it were different, but it is not.”
“I can wait as long as it takes. I just want to make sure you are still there and healthy when I can proudly be escorted by you in public.”
“Colleen, my dear, I want that too, probably more than you. I’ve told you how I feel. But it may never be right. Regardless of what happens or when it happens, I want you to know that I am going to take care of you. That’s about all an old, rich, fat man can do, really. I want you to be able to live the way you deserve, whether it is here, or in Jacksonville or anywhere else. And I want you to know that my earthly riches are yours.”
“Now, Lucas Porter, you stop that kind of talk right now. When you are ready, you can introduce me to you friends in Jacksonville. Until then, I am quite content to look forward to the second weekend of every month to spend with you.”

Lucas Porter’s therapeutic weekends in White Springs ended on Sunday around four, when he ordinarily boarded the train back to Jacksonville. But, this time he stayed an extra night. Then on Monday morning, he and Colleen boarded the westbound Gulf & Atlantic train to Tallahassee. They arrived at the railroad depot in Tallahassee and Porter made arrangements for their luggage to be delivered to the King’s Arms Hotel. They got in an open horse-drawn carriage to be taken up a long, gentle hill, past enormous houses with wide front porches and skillfully tended gardens.
At the top of the hill was the state capitol, a massive, three-story frame structure with four hand-hewn columns across the facade. The Florida Railroad Commission occupied a small office in the back corner on the first floor of the building. He had sent a telegram ahead, arranging a meeting with his old friend Gerald Haughton, chairman of the commission. He intended to explain how his clients wanted to build a rail line to help get timber, turpentine, phosphate and other products more quickly delivered to the port of Jacksonville. The new railroad would have a very positive affect on the overall economy of the state of Florida. But it was not without risk. If he could get the railroad commission to sponsor the legislation granting a railroad charter, then the work was better than half-done.
“Gerald, certainly you can see my clients’ situation. These men are going to spend a lot of capital on very specialized rail equipment needed to haul these commodities. And then the prices of this stuff can start fluctuating wildly. The best way to protect against that is to give them the customary land grant for development and give them eminent domain to take what land they need for terminal operations and switching yards and such.”
There was silence as Haughton stared over his reading glasses across the desk at Porter.
“And I might hasten to add that these gentlemen are well-financed, community-minded folks. Very generous. They acknowledge that there are many costs of doing business, all of which they are prepared to meet before this project can go forward one bit.” After dropping as many oblique clues as possible, short of asking how much money the commissioner wanted, Porter noticed his old friend getting a strange look of nervous concern on his face.
“Your friends want a railroad, they can buy the land and take it up with the legislature. I’m in no position to offer more than that,” said the Commissioner. Porter was stunned to hear such abrupt language from his long time-friend.
“Gerald? If that is what you said to everybody wanting to build a railroad in this state, there wouldn’t be no railroads. You know how risky this business is. I thought that was the idea, that we would offer free land to men who would come in and build railroads. And I remember just a few years ago, you and me working to create this railroad commission so’s we can keep the politicians out of the business. Now, you want me to go to the legislature to charter a railroad? What kind of government has this become? Now let’s you and me talk about how beneficial this will be to the orderly growth and development of the state.”
“Luke, this ain’t the way it’s done no more. Why, they’re busting up rail combines all over the country, and trying to find the corruption that led to them getting so powerful. Just last month, a federal grand jury indicted the entire railroad commission of the state of Ohio. I don’t think we’ll be chartering any new railroads for quite a while, not in this office. Maybe if we get a new governor, things might change. Or maybe if we had some senators willing to stand for or agin’ something in Washington. You go tell your friend if he wants a railroad, take it up in the legislature. No one gets no quarter from me.”
“Gerald, did you hear everything I said? These men are going to invest their own money. They are going to take all the risk. All we have to do is reward them with a little land and I guarantee that they will develop it to the benefit of the state.”
“What good does that do me? It will be years before anything comes of this. And I will be long forgotten by then.”
“Gerald, my friends would never forget the man who helped them with the rigorous and demanding processes that good government calls for. They are willing to express their gratitude immediately.”
“I don’t see it happening, Luke. Not unless there is something else going on that makes it clear that a new railroad is needed or that the competition of a new railroad will help keep the tariffs in order.”
“What do you mean, Gerald?”
“I mean, we have put enough money into railroads. You remember when we said we would never grant two railroads within twenty-five miles of one another? Well, now we got crews bumping into each other building rail. People got too greedy, Luke. People right here in this office and upstairs in the Chambers, and in the governor’s office. It’s time for something to come along and start using up the capacity we got. You show me something like that, I’ll help you get a charter. Otherwise, go to the legislature.”
Porter left the office confused and somewhat dejected, this being the first time he had walked out of a government office without having achieved his precise objective. Having to deal with the legislature for a charter was not the end of the world. It was more expensive and unpredictable, but mostly it was just not what he expected. He and Colleen walked the two short blocks to the hotel where they would spend one night before retreating to his friend’s estate. He stopped at the Western-Union desk in the lobby and scribbled a brief telegram.
FAILED IN TALLAHASSEE TALK NEXT WEEK
That evening, they had a sumptuous meal of roast duck with oysters, collard greens and grits, then took a walk together through the beautiful downtown parks of Tallahassee. It was a challenge for Porter’s rheumatic knees, but Colleen did what she could to alleviate his discomfort. The next day, they traveled north by coach for two hours and spent the rest of the week at what Porter called his friend’s farm. It was actually an elegant country estate, formerly a cotton plantation the structures of which were miraculously saved from defacement by the Yankees during their occupation of the South.