Page 64 of Camino Ghosts

“Oh, it was much nicer. Wasn’t all grown up. There were some weeds and all because nobody lived there, we’d been gone a long time. Me and Herschel and a boy named Carp would cut some of the weeds around my family’s graves, but it was not as nice as when I was a little girl.”

“Why did you keep going back to the island?”

“Because Dark Isle belongs to my people, to my family, to me. I was the only one left. If I didn’t go take care of things, or at least try to, there was nobody else.”

6.

In 1990, Lovely read a story in The Register about a new state park that had just opened between Jacksonville and Tallahassee. Officials from the Florida Park Service were on hand for a ceremony and one of them claimed that the state had the finest system in the country, with over 160 state parks and growing. Lovely wrote a letter to the person quoted in the article, and suggested that Dark Isle, with its truly unique history, would be ideal for a park, sort of a memorial to the former slaves who lived and died there. Her first letter was not answered, but her second drew a response from a Mr. Williford, who, in polite and official language, said they were not interested at that time. She waited six months and wrote him back. There was no response. She paid the same schoolteacher a few bucks to type her letters and make copies.

Steven handed her the first letter and asked her to read it. She adjusted her red glasses and said, “Dear Mr. Williford. My name is Lovely Jackson and I am the last descendant of former slaves who lived on Dark Isle, near Camino Island. Dark Isle was the home of my people for over two hundred years. No one has lived there since 1955, when my mother and I had to leave. As the last descendant, I guess I am the owner of Dark Isle, and I would like to talk to you about turning it into another state park, to honor my people. I visit it often to care for the cemetery. Most of the old houses and buildings are falling in. But the island is very historic and I think people would enjoy visiting it, if it was fixed up somewhat. Please contact me at your convenience. Thank you for your time. Sincerely, Lovely Jackson.”

She said there was no response. Her second letter was virtually identical to the first. When Mr. Williford did write back, he said, “Dear Ms. Jackson, Thanks for your kind letter of March30, 1990. Your request for consideration is certainly interesting. The state of Florida currently has six proposed new parks. Unfortunately there is funding for only four of them. I will place your request in the proper file, to be considered in the future. Sincerely, Robert Williford.”

Her third letter, six months later, was similar to the first two. Steven presented all the letters and asked that they be admitted into evidence. There was no objection.

“Now, Ms. Jackson, is it true that you tried to pay the property taxes on Dark Isle?”

“It’s true. I’ve tried for many years.”

“And how did you go about doing this?”

“Well, once a year I sent a check for one hundred dollars to the tax office across the street. Been doing that for a long time.”

“And what happened to the check?”

“Well, this nice lady, Miss Henry, the tax lady, she always writes me a little letter and sends it back.”

Steven stepped over and handed her two sheets of paper. “The one marked ‘Exhibit Seven,’ can you describe that?”

“It’s a copy of my check to the tax assessor, dated January fourth, 2005. Below it, right here, is a copy of my note, saying: ‘Dear Miss Henry, Here is my check for one hundred dollars for the property taxes on Dark Isle.’ ”

“And Exhibit Eight, what is that?”

“It’s a letter from Miss Henry, says: ‘Dear Ms. Jackson, Thank you once again for your check for the taxes on Dark Isle, but, once again, I cannot accept your money. Dark Isle is not on the county’s tax roll, so no taxes are due.’ ”

“And when did you send in the first check for the taxes?”

“Nineteen sixty-four.”

“And why did you do that?”

“Because I thought the owner of the property had to pay the taxes. My husband told me so, said if I didn’t pay taxes then the county would foreclose on the property and I’d lose it. I saved my money and sent what I could.”

“And how long did you do this?”

“Did it last January.”

“Every year from 1964?”

“Yes, sir. Never missed a single year. I’d send the check, Miss Henry, or the lady before her, would send it back.”

Steven picked up a thick file and said, “Your Honor, I have copies of the checks and the correspondence between my client and the county’s tax assessors.”

“Since 1964?” Judge Burch asked, obviously not eager to review the contents of the file.

“Yes, sir. Every year.”

“And they’re all the same? One hundred dollars every year?”

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