Every time I cross into North Florida, to this day, I’m continually reminded of the place where I came of age while living out an important time of my life. “The Bold New City of The South” was the slogan in the 70's. Today, I’m proud of what Jacksonville has become. It’s a thriving business center with miles of beaches and a new slogan, “The First Coast.” They have the NFL Jaguars who play in what was once exclusively the Gator Bowl. Duval County IS Jacksonville, thus making it the largest city in America in terms of square mile land area. Beach areas like Amelia Island and Fernandina are fantastic. 

The St. John’s River, which cuts directly through Jacksonville, is the only major river in America to flow from south to north. The only other two, I can think of, in the world are the Amazon and the Nile. Correct me if you find another. New communities with cutting edge retail now fill in once barren stretches of highways. The beach area is now a complete makeover from what I knew. In my day there, you could drive on it like Daytona. Police gave out speeding tickets on the beach! The neighborhood I lived in isn’t exactly a chamber of commerce destination anymore, but nice parts of town outnumber the bad. Indeed, there were low points and adversity within in the 5 years I resided in the metro area, but as it is with the grandest healer of all, time itself, they are now obscured by my fondness for an era filled with great hope and accomplishment.

Jacksonville wasn't even close to being on my radar when considering what kind of route I would take to radio.  I passed through on I-95 headed to points South from New Jersey many times, but never stopped. The distinctive paper mills aroma from South Georgia drifted into North Florida. When you smelled it, you knew you were either at the Florida line or close to it. I always thought that if I moved to Florida that it would be St. Petersburg or Ft. Lauderdale. 

Several times in 1975 and '76, I road tripped with my buddy Glenn in his brand new and blue Chevy van to visit his Dad or Cousin Michael in St. Pete. Those were fun days water skiing in Tampa Bay. I even got fancy and skied on one ski and a barefoot on the water.

Cousin Michael's was the happening spot across town. He had a modest ranch with a converted garage that became "The Moon Room". Moon, because beneath the green shag carpeting, he installed 12 inches of foam rubber. It had a springy feel when you walked on it. It was a great place to sleep too. Just grab a pillow and fall down!

St. Pete Beach was a great town in the mid 70's and we spent time at a place called The Sea Horse and The Cheyenne Social Club. We even wandered into the snooty pink hotel, the Don Cesar, and got thrown out for wearing cut offs in the pool. One trip with our friend Larry, we went to New Orleans for the day, a 10 hour, 650 mile trip from Florida to water ski with his brother on Lake Pontchartrain. I can still see the Chinese Junk boats on the water in my mind's eye. From there, it was a run directly back to New Jersey. 

Jones College came calling and I got the letter. Congratulations! You've been accepted for admission for the Spring 1977 Semester starting in March. I was excited and big wheels seemed to be turning. Big wheels would take on a whole new meaning later in my life. Jacksonville it was going to be.