Free Last Train to Paradise by Les Standiford

island chain, which he said would be protected by the neighboring Florida reef, safe from high seas “even in the severest hurricanes.” If the several lighthouses that had been built along the reef had not been blown over, he reasoned, why worry about track, trestles, and bridges?
    As to who was capable of building this mighty road, Browne ended his piece with another bold declaration: “The building of a railroad to Key West would be a fitting consummation of Mr. Flagler’s career, and his name would be handed down to posterity linked to one of the grandest achievements of modern times.”
    Whether or not anyone was looking over his shoulder as he composed his article, Browne had by 1895 carried out his promises to Flagler, using his position as a state senator to see to it that all legislative impediments to Flagler’s plans had been disposed of. Shortly thereafter, Flagler recombined all of his rail holdings in the state into the Florida East Coast Railway, and gave official notification to the state that it was his intention to extend his system all the way to Key West.
    The proposal was so grandiose on the face of it that most lumped Flagler’s Key West intentions into the same category as those of earlier speculators. He was, however, granted a charter by the legislature to extend the FEC line to Miami, a move that went beyond the mere permission to spend a great deal of money laying iron track.
    An 1889 act of the Florida legislature set aside some 10 million acres of land to be deeded to entrepreneurs willing to build new railway lines and thereby bolster the state’s economic infrastructure. As a result, Flagler was able to lay claim to eight thousand acres for every mile of track he built. In the end, he would control more than two million acres of land for which he had essentially paid nothing.
    While sales and leasing of these lands abutting his right-of-way were a windfall, Flagler was always on the lookout for properties that might be developed as resorts, thereby creating an incentive for passengers to ride each new leg of his line. He took to riding his own railroad incognito, the better to scout out likely targets for acquisition without arousing the attention of local speculators certain to jack their prices sky-high should it be known that the great Henry Flagler might be interested.
    In 1892 he had visited the seaside hamlet of Palm Beach in such a manner, and had returned to St. Augustine in a lather. “I have found a veritable Paradise,” he told his managers, instructing them to acquire the necessary land for the “largest hotel in the world” and to begin planning the extension of the line to Palm Beach.
    One would have to give Flagler credit for his vision. At the time the entirety of Palm Beach, situated on a narrow, palm-laden barrier island between Lake Worth and the Atlantic, consisted of less than a dozen houses. While the place was undeniably lovely, it was virgin territory, with no housing facilities for the hundreds of workmen who would be required to bring these dreams to fruition. And with no railroad line in existence, the building materials for the colossal hotel project would have to be brought down the Florida coast by a hastily assembled flotilla of cargo ships and riverboat steamers.
    Although such a staging process taxed Flagler’s infrastructure, it was valuable preparation for what would come later. Workmen were housed in hastily assembled communities of tents and shacks, resembling nothing so much as a vast gold-rush camp. Because Flagler was loath to mar the landscape surrounding his dream hotel, most of the camps were laid out on the west side of Lake Worth, requiring men to row to work in the mornings, then row back to camp at night. It might have been an inconvenience for those doing the rowing, but it gave Flagler another moneymaking idea.
    He decided to lay out a new town on the west shores of Lake Worth, where he would erect the terminal for his railroad. It was