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From very early adulthood I had an interest in, sometimes a real yearning, to travel, to see other places, both here in this country, and in other lands as well.

Now, I loved growing up here in “Little” Washington, and at an early age had a sense of how blessed I was. True.

Yet for many, many years I had a desire, a real hankering, to visit a certain town in Florida. Now, I know, I know, all of you really, really want me to tell you all about it. Okay. I’ll do it, then.

Well, I finally did visit that certain town in Florida. However, it came about many years later. After a year at Wake Forest, where I didn’t exactly excel in the academic realm. If you get my meaning.

The in-between included three years in the military service of my country. Seven months at Fort Knox, then twenty-nine months in Germany.

I don’t mean to boast, but many of my military duties and responsibilities were of a very important nature.

You know, such things as cleaning the latrine, walking guard duty, pulling K.P.   Plus freezing my, er, freezing out in the country-side of the Fatherland. That’s when I decided if there was a hell, it would be bitterly cold weather. To this day I consider cold weather my arch-enemy.

Back to that certain town in Florida.

It’s 50 minutes from Walt Disney World, 45 minutes from Busch Gardens, 55 minutes from Tampa International Airport, and 60 minutes from Orlando Jet Port.

This town boasts “Among Florida’s Best Schools”, a golf course, tennis activities, a civic center which can provide spacious banquet and meeting facilities for business, civic and social gatherings and a plethora of churches. Plus, I’m sure, as almost every entity alleges, “much, much more.”

Enough of all that. You see, when our daughter Mary Bart(ow) was living in Florida, one time when I was there, we set out to visit the county City of Imperial Polk County!

Now, if that doesn’t whet your appetite for more information, what can I possibly say?

We left from West Palm Beach, heading for our destination.

Bartow! That’s right. Bartow, Florida.

We spent the night in Bartow. We took photos, alternately, beside the “Welcome to Bartow” sign.

And who was this Bartow the good folks gave the town his name?

 

Well, I’ll tell you. His name was Francis Bartow. He was the first Confederate general to fall (euphemism for he got whacked) in the worst war in the history of our union. (Personally, I believe he was on the wrong side. You know, a defender of slavery. Sad.)

Bartow is my middle name. What is my first name? You may ask.

You got it!

Francis.