I was young, married, and living in Tampa in 1969, keeping myself busy with my new life. Rather than think about the decline of my 76 year-old father's health, I struck the word death from my vocabulary. When it came, it was hard enough to accept the finality of it; I didn't want to know the details. Many years later, Betty told me amazing stories of the Hibbard she knew for two years.

Betty had come into Dad's office, after hearing that he and Mom were looking for a new housekeeper. He took one look at the young black woman in her twenties and liked her immediately. While Betty's temperament bubbled like fresh brewed coffee, something didn't fit. When he started calling Betty Betsy, his secretary Anne politely corrected him. Nonchalantly, Hibbard said, "She looks like a Betsy to me. You don't mind if I call you Betsy, do you?"

"No, sir, Mr. Casselberry, that's fine. Call me what you want." As it turned out, she liked the name, Betsy, better than her given name. He might as well have changed her last name to Casselberry at the same time, because she quickly became part of the family.

Dad had slowed down, but it didn't seem that way yet because he loved being mobile. A wheelchair made it easier to get down the long halls at Brightwater. When he and Betty went for walks, he stood as tall and straight as a sixteen-year old. He didn't feel he need a cane as long as he had her arm.

That was fine with his Betsy. She enjoyed his company and could listen to him talk for hours - something few people had ever taken the time to do. They sang, told jokes, and discussed hypothetical dilemmas that could come up in life. Ethically, they always agreed. When they talked about the Bible, Hibbard quoted it chapter and verse. Betty said, "He was a wise child of God. He knew so much his wisdom must have been coming from heaven above." His grandmother Lydia had instilled a lot of that knowledge early on, just as her husband Gold had influenced him in business.

Every so often, Hibbard and Betty felt like going somewhere. One day, it was to the golf course. When they walked into the clubhouse, friends he hadn't seen in years gathered around them. He introduced her as his ‘other daughter, Betsy.' People kept him there through the afternoon reliving old times. When Betty was finally able to get him out to the car, more people came over to chat. They didn't get home until nearly 7 pm.

Because Hibbard had such a good day, Betty took him back another time. She thought he should pose for a picture playing golf, so they got a golf cart and drove to the first tee. Betty snapped the shutter on his Polaroid camera, kicked the ball off the tee for him, and then they went to the clubhouse to have a good laugh over it.

One of their greatest adventures came when Betty told Martha, ‘I'm taking my husband here out shopping. We're going into Orlando and do everything backwards and everything wrong. So keep the checkbook handy; you might have to bail us out of jail."

The duo drove around the streets of Orlando, talking about all that was going on at Cape Kennedy Space Center. When they got to Orange Avenue, something told Betty to look up. When she did, her eyes transfixed on a shiny silver object hovering and spinning above them. "Mr. Casselberry, I'm not crazy, and I know you're not crazy. So what's that thing up there?" she said pointing up.

Hibbard immediately knew it was a flying saucer; he said he'd seen one before. While Betty was fascinated by it, they couldn't sit there. They went into a store and used the phone to call the Navy Base. When the man on the phone said it was probably a weather balloon, Betty told him, "Mr. Casselberry, the one who the town is named after, is here, and he sees it too. She handed Hibbard the phone and he verified the sighting. Next, they called the Air Force Base, and then Channel 9 News. By that time, other calls had come in with the same report. When Hibbard and Betty got home, Martha wasn't surprised at all. She said she'd seen one before too, on that same street. When someone sent the television station a picture of it, and the reporter finally called it a flying saucer. Then the story vanished just as quickly as it came.

Not every day was such a momentous adventure. When Betty had work to do, Hibbard enjoyed looking out his bedroom window. Through two rows of tall oak trees laden in silver moss, the Belgian azaleas provided a hem of color, with camellias, and gladiolus off to the side. Beyond nature's frame, a parade of residents passed by on the street. His neighbor, Mrs. Lyons and her black chow dog took their morning and evening constitutionals, as they had for more than a decade. Most months, yellow buses made regular journeys to and from school, as did children on bicycles and on foot. On Saturday, Dad watched eagerly for John's return from boarding school. My husband and I drove over from Tampa to visit several times a month. Adding to the cars Hibbard recognized, an increasing number of city vehicles and moving vans provided daily evidence of Casselberry's growth.

Occasionally, Dr. Rappaport's car rolled up in front of Brightwater for one of his regular house calls. Increasingly, he found his patient with good color and a strong heart. When the doctor asked if Hibbard used the oxygen regularly or took his pills, he said he felt better without them. Besides, Betty had taken to praying for him, and to that, he gave the credit. After watching Hibbard's progress every week, Rappaport told Betty he could use a little of her medicine, too. She happily added him to her prayer list, but warned that if she did that for all his patients it could put him out of business. The doctor still came by, but saw no reason to keep billing Hibbard. He administered a shot now and again, but usually they talked and read the newspaper together.

Martha tried not to think about Hibbard dying but on how to keep him alive. She figured that being in the midst of construction would do the trick, at least for a while. They commissioned Gamble Rogers to design two additional bedrooms. Hibbard's nurse, Lila Wilson lived in town, but everyone knew that eventually he would need a room for a live-in nurse. The other room would give the house architectural balance. By August, a daily chorus of men sang out with hammers and skill-saws, but it wasn't enough.

One morning, Betty arrived to find a lackluster pallor had replaced the color in Hibbard's cheeks. His sleep had been restless the night before. Martha called the doctor first, and then summonsed children home. Betty sat with Hibbard much of the day, but they no longer needed words to express how they felt. In the afternoon, they talked about the Bible. When she said, "The book is in you. I see it," he stayed silent and gazed through the picture window.

The sun had been behind the clouds for a while, giving a pleasant respite from the usual summer heat. Two rows of moss-laden oaks stretched out to the road, and beneath them the neatly trimmed lawn and flowers Alf and B. J. had tended with care. Then the clouds drifted slightly, and golden beams of sunlight shined down with an intensity Betty had never seen before.

"I see you looking out that window," she said, "and if you don't tell me what you see, I'm going to tell you."

Hibbard smiled. "Betsy, sit down, here on the bed beside me."

She came over, fluffed his pillow, and seated herself carefully beside him. "You see something out that window."

"Yes, Betsy, I do."

"But you're not unhappy. It's a good thing." Betty said smiling at him. "I'm going to tell you what it is. You see something beyond that." She and Hibbard looked out the window again. "I see a long ladder extending out of those clouds to the earth, and I see angels going up and down that ladder. I see you at the foot of the ladder, and I see a long white robe and bronze feet and hands. I can't see the face, but it's like the sunlight, but half moon shape. I see the hands stretched out and the robe fanning. There ain't no unhappiness there. That's what you see?"

"Yes, Betsy, I do. Do you understand those things?"

"I can see them in broad daylight, and at night, too."

"Yes, I'm fine," Hibbard said serenely. "But let me tell you, when I lay down to rest tonight, I'm going to wait for you."

John and I came in to say hello as soon as we arrived, but seeing the dramatic change in my father almost frightened me. His oxygen tent kept him separate from us. We held his hand and talked of seeing him again tomorrow. Afterward, we disappeared into our rooms and asked ourselves the unanswerable questions young people do when face with the loss of a parent. Mom said little, trying to ward off thoughts of the inevitable.

Betty stayed with Hibbard into the evening. They knew there was nothing to grieve about, but no one would be happy to hear why. When he asked Betty to turn down the oxygen, she took him out to the den. He sat on the couch looking only at her, holding her hand. An eye watered, and then a tear slowly slid down one cheek. "That's joy," Betty said. Then a tear came down from other eye. "You're just as full of joy and happiness. I know what you're trying to say to me." Throughout Hibbard's life, all he wanted was a good day and a home filled with love, and she had given him that gift every day for two years.

Martha came out of her room to relieve Betty, so she could go home, but Hibbard said, "Just don't leave me." Betty assured him she would stay as long as he wanted. Martha sat by them. After midnight, he drifted off to sleep with his head on Betty's shoulder. After another hour passed, the two women took Hibbard into his bedroom. Before Betty left, he whispered to her, "Remember, Betsy, I'm going to wait and say good morning to you."

The next day, Betty came in early and went directly to Hibbard's room. "Knock, knock. It's the Girl Scout," her bouncy melodic voice called out. Then she gave him a hug and a kiss.

Hibbard looked into her eyes and said softly. "See Betsy, I said I'd wait for you." A peaceful look came across his face, and those same golden rays of light they had seen outside the day before came to cover it. "Betsy, I'm so happy. I love you."

Inside, Betty's sense of happiness for Hibbard mixed with her longing for him to stay. "I love you so hard," she said. "You know, we already made it straight with one another. You is the best thing that's ever been for me. I love you, and I always will love you."

Betty gently leaned him up and fluffed and his pillow. Before she could get her hand out from under his head, Hibbard took a small deep sigh, smiled, and was gone. With him still in her arms, she cried, asking God why He had taken Hibbard so soon. She told Him she wasn't being ungrateful for what she had in her life, but why couldn't she have more time with Hibbard? When her question went an answered, Betty knew she had to let go. Easing her arm out from under him, she gathered her strength, and knocked on Martha's door.

When Martha walked to Hibbard's bedside, all the courage that she'd held inside cracked, like a fragile dam that could no longer hold back a flood of tears. Betty held her waist in support, both physically and emotionally, and told her to look at the smile on Hibbard's face. He went happily.

"I wasn't really sleeping," Martha admitted. "I heard you two talking. Both of you knew it, didn't you?" When Betty told her about the day before, Martha said she was so glad Betty had been there with him.

When Dr. Rappaport called my mother early that morning, I picked up the extension phone upstairs and heard the news for the first time. I cried incessantly, feeling robbed of the chance to say goodbye, or tell him that I was pregnant. Much later Betty told me, ‘Your Dad was from the old school; he knew from the sound of your footsteps in the hallway. They went from heavy to light, like you were walking on air.'"

John took the news of Dad's death hardest. He doesn't talk about it, even now. He practically idolized Dad. Whenever he was home, he monitored Dad's medicine, and always checked to make sure there was enough oxygen in the tanks. Once Dad died, John tried to be strong for Mom. My husband, Ken, came over from Tampa to console us, but it was impossible. I cried all the time, and John was practically silent. In a strange fusion of past and present, John would find his greatest solace with the father and son who owned the hardware store.

Because few people knew Hibbard had died, the usual caravan of carpenters and brick masons swarmed on the house. Dr. Rappaport's car appeared in the driveway once again, this time followed by Mr. Niblack, the undertaker, with his hearse. Once the doctor made the death official, he and Niblack studied Hibbard's smile. They noticed the glow about him, which as they both agreed was rare to see. Before Niblack left, Betty gave him a bit of professional advice, "You don't have to do no work. It's all been done from heaven."

The doctor's biggest concern now was Martha. Certainly, he suggested, she could have more peace if she dismissed the workmen for a few days. No, she said, Hibbard would have wanted it to continue. Rappaport left an envelope with a few sedatives for her, and then drove away.

What Martha needed most, Betty realized, was food for her soul. It wasn't a morning when the emptiness inside would be filled by her usual tea and an English muffin. Betty brought out a big piece of cake. B. J.'s wife, Miss Mae, had sent over for her. The love and sharing that it symbolized warmed Martha's heart as nothing else could.

B. J. took the news hard, having worked for Hibbard for most of his life, from the ferneries to the azalea gardens and Brightwater. With that sense of love and respect, he asked Betty if Martha would allow him to wear Hibbard's double-breasted white suit to the funeral. With a sprig of his fern on the lapel, it had been Hibbard's trademark at floral conventions, the last one nearly twenty years earlier. Deeply touched by the thought, Martha had Betty get it cleaned, and gave it to B. J. to keep. However, something else he said almost got lost in time, except to Betty: that Hibbard should lie in state, like a dignitary or president.

When Martha heard the suggestion, she put aside her past anger and frustration with the city. Hibbard's friends would attend a funeral, but strangely enough, his anonymity was a byproduct of the vigorous growth he always wanted for the city. Some newcomers had no idea a M. Casselberry even existed. Others had heard of him, but thought it just lore. Martha decided Hibbard would have liked it. Such an observance, however, meant she had to decide not only who would serve as pallbearers and what songs she wanted sung during the service, but who would be honor guards and honorary pallbearers. Some friends were too old to carry the casket, but Hibbard would have wanted them to be included somehow.

His death would leave an unfillable void for the city, though few would recognize it at first. No one would ever serve the citizens with more love, dedication, and passion than Hibbard, King of Casselberry. If this had been a true monarchy, his subjects would celebrate the ascension of a new ruler, shouting out, "The king is dead. Long live the King." Other leaders, whether they made decisions that were positive or detrimental, held power for several years and then moved on.

Martha managed Hibbard's businesses, but she didn't have his passion for it. Lester Mandell built homes and commercial buildings, but everyone knew that one day he would take his carpenters and brick masons and move on. Ken MacIntosh was seen as the father of the new city, guiding a succession of mayors and councils. But he wasn't Hibbard.

Who was Hibbard? The day after his death, Orlando Sentinel columnist Charlie Wadsworth explained the life of the city's founder in a way everyone could understand. "Hibbard Casselberry was an unusual man, and a lot of people thought he had a lot of unusual ideas about how to run a community. He was controversial, as they say. But when you pause and begin to list the men whose contributions have made Central Florida the great section of the country it is today, Hibbard Casselberry's name always is up there somewhere at the top."

At the office, Anne clipped that and other articles for the press book. Martha had little time to read. More friends and family members showed up than she'd seen in years. Casseroles, salads, and homemade goodies, courtesy of the Women's Club members and other women in town appeared as if by magic in Betty's kitchen. When B. J.'s wife sent a whole cake, the love and caring baked in gave Martha emotional strength she needed. Hibbard would lie in state that day and the next, with the funeral on the third day.

The funeral plan came together in a way so eclectic that it truly symbolized community spirit. Friends welcomed the opportunity to act as pallbearers, and the mayor and past mayors served as honorary pallbearers. Baptized an Episcopalian, Hibbard would have a Catholic pall draped over his casket during the services at the church. His burial would be in the Baptist cemetery. Between the church and cemetery, an American flag draped his casket, courtesy of the American Legion and Veterans of Foreign War.

As Martha dressed, a parade of station wagons pulled up at the Methodist church, each one filled with funeral arrangements festooned with Belgian azaleas and asparagus plumosa ferns. Hibbard would have smiled at how his death had caused such prosperity among his florist friends. Then doors to the little chapel in which Hibbard and Martha were married opened to him one last time.

When she took her place to the side of the casket, visitors formed a line outside to pay their respects. The constant flow of people surprised my mother, but she greeted them one by one, as if they were guests at Brightwater. John and I made a short appearance, but the finality of seeing Dad in a casket was too intense. We left and my husband took their place for a few hours.

For two days, Martha greeted people in the little chapel, on the third day in new church sanctuary, and finally at the graveside ceremony. Everyone had his or her own reason for being there. She would say later, after Hibbard's lifetime she felt that the people who came to see him fell into three categories. There were those who wanted to say farewell to their old friend. Others were new to the area or curious about the man who, some people said, built himself a town. And then there were the ones who just wanted to make sure he was dead.

Top

Go to Chapter 2