Guest AuthorThird of four parts.
In May 1944, Floridians voted in the gubernatorial primary. Pundits predicted that the runoff would almost certainly be between Ernest Graham (Miami) and Lex Green (Starke).
Millard Caldwell and Green were expected to split the North Florida vote. The Tampa Tribune, the state’s most important newspaper, printed headlines that Caldwell was running third in a close race. However, when poll watchers counted the ballots, Caldwell received the most votes, followed by Green.
The runoff pitted two North Florida candidates. Only three weeks separated the two primaries. “I will make no promises, I will engage in no mud-slinging or character attacks,” pledged Caldwell.
Nevertheless, the Caldwell camp circulated a popular handbill titled “The Deadly Parallel.” The flier pointed out that during World War I, Caldwell “enlisted out of college as a private,” whereas Green “claimed deferment because he was a clerk in the Florida Legislature, which meets for 60 days every 2 years.”
In an era when newspaper endorsements still mattered, Caldwell received many favorable reviews. The St. Petersburg Times editorialized, “Candidate Green has become a badly rattled, obviously frightened man . . . Candidate Caldwell is the same calm, poised, non-promising fellow he was at the beginning.”
Florida voters went to the polls on May 23 and chose Millard Caldwell as the Democratic candidate for governor. Papers routinely referred to Caldwell as the “governor elect,” even though the general election was five months away. Green resigned his seat in Congress to become a lieutenant commander in the Navy.
Millard Caldwell and Lex Green were participating in a process that, upon reflection, was remarkable. Floridians and Americans were engaged in a democratic ritual that defined a republican nation at war. Alone among the great combatants of World War II, America conducted free and open elections.
Floridians understood that the war was transforming the state and country. Two million GIs encountered Florida for the first time. Most were dazzled by the possibilities of a place that for most of American history was too remote, too hot, and too humid.
The war awakened dreams. Harry T. Moore served as the field secretary of the NAACP. A school teacher in Brevard County, he crusaded for the African American right to vote, receive a quality education and live in a country worth fighting for.
In Miami, the talented author Philip Wylie was also stirred by the war’s possibilities. In the Miami Herald, he dreamed of a post-war Florida that would be worthy of its land and waters.
“We can seize the gigantic opportunities at hand and develop the unique region into a new heart of the new world,” he pleaded. “Or we can go on being a tropical Coney Island.”
He regretted that we haven’t asked Americans to live in Florida; rather, we prefer they play in Florida.
Next: Florida Politics, 1944
