My wife requests that I write about some of the “humorous” experiences she has heard me talk about from my college years in the early ‘60s. So … here it goes.

My first year in college there was a tall skinny kid with black hair and a flat top haircut named Wally Smith who lived next door to me in the dormitory. We nicknamed him “spider” because he could spread his legs way out in the dorm hall and shuffle each foot up the wall until he could touch the ceiling with his hands.

One Friday night, he suggested a few of us go downtown to the theatre to see a popular new movie that had just started showing. It was a last minute thing, so, when we arrived there, bought our popcorn and drinks, and entered the theatre, it was obvious from the crowd that all the good seats were already taken. We were going to have to sit down in the front row. But, just as we started down, Wally stopped us and said “Stay here for a moment and I’ll get us some good seats.” We had no idea what he was about to do.

Suddenly, I heard a loud sound coming from the balcony of someone throwing up simultaneous with wet popcorn falling down on the people in the best seats in front of us. Wally had poured some of his coke in the box of popcorn and was shaking it out on the people below simultaneously with his “throw-up” sounds. The people below jumped up to get away from what they thought was nasty stuff coming down on them. At first, we didn’t know what was happening – just that Wally appeared suddenly and pushed all of us forward to take the seats that had just been abandoned. I couldn’t fully enjoy the movie for feeling guilty about the way Wally had gotten us the good seats. But, I have to admit, it makes me smile sometimes when I think about it. Wally eventually flunked out.

David Eller, Publisher

Since our family, the Eller family, has lived in Deerfield Beach since 1923, I’ve often been asked to put in writing some of the history of the area, either experienced personally or that I heard from my parents or grandparents. For some of you old timers who might be worried about certain old “scandals,” don’t worry. I won’t be writing about those (smile). To read previous historical essays, go to www.observemewspaperonline.com and click on “The History of Deerfield.”

David Eller, Publisher

Birth of a newspaper

Deerfield Beach got its first newspaper in 1930 called the Deerfield News.

The first issue was on July 4, 1930. My father, Marlin Eller, 14 years old at the time, was featured in the first issue on the front page with his picture and a caption for having built a large model military airplane.

There was also a lot of local news like “Mrs. Butler had guests from Texas, the Longs, visited her last Thursday.” The Deerfield News folded after a short time.

Deerfield’s current  newspaper, The Observer, was founded in 1962. In reviewing some of the early Observer 1963 issues, the big stories included the fact that Hillsboro Boulevard, which had been dead-ended, was being extended with a crossing over the Florida East Coast Railroad tracks going directly west, rather than having all the traffic winding around Dixie Highway to head west, as it had been before. Hans Pufahl, Deerfield’s mayor, dressed western style in a cowboy hat, is shown cutting the ribbon, along with State Senator A.J. Ryan and Broward County Commissioner Bill Stevens.

The event was further celebrated by declaring it the “Westward Ho Day” with participants, including  Mr. and Mrs. Charles Parton, who had recently founded the Deerfield Beach Country Club, shown (right) in front of the Deerfield Furniture Company Store. Their nephew, Bob Parton, is the current president of the club.

Learning about stockings in college

Meanwhile, this writer, a son of Deerfield, was still off in college in northern Florida, first at Stetson University and later the University of Florida, studying engineering, but also learning much about certain social graces.

My first date in college was arranged by my roommate, Bob Hutson, who had a date and wanted me to go with his dates’ roommate to a drive-in movie in DeLand, Florida. Bob was driving, so my date,  a girl from New York, was in the back seat with me.

We had hardly settled in to watch the movie when I felt her hand take my hand and put it on her knee. The skin on her knee felt funny, kind of like snake skin, so I pulled my hand away.

A little while later, she did it again, and I pulled my hand away again. This continued a few more times until she gave up and left me alone. I thought the evening would never end.

Finally, we took them back to their dormitory. As I’m walking her up to the door, I finally got the nerve to ask her, “What’s wrong with the skin on your leg?” She said “What do you mean?” I replied, “It feels very rough, like scales!” She started laughing at me and said, “I’m wearing stockings, you idiot!” I must have turned bright red in the face. After all, Florida-bred boys didn’t know anything about girls wearing stockings.

Since our family, the Eller family, has lived in Deerfield Beach since 1923, I’ve often been asked to put in writing some of the history of the area, either experienced personally, or that I heard from my parents or grandparents. For some of you old timers who might be worried about certain old “scandals,” don’t worry. I won’t be writing about those (smile). To read previous historical essays, go to www.observernewspaperonline.com and click on “The History of Deerfield.”

David Eller, Publisher

While I’m Away at College, Observer  newspaper is born – In Deerfield –

Some of you may have noticed that there has been a pause in my Historical articles for a few months and may have wondered why? It is quite simple. I’ve only written about things I personally knew to be true. How our family came to South Florida in 1923, after having first immigrated to North Carolina from Switzerland and Germany some 150 years earlier.

How my grandfather, Hoyt Eller, a skilled carpenter and farmer in his early 30s brought his wife and five children here to live in a tent next to the Hillsboro River/Canal and Dixe Highway. How he worked directly for the famous architect Addison Mizner to do the finish carpentry work for the Boca Raton Hotel. How he saved his money and went to farming land he bought for $1 per acre at what is now Quiet Waters Park, and later on $15 per acre in what is now the City of Parkland.

I wrote about some of the farm families like the Butlers, Wiles and Jones, who were already in Deerfield at the time.

How my father, Marlin Eller, quit farming with his father at age 21 to start his own business manufacturing large water pumps to sell to local farmers and government agencies for irrigation or drainage.

I wrote about the fact that when I started first grade at Deerfield Elementary School in 1947, there were only six students, and I was the only boy. Now I’m informed that first graders in Deerfield are measured in the hundreds. Stories about other local families were included along the way, as I wrote many stories trying to share what it was like growing up here in north Broward County in the 1940s and ‘50s. The ‘60s began with me at Stetson University in DeLand, Florida, and then onto the University of Florida in Gainesville, which I graduated from with an engineering degree in 1964.

However, when I wrote the story about college, I suddenly realized that I was getting away from my original objective of writing about the history of this area, the north Broward County/South Palm Beach area. Therefore, in order to stay true to my initial objective, I will attempt now to combine the two, by telling some of what was going on in my life at college and, at the same time, to tell what was simultaneously going on back home in Deerfield (using the Observer archives). Eventually, the two storylines will merge when I graduate from college and come home.

For instance, while I was away at college, in 1962 the Observer newspaper first began publishing under the direction of Margaret Moore (the mother of my good friend from high school, Adrian Moore) and the first Publisher, Bill Beck of Delray Beach.

Meanwhile, in the morning of my first day at college in DeLand, we freshmen engineering students found seats in the auditorium before the head of engineering, Dr. Lowry entered. Very distinguished-looking with a white beard and wavy white hair he told us to “Look at the student sitting in front of you. Now look at the one to your left. Now look to the right. Only one of you will ever become an engineer. The others will flunk out … or become a lawyer… or something else.” That was my first day and introduction to college. And he was right.

David Eller, Publisher

My First “really big” kiss was a surprise…

In previous Essay No. 61, I shared about how I bought my first car, a 1949 Ford, for $100, from my Sunday school teacher, Joel Horne. I didn’t have a girlfriend yet, but I did notice the girls started getting a lot friendlier when they found out I had my own car.

We lived in Deerfield on Dixie Highway, where the tennis courts are now. One night, I drove my car across the street to Pioneer Park to watch the Lions Club men play softball against a Pompano team. Proud of my first car, I parked close to the bleachers and decided to sit on the front fender to watch the game and simultaneously show off my “new” brown Ford. Sure enough, within five minutes, two girls I’d grown up with came swaggering over.

One of them said “Oh David, is that car yours?”  I smiled and nodded affirmatively. “Take us for a ride.”

I said “Ok, jump in.” They both climbed into the front seat. I backed out, being careful not to bump Uncle Jim Butler’s car parked next to me.

“Take us to the beach,” one of them said. So off we went, turning east on Hillsboro Avenue, crossing Federal Highway and over the bridge to the beach where we parked for a few minutes and looked for sand crabs at the wave break.

Then one of the girls said, “I better get back before my parents notice I’m gone.”  So we hurried back to the game, where she got out of the car.

The other girl immediately slid right up next to me and said “Let’s go back to the beach, I want to show you a neat place.” Anxious to drive my “new” car some more, I agreed but asked her to move back over to her side of the seat. She did, so I backed out and headed back to the beach. Just as we passed over the Intracoastal bridge, she told me to make a left turn, and then another, which headed us onto a small dirt road surrounded by cabbage palms where Hillsboro Landings is today.  I stopped at the Intracoastal waters’ east edge and started to back up. Suddenly, she slid over, grabbed me by the back of my head and planted a big sloppy kiss squarely on my mouth. Astonished, I pushed her away, proceeded to back up, and drove her directly to her home.

On the way home, I explained that I thought of her as a friend, like a sister, not a girlfriend. This didn’t seem to help. When we got to her house, she refused to get out of my car, saying “Kiss me or I won’t get out.”

I told her “No!” and demanded she get out. This went on for about 10 minutes when I gave her my final ultimatum: “Get out now because I’m about to drive home and you’ll have to walk back home alone.” She still refused to get out. So I drove to my house (about three blocks away) with her still in my car. I parked in my usual backyard spot, told her “Good night!” went into my house and went to bed.

I’d only been in bed a few minutes when my mother, who had looked out her bedroom window and saw someone in my car, came to my bedroom and asked, “David, who is that in your car?” I told Mom what had happened. She chuckled; then she asked for my keys and went outside and drove the girl home. When Mom returned, she came to my room and told me I’d done the right thing. I slept well that night, and the girl and I remained just good friends for many years.

David Eller

Softball, Guitars and Singing -was Deerfield’s main means of entertainment in the old days