Drawing a line in the sand
In 1984, people camped out for a week to be first the residents of a Jupiter neighborhood.
One week before the event, the pilgrims began to arrive. At first, it was just a handful. It soon became hundreds. On a wide expanse of Jupiter sand, they set up camp in tents, trailers, cars and even lawn chairs. They formed a line. But it wasn’t just any line.
For seven days in March 1984, the line evolved into a city. It had rules, a charter, even a mayor. Friendships began on the line.
The line was everything. To keep your place, you had to stay on or near the line, day and night, with only designated 90-minute breaks to eat, sleep or go find a shower.
Some paid others to stand in line for them. The line became a hive of commerce. Did you need to buy a better spot in line, closer to the front? One woman forked over $100 to go from No. 258 to No. 181.
At some point, a handpainted sign was stuck in the sand. It read “No Name City.”
Why were all these people here? To score concert tickets? To meet somebody famous?
What was the point of this moniker-less, overnight “city”?
The answer was simple. It was for the oldest and most enduring of Florida reasons: The allure of oceanfront real estate.
This patient mix of locals, snowbirds, retirees and one honeymooning couple were waiting to buy the first units in what would become Jupiter’s massive 324-acre neighborhood of condos, townhomes and single-family houses known as The Bluffs.
Advertisements touting the development by Burg & DiVosta said you could buy condos near the Atlantic for as little as $59,900. Who wouldn’t stand in line for that deal?
So, they massed on this sandy stretch of scrub at U.S. 1 near Marcinski Boulevard, where there was just a sales office, some portable johns and that makeshift city sign.
“We’re like a family,” Florence Malat, of the Queens borough of New York City, told The Palm Beach Post of the camaraderie on the line. “I think there are some longtime friendships (being formed) here.”
Ed Stepanek of Juno Beach was there for his landlord, one of many getting paid to wait for others — the going rate ranged from $50 to $150 a day: “We’re just reading, drinking beer and getting sunburned.”
Pilot Gary Murchison had just gotten married, when he and his bride saw the sales sign, bought a tent and got on line. “I’m supposed to be in Marathon, snorkeling my little brains out,” he said.
Steve McDowell, a North Palm Beach interior designer, was No. 1 on the line along with Phil Hale. So McDowell became No Name City’s unofficial mayor. He helped organize the line into captains, and passed out leaflets “containing rules of the
There were line number cards and periodic roll calls to see if you were still in place. Miss roll call twice and you went to the back of the line. “If you leave, you have to have someone represent you,” explained Harold Slater of Juno Beach, who spoke to The Post while killing time in his tent with a rubber ball and paddle.
Organizing the tent city into a functioning municipality was a step toward forming permanent bonds, said McDowell.
“A lot of these people are going to be neighbors and on condominium boards. It works well to set up a social order.”
Finally, on Saturday morning, March 17, one week after the first group of six people formed a line that eventually swelled to 264, it was time.
People walked up to maps set up by the developers and chose a colored pin, signifying their condo or townhouse, and plunked down a $1,000 deposit. By 3 p.m., the 402 units for sale were scooped up, including those prized 120 oceanfront condominiums.
“All of this to pick out a pin,” said Helen Melling, of Norwood, Mass., who extended her vacation a week to be there. “But I got what I wanted.”
Not everybody did. Only 12 of the 132 townhouses were at that coveted $59,900 price tag, with other condominiums ranging from $65,900 to $119,000.
North Palm’s Kim Bennett, No. 130 on the line, said that was upsetting. “There are a lot of young married couples where a difference in price of (up to) $10,000 made a difference in buying or not buying.”
A Burg & DiVosta representative responded that 80 percent of the units were within 5 to 10 percent of that $59,900 price.
Meanwhile, this makeshift, unregulated, noname town was causing a headache for Jupiter officials. People were sprawled beyond the developer’s site, with all the usual problems — parking, trash, traffic. The town charged Burg & DiVosta with violating ordinances for operating a campsite in a residential zone, which was eventually settled for $75 in court costs, The Post reported.
A month later, when single-family home lots went on sale starting at $79,000, the company set up a lottery system accessible only on the day of sale to dis- courage overnight camping.
For those early linedwelling pioneers, though, it’s no doubt they got a bargain — if they held onto their properties over the past 34 years. Today, the development of seven communities ranging from marina-side condos to single-family houses has a median home value of $358,900, according to the real estate site zillow.com.