History of Hungerford site is worth fighting for
The history of Eatonville’s Hungerford School is rooted in resilience, but soiled by greed and lies. This area’s leaders have one more chance to do the right thing. They should take it.
Because this is bigger than the 100 acres that remain of a place founded by emancipated slaves to offer Black scholars a place to study with dignity, in safety. It is a fight for Eatonville’s survival that should have ended decades ago, with this area’s powerful elite acknowledging one municipality where African Americans would be in control.
Now, the Orange County School Board wants to sell off the last parcel of land that remains of what was once the Robert F. Hungerford Normal and Industrial School. Plans for the property include extensive commercial and office space along with more than 350 housing units that would be largely unaffordable to Eatonville residents. That development, if it takes place, will drive a spear of gentrification into this town and undermine the efforts to expand Eatonville’s prominence as a critical stop for the growing number of people interested in exploring African American heritage.
A troubled history
As reported by the Sentinel’s Desiree Stennett, the school — which was private and operated by a board of trustees — was sold to the county for less than 10% of its value, under a covenant that the property (then 300 acres) would be used for the education of Black students. Trustee Clarence Coddington fought the sale all the way to the Florida Supreme Court, but lost in a decision that disregarded some of the language of the agreement that led to the creation of the school. In that 1952 decision, the court noted that it was “impractical and inexpedient” to impose upon the taxpayers of Orange County to build a segregated school, when there was already a facility that could be used for that purpose. (Never mind that the taxpayers of Eatonville were paying property taxes that were being used to build schools for Caucasian children.)
The court also observed that there seemed to be “insufficient pupils desiring a high-class boarding school” as further justification that it was OK for the school board to essentially seize the property. In her reporting, Stennett uncovered evidence suggesting that was a fiction: Civil-rights icon Mary McLeod Bethune was one of a group that proposed an affiliation to the Daytona Beach college that bore her name, which might draw more students interested in studying at the
Hungerford school. Her offer was never really acknowledged.
Today, only ⅓ of the original property is left (to its credit, the School Board did give some of the land to the town). The high school was closed, and then torn down.
Give it a chance
Selling it off to a developer will be profitable, with a guaranteed $10 million payment to the Orange County School Board. The town will get the rest of the sale price —- but must cover the legal expenses of conveying the property out of its share as well as a sizable payment for maintenance and legal fees.
From a purely financial standpoint, it’s not hard to see why the School Board is reluctant to give up that $10 million profit. But there are times when doing the right thing does not equate to doing the profitable thing. Through numerous public meetings and other communications, longterm residents of Eatonville have made it clear how much this property means to the community. And they’ve floated suggestions that could help bolster the town’s attraction as a tourist designation.
Several groups of residents , working with the Southern Poverty Law Center, have asked the School Board to convey the property to a trust, where it could be held while its use as a historic site is explored.
At the very least, they deserve a chance to fully explore the possibilities. Once this property is covered with housing, it will be too late.
So many of the historic markers celebrating African Americans’ role in Florida’s heritage have been lost. A few years ago, a somber ceremony to gather dirt from the DeLand site of a lynching had to take place in the parking lot of a restaurant. A St. Augustine pool where Black swimmers — defying segregation — had acid poured on them was demolished, despite protests. And dozens of enclaves inside bigger cities, districts where African-American families once lived, educated their children and owned thriving businesses have disappeared into the bland urban landscape.
Eatonville was the town that survived. It has been a struggle, and the path has not always been straight. But when selling off its past means jeopardizing its future, history repeats itself —- in the ugliest of ways.