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Is there a website with photos – even vintage, of the old hotel or Beaux Arts?

I saw a story in the Beacon about the Lion Heads being used in the new McDevitt Historical Park. I wonder if there is any mention of the hotel or BA at the park? Guess I’ll have to take a ride and check it out

You may know?
Sandy Holloway – of Seminole, my mother-in-law. She was a Bogie grad 62 or 63, I think. Piddled around with the guitar, years ago – mostly at house parties. She can carry a tune, once in a great while, she’ll get up and do Summertime.
Mike Holloway – of Seminole, my father-in-law, he passed in 1981. We never met. Bogie grad too, one year ahead of Sandy. Played a 5 string banjo. With lots of different local pickers. He & Sandy were instrumental in getting the Bluegrass in the Park started at the Seminole City Park.
Kevin Holloway – my husband. Gigs with Dennis Wallace (now aka Corn Fused) and sometimes with his sister’s band.
Kristen Holloway – Oliphant, my sister-in-law. Gypsy Wind is her band.

WHEW! I better stop, I could go on & on! ha ha!!

I guess in closing, I should say – It’s VERY nice to see people work to save our history! Yeah! for you

Sandy

I found this site, surfing for local history.

I read several pages on the site and find – or rather do not find – something very odd to me. There is NO mention of the “boarding” at Beaux Arts.

ca. 1981

When I first moved to Florida, some 28 years ago last month, I LIVED at the hotel. It was run, by Tom, at the time as a boarding house. I was 19 years old. I came to Pinellas Park with my boyfriend & we moved in with a friend at his “apartment”. We lived in a room upstairs. I remember our room, was maybe the first, at the top of the stairs. It was indeed, just a room. It was set similar to a modern day hotel suite – sofa area, a tiny kitchenette, (maybe only a two burner stove top) I can’t recall if there was actually a bed in the room, if there was our friend slept in it, as it was “his” apartment. My boyfriend and I slept on the floor, next to the “kitchen” table. The “apartment” did NOT have a bathroom. Like a real old boarding house – there was a shared bathroom, down the hall. Outside our door, facing the stairs – to the right, was a window – to the left, was the bathroom; it’s door on the same side of the hall (left, from the stairs) as our room.

Downstairs, there was a room, I would describe at the time, as a “theater”. It was mostly empty – except for the art and photographs on the walls, I remember it had wood floors. The one picture that sticks in my head was a black and white photo of Jim Morrison. His, was always a tragic story to me, maybe that’s why I remember that particular one. Most of the artists pictures there were familiar names, “slightly before my time”, I didn’t know much of their music. My boyfriend, five years my senior, rattled off names of photos in the room, as if he knew the people personally. I have a memory of something related to Janis Joplin, but not sure in what reference. In that room, if I closed my eyes, I could feel people, poetry and music of days gone by. It was magical.

As a 19 year old girl, living in a new town, in a strange place; I longed to make new friends. I didn’t drive and so when my boyfriend and his buddy were at work, I was alone. There were no other girls or women who lived at Beaux Arts at that time. Tom, lived in a small house, behind the boarding house/hotel. Mostly, he would be sitting in a chair outside or puttering around in his garden. It was a great garden, not of the manicured type, more like a miniature forest or a woodland, in the middle of civilization; instead of Lions and Tigers, there were cats. I tried to and did talk to him on several occasions. I remember the conversations; as strained. I don’t remember the subject? Always a plant lover, maybe I questioned him about these “strange” plants that didn’t grow up north. I, looking for the company of a friend and he (in my mind) slightly irritated (?) by this young girl. I questioned our friend, Les, “Is Tom mean? Or why doesn’t Tom like me?” Les would reply, “Maybe he just doesn’t like girls”. After some time, I gave up trying to converse with Tom. Still, I would say hello and wave to him, when we came and went from our “apartment”. I remained, always curious about him, this man who seemed put off by me. Maybe, I couldn’t carry on a conversation “equal to his intellect” ? Maybe, he didn’t like Yankees? I really tried to befriend him, to no avail.

I was saddened to read about the fire. The story in the paper reminded me of my own fire at Beaux Arts. While sleeping on the floor one night, I was awakened by heat, only to see actual flames in front of my face! A lit cigarette had fallen out of the ash tray and onto our makeshift bed of blankets. It damaged no more than the blanket and left a tiny black spot on the floor. I was scolded, by my boyfriend & never smoked in that ‘bed’ again.

Today, seeing pictures of Tom, with his long gray hair and beard – that’s not the Tom I remember. “My” Tom was a much younger man. I wish I had photographs to go with my memories of Beaux Arts. I didn’t even own a camera then. I came to Beaux Arts with my clothes, not in a suitcase, but in brown grocery sacks. I only lived at Beaux Arts for a short while, maybe three to six months? I was happy to leave there and move into a real apartment, with a bed and a bathroom in it. Our friend, Les, stayed for a while longer and we would visit him often. There was Tom, in the garden…

So, that’s my memory of Beaux Arts.

Submitted by Sandy Holloway, of St. Petersburg, FL