A mysterious man flew into Orlando 50 years ago with one goal in mind. He wanted to take the beauty out of Orlando.
Actually, he wanted to take the “Beautiful” out of Orlando. Central Florida was on the move, and local poobahs felt time had passed Orlando’s slogan by.
It was time to call in New Breed Man.
He did not accomplish his mission, which brings us to this week’s Ask Orlando question:
“How did Orlando get its nickname, and isn’t The City Beautiful a little tired?”
“The City Beautiful” came along in 1908. Locals were tired of the old nickname, “The Phenomenal City,” and held a contest.
Along came Jessie Branch. She’d moved here from South Dakota a few years earlier and couldn’t get over the winter weather.
“I cannot but marvel at the town’s fragrant air; blooming oleanders, cape jessamine, honeysuckle, more sweet smelling vines and blossoms than I ever thought possible to grow this time of year. It could be June,” she wrote in her journal.
Jessie and her husband, William, ran a bookstore on Orange Avenue. In 1904, her journal also noted a “boom boom boom” coming down the street and a horseless carriage traveling at the “outrageous speed of fifteen miles an hour.”
“What a noisy monstrosity,” she said to William. “Would you ever want one?”
“Never,” he said. “No man in his right mind would.”
Historians note it was the first recorded complaint about Orlando traffic. Approximately 13.4 billion gripes later, cars are still going 15 mph, but that’s on Interstate 4.
That concrete hellscape is probably one reason this week’s questioner thinks “The City Beautiful” needs updating. On that question, Ask Orlando is neutral, like Jim Thorpe.
Actually, we’re neutral like Switzerland. But Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania, is called “The Switzerland of America.” We bring that up to illustrate how Orlando could do a lot worse than “The City Beautiful.”
It could be Belle Glade, aka “Muck City.” Or Beaver, Oklahoma, aka “The Cow Chip Capital of the World.”
Or – WARNING: Parental Discretion Advised – “WTF.”
That was a short-lived slogan for Fruita, Colorado, in 2012. It was meant to stand for “Welcome To Fruita,” though many people had a different interpretation.
We much prefer Fruita’s other nickname: “Home of Mike the Headless Chicken.”
True story: a local farmer cut off a chicken’s head in 1945, but the bird somehow survived and became a freak show sensation. Like Bethlehem, a miracle of that scale simply must be turned into a brand.
Cities must protect their brands. Coral Gables started calling itself “The City Beautiful” in 1933. Sure, compared to our lovely city it looks like a headless chicken, but that’s beside the point.
Orlando put up with the copycatting until 2006, when Coral Gables applied for a federal trademark for “The City Beautiful.” Orlando objected, lawyers wrangled and eventually they decided each city could use the slogan for marketing as long they stayed out each other’s geographical area.
The bigger threats to “The City Beautiful” have come from within. A move to replace it in 1937 failed, and the June 27 Sentinel noted the slogan was actually expanded on a billboard that Orlando put up outside Jacksonville’s bustling railroad terminal.
“Orlando, the City Beautiful – Good Roads, Pure Water, No Insects.”
To quote Fruita, “WTF?”
The Chamber of Commerce held a contest in 1979 to come up with a new slogan. The winner was, “Oh, Orlando.” It died a quick and deserved death.
The biggest slogan coup attempt came in the mid-1960s. The population was exploding, NASA was humming and Central Florida was feeling its oats.
The Chamber of Commerce started pushing a new nickname for Orlando – “Action Center of Central Florida.”
There were signs, license plates, brochures and a short promotional film. It began with a shot of a rocket launch, then cut to a private jet carrying a man wearing a business suit and horn-rimmed glasses.
He looked like a cross between James Bond and Bill Nye The Science Guy. As hip music played in the background, a narrator set the scene.
“The 20th Century has produced a new breed of man. A man on the moon, curious, alert, with his eyes on the stars and his feet solidly on the ground.
“This is his century. Fast moving, full of action and discovery. This is his city, a modern, vital 20th century city in the heart of an area that is alive with excitement and growth.”
The plane landed and New Breed Man hopped into a white convertible and started cruising down I-4, his elbow propped coolly on the door and his hair ruffling in the breeze.
Historians note it was the last time a car went faster than 15 mph on I-4 through downtown Orlando.
New Breed Man eventually drove away and took “Action Center of Central Florida” with him. A half-century later, “The City Beautiful” is still on the city seal.
You can say it’s outdated, you can say it’s too generic, you can say it’s not exactly true.
You can also say a prayer of thanks that Jessie Branch never cut off a chicken’s head only to have the bird survive.
If she had, Orlando’s 1908 slogan contest might have produced one not-so-beautiful nickname.
