If you happen to be in Central Florida and are morbidly curious, take an afternoon trip to the Orange County Regional History Center in Orlando. The classic-revival building, erected in 1927 as a courthouse, replaced the murderous, redbrick, clock tower courthouse (that’s another story). Five stories high, the first floor still has the sally port for prisoners. The sally port is on the same level with the new entrance for museum guests. The original and grand brass deco entrance for the courthouse faces North Magnolia Avenue and serves as décor between levels one and two.
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Orange
County Court House 1927-1997
(State Archives of Florida, Florida
Memory, http://floridamemory.com/items/show/160375) |
The museum features exhibits that
illustrate the history of Central Florida from its prehistoric period to its modern
tourist hub. One constant is the infamous Courtroom B. The room is a time capsule
from the 1920’s. It is a beautiful room with ornate lights, carved American
Black Walnut walls, and a deco wall mural behind the judge’s bench. Nothing has been moved or changed since the
last trial. The judge’s chair sits oppressively over the defendant’s table, the
lower seat beckoning for your warm body. Perhaps it is from an innate fear of
being looked upon from above, or the strong emotions that once filled this room
hold a sinister atmosphere in which few guests choose to linger, allowing you, alone,
to consider the appalling sins adjudicated here. If you are daring enough to
sit in the defendant’s seat, you might notice encapsulated scratches on the
table. There are many unguarded scrapes, but the scratches on the table are
deep, deliberate and determined. They spell the name of the notorious serial
killer “Ted Bundy”. Here he was tried
for the murder of 12-year-old Kimberly Leach. He was very proud of himself, proud
enough to carve his name as if marking another bit of territory, another
conquest. Here Bundy was beginning to lose control of his anger. According to Rachael Bell,
Bundy’s 1980 trial was very emotional. Bundy smartly manipulated the system to
get himself married here, but he soon would lose his cool demeanor. Prosecutors
had presented 65 witnesses and evidence of his final human conquest: the
assault of an innocent child. Bundy could sense death approaching him via the
judicial system. The charismatic lady killer would reveal his monstrous face in
this room, often howling maliciously at witnesses. Wikipedia states, that when
the Orlando jury stated its decision, he stood with a face twisted in seething
anger and screamed “Tell the
jury they are wrong!”
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Ted Bundy on Trial. State
Archives of Florida, Florida Memory,
http://floridamemory.com/items/show/103267 Photo by Dughi, Donn(Donald Gregory), 1932-2005.
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The hints of past drama fade as you travel to other floors, only to resurface in the excluded access of the sally port, now a loading dock, and the fifth floor, now archives and offices. The fifth floor is only accessible to researchers, History Center volunteers, and employees. My grandmother spent all of her working life in that courthouse and my mother spent several years working there. While she was in college, my mother saw Bundy at the house on College Avenue, before his infamous Florida State University murders. She described him as handsome but menacing. Later, she saw him led through the sally port to the elevator of the Orange County Courthouse. The handsome man she had seen in Tallahassee was now revolting and ominous.
After it became the Orange County
Regional History Center, I would spend a couple of years in that building. I
had no idea of the original use for the fifth floor and the loading dock. I
often worked alone on the fifth floor, eating in the small cinder block break
room or studying in the large sturdy archives. While working there, I always
had the eerie feeling of being watched. There seemed to be too many dark shadows in corners. Every room was cavernous and
every nook looked like a ravenous animal's burrow. I felt claustrophobic. I suffered
anxiety as if I was trapped and I wanted to escape. I wanted to maintain a cool
demeanor, but I began to loathe being on the fifth floor. The temperature would
drop randomly. You could be sitting there, in a sunny room eating hot soup, and
a cold chill would hit you. The staff would tell any new worker to keep a
sweater on hand at all times. When I was alone, the doors would rattle as if
someone was trying to get out of the small, closet-like, offices. I assumed this
was due to air conditioning and bad wiring, until I actually saw something.
One day, as I entered the archives, I
saw a casually dressed young man with red-brown hair sitting in a chair in
which nobody ever sat. Surprised to see anyone, I stopped and said “Hello”. The
man turned to me, and gave me a mischievous smirk. Then, I heard a loud crash. I
quickly turned my head toward the shelves on my left. When I turned back to my
front, the man was gone. Several librarians ran in, and after much searching,
we found several large boxes, untouched for months, had fallen to the floor. I
never saw anything after that, but the sensation of being leered at and the
sound of rattling doors never ended. Near the end of my time there, I learned
that the North Court Avenue entrance was once a sally port for prisoners who
were housed in cinder block cells on the fifth floor. I would be told later
that those offices and the break room once made up a cellblock for housing
detainees waiting for trial. The sturdy archives room was a group cell. Perhaps,
when I stayed late in the evening, those rattling doors were the echoes of men
who still desired to break out. If I could hear their voices, were they protesting their innocence? Maybe, when I ate soup by that sunny window, I had sat where
Bundy sat, reminiscing about the cold girls he left in the woods. My mother told me
stories about the prisoners leaning out their cell windows, whistling at kids
to get their attention, then dropping notes making various requests. For many
prisoners that would go on to face life and death in prison, it would be their
last, albeit not physical, contact with the outside world. One has to wonder if Bundy ever threw a
request down to the young Orlando girls. He definitely had the audacity.
Many times, the literal parameters or
the instigators of actions are lost in time; nevertheless, people who did
horrible atrocities were once housed on that fifth floor. Every ghastly action
was dissected. Monsters showed their villainous faces. The community was
sickened. Mothers wept. All in this little five story limestone building. This
building no longer houses prisoners or trials, but if you are curious about the
darker side of Orlando, visit the Orange County
Regional History Center, located at 65 East Central Blvd. On Mondays
through Saturdays, it is open from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. and from 12 p.m. to 5 p.m.
on Sundays. General admission is $9 and there are many discounts available.
Sources:
http://www.ninthcircuit.org/history/courthouses/1927.shtml
http://www.americanghostadventures.com/investigations2009-2010.html
http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/serial_killers/notorious/bundy/15.html
http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/serial_killers/notorious/bundy/15.html
Images:
http://www.floridamemory.com/items/show/160375
http://www.floridamemory.com/items/show/103267
