Loveland Family

Growing Up Key Rat

The Loveland journey began with my father, Steven Loveland, a young lieutenant from Pittsburgh, who married my mother, Helen, of Reidsville, North Carolina. He participated in the World War II Air Offensive over Europe as a B-17 navigator in the 8th Air Force, 92nd Heavy Bombardment Group. He was shot down in a bombing raid over Berlin, survived a high-altitude parachute bailout, and was captured and interrogated under duress by the Nazis. He was then transferred to Stalag Luft III in Sagan, Poland, the infamous Prisoner of War Camp that later inspired the classic movie The Great Escape starring Steve McQueen. This POW camp’s history culminated in the capture and execution of most of the prisoners, who had tried escaping from one of three underground tunnels that had been dug. Ultimately, my father endured the cruelest period in the camp’s history, and perhaps most impressively survived the Death March across Silesia in one of the coldest winters in recorded German history. He reached Stammlager VII A, located in Moosburg, Austria, in very poor physical condition, and was ultimately liberated by General Patton’s Third Army.

Island Paradise

My father was sent to the VA Hospital, now the Biltmore Hotel, in Coral Gables. He recuperated in the warm paradise of South Florida, with tropical foliage and the healing sun. He enrolled in the new University of Miami Law School and was in the second graduating class. One beautiful day during his recuperation, he wandered down to Coconut Grove, where he spotted a canoe sitting in the mangroves. He “shanghaied” it for the day and paddled across Biscayne Bay, over to Key Biscayne. This was sometime during the late ‘40s. He fell in love with the Island Paradise and declared he was going to raise his family there.

Mackle Brothers

In 1950, the Mackle brothers began offering the first Key Biscayne houses for sale, largely to WWII veterans with young families, who used the GI Bill for financing. My mother and father bought the “deluxe” model on 253 West Enid Drive. My father built one of the very first fireplaces on the Key, replete with a chimney, which is still functioning. He also made frequent trips to the Miccosukee Indians to obtain fresh cypress, which he hewed by hand to build a stockade-style fence in our backyard. He added “hills” to our front yard and elevated the land to help ward off future flooding. Those hills are still there and doing their intended job. Lastly, he planted a massive ficus tree in the front yard. I spent much of my youth up in that tree. My brother and I used to make a “dummy” stuffed with newspapers, and would drop it from out of the tree onto the head of an unsuspecting car, like some poor soul had fallen out of the tree. Such was the scoundrelly behavior of Key Rats back in the day. That old tree also had the initials of many old boyfriends carved into it, including those of Dr. Kildare. It was a sad day when Hurricane Andrew toppled that mighty tree. 

My brother and I enjoyed the wild, carefree island life, unfettered by too many rules, as our post WWII parents wanted us to “just have fun.” My earliest memories are of sitting on my father’s shoulders as he walked around the pitch-dark streets, pointing out the celestial sky and constellations to me. I ultimately went on to name my future sailboats the “Alpha Centauri” and the “Bellatrix” from the recesses of those wonderful memories.

Little Island Playhouse

A rite of passage in the late ‘50s or early ‘60s was to attend the Little Island Playhouse. This magical preschool was nestled in the very tropical coconut and sugarcane plantations. Our most beloved Mrs. Claus, teacher extraordinaire, is fondly embedded in our psyches. She would sometimes take us outside and cut big, delicious stalks of sugarcane to eat, and then we would lay down into a glorious nap. Right before the nap, she would pull out the old record player and play the story of the grasshopper that played and fiddled his way through autumn, rather than preparing for the winter like the ants, who were gathering and storing their food.

Island Paradise

Key Biscayne was truly an Island Paradise. There were no street lights, no street gutters, no air conditioning for much of our childhood. Windows were always open, both at home and school. We would be sitting at our desks at Key Biscayne Elementary back in the early ‘60s, and all of a sudden, a mighty roar might be heard, resonating through our island. One of the lions at the old Crandon Park Zoo would throw back his mighty head and bellow, a most enthralling sound to be sure. Later, when I was allowed to ride my bike at night, a favorite pastime was to ride down to the zoo in the pitch dark and do our very best to get the zoo animals in an uproar. 

Growing Up

We grew up barefoot by choice, were perpetually tanned by the golden sun, and slept in very unusual spots such as rooftops, trampolines, treehouses, boats, or our beaches and forests. We wandered the streets at night without fear. We jumped off the old Bear Cut Bridge. We chased everything on our bicycles, including mosquito trucks or volunteer fire engines when the absolutely thrilling alarm would resound throughout the island. Things were never boring. Mrs. Revere was often spotted galloping down Crandon Boulevard in a bikini, riding bareback on one of her racehorses that she kept in the old Matheson barn.