Battling The Troll-Gator The tracks of the Florida East Coast Railway cross-over many rivers and canals in the 350 miles or so of its North-South span. The track crosses over Cypress Creek and the Pompano Canal in the section designated mile post and section 333 in a 5 mile stretch from Sample road to the North and South of Cypress Creek in the Pompano area. The bridges that spanned these waterways were of great concern to the railroad. Any large amounts of water running under these bridges posed a constant threat to the rail-bed on and at each end of the bridge, therefore great care was taken to maintain and keep it clear of debris and grass in the water passage channels under these spans to prevent a washout and consequently creating a train-wreck hazard. The section foreman and his track crew were held responsible by the railroad for the maintaining of these places. This story relates one of the many problems that was encountered in the course of fulfilling these obligations. My Dad, J.E. Garner Sr., was the track foreman for this section designated "333" in the year 1937 when this story occurred. The area under the bridge at Dixie highway and where Atlantic Blvd. now meet was a wide, but low span with heavy 12" x 12" pilings driven into the canal bed and on top sat the heavy timbers that the dual tracks were bolted to. The area at normal water levels on both sides and under the bridge had a gravel/sand slope from the waters edge about eight or ten feet to the top and kept clean and clear of weeds and trash. The area under the bridge was also used as a temporary "hobo" hangout while waiting for or just resting from a freight train ride. Hobo's had told my dad of seeing a large alligator lying on the bank in the sun or swimming in the canal and some of them were concerned for this was an extremely large gator and being in such close proximity to it was unnerving to say the least. One day a hobo told him that he suspected the gator had attacked and made off with one of the Bos'after dark, he said he heard a large splash and then noticed one of the men that had been camping under the bridge was missing and no one had seen or heard of him after that. Dad started watching for the gator and one warm afternoon he saw him sunning on the bank. He went back to the house where he got out his old Smith/Wesson .38 caliber pistol with the long barrel, put six rounds in it and set off for the canal. The gator was still lying on the bank and he eased down under the bridge on the opposite side from the gator and very carefully got as close to the gator as he could without spooking him. He was shocked at the size of the gator, having seen many gators but never having seen one this big or this close or ever killed one. He said he didn't know just where to shoot him. After thinking it over, he decided to try and shoot it in the eye as that was the only place he figured it might be effective. When the gun fired, the gator went almost straight up spun around and into the water, and was gone. After waiting around for some time, Dad figured he must have missed or had only wounded him. (Later examination of the gator showed that indeed he had been hit but the bullet had only broken his thick hide and not penetrated his skull.) After several days of not seeing the gator, he passed by one day on his motor car and there was the gator, again on the bank in almost the same place. This time he had the pistol with him and after stopping the car, got off and again made his way to almost the same place he shot from before only this time getting several feet closer to the huge gator. He had already decided to aim where he thought its heart would be, right behind the left foreleg where the skin was much thinner and softer than on the topside of the gator. Cocking his pistol, he took careful aim at a spot he thought would be the heart area and prepared himself to try and get off several shots if possible.The first shot made the gator jump and in quick succession dad got off three more shots as the gator was then into the water and making a big commotion. The gator submerged and after waiting around for some time, and upon seeing fine bubbles coming to the surface he knew the gator was still there and might not come up for quite a while and he left with his men and went home. Going back to the bridge early the next afternoon to see if the gator was there, he climbed under the bridge and there half in and half out of the water lay the gator and by the flies buzzing around its head, he knew it was dead. Dad was elated, he had thought about the skin of the gator, he wanted it and now it was dead. He had killed it and it was his. Little did he know of the effort it would be to get this gator to a place to skin him which would be at the railroad section house where we lived, located on North Flagler, between 6th and 8th St. He would hang him from the large mango tree behind the house and skin him out. He got his men together along with ropes, shovels, hoes, rakes and pitch forks and they went to work trying to get the gator out of the canal and upon the bank. This gator weighed close to four hundred pounds and it was almost impossible to drag once out of the water. Nothing they could do would get the gator from under the bridge and up the bank. Dad went to Powell Ford which was about two blocks away and a salesman for Powell, Gene Spear, had their wrecker go over and backed it as close as they could to the edge, put a chain around the gator, put the hook on the end of the cable in the chain and winched the gator out. Taking the gator through the middle of town hanging on the back of the wrecker created quite a stir and several people followed to the place they would hang him. This to proved to be a chore, finally with the aid of all the extra help and the winch of the wrecker, the gator was hung in the tree by his tail. The gator measured fourteen feet long, many of the people there said it was the largest gator ever seen in these parts. Also, of the five shots Dad fired from the old S&W all of them hit the gator. Of the last four, three of them went into the area Dad thought he hit. They must have been effective to kill a gator of that size with a pistol. Once again, my dad was faced with a dilemma, how would he ever get this thing skinned, and the carcass disposed of. The gator hanging in the tree was too high and too long to be reached and further more, the hide was as tough as "whet leather." What to do? What had seemed a good idea had now become a monumental problem. The solution appeared in the form of a Seminole Indian driving an old model A Ford truck with a flat bed . He had heard of the huge gator and was coming to see my Dad about making a deal. His proposition, he would take the gator to his place in the Everglades, skin him, keep the meat for himself and return the skin to Dad, as simple as that. This was just too good an offer to refuse, the gator would be gone, Dad would get the skin and with no more effort on his part. He quickly agreed to this. He called out his men (they lived alongside the tracks adjacent to the foreman's house.) The Indian backed his truck under the gator, cut him down, positioning him on the truck. The Indian left, driving South on Flagler, crossed the tracks at NE 6th St. turning South on Dixie highway. "That was the last time the Indian or the gator was ever seen." This didn't rid the Pompano canal of gators, far from it, but I believe this gator is the biggest one ever seen there and one that size could easily kill and eat anything that ventured too close to the waters edge. Like the Troll that lived under the bridge in the story "Three Billy Goats Gruff" this huge gator staked out his territory under the Pompano bridge and had to be dealt with for the safety of others.