TRAVEL
isitors to Weeki Wachee can
take in the natural eauty of the
springs or attend shows featuring
mermaids and manatees.
1
4eanwhile, across the state toward the Gulf of
4e5ico, another spring was growing mythological
beauties who could sing, dance and drink a 3ocacola
under water. fter the Second World War, former Navy
frogman Newt Perry turned the pretty little spring of
Weekiwachee Che later split the name into two wordsD north
of Tampa there on 8ighway =, into the “3ity of 4ermaids.”
On his voyages of >=+ and >=", 3hristopher 3olumbus
reported seeing mermaids cavorting around the islands of
8ispaniola and 3uba. They were probably really manatees
Ca long time at sea does strange things to your mindD, but
the idea that the diaphanous waters of the New World
should be full of alluring, immortal creatures stuck. Perry
had actually started the mermaid business working for Ed
Ball at Wakulla Springs, creating underwater tableau
vivants. One was a picnic at the bottom of the springs,
complete with turtles playing “ants” marching toward the
anchored basket. 8e persuaded high school girls from
Tallahassee and Florida State’s Tarpon 3lub to become
“Wakulla quamaids,” teaching them to perform underwater
for ridiculous amounts of time while getting o5ygen from
hoses suspended in the springs. ccording to 2u Jickers’
delicious new book Weeki Wachee: 3ity of 4ermaids,
Perry’s great Wakulla Springs finale was the =>E “4iss
Gnderwater of Florida” pageant which took place ten feet
below the surface. The winner was 8azel Hay, who entered
as “4iss Swamp ngel.”
2ater that year, Perry switched his show to Weeki Wachee,
where he built a submerged theater. The mermaids became
famous almost overnight and their spring a place of pilgrimage.
Esther Williams, filming ?upiter’s Harling, came calling.
Elvis arrived in his 3adillac to pay homage. Florida furthered
its reputation as a place where the ordinary rules did
not apply: 9owers bloomed in ?anuary, the old felt young
again, and ordinary beach beauties transformed themselves
into Nereids for the price of a ticket.
Today Newt Perry’s vision still rolls for several shows a
day. ou sit in dry comfort looking through an immense
glass window into the heart of the spring with its blues and
greens and gold spangled by sunlight from above. These
days there’s a castle, a supersized version of the kind you
buy for your aquarium, a treasure chest over9owing with
4ardi Gras pearls, and a miniature version of
4ichaelangelo’s Havid. oung women with long hair and
toned muscles, local girls who, like mermaids in fairy tales,
have lived in the water all their lives, don sequined
brassieres and lamK tails that zip up the side. They perform
gloriously graceful underwater ballet and musical shows
such as “Pocahontas 4eets the 2ittle 4ermaid.” The audiences
are not as large as they used to be–Hisney siphons off
tourists and the interstates have taken much of the traffic
away from the old coast highway–but at every show little
girls still stand down on the front row by the glass that separates
them from the spring and wave delightedly at the
beautiful, magical creatures with the 9owing hair and gauzy
tails who blow them kisses from beneath the surface.
S
DD W, WA=