A friend of mine calls our city, Jacksonville, Florida, “a truck stop that got out of control”. Actually, he has a point. Jacksonville is a sprawling monstrosity of a city with, frankly, not much to recommend it for its size. Tourists generally drive right on through here on their way to Disney World. They don’t even stop to eat. We have the square acreage, but we don’t have the confidence or courage to be a “real” big city. Things are getting better in recent years, but we still have a long way to go.
Jacksonville was originally called Cowford because we’re located at a narrow place in the St. Johns River where cows could cross. We used to be known for our paper mills, but fortunately that stench has been replaced by the delightful smell of the Maxwell House Coffee plant. But basically, we’ve never really shaken our factory mentality.
Because of this, it doesn’t surprise me that our longest running tradition is Big Jim, a steam whistle that has been marking the hours for factory workers since the 1890’s. It blows every day except Sunday at 7 am, Noon, 1 pm and 5 pm. You can hear it from 10 miles away.
It also blows to mark new years, and except for a 15 month period here recently when it was struck by lightning, it’s been going strong without respite, for over 120 years. It also marked the ends of World Wars I and II, and was the only warning signal during the city’s Great Fire of 1901.
I happen to like the sound of Big Jim, but only because I don’t live anywhere near it. If that thing woke me up every day at 7 am whether I liked it or not, I’d probably lose my mind. But to me, Big Jim is the perfect symbol of our city. We are plodders. We have our routines. We are set in our ways. We’re kind of rusty. And to the outside observer it may seem as if we don’t really have aspirations.
Big Jim is the epitome of the status quo, and so is this city. But maybe there’s a certain amount of comfort and charm in that after all.

Big Jim
[Image credit examiner.com]
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