Watkins: After World War Two there was money to be made from tourists – lots of it. In the process of separating those tourists from their cash and rebranding Florida as “The Sunshine State,” a variety of people no longer fit the wholesome or family-friendly image. Queer people, as well as prostitutes, gamblers, and moonshiners, were made scapegoats at times of economic insecurity. Almost nothing drummed up more publicity, votes, or religious capital than a highly publicized denunciation or raid of a queer space (bars, cruising grounds, house parties, etc.). Like so many sand castles, their existence on the Emerald Coast was then scrubbed and forgotten. While making larger arguments about the relationships and intersections of sexuality, tourism, and capitalism in mid-twentieth-century Florida, my book is at its core about people carving out space for themselves in a hostile environment. It is about the people that didn’t evacuate to the metropolis for “safety” but staked their claim to a place in “The Sunshine State.” I end the book with the following words: “Whether on the sand or the back roads, queer folks have made this part of Florida their home. They’ve been an essential part of making North Florida the colorful tapestry that it is today. They lived, they laughed, they cried, and they loved. Why people will want to read my book is always a difficult question to answer.
