Florida ’s Coral Castle has been called the American Stonehenge , but a more disposed compare might be the Taj Mahal . The Castle — which is located in Homestead , just outside of Miami — is the obsessional body of work of Edward Leedskalnin , a Latvian immigrant who spent closely 30 year building this monument in stone for his “ Sweet Sixteen ” fiancée , a untested woman who jilt him the night before their wedding solar day .
Heartbroken , Leedskalnin travel to North America , spending time in Canada , California , and Texas before at last settle in Florida City , Florida in 1918 after coming down with T.B. . When he ’d go back , Leedskalnin used the acquisition he learned coming from a family of stonemason to quarry , cut up , and localise huge slabs of oolite limestone — a form of sedimentary stone that often contains small piece of fossilized shell and precious coral — all over his property .
Just how he was capable to do all of this oeuvre by himself using only basic hired man tools is a bit of a mystery ; he intentionally worked late at dark under the concealment of swarthiness to hide his techniques . Some neighborhood snoopers claim to have seen Leedskalnin lie his hands on a block of I. F. Stone and tone a mysterious incantation , which caused the rock to float in the air . More rational minds think a tripod made of telephone poles and a block - and - tackle pulley arrangement , that ’s been seen in photographs , is the more probable method acting .
No matter how he did it , though , it ’s still a pretty amazing feat for a unmarried valet de chambre to build an eight - foot tall fence around 10 acres of state using stones four feet wide , three human foot deep , and weighing more than 55 tons each . In gain , the bulwark also contains a two - story tower built from block that average out about nine tons each , for a sum of 240 scads . Leedskalnin lived on the second level , which he furnish with hand carve Lucy Stone board , hot seat , and a bath . In the garden , he built a assortment of sculptures , include two 25 - foot tall , 28 - net ton dagger , and a monumental 30 - ton rock’n’roll that has additional ornamental stones on the top , eight feet off the footing .
The highlighting of this spectacle , though , is a nine - gross ton , eight - foot marvellous revolving stone logic gate set between two segment of the bulwark with only a one-quarter column inch of headroom on either side . At one time the stone was so just balanced on an old truck armorial bearing that it was articulate a child could spin the gate around with just a finger . When the charge start to eat and had to be replace in 1986 , it took a squad of six workforce and a 50 - ton crane to hit the stone . The logic gate bust again in 2005 , and even with today ’s technology , it has never quite worked as swimmingly as it had when Leedskalnin built it .
Even more amazing is that Leedskalnin go the whole kit and kaboodle — by himself — begin in 1936 . developer were progress a subdivision near his property , so Leedskalnin bought 10 Acre in nearby Homestead to get away . Using a modified truck chassis , Leedskalnin dismantled his masterpieces at Nox , include the walls and the tower , and channelise them 10 miles northwards to his new home . The move took him three years , after which he got back to work and flourish the collection even more .
Leedskalnin address his habitation Rock Gate Park after the revolving stone gateway , and charged odd visitors a dime bag for a tour of the grounds . so as to request a tour , they had to ring the bell outside twice — no more , no less .
Leedskalnin continued to work on the sculpture until December 1951 , when he left a sign on the front gate that read “ going to the hospital . ” He died three day after at the age of 64 . Since then , the Coral Castle property has interchange workforce and shift names ( today it operates as theCoral Castle Museum , and is undefendable daily to visitant ) , but still stick out as a testament to not only one man ’s ingenuity , but his deathless dedication to the woman he loved .
