Florida and The Gilded Age: A Glimpse at the Top 5 Gilded Age Characters, Florida-Style

HBO’s The Gilded Age has bulldozed its way to the top of everyone’s “must-see” list. Suddenly we all care about 1880s New York and its parade of drama, pearls, and society snobs.

The show is basically a glitter bomb of old-school luxury: over-the-top mansions, dresses that probably weigh more than a family of four, and a social scene so uptight it probably squeaks.

Mark Twain gave us the term “Gilded Age” (thanks, Mark), and now we get to watch the old-money elites go toe-to-toe with the flashy new-money types. It’s juicy, it’s a little petty, and honestly, I can’t look away.

The characters? Messy in the best way. The stories? Twisty enough to make your head spin. And the attention to historical detail—props to the costume folks, not to mention the actual prop department. No wonder everyone’s obsessed.

People watch the show and come out thinking the Gilded Age was just a New York, Newport, and, England thing. It’s as if Florida was just chilling in a swamp, swattin’ skeeters and wrasslin’ gators.

Newsflash: Florida has its own stash of juicy Gilded Age drama. So, grab your smelling salts, dust off that lace fan you definitely don’t own, pour a fancy drink, and read all about The Gilded Age-Florida-Style.

Secrets and Scandals of Henry Flagler

Henry Flagler, sporting a Gilded Age-approved mustache

If you’re looking for Florida's version of HBO's George Russell, the hunky railroad entrepreneur, look no further than Henry Flagler.

Flagler was the original Florida Man, just with way more cash and better suits. His time in the Gilded Age was basically a soap opera with yachts.

George Russell from HBO's The Gilded Age

Let’s talk drama: the whole thing with his second wife, Ida Alice Shourds? Total mess. Flagler wanted out, but back then “irreconcilable differences” wasn’t a thing (Bertha Russell may need to be more cautious).

So what does Flagler do? Twists a few political arms and, boom, suddenly insanity counts as a legal reason for divorce in Florida. People were whispering about bribery left and right. The tabloids of the day must’ve had a field day.

Formerly the Hotel Alcatraz, now the Lightner Museum, founded by Flagler

And then there’s Flagler’s business style. The guy didn’t just play hardball, he invented it.

Rockefeller's Standard Oil was out there crushing the competition with every dirty trick in the book: secret deals, undercutting prices, all that jazz. Monopoly much? It’s no wonder people started waving the antitrust flag. Flagler turned Florida into his personal Monopoly board, but with actual hotels and railroads, not just little green plastic ones.

Flagler's The Breakers Palm Beach

Was it all bad? Not really. Florida went from swampy afterthought to vacation hotspot, thanks mostly to Flagler’s money and vision (and ego). The problem is all that progress meant the rich just got richer, and everyone else, well… not so much.

If you want to see Gilded Age inequality in one snapshot, just look at Whitehall, his ridiculous Palm Beach mansion. The place looks like something out of Downton Abbey, except it’s surrounded by palm trees and humidity. Not to mention, he built The Breakers in Palm Beach, not to be confused with The Breakers in Newport, owned by the Vanderbilts (also known as The Russell family in The Gilded Age).

Flagler's Whitehall Mansion in Palm Beach

Flagler’s legacy is a tangled mess. He built an entire state’s identity, but he also played fast and loose with the rules, both in business and his personal life. He’s basically the guy you love to hate—or maybe hate to love. Depends how you feel about fancy hotels and wildly unfair business practices, I guess.

Flager's Whitehall, the interior

The OG Florida Tycoon—Henry B. Plant

Henry B. Plant

Another character model for George Russell and our second of three Henrys, Henry B. Plant, was the OG Florida tycoon, but not exactly the squeaky-clean hero you read about in those glossy history books.

If you’re looking for wild, headline-making scandals, Plant didn’t get tangled in any of those messy courtroom dramas or front-page corruption exposés. But let’s not kid ourselves: some of his moves would raise eyebrows (and probably a few lawsuits) today.

Plant was one of those Gilded Age heavyweights who played the game hard. Ruthless ambition? Check. Scooping up businesses left and right? Absolutely. Whispered bribes and backroom deals? I wouldn’t bet against it. Honestly, back then, that was just… Tuesday. The rules were basically: do what you got to do, and if someone cries foul, toss ‘em a cigar and keep moving.

Now, here’s where it gets a little murky: during the Civil War, Plant ran The Southern Express Company, shipping stuff for the Confederacy. Which is wild, because he was a Northerner. So, was he loyal to the cause? Nah, he was loyal to the dollar. If there was money to be made, he wasn’t picky about whom he did business with. Greed over politics, every time.

Plant's Southern Express Company

And talk about power. Plant could bend Florida to his will. You know how Tampa became a big deal during the Spanish-American War? Guess who pulled those strings. When you can basically pick where the army sets up shop, you’re not just rich—you own the Monopoly board.

Plant's Tampa Bay Hotel

But, we have to give credit where it’s due: the guy changed Florida.

Like Flagler and the fictional George Russell, he strung together railroads and steamships, so suddenly Florida wasn’t just swamps and alligators, it was open for business.

Citrus, phosphate, tourism, you name it, Plant’s fingerprints are all over it. His hotels? Straight-up palaces. The Tampa Bay Hotel is basically the definition of Gilded Age extra.

Interior of the Gilded Age-era Tampa Bay Hotel

Henry B. Plant was both a builder and a schemer. He made Florida what it is, but let’s not slap a halo on the guy. His brand of business was rough, ambitious, and probably a little shady by today’s standards. Scandalous? Not exactly. Just very Gilded Age.

Henry Ford and Thomas Edison

Edison and Ford (with Edison inside a Ford)

While Ford and Edison were not Florida natives, they made their way to The Sunshine State during, you guessed it, the Gilded Age.

Much like the HBO character, Jack Treacher, Henry Ford (our third and final Henry) and Thoman Edison were inventors.

Inventor Jack Treacher, from HBO's The Gilded Age

Edison totally dipped down to Florida during the Gilded Age, chasing sunshine before it was cool. In 1885, he and his buddy Ezra Gilliland rolled into Fort Myers, looking for a spot to chill (literally, the man wanted to thaw out).

Apparently, they liked what they saw, because Edison snapped up some land and threw up a modest-for the-time winter pad, plus a lab (Tom was always productive). He pretty much made it his seasonal escape all the way until he died in 1931.

Edison Ford Estates

Back then, Florida was like a VIP club for rich inventors and industrialists. Warm weather, palm trees, not yet swamped with tourists—it was the place to be.

Even Henry Ford, Edison’s BFF in the industrial game, got FOMO and grabbed the house next door. Can you imagine the neighborly hangouts? Probably some wild lightbulb talk.

For Edison, Ford and their pals, Florida was basically a Gilded Age Silicon Valley, if Silicon Valley had more alligators and fewer tech bros.

Ella C. Chamberlain: Florida’s Fierce Journalist and First Suffragette

Ella C. Chamberlain, First Florida Suffragette

Much like Peggy Scott, the journalist and writer in HBO’s The Gilded Age, there were female writers trying to carve out a place for themselves.

The Gilded Age was a period of both challenges and opportunities for women in Florida who aspired to be writers and reporters. Their dedication and determination paved the way for future generations of women in the field. 

Peggy Scott from HBO's The Gilded Age

Eleanor Collier McWilliams Chamberlain, Ella for short, was born in Mahaska County, Iowa, in 1848, attended Oskaloosa College and tied the knot with Fielding Chamberlain. Fast forward a decade, and bam, she’s in Florida. Tampa, to be exact. Not exactly the hotspot it is now, but hey, someone had to get things started.

Now, Ella wasn’t about to just sit around sipping orange juice. In 1892, a women’s rights convention fired her up, and she started cranking out columns for the Tampa Weekly Tribune. Not just talking fashion or recipes (not that there’s anything wrong with that), but straight-up suffrage—votes for women. She basically kick-started Florida’s women’s suffrage movement and cooked up the Florida Women’s Suffrage Association in 1893. That’s guts, considering the time.

Ella fought for Mother’s Pensions (think: support for moms), prisoner rights (way ahead of her time), and healthcare for Black folks—super radical for the era.

She died in Tampa in 1934, but the city didn’t forget her. There’s a bust of her on the Tampa Riverwalk, which is honestly the least they could do. Ella’s remembered as a fierce, loud, sometimes probably infuriating (in the best way) champion for women and anyone else getting a raw deal in Gilded Age Florida. If you’re ever walking the Riverwalk, give her a nod. She’s earned it.