In the early 1940s, the Pinellas County Commission and the Soil Conservation District worked to get the “Alligator Creek Project” completed. The project was the first in a series to create artificial lakes and reservoirs for long-term water conservation projects in Pinellas County. What the Tampa Tribune called “an unsightly mosquito breeding salt marsh” was to become a 100-acre freshwater lake. However, priority shifted to WWII. Then, property owners had to be persuaded to turn over their land. The creek was a navigable stream, so the project could not progress until it was permitted by the War Department and they held up the permit process. Then, after permits were given, supply shortages stretched the plan’s completion a year past its deadline. By the end of January 1948, the project was finally finished. Alligator Creek had become Alligator Lake.

“Our house was built as the model home for the houses on our street in 1978,” says Karen Errico, who along with her husband Bob, have since lived in the same home in Del Oro Groves. “There is a 7-foot drop off from the freshwater lake to the bay below. It’s 55 acres of fresh water from a spring creek in Clearwater that flows under McMullen Booth Road. The lake extends from 7^th Street South to Ruth Eckerd Hall.“

The Erricos have a history living on the lake. But, as with everything, the lake has a history of its own.

According to W.L Straub’s 1929 History of Pinellas County, many years after the “Indian Wars,” long after the Seminole Indians had been sent to a reservation near the Peace River, Keeter Booth, grandson of Odet Philippe, told a story about Safety Harbor folks being surprised one morning when a large group of Native Americans—men, women, and children—emerged from the jungle at Alligator Creek, where they had been hiding since wartime, living on fish and oysters.

About a year after Alligator Creek was turned to lake, ducks appeared. They may seem normal today but since they feed off of freshwater plants, which naturally occurred after the creek was dammed, they weren’t seen in Safety Harbor before 1949.

“Since it’s freshwater, you’ll see a lot of fishermen out on the lake,” says Errico. She sees them from her back windows. Then there are the birds.  “There are two islands in the lake and hundreds of birds fly home to roost every evening.”

Alligator Lake was stocked with fish after it was created—some of the best around. But after only a few years, its banks became swampy and the new lake was not given proper upkeep for many years. Residents and the mayor were frustrated by the county’s negligence.

in April, 1959, the dam broke north of the spillway and the water drained into Old Tampa Bay about 100 yards away. Locals watched as prized fish such as a 15-pound bass struggled in the mud. There were many other types of freshwater game fish in the lake, and most went with the spillage, into the saltwater of the bay.

The police chief at the time, Claude Rigsby, was quoted in the Tampa Tribune as saying, “Feeling is high over here about the lake.” He assumed it had been sabotage.

But it had been heavy rains that broke the dam, not people.

Alligator Lake has added a thriving array of wildlife to our area, and “yes,” says Karen Errico, “there are alligators and they have become aggressive trying to climb chain-link fences to get to kids and dogs. There used to be a 13-foot alligator in the lake but he was found shot on the other shore years back.”

As it is with much of history, there are strange parts that go unknown and are often forgotten. Take, for example, this blurb from the Tampa Tribune on October 17, 1945:

“County commissioners reported today that a concrete bridge located on Bayshore drive [sic] near Safety Harbor is being stolen by slow degrees. The railing has already been taken down, and theft of bridge materials started about two weeks ago. It has been impossible to catch the guilty parties as yet. It is still possible to travel over the bridge which is about a 40-foot span.”

Perhaps the highlight of the lake’s history is what happened after the dam was repaired and broke again. More fish were thrust into the saltwater. Police Chief Claude Rigsby and several other men used nets to catch over 700 freshwater fish struggling to get back in the lake. The fish were loaded into garbage cans and carried to a freshwater lake only a few miles away.

Eventually, of course, repairs were made and the fish soon filled the lake again.