It was late afternoon, cocktail hour, bar time, and Wally was looking up and down Second Street, admiring his conquest, as if he had been the first man to land at Normandy and survive. His tables were out near the street, a little too near we always thought, considering the way the idiots escaping the city parking garage came bouncing over the FEC tracks, not knowing what would lie, or might not lie, 20 yards ahead. A nice fat oak would have been in order to protect the outside diners.
But that is besides the point. To the west, now shadowed as the sun declined, rising above the 1925 buildings a block away with its lower parts shrouded by trees, there stood a salmon-colored wall of something or other, not possible to define from that distance. It was the Broward Center for the Performing Arts, not yet open, but close, and Wally Brewer was one of the first, if not the first, entrepreneur to bet that this building would generate a renewal of what had shortly before been a combination of industrial uses and sleeping-bum-in-the-doorway bars, a community blight.
And Wally saw in that building down the street an opportunity to get aboard first. What he also saw was Bourbon Street, a mimic of New Orleans, filled with action around the clock. It was already beginning to happen. Across Second Street there was new construction, places being built to look like they were clever renovations of old structures but were in fact brand new. It is where Tarpon Bend and its neighbors now sit, their sidewalks often filled with lunch and dinner patrons. Bourbon Street. In fact, the place that Wally opened in 1991, then Wally’s Olde Town Chop House, is now known as Bourbon on 2nd, perhaps an unintentional salute to the founder’s vision.
Wally got off to a good start. Blockbuster Video was just a block away and the lunches were often crowded with its people. The theater attracted pre- and post-play business, which is why Wally went there. When the new Florida Panthers won a big Stanley Cup game, Wayne Huizenga called at closing time to ask to Wally stay open. He was bringing in a planeload of 40 celebrating people. Wally did.
Wally Brewer had a partner who died young, and it turned out to be more work than the veteran owner needed. He eventually sold his place, got it back, sold it again, almost got it back. And it is still there, more of a late-night place, more Bourbon Street than Wally had foreseen. It has been 20 years – hard to believe – since he opened, and now the Broward Center is announcing a more than $40 million renovation, designed to keep it competitive and maintain its reputation as one of the most surprisingly attractive venues for big-time entertainment, especially for a market of this size. People in theater who see it for the first time are knocked out. This kind of class belongs in New York, Washington.
Today, it seems a natural, sitting above the curve of the New River, with a gorgeous evening view of the downtown lights reflected on the water. The location was picked a few years before construction began. Money was needed, and Carl Mayhue is credited as the man who started it all. We were not there at those early meetings, but the story has been told often enough that it must be true. When Carl Mayhue, who died four years ago, proposed that spot for a theater, people said, looking at the tawdry surroundings, “Carl, why this location?” He replied, “This location.” He saw something a quarter century ago that few others did. He probably did not call it Bourbon Street, but his mind saw something like that. Now everybody can see it. Thanks, Carl.
Last week the papers reported the decade-long fight between the historic Stranahan House and the developer wanting to build a high-rise condo almost on top of it appears to be over – with the developer winning. Appeals that began with a terrible legal decision years ago seem to be exhausted.
This marathon case takes on poignancy, at least in this space, because we recently celebrated Fort Lauderdale’s centennial with a special section that included the Stranahan House – the oldest building in the city. It was originally the trading post where the Seminoles came to do business with the newly arrived settlers, the latter coming in increasing numbers as the railroad reached the New River and crossed south toward Miami.
Veteran litigators will recall the location was formerly a Hyde Park Market, which was sold to the developer as part of a package. A market on that site was not a good idea, but when it was built the preservation of a unique part of the city’s history was not as appreciated as it became once redevelopment began closing in on the Stranahan House.
The city decided this important property (Stranahan House) deserved to be part of a park. Actually, a perfect location, more so every time a new high rise rose nearby. The Riverside Hotel built an expansion, right on top of it. Nature begged for some breathing space. The voters passed a bond issue, which, coupled with a private gift from an anonymous donor, provided enough money to give the developer about four times what it had paid a few years before. That money has been upped over the years. The developer, The Related Group, said no and an eminent domain suit followed. And this is where things got smelly.
A public park is a legitimate use for an eminent domain condemnation. Unlike some other cases where eminent domain has been used to knock stuff down to make way for private development, this was clearly a public benefit. The case was set for trial, before the highly respected Judge J. Leonard Fleet. In an unusual development, the judge was even quoted in the paper saying how much he looked forward to trying this interesting case. Then, in an even more unusual move, he took himself off the case, citing an inappropriate event. He did not want to say what that was, but was forced to in court and it turned out he thought he had been offered a bribe.
The circumstances would make that hard to prove, but the mere fact that a seasoned and notably independent jurist interpreted it as such is telling.
Then, to pile the unusual on the unusual, the case wound up with a judge who had a record of ruling against cities in various cases. He had also been reversed in other matters and reprimanded by the Florida Supreme Court. One of the best Broward judges to hear such a case was replaced by the last man you would want in that position.
What happened next was almost predictable. There was no trial. The judge issued a summary judgment in favor of the developer. That, of course, got a lot of publicity, including in Gold Coast magazine, but there was never the outrage that such an event seemed to warrant, especially in view of the circumstances in which the original judge removed himself.
Instead, the case dragged on and on and on. The developer took the position that the legal delay had cost it millions – somewhat dubious, in light of the real estate recession that hit at about the time the building would have come on line. Indeed, the same developer got slaughtered in other buildings. It could be argued that the delay saved the developer millions. And you wonder why, in this economy, the developer, with so many problems, would not jump at an offer to take far more than it paid years ago.
At one point the city attempted a land swap, taking the potential park site in exchange for city land on the beach. The city commission turned that deal down, 3-2. Two of our most neighborhood-friendly commissioners, Cindi Hutchinson and Christine Teel, were the key votes against the deal. It still strikes us as odd that they voted that way.
Much of this long fight has been odd. It is not getting any odder. The smell has only gotten worse.
Bob Norman broke the news that he is leaving New Times for WPLG-TV (Channel 10). This is great news for crooked politicians for I doubt Norman will ever be as effective on television as he has been these last 13 years in a throwaway paper that nobody reads – except for everybody who gives a damn what is going on in government.
Let’s correct that. Most people read Norman (pictured left, 2006) on his Internet blog, The Daily Pulp. That avoided the social stigma of being seen carrying around New Times, which might suggest you read all the lowlife ads that sustain this odd but important paper. The blog drew many comments; in fact the comments were part of the package which built a following as Norman broke just about every important story in recent years. They ranged from abuses at Broward Health (when it was the North Broward Hospital District) to Scott Rothstein’s sensational Ponzi antics, to misconduct by any number of elected officials, some of who are not yet in jail.
Many of the comments were silly, obscene and unfair. They were also almost always anonymous, which made for a forum on public affairs with a sort of candor that is never possible when people are held responsible for what they say. Some of the comments were highly informed. Norman built a network of followers who were also reliable sources. His more provocative posts drew hundreds of comments. Posters sometimes used names of public officials, who usually reacted by saying, “it ain’t me” writing this stuff. It was both the strength and the weakness of the blog. Those Norman outed could always tell themselves nobody reads this stuff, and if they do they don’t believe it. So it can be ignored as Pulp fiction.
Of course, it wasn’t ignored. Norman screamed foul so loud and often that eventually the Broward political system imploded, first with the feds and more recently with the state attorney, who after years of saying “leave that one for the feds” has now become aggressive in rooting out corruption. Some would call that self preservation. Norman ridiculed State Attorney Mike Satz for years, challenging him to do what state attorneys are elected to do, but because they are part of the same club, often find exposing friends an uncomfortable task.
His success led Norman to TV appearances. He’s pretty good, and in his parting announcement he said he has developed a taste for the form. But one of the advantages of working for the New Times was a certain protection from frightened editors, as well as a limited immunity from law suits, on the theory that most people did not take his medium that seriously, so proving damages might be tough. And there’s the advertising angle. Nothing Norman wrote in New Times was likely to provoke massage parlors or sex enhancers to cancel their schedules.
Not so with television. Again, a double edge, for with the clout of a major station comes the danger of alienating the money changers and scaring the station manager silly when lawyers begin calling. It is one thing to appear on screen as an occasionally muckraking celebrity guest and actually do your muckraking on the tube on a regular basis. Bob Norman has obviously thought this through, and it will be interesting to see how it plays out.
One thing seems certain. The weird chemistry that made The Daily Pulp a must-read for many people is gone. Other blogs in New Times never had that following. We also wonder how much money has to do with Norman’s departure. He obviously didn’t take a pay cut. And New Times has been cutting back with the economy. When Gold Coast covered the paper four years ago, its issues sometimes ran over 100 pages. Today, about half that.
Connection?
It began with the uncontrollable – the terrible tornados that spun through the South and devastated so many towns, including the beautiful college town of Tuscaloosa, Ala. But then, as if seeking escape, all TV news channels switched en masse to one of the most controllable forms of human endeavor – the royal wedding.
This is the week of the royals, with the big wedding and all the red jacketed, silver helmeted blokes on horses. It is only fitting that we recall Gold Coast magazine’s experience with royals, or something like that. There was a time when it was not unusual to have some obscure royal as honorary chairman of fancy affairs. Prince No Account from Nowhere, or Countess Somebody Unpronounceable, would be fussed over pretty good, although nobody seemed to know exactly who they were.Thus it was not all that difficult for Prince Michael of Austria to wow Gold Coast society in the early 1970s. The prince (the left-most individual in the photo) would show up at a ball wearing this outfit with so many medals it would make Hermann Goering envious. He was usually accompanied by his equerry, a smiling little beauty himself. Prince Michael made Gold Coast magazine a few times, usually photographed with leading local philanthropists. He particularly liked to be seen at Le Club International on the Intracoastal. Le Club was well named to host a prince.
Prince Michael knew his place. One night a prominent social reporter attempted small talk over cocktails. “Tell me,” she said, “what does a prince do with his time?” His nose took off, and he replied without looking at the woman. “Madame, ladies of the press do not speak to royalty unless priorly addressed.”
Even as he was arranging knighthoods for local chaps and performing other miracles suited for a prince, nobody seemed to question why an Austrian prince often slipped from his haughty tone into what seemed like a New York accent. That mystery was explained when Prince Michael was arrested for running a stolen exotic car ring. It turned out his real name was Michael Waldbaum from Miami Beach. When asked in jail why he called himself Prince Michael of Austria, he replied: “I just thought it sounded better than Michael Waldbaum.”
We don’t recall ever actually meeting the prince, but we did meet another royal from the U.K. He was identified as Prince Edward of the English royal family, and he was in Fort Lauderdale for an event aboard the super sailboat Zeus, which was built for a design speed of 26 knots under sail. Now that is flat-out flying, and we aren’t aware that conditions ever permitted Zeus to hit that speed. Nonetheless, it was an amazing high-tech craft, good enough to attract royalty. The owner of the boat was a prominent Englishman. He ran the money, or something like that.
Well, it turned out that Prince Edward’s real name, for those of us chastened by the Prince Michael saga, was Prince Edward. The real one, and he turned out to be a prince of a guy, extremely good at small talk. Everybody had a picture taken with him, and a typical conversation went something like this:
Prince Edward: “Delated to meet you. And where are you from?”
Meetee: “Here in Fort Lauderdale.”
Prince Edward: “Really. From Fort Lauderdale? “
“Yes.”
“That’s wonderful.”
He made it sound as if meeting someone from Fort Lauderdale in Fort Lauderdale was like encountering a martian in Mexico. But the point is he made everyone feel that it was his undiluted fortune to meet them, a quality Prince Michael singularly lacked.
Everybody left the party saying what a fine fellow Prince Edward seemed to be. The late Joe Millsaps had the best small-talk line of the night.
“What do you say when you meet a prince?” said Millsaps. “Hey prince, if you have a little time, I have a helluva real estate deal you should look at.”
The Civil War began last week – 150 years ago. Predictably there has been a renewal of the historic debate over the cause of the Civil War. Liberals for the most part say it was caused by slavery. Many conservatives, particularly in the south, argue that it was about states' rights. The Neutral Party, which is the one here, says it was both.
Slavery was the economic cause of the war; it was the underpinning of the southern agricultural economy. The dispute between the states over slavery began with the Constitution, and continued right up to Fort Sumter. Andrew Jackson’s presidency, 30 years before the shooting actually started, was especially contentious. From a state which eventually went with the South, he backed down other southerners who were threatening to dissolve the union.
Slavery, however, was not the only cause of war, or more precisely it was not the only reason men went to battle. Overwhelmingly, soldiers fought for their neighborhoods, whether they thought slavery was a good thing or not. The current issue of Gold Coast has a Fort Lauderdale Centennial salute which includes the story of P.N. Bryan, who came to South Florida to build part of Henry Flagler’s FEC Railway. He had been in the Civil War, fighting with a Florida outfit, but he always told people that none of the men in his unit owned slaves, or fought to preserve slavery. Like most men on either side, he fought for his state.
That’s where states rights comes in. The 1860s were a far different time. Lincoln at Gettysburg noted the union was a young enterprise, and states which 87 years before had been separate colonies had not yet lost their parochial identity. Many did not think the federal government was their boss, and certainly the northern states had no right to tell the southern states how to live. Each state had retained a certain sense of independence. The great Civil War historian Shelby Foote put it well. Before the war, he wrote, the expression was “The United States are…” but after the war it became “The United States is…” The great war which disunited a nation came to represent a more perfect union.
The immigrants of that era told the story. Irish who settled in the North fought for the Union. The Irish Brigade, men from New York, Massachusetts and Pennsylvania, became one of the most celebrated units of the conflict. Yet Irishmen who had settled in the South usually fought for their states, sometimes in all Irish units. Both groups had come from a place where they had been the next thing to slaves under British rule. They were the same people, who could be expected to share common values, but they saw the war from different street corners. The much admired Confederate Gen. Patrick Cleburne was Irish born and had settled in Arkansas. He felt welcomed as a newcomer to America, and became successful, so his loyalty was to his friends and neighbors. Yet late in the war he became suspect in the Confederacy by proposing that the South free slaves and enlist black soldiers, in effect recognizing them as equals. Robert E. Lee, incidentally, agreed with that idea. Cleburne died in the battle of Franklin, Tenn.
The war was filled with such ambivalence, all the way to the top. Lincoln did not oppose the South to destroy slavery, not at first. And Robert E. Lee opposed secession and had a benign attitude toward slaves who worked in his home. Still, he felt his higher loyalty was to his native state of Virginia. Gen. John Pemberton, Confederate commander at Vicksburg, was born in Philadelphia but had moved south when he married a southern woman. He also spent much of his military life in the South, including participation in Florida during the Seminole War of the 1830s. After the Civil War, when his wife died, he returned north and is buried in Laurel Hill Cemetery in Philadelphia.
One of the poignant stories of Gettysburg is a young soldier named Wesley Culp, who died in the attack on Culp’s Hill, part of his uncle’s property. But he wasn’t wearing blue. Although he grew up in Gettysburg, he had moved to Virginia three years before the war when his employer moved a business there. He died for his new state, fighting an army in which his brother was serving.
The debate over the cause of the war will doubtless continue for the next four years, but it should be noted that the cause of the war and the reason men fought so bravely are not the same. Today the Confederate flag is sometimes likened to the Nazi Swastika. Part of that is due to the rednecks who enjoy flaunting it. But it was not originally a symbol of racism, at least not to men who fought and died for it.
Michael Connelly was in town last weekend. He did a book signing at the Barnes & Noble off Federal Highway, then attended the 75th anniversary dinner of St. Thomas Aquinas High School, his alma mater.
I’ve taken an interest in Connelly’s success as a crime story writer, partly because I made a minor contribution to his career. In the early 1980s I got a call from his father, also Michael Connelly, a former Philadelphian who at the time was working for Arvida, busily leasing out Boca Raton’s Town Center. He asked if I knew anybody at the Sun-Sentinel. His son was working for the newspaper in Daytona Beach and wanted to get back to Fort Lauderdale.
I did know people at the Sun-Sentinel. Joe Jennings, with whom I had worked at a suburban Philadelphia paper, was the city editor. A few years before that Bill Bondurant, at the time the managing editor, had recalled that I worked in Chester, Pa., in the 1960s and wondered if I knew Joe Jennings, who had applied for work. I gave Joe a strong recommendation, which he deserved, despite the fact that he used to kill some of my best columns on the grounds that they were massively libelous.
As a young columnist, I was desperate for approval. From the back of the news room I would watch Joe’s reaction when he read my stuff. His shoulders would shake in laughter. Then he came back and said: “Funniest thing I ever read Bern. It ain’t running.”
Anyway, I told Joe I did not know young Connelly, and had never read a line of his work, but I knew his parents and, judging by them, he had to be a great guy with exceptional talent. Joe Jennings set up the interview, Michael Connelly got the job, and a few years later he was part of a team nominated for the Pulitzer Prize. I actually arranged another interview at the same time for a young fellow who had done some interning for us at the magazine. He was pretty good. But he never showed up for the interview.
I eventually got to know the younger Connelly. The newspaper people used to meet on Friday nights at Poet’s (now Mango’s) on Las Olas, and for awhile he was a regular.
Michael Connelly moved to Los Angeles in the late 80s, and a few years later he burst upon the literary scene (at least the crime story genre) with Black Echo. It was the beginning of fame. Many books later people marvel at his knowledge of police work and the minds of criminals. He has a great sense for the small details that bring people and places alive. Sadly, his father never lived to see it. He died just as his son was making it big. His mother did, however, and by the time she was called about seven years ago she knew her son was going down in history, along with such names as Raymond Chandler and John D. MacDonald, as a master of a special form of literature.
Recently I learned from one of his school buddies that Connelly had the playful habit of throwing in faintly disguised names of some of his old Fort Lauderdale acquaintances. We all got a free copy of his latest book, The Fifth Witness at the St. Thomas Aquinas dinner. I read the first few pages when I got home. Right there in the opening scene a murder victim’s name is Mitchell Bondurant. We already mentioned Bill Bondurant and his son is named Michael. Both are quite alive.
As for the other guy who never showed up for the interview, he became a chef. Pretty good, it is said. The last time I saw him he said he’d still like to do some writing.
With Florida schools so much in the news, it is useful to compare our educational condition with conditions elsewhere. Take Philadelphia, where this is being written. Now, there are many nice things about Philadelphia, including cheese steaks, Boathouse Row and colonial history. Where I sit is two blocks from what was once known as the King’s Road. It runs from Chestnut Hill, on the northwest border of the city, down through Germantown and into the heart of the city.
At one time it was the path wealthy people took to escape to what was then country and a safe distance from the Yellow Fever epidemics which invaded the city in the summer. It was also the route that George Washington’s army took to engage the British at the 1777 battle of Germantown. It was an ambitious attack, designed to hold the British in place while other forces surrounded the redcoats. A rare fog helped foil the plan. The enveloping forces got lost and the British fought off the main body.
Although Germantown was a victory for the British, it was encouraging to the revolutionary movement that the Continental Army, still largely untrained and inexperienced, was able to stand up to the enemy in a large-scale engagement. Washington’s forces retreated intact back up what is now Germantown Avenue to spend the historic winter at Valley Forge. And just before Germantown, at distant Saratoga, another part of the Continental army soundly whipped a British force. The combined events had a great impact in Europe, especially France, which would soon come to the aid of the American Revolution. The trumpets of success began to echo throughout the colonies.
The neighborhood, in the beginning named after German immigrants who settled there in the 1700s, prospered over two centuries, a mix of upper and middle class. But decay set in. As a kid I could have walked to three Catholic schools. All have closed. Whereas the old neighborhoods closer to Center City are enjoying gentrification, with professionals reclaiming what were once near slums, Germantown is still on the way down.
Unlike Valley Forge, which is a famous national park, the Battle of Germantown is not noted by pleasant highlands or monuments. Some buildings that got shot up are still standing, but the city grew around the place. It prospered for two centuries and then decay set in. It is said you were safer between the Continental and British lines than you are walking the streets of Germantown today. But you may be safer on the streets than inside the schools of Philadelphia.
The Philadelphia Inquirer, formerly affiliated with The Miami Herald, spent a year looking at violence in the schools, and the results are stunning. Look for the Inky, as ex-patriots call it, to be nominated for the big prize on this series. The numbers: In the last school year, 690 teachers were assaulted. In the last five years, the number is 4,000. That’s teachers. The paper has also reported student-to-student violence, including sexual assaults. Some schools have several events a day, and cynics think a lot of this stuff is not even reported.
It is not just the frequency of the violence, it is the breadth of the problem. Students as young as 5 have been accused of assaults. Some of the assaults are racist. Asian students in south Philadelphia, once “Rocky” turf, have been targets where they are minorities in mostly black environments.
Black kids are often victims. One mother whose son got jumped by a gang refused to send him back to the school. Fortunately, he got transferred to a safer environment. A teacher summed up the problem, pointing out that one of the most badly behaved kids saw his mother murdered, with a baby on her lap, when he was very young. They grow up in a life of violence, she lamented, so why should school be different?
Pennsylvania, like Florida, has an ongoing debate about vouchers or other programs which help students escape troubled schools in favor of environments in which they can actually learn something. Ironically, many of those schools to which they can flee are barely hanging on.
The kids who need them most can’t afford them.
What would a smart fellow like Washington do today? Back when he worked for the British in the French and Indian War he was known to hang troublemakers. Today that would be politically unacceptable, and he might even get beat up for his trouble.
Washington, D.C. – Spring began with a flower, winter counter attacked, and last Sunday morning the temperature was exactly at freezing and a light coat of snow covered the roofs and windshields of cars. It was a strange end to a strange winter, north and south. People walking the streets all wore hats and bulky jackets, yet the cherry blossoms were blooming and golden daffodils and an occasional tulip popped from the frosty little lawns of the Capitol Hill neighborhood.
Considering the weather, the Eastern Market was busy by mid-morning. This is a Washington institution, dating to 1873 when Washington had a series of city-owned markets scattered in its then growing neighborhoods. The market concept was envisioned almost a century earlier by Pierre L’Enfant, when he laid out the plan for the capital. All the other markets are gone, and the Eastern Market almost joined them, but was twice saved by community preservationists, first in the 1930s when the other markets closed, and then in the 1950s. At the time super markets and corner groceries were making the market obsolete. Yet its obsolescence, joined with a building designed by a famous architect, brought it back to life. Capitol Hill was at the time somewhat obsolete itself, running down fast, but gentrification was on the way and it seemed sensible to retain what was historic and charming.
It’s a classic market. Indoors are booths selling just about every kind of food, many varieties of meats, fish, pastries, coffees. The market moves outside on weekends, when a street is closed, and then there is also food, especially fruit, but a little bit of everything – arts and crafts, unusual clothing, a stand specializing in crepes. People stand in line for 20 minutes to buy these. You can purchase everything but a zoning change – all of it sold by people who come from many cultures, all nicer and more helpful than the next person. On the streets around the market are cozy cafes, bars, coffee houses. It’s a place with thousands of regular customers, including those who drop in early in the day for breakfast, but also visitors who have heard of its reputation. It is popular with young families, many of whom work for government or related companies, who have poured into this old neighborhood. On weekends the kids are entertained by musicians in the original old building.
In the crisp cold air scented by the aroma of near residential fire places, thoughts head south to balmy Fort Lauderdale, and Las Olas Boulevard, specifically the Hyde Park property in front of the Stranahan House. The old supermarket, razed to make room for a large condo, would have made an ideal site for such a facility.
The condominium project was delayed by litigation after the city passed a bond issue that would have given the developer four times what it paid for the property a few years earlier. It likely would have been a disaster for the developer, who would never admit that. Instead the property sits idle, unlikely to be acted on for years. The city wanted the property as a park, a green compliment to the historic Stranahan House.
We wonder if the city might be able to use the economy to reopen negotiations. If not a park, a market with the style of Washington’s would be a wonderful addition to Las Olas, offsetting the disaster that befell the street when the Riverside Hotel expansion collapsed, a classic error of knocking stuff down without the money to replace it, leaving a gap where the heart of the action once stood.
It probably will not happen, but it is aromatic to think so.
It isn't plagiarism if you cite the source, and today we steal from The Miami Herald's Fred Grimm, who today devoted his column to criticizing our new governor for omitting beach replenishment from his budget. There has been a chorus of boos as officials around the state realize that one of Florida's greatest assets is now an endangered species. Next to the warm sun, the ocean and beach are what keeps tourists coming year after year. And anyone who has lived near a beach knows that it isn't forever. Storms and other natural elements wear beaches away, sometimes very drastically. After the hurricanes of a few years back, some beaches were like small cliffs, a mini-version of California, where bluffs often plummet to the sea.
How important are the beaches? Grimm quoted an expert saying that every dollar spent on beach preservation returns $8 in tourism and the like.
The good news in Grimm's piece came at the end, where he reported that the Senate Government Appropriations Committee seemed to ignore the governor by budgeting $16 million for 12 beach restoration projects. We have a feeling that this is going to turn into a pattern with this governor, in which legislators hearing the howls from home are going to get around his stated desire to save the state by killing what makes it work.
The Sun-Sentinel today had its own story on Tallahassee travail. It detailed the effort, this time in the legislature, to make doing business in the state easier by eliminating regulations that some businesses don't like. The idea is to override the power of local municipalities to impose restrictions on all sorts of things. It was a very long article, far beyond the attention span of the average Sun-Sentinel subscriber, but some of the points legislators (lobbyists is more accurate) make seem sensible. Others, however, are scary, and seem to forecast what many fear about this governor.
Example: Fertilizer interests want to invalidate local rules restricting the sale and use of fertilizer. This at a time when one of Florida's greatest environmental problems, which we have been fighting for years, is the pollution of Lake Okeechobee, and by extension the estuaries on both coasts, as well as the longer distance effects on the Everglades. Fertilizer may be great food for crops, but it is poison to everything else.
It is hard to believe such damaging legislation could be considered right after the state manage to get a very trimmed down program to buy U.S. Sugar land to begin correct damage to the Everglades which began 100 years ago and has gotten worse as land meant to be swamp was drained for agriculture. Swamp should never have become farmland, but 100 years ago few realized it. Today we do understand, just as we understand that dunes never should have been replaced by tall buildings close to the water's edge.
It appears that this administration, and those elected officials who support it, are willing to enact laws to kill laws — to seek a short term financial gain and leave the problems they create to the next generation, or the next administration.
