Dance of the Reptiles
Around the country, 20 other legislatures have rejected versions of Amendment 3. Colorado voters passed one, and it proved to be such a mess that they hurried back to the polls and killed it. None of this served to discourage the GOP leadership in the Florida Legislature, whose appetite for doomed schemes seems boundless.
Amendment 4 is even worse than Amendment 3, a gift to wealthy owners of second homes in Florida. It would cut by half the cap on property-tax assessments for non-homesteaded properties, at a projected cost to city and county governments of between $600 million and $1 billion over the first three years. This should bother you only if you care about your local police and fire protection, ambulance service, city parks. You know, the little stuff.
Another amendment for which there’s absolutely no public clamor is Amendment 5, which would give legislators unprecedented sway over Florida’s judiciary. It’s the pet project of House Speaker Dean Cannon, a Winter Park Republican who holds an actual law degree from the University of Florida. Presiding over a legislative body that cranks out one deficient statute after another, Cannon is miffed that the courts keep stomping on them.
His retort is Amendment 5, which would have the state Senate confirm all Supreme Court appointments. Stop laughing—the guy is serious. He thinks state senators should pick our Supreme Court justices. In addition, Cannon wants the entire Legislature to be able to change, by simple majority votes, procedural rules that govern the courts. Finally, his Amendment 5 allows the House Speaker (currently him) to see the confidential files of any Judicial Nominating Commission. He calls this “checks and balances,” but it’s really a flagrant dismantling of the constitutional boundaries between the Legislature and the justice system.
The result would be the total political pollution of our courts. Cannon’s law professors at UF must be aghast. Lots of other Republicans are.
All these rotten amendments were written and captioned for the ballot in ways to appear harmless and even reformist, but they aren’t.
And they won’t pass unless 60 percent of Florida’s voters are fooled.
MONEY SHOUTS
August 5, 2001
Island Justice, but Not for Lost Mangroves
Monroe County prosecutors are dropping all criminal charges related to a highly publicized slaughter of protected mangroves. The outcome is as pathetic as it was predictable, given the long, inglorious tradition of raping shoreline in the Keys.
This particular outrage occurred 18 months ago on North Key Largo, where the exclusive Ocean Reef Club abuts the John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park. Here an estimated 12,000 red, white, and black mangrove trees—some of them five stories high—were illegally hacked, creating instant (and lucrative) oceanfront vistas for several planned home sites.
More than 90 percent of the large specimens that were cut then are either dead or dying today. Incredibly, about two-thirds of the trees are within the tidal boundaries of the park itself, a brazen incursion even by old-time Keys standards.
Chopping 12,000 mangroves is a noisy project, and the clamor went on for days. Oddly, not a soul at Ocean Reef seemed to notice—though it was the height of the winter season, and the clearing would have been visible to anybody taking off or landing at the club’s busy airstrip. Cutting was halted only after the long raw gash in the tree line was spotted by a state biologist patrolling the waters of Pennekamp.
The lots benefiting from the crime belonged to O. R. Golf Partners Ltd. The firm’s general partner, John Grunow, Jr., is a member and part-time resident of Ocean Reef. He called the mangrove episode a “terrible accident.” He said his contractor had hired a landscaper to do some pruning, in accordance with a legal permit. However, the actual cutting, Grunow said, got assigned to a group of unemployed “surfers” who went blundering into the park with chain saws abuzz. (Grunow said he didn’t witness the event, as he was taking a Mexican vacation at the time.)
State environmental officers urged local prosecutors to do something. Last summer, Grunow and contractor Edward Sanders were charged with three misdemeanors and two felonies, including criminal mischief and pollution. They pleaded innocent.
The arrests were hailed by David Struhs, head of the state’s Department of Environmental Protection, who said the prosecutions would send “a strong message” to would-be violators, no matter how wealthy. In this case, the message is obvious: Get yourself a big-time Miami defense attorney.
That’s what Grunow did. His trial was postponed repeatedly while the lawyers did their thing. Finally, last week, Monroe State Attorney Mark Kohl threw in the towel, calling it the “case from hell.” Kohl told the Free Press in Islamorada that obtaining convictions would have been difficult because the men hired to cut the trees changed their stories about what happened and who was there.
Granted, any prosecution that relies upon the testimony of surfers turned tree surgeons is probably in deep trouble.
Still, to those unfamiliar with Keys history, it must seem incredible that acres of mangroves in a state park can be mutilated in broad daylight, and nobody goes on trial.
Grunow isn’t entirely out of the woods, or what’s left of them. The DEP wants $644,600 in civil fines and expenses for wetland restoration—a gentle offer, considering that damage to North Key Largo’s mangrove belt was estimated at $4 million to $6 million.
“Irreparable and irreversible” is the way county code-enforcement officials described the clearing. They’re seeking another $20,000 from Grunow for filling wetlands on several other lots at Ocean Reef.
Prosecutors say he has agreed to new deed restrictions that won’t let him sell the shorn lots for at least three years.
The plan is to allow the surviving mangroves to grow back high enough to obscure the ocean view. Ostensibly, that would eliminate any real-estate windfall that might have resulted from the hack job.
It’s an interesting tactic, in lieu of a criminal prosecution, but there’s one small problem: Mangroves don’t grow like weeds. Replenishing a half-century-old stand will take a wee bit longer than three years.
But sometimes that’s how island justice works. Goodbye, jailhouse. Hello, Miracle-Gro.
July 28, 2002
Arrest CEO, Buy Stocks, Watch Dow Jones Go Up
Last Wednesday, after the Dow Jones Industrial Average shot up 488 points, the TV news was crawling with Wall Street analysts eager to explain the phenomenal rebound.
Investor confidence was bolstered, they all said, because congressional leaders finally had agreed on legislation aimed at “cracking down” on corporate fraud and deceptive accounting practices.
Another reason for the burst of public optimism, they said, was the widely publicized arrest that very morning of a fellow named John J. Rigas.
Rigas, 78, is the founder of the now bankrupt Adelphia cable-television empire. He and two of his sons were hauled away by postal inspectors and charged with looting millions from Adelphia as it went down the tubes.
Those who have dealt with their local cable company couldn’t be shocked to hear that there might be stealing and deceit at high levels. The surprise was that the feds actually had busted somebody for it. Apparently, the mere sight of a CEO in handcuffs was enough to help send the stock markets soaring. Americans are so infuriated by business scandals that they’re aching to see crooked executives prosecuted and sent away like common bank robbers, or worse. The sentiment has not been lost on Congress, which is raising prison terms for certain corporate crimes to a maximum 20 years.
While the likelihood of any board chairman doing hard time is laughably remote, politicians are feeling pressure to act outraged and talk tough. This time they’re in a particularly sticky situation. Big political campaigns are bankrolled heavily by corporations and business groups. Locking up too many CEOs could result in a precipitous decline of campaign contributions.
But with stock prices plummeting and midterm elections on the horizon, both Congress and the White House realized that something dramatic-looking had to be
done.
Fortunately, of all the things that can go sour with the economy, the stock market is the most malleable, at least in the short term. Inflations and recessions last for years, spelling political doom for those in power (ask Jimmy Carter and George Bush Sr.). But the stock indexes tend to bounce up and down with the headlines. The Adelphia case is a good example.
Most people who engaged in last Wednesday’s buying frenzy had likely never heard of John Rigas before he got pinched. Almost certainly, they had no idea whether or not the government’s case was solid. Unless you were a disgruntled shareholder in Adelphia, there was truly no reason to get giddy over the arrests. Only a ninny would believe that the case will deter other corporate scoundrels from fictionalizing their annual reports.
The fact is, logic doesn’t matter much on Wall Street. Regular working folks tend to buy stocks when they’re feeling good about things, and the arrest of an allegedly sleazy tycoon obviously made them feel pretty good—at least for a day.
Now, say you’re President Bush, and you’re worried about the mood of the country and the possibility of losing your Republican majority in the House in November. The last thing you need is a sickly stock market.
What you do now is play the Adelphia card. Whenever the Dow starts to dive, you simply call the Justice Department and tell it to go out and bust a Fortune 500 big shot. Make sure CNN is alerted in advance, of course.
If the market was so rejuvenated by the Rigas arrest, imagine the heights to which it would climb if, say, a SWAT team snatched Martha Stewart midcasserole. That’s bound to boost the NASDAQ up 75 points, at least.
Want more? Imagine if the entire board of Arthur Andersen were rounded up, blindfolded, and flown to Guantánamo Bay for interrogation. While you’re at it, save a tent for the top dogs at WorldCom, Tyco, and AOL Time Warner. And if all that still fails to launch the Dow back to 10,000–plus before the elections, there’s always the big enchilada: Enron.
That’s right, Mr. President. You personally take down your old pal Kenneth “Kenny Boy” Lay on a special Wall Street edition of COPS.
Yank him out of his Houston mansion while he’s still in his pajamas, frog-march him to a squad car, and read him his rights. Then rush home and call your broker, Mr. President, because the blue chips will be going through the roof. Guaranteed.
October 13, 2002
A Sweet Setup at MIA
Next time you’re trying to find your way out of the lunatic rat maze called Miami International Airport, remember the story of Linda Forrest: She’s one of eight partners in Dade Aviation Consultants, the consortium of so-called experts being paid to oversee the $5 billion construction spectacle at MIA.
Every month, Forrest receives nearly $50,000 for essentially having a pulse. This is a sweet setup, and not many people knew about it until Herald reporters Ronnie Greene and Joe Mozingo put it in the newspaper last week.
Forrest was brought into the DAC group a decade ago as a minority participant. At the time, she’d had her contractor’s license less than two years, causing some folks to marvel at her sudden good fortune. In retrospect, it wasn’t such a mystery. Whenever huge public-works contracts are being bid, the white guys trying to win the project scramble around looking for minority “partners.”
They do this to curry favor with the politicians who are awarding the contracts, and also to make themselves appear as if they honestly care about utilizing non-white contractors. This is called a minority set-aside program, and in South Florida it works like this: You recruit minorities, put their names on the letterhead, then set them aside.
Soon after the MIA deal was done, Linda Forrest agreed to pay 7 percent of all her airport revenues to a white guy named Richard Clark, in return for “consulting” and public relations services. Richard Clark just happened to be the brother of the late Steve Clark, who was mayor of both Dade County and the city of Miami.
That would be the same Steve Clark who seconded the motion to give the airport deal to DAC; the same Steve Clark whose buddy, lobbyist Rodney Barreto, was a key player in convincing the County Commission to approve Forrest’s company.
What a wacky coincidence, huh?
At first the mayor’s brother, being so shy and modest, kept his name off the paperwork detailing the payments from Forrest’s company. Now he’s suing her to collect money he says she owes.
Unfortunately, her firm is in bankruptcy. The state won’t let her hire anybody until she pays $17,086 in past unemployment taxes, while an insurance company has accused her in a $145,000 embezzlement scheme. Forrest’s plight is puzzling considering the torrent of public funds her company continues to receive—$5.8 million over the last 10 years.
And what did she do at MIA to deserve such a windfall? Not much. She wasn’t even required to provide her own employees; all she had to do was pay the ones sent to her by DAC managers. Even that didn’t go smoothly. Some workers complained about paychecks that arrived late or bounced and insurance premiums that were deducted but never paid. In response, Forrest has said that her company occasionally wrestles with “cash-flow problems” and that she is working to resolve all pending legal issues.
It’s now embarrassingly obvious that her inclusion in the DAC airport-management contract was a charade. The big shots needed a black contractor on board in order to win the necessary votes, and Forrest was in the right place with the right connections.
Once the bid was approved, she was basically expected to take the dough and stay out of the way. Nobody would have been the wiser if only she’d kept up her side payments to the late mayor’s brother.
The arrangement between Forrest and Richard Clark ended in 1997. Clark’s lawsuit says Forrest still owes him $163,968; she says he didn’t do anything to earn it. In any event, Clark seems to be doing just fine. Now retired in the Blue Ridge Mountains, he’s still profiting from his associations at MIA—as a lobbyist for the group that runs the duty-free shops.
You can understand why politicians and their pals don’t want to give up their stranglehold on the airport. It’s a place where ridiculous sums of money seem to fall from the sky, and all you’ve got to do is hold out your arms and catch it.
Every month, nearly $50,000 lands on Linda Forrest. Nobody in authority asks where it goes, because they don’t care. In this way, $5.8 million has evaporated in a single stinking deal.
Plenty of experienced, qualified black contractors would have been thrilled to get a piece of the airport project—and would have actually put in the work. That isn’t what the deal makers wanted. They wanted a front.
Given what we know about MIA, it’s harrowing to think how many millions of dollars have been squandered, funneled off, or diverted to friends and relatives of elected officials. One day MIA’s expansion might be finished, but in the meantime it’s enriching too many people who haven’t lifted a finger except to count the cash.
September 7, 2003
For Some, Indentured Misery Is a Way of Life
“They’re not worth killing anyhow.”
With those compassionate words, North Florida farmer Thomas R. Lee summed up his view of many of the laborers who sweat and toil in his potato plant.
“They are not much more than a damn animal, to be honest with you,” he told Herald reporter Ronnie Greene. “The good people that you do hire, you are going to treat them right, and do them right. A lot of these type of people, if you give them $25, they are going to drink it up and dope it up.”
It would be nice to report that Thomas R. Lee is an anachronism in 21st-century American agriculture, but he’s not. He might be more blunt-spoken than the folks at Tropicana and Taco Bell, but they’re all in essentially the same business: exploiting the poor and the pathetic for profit.
Generations pass, but the story of the farmworker never changes, as Greene and photographer Nuri Vallbona graphically documented in a recent Herald series. The men and women who pick the fruit and vegetables that we eat live too often in indentured misery. Efforts
to improve abominable working conditions are regularly thwarted by elected officials with family and financial ties to Big Agriculture.
To avoid lawsuits and ugly publicity, corporate farm operators take great pains to try to buffer themselves from the sickening abuses that occur daily in the fields and work camps.
Potato farmer Lee, for example, does not directly hire or pay his workers. For that, he employs a fine upstanding citizen named Ronald M. “Too Tall” Jones.
Jones is an independent crew-chief contractor, otherwise known as a crew boss. It’s not an occupation that tends to attract sensitive, big-hearted souls.
According to those who have worked for him, Jones recruits primarily homeless persons, many with crack and alcohol addictions that make them vulnerable to intimidation. In a plain work van or his own Cadillac Escalade, Jones trolls public parks and shelters in the greater Jacksonville area, rolling up with fat wads of cash and promises of other recreational enticements.
By no mere coincidence, he also owns several grubby housing camps for farmworkers. There you can purchase marked-up food, beer, liquor, and cigarettes. According to at least five laborers, Jones is also glad to extend cash loans—at 100 percent interest.
One potato worker who had calculated his week’s pay at $300 was crestfallen to end up with only $35, Jones having voluminously deducted for rent and other “expenses.”
As you might expect, Jones was not available to be interviewed about his employment practices. One of his camps was recently shut down as unfit for human habitation.
Crew bosses get away with ripping off laborers because they purposely select those who, for a variety of personal reasons, are reluctant to complain. Said Gregory S. Schell, a lawyer representing migrant workers: “You’ve made a job so bad that the only people who are going to do farmwork are undocumented aliens or crack addicts.”