Dance of the Reptiles

  Prosecutors want your medical records in order to make sure you didn’t scam overlapping prescriptions from different doctors, which is illegal. You say the state attorney’s request is an invasion of privacy, and you want the medical files sealed permanently. It sure is strange to hear you talk about privacy as something so important. Remember all the laughs you got out of Monica Lewinsky’s situation? Imagine what would’ve happened if the special prosecutors had listened to her pleas for privacy. There would have been no impeachment of Bill Clinton, and America would have been deprived of hours of your laser wit and acid commentary.

  Speaking of Ken Starr, why didn’t you hire him to be your defense lawyer? A solidly upright, uptight ultraconservative. This Roy Black fellow might be one of the country’s best trial attorneys, but are you aware that he has represented murderers, thieves, drug kingpins, and—worst of all—one of the Kennedys! You can’t get more liberal than that. Now you and Mr. Black claim that the authorities in Palm Beach are persecuting you because of your political beliefs.

  “The Democrats still cannot defeat me in the arena of political ideas,” you said on your radio show. “And so now they are trying to do so in the court of public opinion and the legal system.”

  Whoa.

  Even for the most dedicated Limbaugh listeners (and here in Gopher County, we’ve been steadfast), this is too much to swallow.

  All of a sudden you’re the innocent victim of a vast, nefarious political conspiracy—for God’s sake, you sound just like Hillary!

  Next thing we know, you’ll be telling us that Dick Gephardt spiked your Lipitors with Xanax. Or that Howard Dean got you hooked on those OxyContins (he is a doctor, right?).

  Please, Rush, don’t go down this slippery slope. With every passing day, you act more like the “whiny wimps” you’ve been ridiculing all these years. Here in the land of the right-wing and the righteous, we’re loyal, but we have our limits.

  We can forgive you for being a pillhead—but never for being a liberal.

  April 18, 2004

  Might as Well Call It the Manuel Yip Bill

  Long live Manuel Yip!

  The legacy of Miami’s most famous dead voter is being revived—and just in time for the presidential election.

  Determined to keep Florida in the national spotlight, legislators are poised to pass a law that will make it infinitely easier to corrupt the voting process again. The proposed measure would do away with the meager requirement that absentee voters have their ballots signed by a witness.

  Finding a witness doesn’t seem like such a hardship—a relative can do it, and the signature doesn’t even have to be notarized. Yet apparently, many Floridians are so lonely and cloistered that they can’t dredge up a single soul to watch them seal their ballots.

  Or so election officials and legislators would have us believe. They say the witness requirement is burdensome and unnecessary.

  To which Manuel Yip might say: Hear, hear!

  The former Miami restaurateur passed away in 1993. Four years later, he voted for Xavier Suarez in a city mayoral election that turned out to be an orgy of forgery and ballot stuffing. Being deceased, it was only logical that Yip should vote as an absentee. You can’t get much more absent than he was.

  No one would have noticed his posthumous participation except for the fact that his ballot request came not from the cemetery but from a small house on Southwest 26th Road. In fact, 11 other absentee ballots were sent to the same place. The man who owned the house, Alberto Russi, was listed as a “witness” on Yip’s ballot and at least 75 others. “I do not understand how my signature ended up on the vote of a dead man,” Russi insisted at the time. He later pleaded no contest to vote fraud.

  Investigators for Joe Carollo, Suarez’s mayoral opponent, unearthed other oddities. Officials eventually examined nearly 5,000 absentee ballots—11 percent of the total vote. The results were so disturbing that the original vote tally was scrapped and Carollo was installed as mayor.

  It wasn’t the first time an election had been stolen using absentee ballots. After a 1993 vote-rigging episode in Hialeah, Miami-Dade forbade a person from signing out more than one absentee ballot for others, except immediate family. The regulation was easily evaded by so-called ballot brokers. Employed by the candidates, the brokers typically are paid $25 to $30 for every absentee ballot they collect and turn in.

  In the 1997 election, they simply ordered the ballots by phone, then showed up at voters’ homes on the day the ballots arrived. Many of the absentees were elderly and, it later turned out, coached on how to fill out the ballot forms.

  A spate of new rules adopted after the Miami scandal were stalled or weakened because Justice Department officials worried about their constitutionality. Among the discarded reforms: more reliable ways to verify a voter’s identity.

  As weak as it is, the lone-witness requirement has proven useful. Those who fixed the Miami mayoral race would never have been caught—or successfully prosecuted—if their names hadn’t turned up over and over again as witnesses on the disputed absentee ballots. No such trail of evidence will exist in future elections if the Legislature has its way. Ballot shenanigans would be almost impossible to detect.

  Astoundingly, election supervisors throughout Florida support abolishing the witness requirement for absentee forms. They say it’s pointless, because clerks only check whether the voter’s signature on the ballot matches the one on the voter rolls. Furthermore, they say, nobody ever bothers to verify the address given by a witness.

  That’s thinking like a true bureaucrat. Our staff is too swamped, preoccupied, or befuddled to do a thorough job, so what the heck. Let’s just make every election a free-for-all!

  Secretary of State Glenda Hood (a worthy successor to Katherine Harris) says that absentee voters shouldn’t be penalized because they don’t have their ballots witnessed. About 2,300 were disqualified in the March 9 primary because of problems with witness signatures or lack thereof. So, thanks to a relatively small number of voters who are too lazy, stoned, or stupid to find a witness, the state is ready to throw out the one rule that addresses the rather crucial issue of authenticity. Without it, we are left only with the voter’s signature and the hope that election clerks will be skilled enough to spot every forgery. Dream on.

  The hurried timing of the absentee-vote legislation is suspicious, in advance of a presidential vote that promises to be close. Not surprisingly, the measure also neglects to toughen criminal penalties for election fraud.

  During the 2000 Gore-Bush debacle, the handling and legitimacy of absentee ballots was a sticking point in the recount debate. Clearly, lawmakers in both parties are hoping to capitalize on similar confusion this November. It’s no accident that so many election scandals involve absentee ballots. Tampering with them is easy, though apparently not as easy as some Florida politicians would like it to be.

  If they get their way, the votes of deceased persons—and others of dubious veracity—will count the same as yours, in the absence of telltale witnesses.

  While the late Manuel Yip has been purged from voter rolls, the thieving spirit of those who faked his signature is alive and well in Tallahassee.

  June 27, 2004

  In This Election, Nothing Will Go Wrongg

  Late-night comedians are already making snarky jokes insinuating that Florida will botch the upcoming presidential election.

  Enough already. One little fiasco that changed the course of history and dumped democracy on its ear, and they just can’t let it be.

  Well, forget what happened back in 2000. This is a new day, a new year, and a new era of modernized voting technology. No more butterfly ballots, no more hanging chads, no more frenetic recounts. As Gov. Jeb Bush declared last week, “Floridians can be confident our state is fully prepared for the upcoming election season and the ones to come.”

  All Americans should share that hearty confidence.

  After the 2000 mess, Florida was one of the first stat
es to rush out and purchase touch-screen voting machines. These babies weren’t cheap, either, even though we didn’t spring for the top-end model that gives each voter a paper receipt.

  You might have read recently about a minor problem with the new machines being used in 11 counties. Not to worry—the bugs are being worked out.

  Here’s what happened. During two municipal elections in Miami-Dade, the touch-screen devices failed to provide a full electronic log of ballot activity. Simply put, the machines were unable to re-create a complete record of who voted and how they voted. Admittedly, without such a log, it would be difficult to do an accurate recount in the event of a close election. Nor do we dispute that tests conducted on the new machines found that, on other occasions, votes simply vanished when the totals were transferred for tabulation.

  The manufacturer of the machines, Electronic Systems & Software, says that it has invented a software “patch” that will fix the glitch, although the state has yet to install it. In the meantime, ES&S suggests that election workers download vote totals from each touch-screen unit onto laptop computers. This will take at least five minutes per machine, and there are 7,200 machines in Miami-Dade alone.

  That means a full statewide recount might not be finished until, oh, the winter of 2007. But don’t worry—should you die of old age while waiting for the recount, your vote will stand. Unless, perhaps, you’re one of the convicted felons whose name may be summarily erased from the voter rolls.

  Last month, the state ordered local election officials to begin purging 47,000 voters as possible felons who had served their sentences but hadn’t yet gotten their civil rights reinstated. Because many of the applicants were African-Americans, who tend to be Democrats, critics accused Gov. Bush of trying to disenfranchise those who might vote against his brother in the November presidential election.

  Bush responded by speeding up clemency requests, and recently, he announced that voting rights have been restored for 20,861 Floridians with past felony convictions. Approximately 50,000 others with more serious criminal records must appear personally before the governor and the cabinet. However, there’s absolutely no truth to the rumor that those wearing Bush-Cheney sweatshirts will be moved to the top of the list.

  Here in Florida, our new motto is: No voter left behind.

  To that end, the governor has signed a law abolishing the requirement that all absentee ballots must be witnessed by a third party.

  You might recall that contested absentee ballots played a large role in George W. Bush’s puny 537-vote margin of victory four years ago here in the Sunshine State. Among our 67 counties seemed to exist oddly differing standards for ballots sent in by absentee voters. What was accepted and counted in one jurisdiction was sometimes rejected and discarded in another.

  Who says our political leaders didn’t learn from the 2000 debacle?

  But by eliminating the witness requirement, our Legislature has generously made it possible for practically anyone—living or dead, real or imaginary—to cast an absentee vote in Florida. No more costly investigations of ballot brokers who prey on senior citizens and immigrants. No more embarrassing revelations of deceased citizens rising up to vote. From now on, the legitimacy of each absentee vote can be determined only by visually comparing the signature on the ballot with that on the registration roll.

  More than 416,000 Floridians voted absentee in 2000, and the number will be higher this fall. Obviously, there aren’t enough election workers to check the authenticity of every signature, which is the whole point.

  The second-best thing to a free election is a scandal-free election, and ballots that can’t be investigated can’t very well blow up into a scandal. So let the comics make their snide little jokes.

  Touch-free voting machines that leave no paper trail, absentee ballots that need no witnesses—who says Florida’s political leaders didn’t learn anything from the debacle of 2000?

  Just wait and see.

  September 19, 2004

  Debate? What Debate? You Mean Me?

  An absolutely true news item: The first presidential debate is set for September 30 at the University of Miami, but as of late last week, President Bush still had not confirmed his attendance.

  “Aw, do I have to go?”

  “Sir, it’ll look bad if you don’t.”

  “But Florida’s a disaster area. The humane thing to do is postpone the debate until the hurricane season is over.”

  “Mr. President, hurricane season doesn’t end until four weeks after the election.”

  “Perfect!”

  “Sir, we need to RSVP as soon as possible. Sen. Kerry will be at the debate, rain or shine.”

  “He’s taller than me, isn’t he? Can’t we do something about that?”

  “Yes, Mr. President, that’s one of our key negotiating points. Either you get to stand on a Miami phone book, or the senator has to speak from a kneeling position behind his podium.”

  “What about two phone books? Just to be sure.”

  “All right, sir, I’ll run that by the Kerry people.”

  “Say I agree to do this thing. Isn’t there a way to arrange it so I can make up my own questions?”

  “Not likely, sir. It would be somewhat unorthodox for a debate format.”

  “Then we’ve gotta get some friendly faces on board. Hey, how about Laura? She’s real smart. You know, she used to be a librarian …”

  “Mr. President, I’m not sure it’s a great idea to have your own wife on the panel.”

  “Then what about Jeb? Heck, he lives only five minutes down the road from the University of Miami. He could stop by and toss me some softball questions about the Everglades. Like: ‘Mr. President, the people of Florida want to thank you for saving our precious wilderness!’ ”

  “Sir, that’s not technically a question.”

  “Oh, really? Maybe you’d like to go work for an English professor instead of a commander in chief. Maybe you didn’t enjoy those box seats at the Orioles games or those backstage passes to Toby Keith.”

  “With all due respect, Mr. President, try to chill out. Remember how well you did four years ago in your debates with Vice President Gore. Remember that even the Democrats were impressed.”

  “Yeah, but Gore was shorter than Kerry.”

  “That’s true, sir. But Kerry seems to be more boring.”

  “No way!”

  “That’s what our focus groups are telling us, Mr. President.”

  “Heck, Al nearly put me into a coma. How’m I supposed to stay awake for this guy?”

  “Coffee, sir. By the gallon.”

  “Okay, let’s say I show up for this shindig. I don’t want to hear one single smart-ass question about where are Saddam Hussein’s weapons of mass destruction. Or why the prescription-drug bill is gonna cost so much more than we first said. Or how I spent my summers in the National Guard. Understand?”

  “Those are all on our do-not-ask list, Mr. President. We’re playing hardball, trust me.”

  “Am I leaving anything out?”

  “Well, there’s Osama, Enron, Halliburton, the environment, the jobless rate, the trade imbalance, the budget deficit …”

  “Geez, the budget deficit! I almost forgot. What’s it up to now, like, a gazillion dollars? My head hurts, just thinkin’ about it.”

  “Don’t worry, sir, there won’t be any math questions. We’ve already told them it would be a deal-breaker.”

  “Know what would go over like gangbusters? Since we’ll be in Miami? A slam on Fidel Castro!”

  “It’s already in the pipeline, Mr. President. A guy from FOX News has promised to ask about Cuba if we can get him on the panel.”

  “That’s fantastic. I can do five killer minutes on Fidel, no sweat. Maybe this won’t be such a tough gig after all.”

  “It’ll be fine, Mr. President. But, before we start preparing for Miami, there is something you should be aware of—Sen. Kerry was the star of the debate team at Yale.”

&nbs
p; “Get outta here. There was a debate team? Go find my yearbook.”

  “I’m afraid there was a debate team, sir. A fairly good one, too.”

  “Uh-oh. I think I smell another hurricane coming. Can’t Cheney jerk a few chains over at NOAA? Who’s in charge of all those weather satellites, anyway?”

  “I’ll make some calls, Mr. President.”

  December 17, 2006

  Comic Echo of 2000 Election—It’s Not Funny

  The first time I tried a touch-screen voting machine was November 7. It was not an experience that inspired confidence.

  When I pressed a finger down to select my choice for governor, a mark appeared beside the name of a different candidate at the bottom of the list. A poll worker insisted that the device was working properly and suggested that I’d accidentally touched it in the wrong place with my “wrist.”

  I’d done no such thing. The machine screwed up.

  I hit another command to nullify the wrong vote, corrected it, and moved on through the remainder of the ballot. After I finished, the machine allowed me to recheck all my selections to make sure they were right. Whether or not the votes actually were recorded that way, I’ll never know. No paper receipt was provided.

  For almost 18,400 people in the Sarasota area, it didn’t matter whether they touched the screen with their fingers, wrists, noses, or toes. No votes were recorded for them in the hottest political race in the region, the battle for the District 13 congressional seat.

  The “undervote” in the expensive and widely publicized contest between Republican Vern Buchanan and Democrat Christine Jennings was a staggering 14 percent in Sarasota County.

  In nearby counties where the District 13 race was on the ballot, the undervote was only 1 to 5 percent. The discrepancy is statistically jarring and more than a little suspicious.

  Buchanan was declared the winner by 369 votes. As expected, Republican leaders say the touch-screen machines were functioning perfectly, and it’s not their problem if 18,000 people happened to skip over that section of the ballot.