The giveaway occurred so swiftly that critics have questioned its legality. The city's staff says everything is proper because the racetrack technically is a "park amenity."
A country mile of four-lane blacktop—some amenity. What does that make the Palmetto Expressway, a national shrine?
The Indy races to put Metro in debit dust
July 18, 1986
First there was Hands Across America. Then Farm Aid II.
Brace yourself, South Florida. Now comes Ralph Aid II.
In a heartrending gesture of charity, the Metro Commission is considering bailing out auto racing impresario Ralph Sanchez with $5 million over 10 years.
In return, Sanchez promises to give the county 17 percent of the "adjusted gross income" from his Indy races at Tamiami Park.
What a deal. Except for one glitch: The Tamiami event lost money last year. A ton of money—$1.3 million, according to Sanchez.
On a similar note, this season's Grand Prix, held at the mutilated Bicentennial Park, lost $652,000—that, after getting a $350,000 subsidy from the tourist tax.
Isn't government wonderful? Used to be that when a private entrepreneur couldn't turn a profit, he or she was doomed to a cold fate. Going out of business, it was called. Used to be that the idea was to take in more money than you spent.
Apparently this isn't always possible when you're trying to put together a "world-class event," whatever that might be. Costs add up—you know, little things, like $23,500 for your lobbyist's new Mercedes-Benz.
Can't have a world-class event without a world-class lobbyist. God knows what Ron Book would have gotten if the Grand Prix had actually made money—maybe Sanchez would've sprung for a Rolls.
The architect of the latest giveaway is County Manager Sergio Pereira, who—invoking the Miss Universe Pageant Boondoggle Theorem—says the TV exposure makes the road races worth every nickel, tourist-wise. Pereira selflessly took it upon himself to review the ledgers of the Tamiami affair, and concluded that Sanchez needs help.
Right now he gets a piddling $100,000 a year for the Indy race. Pereira wants to increase the stipend to $500,000 annually for the next decade. What a guy, and what a grand gift at a time when Dade's economic condition is so bleak!
It seems like just last week that Pereira asked for property tax increases of 12 percent in unincorporated neighborhoods.
It seems like just last week that he proposed raising water and sewer rates, and cutting funds for meals for the elderly.
And it seems like just last week that the cost-conscious county manager declared an urgent need to wipe out the Dade Consumer Advocate's Office, as well as the Fair Housing and Employment Appeals Board. Citizens, he said, would simply have to go elsewhere with their job and housing discrimination complaints.
Pereira computed that these last two budget items would save the county a whopping $303,000 next year. Why, that's almost enough to pave another park and put in a race track.
The question is, would anyone show up?
Contrary to rosy press reports at the time, only half the expected crowd turned out at Tamiami, according to Sanchez's own estimate. We may never know the true attendance because, he says, he didn't bother to use the turnstiles for two days.
Such casual bookkeeping doesn't seem to disturb Commissioner Barry Schreiber, content with Sanchez's assertion that "we fill hotel rooms." Others, such as Commissioners Bev Phillips and Clara Oesterle, have expressed serious doubts about Pereira's plan.
Since the races are partly bankrolled by the city of Miami, Dade County and the state of Florida, taxpayers might be interested in details about the bottom line, which currently is red. Call us nosy, but we'd sure like to see the books before donating another half a million bucks.
Next week the county's finance committee will consider whether or not to set aside its fiscal worries, dig into your pockets and give generously to this sporting cause.
Considering his track record with the county commissioners, it's no wonder that Ralph Sanchez is back at Government Center, a pit stop in more ways than one.
Track developer now charity case for Homestead
August 1, 1993
For those wondering how long it would take the new Metro Commission to start throwing money away, the wait is over: $20 million for auto racing in Homestead.
The 11—1 vote came last Tuesday at midnight, when public attendance was conveniently at a minimum. It brought to $31 million the total that Grand Prix hustler Ralph Sanchez has charmed from the county commission since October.
It's his biggest jackpot ever. Who needs telethons when you've got such softhearted politicians? Sanchez and Homestead City Manager Alex Muxo had no trouble selling the outlandish proposition that South Dade's hurricane recovery should be anchored by a private racetrack, to be used for only three or four major events a year.
Behind-the-scenes players included two longtime Sanchez cohorts, lobbyists Ron Book and Sergio Pereira. Pereira is an old hand at frittering public funds. As county manager, he once spent $9,400 on a new desk.
The Sanchez giveaway comes from a sports tax on hotel beds. Muxo raided the same kitty before; the result is an empty $12 million baseball stadium. Now Homestead wants racing, even though Sanchez's track record is an 11-year skid of red ink.
While claiming his races are a hit, Sanchez remains mysteriously dependent on the dole:
• 1985. Despite receiving more than $1 million in public subsidies, Sanchez says his races lost more than $2 million. Nonetheless, he manages to find the money to pay for a new Mercedes-Benz for his lobbyist, Book.
• February 1986. Ralph Aid I: Miami paves Bicentennial Park into a grand prix track. The city also gives Sanchez $250,000, plus an interest-free loan. That's added to the $800,000 he's already gotten from the county and the state.
• July 1986. Ralph Aid II: Sergio Pereira, then county manager, decides Sanchez needs more. He proposes a $5 million bailout over 10 years. The Metro Commission pares the handout to $200,000 a year, plus a $368,000 payment for "unexpected" costs.
• 1987-1988. Still itchy, Pereira and Sanchez hatch a scheme for Metro to buy out Sanchez's operations, and move the races to the Opa-locka airport. That nutty idea costs taxpayers $300,000 in consultant fees. The plan is dropped when Pereira quits as county manager, after he's caught lying about his secret involvement in a land deal.
• 1992. Miami gives Sanchez his customary $200,000, plus $300,000 in fire and police services. Not enough! He wants to move the Grand Prix to Munisport, a toxic dump in North Miami. Residents protest, saying they'd rather have a quiet dump than a noisy racetrack. Sanchez turns to Homestead ...
And Homestead is ripe for the picking. Flattened by the storm, vacated by the Air Force, jilted by the Cleveland Indians, the city is frantic for a boost.
Disguising Ralph Relief as hurricane relief worked brilliantly. Commissioner Larry Hawkins played everything but the violin, and Sanchez got his racetrack without putting up a penny. The public got a $20 million lube job.
Like the ballpark, a track will bring temporary construction jobs to South Dade. But after it's built, then what? For all but a few weeks each year, the place won't draw flies, much less tourists. (Muxo says Homestead police might use the new track for training, making it the world's most expensive driver-education course.)
If the Grand Prix can't turn a healthy profit on prime downtown bayfront, Sanchez stands no chance in the distant fields of South Dade.
The only winners in this deal are the taxpayers of Miami, who will be spared their annual $500,000 bailout of Ralph's party. Now he is Homestead's charity case.
Let Lipton thrive or fail on its own
July 25, 1990
Another brainy idea from the county manager: using a tourism tax to build a tennis stadium on Key Biscayne.
Yes, folks, the happy Lipton giveaway continues. In his zeal to keep the International Players Championships at Crandon Park, County Manager Joaquin Avino wants tax dollars used to help
pay for a permanent $16.5 million stadium.
This is the very same stadium which, only a few years ago, promoter Butch Buchholz had promised to build with private funds. Not a penny of public money would be spent, he said.
What happened? We got stuck again, that's what. The Lipton is costing county government plenty, and it's about to get much worse. Having been clobbered once in court, the county charges onward heedlessly, making the same mistakes. It is certain to be sued again.
Undaunted, the commission on Tuesday accepted Avino's tennis-tax plan, allowing him to begin negotiations. Short-term memory loss apparently afflicts some of the commissioners, who only two years ago vowed to spend no more public funds on the Lipton.
Hailed by supporters as a booming triumph, the tennis tournament nonetheless loses money year after year. Most private businesses, faced with such chronic deficits, would either reorganize or go bankrupt. Not the Lipton, which has been a special charity case from Day One.
First the county handed over a big chunk of a public park. Then it financed a $1 million clubhouse. Then it paid for the parking lots. Then it sweet-talked the state out of a cool $1 million or so. Now it wants to tax tourist motels to bankroll a new stadium.
Which brings up another mystery. For months we've been warned that the Lipton would abandon Dade County for greener pastures if a permanent 12,000-seat stadium weren't constructed. Then an appellate court ruled that the tournament violates the deed, as written by the Matheson family when it donated the unspoiled property half a century ago.
Suddenly the ultimatum for a 12,000-seat stadium disappeared. Planners emerged with a new scheme for a smaller, 7,500-seat stadium with more public parking. It was put forward as a "compromise" to please worried Key Biscayne residents—but the real effect was to dodge the South Florida Regional Planning Council, which must review and approve large projects. Supporters defend these tactics by saying the Lipton is good for Florida, good for Dade County, good for Key Biscayne. They claim a positive economic impact of $111 million annually—an unsubstantiated puffery based on some of the wildest calculations you ever saw.
Certainly this is a fine tennis tournament, but it ought to succeed or fail on its own. To use millions in tax money to prop up a private sports enterprise is reckless. To use a public park for it is a disgrace.
There's nothing to stop the promoters from buying their own land and developing their own tennis stadium—people in South Florida would cheer for its success. As it now stands, every taxpayer in Dade County should get free admission to the Lipton tournament, since they've paid for so much of it.
Even if the commission votes for the tennis tax, there's an excellent chance the stadium will need a new location. If the Matheson property isn't used exclusively for public park purposes, the deed allows the family to invoke a "reverter" clause to take the land back.
Which is exactly what they're contemplating.
If the Matheson heirs choose to reclaim the donated property, it will be a lacerating embarrassment to the county. The family could give the Crandon tract to either the state or the federal government for preservation as a park. That means no tennis stadium, no retail shops, no tournament.
The county will fight it, of course—spending hundreds of thousands more tax dollars on what could easily be a losing cause. And a misguided one.
Parks shouldn't be used to fill private coffers
April 19, 1992
All parks officially are up for grabs. Dade Circuit Judge Gerald Wetherington has ruled that putting a 14,000-seat tennis stadium in Crandon Park is no big deal.
The pioneer Matheson family, which donated the land, has been fighting the proposed Lipton tennis center. The Mathesons say the property wasn't meant to be handed to a private sports promoter. The 1940 deed gave the land for "public park purposes only."
In a decision that warmed the hearts of would-be developers, Wetherington said: "As times have changed, the concept of public purpose has changed."
Twisted is more like it. The term "public purpose" now means taking public land for the purpose of enhancing private pocketbooks. It's a broad concept that benefits entrepreneurs who are too cheap to buy their own property.
The Lipton technically leases part of Crandon, but the tournament remains heavily subsidized with public funds. Naturally, the new stadium will be built with tax dollars.
Fifty years ago, the Mathesons never imagined that the county would give away the park. When donating the land, they composed the deeds in language that seemed straightforward.
Understandably, family heirs were upset when the county allowed a private sports venture to take over part of Crandon. They've argued adamantly that the tract wasn't intended for commercial exploitation and that the original deed prohibited it.
By ruling against the Mathesons, Judge Wetherington essentially announced that it didn't matter what the family might have intended—a tennis stadium would be built. No clearer message could be sent to future donors of public parks. The county will betray you in a flash unless the deed is airtight:
"I, (YOUR NAME) , hereby give and bequeath the property located at (LEGAL DESCRIPTION) to Dade County, for use exclusively as a park. This deed shall hereby exclude the following commercial events: tennis tournaments, automobile races, soccer, skeet shooting, rodeos, croquet, lacrosse, monster-truck pulls, Wrestlemania or any Battle of the Network Superstars.
"For the purposes of this deed, the term 'public park' strictly shall be defined as a place for public recreation and enjoyment at all times. Turnstiles are forbidden."
Miami lawyer Dan Paul, who helped write the county charter, favors an amendment that will protect the parks from Lipton-type development. Under his proposal, no park could be leased, built upon, or turned over to a commercial enterprise without a countywide referendum.
Ironically, Judge Wetherington's Crandon giveaway came on the same day that plans were revealed to turn Miami's troubled Bicentennial Park into an enormous dock for cruise ships.
It won't be the first time the place is remodeled in the name of private profit. The city previously leased Bicentennial to promoter Ralph Sanchez, who paved it for a Grand Prix. (He'll soon be getting $9 million of tourist tax money to upgrade the racetrack, which is used exactly twice a year.)
Now Carmen Lunetta, czar of the Port of Miami, wants to expand Bicentennial and adjacent property into a fancy harborage for cruise liners. New shops and restaurants would be featured (even though nearby Bayside is gasping for survival). To keep Sanchez happy, Lunetta is tossing in an extra 6,000 seats for the Grand Prix.
Voters bought the Miami waterfront for use as a park, not a commercial port. But, as Judge Wetherington says, times have changed. What's a park these days without taxis, buses, jillions of harried cruise-ship passengers and the occasional nine-pound wharf rat. I'm already packing my picnic basket.
If Lipton should fall, let Avino's crew shovel it
May 10, 1992
The Lipton tennis boondoggle is in deep trouble, all of it self-made.
On Friday, Dade Circuit Judge Jon Gordon halted construction of a tax-funded, $16.5 million stadium on Key Biscayne. In an emphatic ruling, Gordon said the land was deeded for use exclusively as a public park, not a commercial tennis operation. The decision was a victory for the Matheson family, which donated the tract 52 years ago.
Dade officials appear typically numb and bewildered. County Manager Joaquin Avino is moaning that Gordon's decision will cost taxpayers millions of dollars.
That's not the fault of the judge or the Mathesons. It was Avino and that sorry crew of commissioners who recklessly launched construction of the Lipton stadium, knowing that the project faced stiff court challenges.
Whether it was arrogance or sheer stupidity, the county blew it. They gambled and lost. Now, having squandered tons of tax money, the county's legal wizards are forging blindly ahead to squander even more. Yes, folks, they're trudging back to the courthouse for another try.
None of this no
nsense was necessary. From day one, Dade officials knew they were on shaky legal ground by putting the Lipton in Crandon Park. They'd privately taken their plans for the tournament to the Matheson heirs, who objected strenuously. The family saw the Lipton center as unadulterated commercialization, which it is. They threatened to sue to enforce the deed.
At that point, the tournament, the stadium and millions of bucks could've been saved by relocating the Lipton to another site. Nothing prevented promoters from buying their own tract and putting up a first-class facility wherever they wanted.
But that's not how it's done in Dade County. Why pay for something out of your own pocket when taxpayers will do it for you? The lure of free Key Biscayne real estate was impossible to refuse. Behind the scenes, high-priced lobbyists and political power brokers worked to keep the Lipton on the island, despite the opposition of many residents.
Brushing off the threat of lawsuits, the commissioners giddily pressed ahead with the tennis extravaganza. Anything promoter Butch Buchholz wanted, he got—including public financing of the stadium he once promised to build with private funds. Meanwhile, the county was spending a fortune on legal fees—again, your money—to fight the Mathesons.
Avino acted as if the family was just a pesky annoyance. The possibility of losing the case didn't seem to cross his mind. Talk about cocky: Bulldozers went to work on the 14,000-seat stadium on April 1—three weeks before Circuit Judge Gerald Wetherington was scheduled to hear the lawsuit.
Though Wetherington ruled in the county's favor, he abruptly changed his mind and took himself off the case. Construction on the Lipton proceeded as if nothing were amiss.
For developers, it's the oldest trick in the book. The more you can build and the faster you can build it, the harder for opponents to get it torn down. That's Avino's woeful defense: Dade taxpayers have invested so much in the Lipton that it's too expensive to turn back. Gee, Joaquin, whose fault is that?