At the State Attorney’s Office, a legacy of leniency began under Janet Reno. Back in 1981, the Herald studied a week’s worth of Dade felony arrests: Of 407 defendants, 38 went to prison.
Reno lobbied for a bigger budget and more prosecutors, and got both. Nevertheless, benevolent plea-bargaining has continued at a breakneck pace, sometimes with tragic consequences.
Many judges are content to help spin the revolving door, to thin their heavy calendars. The result: plea deals that gladden a mugger’s heart.
It’s true that Dade’s justice system hasn’t kept pace with the crime boom. Prosecutors and judges here labor with heavier caseloads than their counterparts in many cities.
But that doesn’t account for the outrageous discrepancy in the imprisonment rate. Dade isn’t merely the worst, it’s the worst by a mile. Obviously there’s an institutional philosophy by which prison is the least desirable of prosecutorial options.
Pretrial diversion might make sense for first timers, but it’s a ridiculous approach toward a sleazebag with 28 felony raps. What else are prison cells for?
What the Dade courthouse needs is radical attitude adjustment, or an infusion of aggressive new talent. Forget who’s governor or attorney general; it’s prosecutors and judges who have the power and responsibility to lock up thugs.
That’s a rare event in Miami, now a national playground for felons. The rules are different here.
Death penalty should be fair, certain, swift
March 27, 1997
Well, they don’t call it Old Sparky for nothing.
Florida’s infamous electric chair went haywire again Tuesday, and Pedro Medina caught fire.
No big deal, according to Gov. Lawton Chiles and other God-fearing leaders. They say the convicted killer was already unconscious when his hot-wired skullcap lit up like a Roman candle.
The governor cited the account of the prison’s medical director, who declared:
“I saw no evidence of pain or suffering by the inmate
In my professional opinion, he died a very quick, humane death.”
Thank you, Dr. Quentin Tarantino. (Did he say “humane”? Yeah, sign me up for this guy’s HMO.)
But nobody put a rosier spin on the grisly mishap than Attorney General Bob Butterworth, who mused that a faulty electric chair might prove a stronger deterrent to crime.
And, while you’re at it, how about a squirt of lighter fluid as they strap the guy in? Just in case he hasn’t figured out the program.
That flames shot from Medina’s head and the death chamber filled with smoke was politically incidental to the outcome: The man definitely died. No argument there.
But, once again, the state of Florida looks like it’s being run by a bunch of dumb-ass rednecks who couldn’t fix a toaster, much less an electric chair.
The last time Old Sparky malfunctioned, cop killer Jesse Tafero ignited not once, not twice but three times. That’s because some genius decided to substitute a synthetic household sponge for the real thing.
(See, when a sea sponge is moistened and placed under the death cap, it absorbs some of the scorching heat generated by the 2,000-volt surges. Without a buffer, the condemned man tends to catch fire, which is an unsavory advertisement for capital punishment.)
To avert such ghoulish fiascos, many states long ago switched to lethal injections. Typically, the inmate is reclined on a table and hooked to an intravenous tube. Toxic chemicals drip into his veins, and he basically goes to sleep.
Humane it’s not. The death penalty isn’t supposed to be.
But injection is the most painless method, and it avoids the Gothic grotesqueries of the electric chair: the shaving and lubricating of the doomed man’s scalp; the leather bonds; the death mask; the hooded executioner.
So primitive is the ritual of electrocution that even those who advocate capital punishment often are appalled when they finally witness it. I was.
There’s no practical reason for keeping Old Sparky plugged in, but state legislators are a nostalgic lot. Some of those Corners would bring back public lynching, if they thought there were enough votes in it.
Polls show that most people want the death penalty to be fair, certain and swift. It’s none of that nowa failure as a crime deterrent, and a stupendously expensive one. It costs millions more to execute a man than it does to lock him away forever.
But the one thing capital punishment does accomplish is this: It takes a life for a life. That’s all it doesbut that’s often enough for those who’ve lost loved ones to murderers.
So the question for modern society becomes, how do we carry out this grave and ultimate act?
Answer: Here in Florida, we use a 74-year-old wooden contraption so crudely engineered that its efficiency depends on a sponge.
But don’t think we’re just a bunch of ignorant, unenlightened hicks down here. We didn’t mean for Pedro to flame up the way he did.
It won’t happen again, either. Next time, by God, the warden’s bringing a fire extinguisher.
Dade attorney batting zero against graft
October 23, 1997
Dade’s reputation as the crookedest place in America is secure, thanks to Dade State Attorney Kathy Fernandez Rundle.
On Monday, she declared that no criminal investigation of county paving contracts should begin until an independent audit is done.
And, since Dade commissioners are probably too yellow to order an audit, it’s possible that any thieves who skimmed hundreds of thousands of taxpayer dollars will be safe from prosecution.
So what else is new?
When it comes to pursuing corruption, Rundle’s record is even more pathetic than that of her see-no-evil, hear-no-evil predecessor, Janet Reno. That’s one reason so many crooks flock to public office herethey know that nobody’s watching.
The bribery epidemic at Miami City Hall.
Missing and misspent millions at the Port of Miami.
Hundreds of computer-forged housing inspections at the county building department.
All these recent scandals have one thing in common: The State Attorney’s Office had virtually nothing to do with exposing them. A perfect batting average of .000.
In some places, prosecutors would be embarrassed if their communities were so visibly a-rot with corruption. In some places, prosecutors actually send out investigators to hunt for dishonest public officials.
And in some places, when wrongdoing is uncovered, indictments are drawn, trials are held and an actual attempt is made to punish the crooks. Can you imagine?
Here in Dade, the task of ferreting out graft is left to the FBI or the media. It’s an icky little business, and the state attorney would prefer not to get involved.
The paving scandal is a prime example. In a random examination of three dozen repair jobs, this newspaper documented truckloads of missing materials, projects paid for but never done, and hundreds of thousands of dollars in overcharges.
Sidewalk repairs that should have cost $20,000 were billed (and paid) at $166,024. One homeowner’s driveway was replaced for $19,500six times more than what his own contractor had offered. Another minor patch job cost $9,004 when the price should have been $750.
All the work was done for the water and sewer department as part of a huge county contract with Church & Tower, the firm headed by the loud and politically influential exile leader, Jorge Mas Canosa.
The company says it’s “surprised” by the size of the paving bills, and promises to conduct its own investigation, which I’m sure will be relentless, unsparing and thorough. I’m also sure that Chihuahuas can be taught to translate Proust.
Church & Tower’s attorney says all the disputed work was performed by subcontractors, and that the county will receive “an appropriate credit” if overcharging occurred.
There is no “if.” It happened, and it’s no wonder the Church&Tower gravy train has bloated from $21 million to $58 million in 21 months. The tab for “special” concrete repairs alone has soared from $420,000 to $2.3 million.
Perhaps the company is experimenting with a new type of concrete made from diamonds. Or perhaps somebody is simply robbing taxpayers blind.
The county supervisors who approved the outlandish overpayments have been reassigned. (After being questioned by reporters, both men complained of chest pains and hurried to the hospitala wise move.)
Facing these fresh revelations of money-squandering, the commission has grudgingly agreed to reconsider an audit of the paving contract. Two weeks ago it voted down the idea, after ferocious lobbying by Church&Tower.
The same could happen again, as many commissioners fear antagonizing the Mas family or the Cuban American National Foundation, headed by Mas Canosa.
This would seem an ideal opportunity for a diligent prosecutor, unswayed by politics and suitably appalled by such a massive rip-off, to launch a criminal probe.
Dream on, folks. Kathy Rundle says she wants to see an audit first.
Apparently not quite enough of your money is known to be missing. Oh well. Perhaps her enthusiasm for finding it will be better stoked when the sum exceeds seven figures.
Unfortunately, we might never know how much has vanished in the Church&Tower fiasco. That’s because Rundle is leaving the decision to the same knucklehead politicians who approved the contract originally, politicians who’ve taken plenty of campaign donations from Mas family interests.
And if that doesn’t kill the investigation, Rundle has plenty of other options.
Chest pain, for example. I hear that’s going around.
State haggles over the cost of stolen days
April 26, 1998
What is a day of your life worth?
The answer is $79.46, if you’re Freddie Pitts or Wilbert Lee. That’s the amount that the Florida House proposes to give the two men, who spent more than 12 yearsexactly 4,405 daysin prison for murders they didn’t commit.
Pitts and Lee were pardoned two decades ago, and ever since then have been seeking compensation for their time behind bars. And every spring they’ve been rebuffed by the Legislature, to the everlasting shame of this state.
This year, finally, Pitts and Lee will be paid.
The debate churns around the choice of an appropriate sum. What monetary value can be placed on four thousand days of freedom lost; four thousand days apart from family; four thousand days blanked off a calendar because somebody made a horrendous mistake?
Pitts and Lee had asked for $1.5 million each. House Speaker Dan Webster countered with a degrading offer of $150,000. Last week, the House settled on $350,000, or $79.46 for every day wrongly spent behind bars.
Some would still call that disgraceful. Others would say Pitts and Lee should be grateful to receive anything.
In 1963, the two black men went on trial for murdering two white gas station attendants in the Panhandle town of Port St. Joe, which in those days was segregated. Wilbert Lee was 27 and Freddie Pitts was 19.
They were convicted by an all-white jury, and sentenced to die. Later, somebody else (imprisoned for killing another gas station attendant) confessed to the Port St. Joe murders, and his account was supported by a girlfriend.
Pitts and Lee were granted a new trial in 1972, but a judge wouldn’t let the jury hear about the other man’s confession.
Again Pitts and Lee were found guilty. Freedom didn’t come until three years later, when they were pardoned by then-Gov. Reubin Askew.
The case remains controversial in the Panhandle, where some folks still say Pitts and Lee are guilty. That it’s taken Florida so long to compensate the men can be explained by old Dixie politics.
But this year finds a Republican-controlled Legislature that’s avidly courting black voters. It’s also a year of great bounty in Tallahassee, so lawmakers have been throwing’ hundreds of millions of dollars at all kinds of pet projects, causes and schemes.
There’s money for jellyfish farming, and for special trucks to haul catfish; money for fairs and zoos and farmers’ markets; money for the International Swimming Hall of Fame and even the Palatka Armory ($300,000!).
And at long last there’s also some money for Freddie Pitts and Wilbert Lee, 35 years after being sent to Death Row for something they didn’t do.
What’s right? What’s fair? The Senate will decide Monday.
Reparation might be based on the accumulated weight of a dozen productive years gonethe youth of both men, really. Or it could be calculated day-by-day4,405 of them excised forever from two lives.
A $350,000 lump certainly sounds more generous than $79.46 a day, but it’s the same number. Not an insignificant number, either, considering how Pitts and Lee have gotten stiffed in the past.
I don’t know what one day in your life is worth in dollars and cents, but $79.46 still seems cheap to me.
Especially considering how lawmakers quietly have set aside $2.5 million for “transition” expenses for Florida’s new governor next January$2.2 million more than what was spent on Lawton Chiles’ taking office.
For $2.5 million, it should be quite an arrival. They ought to hold it at the Palatka Armory, and give the rest of the money to Freddie Pitts and Wilbert Lee.[“#chapter_09”]
Candidates with Convictions
Forget diplomacy, try Joaquin Andujar for mayor
November 1, 1985
First, let’s get this ridiculous mayor’s race out of the way.
The best man for the job isn’t even running, so you’ll have to write his name on Tuesday’s ballot.
I’m speaking, of course, of Joaquin Andujar.
If you saw the seventh game of the World Series, you know what I’m talking about. The score’s about a zillion to nothing when the Cards call Andujar in from the bullpen. He throws a couple of fast balls, then goes berserk and starts chasing the umpires. He gets thrown out of the game but still won’t quit: In the clubhouse he grabs a bat and beats one of the toilets to death.
As I watched them drag Joaquin, thrashing and foaming, off the field the other night, I thought: This man would make a great mayor of Miami. He’s perfectmore decisive than Maurice Ferre, more stable than Joe Carollo, more intelligible than Demetrio Perez and more energetic than Miller Dawkins and J. L. Plummer put together.
In no time Andujar would mop up the City Commission. Forget diplomacywe’re talking a 93-mile-an-hour brushback pitch.
It’s not such a bad idea, when you review this year’s crop of political hopefuls, a veritable slag-heap of mediocrity. What is it about South Florida that compels people barely fit to function in society to go out and run for public office? Be grateful that Thomas Jefferson’s dead so he doesn’t have to witness our peculiar version of the democratic process.
A few stars:
” Miami mayoral candidate Evelio Estrella, who blames the Anglos and blacks for ruining the city. He also refuses to speak English during candidate forums. This guy doesn’t belong in City Hall; he belongs in a Mel Brooks movie.
” Miami Beach mayoral contender Alex Daoud, who actually took out an advertisement boasting of an endorsement by Barry Gibb of the Bee Gees. We can only assume Boy George is stumping for Malcolm Fromberg.
” Hialeah city councilman Paulino Nunez, up for reelection, who allegedly pulled a handgun on one of his enemies during a city meeting. Despite witnesses’ accounts, Nunez denies it happened. He says he owns several guns, but left them home that night. There, doesn’t that you make feel better?
” Hialeah City Council candidate Roy Leon, who was arrested for soliciting prostitution, possession of marijuana and carrying a concealed machete. Of all the charges, it’s that darn machete business that nags at me, though I’m sure Mr. Leon has a splendid explanation. When does the cane crop come in this year anyway?
” Harvey MacArthur, the socialist running for Miami mayor, who wants to fly in both Daniel Ortega and Louis Farrakhan for advice on city government. All they need is Moammar Khadafy and they’d have a fourth for bridge.
” Frederick Bryant, who is running for Miami mayor but initially refused to let the Miami News take his photograph like the other candidates. Something tells me Mr. Bryant’s a bit too shy to be mayor.
” Maurice Ferre, whose bilious campaign advisers make G. Gordon Liddy look like Mother Teresa. How can a man who dresses so snappy behave like such a clod? Think about it: We’re getting ethics lectures from a guy who’s transferred all his assets into his wife’s name. I love it.
As for the contenders for Ferre’s job, none fits the bill. Raul Masvidal is a bankernever trust anyone who makes a living playing with other people’s money. Xavier Suarez is a lawyer, and this town’s already knee-deep in lawyers. Marvin Dunn’s a bright guy, but much too even-tempered to be mayor.
Which leaves No. 47, the big right-hander from the Dominican Republic.
Andujar for Mayorit rolls right off the tongue.
Tough, talented, unpredictable. Just the kind of leadership this city needssomebody’s who’s not afraid of a little random violence.
Think about it Tuesday at the polls.
Remember, this isn’t just democracy. This is damage control.
Local campaigns masquerade as serious politics
November 2, 1987
If you thought Halloween ended Saturday, you were wrong. The real night of terror is tomorrow, when local elections results are tabulated.
In Hialeah, the most investigated city in South Florida, real estate wizard Raul Martinez is favored to win reelection as mayor. To oust him would be a tragedy, putting dozens of FBI agents out of work.
In Miami Beach, incumbent Mayor Alex Daoud is so confident of reelection that he didn’t even bother to show up for a televised debate the other night.
And, finally, the city of Miamiwhere does one begin?
Political observers are calling it the quietest campaign in years. Many big-time contributors decided to save their money this time around, which meant that the candidates couldn’t afford many TV spots. What a loss.
The most vocal campaigner has been former City Manager Howard Gary, who’s not even running for office. Gary has been buying radio time to urge blacks not to vote for mayoral candidates Maurice Ferre and Arthur Teele, as well as Commissioner Joe Carollo.
For those of you new to the city, here’s a brief history to explain what’s going on:
Howard Gary doesn’t like Maurice Ferre because, back when Ferre was mayor, he voted to fire Gary, who is black. Carollo voted the same way.
Ferre doesn’t like Carollo because Carollo once staged a big press conference supposedly to endorse Ferre, but double-crossed him instead. With the cameras rolling, Carollo announced that Ferre was basically a waste of protoplasm, and that he wouldn’t support him if he were the last person on earth.
Mayor Xavier Suarez recently decided that he doesn’t like Carollo, either, because the Cuban American National Foundation told him it was OK not to.
The Cuban American National Foundation, a small bunch of rich Republicans, doesn’t like Carollo because he’s an embarrassment to the human race. Also, he tends to vote against some of their members’ pet business projects.
For a long time Carollo and the foundation have argued about who hates communism more. The head of CANF, Jorge Mas Canosa, once challenged Carollo to a duel, but Joe was busy that day.
Back in July, both Carollo and Mas showed up outside the Columbus Hotel to help scare some retarded Cuban teenagers out of town. Both men deserve credit for this brave patriotic gesture.
How does all this relate back to Howard Gary?
Carollo claimsget readythat his main challenger, Victor DeYurre, is secretly supported by Gary at the guidance of CANF. Herein lies the latest Communist conspiracy.
Gary once served on the board of directors of a bank bought by a drug smuggler, who once said he knew other smugglers were using Cuba in their travels.
The bank must have known, therefore Gary must have known. Therefore, DeYurre must have known. Therefore, DeYurre is obviously a close personal friend of Fidel Castro.
This is the big picture, according to Joe Carollo. People have been institutionalized for less.
The only mayoral candidate who’s had anything nice to say about Carollo is Arthur Teele, who is a black Republican.
If you took all the black Republicans in South Florida and put them in Joe Robbie Stadium, you’d probably still have about 73,000 empty seats.
Teele has had a tough campaign. In Overtown he doesn’t dare mention that he’s Republican, while in Little Havana he’s handing out pictures of himself with President Reagan.
Howard Gary has figured out that this is nothing but a diabolical scheme to get Maurice Ferre elected.
If none of this makes sense, don’t worryleadership is an elusive quality. When you go to the voting booth tomorrow, trust your instincts. And try to keep your breakfast down.
A motto for Metro:The check’s in the mail
September 2, 1988
Next week, Dade voters get to decide who will sit on the Metro-Dade Commission, that body of government (and we use the term loosely) whose task is to chart the future of the county.
This is the year that commissioners have brought new dimensions to the word craven. Zoning fiascoes aside, the sorriest episode was the debate over what to do about County Manager Sergio Pereirahe of the hot suits boutique, the secret land trust, the forgotten $127,000 windfall and other memory lapses.
As a public service, local television stations should rerun the highlights of the commission’s Pereira discussions. That way, voters can be reminded of the moral vacuum in which Steve Clark, Clara Oesterle, Bev Phillips and Jim Redford operate so comfortably.
The fact that the county manager was caught in a bald-faced lie about his own finances, the fact that he violated state disclosure lawsno big deal to the commissioners. They blubbered their fealty even as new revelations were forcing Pereira to head for the hills.
Who could be happy with such a vapid bunch? Take a wild guess.
Judging by the weight of their campaign contributions, those who are most delighted by the commissioners’ performance are developers, lawyers and bankers.
Because that’s who really runs this county government.
They love the status quo. They depend on its mediocrity. The last thing they want on the County Commission are thinkers, leaders and visionaries; they want people who will be manipulated. Puppets.
Take Steve Clark, who has perfected the invisible-mayor form of government. He has raised nearly $500,000 in campaign funds to keep a “job” that pays $6,000 a year.
Here’s a man for whom executive action is deciding whether to play a driver or a two-iron off the 17th tee; a man so flummoxed by the Pereira controversy that private lobbyists had to write his comments for him.
Yet builders, developers, contractors, real estate salesmen and architects think so highly of Mayor Clark’s leadership skills that they’ve given more than $176,000 to help get him reelected. Lawyers have rewarded the mayor with more than $51,000, while financial interests have coughed up a modest $35,500.
Another incumbent whose campaign has benefited handsomely from development interests is Commissioner Clara Oesterle. Approximately 45 percent of her $403,000 war chest comes from the folks who are busy turning West Dade into a parking lot.
Having accepted such embarrassing sums from special interests, the commissioners naturally denounce the system as flawed. If only it didn’t cost so much to run a political campaign these days, they say, then we wouldn’t have to take this money.
If that argument isn’t obsequious enough, their next line is enough to choke a goat: We don’t go out and solicit these contributions, they say, the checks just come in the mail.
So the half-a-million dollars in campaign moola that Mayor Clark has collected is merely a spontaneous outpouring of public support. Yeah, right. And Elvis is still alive, too.
You can bet that whoever shells out this kind of dough wants more than a thank-you note in return. When a nest of zoning lawyers and their wives all give the legal limit of $1,000 each to a candidate, they are purchasing influence, pure and simple. And it works.
Developers love the direction that the commission is taking Dade County because that direction is due west, all the way to the Everglades. Rat-warren condos and strip-shopping malls as far as the eye can see. Go look for yourself.
This, and a ghostway transit system, are the twin legacies of this outstanding batch of public servants.
Little will change after Tuesday’s election. Voters who choose their commissioners from bus benches and billboards will again be duped, and it’s their own fault. At least the developers know enough about basic civics to learn something important about their candidates. Like where to send the checks.
Our own Joe shines again in Miami race
October 2, 1989
Somebody Up There must love newspaper columnists because an amazing thing has happened.
He’s baaaaaaack.
Joe Carollo. Popping out of his manhole like a jack-in-the-box. To run for the Miami City Commission again!
Thank you, God. Things had gotten so dull latelywe needed to be reminded of the bad old days, when city government was a circus and Joe was the head clown. Sure, there’s still back-alley politics, but today it’s all so tame and
civilized.
In a sick way, we missed Carollo. He was such great copy, guaranteed to say something indefensibly dumb, paranoid or just plain crass.
Joe claims he’s mellowed, but don’t bet on it. In this new campaign he’s challenging the city’s only elected black commissioner, and already Carollo has gone on Spanish-language radio likening his opponent to a common street looter.
Vintage Joe. This is the same sensitive fellow who once compared a black city manager to Idi Amin.
Ah, what memories.
Carollo saw spies and counterspies and Communists everywhere, and claimed to have a dashboard bomb detector in his car. He once offered to tell a Senate committee how Fidel Castro’s agents had infiltrated the Miami Police Department.
Another time, Joe torpedoed a big Sister Cities convention planned for Miami after learning that a few of the participants came from Eastern bloc countries. Reds!
Not that Carollo didn’t have a warm spot for some foreign visitors. Miss Universe contestants, for example. Joe nearly tripped over his agenda in a rush to pose for snapshots with visiting beauty queens.
And when Sheik Mohammed al-Fassi and his wealthy entourage blew into town, Joe tagged along like a drooling puppy, offering the key to the city and (not incidentally) the services of his own private security firm. Any normal person would have been embarrassed, but not Joe.
Who can forget that gloriously despicable double cross of Maurice Ferre during the 1983 mayor’s raceFerre, calling a press conference to trumpet Carollo’s endorsement, only to watch Joe trash him mercilessly in front of the assembled media. Poor old Maurice looked like he’d swallowed a bad clam.
Some politicians can legitimately claim stupidity as an excuse, but not Carollo. His reckless words were unforgivable because he knew exactly what he was doingappealing to the most primitive of voters’ fears and biases. He once said: “Sometimes when people are trying to divert attention, they create ridiculous situations and allegations.”