So fervid was Jacksonville’s yearning to reach its “magnificent milestone” that the city fudged the numbers. Duval County, which defines metropolitan Jacksonville, has only about 700,000 people. Therefore, promoters of “Millionth Mania” were compelled to include in their arithmetic the combined censuses of Duval, Baker, Nassau, Clay and St. Johns counties.
Technically, it was “northeastern Florida” that two weeks ago welcomed its one millionth resident. Mike Webster says he was no less alarmed.
He banged out an irreverent press release that was pretty much ignored by the region’s mainstream media. That’s too bad, because in it he enunciated what many frustrated Floridians are feeling.
“For places like Jacksonville,” Webster wrote, “the question of growth is not one of right or wrong, but rather of addiction. We have worshipped the lord of growth. We have multiplied, now we must become fruitful.”
Webster is no New Age granola-head. A self-described conservative Democrat, he was until recently a loyal member of the NRA. He doesn’t worry about endangered panthers so much as farmers, river men and others whose futures are jeopardized by overdevelopment.
“Much of what passes for progress isn’t,” Webster says. He includes himself among the threatened: “If our marine resources collapse, the bottom falls out of the boat business.”
And while FLAP stops shy of advocating a cap on growth, Webster has dryly suggested that Florida ought to start “depromoting” itself to slow the influx of new arrivals.
Which got me thinking: What better way for a city to spook prospective residents than to publicize (with fireworks!) its own overcrowding.
Is it possible, I wondered, that FLAP infiltrated Jacksonville’s chamber of commerce? Was Webster himself secretly responsible for the big “celebration”?
Though he denies involvement, the phrase “Millionth Mania” certainly has the sly ring of parody. Perhaps it wasn’t the hokey, misguided boosterism I first thought. Perhaps it was a pranka perversely brilliant prankmeant to scare people away from Duval County.
And it’ll probably work.
Court’s message to home buyers: Trust no one
April 18, 1996
By overturning the fraud convictions of four developers, a U.S. appeals court this week affirmed a common-law doctrine of Florida land sales known as Fornicat Emptor:
Let the buyer be screwed.
The court dismissed the case against former executives of General Development Corp., one of the state’s most prolific land-scamming operations. Judges said there was insufficient evidence the men broke federal law.
Which is ironic, considering that GDC had long ago pleaded guilty, and two of the four indicted big shots had tried to do the same.
“Construing the evidence at its worst
it is true that these men behaved badly,” the appellate court wrote. ” [But] the fraud statutes do not cover all behavior which strays from the ideal; Congress has not yet criminalized all sharp conduct, manipulative acts, or unethical transactions.”
Not exactly a ringing character endorsement, but a legal victory nonetheless.
The core of the case dates to the ‘70s and ‘80s, when GDC was vigorously marketing Florida property to out-of-state buyers. In its heyday, the company sold thousands of homesites and tract houses in “planned communities” such as Port Malabar and Port St. Lucie.
GDC’s scurrilous sales techniques became legendary. Bare lots were sold to aspiring snowbirds for three to five times the true resale value. Waterfront sometimes meant swamp front.
And when customers asked to see their land, the company invited them down for a free tourbut only if they first signed away their right to cancel the contract.
GDC’s most ambitious swindle targeted home buyers. The company used its own appraisers to jack up the value of its houses. Customers, most of whom financed through GDC, didn’t learn about the price gap until they tried to resell.
Couples who’d bought a retirement home for $65,000 found out the hard way that its market value was $40,000. Complaints began piling up.
Finally the feds indicted the company in 1990. GDC pleaded guilty to conspiracy and pledged restitution. Chairman David F. Brown and President Robert F. Ehrling also agreed to plead guilty.
Within a month, GDC filed for bankruptcy, but the case wasn’t done. U.S. District Judge Lenore Nesbitt surprised prosecutors and defendants by rejecting the original plea deal, and a subsequent one. She wanted tougher sentences and stronger terms of restitution.
Trial began in 1991. Nine months later, a Miami jury convicted Ehrling, Brown, Richard Reizen and Tore DeBella. Nesbitt sentenced them to prison, and ordered each to pony up $500,000 to defrauded GDC customers.
What seemed like a victory for the little guy didn’t turn out that way. Many home buyers who’d sought compensation ended up with a small check and securities.
Meanwhile, the ex-executives appealed their convictions, leading to Tuesday’s dismissal by a three-judge panel in Atlanta.
While agreeing that GDC had overvalued its homes, the judges ruled that “people of ordinary prudence” could have investigated the marketplace before purchasing.
In other words, the customers were at faultnot GDC’s bosses. It’s a coldhearted view, but the reasoning has logic.
Basically, the judges are asserting what many of us have known for generations: that anyone buying real estate in Florida should trust no one and assume the worst.
Lawyers for the defendants have tried to put a more positive spin on the court’s ruling, claiming it vindicates the late GDC as a fair and honorable firm.
And never mind about those guilty pleas.
A gift for dad who has it all in his backyard
December 5, 1996
If you live in a Lennar development, here’s the perfect holiday gift for Dad: a shiny new backhoe, so he can find out what’s buried in your yard.
The residents of Hampshire Homes in Miramar already have watched as 260 truckloads of tires and trash were hauled out of the infamous sinkhole that opened up there.
Now, three former subcontractors for Lennar Homes have come forward claiming that company officials told them to bury illegal trash at 19 construction sites in Dade, Broward and Palm Beach counties.
According to the subcontractors, the debris included household appliances, auto parts, batteries and even a fuel drum.
Last week, the president of Lennar Homes said the company never ordered anyone to bury junk beneath its developments, because that would’ve been against the law! “Some fuel drums might have been buried,” Stuart Miller said, “but it was not done under company direction.”
For alarmed homeowners, the most pressing issue isn’t who ordered the trash buried, but what exactly got buried where.
Lennar doesn’t offer random excavations of its subdivisions, although the company promises to haul off any unsightly debris that might surface unexpectedly.
That’s fine if your dog happens to dig up a rusty Maytag near the hibiscus or a seeping 12-volt Delco under the swing set. But what if the junk is buried too deeply for Fido?
The former Lennar subcontractors say washing machines and other secret goodies are interred beneath FPL power lines in the upscale Coral Springs developments of Turtle Run and Whispering Woods.
At Tamarac’s Kings Point, they said, the mother lode of debris is entombed within the banks of lakes.
And somewhere beneath the Images of Pembroke Pointe is the not-so-scenic image of a buried fuel drum.
Even if your hobby is archaeology, you probably wouldn’t buy a house if you knew it was built above or even adjacent to an underground dump site.
But more than a few Florida developments are. The law allows limited on-site disposal of lumber, tree stumps and nonhazardous construction materials, but some builders bury all sorts of nasty stuff. It’s cheaper than paying hauling fees, plus you get to keep the fill.
The sneaky practice was widespread in years past, and almost never disclosed to potential buyers. Lennar would’ve sold very few houses had Hampshire Homes been straightforwardly advertised as Tierra del Tire Dump or Sinkhole Estates.
Recent headlines have piqued the interest of hundreds of other Lennar customers, who now wonder what’s percolating beneath the surface of their neighborhood. Also curious is Florida’s attorney general, who has subpoenaed records from all Lennar developments dating back to 1980.
The company president says the files weren’t always meticulously maintained. That could make it difficult to determine which subdivisions are at risk.
For concerned homeowners, even a small backhoe would be a big help. Lennar should provide them free to anybody brave enough to buy one of its houses.
That way there will be no guesswork or suspense. Once you notice the shrubs blackening or the patio furniture starting to melt, you can dig up the lawn and find out what the heck’s buried down there.
Apparently Lennar isn’t that eager for you to know. So, at least for this season, it’s up to Santa to bring Dad that backhoeand maybe a lightweight metal detector for Mom, too.
And don’t forget the kids. Just imagine the joy on Christmas Day if they woke up to find cute little Geiger counters in their stockings!
Our dream, our nightmare
September 13, 1998
The least startling headline of the last few days: The Sierra Club has rated South Florida one of the most blighted places in the country for unchecked urban sprawl.
Among the major metropolitan areas, Broward County ranks ninth nationally in annihilating of wetlands, farms and forests since 1990.That statistic is surprising only because Broward didn’t take first placeimagine eight other regions actually doing a worse job of planning.
Elsewhere in Florida, Tampa ranks 14 and Miami-Dade is 18 on the Sierra list. Nationally, the top spot for runaway urban sprawl is fast-mushrooming Atlanta.
Losing land to development was only one factor considered by the Sierra Club when evaluating the impact of metropolitan expansion. The group also looked at pollution, water consumption, traffic congestion and population.
The critical yardstick is density, the ratio of people to land mass, and few places are as densely packed as South Florida. Nowhere is the ugliness more evident than southwestern Broward, where a drive along I-75 reveals little but rooftops, as far as the eye can see.
If the torrid pace of paving continues, Pembroke Pines, Coral Springs and other hot spots will eventually make Hialeah look like the Garden of Eden.
According to census data and University of Florida economic research, by 1997 Miami-Dade’s population added up to 2,070,473 people living in an area of 2,109 square milesor about 982 persons per square mile.
By contrast, Broward had 1,439,663 residents living within a much smaller area, 1,220 square miles. That works out to a nerve-jangling 1,180 persons per square mile, the human equivalent of living in a beehive.
The true elbow-to-elbow density of both counties is actually higher, when you eliminate their vast, unpopulated Everglades acreage.
Only one place in the state is more statistically overchoked: Pinellas County, the St. Petersburg/Clearwarer area, where more than 2,700 people are shoehorned into every square mile. If they were rats, they’d probably be gnawing each others’ limbs off.
Inevitably, growth has slowed dramatically in Pinellas, as it has in Miami-Dadenot only because these places are running out of room, but because people are running away. In large numbers, they’re fleeing the woes and headaches of rapid urbanizationcrime, traffic, taxes, sardine-can classrooms.
Where are the disenchanted going? Broward, according to population experts. Then Palm Beach, Martin and St. Lucie along the east coast; Lee, Collier, Charlotte and Sarasota on the west coast.
That’s the great, bitter irony. About 800 people a day move to Florida in pursuit of a dream that’s being obliterated by their own footprints. It’s a dream they’re destined to chase from one end of the state to the other, trying to escape all the other dreamers.
Thousands have fled Miami-Dade for Broward, and now Broward is more densely congested than Dade. In a few years, the same thing will likely happen to Palm Beach County, and hordes will flee there in search of someplace more sane and livable.
An advanced civilization might produce leaders who would learn from the foolhardiness of others and take steps not to inflict the same ills on their own communities.
This doesn’t happen in South Florida, where politicians customarily cave in to developers at the expense of wise long-range planning. The result is what you see, an unbroken panorama of greed.
Palm Beach County is destined to become another Miami-Dade, just as surely as Collier is destined to become another Pinellas. Nobody has learned a damn thing, which is symptomatic of another type of density crisis.
The density of certain skulls.[“#chapter_15”]
Vanishing Florida
The bombs of progress blast crater in nature
August 6, 1985
From the road you can’t even see it.
The buffer is North Key Largo hammock, dense and darkly tangled, quiet on a summer morning. The mosquitoes are exuberant, and there are also snakes, so it is best to keep walking.
Suddenly, the pristine tamarind and mahogany end, and the sun strikes the eye harshly. Ahead the land is bare, bleached and broken, as if a giant’s claw had raked away a hundred acres of forest.
It looks like a bomb exploded here, and it did. It was called Port Bougainville.
Three years ago the fancy advertising promised “the romance of the Mediterranean and the freedom of the Florida Keys.” There would be a yacht club, beaches, lakes, a shopping plaza, a hotel, more than 2,500 condominiums, all with “the charm of a painting by Cezanne.”
Try Salvador Dali on a bad day.
What you see now is an obscene moonscape of pits and boulders. The sales models are boarded up, the quaint unfinished plaza is a pastel ghost town. The bulldozers have been towed away, and some of the trucks and trams are up on blocks. Castor bean and other garbage weeds flourish where hardwoods once grew.
Construction ceased on Port Bougainville more than a year ago when its financing collapsed. The work that began here was mostly done by dynamite, blowing craters in the hammock to create phony lakes upon which to sell “waterfront units.”
Touring the 406 acres now, one might guess that the controversial mega-condo has gone belly-up. The polite term is that the project is “in receivership.”
The bank foreclosed on the developer and the developer sued the bank and now there are lawyers crawling all over the place, which means we’re talking about a serious, long-term mess.
Ironic, considering the development’s historyapproved after months of scandalous publicity, bureaucratic hand-wringing and celebrated compromise. While environmentalists battled stridently in court, everyone else signed off on Port Bougainvillethe state Department of Community Affairs, the South Florida Regional Planning Council and, of course, Monroe County’s zoo of a planning department.
The project is fine, they said. A boon for the economy, they said. Environmentally sound, they said.
A darn big improvement, they all said.
Now they say: Hey, we did our best. Nobody dreamed the deal would disintegrate.
But don’t think for a minute the project is deadthis is Florida, remember? This type of development is like the Frankenstein monster, a lurching clod kept on life support forever. Every so often, a new genius shows up with a new scheme for resurrection.
Ten years ago, Port Bougainville was known as Solarelleanother developer, another failure. Years from now, after the current fiasco is sorted out, the project probably will have a new owner and a new name and a new theme. Today the Mediterranean, tomorrow Venice.
And, as always, an elaborate public show will be made of trying to save as many trees and birds and butterflies as possible, which is not easy when you’re using dynamite.
On Sunday, a single snowy egret searched for minnows from the shore of a jagged, blasted-out creek. A ground dove pecked for berries on a disused limestone roadbed. Yellow butterflies darted above the remaining buttonwoods but veered clear of the gashed land.
Nobody wanted Port Bougainville to turn out this way, but it did. Nobody in government had the guts to say stop.
It’s classic for South Florida. Where else would they even agree to stick one of the largest-ever condo projects between a national wildlife sanctuary and the continent’s only living coral reef?
Each officious drone who said yes to this extravaganza ought to be forced to spend a day on North Key Largo, walking the property with his own children.
Explaining the scars, the rubble, the whole atrocious legacy.
Pristine oasis may go to waste in trash crisis
November 8, 1985
As the last wild traces of South Florida disappear under the dredge and bulldozer, it’s a good time to weigh the fate of the Pond Apple Slough.
That such a place has survived the blind rapacity of Broward County’s development is both a marvel and mystery. Stubbornly it thrives, a steamy oasis wedged between two of the busiest and ugliest thoroughfares ever built, State Road 84 and U.S. 441.
Perhaps one thing that has saved the 100-acre gem is its invisibility not only from the roads, but from the South New River Canal, which forms its southern boundary.
Hemmed in, shut off, nearly forgotten, the freshwater swamp and its adjacent cypress forest is one of the most pristine Florida habitats left on the peninsula. Beyond the drooping pond apples are royal palms, coco plums, leather ferns and sprawling ficuses, ancient giants draped with moss, wild orchids and airplants.
Penetrable only by canoe and foot, the Pond Apple Slough is a refuge for bobcats, raccoons, squirrels and gray foxes; snakes, alligators and endangered crocodiles; hawks, ospreys, kestrels and other birds of prey. The animals have adapted remarkably well to the swamp’s clamorous borders, and even to the roar of 727s passing low on approach to the Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood airport.
But soon there will be new neighbors: Interstate 595, arcing high overhead, and a massive garbage incinerator, with two enormous landfills. The highway is an aesthetic nuisance but nonintrusive; the incinerator is something else.
The battle has been predictably emotional, with homeowners and environmentalists on one side, county officials on the other. Beginning Tuesday at the Davie-Cooper City Library, state officials will hold nine days of hearings about the new garbage plant, and one of the main issues is its effect on the rare slough.
The swamp itself is on state property, technically protected. But one of the landfills is planned for 200 acres of county property, now sawgrass, which borders the tall cypress. Environmentalists fear poisonous runoff from the ash and refuse will decimate the swamp.
George Fitzpatrick, chairman of Broward’s Environmental Quality Control Board, says the landfill “will have a very negative effect
You shouldn’t build incinerators with landfills in a swamp.”
Adds naturalist Woody Wilkes: “It will destroy this whole area. There’s no way to get around it.”
Faced with a mountainous garbage crisis, Broward is determined to build new incinerators; it’s already issued $521 million worth of bonds to finance two of them.
Tom Henderson, director of resource recovery, says the county has spent a fortune studying the pond apple habitat and is committed to saving the slough and restoring long-lost waterways near the dumps.
“The area’s going to be much better than what’s there,” says Henderson.
He also says the dump site nearest the Pond Apple Slough won’t be needed until the turn of the century, if ever, and that all ash would be deposited on a thick layer of plastic to prevent leeching into the precious groundwater.
Opponents say that’s not enough. They view the incinerator as a fountain of rancid air, and they want modern emission controls on its smoke-stack. They also want its ash and rubble trucked out west; in other words, no landfills near the swamp.
The classic problem with dumps is that nobody wants one in their own backyard. Trouble is, this just isn’t any old backyard; it’s one of the few remaining glimpses of Florida as it was a century ago, a gentle canoe trip into the past.
Surely the state can settle this controversy by demanding strict, enforceable measures to save the Pond Apple Slough and the air it breathes. A dump is one kind of political legacy; a wilderness is another.
It would be a tragedy to lose it to a 40-foot hill of burnt slop.
Sewage charges latest outrage at ocean reef
December 16, 1985
The idea of dumping raw sewage into the waters of the John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park is so vile that it makes the blood boil.
This month, the wondrous park’s 25th anniversary, the Ocean Reef Club in North Key Largo was indicted on 346 counts of allegedly emptying its toilets straight into the ocean over the continent’s only living coral reef.
If the charges are true, this is by far the worst in the club’s long history of flagrant abuses. Of all the developments in the Florida Keys, Ocean Reef Inc. has been the most prolific violator of environmental laws. Its motto might as well be: Let’s do it until we get caught.
The place is legendary: Canals appear overnight to create instant “waterfront” lots; protected mangroves vanish in the darkness. The investigatory files on Ocean Reef stuff several drawers at the state Department of Environmental Regulation and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.
Yet sanctions against the resort have, until now, been laughably weak. The largest fine was $50,000 stretched out to five payments in five yearshardly the sort of penalty that teaches a lesson.
Much is made of the fact that Ocean Reef is a haven for the rich and famous. Wealthy or not, the people who live there had nothing to do with the sewage scandal. In fact, their complaints helped trigger the investigation by the Environmental Protection Agency.
“We’re shocked by what happened, and we’re angry,” says Barrett Wendell, president of an Ocean Reef property owner’s group. “The reef is too valuable an asset to be treated this way.”
“We’re the victimsnot the people perpetrating this,” adds Charles Howell, another resident.
Ironically, Ocean Reef homeowners had been negotiating with the developers to buy out the utilities, including the long-troubled sewage system. Last summer a tentative agreement was reached, but suddenly Ocean Reef Inc. changed its mind and decided to keep the sewer plants.
For many homeowners, this month’s pollution indictment was a bitter and shameful moment. “We felt like we were indicted, too,” Howell says. Some members fired off a letter to financier Carl Lindner, the principal owner, condemning the company for such a “despicable” act.
Says resident Clayton Kolstad: “We think it stinks.”
And stink is the word for it. According to the indictment, raw fecal matter was purposely spewed into a slender waterway known as Channel Cay. From there tidal currents swept the putrid effluent into the Atlantic and out over the endangered offshore reef.
The dumping allegedly took place between Nov. 1, 1982, and Nov. 10, 1983, but several residents claim it actually went on much longer. Ocean Reef Inc. has declined to discuss the charges.
Up to now, the clubwhose membership is full of political heavyweightshas treated the state and Army Corps like pesky gnats.
But the EPA is the big league, and this indictment is criminal. Ocean Reef’s president, vice president and utilities director face a possible year in prison for each of the 346 counts, while the development conceivably could be hit with an $8.6 million fine.
If the club has a lick of common sense, the case will be settled before it ever gets to trial. A fine will be paid, nobody will do a day in jail, and the company will get back to the business of squeezing every square inch of profit out of its North Key Largo holdings.
Ocean Reef Inc. can afford a hefty fine: A couple of years ago, one undeveloped waterfront lot sold for $900,000.
Prosecutors ought to shoot for a seven-figure settlement. Big money is the only thing that gets arrogant polluters’ attention, and it’s the only thing that will make them think twice before opening a “magic valve” again.
As one furious Ocean Reef resident put it: “I don’t know what kind of mind would pump raw sewage into a canal where children swam and snorkeled and boated. It’s horrible.”
Margaritaville marshlands: Wasting away?
October 27, 1986
The most tranquil part of this crazed island is unknown even to some of the locals407 nearly virgin acres of mangrove, mahogany and marshlands. The Salt Ponds.
In a place where real estate is as precious as Mel Fisher’s gold, it would seem a miracle that the ponds haven’t already been drained, dredged, paved and plastered. Unfortunately, that sad day might be coming. A developer named Larry Marks has fought an extended court battle for the right to put up 1,100 units here, and he says he’ll do it.
In the old days, a familiar corps of tenacious environmentalists would have stood alone against the development, and probably lost. This fight is different. Opposition to the Salt Ponds project is broader, and it includes a famous voice that carries clear to Tallahassee.
Jimmy Buffett can look out at the ponds from the porch of his home. He has explored by canoe and found egrets, herons, ospreys, even an eagle. “It’s beautiful in there,” the singer says.
Buffett doesn’t think this is a suitable location for a thousand condominiums or apartments. “Affordable housing,” the developer calls it. “Monstrosity” is the term preferred by critics. The Key West City Commission meets Tuesday to discuss the plan. Tonight Buffett will sing at a “Save the Salt Ponds” rally at a restaurant on Duval Street.
This is not the best of news for the developer; Buffett is a popular fellow with a huge following here. The singer already has angered Larry Marks by suggesting that one of Marks’ other big condo projects should be used as a bombing target by the Navy.
Though he usually avoids Key West politics like a tropical plague, Buffett says the Salt Ponds are too important to ignore. “We’ve got enough condos. I mean, how many people can live on this island?”
The strategy to save the Salt Ponds doesn’t include another prolonged legal slugfest with Larry Marksexcept as a last resort. The new plan is to get the state of Florida to purchase the wetlands outright. There are many who think that Marks would be willing to sell his portion, for the right price. Both the City Commission and the Florida Audubon Society say it’s a good idea, and last week the state took the first step toward placing the Salt Ponds on its list of lands to be acquired for preservation.
The problems are time and money: It might take years before the fluids are available. In the meantime, the bulldozers could roll.
Because the Salt Ponds are so remotea verdant pocket near the airport’s runway, far from the Conch Train’s viewmost tourists and many Key Westers have never visited the beautiful tidal marsh. Buffett says it can’t be saved until people know what they’re saving.