Kick Ass: Selected Columns of Carl Hiaasen

by Carl Hiaasen

  A few days later, at the other end of the county, a policeman heard screams from a suburban house. He rushed inside to find a woman allegedly decapitating a chicken and drinking its blood.

  In both cases, the cops had interrupted a Santeria ceremony in which live animals were being sacrificed to appease Afro-Cuban saints. Each saint is said to have its own preferred menu. Yemaya, for instance, favors ducks, turtles and goats. Ogun, a saint of iron, has a thing for red and white roosters. Oshun, the maiden of the river, prefers white hens.

  By now, practically everyone in South Florida is aware of Santeria. The occasional dead chicken in a back yard canal scarcely merits a second glance. Not long ago, my son went fishing for peacock bass near the Miami airport. He caught no bass, but reeled in a hefty headless chicken wrapped in men's underwear, which he sportingly released to fight again another day.

  For locals, it's nothing new. Visitors are something else. Many have no knowledge of Santeria and are confused and even revulsed by random encounters with gutted livestock. Image-wise, South Florida has enough to worry about without trying to explain the prevalence of animal sacrifices. The most ingenious advertising agency in the world couldn't put a positive spin on decapitated turtles.

  Recently one of those true-life TV cop shows assigned a camera crew to ride with a Dade County animal-control officer. Almost immediately the officer came upon a sacrificed goat, whose body segments had been arranged on a railroad crossing, along with some blood and pennies. As the video rolled, the officer calmly explained the meaning of the grisly scene—a Santeria offering to Ogun, of course.

  Just one more thing for South Florida tourists to fret about. Martha, call Hertz. See if our collision insurance covers dead goats.

  Once I visited a young santera, a practitioner of the rites. She was thoughtful and, by all appearances, sane and normal. When she described the technique by which barnyard animals were sacrificed in her kitchen, she spoke of it as matter-of-factly as if recounting the family recipe for meat loaf.

  Unfortunately, what appeals most to Santeria followers—the ability to practice the religion in the privacy of their homes—is what bothers many of their neighbors. The praying and prostrating before statues is no problem. It's the business with animals, which can get sloppy and noisy and (if overpublicized) can play hell with property values. For most of us, the killing of chickens is tolerable as a distant abstraction. When we buy a bucket of Extra Crispy, we really don't mourn the dead fryers who gave their legs, breasts and thighs for our lunch.

  On the other hand—call it hypocrisy, call it a cultural gap—most of us aren't too thrilled when one of our kids bursts through the door and says, "Can I spend the night at Billy's? His mom's going to kill a rooster and drink its blood!"

  Many of the creatures used in Santeria are eaten, but some are not. The leftovers often turn up in public places. This can be bad for neighborhood relations. What we need down here is a new category of zoning: AS-residential. Animal sacrifices would be permitted there, and no place else. Every home would have its own incinerator.

  It would be no comfort to the poor animals, of course. As long as people believe in Santeria, critters will die. For what, I'm not sure.

  Years ago, a mad-dog drug killer and fugitive named Miguel Miranda built a Santeria shrine in his back yard in South Miami. There he sacrificed animals, drank their blood and prayed for the gods to protect him from police.

  Miguel must've been using defective chickens. The DEA shot him in the head.

  Tourists: Be alert for crime Miami-style

  August 19, 1991

  The Greater Miami Chamber of Commerce needs $40,000 for a project that might save lives: a new brochure that will advise tourists how not to become the victims of crime.

  This is a milestone in the annals of South Florida promotion. Finally the chamber is admitting, in writing, that there is a crime problem. It's a small brave step, and let's hope it gets done. Forty grand is peanuts compared to the millions spent to subsidize auto races, tennis tournaments and Super Bowls.

  A few weeks ago, Hertz and other rental companies began unbolting the logos from their cars because so many customers had been attacked by smash-and-grab robbers. Tourists, unfortunately, make prime targets.

  "Don't leave your common sense at home!" the new brochure tells visitors. Keep your car doors locked and your windows up at all times. Don't pick up hitchhikers. Be careful when using ATM machines. If confronted by an armed robber, don't resist. If a suspicious person approaches you at an intersection, look both ways before running the red light.

  It's solid generic advice that applies to traveling in any big American city. Miami, though, is different from other big cities. Before the new pamphlet goes to press, some of the warnings should be modified to fit our unique style of crime.

  From the moment a tourist steps off the plane at Miami International, he or she must be vigilant and alert:

  • If someone offers you $5,000 to carry his "grandmother's suitcase" through Customs, don't do it.

  • When renting a car, check the trunk for dead bodies. If you find one, tell the rental agent immediately—not only are you entitled to a different car, but also to a free upgrade from compact to midsize.

  • If you're taking a taxi, beware of drivers who speak fluent English. They're obviously novices who couldn't find Coconut Grove with a cruise missile. Once you select a taxi, though, be courteous and tip generously. Recently a local cabbie was convicted of beating a customer to death in a dispute over a fare.

  • Choose a hotel carefully, and remember: Location isn't everything. If the block is cordoned off with bright yellow tape, ask your driver to recommend another place.

  • When checking in, ask the desk clerk to put your belongings in the safe—not just your valuables, everything. Underwear, dental floss, sunblock … gone when you get back. (A friend recently had his shoes stolen from his room at a very famous Miami Beach hotel. He was told that it happens all the time; apparently there's a booming underground market for used footwear.)

  • When going outdoors, try not to dress like a typical hayseed tourist. For instance, don't wear black socks under your sandals, and don't tape one of those tiny plastic sun shields over your nose. And that $800 Nikon dangling from your neck might as well be a neon sign that says, "Mug Me!"

  • When playing on the beach, don't leave cash hidden in your tennis shoes. As noted before, shoes get stolen.

  • Be wary of roadside peddlers, common at South Florida intersections. If you're really in the mood for fresh guavas, fine. But if a guy comes at your car with a cinderblock, assume he's not trying to sell it to you. Step on the gas.

  • If you must carry a purse or wallet during your visit to Miami, experts recommend securing it to your torso with a sturdy 42-inch length of galvanized chain and a single-action Master padlock. Arc welding is an optional precaution.

  • No Rolexes, even fakes. Among thieves, these are almost as popular as secondhand shoes.

  • When boating in the Atlantic, don't pick up any bales, floating duffel bags or plastic packages. These are often marked, "Made in Medellin."

  • On the highway, be careful of police impersonators. Even with a blue flashing light on the dashboard, it's unlikely that a 1968 Fairlane with no hubcaps is being driven by a real cop. Don't stop until you find one.

  Finally, when asking strangers for directions, don't ever begin the conversation with the words, "Hi, we're from out-of-town … "

  Tourist crime not too bad—(just ignore facts)

  February 28, 1993

  An emergency panel convened last week to tackle the problem of crime against tourists. The topic wasn't just the shootings, beatings, robberies and carjackings committed daily on visitors, but the resulting international uproar.

  Contrary to the harsh publicity, law enforcement officials insisted that less than 4 percent of all crimes target "nonresidents" of Florida. That means the overwhelming majority of victims are folks who l
ive here full-time. That comforting statistic is seldom mentioned in the local and foreign news media, which the governor chastised for "hyping" the crime situation, scaring potential tourists away.

  The criticism is well-aimed and overdue. For too long we journalists have thoughtlessly put our obligation to report the facts ahead of our larger civic duty to promote Florida as a carefree vacation paradise, regardless of its homicidal perils.

  What were we thinking! What possible good can come from telling the whole darn world that innocent visitors are being stalked like stray zebras on the Serengeti?

  OK, maybe a few tourists who read these stories will be more careful and alert. Maybe a few watchful ones will avert a mugging, or a trip to the E.R. But what about those timorous souls who see the grisly headlines and bolt for the airport? Whether they're from Berlin or Biloxi, we should make them feel welcome and safe, even if it means "rethinking" the way we cover crime.

  Good journalism isn't always good boosterism. We must strive for a balance. No reporter should sleep easily, knowing that he or she might be responsible for a single vacant hotel room, an unrented LeBaron, an empty table at the Strand. We shouldn't be scaring tourists away, even if it saves their lives.

  I'm not proud to admit it, but only weeks ago I wrote a column describing a number of gruesome attacks committed against tourists this year. Never mind that the stories were true; it was hyping, pure and simple. I realize that now.

  In the future, the watchword is restraint. It's possible to convey even the most harrowing events in a manner that won't stampede our tourist trade. Call it reverse sensationalism.

  The old cheap hype: A couple visiting from Germany was the target of a violent carjacking in Fort Lauderdale on Saturday ...

  The new slick hype: A couple visiting from Germany was stranded Saturday when they involuntarily loaned their rental car to several armed strangers, who forgot to return it.

  The old cheap hype: Two British tourists were attacked by a gang of smash-and-grab robbers Saturday after stopping at a downtown Miami intersection ...

  The new slick hype: Two nonresidents were shaken but unharmed Saturday after a 13-pound cinder block mysteriously fell from the sky and crashed through the windshield of their rental car at a downtown Miami intersection. After hearing the noise, several neighborhood youths climbed into the car, apparently to make certain that no one was injured. In the confusion, the two startled visitors misplaced their wallets, credit cards, jewelry and camera ...

  The old cheap hype: A vacationing Ontario businessman was shot and wounded Saturday night during an attempted robbery outside a Miami Beach nightclub.

  The new slick hype: A plucky Ontario haberdasher was recovering at Mount Sinai Hospital late Saturday after a minor flesh wound interrupted a night of dancing on South Beach.

  Police quickly pointed out that of all the victims shot county wide this weekend, 96 percent were not tourists, and almost all were more seriously injured than the visiting Canadian.

  Now, isn't that better? Don't you feel safer already?

  Fish tales fly in face of logic, but pass 'em on

  July 22, 1993

  Recent news stories have exposed another harrowing menace to tourists. Giant rogue barracudas are leaping from the sea to mangle unsuspecting boaters, then flopping back into the water to resume their diabolical stalk.

  Could it be true!

  The first attack happened July 9 in Islamorada. A 46-year-old Tampa woman was badly lacerated after a barracuda rocketed from the depths of Florida Bay and knocked her to the deck of a houseboat.

  Anecdotal evidence suggests that the fish was probably jumping, as barracudas often do, in an attempt to rid itself of an angler's hook. That somewhat pertinent possibility escaped mention in the first news accounts, which depicted the incident as a bizarre and premeditated assault.

  Best of all, the length of the deranged barracuda was soberly reported as eight feet—the supernatural equivalent of, say, a 90-pound squirrel.

  By the time this newspaper delved into the fish story, it was too late to stem the hype. The barracuda's victim had granted an exclusive interview to ABC's Good Morning America, so an entire breakfasting nation got to hear the terrifying tale and view the actual sutures.

  For those of us who have devoted our lives to scaring people away from Florida, it was a magic moment.

  In the past, periodic creature attacks—sharks, gators, snakes, etc.—rated attention mainly from breathless local TV anchors and junky tabloid shows. But this was the big time! This was a legitimate network program embracing the legend of the mutant barracuda and beaming it into millions of households. You can't put a price on that kind of publicity.

  And almost immediately the phones began to jangle with reports of other horrifying attacks. An Alabama man, fishing in Bradenton, was said to have incurred minor wounds when struck by a leaping 'cuda. A wire-service account quoted a "shark expert" in Gainesville as saying the incident was "an amazing fluke. I've never even heard of [barracudas] jumping out of the water."

  Not in Gainesville, anyway.

  The fact is, barracudas are adroit jumpers, especially in pursuit of bait fish. The theory that they would utilize this talent to terrorize tourists is intriguing, but far-fetched. Seasoned fishermen and charter captains crack up at the notion of a killer 'cuda, stealthily circling a boatload of pink-skinned visitors who peer innocently into the brine, adjusting their rented snorkels for that first, fateful dive ...

  Yet I would urge native Floridians not to rush forward and punch holes in such a valuable myth. If people choose to believe that a primordial genetic code has gone haywire, and that a normally indifferent ocean species has turned savagely against humans (particularly those visiting from out-of-town), then by all means let them believe it.

  To intervene with dull facts would only squander a prime opportunity. The appetite for weird Florida news is obviously so insatiable that the national media is ready to jump on any story, no matter how flimsy. We must ride the momentum, and keep the barracuda panic alive. Keep the calls and letters coming.

  It's been years since Jaws was a hit, but lots of people still carry a phobia about sharks. The 'cuda scare has even greater potential because the "attacks" occur out of the water.

  No one would be safe from flying barracudas. A splash, a gleam of silver—and suddenly a volleyballer on South Beach is scalped, mid-spike. Two lovers, minced beyond recognition during a midnight stroll on the jetty. A tawny young rollerblader, brutally truncated while skating along a seawall.

  Would it ever end? For God's sake, somebody do something. Somebody call Spielberg.

  Crime coverage based on how far tourist traveled

  January 16, 1994

  The new tourist season brings anxiety and trepidation, as South Florida braces for more rotten publicity about crime.

  During the past week, visitors from Chile, Bolivia and Switzerland were assaulted by robbers in the Miami area. Although nobody was killed or seriously injured, the incidents received exhaustive news coverage.

  Many Floridians are perplexed by the sensational attention these robberies are getting. Smash-and-grabs have been happening for years, and ordinarily they don't make the news. These days it's a lead story.

  We in the media should come clean and explain our new guidelines for covering crime. Simply put: If it happens to a tourist, it's a major story. If it happens to a local … well, tough luck.

  As victims, tourists draw more sympathy. Locals get mugged and shot on a nightly basis; the presumption is that we ought to expect it. Tourists, however, arrive in Florida with a certain sunny innocence. The presumption is that criminals ought to cut them a break.

  In fact, that seems to be happening. Metro-Dade Police report that robberies of tourists have declined sharply since last spring. The figures have drawn media notice and applause from the chambers of commerce.

  Buried in the stories was the fact that the total number of robberies in Dade has actually increa
sed, meaning the thugs are merely redirecting their felonious energies toward local residents. No one seems terribly concerned. The coverage of tourist crime offers a revealing lesson in competitive journalism.

  Not all tourists are equal in the eyes of the media. Foreign tourists are more valuable than domestic tourists, news-wise. The more exotic the tourist, the bigger the story.

  One rule is: The farther a person travels to come here, the more significant it is when he or she gets mugged. For example, the robbery of a British couple is automatically more newsworthy than the robbery of, say, golfers from Atlanta.

  The accepted method of rating tourist crime is the well-established Fitz-Sanchez Scale, which relies on both geographic and cultural disparities:

  • Category One Tourists are those from Great Britain, France, Germany, Spain, Scandinavia, Brazil, Chile, Australia, Japan and the Falkland Islands.

  • Category Two Tourists are from Canada, the Bahamas, Colombia, Bolivia, Peru, Panama, Mexico and Jamaica.

  • Category Three Tourists are from Nebraska, Kansas, Iowa, North Dakota, South Dakota, Maine and the Amish country of western Pennsylvania.

  • Category Four Tourists are from the Sunbelt.

  • Category Five Tourists are from New York, which means they're practically local.

  • Category Six Tourists are from elsewhere in Florida, and of marginal news value.

  In our quest to report every single offense committed against tourists, we have conveniently broadened definitions. A "tourist" is no longer just a person who comes for vacation; it can also be somebody who's down here to see relatives, or make airplane connections.

  When we're not really sure why they're in Florida, we refer to them as "visitors." This catch-all term suggests the same innocence as "tourists," and generates the same public outrage.