by Carl Hiaasen
On Friday, Carollo produced a laughably vague affidavit (with all the names conveniently blacked out) alleging a sinister vote-buying scheme in the 1987 election.
Considering the margin by which Carollo got stomped that year, the only person rich enough to buy that many votes was Victor Posner, and he was busy with other charitable matters.
This year Carollo's chances are bolstered by the performance of his opponent, incumbent Miller Dawkins, who once threatened to burn down an AIDS counseling center.
No one on the City Commission has a keener aptitude for uttering dumb things at the worst possible times. For this reason, Dawkins' advisers have urged him to run a low-key race, and to say as little as possible.
This isn't easy when a notorious drug dealer such as Isaac Hicks is announcing that he gave thousands in cash to previous Dawkins campaigns. The candidate has carefully responded that he never engaged in such a slimy transaction, which was (for once) exactly what any smart person would say.
Next we have Rosario Kennedy seeking a commission seat for which she earnestly promised not to run.
Having lost the Democratic congressional primary, the ex-commissioner faces some old uncomfortable questions. Voters are still ticked off about the $111,000 refurbishing of her city office, and they're still curious about her friendship with celebrity tax swindler Monty Trainer.
On the bright side, Kennedy has always been honest when giving her street address, which is more than you can say for her opponent, Miriam "Have Zip Code, Will Travel" Alonso.
Alonso is best known for lying about where she lived in order to run for a Metro Commission seat. The falsely sworn election document was apparently insufficient evidence for the state attorney to prosecute, but it was enough for a judge to kick her off the ballot.
This time around, Alonso promised that she wouldn't try that kind of stunt. Still, you've got to wonder about the force of her ambitions.
She changed party affiliations three times in less than two years—evidence of either crass political opportunism, or a multiple-personality disorder. Most normal people don't switch record clubs three times in two years, not even for a dozen free albums.
So this is the roster from which Miami voters must choose new leadership. It's a shame that not one of the candidates comes without a history of having done or said something profoundly stupid, or downright dishonest.
It's also a shame that only a small number of eligible voters will make the selection for the majority. If those who stay home Tuesday are waiting for a candidate who inspires them, they could die of old age first.
Unfortunately, democracy in these times is less a quest for new heroes than an obstacle course through stale mediocrity. As disheartening as it is, sometimes you've got to choke down your feelings and vote for the lesser of two feebles.
Gersten vote to test savvy of metro voters
March 11, 1993
Sometimes an election is a community IQ test.
The city of Sunrise had one this week. Next Tuesday, it's Miami Beach's turn.
Sunrise did itself proud. An impressive 73 percent of voters decided that they didn't want a convicted extortionist as mayor. The shameless John Lomelo got tromped at the polls.
On Tuesday, a scandalized Joe Gersten runs for Metro Commission in District 5, which includes Miami Beach and part of downtown Miami. For Gersten to be elected would be a big upset—and a profound commentary on the collective intelligence of those voters.
For 11 months, Clueless Joe has been dodging prosecutors seeking to ask him about the curious events of last April 29, when the commissioner's now-legendary Mercedes-Benz was stolen. The car turned up in the hands of Biscayne Boulevard lowlifes, who said they'd swiped it while Gersten smoked dope and had sex with a hooker in a downtown crack house.
Gersten claimed the car was taken from his gated driveway in Coral Gables. For weeks he toured Europe and avoided questions about the incident. When he finally returned, he unsuccessfully resisted taking a drug test. The results didn't rule out the possibility that Gersten had smoked cocaine, but they indicated that he wasn't a regular user.
Joey declared vindication, a bit too soon.
Prosecutors collected the logs from his car phones, and tapes of conversations between the commissioner and the dirtbags who had his car. They took statements from Gersten's maid and fiancée that raised more questions about Joey's wanderings on April 29. And they found a cab driver who swore that he'd picked up a man resembling Gersten on Biscayne Boulevard that night, and drove him to Gersten's neighborhood in the Gables.
Only the hurricane kept the Gersten follies from becoming a running feature on the evening news. To this day, Joey refuses to give a sworn statement about what happened, refuses to disclose how he spent the evening. He says the sneaky State Attorney's Office is trying to trap him in a perjury rap, and he's hired a high-powered defense lawyer to fight the subpoena.
It's been quite a spectacle—an elected public official, desperately ducking his civic duty to take a simple oath and tell the truth.
Clueless Joe blames ruthless prosecutors and bloodthirsty reporters for his troubles, but it was he who called police about the missing Mercedes. It was he who provided the porous yarn about leaving his keys (and his briefcase and his gun) in the unlocked car while he strolled into the house to make a phone call.
But don't count Gersten out. Scandalized or not, he's been able to squeeze an amazing $250,000 in campaign donations out of bond brokers, builders and others who do business with the county, and who want to stay on Gersten's good side in the unlikely event that he wins.
Residents of District 5 recently got a letter from "The Friends of Joe Gersten," extolling the commissioner's virtues while reminding voters that he hasn't yet been charged with any crimes. The letter carried the names of such well-known political and community figures as state Rep. Mike Abrams, Simon Ferro, Jesse McCrary Barry Kutun, Georgia Ayers, Luis Sabines and Alan Potamkin.
Unfortunately, the letter tells you more about Gersten's "friends" than it does about Gersten. It's interesting that such civic pillars aren't sufficiently appalled by Joey's evasive conduct to make them set aside their political loyalties.
Maybe the voters will be suckered, maybe not. They've got 12 other choices, none of whom are hiding from prosecutors.
Ferre also owes voters an explanation
April II, 1993
Tales from the crypt: Maurice Ferre is back.
He is risen from the land of political losers to run for Metro Commission. Lucky for him, there's no law against deadbeats holding elected office in Florida.
If bad debts were pit bulls, the former Miami mayor would have lost his most crucial appendages a long time ago. No one but Ferre knows precisely how much he owes, because he conveniently neglected to report it on his campaign disclosure form, as required by the state.
Ferre is no stranger to noncompliance. When he launched this most recent campaign, he still owed $65,000 of a $70,000 fine for campaign-law violations dating to 1981. The debt recently was trimmed to $62,000 after Ferre kicked in a whopping $3,000 of his wife's dough.
He hasn't taken the fine too seriously, and for good reason. In 1983, the Dade state attorney sued for the money, but soon gave up the hunt. Janet Reno says she put the case aside because her investigators couldn't find any funds listed in the ex-mayor's name. Everything had been transferred to Ferre's wife, Mercedes.
Ferre says he did it when the family concrete business, Maule Industries, went belly up in the late 19705. At the time, the company's liabilities were reported at $23 million. Knowing creditors would be looking for him, Ferre basically gave all assets to his wife—an old dodger's trick, and a legal one.
It wouldn't even be noteworthy if Ferre was some private schlump who'd botched up a few business deals. He's more than that. He's running for a Metro Commission seat that will put him within lunging distance of a combined $3 billion budget.
It's perfectly proper for voters to demand de
tails of a candidate's finances, no matter how muddled. A man who can't balance his own checkbook, and doesn't pay his debts, is a poor choice for handling taxpayer dollars. Ferre's wife, in fact, would seem a more sensible selection.
The ex-mayor solemnly claims to have no assets. He describes himself as an international businessman, but insists he's earned no money—not a dime—since Maule dissolved about 15 years ago. So what's he been up to?
He travels regularly to Puerto Rico and Latin America, where he supposedly assembles complicated mega-deals for other companies. Are we to believe he does it just for the sport? "I put deals together," Ferre explained to a reporter, "and will be paid in the future." What a curious arrangement.
In the meantime, he enjoys a "very nice lifestyle" supported by a "very substantial income" from his wife's family holdings. This, while continuing to stiff the good citizens of Florida for $62,000.
If Mercedes Ferre doesn't wish to cover the balance of her husband's court-ordered fine, that's her business. But it's hard to understand why Ferre himself has made no serious effort to make good on the debt. He's a bright, able-bodied, well-spoken fellow. Why doesn't he get a paying job?
By now, he could have settled the entire matter for a measly six grand a year. Bagboys at Publix do better than that. Of course, even part-time work might interfere with the "very nice lifestyle" to which the ex-mayor is accustomed.
Under fire in the District 7 Metro race, Ferre vows to obey the law and pay off the outstanding 62 grand … gradually. The state attorney has made no move to collect.
Too bad it's not a Visa bill. At 18 percent annually, Ferre's 12-year slide would have compounded to a robust $473,686. And those people, like some voters, never ever forget.
Campaigns for mayoral race, so far, so bad
August 22, 1993
The best way for voters to endure the dismal Miami mayoral race is to think of it not merely as another parade of fools, but as a vaudeville audition.
With the election more than two months away, the campaign has already degenerated into a promising orgy of mudslinging and petty sabotage. The three major candidates—Miami Commissioner Miriam Alonso, former Metro Mayor Steve Clark and T. Willard Fair, head of the Urban League—all allege slimeball behavior by their opponents.
The question for Miami voters isn't whether the candidates engage in dirty tricks. It's a given that most of them do. The issue is the quality of these new dirty tricks. Are they personal enough, vicious enough, deceptive enough and craven enough to uphold the city's sewer-rat tradition of scummy politics?
So far, so bad.
Now appearing on many cars are fluorescent bumper stickers that proclaim: "Miriam Alonso is a Communist." Well, Alonso is not a Communist, and every self-respecting Communist ought to be offended at the suggestion. The party's got enough headaches in Miami without having the shrill and conniving Alonso as a member.
On the question of temperament, tabloid newspapers now circulating in Little Havana enigmatically describe the commissioner as "erratic and crazy." Is this propaganda intended to be anti-Alonso, or pro-Alonso? In some precincts, being erratic and crazy would make you the odds-on favorite.
Alonso says the nasty bumper stickers and newspapers can be traced to Steve Clark and his main supporter on the Miami commission, Victor deYurre. The reason that Clark needs a pal on the commission is (in his own words): "I don't know exactly what's going on down at City Hall because I haven't been there for 20 years."
In fact, Clark has made a career of claiming not to know what's going on, and not being there when it was. Still, he is justifiably irked by insinuations from the Alonso camp that, at 69, he's too old to be a forceful mayor. To be fair, Clark never claimed to be a forceful mayor. Hundreds of weekday golfing partners can attest to his devotion to leisure.
Raising questions about Clark's age and alertness is a risky proposition for Alonso. After all, it was she who completely forgot where she lived—and in fact, gave the wrong address—when running for office a few years ago. Perhaps both she and Clark would consent to mutual CAT scans to allay constituent concerns about possible impairment.
A new face in the political cross fire is T. Willard Fair, although he's not unacquainted with controversy. Writing in the Miami Times, Fair (who is black) has attacked other black leaders by naming them "nigger of the year." No fine trophy or plaque accompanies this dubious award.
Fair's opponents have been reminding black voters of his bluntness and have suggested that such coarse tendencies are potentially dangerous in a city where racial tensions lie close to the surface. Fair is also being slammed for failing to support Dade's black tourism boycott. To note that Clark and Alonso didn't support the boycott either would only spoil a perfectly bad dirty trick.
For all his bombast, Fair is easily the smartest of the three mayoral candidates, which automatically makes him the long shot. Alonso, the loudest of the trio, is presumed the front-runner. Clark, heavily bankrolled by developers, is running a strong and defiantly lackluster second. While the race is off to a truly disgraceful start, it will require all the candidates' energy to stay gutter-bound between now and Nov. 2.1 have every confidence they'll sink to the occasion.
Wacko factor gives city voters a tough choice
October 30, 1993
On Tuesday, thousands of South Floridians can drop to their knees and quietly give thanks that they don't live in the city of Miami.
Nov. 2 is Election Day, and it appears likely that Steve Clark and Miriam Alonso will be in a runoff for mayor. The campaign, as reprehensible as predicted, leaves nauseated voters to ponder the question: Which of these characters will embarrass us the least? Four categories should be considered:
1. General nutty behavior.
Say what you will about Steve Clark, he's not a volatile guy. It takes energy to be volatile.
Miriam Alonso, on the other hand, is frequently shrill, abrasive and emotional. Her 911 call after a routine burglary took the form of wild raving against the police. The potential for future wacko antics seems boundless.
2. Saying dumb things.
This one's a toss-up. Both candidates say dumb things all the time. For instance, Clark still insists that corruption and shoddy construction had nothing to do with the massive damage by Hurricane Andrew.
Meanwhile, Alonso babbles about secret Anglo conspiracies to purge Cuban Americans from office, exhorting supporters: "Whip in hand, we have to expel those who come to destroy our people!"
The image of Miriam Alonso going after Steve Clark with a whip … well, it's enough to give S-and-M a bad name.
3. Doing dumb things.
Again, Clark has the advantage here. In order to do something dumb, one must do something. Clark seldom does.
As Metro mayor, he rarely cast a vote without consulting the zoning lawyers, lobbyists and developers who put him in office. Freed from the burden of independent thinking, Clark was able to hurl himself into the task of signing proclamations and snipping ribbons—low-risk assignments that were virtually impossible to screw up.
As Miami commissioner, Alonso has done a few dumb things. After a German tourist was murdered, Alonso announced that she was jetting overseas to assure folks that Miami was a sane and normal place. Tourist officials urged her not to go, but the commissioner went anyway, an exceptionally stupid stunt. There is little evidence that the Germans were charmed.
4. Likelihood of indictment and/or arrest.
This category is crucial everywhere but Hialeah. In most cities, voters prefer that mayors not be busted for major felonies until their term of office is over. It's not just humiliating, it's costly—changing all the stationery from "Mayor's Office" to "Suspended Mayor's Office."
It's hard to say which Miami front-runner is most likely to get nabbed in office. As Metro mayor, Clark was secretly recorded during an FBI bribery probe and called to testify in Alcee Hastings' impeachment hearings. The entire U.S. Senate decided Clark's testimony was not credible, but he wa
sn't charged with a crime.
Alonso was equally lucky. She flat-out lied about where she lived in order to qualify for a Metro commission race. The law says you can't do that, but the State Attorney's Office let it slide.
Having survived close calls, both candidates are cautious. Neither is likely to get indicted for the first few months, at least.
There are other ways to embarrass the city, and either Clark or Alonso is eminently capable of breaking new ground. Who'd be worse? The choice is so repugnant that many voters yearn for alternatives.
Four other mayoral candidates do appear on Tuesday's ballot. None could bring more ridicule to Miami than the front-runners already have. It's not humanly possible.
Hialeah's new convict-mayor government
November 11, 1993
The good people of Hialeah have spoken. As incredible as it seems to the outside world, they want a convicted extortionist to be their mayor again.
Go ahead and laugh; Lawton Chiles isn't. The governor announced Wednesday that he won't attempt to suspend Raul Martinez for a second time.
For Chiles, it was a no-win situation. Yanking Martinez from office would have subverted the will of many Hialeah voters. Yet leaving him in City Hall gives the impression that Florida tolerates crooks in high places, particularly crooks with the same political affiliation as the governor. It's a messy dilemma.
Most normal cities would be deeply ashamed to have a felon as mayor, but on Tuesday, Hialeah declared—if by the slimmest of margins—that it is beyond shame.
So give the people what they want. Those 14,540 stalwarts who cast their ballots for Martinez surely gave thought to the consequences. Some obviously believe he is innocent, and some obviously don't care. Either way, they've decided that the advantages of having a convict-mayor outweigh the disadvantages.
