Kick Ass: Selected Columns Page 5

  Out of fairness, though, let's say a few sheltered souls remained clueless. Perhaps they didn't have a TV or radio.

  Fair enough. You pile the family into the car and head across the Rickenbacker Causeway. You park along Hobie Beach, unload the coolers, smear on the sunscreen, dash for the water … and there it is.

  A sign. DANGER, it says, in English and Spanish. Don't swim here. The water's contaminated!

  Now comes the moment of truth. You can almost hear Darwin's ghost. Surely these morons aren't going swimming in THAT crap! Not with their kids! Not with a warning sign right in front of their face!

  Wrong, Charlie baby.

  Into Biscayne Bay they wade by the score, splashing among the playful E. coli germs. TV stations featured the footage as part of their upbeat Independence Day coverage.

  To a scientist, the scene would seem irrefutable proof that the new theory is true—the human race is backsliding toward the primordial bog. At the very least, those swimmers should've been dragged from the water to have their chromosomes counted.

  Eons ago, when man lived in caves, dumb moves were often fatal moves. The quick and the smart survived, the slow and the dimwitted didn't. If one member of the tribe ate a berry and died, the others henceforth avoided those darn berries.

  Over time, humans advanced and grew sturdier.

  Not anymore. Now we've got seat belts, air bags, antibiotics and stomach pumps to save fools from their own mistakes. That's all right. Caring for others is one of the nobler traits of our species.

  The result, ironically, is that the genetic future of mankind isn't so rosy. Stragglers once culled from the herd now (in the absence of saber-toothed tigers) operate motor vehicles, watch Jerry Springer, cavort in pollution and even breed.

  Darwin would be truly worried. The evolutionary gap between the bacteria and us is closing.

  Give macho dogflghters real taste of action

  January 18, 1996

  As this is being written, a group of strangers—scientists, bystanders and tourists—are treading chilly water, trying to save some sick dolphins that beached near Stock Island at Key West.

  The urge to help weaker creatures is one of the nobler traits of human beings. Unfortunately, the kindness gene is not omnipresent in mankind. In a few notably stunted specimens, a cruelty gene remains dominant.

  Witness the arrests last weekend of 12 men at a filthy, makeshift dog-fighting arena in West Dade. Metro-Dade police say the fellows were festively gathered to watch pit bull terriers tear each other to shreds.

  "One of the most disgusting things I've seen in my life," said Sgt. Gary Shimminger of the Crime Suppression Team. "Despicable, really horrible.You're looking at these poor helpless dogs, and one of them had no face. Just gums and teeth."

  In case you're not aware of how dogfighting is conducted: The animals are turned loose against each other until one is either dead or so mangled it can no longer bite back, at which point the fun apparently goes out of the match.

  Bets are placed on the pit bulls before and during the battle, which customarily is accompanied by rousing shouts, heavy alcohol consumption and uncontrolled drooling (by both man and beast).

  The longer the fight continues—and the bloodier it becomes—the more cash changes hands. Thus it becomes profitable to prolong the carnage, and the suffering of the dogs.

  Although quite illegal, pit-bull fighting remains a popular pastime in certain circles of beetle-browed mutants and mouth-breathers. It's also a markedly masculine affair, torrents of testosterone being needed to get drunk and watch two simple-minded creatures maim each other.

  When police raided the dog pit last Friday, they found n injured terriers, which had been bred specifically for viciousness and biting tenacity. The animal whose face had been chewed off was euthanized right away. The same sad end awaits the others.

  As for the "sportsmen" apprehended at the scene, most face misdemeanor charges. Two of the defendants, allegedly caught holding bloodied dogs in the ring, are accused of baiting or fighting animals, a felony that carries a top fine of $5,000 and five years in the slammer.

  Should these fellows be found guilty, let me suggest that our prisons are too crowded with ruthless criminals to accommodate a couple of lowlife dog abusers. Let me also suggest that prison is far too good a place for them.

  I propose alternative sentencing—one that would make dogfighting less of a spectator sport and more of a true macho test. As a bonus, very little in the way of taxpayer resources would be required:

  1. Upon conviction, immediately put the two defendants in a squad car and return them to the dog pit.

  2. On the way, make a brief detour to Pet Warehouse and purchase approximately three dozen cans of Alpo. Either beef or chicken will do fine.

  3. Once the sportsmen are back at the pit, tether them to short leashes. Stake the leashes firmly into the ground.

  4. Open cans of Alpo.

  5. Smear chunks of Alpo on the sportsmen. Baste generously.

  6. Now reunite sportsmen with their surviving pets.

  7. Leave them in privacy for, say, eight or nine minutes.

  8. Return with Hefty bags and a WetVac to clean up.

  Oh, I almost forgot: No betting would be permitted on the terriers. However, modest wagers would be accepted on whether or not the defendants will ever again be eager to attend a dogfight.

  Dead shark nothing but a sound bite

  January 9, 1997

  Nothing chums up the media like a big, dead shark.

  It happened again this week when a commercial fishing boat hauled in a rare great white in the waters off Key Largo. For nearly two days, Miami TV stations went wild with the story. Some news programs even provided "team coverage."

  Team coverage of a dead fish.

  Depending on which channel you watched or which newspaper you read, the shark's length was either 16 feet, 17 feet, 18 feet or 20 feet. Its weight was reported variously between 1,000 and 2,000 pounds.

  The only facts of which you could be certain were:

  1. It was huge.

  2. It was deceased.

  3. It was a shark.

  It's easy to blame Steven Spielberg for the inane frenzy that accompanies the killing of a great white, but it's the media that have turned a fright movie fad into a dockside ritual.

  The phenomenon is exaggerated in tropical locales such as Florida, where (with the recent decline of tourist homicides), we're always on the lookout for new things to terrorize winter visitors. I'm all in favor of this, but not at the expense of the beleaguered shark.

  There was nothing mythic or Hemingwayesque about the capture of the great white near Pickles Reef. Longline fishermen laid out miles of hooks in deep water. The shark glomped one of the baits and became entangled.

  No epic battle occurred between man and beast. The fish was already stuck when the fishermen checked their rigs. A mechanical winch cranked up the line.

  The whole episode was no more heroic than a tow truck dragging an Oldsmobile out of a rock pit. Incredibly, the shark still was alive after being pulled back to the mainland, where it soon died. The swarms of gawkers were thicker than the flies.

  Traffic snarled. Cameras clicked. The media was alerted.

  A giant shark is a spectacular thing, without a doubt. A great white is one of those creatures that stirs in humans the most primitive of fears, even though we are statistically far more likely to die from a lightning bolt, a bee sting or a bowl of bad oysters.

  Still, nothing livens a sluggish news day like one of those razor-toothed leviathans, hanging by its tail in a marina. (Photographers adroitly avoided showing the regurgitated stomach.)

  Around the dead-shark shrine in Key Largo, the standard media question to wide-eyed onlookers was: "Does this make you afraid to go in the water?"

  Correct answer: "No, but I'll think twice about slathering myself in squid blood and dangling off a size 9/0 hook overnight in the Gulf Stream."

  As breathta
king as the sight of a dead i6-foot shark might be, the live ones are infinitely more awe-inspiring. They do not, however, hold quite so still for pictures.

  Even in the "team coverage" it was seldom mentioned that sharks, an essential marine predator, are disappearing from our oceans. They're being slaughtered disgracefully for their fins, which are sold for big money to Asian markets.

  The great white killed off of Key Largo was hoisted into the bed of a truck and hacked into pieces. Its dorsal and pectorals will someday season an expensive bowl of soup, consumed by a wealthy businessman hoping to bolster his sexual stamina.

  An even less noble end awaits the remainder of the fish. Its jaws were sold to a collector, and a few hunks of flesh went to bystanders. The carcass had been lying around for so long, without ice, that a seafood house in Tavernier didn't want any part it.

  Much of the great shark probably will turn up as chum, or as bait in crab traps.

  But you won't see that part of the story on the news. Dead meat doesn't rate, without the jaws.

  Corruption: Our growth industry

  May 3, 1998

  Miami civic leaders seem shellshocked by the announcement that Knight Ridder, parent company of the Herald, is moving its headquarters to Northern California.

  I say: Adios, corporate weasels. Who needs you?

  Oh, we really don't want to go—but we need to be in Silicon Valley with all that nifty, cutting-edge Internet technology.

  Yeah, right. The truth is, Knight Ridder's gone soft. Thrown in the towel. Turned yellow. It isn't tough enough to handle Miami anymore.

  So good riddance, cyberweenies. Enjoy your vineyards and your "majestic" redwoods and your scenic Pacific Coast Highway. We'll be just fine down here in the oppressive heat and the gunfire.

  For too long South Florida has done back flips to impress major firms, only to have them desert the place or go bankrupt (sometimes more than once). It's time to focus more positively on a steady, dependable, homegrown enterprise.

  I'm talking about corruption. That's the wave of the future. That's where the jobs are.

  Example: The U.S. attorney's office in Miami is doubling the size of its anti-corruption unit. The troop increase comes after a wave of scandals involving the County Commission, the Building Department, the Miami City Commission, the Miami elections and the Port of Miami.

  Some say epidemic corruption is bad for our image—in fact, it's cited as a reason many companies won't relocate here. And it's true that almost every institution, from the cops to the courts, has been stained by serious scandal in the past decade.

  But why not make the best of it? What's bad for a community's image isn't necessarily bad for the job market.

  A proper corruption investigation requires a massive law enforcement infrastructure, which means more employment opportunities—and not only for agents, prosecutors and judges.

  Think of each breaking scandal as its own job fair.

  Bugging the phones of crooked politicians, for example, will require hiring extra wiretap technicians. That means extra typists to transcribe the wiretaps, and extra clerks to photocopy the transcripts, and extra repairmen to replace the toner in the photocopy machines, and so on—all the way down to the extra process servers and bail bondsmen needed as the indictment draws near.

  Unlike newspapers, corruption is a growth industry. Knight Ridder's pullout will cost the area fewer than 150 jobs, a blip compared to what would be lost if there were no bribery and racketeering to fight.

  Think of the many millions of dollars trickling into the local economy as a result of every corruption probe—gas for the undercover cars, videotapes for the surveillance cameras, file cabinets for the plea-bargain agreements. And don't forget those hefty hotel and restaurant bills run up by conspirators, co-conspirators and snitches.

  Those who winced at the Knight Ridder headline Wednesday probably winced at this one Friday: "Port funds diverted to Democrats." The story: $120,000 mysteriously got funneled from the Port of Miami to the Democratic National Committee. The feds are on the case.

  Bad for business? Tell that to the FBI agents flying down to the Caymans to track seaport cash, or to the local travel agent who booked their flights, or to the cabbie who drove them to the airport, or to the local defense attorneys who will represent the accused.

  No, don't fret over the departures of Knight Ridder, Southeast Bank and Blockbuster. South Florida can be booming, in spite of them. When you're talking graft, you're talking jobs.

  Indicted? Act indignant

  August 23, 1998

  A new and entertaining South Florida custom is the pre-indictment press conference. The purpose is to declare one's innocence, in advance of arrest.

  Last Thursday, such an event was staged by two honchos of the Cuban American National Foundation. They're about to be charged in Botched Plot No. 4,877 to kill Fidel Castro.

  CANF President Francisco "Pepe" Hernandez and director Jose Antonio Llama sat before reporters to denounce their pending indictment, and indignantly blame it on pro-Castro sympathizers in the Clinton administration.

  (The appearance of indignation is vital to all pre-indictment press conferences. Equally important is cooking up a lurid conspiracy theory to explain why you are being singled out for prosecution.)

  Hernandez and Llama are in hot water because of what happened last fall off the coast of Puerto Rico. A 46-foot boat, La Esperanza, was boarded by the Coast Guard after reporting mechanical problems. A search turned up ammunition, bipods and two .50-caliber sniper rifles.

  One of the Cuban exiles on the boat reportedly admitted they were on their way to the Venezuelan island of Margarita to shoot Castro. The Cuban president was going there for the Ibero-American Summit.

  At first it seemed like just another bungled assassination plan. People are constantly plotting against Castro, and often the schemes end up on some broken-down boat, loaded with incriminating ammo.

  What made this one different was that the boat was owned by "Tofiin" Llama, and that one of the .50-caliber sniper rifles belonged to Pepe Hernandez. Both men have high-profile roles in CANF, the dominant anti-Castro lobby that claims not to support violence or terrorism.

  La Esperanza's fateful voyage began at a private dock in Coral Gables, one of many things that attracted the curiosity of U.S. authorities. Shortly after the exile crew was arrested, a San Juan grand jury began taking testimony. Indictments of Hernandez and Llama are expected Tuesday.

  At least that's the word from their attorneys, who did all of the talking at the pre-indictment press conference. One, the ubiquitous Jose Quinon, said the case against his clients was "politically motivated."

  Another lawyer, Manny Vasquez, elaborated: "The enemies of the embargo [against Cuba] are behind this action. When Castro snaps his fingers, our government jumps."

  It's a fabulous crock, of course, but even the flimsiest of conspiracy yarns appeals to some Castro haters and talk-radio addicts.

  Notably missing from the CANF leaders' pre-indictment press conference was a plausible counter-explanation for the suspicious facts of the case. On matters of evidence, the indignant attorneys and their indignant clients remained mum.

  How, for example, did Llama's boat come to be used in this screwball mission? Was he in the habit of loaning it to heavily armed pals for leisurely excursions to South America?

  And how did Hernandez's .50-caliber sniper rifle get aboard La Esperanza? Why does he even own such a ridiculous weapon—it's a tad excessive for plugging deer or squirrels, and the bulky bipod makes it impractical for everyday self-defense.

  Maybe it's all innocent coincidence—the boat, the sniper guns, the trip timed to Castro's arrival. Or maybe unnamed "enemies of the embargo" somehow orchestrated the whole fiasco-at-sea. But how?

  These and other questions that weren't answered at the pre-indictment press conference could be asked at trial—or again even later, if there's a post-conviction press conference, which is also becoming a South
Florida custom.

  Murder and Mayhem

  Can gun laws solve Dade's murder wave?

  July 31, 1985

  The FBI says Dade County is once again the murder capital of the United States, and we've been swamped with statistics to support the fact.

  The new numbers are ugly and they make headlines. Headlines, of course, inspire Civic Leaders to form committees and place blame and offer brilliant solutions.

  One says it's just drug dealers killing each other off; another sees a reprise of Mariel violence. Still another says the answer is putting more cops on the street.

  They've been saying all this for five years, and one gets the idea they might be missing the big picture. Murder is not just a passing public relations problem; it's here to stay.

  "It's too easy for people in public positions to give an easy answer," says Dr. William Wilbanks, criminal justice professor at Florida International University. "In a year in which murders are down, everybody wants credit. When murder goes up, everybody says, 'Don't look at me'."

  In the first place, the numbers aren't as bad as they seem. The body count actually has dropped dramatically since the nightmare years of 1980-1981.

  Secondly, the numbers aren't always complete. Experts point out that federal per capita murder statistics rely on outdated Dade County population figures that exclude thousands of illegal aliens and winter residents. If the murder rate were recomputed accurately, we'd surely lose our No. i national ranking.

  Thirdly, the numbers are not always compatible. The FBI reported that 425 people were murdered here in 1984.The Dade County medical examiner's office, where the corpses wound up, counted 462. This is how they were killed: gunshot wound (359), stabbing (40), beating (27), strangulation (8), child abuse (6), drowning (2), fire (7) and others (13).