Kick Ass: Selected Columns of Carl Hiaasen

Only a fool fails to follow these rules September 19, 1986

Florida's new tourism jingle is catching some flak, and this is too bad. The $4 million slogan, unveiled this week, is: "FLORIDA—The Rules Are Different Here."

This is the first honest tourist slogan we've had in a long time, and it's a shame that a few naysayers are picking on it. The rap against the new jingle is that people in the country's heartland might misconstrue the part about how "the rules are different here."

What's to misconstrue? Accept the phrase exactly for what it says and you have a public service announcement; a friendly warning, if you will. We should be delighted that our tourism promoters finally are taking a responsible approach.

Fort Lauderdale Police Chief Ron Cochran says the new tourist pitch is "about the dumbest thing I ever heard." He says it promotes an image of rampant lawlessness. I say it merely informs.

By way of counterattack, Beber, Silverstein, the agency that developed the Rules campaign, hired a big research company to go out and interview 11 New Yorkers to see if they were scared off by the jingle. Why it required a big research company to find 11 talkative New Yorkers I'm not sure. Naturally the New Yorkers said no, the slogan didn't scare them away from Florida. These people had all taken the subway to Yankee Stadium and obviously were not scared by anything.

The problem with the new go-Florida campaign is not the slogan, but some of the rules they dreamed up to go along with it. For instance: "You must remove your wingtips before going swimming."

Or: "You must get suntanned in a place you've never been tan before." Or: "You are required to watch at least one sunrise."

These rules are sort of cute—maybe not 4 million bucks worth of cute, but medium cute. Collectively, however, they hardly present the exotic, Vice-ish image of Florida that Yuppie travelers all over America are hungering for.

What potential tourists really need is some useful advice, because the rules down here are definitely different.

RULE NO. 1: You must remove your Beretta shoulder holster before going swimming.

RULE NO. 2: You must get wounded in a place you've never been wounded before.

RULE NO. 3: At spring break you must never stand for too long beneath a hotel full of drunken college kids.

RULE NO. 4: You must never stop on Interstate 95 to ask directions from a teenager holding a cinderblock.

RULE NO. 5: You are required to watch at least one sunrise, because that's what time the 10 P.M. Metrobus finally shows up.

RULE NO. 6: You must never light a cigar with 12 drums of pure ether in the back of your car.

RULE NO. 7: You must never wear your beeper into the sauna.

RULE NO. 8: You are required to take home at least a dozen giant Bufo toads as souvenir doorstops.

RULE NO. 9: You must stand in line for three hours outside Joe's Stone Crab, only to be mistakenly rounded up in a Border Patrol sweep of South Beach.

RULE NO. 10: You must never wear a tie to your arraignment.

RULE NO. 11: You must never, ever use your turn signal while changing lanes.

RULE NO. 12: You must never open your front door to a gang of armed men wearing police badges, black Ray bans and rubber Ed Meese masks. You must never believe them if they tell you all Florida cops drive unmarked Maseratis.

RULE NO. 13: You must never carry correct change when going through a busy tollbooth, and always spend as much time as possible chatting with the cashier about which way Sea World is.

RULE NO. 14: At the first sight of an actual Florida alligator you must pull off the road and feed it enormous bags of Toll House cookies until it grows so tame that it eats your dachshund.

RULE NO. 15: You must not be alarmed to discover that two entire floors of your hotel have been rented out to the federal Witness Protection Program.

Auto trunks are no place to park bodies January 21, 1987

Bust our buttons! This week's crime news brings another unique distinction to Dade County: The Car-Trunk Murder Capital of the United States.

Last year local automobile trunks yielded a record number of homicide victims (12), a statistic provoking comment from no less an authority than Dr. Joseph Davis, the unflappable chief medical examiner.

"Years ago," he reflected, "if you found somebody dead in a trunk, it was unusual. There was a great deal of interest. Now it's a ho-hum thing."

Your basic car-trunk case goes like this: Some poor soul is out walking his poodle or pulling into the shopping mall when he notices a Foul Odor emanating from another car.

Next the police are summoned, the trunk of the offending vehicle (usually a late-model, luxury sedan) is pried open and therein discovered one or more extremely dead persons who, more likely than not, have had a passing attachment to the narcotics trade.

A seamy spectacle, to be sure. "Not a pleasant scene to go to," says Metro-Dade detective Al Singleton.

"It's a bother," Dr. Davis agrees. "Another thing that's annoying … now you find a car parked at the airport—stinks to high heaven—and for some reason you have to wait six hours while they go find a judge to get a court order to open the thing up! Everybody knows there's a body inside."

Twelve car-trunkers out of 438 homicides is scarcely an epidemic, but for 1986 it certainly puts us at the head of the pack, per capita. (Admittedly, national statistics are somewhat elusive in this area. Believe it or not, most large metropolitan areas don't keep a separate category for car-trunk murders.)

Assuming that the illicit drug business will be with us for a long time, and assuming that a natural by-product of the business is murder, we can only conclude that the problem of corpse disposal will also persist.

On behalf of all hard-working homicide cops and coroners, I'd like to make a public plea for a moratorium on car-trunk murders.

1. It's a lazy and unimaginative method of getting rid of dead drug dealers. Granted, a few old Mafia traditionalists still use car trunks, but only because New York has so little open space for regular dumping.

2. The car-trunk method is rude and very annoying to everyone else in the neighborhood. It is the homicidal equivalent of not picking up after one's self.

3. It ruins a perfectly good car. A dead body in the trunk destroys the resale value of any automobile, with the possible exception of a Ford Pinto.

At the risk of sounding heartless, I really don't give a hoot how many dope dealers are killed by other dope dealers, as long as the deed occurs in private and poses no threat to the innocent.

Dade County had its famous spate of public machine-gunnings a few years back, but lately the bad guys have been more considerate about where they settle their disputes. A common preference is the remote dirt-road executions that my police friends so sensitively refer to as "Krome Avenue Specials."

For one unseemly stretch we also had a run on drug-related dismemberments in Biscayne Bay. Fortunately for the beach tourist industry, this trend abated quietly.

Experts are at a loss to explain the resurgence of the car-trunk method, but part of the blame belongs in Detroit. Back in the mid-'/os, when the gas crunch and Japanese imports forced U.S. automakers to go compact, you almost never read about dead bodies found in trunks. The trunks were just too darn small.

However, in the oil-glutted '8os, Ford, GM and Chrysler all increased production of mid- and full-sized cars—cars with roomy trunks. Drug assassins responded enthusiastically.

Says Dr. Davis: "It sure shows they have a lot of cars to spare."

Another good reason to ride the Metrorail.

Local leaders need to foster pride, not panic July 20, 1987

Someone please administer heavy sedatives to certain downtown types so they will quit convulsing about the New York Times.

As everybody knows, the Times magazine published a cover story yesterday that asked the musical question: "Can Miami Save Itself?" The article was subtitled "A City Beset by Drugs and Violence."

Actually the headlines had little to do with the text of the article, but it was enough to provoke the usual gnashing of teeth among the Guardians of Our Sacred Tropical Image.

Indignantly they declared that the Times piece was "grossly exaggerated," a perfect description of their own reaction. They also whined that author Robert Sherrill downplayed the wonderfulness of Dade County while dredging up all that nasty old stuff about cocaine cowboys, Mariel murders and racial tensions.

This criticism is not only inaccurate, it's ludicrous. In assessing Miami's current national image, it is impossible not to discuss the indelible traumas of the early 19805. If anything, Sherrill was merciful for not dwelling on more current events.

Consider a few everyday news items:

• The statewide prosecutor has publicly apologized for unknowingly buying stolen suits, which he said he needed to look nice for an upcoming corruption trial.

• The so-called River Cops case has swelled into the worst police scandal in local history—you now need a calculator to add up all the former city cops implicated in drug-rip-off-murder schemes.

• Meanwhile, a new group of international narco-assassins—these from Jamaica—has relocated its headquarters in Dade and Broward counties, where it's easy to get parts and servicing for their MAC- ids.

• To ensure that our Dodge City reputation never ebbs, many South Florida legislators backed a new state gun law that enables practically any glassy-eyed psychopath to arm himself on a whim.

• And, oh yes, the state attorney general recently was asked to give an opinion on whether animal sacrifices were permissible in Hialeah.

Image problem? What image problem? How could the Times suggest such a thing?

Face it, things get bizarre in these latitudes. Consequently, every magazine that strives for hipness has taken a crack at Miami—Esquire, Vogue, the Village Voice, the New York Review of Books, the New Yorker, and there will be more. Writers come down here because it's interesting, in the best and worst sense.

By now you'd think the Civic Pillars would have the brains to shrug it off, but no. The county manager, who had not yet read the Times article, boldly announced that "we're going to take a public stand." (Quick—call the networks. A public stand!)

Then, two days before the magazine actually appeared, an emergency meeting was convened at the Grand Bay Hotel to plot counterpublicity.

The session was closed to the public, so God only knows what was dreamed up. Perhaps it was a list of alternative headlines for submission to the Times corrections department: "Miami—We're Doing Our Best, So Lay Off!" Or: "A City Beset By Snotty Press Articles." Something mature like that.

In critiquing the Times' presentation, it should be noted that the magazine used a photograph of a mock drug bust staged by U.S. Customs. This was undeniably sloppy, but would a picture of the real thing have made the Chamber of Commerce any happier? Probably not.

The publicized summit at the Grand Bay Hotel accomplished at least one thing: It sold a heap of Sunday newspapers for the New York Times. If I were Publisher Sulzberger, I'd send citrus-scented thank-you notes to the whole Beacon Council.

For the record, Bob Sherrill's article does not portray Dade County as the sludge pit of the universe, so take your medicine and calm down. There's nothing wrong with civic pride, but civic panic is embarrassing.

Newsweek story glitz-wraps same old city January 20, 1988

You probably noticed the restraint with which this paper greeted the current Newsweek cover story, bannering it across the front page like a new Soviet arms treaty. The reason is simple: Anytime anyone anywhere says anything nice about Dade County, it's front-page news.

Still shell-shocked from last summer's New York Times profile, local tourism honchos had huddled heavily sedated in underground bunkers to await the Newsweek piece, predictably titled: "Miami—America's Casablanca."

After a quick review, the boosters proclaimed the portrait to be darned near positive, and called off plans to mewl, sulk and fly to New York in protest.

The fact is, the content of the Newsweek story is not much different from what stirred up a storm last July in the Times. The real difference is the tropical caption and the pretty pictures.

Let's begin with the cover: There's the glorious new skyline (photographed at such a distance where you can't see all the vacant office space), set behind a tranquil Miami River (photographed at such an angle that the water somehow appears blue) .

And no wonder everybody's celebrating! In three years this is the first nationally published picture of the Miami River that did not feature dead drug dealers on the end of a coroner's gaff.

Most of the other Newsweek photography is equally flattering—more skyline, a sunset, the Fontainebleau Hilton, a parade through Little Havana. As for dramatic photos of cocaine busts, there's just one teensy-weensy shot of a crack arrest. Big deal.

By contrast, the text itself mentions the C word no less than 12 times, including this passage: "You cannot understand Miami without under-standing cocaine, either. Miami is supersaturated with cocaine and cocaine money."

Whoa there, Beacon Council, no need to panic. The very next sentence puts an upbeat spin on the drug climate: "The point many tourists over-look, however, is that the core of Miami's cocaine problem is on the wholesale, not retail level."

So bring the kiddies on down!

Any national story about Dade County must also be rated by the PAN factor—the ratio of positive to negative adjectives. My friend Tom Morganthau, who wrote the main Newsweek story, obviously plundered Roget's in search of superlatives.

At one point he calls Miami an "almost lunatic concatenation of ethnicity, glitz and restless energy." Since Tom is one of only three persons in the whole universe who know what "concatenation" means, he might be forced to defend himself solely on the "lunatic" issue.

A sample of the positive adjectives used to depict Dade County include "unique," "bustling," "prosperous," "newfangled," "proud," "jazzy," "cocky," "mellow," "multicultural," "exciting," "exotic" and "sensuous."

The only thoroughly negative adjective: "dangerous."

Unfortunately, according to the South Florida PAN factor, one lousy "dangerous" in a big magazine article wipes out "unique" and "bustling" and even "exciting"—but that still leaves "exotic" and "sensuous."

Which brings up this Casablanca business.

Miami is everything Newsweek says it is, but if I read one more story calling it America's Casablanca, I'm going to start a petition drive.

In fact, Miami is not at all like Casablanca. For one thing, the handgun laws are much tougher there.

Despite the glow, Newsweek did not overlook our poverty, discrimination, culture clashes or crime. While noting a decline in the homicide rate, the magazine observed that "no sane Dade County resident leaves his door unlocked."

Though true, this comment will not inspire cartwheels among our local image shepherds, nor will the sub-headline characterizing Miami as a "city of wheelers, dealers and refugees."

That's the bad news.

The good news is, they put in a map.

Super Bowl boosters in taxi tizzy November 21, 1988

Pre-Super Bowl panic has already set in among the custodians of Miami's national image. The first targets of reform are taxi drivers, who are being coached, cajoled and strong-armed into a show of manners.

The dread of tourism officials is that a vulnerable visitor (and we all know how sensitive football fans can be) might encounter a gruff or opportunistic cabbie.

In truth, the odds of this happening are no greater than that of being gouged for a hotel room, gouged for game tickets, gouged for lousy food and, finally, gouged for dopey souvenirs such as official Super Bowl ashtrays and official Super Bowl kazoos.

Which is to say that the prime mission of Super Bowl Week is to separate the tourist from as much of his money as can be pried from his pale little paws.

It is demonstrably easier to accomplish this gentle larceny if one is courteous to the victim during the act. Thus, the urgency of the Miami Nice campaign.

If you wondered why no special courtesy classes for taxi drivers are held in the off-season, the answer is simple: There's no reason to impress the locals.

If you live here and have to call a cab, it's probably because your car was stolen, the bus broke down, you're miles from the Metrorail and you desperately need to get away from some place (say, the scene of a major felony). At this point, you don't really care whether the taxi driver is nice or not, as long as he knows the accelerator from the brake.

As any airport traveler can attest, Dade County has some excellent cabbies, and it also has some cretinous loons. With the Super Bowl blitz bearing down on us, the Metro Commission is considering a schedule of fines to penalize taxi drivers for sins against tourists.

These are absolutely real:

• $50 for failure to maintain neat appearance!

• $200 for smoking without the customer's permission.

• $200 for soliciting tips.

• $200 for abusive language.

• $50 if the cab has a broken air conditioner.

• $50 for a dirty trunk.

• $200 for taking the longest route in order to hike up the fare.

• (my personal favorite) $200 if the driver is carrying a deadly weapon.

Currently, taxi industry officials are negotiating the amounts of these fines with the Metro staff. The preliminary plan is all right, as far as it goes. However, the commission needs to expand the list of fines to include other possible taxi-tourist confrontations:

• $200 for charging passengers "per kilo" of luggage.

• $150 for having a body in the trunk.

• $75 for soliciting tips with a deadly weapon.

• $200 for abusing customers in two or more languages.

• $100 for taking the "Homestead By-Pass" to Miami Beach.

• $50 for cleaning livestock on the dashboard without the passenger's permission.

• $75 for asking the customer to give you a back rub and a quick pedicure.

• $50 for hanging more than one soiled undershirt from the antenna.

• $100 for forcing riders to stand up in the back seat so you can "play Popemobile" along Biscayne Boulevard.

• $ 150 for bragging to passengers about the results of your latest urinalysis.

• $75 for failure to scrape slow-footed windshield washers off your grille.

The civil penalties suggested by Metro sound tough, but they won't make our streets any nicer. No sane tourist is going to hang around South Florida long enough (or return at a later date) to testify against a rude cabbie—especially a rude cabbie who carries a gun.

Besides, smart taxi drivers know that they don't have to fleece out-of-town passengers or hustle big tips to make a fortune during Super Bowl Week.

All they've got to do is pick up their customer on game day and head out to Joe Robbie Stadium. It's a gold mine, stuck in that wretched quagmire of traffic, watching the meter run and run and run.

Sometimes, dolphins get wrong idea February 9, 1990

Add this to the list of bizarre things that South Florida tourists can worry about: getting goosed by Flipper.

Strange but true. It has happened at Florida Keys attractions where customers are allowed to get into the water with captive bottlenose dolphins. Usually the dolphins are well-behaved, but occasionally adult males become sexually aroused and make their intentions known.

This is one reason that Florida's Department of Natural Resources has recommended banning swim-with-the-dolphin programs. In a controversial report to the National Marine Fisheries Service, the DNR says that closing the swim shows will prevent injuries to humans, protect the dolphins from catching human diseases and discourage the taking of the marine mammals from the wild.

Operators of Florida's three attractions—Dolphin Plus in Key Largo, Theater of the Sea in Islamorada and the Dolphin Research Center on Grassy Key—say the swim programs are educational and harmless.

They are also profitable. Theater of the Sea charges $50 to swim with the dolphins. For another $50 you can buy a videotape of your dolphin encounter.

If you're not careful, that video could be rated X.

Alan Huff of the state marine lab in St. Petersburg says there are no reliable statistics about "negative incidents" at the dolphin parks, but adds: "We do know that older male dolphins become less trainable and exhibit behavior that is undesirable for a swim program." This includes physical aggression as well as sexual overtures.

A Miami legal secretary who was recently accosted said trainers had warned her of the possibility. In the dolphin mating ritual, it's known as an "erection roll." The male flips the female over and … well, you can guess the rest.

Soon after entering the water, the secretary noticed that one of the dolphins was rubbing against her in an unmistakably amorous way. "He liked me a lot," she recalled. Suddenly the animal spun her in the water and swam across her back.

"The guy's yelling, 'Roll with it! Roll with it!' I'm going, 'What the hell's going on? Get him away from me!' I was really scared." It's not easy to say no to 700 pounds of tumescent porpoise.

The swim shows in the Keys forbid customers from grabbing or bothering the dolphins, but sometimes the animals get ideas of their own. They can be aloof, or extremely sociable.

Some animal rights advocates say the mammals are being exploited, which is nothing new. Porpoise shows have been a staple of Florida tourism for decades. Is swimming with a tourist any worse than jumping through a Hula Hoop for a hunk of dead mullet? Probably not.

What's more, doctors have reported great progress among disabled and retarded children who've been allowed to interact with the Keys porpoises.

Getting in the water with these magnificent animals is a thrill, but usually more for the humans than the dolphins. If you were to jump into Biscayne Bay near a wild school, it would most likely head for Bimini. Porpoises remain far less fascinated by us than we are by them.

While there are only four dolphin swim attractions in the country, some experts fear they will proliferate because of the money. Imagine the disaster if every tacky oceanside motel decided to buy a Flipper and invite tourists in for $50 a dip. Fortunately, regulations on the capture and display of marine mammals are fairly strict.

Within a few weeks, the U.S. government will decide what to do about the swim programs. Many feel the DNR's position is too harsh.

For example, Dr. Gregory Bossart, a veterinary pathologist at the Miami Seaquarium, says there is no evidence that diseases can be easily transmitted between dolphins and humans. But he also believes that swim programs must be rigidly controlled and each dolphin carefully selected for participation.

"Some are real friendly, some aren't," he says. "Personally, I would be hesitant about getting in the water with some of the male dolphins I know."

Will we end up swallowing this new tax? April 2, 1990

Everything you need to know about the latest version of Metro's proposed 2 percent food-and-beverage tax:

Q. Where does the money go?

A. The estimated $3.5 million in annual revenue will go to tourism.

Q. Wait a second. Wasn't part of the tax supposed to pay for a new drug treatment center, and economic redevelopment in the black community?

A. You're thinking of the old tax, the one they screwed up last time. The new tax is just for the tourism industry.

Q. Why do we need a tax to promote that?

A. The Greater Miami Convention and Visitors Bureau says the money is necessary to finance a national advertising campaign to attract more tourists to South Florida ...

Q. Wait a second. The convention bureau—isn't that the same bunch who spent $^00,000 moving into lavish new offices?

A. Well, yeah—

Q. The same bunch who spent $270,000 on a fish-tank display at a travel convention in Budapest?

A. Hey, it was a very impressive fish tank—

Q. The same bunch who was literally going broke this time last year, borrowing $ i million to cover their red ink? And the top guy, George Kirkland—wasn't he the one who charged the bureau for $i,ooo-a-night hotel rooms in Europe?

A. Yeah, but—

Q. Well, no wonder they need the dough.

A. Hold on, now. Mr. Kirkland recently left to take another job ...

Q. What—gone already? Boy, he really fell head-over-heels in love with Miami, huh?

A. The point is, it's a new day with bold new leadership. The tourism people say we need this tax money to promote South Florida in a competitive national market.

Q. What's the big problem with our image?

A. Oh, the usual. Crime, drugs, poverty, corruption, chronic racial and ethnic tensions. Noth/ng that a catchy new slogan won't obscure.

Q. Other big cities such as New York and Chicago have similar social problems. How do these places attract so many tourists?

A. One word: sophistication. For example, in other major cities, civic leaders rarely have their semiautomatic assault rifles stolen from their bedrooms. Also, they tend not to name public streets after cocaine dealers. In Dade County, such recurring incidents have created an undesirable kind of national publicity.

Q. Say the tax passes. What if they waste the money on some really goofy advertising campaign, like: "Come to Miami! Sun, Surf—and DEA on Every Corner!"

A. Hey, that's not half-bad. Let me get a pencil.

Q. Seriously, how do we know they aren't going to spend the $3.5 million on more fish tanks in Budapest?

A. Don't worry. They'd never take a great idea like that and beat it into the ground.

Q. So, how does this new food tax differ from all the others that were proposed?

A. Apparently somebody's actually read this one.

Q. What businesses will be affected by the tax?

A. The new tax should apply only to hotels and motels, though you can never be sure. Last time we were told that only large restaurants would be affected, when in fact all establishments with liquor licenses would have been taxed.

Q. How did such a monumental fiasco happen?

A. No one seems to know. The Metro commissioners say they were never told precisely what the food tax would do. The lobbyists who were paid big bucks to push for the tax said they were too darn busy to examine it closely. Meanwhile the county attorney swears that he knew what it said all along, but no one ever asked him to explain—

Q. Whoa, back up. Do you mean to say that these geniuses were going to vote on a tax they didn't even understand?

A. That's about the size of it.

Q. So, how do we know they aren't pulling the same stunt again?

A. Hmmmm. That's a good question.

Q.Well?

A. I'm thinking, I'm thinking.

Santeria ritual not quite to tourists' tastes April 5, 1991

On a recent drug raid in Northwest Dade, police discovered the messy remains of chickens, turtles and a headless goat. "I don't know what all this represents," mused a police spokesman, "but I know it's alarming."

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 live 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 increased, 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.

Some locals complain that the new obsession with tourist crime is rooted mainly in economic panic. True, robbers tend to steal from our winter visitors the thing we Floridians cherish most—their money.

But only a hard-core cynic would insinuate that our interest in protecting tourists stems from anything but true compassion. Someday, if we've got any left over, we'll show the same concern for the folks who live here year-round.

Blacking out Channel 7 unplugs the local color June 5, 1994

Thousands of tourists are being deprived of one of South Florida's greatest cultural treasures, the nightly newscast on WSVN-Channel 7.

To protest the station's preoccupation with crime, some hotels have begun blocking WSVN's news from their guests' rooms. This stringent step is being taken to guard the tender sensibilities of visitors, in the same way that grown-ups lock the cable box so the kids won't sneak a peek at the Playboy Channel.

The Continental Cos., which owns several local hotels, declared that it was fed up with WSVN's nightly dose of violent video. Another hotelier complained that tourists "look at Channel 7, and they're afraid to go out on the street."

So what? Many folks who live here are afraid to go out on the streets, and it's got nothing to do with Channel 7. It's that evening lullaby of semiautomatic gunfire and police sirens that tends to discourage social excursions in some neighborhoods.

True, on a slow news day, anchor Rick Sanchez can make a routine domestic shooting sound like a sniper attack on an orphanage. But any out-of-towner who doesn't recognize silly hype when he sees it deserves to be scared out of his trousers.

Queasy tourists we don't need. Give us the tough ones. The wily and the battle-hardened. The adventurers.

The hotels' contention that one reckless TV station can frighten off business is a backhanded compliment to Channel 7's cold-blooded programming strategy; people do watch. On the other hand, there are nights when even MacNeil-Lehrer scares the hell out of me. The world can be a scary place.

Whether they're from Oshkosh or Oslo, most of our tourists aren't easily intimidated. Gun battle on South Beach? No problem. Tonight we'll go to the Grove.

Whatever horrors might appear on the TV screen at six and eleven, these intrepid travelers won't waste their precious vacations cowering in a $150 hotel room. They will put on bright telltale clothes. They will go outdoors. They will spend money.

Unless they've been living in a cave for the last 15 years, would-be tourists are well aware that Florida has guns, drugs, nuts and social unrest. To shield them completely from the daily flow, hotels would be forced to zap all local news off the cable.

Channel 7 merely offers a more elaborate smorgasbord than the others. Sure, it's everything the critics say it is—sensationalistic, lubricious and irresponsibly gruesome. If Jeffrey Dahmer lived here, Channel 7 undoubtedly would be his favorite station.

Yet its hard-gore news format has drawn good ratings, worldwide press attention and imitators around the country. Like it or not, Channel 7 is famous.

That's why hotels such as the Grand Bay in the Grove and the Pier House in Key West shoot themselves in the cash register by yanking Rick Sanchez off the cable: Channel 7 itself has become an exotic tourist attraction, to be mentioned in the same breath as Parrot Jungle or Everglades National Park.

People who come to South Florida expect to see blood, and Channel 7 is often the only place they can find it. Take that away, and you've got some mighty disappointed tourists.

Forget the cheap souvenirs. They want lurid anecdotes of shopping-mall shootouts and Dumpster dismemberments to take back home. Otherwise, what's the point of risking a vacation in Miami?

If hotel owners were smart, they wouldn't take the Channel 7 newscast off the tube. They'd put it on Spectravision and charge $7.50 to see it, just like they do with slasher movies.

Perfectly seasoned? Half-baked August 20, 1995

Miami's new tourist slogan was unveiled last week, to mixed reviews.

If you haven't yet heard it, here goes: "Greater Miami & the Beaches: Perfectly Seasoned."

The image will emblazon T-shirts, novelties and a fortune's worth of worldwide advertising.

Lots of readers have phoned the newspaper to offer comments, half of them rather unflattering. Much of the criticism is aimed at the clunkiness and redundancy of the phrase "Greater Miami & the Beaches."

Evidently the slogan's authors are striving to reach the most feebleminded of potential visitors—those who might come to Miami and not know there's a beach, and those who might come to the beach and not know there's a mainland.

I submit that we shouldn't be trying to lure travelers who cannot independently deduce, from the names, that "Miami" and "Miami Beach" are in the same general locale. These are folks who'd be much safer in the firm, watchful custody of a bus line tour guide.

Another problem with the new ad slogan: Why must it say Greater Miami? The purpose of such a distinction is puzzling. Is there a "Lesser" Miami that we don't know about? And, if so, why doesn't it want tourism?

Perhaps the origin of the logo's wordiness can be traced to the tide of the agency that commissioned it—the Greater Miami Convention & Visitors Bureau. (Note the "Greater" and, of course, the ampersand.)

It's very possible the advertising firm that wrote the slogan—Turkel Schwartz & Partners!—was instructed to repeat the "greater," no matter how awkward and pointless.

Don't underestimate the civic pressure put on these harried, though well-paid, copy writers. Past tourist slogans became memorable for the wrong reasons.

Miami's "See It Like a Native" campaign provoked a huffy reaction because the poster featured a beautiful snorkeler who had misplaced her bikini top. In hindsight, those were the days of innocence.

Later came Florida's unintentionally ironic "The Rules Are Different Here"—presented in the wake of riots, soaring homicide, immigration chaos, and open debate about animal sacrifice. While that particular slogan was quickly put to rest, it took years to recover from the snide jokes.

This time, clearly, the ad agency was under orders to be very, very careful. Puns, quips and metaphors undoubtedly were screened with an eye toward avoiding controversy.

The result was "Perfectly Seasoned," which (although it evokes pot roast more than it does Ocean Drive) could've been worse.

Think about it. Once the agency decided to use cooking jargon in the tourism pitch, many less palatable expressions could have bubbled to the top:

Miami—Marinated in Magic!

Or: Miami—Sauteed With Excitement!

Or even: Miami—Naw, That's Just the Shrimp You're Smelling ...

Well, you get the idea. And while "Perfectly Seasoned" might sound half-baked, I understand what tourism promoters wanted in their new slogan—something different enough to be noticed, yet bland enough that it couldn't possibly frighten people away.

Forget tourists, residents need crime warning March 20, 1997

A Florida sheriff is in hot water for telling tourists to stay away because "it's very dangerous" down here.

As if this is big news. As if anyone who hasn't been living in a sinkhole doesn't already know we're the nation's premier sun-gun-and-psycho destination.

Yet, judging from the harsh feedback, Lee County Sheriff John McDougall might as well have stomped on the state flag. For a public officeholder in Florida, spooking tourists is a mortal sin. It's considered much worse than taking bribes.

"I would tell them not to come," McDougall said last week on the Today show. "I wouldn't tell anyone in my family to come to Florida right now. I think it's very dangerous."

The sheriff was referring to the ongoing release of hundreds of career felons from state prisons. He advised visitors to steer clear until the convicts committed new crimes and got rounded up again by lawmen.

No sooner had McDougall uttered the words than tourism-industry honchos launched a dyspeptic counterattack. The question is why.

Tourists are notoriously difficult to scare off, and it's unlikely that the sheriffs melodramatic sound bite will have a big impact. After all, this isn't a new rash of rental-car attacks—it's just another politician hungry for a headline.

The felons being released from prison were getting out anyway. The reason they're being freed en masse is because other politicians kept them behind bars by retroactively applying tough new sentencing rules.

You can't legally do that, as any second-year law student would know. So (to nobody's surprise) the U.S. Supreme Court ordered the timely release of those prisoners finishing their terms under the old guidelines.

That was Sheriff McDougall's excuse to rant. He wants a state amendment requiring inmates to serve 85 percent of their sentences—exactly what the new law already requires.

Oh well. A headline's a headline.

The chamber-of-commerce types would've been wise to ignore McDougall's TV performance.Those who ought to be concerned are the folks in Fort Myers—they've got a sheriff who's implying that the life and property of a tourist is more valuable than that of a local.

Because whatever random perils face somebody who visits the Sunshine State for a week or two, violent crime statistically poses a much greater menace to those who live here.

If McDougall honestly meant what he said, then why warn only the tourists? He could save many more lives by encouraging his constituents to pack up their belongings and move out of this "very dangerous" place as soon as possible.

Save yourselves, people! Get out while you can!

The sheriff can quit worrying so much about the tourists. They come and they go, leaving behind billions of useful dollars.

Residents are by far the more frequent victims of homicides, assaults and robberies. Serious felonies have soared with the state's exploding population, and few places are growing faster or more recklessly than McDougall's own county.

You'll know he is sincere about cutting crime when he speaks out in favor of capping growth. Scaring away visitors is a waste of time. Try scaring away the hordes of people who keep moving here to stay.

Not all of them—a couple hundred thousand a year would be a start.

But the sheriff probably won't do that. No politician is honest enough to tell potential voters to run for their lives.

Florida would be a more attractive place if they did. Less gridlock and urban stress. Much safer.

And the tourists? They'd keep coming in droves.

At Disney, it's a wild, wild world April 23, 1998

Good morning, bwanas! Today's the day we finally open Disney's new Animal Kingdom theme park for the world.

As tour guides, it's your job to make sure all visitors have fun. Many of you have never worked with real live critters, so let's go over the guidelines again.

Number one: If your safari bus should encounter our wild animals acting like, well, wild animals, do not under any circumstances attempt to disconnect them, deprogram them or try to locate the "off" button.

Remember, these are not the dancing country bears—and they're probably not just dancing, anyway.

I know it's a big adjustment for all of us here at Walt Disney World. In the old days, when a jungle beast went haywire we'd just replace a transistor. Not anymore.

The wildlife here at Animal Kingdom sometimes will engage in public behavior that our guests might find puzzling or even disturbing—behavior for which (I'm ashamed to say) a few of our human "cast members" have been occasionally reprimanded.

As tour guides, it's your duty not to let our visitors be distracted. Turning to page 17 of the manual, you'll find a detailed list of embarrassing animal antics, next to the officially scripted Disney explanations.

Scratching, for instance. As you've undoubtedly noticed, our primates can be indiscreet in their personal scratching habits. Please try not to bring this to the attention of your safari guests.

If, however, a guest observes this behavior and inquires, always refer to it as "grooming." Same goes for the licking—those lions, I swear, they never give it a rest … Just remember: "Grooming" is the operative word.

Several of you asked about the poop issue. I passed along your concerns directly to Mr. Eisner's office, and I've been told there's not a darn thing to be done. We've got i ,000 animals roaming here and unless the folks in Imagineering come up with some amazing new gadget, there's going to be lots of poop.

Hey, I'm on your side. Sixteen years I worked the Main Street Parade and we never had this problem, except for that one really obnoxious Pluto.

And, yes, I'm well aware how much a full-grown elephant eats—but try to deal with it, OK? "Droppings." That's the approved Disney term, whether it's from a hippo or a hummingbird.

The next item is, sadly, animal mortality. As you know, we've already lost two rhinos, some rare birds, four cheetah cubs. It's made for a few unpleasant headlines, to be sure.

But this is straight from the lawyers: Never use the terms "die" or "dead" on your Disney safari. If the tour bus passes an animal that appears not to be breathing, you may describe it as "lethargic," "inactive," "dormant" or (for the youngsters) "napping."

Finally, let's review the rules on animal sex. I don't know what genius decided to open this park in the springtime, but our animals are in quite the mood.

Some of you heard what happened on Media Day—a little problem with the Barbara Walters crew and that horny pair of wildebeests in quadrant seven. Without going into gory details, let's just say that ABC eventually was "persuaded" to give up the videotape.

As safari guides, it's imperative to remember that this is a family attraction. Animals do not mate here. They "wrestle." They "clench." They "frolic." They "romp." They "nuzzle." And of course they "groom" each other, sometimes intimately.

But they don't mate. They don't hump. They don't "do the nasty." Is that understood?

Good. Now go out there and give these wonderful folks an authentic true-life jungle adventure, droppings and all!