Kick Ass: Selected Columns of Carl Hiaasen

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 Experts point out that federal per capita murder statistics rely on outdated Dade County population figures that exclude thousands of illegal aliens and winter residents.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).

Wilbanks suggests that this is not a crime wave, but a way of life. His book, Murder in Miami, meticulously charts the fluctuations in Dade County's homicide pattern from 1917 through 1983. It is a sobering document that avoids platitudes and simplistic solutions, which is probably why it's not easily understood by politicians.

"Everybody wants to make it some alien force affecting our community," he says. "But it's not any one factor. My argument is, it's more of a murder culture."

Chilling words, but no cause for panic. Yet.

There are traditional categories of urban murder—domestics, drug feuds, robberies—that always will exist in a volatile, gun-happy community. And while a high murder rate is deplorable, it doesn't always mean that Joe Citizen stands a greater chance of being randomly gunned down on his way to the K mart.

Mike Gonzalez, dean of Miami homicide cops, says that 75 to 90 percent of all murder victims know their assailant. His favorite axiom: "If you're not a dope dealer, and you don't settle your domestic arguments with a gun, and you're halfway sensible about where you go at night, you haven't got a chance in the world of being killed."

I asked Gonzalez what can be done to stop the killing, and he talked about controlling handguns.

"With a gun, it's so easy, so efficient, so impersonal. There are more people killed in Miami than are killed in Great Britain, West Germany and Tokyo put together. And it's because of guns.

"Everybody buys a gun because they're gonna shoot the crooks, right? How many crooks do you think are killed this way?" the detective asked. "Children in back seats get killed with those guns. Ma and Pa get killed. The evidence is, they don't protect themselves with these guns, they kill each other."

And that's half our homicides right there.

Civic Leaders, of course, would much rather rail about drug assassins or crazed Mariels than suggest tough gun laws.

Gonzalez is no politician, but he's investigated about a thousand murders. What that makes him is an expert.

On the beach, reality doesn't take a vacation August 9, 1985

We beat the ambulance by two minutes.

The emergency room at Mount Sinai was filling with gray-suited men wearing plastic IDs, and out front were the cops—motormen, patrol officers, detectives, SWAT commandos, all with the same haggard look in their eyes. The look of the Grim Wait.

The call had gone out as a hostage situation, then a sniper and then this: "We have two police officers down!"

Racing across the Julia Tuttle Causeway, we'd heard another voice on the radio: "They're on the way to Sinai. We need a trauma team. We need a trauma team!"

And both of us, the photographer and I, thought the worst. Somebody murdered some cops, we thought.

At the emergency room we were told that the number was four. Four police officers shot during—what else—a drug deal.

In the swank Doral Beach Hotel, of all places. In the middle of a dead summer, in the murder capital of America.

What exactly had gone wrong was not clear, but it certainly wasn't Crockett andTubbs gliding through a TV bust. Four cops down was life gravely mocking art.

It doesn't matter how long you do this sort of thing, the sight of the first ambulance always turns your throat to sandpaper.

Because the first ambulance usually is where they put the one who took the worst shot.The first ambulance tells the story—just how bad it's going to be.

The doors swung open and there lay Detective Jim Mahle. His head was wrapped to cover two bullet holes in the right side of his skull. But one hand was moving. Best of all, he was conscious.

Then came Detective Joe White, bearded and shirtless, his white shorts bloodied. His eyes were open and he was holding his own IV bag. Sgt. Mike Lowe, a crimson smear on his forehead, walked into the emergency room on his own.

Another ambulance delivered undercover man James Scarberry ("I'm OK," he said), and then came the wounded police informant, pale, and moaning into an oxygen mask.

A few minutes later, a woman in a pink outfit gingerly made her way past the police cordon. A reporter asked if she were related to one of the victims. "No, my daughter just had a baby," the woman said, smiling. "I'm here for a happy occasion."

Soon a trauma specialist came out to announce that the policemen were going to make it. Miraculously, none of the injuries was life-threatening.

Over at the Doral, a man with a mop swabbed the front steps. The place was quiet.

"I got to work and I saw all these cop cars," said Rocky Hile, the downstairs bartender. "I thought they were shooting another episode of MiamiVice. I saw the blood on the steps and I thought: Boy, they really go all out. Then I come in and turn on the news at six o'clock and that's when I found out ...

"I had a guy at the bar earlier tonight who was on the loth floor when it happened. Heard all the shots and thought it was some kind of celebration," Rocky said. "Then the elevator door opens and there's a guy on a stretcher, all covered with blood. It still didn't occur to the guy that somebody had actually been shot.

"Until he got downstairs and saw the SWAT team."

I thought about that poor tourist—gaping at the stretcher in the elevator, finding the elegant lobby taken over by men with automatic weapons. I imagined the fellow turning to his wife and muttering, "You were right. We should've gone to Epcot Center."

Or maybe not. Maybe he knew what to expect from the South Florida vacation package: four days-three nights-one shootout.

That evening, by the hotel pool, Pfizer and Co. threw a private party attended by trim executives with new golf-course tans. There was an open bar and a twirling ice sculpture of a sailfish.

Upstairs, in a suite on the 11th floor, forensic experts hunted for bullet fragments and measured the bloodstains on the carpet.

Appalling gore fails to daunt film audiences October 16, 1985

Imagine this: It's a sunny holiday afternoon in autumn. Birds sing. Teenagers lounge on Haulover Beach. Joggers trot through the Grove.

Yet in a dark downtown theater, redolent of foul hot dogs, more than 40 people are watching one of the most abominable movies of all time.

The film is called The Mutilator. Its profoundly repugnant newspaper advertisement features a gleaming marlin gaff and promises: "By sword. By ax. By pick. Bye bye."

I have not come to review this motion picture, but rather the audience. I anticipate a cavalcade of geeks, troglodytes and sociopaths—who else would pay $2.50 to watch a bunch of dumb white college kids get hacked into corned beef?

But a quick survey before the action starts offers these demographics: A well-dressed young couple, sharing Polaroid snapshots; a moody guy in a dingy tank top, girlfriend on his lap; several teenagers, slightly rowdy but too muscular to rebuke; up front, an entire family, including a 6-year-old, a toddler and a nursing infant.

And, of course, sitting by himself: the obligatory strange pale man with the baggy pants and bucket of popcorn. You know the one.

The film begins, and even before the opening credits there is a gruesome killing that would send most normal folks scurrying for the door or the restrooms. Not this bunch—a true gore corps.

The titles flash: The Mutilator. "Written and directed by Buddy Cooper." Enough said.

Then the actors, none of whose names are remotely familiar (aliases, no doubt).

Then: "Special appearance by Ben Moore."

Who the heck is Ben Moore? No one seems to know, but instinct suggests that he plays the title role.

The plot unfolds:

A group of boisterous, beer-guzzling college kids talks a pal into crashing Dad's beachfront townhouse for the weekend. The father happens to be a demented lunatic who sleeps under some gardening tools in the garage and has a respiratory disorder so severe that his breathing can be heard all the way to Seattle.

Beyond this, The Mutilator follows the identical script of Friday the Thirteenth, Halloween and all other teen slasher movies:

1. The Trampy Co-Ed is the first to die, but only after the mandatory semi-nude swimming scene.

2. The Dumb Blond Jock is the next to be mangled.

3. The Goofy Comic-Relief Guy is third on the menu (and the only character whose mutilation seems to sadden the audience).

4. Next is the Concerned Cop, who gets beheaded.

5. Then there's quite a tedious Stalking Sequence, with lots of bad camera work and bass violas.

6. The climax is the tired old Car-Won't-Start-Scene, with Mr. Mutilator clumsily hacking his way through the convertible top.

7. Finally the killer is gored, stabbed, burned and run over by the young collegiate heroine, who is (I swear) a self-proclaimed virgin and proud of it. She also is a master of kung fu, as any Southern California virgin must be.

During all this carnage I expect raucous outbursts from the crowd, but the theater is reverently quiet, as if we are watching Olivier do Hamlet.

According to my notes, the only audible exclamation comes during the decapitation scene when a man in the back row cries, "Oh s—!" Which pretty much sums up my sentiments, too.

Sitting one row ahead of me is a handsome gray-haired woman with an embroidered shopping bag. She watches the entire film silently, without a murmur or a flinch. In fact, she is sitting so still that I begin to worry that she might have passed away during the marlin-gaff scene.

But, moments after the final mutilation, the old woman bolts for the exit, understandably eager to escape before the house lights come on. I catch up with her and ask what she thought of The Mutilator.

She smiles and says, "It's incredible, yes?"

Oh yes.

Crowd gripped by "real" crime drama April 12, 1986

One color of death was bright yellow.

Yellow were the police ribbons that stretched from tree to tree, to keep people away. The ribbons fluttered in the morning breeze, and crisscrossed in mock gaiety the Kendall neighborhood. Outside the ribbons, crowds stood and stared. On the inside, men with radios and clipboards and tape measures and cameras moved grimly from one corpse to the next. There were four corpses in all.

Yellow was the color of the plastic sheets that covered the two FBI agents, who lay dead in the shade of a black olive tree. Occasionally the breeze would lift the sheets, and a policeman or federal agent would hurry forward to cloak them again.

The dead killers lay bloody and uncovered.

Incredibly, seven agents had been shot here. It was the bloodiest day in the FBI's history. A federal prosecutor who knew the dead agents watched and wept. He was not alone.

From an elevated parking ramp, reporters, photographers, TV cameramen and dozens of bystanders looked down on the tableau, at the intersection of Southwest 82nd Avenue and 122nd Street. Construction workers drank beer and guessed about how it had happened. A lady shopper with an Instamatic snapped a picture.

It was a bright cloudless day, a day when all the colors of death were vivid.

The broad bloodstain in the middle of the road was already burgundy, turning to brown in the heat.

A shotgun lay nearby, five empty green shells shining like emeralds on the pavement. A few feet away was a black-barreled pistol and, beyond that, what looked like an automatic rifle.

During the chase, two cars had crunched into a bottlebrush tree, its blossoms crimson; beneath its outer branches were two cream-colored FBI Buicks, one pocked by bullet holes. The brake lights were still on.

Once all this had been noted and absorbed, there was little else to see.The shooting had lasted only minutes. It had been quiet for hours now, and still we stood and watched. The wounded were gone, die dead were silent.

Up the ramp came several Palmetto High School students, some skipping class, others taking an extra-long lunch break. None of them was clowning around, but the distance from the bodies made casual talk an easier thing.

A blond teenager in a sleeveless T-shirt watched for a few minutes, then turned to go. "Death in Miami," he said to some friends. "It's nice to know we live in such a nice city."

Another student, Mark Saymon, asked to borrow a photographer's telephoto lens, to get a closer look. He said this was his third shoot-out scene; the others were a bank holdup and a Farm Store robbery. "Nothing like this," Saymon said. "I can't believe they let that dude lie in the sun."

The dude was dead, of course. He was one of the suspects. Pot-bellied guy with black hair. He lay on his back. His left arm was taped where the paramedics had tried to get some fluids going before giving up; the chubby guy's clothes were soaked with too much blood. A man wearing rubber gloves fished through the dead man's pockets.

What grips onlookers at such times is the proximity of recent death. The danger is past, but the aftermath transfixes.

On television, blazing shoot-outs are followed by commercials. Real-life murder scenes do not dissolve so easily; not in the eye, not in the mind. The color of death is unforgettable.

There is also a ponderous ritual to investigation; the more victims, the longer it takes. On Friday the dead men lay where they fell for four hours.

Finally the killers were placed in the back of a light-blue van and hauled off to the medical examiner.

The agents were taken away in separate hearses.

The color of death was jet black.

Gunman, shot 12 times, wouldn't quit August 6, 1986

The epilogue to the bloodiest shootout in FBI history is a stack of four autopsy reports, numbered 86-966 through 86-969 in the Dade medical examiner's office.

These are detached and clinical accounts, as precise as can be expected considering the mayhem behind the Suniland Shopping Center. Each file has a diagram of where the cars came to rest at 12.201 SW 8lnd Ave. on the morning of April 11. Drawn next to the automobiles are supine stick-figure bodies, four of them.

Two of the figures represent FBI agents Gerald Dove and Ben Grogan. The others are robbers Michael Lee Platt and William R. Matix.

The files are a collection of tangible and observable facts, some well-publicized and some obscure. For instance, all four of the men had Type O blood. Three wore Nike running shoes; both Dove and his killer took size 10 1/2.The two suspects died wearing empty shoulder holsters. Platt had a black glove on his right hand.

William Matix, the man originally thought to have murdered the two agents, probably didn't kill anybody. He fired his shotgun only once. He was shot in the jaw, the neck, the left cheek, the right forearm, the right side of the head and the right cheek. The last bullet tunneled to his spine.

After the autopsy, Matix's eyes were donated to science.

A trail of bloodstains proved that Michael Platt murdered the two agents. He used a Ruger Mini-14 rifle, serial number 184-95273. The high-speed slugs can make an entry wound scarcely a quarter-inch in diameter and an exit wound as big as a fist.

In barely two minutes more than 100 shots ripped through the South Dade neighborhood. Forty of those came from the Ruger.

Grogan's 9mm Smith & Wesson had been fired nine times and Dove's had been fired 20, which meant the young agent had reloaded during the fight.

Agent Ron Reisner's gun had been shot six times, while agent Gilbert Orrantia's .357 had been fired 12 times. Badly injured, agent Edmundo Mireles had fired a 12-gauge shotgun five times, then heroically staggered to the car in which Matix and Platt were trying to escape. There Mireles shot them both fatally with his . 357 revolver.

Investigators did their best to reconstruct the movements—who stood where, who shot whom, who died first—but on paper it's impossible to describe the choreography of terror that morning.

What's obvious is that the shootings didn't happen the way they do on TV shows; there was no script. Nor were the wanted men mere paper silhouettes on the range at Quantico. Probably all the firearms training in the world wouldn't have prepared the FBI agents for the likes of Michael Platt.

They shot him only moments after he slithered from his stolen Monte Carlo and took aim. He was hit again and again, yet he did not fall. Somehow, through an animal reserve of adrenalin or pure fury, Platt kept darting and bobbing and firing the Ruger assault rifle.

In all, seven agents went down in his sights.

A sad irony emerges from the ballistic tests. Of the first bullets that Platt absorbed, the most deadly came from the gun of agent Gerald Dove. The shot exploded Platt's right lung—a killing wound, but it didn't even slow him down. He simply ducked around the car, ambushed Dove and Grogan, and kept on shooting.

To the agents, Platt must have seemed a spectral force.

The man was hit 12 times: once in the forehead, twice in the right arm and chest, once in the right forearm, once in the upper chest 12 inches below the head, once in the right shoulder, once in the thigh, and multiple times in both feet from shotgun blasts.

Like his partner, Platt died with one of Mireles' bullets in his spine. Fifth cervical vertebra.

That was the one that stopped him. Platt and Matix and their weapons were dragged from Grogan's car. A policeman reached into the driver's side, slipped the gearshift to park and turned off the key. Finally it was over.

Machine-gun shortage rattles NRA September 7, 1986

Some deeply disturbing news from our ever-vigilant friends at the National Rifle Association: America is in the throes of a serious machine-gun shortage. Hard to believe, but apparently true. If you've tried to buy a new machine gun lately or just trade in that rusty old family favorite, you got quite a shock.

That darned liberal Congress has passed a law banning the sale of all new machine guns. Incredibly, President Reagan signed it. The emasculatory effect was to limit the number of machine guns in nationwide circulation to a measly 127,000, most of which are probably in Hialeah. The NRA, whose aim is to guarantee enough guns for every maniac in the country, has launched a new lobbying campaign to persuade Congress to repeal the machine-gun legislation. The effort couldn't be more timely, following the recent slaughter of 14 innocent persons in Oklahoma by a lunatic using three handguns. To think he could have done the whole job with a single Thompson.

Many of you probably hadn't heard about the machine-gun shortage until now, but South Floridians have a special stake in solving the problem.

In recent times the machine gun has become a vibrant and inextricable part of our culture, lending spice and spontaneity to an otherwise dreary drug scene. Thanks to films such as Scarface and TV programs such as Miami Vice, the Ingram MAC-10 is now as indelible a part of South Florida's image as the palm tree. Are we going to sit still while a bunch of pencil-necks in Washington spoil it? Think of tradition. Remember how the legendary El Loco (the original El Loco—Dade County is probably the only place with more than one) hung from a speeding sedan on the Turnpike and fired away at a drug rival. And who could forget the photograph of the Colombian traveler machine-gunned to death in his wheelchair at Miami International.

Miami just wouldn't be the same without its rat-tat-tat.

True, plenty of machine guns are still out on the streets, but they're getting worn out and junky. We all know what happens when you leave your Gustav M45 lying in the backyard—one lousy rainstorm and the muzzle corrodes, the trigger starts to jam, you name it.

The urgent need for new guns was illustrated a few days ago when police raided a crack house in Broward County. Along with cocaine and the usual cache of handguns, two machine guns were seized in the arrest. Believe me, these were the worst looking machine guns you ever saw; they might as well have been held together with paper clips and masking tape.

I'm sure the coke dealers were embarrassed to be caught with such decrepit weapons, but what choice did they have? Thanks to Congress, no new ones are being produced for the U.S. market. They can blame Rep. Larry Smith of Hollywood, who wrote the offending law. Smith says there's no good reason for private citizens to have machine guns, and challenges the gun lobby to come up with any legitimate uses for the deadly automatic weapon. An obvious answer is hunting. What could match the thrill of bringing down a buck with 96 rounds of Parabellum fire at 100 meters? Saves you the trouble of skinning it, too.

So you're not a sportsman? Fine. The machine gun is still an invaluable urban companion. Next time some jerk sneaks in and steals your parking space, feed him a MAC-10 Popsicle and just watch how fast he backs out. Finally, try to imagine what would add more excitement and variety to a police officer's day than knowing that any two-bit creep could have a loaded Tommy gun under his front seat.

So as the NRA pursues its latest quest, all South Florida awaits the day when it's once again possible to gift wrap a shiny new Uzi for that someone special. Maybe even in time for Christmas.

Miami, a city beset by gun problems? Read on! March 7, 1988

Tarnished Image Alert: Miami officials are concerned that a new book contains outdated information that gives a wrong impression about the area.

The book, due out in May, is called Cities of Opportunity. It lists 42. American cities that are promising and exciting places for young people to relocate. Miami makes the list.

Sounds very positive, except for one glitch. The author, John Tepper Marlin, dares to suggest that we've got a little gun problem down here in South Florida. Now, where would he get a crazy idea like that?

In particular, he mentions the infamous loophole in the state's new handgun law that made it legal to walk around with a six-shooter on your hip. That part of the law was hastily fixed, but not before Marlin had already sent off his manuscript.

The city had a chance to point out this mistake, but was two months late in replying to Marlin's publisher. Consequently, the gun stuff stays in the book.

Some complain that it's not fair to bring up the Dodge City slur again, and fear that the book will present a distorted view of how safe it is to live down here.

If only Mr. Marlin had taken the time to visit in the last week or so, he would have gone back to his typewriter with a completely different outlook about guns in South Florida.

These are some of the stories he would have seen on TV, or read in the papers:

• Someone with an automatic weapon opened fire from a passing car at teenagers on a street corner in Coconut Grove. Three youths, including two high-school football stars, were wounded in the apparently random attack.

• An ex-con robber with a violent past pulled a 9 mm Smith & Wesson on a Miami cabbie, who quickly shot him to death with a Colt .45, one of two pistols he was carrying in his taxi under a new concealed-weapons permit.

• A University of Miami law school graduate named Irv Ribler was shot to death while driving down 1-95 in North Broward. Police believe the murder stemmed from a brief traffic altercation with strangers.

• In Liberty City, three men were shot on the street when somebody in a white Camaro or Firebird opened fire with a shotgun. As the car roared off, the gunmen kept shooting at bystanders, and wounded a 19-year-old woman.

• As her children watched, a woman upset over a custody battle shot her ex-husband to death with a pistol in the parking lot of Dade's main juvenile court.

• Four friends out cruising in North Miami decided to play Russian roulette with a .38-caliber pistol. Jose Cotto, age 14, lost. He was the third teenager to die this way in Dade County since January.

• Police arrested two men for the robbery-slaying nine months ago of a children's ice-cream vendor near Kelsey Pharr Elementary School. Authorities noted that this murder was not related to the robbery-shooting of another ice-cream vendor near the same school in January.

• A former member of the Yahweh religious sect pleaded guilty to second-degree murder in the shooting deaths of two tenants who refused to leave an Opalocka apartment when the Yahwehs tried to evict them.

• In Fort Lauderdale, a Canadian tourist was shot to death in his beachfront hotel room while Spring Breakers partied along The Strip.

• Burglars who broke into a Northwest Dade home stole a 9mm handgun, an Uzi semiautomatic machine gun, a .32-caliber pistol, a 12-gauge shotgun and a Beretta of unspecified caliber.

This is only a recent sampler. Yet, anyone can plainly see that not one of these incidents resulted from so-called "loopholes" in Florida's firearms laws.

So maybe next time a Mr. Smartypants Liberal wants to write a book, he'll buckle down and do his homework.

A gun problem? Us? What an imagination, this guy.

Legislators, we're dying for gun law April 29, 1988

So the madness goes on.

Another policeman falls, while the clowns in Tallahassee argue about whether Key lime or sweet potato should be the state pie. Earlier in the week, they haggled intently over the selection of a state sand.

But don't worry. The true sweat and toil for this legislative session has been saved for the burning issue of repealing a motorcycle helmet law.

Just amazing.

How many cops do we have to lose before somebody up there gets some guts?

How many funerals will it take? How many manhunts? How many pictures of anguished relatives rushing into hospital emergency rooms?

Last year, the Legislature sent a lenient new message about handguns, and this year we got it. The homicide rate is way up, and more cops are down.

Let's hear it for some of the constitutional champions in the Legislature who gave us these murderous laws: Larry Plummer, John Hill and the two Lehtinens; Don Childers of West Palm Beach; Jim Scott and Tom Gustafson of Fort Lauderdale; Arnhilda Gonzalez-Quevedo of Coral Gables; Ron Saunders of Key West; Ray Liberti ofWest Palm Beach; Anne Mackenzie and Debby Sanderson of Fort Lauderdale; Luis Morse, John Cosgrove, Lincoln Diaz-Balart and Javier Souto of Miami; Roberto Casas of Hialeah; Robert Starks of Homestead; and our very own NRA poster boy, Al Gutman.

Hope to see all of you dropping by Jackson Hospital to wish Officer James Hayden a speedy recovery.

The madness is as uncivilized as it is intolerable. We are past the point of scaring off tourists; we're scaring off good cops. Anyone in his right mind would think twice about putting on a badge in a state that abides such bloodletting.

Officer Hayden was wounded during a routine traffic stop on a busy street—four weeks to the day after fellow officer Victor Estefan was murdered under similar circumstances. In the last month, three Miami policemen and a state trooper have been shot by motorists.

I would not blame Chief Clarence Dickson for telling his officers to treat every traffic violator as a potential killer; to approach every car with guns drawn, anticipating another freak with a Smith & Wesson in his lap. Why not? This is the new code of the street.

Finally, the mayor is talking about a trip to the capital to discuss the gun law. He ought to charter a plane and take a delegation in blue. All of us react more viscerally to the shooting of a law enforcement officer, and we should. If the police aren't safe, nobody is. Yet, at the same time, we shouldn't forget the daily blood bath that doesn't make the front page.

A week ago, J. D. Davis was killed in his front yard when he was hit by a stray bullet from a neighborhood crack dispute. Davis wasn't a cop; he was just an innocent guy with a wife and kids. He could have been your husband, your brother, your son, your father.

Some people say that it's already too late; that once a society arms itself as prolifically as South Florida, there is no disarming it. To some extent, this is true. Once the guns are sold, they only come back as police evidence in robberies, murders, suicides. Even then, they don't always come back.

A few days ago, police say, a man drove out to a South Dade tomato field and killed his wife with a gmm handgun, then shot himself. By the time officers reached the scene, a passerby had already stolen the dead man's gun.

The answer to this madness is not acceptance, and it's certainly not more handguns. A beginning would be a new set of laws, starting with one that makes it illegal to have a pistol in your car, period.

If you had met Jim Hayden's assailant under more casual circumstances and asked about the handgun in his Malibu, he probably would have told you he was carrying it for protection. He would have told you it was his right, just check the law.

Victor Estefan's killer could have given you the same line.

And God help you if you disagreed.

New NRA ad misses the mark May 23, 1988

The National Rifle Association has kicked off a frantic counteroffen-sive in Florida with new radio commercials designed to scare every law-abiding citizen into buying a handgun.

Displaying its usual disregard for facts, the NRA asserts that strict handgun laws will punish only the innocent, because criminals don't apply for gun permits.

Wrong. In Dade County, one out of 15 applicants for a new concealed-weapons license has a felony arrest record. Since the new laws took effect, violent drug dealers, home invasion robbers and mental defectives have gotten legal gun permits—despite the NRA's assurance that no such thing could happen.

Under fire from angry constituents, legislators are fumbling around with a sham response—a whopping three-day waiting period. This won't accomplish anything, except to allow these wimps to slink home from Tallahassee and claim credit for a "tougher" gun law.

Meanwhile, it's been another typical week for handguns in South Florida. A 10-year-old Richmond Heights boy, upset over a bad school performance report, killed himself with a .357 found under his parents' bed. In Coral Springs, an investment counselor shot an ex-employee four times and then himself over a labor grievance.

The NRA ads imply that a pistol in the nightstand is all that stands between a free society and a criminal siege. Fear sells, and nobody sells it better than the NRA.

If you really want to feel safe and secure, consider the number of handguns that enter the criminal underworld every day. The NRA seldom confronts the issue of where these guns come from—the guns used to shoot at cops and store clerks and cashiers.

Guess where they come from. A sample from the last three weeks:

A .45-caliber handgun was stolen from a truck parked outside the Sunshine Medical Center on Southwest 72nd Street.

A .357 magnum was stolen from a man who was attacked by three assailants in West Dade.

A .38-caliber revolver was stolen out of a Chevy Blazer parked in the 24700 block of Southwest 87th Avenue.

A .38-caliber Smith & Wesson was stolen from an apartment on the 8400 block of Southwest 107th Avenue.

A thief who stole a 1987 Ford Bronco on Southwest 63rd Street also got a .357, which had been left in the truck.

A 9mm handgun was stolen from the glove box of a Buick parked at Westchester Hospital.

A thief who stole a Ford pickup on Northwest 109th Street also got a .38-caliber pistol and .22-caliber handgun, both of which had been left in the truck.

A .38 was stolen from a parked car in the 1100 block of Northwest 128th Street.

A 12-gauge shotgun and a .357 Smith & Wesson were stolen from a home in the 16000 block of Northwest 45th Avenue.

A .38 Smith & Wesson was stolen from under a mattress inside a house trailer in the 6000 block of Southwest Eighth Street.

A .22-caliber semiautomatic Beretta was stolen from a diesel repair shop on Okeechobee Road.

A .44 magnum was stolen from an apartment in the 17200 block of Southwest 9£th Avenue.

A .380 was stolen from a home in the 19300 block of Southwest 117th Court.

Another .380 was stolen in a house burglary on Hammond Drive, in Miami Springs.

A .357 was stolen by burglars who broke a sliding door on a house in the 10800 block of Southwest 168th Street.

The big score took place in North Broward, where burglars broke into a tackle shop and swiped a MAC-10, a MAC-11 and eight handguns.

And these are only some of the cases reported to police.

Most of these weapons were purchased with honest intentions, and now they're in the hands of criminals. They will not likely be used for the lawful defense of life or property, but rather for crime.

For those who lost their handguns to crooks, the NRA's solution is simple: Go out and buy more. Call it supply-side gun regulation.

Burglars, thugs and stickup men couldn't be happier about it. Right now, the NRA is the best friend they've got—besides our state Legislature.

Shop closing may trigger gun panic March 1, 1989

Authorities braced for "a wave of consumer panic" today following the announcement that the Tamiami Gun Shop has closed its doors.

The owner insisted that the closing of the store, South Florida's biggest retail firearms dealer, is only temporary. He said he's planning to sell the place to new investors.

Meanwhile, police and civil defense officials prepared for widespread unrest in the face of a possible gun shortage. Mandatory rationing could be imposed.

"We anticipate panic buying, looting, and hoarding of weapons, particularly handguns," said Sgt. Earl "Bucky" Fuqua of the Metro-Dade police. "We are urging people to stay calm because this is only a temporary situation. There's still plenty of guns out there for everybody. Honest."

Yet by dawn today long lines had begun to form at other South Florida gun shops. Anxious customers brought tents and sleeping bags, waiting all night for the stores to open.

Tensions ran high in some gun lines and several rights broke out, though no serious injuries were reported. "Since they didn't have pistols, they had to use their fists and feet," Fuqua said. "It was pathetic, I'm not kidding."

To avoid a shortage, many gun dealers say they are voluntarily limiting the number of weapons purchased by a single customer. The emergency quota includes one Saturday Night Special, one imported semiautomatic handgun, one domestic shotgun and one unconverted MAC-10.

"Yeah, cutting back is a hardship," admitted one gun dealer, "but at a time like this, we gotta think about what's good for all society, not just what's good for our pocketbooks."

Industry analysts were hard-pressed to explain the sudden closing of Tamiami Gun Shop, a colorful family attraction in Miami. Thanks to Florida's liberal new weapons laws, business at most firearms stores has been booming lately.

The number of handgun homicides—considered a prime economic indicator—showed strong and steady gains last year in the tri-county area. Especially large increases were noted among 13- to 17-year-olds, a sign that handguns were breaking solidly into the lucrative youth market.

In addition, police reported that more handguns were swiped from homes and cars than ever before. This usually is good news for gun dealers, who are swamped with customers wanting to buy new weapons to replace those that were stolen.

Since repeat business is so important to gun shops, some analysts speculate that Tamiami might have simply done its job too well—selling so many guns to so many people that burglars haven't been able to keep pace in stealing them.

Such conditions could conceivably lead to a saturated marketplace.

"Saturated? South Florida? No way," said Sgt. Fuqua. "In fact, just the other day I stopped a guy for speeding over on Flagler Street. When I looked in the trunk of his car—no gun! Checked the glove compartment—empty! Under the front seat—nothing! Hey, you can look it up in the report if you don't believe me."

Other police agencies confirm similar isolated incidents where officers have encountered unarmed civilians—a dear signal that the handgun market has not yet reached its full potential.

Some observers say it's possible that Tamiami didn't change with the times. The store gained national attention for selling a .357 to a disgruntled stock investor (and felon) named Arthur Kane, who immediately used the gun to shoot his broker and kill another man.

But while Tamiami's reputation as a handgun dealership was assured, other gun shops around the country were getting even bigger headlines by diversifying into more exotic weapons, such as AK-4/s. Pistols, it seemed, were becoming passe.

Still, most experts believe that a modernized Tamiami Gun Shop will reopen and be as popular as ever. "Hey, if they don't sell another Glock, it won't matter," Sgt. Fuqua said. "In this town you can make a killing off bullets alone."

Sad reality: Armed society means cops die April 30, 1990

Every time another police officer is murdered, anguished voices rise to ask: When will it stop?

The answer is, it won't.

We live in an armed society where people shoot each other every day for the most mundane and empty-headed reasons. Sometimes they shoot cops.

To us, the murder of any police officer seems senseless, but it's not. Some creep with a pistol in his car decides he doesn't want to get arrested, so he starts shooting. Makes perfect sense to him.

These are not clear-thinking, highly principled, law-abiding citizens. These are dirtbags. They've spent most of their sorry lives doing dumb crimes that got them in trouble, and then repeating their mistakes at every opportunity.

Maybe they come from broken homes. Maybe they've got a drug habit. Maybe they grew up in a bad neighborhood and never had a chance. Whatever the reasons, there are thousands of these losers on the streets of South Florida, and plenty of guns to go around.

Several weeks ago there was the funeral for Broward Sheriffs Deputy John Greeney III. This week it's Metro-Dade Officer Joseph Martin. Inevitably there will be another, and another after that.

Few countries in the world bury so many slain police officers. Such crimes are rare in Great Britain, Japan, even Canada. The only place more dangerous than the United States is Colombia, where drug gangsters slaughter policemen by the carload.

The most telling thing about Officer Martin's murder is how ordinary the suspects are.They're not big-time bank robbers, federal fugitives, or ruthless cocaine assassins. They're burglars and car thieves, 19 and 20 years old; common crooks whose rap sheets show no history of armed violence.

What happens in that frantic millisecond when panic, or rage, or pure cold-bloodedness takes control?

If we could peek into the mind of whoever pulled the trigger on Joseph Martin, we would probably be stunned by the simple, impulsive nature of his decision. There you are in a stolen automobile, late at night, pulled over by a squad car. And there's the gun on the seat ...

We are raising a generation of young criminals who shoot first and think later. They are fascinated with deadly weapons and casual in their killing. So far this year, the Dade State Attorney's Office has handled 45 cases of murder or attempted murder in which the defendant was age 17, or younger.

Just this weekend, a police gang task force raided two homes in North Dade and seized seven guns, plus a silencer; two juveniles, an 18-year-old and a 19-year-old were arrested. What they intended to do with all these firearms is not known, but they probably weren't planning to start a museum.

It's common to blame the parents, blame the schools, blame society for letting these kids slip away. Some of them can be rehabilitated, some of them can't. The main thing is, they're out there in growing numbers.

Most criminals begin their careers as two-bit house burglars, and in South Florida that means you deal in guns. For sheer terror there's nothing like glancing through a week's worth of burglary reports to get an idea of the arsenal on the streets—AK-41s, AR- 15s, UZIs, MAC-11s and every type of handgun imaginable, all stolen from the bedrooms, car trunks and glove compartments of regular citizens.

Some of these weapons will end up killing somebody, maybe even a cop.

This is the terrible irony: In trying to protect ourselves and our families, we've armed the very outlaws whom we fear. Some of them are crazy, some of them are mean and some are just plain stupid. Many are barely old enough to drive.

We should hardly be surprised when one of them snaps, for whatever reason, and takes aim at a badge. The only surprise is that it doesn't happen more often.

Pass all the tough crime laws you want. Build bigger prisons. Heat up the electric chair.

It won't stop the killing. We are too late for that.

In tourist haven, mayor sticks to guns June 27, 1990

Another reason to plan your family vacation for somewhere else: Miami Beach Mayor Alex Daoud has armed himself with four semiautomatic handguns and a night sight.

The ostensible reason for Daoud's private arsenal is "personal protection." Presumably the night sight is necessary in case the mayor is attacked by bats.

Like many of Daoud's recent dealings, the weapons acquisition raises questions about ethics. The companies from which he received the guns just happened to be competing for a big Miami Beach Police Department firearms contract. The firm that supplied him the most guns—three Sig Sauers—got a $153,000 city contract, with the help of Daoud's vote.

Maybe this is just another weird coincidence in a long string of weird coincidences that have put the mayor at the center of a federal investigation. Maybe he's just a friendly guy who can't say no to a good deal. Or maybe he's a shameless moocher and shakedown artist.

This is something for prosecutors to decide. An equally disturbing question for the public: Does South Florida really want another of its elected officials armed to the teeth?

Tourism officials can't be ecstatic with the revelation that the mayor of one of our major destination cities turns out to be a gun freak. The truth is, Daoud is not alone in his paramilitary passion. Remember when Joe Carollo was investigated for owning an Uzi?

The trend escalated when Rep. Al Gutman posed fetchingly for an NRA advertisement with his beloved .380 Beretta. Finally a South Florida officeholder was honest enough to admit that he didn't feel safe in his own community without a reliable semiautomatic.

Gutman's full-page appearance in national magazines made it respectable for other local politicians and civic leaders to arm themselves, often with unfortunate results.

One night a few years ago, Miami Mayor Xavier Suarez left a handgun inside a briefcase on the front seat of his car. It was stolen by a thief. Acting U.S. Attorney Dexter Lehtinen has a fondness for more powerful weapons, particularly AR-15 assault-type rifles. He has lost two of them to local burglars.

And last year the former chairperson of the Greater Miami Chamber of Commerce, Dorothy Weaver, reported that an Uzi was stolen from her bedroom. I don't know if Uzis are now the standard-issue weapon for all Chamber of Commerce members, but it would be interesting to do a survey.

If South Florida is such a safe and desirable place to live, why are all these big shots packing heat?

A clue, in Mayor Daoud's case, is the special serial number engraved on his new Glock handgun: 007. The man thinks he's a secret agent!

Former Beach police chief Ken Glassman recounted how Daoud frequently asked to practice on the police firing range. When the chief balked, Daoud proudly produced a photograph of himself firing automatic rifles on a gun range in Israel.

The Israelis (at least those who had never visited Dade County) must have been quite amazed that the mayor of an American city would be so proficient in military skills. Watching Daoud in action, they could only conclude that Florida must be a much more exciting place than they had heard.

Let's assume that Daoud imagines himself to be a real secret agent. Why did he get four handguns? Even James Bond carried only one at a time. Maybe the mayor wanted a gun for both ankles and both hips, in case he's ambushed by enemy commandos at Penrod's.

The image of a heavily armed Alex Daoud cruising the streets is unsettling. Current gun laws can't even protect us from known felons and deranged maniacs, much less macho mayors.

Politicians shouldn't be trusted with anything more lethal than a gavel.The way things go, it won't be long before a burglar steals Daoud's heavy artillery, which will then be turned against the innocent citizenry of Miami Beach.

Let's just hope it doesn't happen during a travel agents' convention.

Live or rerun, murder is now mainstream TV January 31, 1993

Not so long ago, parents were being warned that their kids could sneak out and buy black-market videotapes of people being murdered.

Today, snuff films have gone mainstream. You can watch them on the nightly news.

With a Miami TV crew looking on, Emilio Nunez Jr. emptied a semiautomatic handgun into his ex-wife. The tape of the killing was broadcast repeatedly by local stations, often accompanied by insightful freeze-frame analysis.

Like everyone else, I sat and watched. Pop, pop, pop. As domestic homicides go, it was noteworthy mainly for the ironic location (a cemetery), and for the forensic convenience of a camera capturing the crime.

Naturally, the Nunez tape became a hot property. TV stations all over the country picked it up. Some chose not to show the shooting, but many did. This was followed by the usual wrenching debate about violence on television—what's newsworthy, what's gratuitous gore.

Down here, there wasn't much discussion about whether to air the footage. It was a legitimate local story, extreme even by South Florida's diseased standards.

Now the crime is old news, but you can still catch the video almost any evening on local TV. Nunez's capture, his extradition hearing, his arraignment, an interview with his family—each new event is an excuse to cue the murder tape one more time.

Most stations considerately have cut the part when Nunez stands over his ex-wife and pumps slug after slug into her body. Yet some stations continue to show the jarring first shot to the head, punctuated by the cries of the interviewer.

More chilling than the murder itself is the fact that most viewers, myself included, are tired of seeing it. The Nunez tape has been broadcast so often that it no longer shocks. It should, but it doesn't.

Television has given America a unique intimacy with real-life violence. In 1963, Lee Harvey Oswald was shot on live TV It was the first murder my generation ever saw, and for a long time it was the only one. There was no such thing as Insta-cam.

The Zapruder film of John Kennedy's assassination now has been viewed by practically everybody, but for many years it was kept from the public because it was considered too horrible. These days nothing is too horrible.

Newscasters warned us that the Nunez video was graphic, but I don't know a soul who didn't watch it. Crime scenes always draw a crowd; hit-and-runs, holdups, lunatic sniper sprees. Video is the next best thing to being there.

Satellites feed the morbid craving. As if there's not enough carnage here in Florida, we now get nightly recaps of the bloodiest mayhem committed across the nation. Inundated visually, our shock threshold rises with each killing we see, whether live or on tape.

Gruesome at the time, the grainy black-and-white footage of Oswald's murder today seems prosaic. By contrast, Emilio Nunez's graveyard frenzy unfolds vividly, closeup and in living color. Even so, the impact wears off after the 13th or 14th viewing; probably sooner, for our kids.

We've seen so much that we've built up an unhealthy tolerance. Numbness sets in until there's a fresh fix. And we never need to wait too long.

On Thursday, police released the videotape of a Broward store clerk shooting a robber in the head. The incident occurred months ago, but who cares? They showed it on all the channels, again and again. As a bonus they played the 911 call, too.

Exciting stuff, this reality. They're doing it to death.

Great gift ideas for very young snipers-to-be December 19, 1993

With all their caterwauling about juvenile violence, wimpy liberals in Washington have succeeded in intimidating toy dealers just in time for Christmas.

The country's largest retailer, Toys-R-Us, has decided to stop selling a Sega video game called "Night Trap."

I haven't played "NightTrap," but the plot seems fairly routine: Vampire home invaders drain the blood of nubile co-eds by drilling into the veins of their necks.

Fun for the whole family, right?

But after pantywaists in Congress complained about the "graphic" content, Toys-R-Us yanked the video off the shelves. In an atmosphere of such panic, what'll they ban next—toy guns?

I raced to the nearest Toys-R-Us outlet to find out. With great relief I can report that the store's arsenal remains fully stocked and ready for action.

For that future cocaine cowboy in your house, several toy Uzis are still available for about $3.99. My favorite is the Neon Uzi Squirter, a "clip loading" water gun that supposedly sounds like an authentic assault rifle.

If that's too much firepower for your trigger-happy tyke, start him out with something smaller—the .357 "Make My Day" Magnum, manufactured by Real Tech and sold for $7.99. The Clint Eastwood quip stolen for this toy's promotion actually referred to a .44, but that's quibbling. The "Make My Day" Magnum features "real firing sounds" and a rotating cylinder.

Kids growing up in big cities are much too streetwise to be amused by replicas of dinky Wild West six-shooters or clumsy muzzle-loaders. The shelves of Toys-R-Us amply reflect the precocious interests of today's urban youngster.

H. T. Toys sells an AK-47 water rifle that's unbeatable at $2.99, while Combat Force offers an adorable M-16 for $4.99.

A word of caution: According to the instructions, the M-16 is unsuitable for children under 3 years old—not because it's morally questionable to let toddlers play with toy weapons, but because they tend to disassemble them and swallow the plastic parts.

Not to worry.

The motto of the toy gun industry is: Safety, safety, safety! So many kids brandishing realistic-looking toy pistols have been shot by police and homeowners that many manufacturers have switched to neon colors, to avoid future confusion.

For example, the venerable Daisy Company offers a Buffalo Bill Rifle with an orange cap on the barrel to make it "easily identified as a toy." The gun promises a "loud bang," but the label warns: "Do not fire it closer to the ear than one foot."

Santa, are you listening?

Strolling the aisles, it's impossible not be tempted by the M-60 Automatic Assault Lazer ("Try Me! Pull Trigger"). For $19.99, your pint-size holiday sniper can hear the same pop-pop-pop that real snipers do.

And the extra ammo belt makes a cool stocking-stuffer.

No armory would be complete without a selection of 9mm semi-automatics. Toys-R-Us sells a model resembling the one used so successfully by the madman on the Long Island commuter train. Made in Macau ("Loaded—Try me!"), it's a bargain at $5.99 … and there's no waiting period. Yet.

But parents seeking the ultimate in toy weaponry should train their sights on "Survivor Shot." For $29.98, Junior gets a high-tech rifle and a battery-operated headset to be worn during simulated firefights.

The toy's major selling point is plastered in bold letters on the box: "When you're hit, you feel it! "That's right—the sting of a bullet, without the permanent brain damage.

Now we're talking fun.

Take pride in hometown arms maker March 26, 1995

Those sappy bleeding hearts are at it again. I guess they won't be satisfied until they've completely destroyed the free-enterprise system.

Their latest whipping boy is one of South Florida's most prosperous and innovative companies, Navegar Inc., maker of handy low-cost Intratec assault weapons—and my write-in nominee for Miami Herald Company of the Year.

Forgive a little hometown cheerleading, but Miami doesn't have much to brag about in the way of light manufacturing. Intratec has put us on the map!

Its Tec 9, Tec-DC9 and Tec-22 were among the most sought-after street guns in the United States, according to the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. For legions of budget-minded gang members who couldn't afford a MAC-10 or an Uzi, the Tecs became the ideal travel companion.

"High spirited," according to Navegar chief Carlos M. Garcia, whose business was booming (literally).

But wouldn't you know it—as soon as a hard-working entrepreneur makes the big time, those candy-ass liberals come along and try to ruin him.

Last year's ban on 19 types of assault rifles targeted the Tecs, and forced Navegar into an inconvenient re-engineering of its product line. Lost because of picky new regulations were such helpful features as the threaded barrel, for attaching silencers.

Undaunted, the resourceful Garcia devised a new generation of legal weapons that look and perform much like the old ones, but with fewer bullets.

Then, last week, another ambush: The families of victims murdered in 1993 by a homicidal lunatic sued Navegar for negligence.

OK, so it's true that Gian Luigi Ferri walked into a San Francisco office and shot 15 persons, killing nine. And it's also true he was firing two Tec-DC9s, made right here in Dade County. And, yes, each gun was capable of shooting 32 rounds without being reloaded.

But how was Carlos Garcia to blame? Who could imagine that anyone would ever use a cheap, rapid-fire, easily concealed semiautomatic for violent purposes?

The California families contend that the Intratecs have no sporting use, and are promoted with criminals in mind.

True, sales brochure bragged that the Tec-DC9 was specially coated for "excellent resistance to fingerprints." There's probably a perfectly good explanation—maybe Intratec customers are neatniks who don't like smudges on their grips.

Garcia has patiently explained that his guns are meant for recreational "plinking" at tin cans "or objects like water jugs." He says they also seem popular with survivalists bracing for another world war.

Just as Ford knows that some of its cars will end up in fatal accidents, Navegar has become aware that some of its firearms are not being used to shoot water jugs.

As Garcia once said: "I know some of the guns going out of here end up killing people, but I'm not responsible for that."

Despite serious run-ins with the ATF (for making weapons too easily converted to machine guns), Garcia perseveres. Each fusillade of rotten publicity makes him work even harder.

In 1990 a robber used a Tec-9 to murder Broward Sheriffs Deputy Jack Greeney. A weaker company might have closed shop in shame, but Navegar's assembly line never missed a beat.

From 1991-93, it put more than 125,000 more Intratecs on the streets of America, making Florida nearly as famous for deadly weapons as it is for citrus.

One way to say thanks is to name Navegar as our Company of the Year. Let's show Garcia that we care about him as much as he cares about us.

TV newscasts no more violent than real life May 8, 1997

A new national study reports that South Florida's TV stations spend 27.5 percent of their evening news broadcasts on crime and criminal justice, prompting the obvious question:

Is that all?

The surprise isn't how much time Miami TV devotes to murder and mayhem, but how little. The average for local 6 P.M. news broadcasts was 29.3 percent—about 30 seconds more than in the blood-spattered Dade-Broward market.

If anything, our stations show uncommon restraint. South Florida being the violent pit it is, TV news directors could easily fill the entire program with local gore. They seldom do.

Yet the University of Miami professor who directed the media study laments the findings. "It's unfortunate," said Joe Angotti, "that body-bag journalism is what local news chooses to focus on at the expense of more important stories."

Hogwash. What is unfortunate is that there's so much violence that it can't be ignored. Sadly, body-bag journalism reflects a body-bag world. We all worry some about crime because it's touched all of us.

Is it not "important" news when a two-bit shoplifter guns down a security guard in broad daylight at one of South Florida's busiest shopping malls?

How about when four members of a family, including two little children, are slaughtered in their Miramar home? Or when a father, his son and a friend are executed by intruders at an electronics warehouse in West Dade?

All that from just a week's worth of police-blotter entries. You see the problem: No other single place can compete with our volume, ferocity and weirdness of crime.

Considering the deluge, Miami's TV stations do a decent job of balancing police news with health, education and politics. Some days, it isn't easy.

Give viewers a choice between an informative story about a new low-cholesterol diet or a grisly tale about sickos stealing human heads out of crypts, and they'll dial up the cadavers every time.

For the crime-content survey, researchers in eight markets studied a half-hour of news broadcasts on four random days. Wow, that's two whole hours of TV in each city—and who's calling whom shallow?

(Incredibly, the most infamous of our local stations, WSVN-Channel 7, finished third in the body-bag derby. No talk yet of a slander suit.)

One hole in the methodology: Only English-speaking TV stations were studied. Another flaw: Only 6 P.M. broadcasts were analyzed. Many stations start the news at 5 P.M., and in-depth features often air that first hour.

That's not to say some crime stories aren't overplayed and exploited on TV, sometimes disgracefully. It's also true that some are underplayed.

In any case, there aren't many news directors who wouldn't love to get more time for school issues, medical breakthroughs, political analysis and I-Team investigations.

The problem is, news keeps happening. You can't keep it off the air.

To insinuate that crime coverage isn't serious journalism is to repudiate one of the media's essential roles. People want to be safe in their communities, and they deserve to know when they're not.

One reason that serious crime fell so sharply in New York is that the media kept a spotlight on it. As for the use of "sensational video" decried by Professor Angotti, Anthony Windes probably isn't complaining.

He's the Sears guard whose shooting was captured by a store camera. The chilling replay, widely broadcast, is what enabled police to identify the shoplifter who allegedly pulled the trigger.

How much more important can TV news be?

A war looms on gun sales June 18, 1998

If the National Rifle Association gets its way, Florida will hang on to its dubious reputation as America's biggest flea market for illegal firearms.

The NRA has promised to "do whatever it takes" to kill a proposed constitutional amendment that would seal a gaping hole in the state's gun laws, and make it harder for itinerant traffickers to restock their arsenals here.

As it stands, unscrupulous dealers working the Florida circuit can sell practically any type of weapon to anybody, as long as the transaction occurs at a gun show or flea market. Sales by firearms "collectors" at such events currently are exempt from the cooling-off period and background check that apply at retail gun shops.

The result is that outlaw dealers slither from one gun show to the next, falsely claiming to be collectors or one-time sellers. In this way thousands of high-powered weapons are peddled to buyers who haul them out of the state.

It's as easy as buying a Slurpee, and requires the same paperwork: none.

Florida is the prime source of illegal handguns and street weapons confiscated by police in New York and other seaboard cities. Next to orange juice and cocaine, guns are our most lucrative interstate freight.

Law enforcement officials, backed by Gov. Lawton Chiles, lobbied to get the flea-market loophole closed by the Legislature—a lost cause. Most lawmakers are either scared of the NRA, or politically beholden to it.

So prosecutors and police turned instead to the Constitution Revision Commission, which was writing a slate of amendments for next November's ballot. The commission crafted a firearms measure that has provoked a frantic war cry from NRA leaders.

The last time Florida voters were given a voice on a gun control law, it passed by a landslide.That was the 1990 amendment requiring a three-day wait and criminal records check for handgun purchases.

The NRA whined and wailed. It said the law was unnecessary because criminals don't buy guns at gun stores.

Turns out the NRA was wrong again. Since the amendment was adopted, background checks have prevented thousands of convicted felons from purchasing handguns at retail outlets.

But, until now, the law couldn't stop those same felons from buying a suitcase full of Clocks from a friendly "collector" at the weekend gun show.

The new amendment gives counties the power to close that insane loophole by requiring records checks on all gun sales on property "to which the public has the right of access"—a provision strongly supported by law enforcement in Miami-Dade and other urban areas.

The NRA opposes it virulently, saying communities have no right to make or enforce their own firearms laws. The courts say otherwise, and early polls show widespread support for the new ballot measure.

As fall approaches, the gun lobby will launch a media blitz to scare voters away from the gun-show amendment. Don't be surprised if the NRA models its campaign after the one Big Sugar ran to defeat the Everglades cleanup amendment in 1996.

The cane growers spent millions proclaiming that the penny-a-pound proposal was a new tax on consumers—a complete lie, but it worked. Look for the NRA to try the same thing.

We'll hear how the gun amendment is a diabolical step toward mandatory gun licensing, or even government confiscation! Maybe if we're really lucky, they'll trot out Charlton Heston for some doomsday-style TV spots.

It should be quite an act, and if it somehow succeeds Florida will remain the prime shopping mecca for the country's underground gun traffickers.