ISLAND MAN

It should have come as no surprise when Herb Hiller left us for an island. Back in the 70's, when he wasn’t biking around Coconut Grove, he was off exploring some Caribbean wonderland.

I recall first seeing him thirty-five years ago, a tall thin man zipping here and there on a 10-speed. I soon found out he was usually ahead of the rest of us (we were in cars), and, ahead of his time. The New York native kept busy back then promoting island tourism. He was executive director of the Caribbean Travel Association and later founded the Caribbean Tourism Organization.

Thirty years ago Herb started the Grand Avenue Farmer’s Market. Wanting to bring an “island feel” to his hometown he and several friends (Roland Wood, Dinizulu Tinnie, and Billy Rolle) founded the Grove’s Goombay Festival in 1977.

He has written a number of books on travel. Mr. Hiller also produced a beautiful family with his wife, artist Mary Lee Adler. Their two daughters are accomplished artists as well. Nancy designs furniture and Magda is a popular musician.

I had not seen Mr. Hiller in years when friends began telling me about his mysterious North Florida island. He had discovered it inside a huge lake, an hour southwest of Jacksonville.

Drayton Island is the kind of feature you see on a map but don’t think about too much. It is far from things us city folk consider important, untouched by I-75, I-95, and the Sunshine State Turnpike. There is no Publix nearby.

A while back I asked Sandy Pukel, “Do you ever see Herb?” and he answered, “Of course, I was on his island last week!” Calls were made, an invitation extended, and Francesca and I –with our pup Pi- were soon heading for our own island adventure.


Drayton Island is a mile long and a half-mile wide. It’s where the Saint Johns River swells into a wide expanse ("Lake George") as it drifts north. It used to be accessible by a small car ferry until the feds shut it down (a threat to our homeland security. Go figure). Now, you can only reach it by private boat.

Herb greeted us at a nearby marina with his usual warm smile. Minutes later we were motoring in his skiff. Captain Hiller zoomed past cattails and the occasional gator towards his mid-lake estate. When I complimented his boating skills he mentioned he had spent the mid-50’s serving in the Coast Guard.

Mary Lee and Herb’s house, built in the 1850s, is older than the Civil War. Yes, there is a fine new addition but we could not stop marveling at the older part, its wide screened porch and the watery expanse beyond. Their twelve acres have just a few neighbors within hollerin’ distance. Our dog Pi was in heaven and so were we.

Islands can do that.

In the kitchen we traded stories while Herb showed us how to grind flour. Mixing it with starter he made a magnificent loaf of sourdough bread. After a long trek through the woods we pitched in to make a simple dinner.

Mary Lee’s modern sculptures were here and there but she was not. She was an hour south, in Deland. The Hillers have a smaller second home there to be near their daughter, Magda, and a charming granddaughter. “My wife thinks we should sell this place and move but I’m not ready” he told us then. Our host added, “The island insects can be pretty awful in the summer so Deland can be a good place to be”.

HAPPY TRAILS TO YOU

Slowing down, being in one place and intensely enjoying what it has to offer is what drives Mr. Hiller these days. He wants us to take to the trails, by bike, skateboard or foot. We have few in South Florida. A good example is our own Grove bike path that stretches from Fairchild Gardens to Key Biscayne.

For the past few years Herb has been a consultant for the East Coast Greenway Alliance.
Their goal is to help create a 3000 mile pathway from Maine to Key West. This year he was named “Florida Trail Advocate of the Year”. Getting us out of the house and out of our cars is not easy work", he told me, “It often feels like pushing boulders uphill”.

When I called him earlier this week he was in Deland. “I came for a visit months ago. On the morning of the third day it hit me, it’s time to move off the island. It is time to be closer to friends and family.”

The Adler-Hiller Island Homestead will be on the market soon. You too can live on an island, apart from the world but not that far from a jetport. Our conversation closed with Herb inviting all of us to take to the trails. He says there are over 100 of them in Florida easily found at www.visitflorida.com/trails.
Ever the advocate he added, “I tell people to go outside, take a walk. You’ll feel better".

BRANCHING OUT FOR CHRISTMAS

This year we got a free tree for Christmas.
Here's the simple process explained...










Look for a good stick.












When you see one tell your dog to "fetch".

Ask her to gnaw it down until it has the look of a small tree trunk.




















Drill holes, nail a board on the end, then plug in branches scrounged from a neighborhood tree lot.

Keep doing this until,







it looks like a tree.

Now add a few decorations, show it to your friends,

and wish them a

"Merry Christmas"

ALMOST SANTA

The holidays can be a busy time for teachers. Yesterday I was supposed to play Santa at a kindergarten party. At the last minute it was cancelled when it was discovered that some of the kids' parents didn't believe.

I was okay with that, yesterday we had music to play. For months our school's Didgeridoo Orchestra had been rehearsing for its premiere performance before a school-wide audience.
You may know the didgeridoo to be a primitive Australian wind instrument. When you blow it some hear the haunting sound of a ship passing through fog. Others hear flatulence.

We make ours from plastic plumbing pipe and decorate them the aborigines way.
Fifteen of my students, ages 9 through 11, performed magnificently. Some blew didj's while others beat on buckets, tamborines, and xylophones.

My kids played Christmas carols, more or less, to all whether they believed or not.

Santa would have been proud.

HOUSE OF CARDS, 85% OFF

A Coconut Grove house that sold for $450,000 three years ago is now on the market for $69,900. Located in the West Grove at 3780 Frow Avenue, it is more than a good deal, it is a prime example of what mortgage fraud can do to a house and what it has done to our country.



The house was built in ’92 with the best of intentions, a new CBS structure where an older house had stood. It looks nice enough, three bedrooms, two baths and central air. It went on the market four years ago for $225,000. This was when mortgage fraud was crumbling our country and regulators looked the other way.



Here’s how it worked in a case like this. You’re selling your house and someone incredulously “offers” you twice as much as your asking price. You accept the fishy proposition and the buyer applies for a loan. A bank, wanting all the business it can get, forks over the money, maybe $400,000 (90%) in a case like this. The buyer gives you your $225,000, keeps the other $175,000, then skips town. The bank sells the mortgage to an investment firm and never thinks about the house again.



The house sits abandoned. No mortgage payments are made and it goes into foreclosure. This particular house has sat empty for two years.
While the front windows are boarded (keeping squatters out), a peek in a side window reveal a nice enough abode, white on white. I’m quite familiar with it as I own the rental next door.



It took two years for 3780’s foreclosure proceeding to snake its way though court. The house recently went back on the market for $89,000. When it did not sell immediately the price was dropped to $69,900. This is 15% of the “sales price” three years ago and about 30% of its true value when prices were high.



Whoever buys the 3/2 on Frow will get a pretty good deal. Who knows, the house’s value could rise dramatically in the coming years (the agent's number is 305-992-5967).



Unfortunately the house represents a bad deal, a horrible deal, a huge punch in the gut of our nation’s economy. It’s a tiny grain in a truckload of sand that got dumped on our country. The mortgage fraud crisis has cost the U.S. billions of dollars and hundreds of thousands of jobs. Let’s hope we can dig our way out and avoid more of these “good deals” in the future.

BREAKFAST FROM A TREE





We found this carambola ("star fruit") peeking down from the backyard greenery this morning.

ART BASEL

Miami went ga-ga for art this week. The whole world seems to descend on South Florida when Art Basel rolls into town.

Francesca and I ventured into it twice. Here are some of the things we saw.

Yes, the plant above ("Art Basil") was my own contribution. Almost everyone wanted to be photographed with the Baby Hulk (Miami Walls permanent exhibit on NW 2d Ave.)

NEW MARKET ON SUNSET

South Miami's farmers market sprouted on Sunset drive this weekend. On our brief visit dozens of people came by to purchase produce, plants, crafts, and -in our case-

an incredible chocolate-hazelnut croissant.

A moment ago I put on another pound thinking about it.

Francesca and I met the new mayor of South Miami, Phillip Stoddard. He is a busy man. As I was standing next to him people came up to discuss a lame duck, the deforestation of Haiti, and a homeless guy who had set a resident's truck on fire the night before.

Every community should have something like this. Farmers markets give people a chance to gather and know the folks who grow their food. The South Miami Farmer's Market will be open every Saturday from 9 am 'til 2. It is located at City Hall, 6130 Sunset Drive. Their website is http://www.southmiamifarmersmarket.com/.

TEACHING TODAY

(The Miami Herald ran a column assessing their coverage of issues relating to public education in Florida. My wife (Francesca) and I wrote the following letter in response. The Herald printed it on 12/6/10)

Dear Editor,
We are responding to Mr. Schumacher-Matos' column in Sunday's paper. It concluded that The Miami Herald has given balanced coverage of the proposed state law known as SB 6 and related public education issues.
We are public school teachers with 49 years of combined experience. We disagree with your conclusion that teachers and the problems they face are fairly represented by your newspaper.
The Herald assumes for instance, that Florida's public schools lack the tools get rid of "bad teachers". They do have the tools, they always have. If a principal is doing his job he or she can evaluate any teacher's performance and act accordingly. Standardized test results are not necessary to deal with ineffective teachers.
Considering another important area, do standardized tests scores reflect a teacher's talents? We think this is often not the case. Every school is different and it is our belief that these test scores are more reflective of the socio-economic levels of the students in each school. There are certainly many outstanding teachers working in schools who making poor scores on these tests. Should they be penalized by their students' test results?
Miami welcomes many new immigrants to its public schools everyday. Some schools never get these new arrivals. Both of us teach in public schools that get new students from other countries every week. These students usually do not speak English. Should teachers have their pay cut because of the poor test scores resulting from this?
Schools often form classes based on student abilities, honors classes and so forth. This grouping can start as early as kindergarten. What about these teachers? Should the "honors teacher" make more than the one teaching students with learning disabilities because her students make higher grades on standardized tests?
What of the student who is struggling with emotional issues due to a difficult home life. These problems can certainly affect school success. It can take a long time, sometimes years, to turn these problems around. Do the annual tests take this into account? We think not. The Standardized Test Machine wants all schools to produce the same "cookies" while each is often given different ingredients.
This letter could get very long if we described how uncomfortable we feel with the growth of standardized tests, teachers being asked to teach the some things, the same way, at the same times. It can feel very Orwellian.
And what of this new love for charter schools? Overall they do no better than non-charter schools on tests even though they have the advantage of hand-picking their students. Should their test scores be above average in the future, due to their choice of students, should their teachers be paid "above average" as well?
Of course, schools can get better and hopefully they are getting better. We do not think standardized tests are a fair or reasonable way to evaluate teachers and the schools that employ them. We think it is a glossed over simplification of complex issues. Your paper would have a more balanced view of public education if it reflected more on the realities of teaching in public schools in South Florida.

Glenn Terry and
Francesca Violich.
Coconut Grove, Florida

DINNER FOR 110

The great thing about Thanksgiving is its simplicity, sitting down for a great meal with family and friends. Thus far I have seen no inflatable Pilgrims in people's yards.

My South Grove neighborhood started a pot-luck dinner tradition twenty years ago. Many of the residents come from other states or countries so it seemed right to form a Thanksgiving family here. We rent chairs and tables and give food assignments. Everyone brings their own plates, utensils and beverages (yes, there is a lot of wine). At yesterday's feast someone gave a short Buddhist homily, another a Catholic prayer, and off we went to eat ourselves silly.

As the sun faded kids began dancing around the fire. We were thankful that none of them got burned.

It was a fitting end to another great November holiday.

A SMASHING GOOD TIME

After you retire you do what you want. After years with the local fire department Mike McFall wanted to enter a destruction derby. “It was on my list”, he explained.
The South Miami resident continued, “I figured all I needed was an old car, a dozen other like-minded people, and a race track.. The closest one I could find was in Naples, two hours away. They told me if I showed up in a car with no windows and $50 I could join the fun.”
A destruction derby is a race where the cars drive in a figure-8; it makes smashing into each other easier. And smash they do until the last car moving wins. Call it exciting, gladiators in clunkers, or just plain stupid, this is one popular America tradition.
A friend offered McFall his 1992 Buick Roadmaster. “The station wagon had been in a flood”, explained Mike, “It was rusted to hell but still ran great”. Mike took out the windows and replaced the gas tank with small portable one, like you might see in a bass boat.. He had no trailer to transport his rig so he decided to drive it to Naples himself.

Mike handing over his signed hold harmless form .

Mike headed west on Alligator Alley a few months ago to try his hand at car smashing. Halfway there a cop took notice of Mike’s windowless rolling wreck and pulled him over. He told the officer his story, how he’d always wanted to be in a destruction derby and tomorrow he was getting his chance. “I figure if a cop stops you and you tell them the truth maybe they’ll understand. I guess he did ‘cause he let me go”.
He went another 20 miles until he ran out of gas. For safely reasons you are limited to a three-gallon gas tank. Mike was carrying his in an orange 2 ½ gallons boat tank.
Carrying his empty tank he began hiking to to the nearest gas station. Soon a stranger pulled over to offer a ride. Mike said, “After he heard my story he felt bad for me, he drove me all the way back to my car.”
The next day Mike competed in the last car rolling race.
“What was it like?”, I asked. The retired firefighter said he savored every minute, all twelve of them. After multiple collisions his Buick finally rolled to a stop.
He added, "The race allowed me to get in touch with whiplash again.”
Mike’s car was too banged up to fix and drive home. When someone offered $100 Mike told him, “Oh, you can just have it. Someone gave it to me".
His wife, Regina, was there to drive him back to Miami. Unlike her husband she was able to drive the distance without colliding with anyone.


Mike's wagon, on the left, just before it got whacked for the last time.

A STUDENT REMEMBERED

I have taught civics and art for twenty years in public schools far from Coconut Grove. I rarely run into former students but I encountered one last month.

The City of Miami gave away fruit trees last month. Francesca and I picked out a mulberry, a mango tree, and handed our receipt to a volunteer. He looked at my name, smiled, then blurted, “You’re Mr. Terry, my seventh grade civics teacher. You’re the only one I remember!”
Gosh, Jason Watson knew how to make a guy’s day.
The handsome, dread-locked young man went on to recall a 1991 field trip I led to Washington, DC, “It was so much fun. Those six days still seem like a dream”. I assured him they were not and that I enjoyed the trip as well…except for the porno.

We were staying at a Ramada Inn in Alexandria . At 11 pm I got a phone call from one of the boys' rooms. They had discovered a porno channel on their TV and wanted to share their good fortune with me.. I rushed down the hall to chastise my students, “Watching porno will mess up your head. If you do it again, you'll be on the next plane to Miami!”

Mostly I remember the headaches the twenty-two teens gave me. Jason remembered nothing but an excursion so special it seemed like a dream.

VETERANS DAY

Everyday people representing our country get blown up and shot at. It boggles the mind to think about the sacrifices made by members of our country's military.

It was nice to see them honored in Coconut Grove's Veterans Day parade.

This simple annual affair is sponsored by the Grove's America Legion Post 182 . It marched west on Grand, south on Douglas, and entered Charlotte Jane cemetery for a simple service. After a prayer a woman's voice lifted us skyward, her voice reminding us of how amazing grace can be.

HANGIN' WITH MR. MASSIN

After the parade my son ,Dylan, invited me to come along for a South Dade visit. He was buying recycled wood for his raised-bed garden business. After loading what seemed like two tons of greenheart, I asked, "Doesn't Barry Massin live around here?" The former Groveite had moved to the country years ago.

We called Barry and were welcomed at the gate of his 15-acre estate. On his golf cart tour we saw what he

describe as 165 species of trees and plants along with what I liked best, Barry's junk.

A rusting pile of saw blades, some twelve-feet long, was an incredibly shadowed sculpture. Mr. Massin's collection of tractor's seats was the best I've seen (and I've seen many). The best and and biggest thing on the property was Barry's smile and effervescent personality. Anyone who has encountered them walks away smiling themselves.

Barry and Dylan standing by the lake that our host dug with his gigantic earth sculpture machine. While we were there a kingfisher swooped down scaring the tilapia.

NINE HUDSON HORNETS

Things seemed simpler back then, before there were bluetooths or telephone booths. That's probably why Lake Wales, Florida, has its Pioneer Days Festival every year.

Hundreds of people, young and old, gathered by the lake last weekend to celebrate all things old. My wife and I were there to witness cloggers, canoe races, and "re-enactors" pretending to be lost in time. "Ma" spun wool while "Pa" split wood. Next to their encampment a blacksmith turned chunks of iron into horseshoes.

Several horses grazed nearby.

A husky man threw knives and tomahawks with great accuracy. Later he opened a can of Coke by slashing it with a bullwhip. In the pioneer village you you could buy a hat made from three skunks for $150. It smelled okay and on a very cold day it'd be worth every cent.

Junk food abounded. There was enough kettle corn, corn dogs, and cotton candy to ruin any one's diet. The Lord's Day was also Halloween. If you needed a scare you could tour a haunted tent. If that wasn't enough Spook Hill was two blocks away (that's where cars are known to coast curiously downhill...) Yes, downhill. Its kind of spooky that locals find that interesting.

Living in the past would not be complete without an old car parade. We enjoyed forty of them rolling by, close enough to touch.

There were Corvairs, Studebakers, Packards and Desotos. Its "grand finale" was nine magnificent Hudsons in a row (the one to the left is a Hudson Hornet).

One of them broke down mid-parade and had to be pushed off the street. Maybe that's why they stopped making them in '54.

The Big Tent (as opposed to the haunted one) had non-stop music, dancing, and story telling. The big moment came when the Pioneer of the Year was crowned.

An event like this could be a crowning achievement for any town. They'd just need a bit of history and a big-hearted, hard-working person to run the show.

Lake Wales has Mimi Reid Hardman.

Mimi, the other volunteers, and sponsoring businesses make Pioneer Days happen. The Woman in Red was everywhere. As the wind rippled her patriotically plumed outfit she made sure all was well.

I have known Mimi for over thirty years and have always admired her unceasing ability to promote art, culture, and historic preservation in her Central Florida town (it is close to Disneyworld but not too close).

Coconut Grove could have its own Pioneer Days. Our rich history would make it perfect for The Barnacle or Peacock Park.

All we need is a Mimi.

GEORGE MIRA, NATIVE CONCH

I was helping my son set up his booth at a Fairchild Gardens festival last weekend. He mentioned casually, "See that older man selling conch fritters? I met him earlier, he used to play in the NFL".


George Mira was one of my boyhood heroes. As a teenager I'd watch the Key West native play quarterback for the University of Miami. In 1963 he led the nation in total offense and tied a NCAA record for passes completed.


They called him "The Matador" because of his Spanish heritage, good looks, and his scrambling ability. In '64 he was drafted by the San Francisco 49ers and spent 7 years in the NFL (including backing Bob Griese in Super Bowl VI for our hometown team).






When I walked over to his pink trailer, the former Dolphin was busy selling fritters with his son Jason. Five for $5. I felt nervous waiting in line, like a fifteen-year-old hoping for an autograph.





When I finally met him Mr. Mira could not have been nicer. He invited me into the booth (the size of a small bathroom) to chat. While Jason worked the fryer his dad and I exchanged stories. His were much better than mine. We soon realized we had enough friends in common (Ted Hendricks and a few Key West natives) for me to call him "George".




For two days I stopped by to pepper him with questions about conch cooking, football, and the old days in Key West. He has seen the UM's Jacory Harris play the night before and knew exactly what Harris had to do to improve his game.




I learned that, in the old days, it was impossible to starve in the southernmost city ("Fish, conch, and coconuts were everywhere!"). His friend "Papo", now in his 80's, had once owned the meanest fighting chicken in the Keys. As the festival was winding down on Sunday I asked the most important question, one shrouded in decades of mystery.

Bum Farto had been the Key West fire chief in the early 70's. Rumored to have been heavily involved in the drug trade, he disappeared on February 16, 1976. For years after that t-shirts asking, "Where is Bum Farto?"were big sellers in the old town.



Here was my chance to get the answer. I asked George, "So, what really happened to Bum Farto?" He laughed as I continued, "Does he sleep with the fish or did he move far away?" George gave it his best shot. He said he had heard that Chief Farto had moved to Costa Rica. He had family there. "Is he still down south?" I asked. George did the math and answered, "I dunno, it's been almost forty years . If he's still alive he'd be 90 now".


Football was good to George Mira -he is a healthy, happy man with many friends- but it never was a money maker. As the festival was ending he visited our booth and explained,



"Back then we played because it was fun. I was the first QB drafted in "63 and I got $12,000 a year. Many of the players on the San Francisco team had second jobs. They'd practice 'til five then go sell shoes or somethin'. Guys like me started to change things, we paved the way. If I was the first quarterback drafted today, I'd get ten million dollars to sign".


The Matador was laughing at the thought as he headed back to help pack up the trailer.





George Mira and Jason, one of
his three sons.