INNOVATION TOWER, LET'S STOP IT!

     Miami is in trouble. Developer Michael Simkins may build a two-acre television in the sky, one we will be forced to look at for the rest of our lives.  He calls it "Innovation Tower" but the only thing innovative about it is how it rises to an extreme level of bad taste.

    Broadcasting commercials 24/7 from a 600-foot tower in downtown Miami, it will make tens of millions of dollars a year for Simkins.

     It will make Miami look stupid for the rest of the century.

It will make people like me want to puke.
It's that bad.

   We've heard awful proposals before... the giant Columbus and the football field-size flag but this one is much worse. The 60-storys tall LED billboard will look like this as you cruise up I-95,

 You'll be able to see the damn thing glowing 25 miles away.
Imagine that, then, 
do something to stop it. 

On June 25th and June 29th, there will be two meetings in which our city commissioners will decide if this travesty gets built or not. Call or e-mail the mayor and everyone sitting on the Miami city commission.

Mayor Tomas P. Regalado E-mail: tregalado@miamigov.com (305) 250-5300 VOICE (305) 858-5332 TTY (305) 854-4001 FAX Office of the Mayor

Commissioner Wifredo (Willy) Gort (Chairman) District 1 E-mail: wgort@miamigov.com (305) 250-5430  VOICE (305) 250-5456 FAX Office of Commissioner Wifredo (Willy) Gort

Commissioner Marc Sarnoff District 2 E-mail: msarnoff@miamigov.com (305) 250-5333  VOICE (305) 858-5329 TTY (305) 579-3334 FAX Office of Commissioner Marc Sarnoff

Commissioner Frank  Carollo  District 3 E-mail: fcarollooffice@miamigov.com (305) 250-5380 VOICE (305) 858-5336 TTY (305) 250-5836 FAX Office of Commissioner Frank Carollo

Commissioner Francis Suarez  District 4 E-mail: fsuarez@miamigov.com (305) 250-5420 VOICE (305) 858-5305 TTY (305) 856-5230 FAX Office of Commissioner Francis Suarez

Commissioner Keon Hardemon (Vice Chairman) District 5 E-mail: KHardemon@miamigov.com (305) 250-5390 VOICE (305) 250-5399 FAX Office of Commissioner Keon Hardemon

Also, you should consider sending an e-mail to Mr. Clarence Woods ( cwoods@miamigov.com ).
It is hard to believe but the developer is of the opinion that this only Mr. Woods' signature is needed to build his tower.  Woods works for one of the city's development agencies.


    Tell them, "Please stop Innovation Tower".
We elected them and they should listen.
Hopefully they will have the courage to say "No" to Simkins' proposal.  It is one of the worst
ideas ever foisted on the City of Miami.

                                 Renderings graciously provided by Grove artist, Terry Ferrer.
                                  
                                                           ______________________

THE DEATH OF A HANDYMAN

        Dave Stewart left this world on Monday morning holding tight to his sister's hand.  She was one of the few friends he had.  Before he lost consciousness in a Ocala hospice, Francesca and I got to tell him goodbye. Both of these things were small miracles as Dave, being a lifelong loner, could have easily slipped away far from anyone.
     Dave was only comfortable when he kept some distance. We never knew exactly why. He loved being independent, free of any encumbrances. A rolled-up piece of foam rubber in his rusting vehicle meant he could live anywhere. In a pinch he could bed down for the night in the back of his truck. 

    When he began his descent last week he was typically staying in a friend's vacant house in North Florida. After a massive stroke, it took three days for someone to discover his still-breathing body.                                    
                                                            Dave with his niece, 1980

      The hobo handyman lived life on terms which would have sent most of us to the nut house. He could fix or paint anything. He charged half of what everyone else did but only showed up when he felt like it. Many found this to be a less-than-endearing quality.  We called it "being Dave".
      He spoke his mind to the point of often getting in arguments. If you asked him to paint your house "Key West Pink" he might have said, "I won't paint your house that color. It's ugly and you'd soon regret it". Things like that did not make his life easy.
      In the thirty years I knew him he never lived anywhere for long. Always on the cheap, he'd house-sit,  camp, or rent small rooms. For a year he lived in a house for sale on the edge of the Everglades where, he said, the mosquitoes were too thick for any sane person to live.

     He spent much of his life living and working in Coconut Grove. With his weird ways he fit right in.  He once lived near Burger King in a cottage that had no electricity. He was fine with that. Selling organic socks at the Grand Avenue farmers market helped pay the next-to-nothing rent.
    Dave chose to be dirt-poor but was smart, talented, and trustworthy. After our house fixer finished a day's work we'd invite him to dinner and we'd laugh for an hour.  He house-sat for us as well.
    We loved his stories and great sense of humor.  He could do a decent Katherine Hepburn impersonation. When we called him, often "Katherine" would answer.  Did your handyman ever do that?

      His occasional health problems would often become serious. He refused to go to doctors and dentists because "they cost too much" and the lines for the free ones were too long.  He usually looked healthy, a handsome guy with strong mid-west features and a thick, cowboy mustache that hid his extensive dental problems.

     He hid why he developed his unusual lifestyle as well. We know he grew up in Ohio, attended college, and came south in his mid-twenties.  I never knew him to be on speaking terms with his mother.  He said, "She was never nice to me".  When I asked about his dad he would change the subject. I assumed there was some unsavory story reflected in his sad blue eyes.
      Dave Stewart loved his friends, his sister and his nieces but had no desire for romantic relationships.  If he had ever had one, he never mentioned it.  He was happy enough being Dave, a free-spirited Coconut Grove character. 
    Some got to know him fourteen years ago when he worked at Shell Lumber and Hardware. His boss told me he was a good worker but eventually found the eight-to-five life too restrictive.
      Four years ago "being Dave" got more difficult.  "Rents are getting crazy here," he said,  "Even rooming houses are charging over than $100 a week".  He was about to go north when he woke up one morning feeling dizzy.  He drove himself to Jackson hospital and headed for the emergency room. When they released him two months later -after extensive by-pass surgery- he marveled that his dusty truck was still where he'd left it and that the engine started.
     He nearly died then but he seemed okay with that. The experience got him off cigarettes and into alternative medicine. It worked for a while but Miami got too expensive. A friend of a friend offered him a place to stay by a lake in North Florida.  In exchange for chores, he could live in one of her vacation houses.
      When he moved north three years ago he stopped by to ask if we could store his furniture. We were happy to help.  He had only a stool and it sits in our attic.

     He took his bed roll with him.

    Dave returned to Miami occasionally to visit his doctor. He was told he needed more bypass surgery, and that he could get it for free, but Dave would have none of it.  He told us last year, "My bag is packed and I'm ready to go". We asked him not to leave too soon.

      An e-mail last Saturday told me he had left us.  A massive stroke had left him brain dead and he would soon be taken off life-support. The news left me limp. Why had I put off calling him these last few months? There were things I needed to tell say.
     I called his cell phone number for no rational reason.  Maybe, in some unexplainable way, he would know I was trying to reach him. I left a message saying the things I had wanted to say before he died.  It was the best I could do. I took great comfort in hearing Dave's deep voice once more. For the briefest of moments it seemed like he was still with us.

      When I heard his relatives could not be found I located his sister's phone number. I called her Sunday night expecting to have to tell her that her brother was dead or close to it.  When Susan Berge answered I learned she had gotten the news that morning and flown south from Minnesota to be with her brother that afternoon.  Dave's nieces bought the plane ticket she could not afford.

    She told me, "I'm so glad I'm here. He's in bad shape but occasionally conscious. He can hear me. He talks by squeezing my hand. Would you like to talk to him too?"
    Sister Sue put her phone by her brother's ear.  Francesca and I took turns telling him how much we loved him and appreciated his long friendship. We also put in a good word for our dog.  Pi loved Dave as well. Afterwards Sue told us he seemed to perk up a bit from our call.
    
   We were hoping we might go north to visit him when I called the next day, Monday.  Dave's sister told us he had died.  She went on to say her brother had gotten a few calls from friends and after the last one, around eleven Sunday night, he lost consciousness for good.
    "I held his hand all night", she told me, "Around five I woke up and his hand was real cold. He was barely breathing and each breath seemed like the last. At six a.m. he left us."
     Hopefully he took his bed roll with him.  Dave never needed much to get by.
                                _______
      

LEAVING THE SQUIRRELS BEHIND

    In Miami we're experiencing Mango Madness. It's when our favorite fruit begins to fall like huge, delicious drops of rain. In just a few days we go from longing to loathing the task of,"What do I do with the excess?".
    
    We're sending each other pictures to prove our bounty.  I saw one on Facebook yesterday, a young woman caressing the sea of mangos she had just collected.
      Just a week ago I was still eating "squirrels", the first ones that fall because they've been gnawed by furry rodents (I cut out the bad and eat the good).
      The squirrel mangos get left on the ground now like so many rotten apples.  There's too many perfect ones to pick.  
      We've filled our freezer and the dehydrator whirs on, turning juicy slices into dry slivers to enjoy in the fall.
       We can't give the extras to friends.  They have too many. We'll soon be leaving them on the steps of strangers and filling "Free" roadside boxes.

     Three years ago a lost tour bus came barreling down our narrow street.  The driver screeched to a halt and I heard his loud announcement, "Look, someone is giving away mangos.  Does anyone-" but by then I was bounding up the steps with my box, passing them out to people who had never seen a fresh mango.
     It's a wonderful time of the year.  Enjoy your own version of mango madness.

PS:  Don't judge a book by its cover.  I saw this "perfect mango" 

smiling up at me from a West Grove sidewalk yesterday.  

It turned out to be a squirrel.

IS THERE A DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE?

     It might be fine to practice medicine in a white, boxy building but would you want to live in one?


    

 Apparently many high-end home buyers do.
That's what the new residential construction looks like in Coconut Grove now.

     "Houses that look like doctors offices, it's the latest thing", a realtor explained, "It's what the new home buyers want.



                                        
It used to be the Mediterranean look but now it's gone modern. We now sell white boxes".

    Looking around the South Grove I suppose he's right. Most of them max out their lots saving just enough room for a postage stamp-size swimming pool.


    Houses like this 


get torn down 

 
to get replaced 

by buildings 

that you'd usually visit

to to get treated for skin cancer.

     A neighbor is now building two of them nearby for re-sale.  When I asked him why he explained that he's following his realtor's advice.  The high volume, no-yard boxes give him the most bang for his bucks.  
    We've seen the modernist movement in the Grove before.  Maybe it was Miami Vice. In the 1980's downtown buildings were replaced by modernist's monstrosities.  I responded with the "Coconut Grove's Ugliest Building Contest".  Many were nominated but


   the Sushi Thai Building won.

 
    Coconut Grove Realty ran a close second.  Cardboard versions of them marched in the 1986 King Mango Strut parade.

    Things change and these white boxes keep popping up.  Realtor-driven designs scare me.
So do visits to doctor's offices.  Living in colorless cube defies my imagination.  
     We need to do more to preserve our old houses.  They're one of the reasons we love Coconut Grove.
     If we don't, a future tourism campaign may be, "Coconut Grove, like going to your next medical procedure".
             _______________________

THE PANTHER IS HERE
       
   We went to the opening of Panther Coffee this morning and it was wonderful.  Arriving just after eight there was one person in line.  By the time we were sipping our thick cafe lattes it had grown to twenty. 
    Panther Coffee is located on Main Highway, a half block north of the Grove's ugliest building. 
                         _______________
    

     

TED HENDRICKS, OUR OWN GREEN GIANT

     Two weeks ago we gathered for the Hialeah High School fifty-year reunion.  The tallest t-bred (6' 7") was easy to spot, sports legend Ted Hendricks. I had not seen him since he came to Coconut Grove to be the grand marshal of the1992 King Mango Strut parade. 
     Everyone knows Ted's amazing football career as an all-pro linebacker. He played in 215 consecutive NFL games that included four Superbowls and was inducted into the Football Hall of Fame.
     What few know is the role the Grove Guy played in supporting Ted's career.  I was on the stork's first football team.  (Back Row: Ted Hendricks, David Reese, and the Grove Guy.  Bottom Row: Bill Moore, David Kluthe, and Alan Barnette.

     Six of us represented Ms. Howell's sixth grade class in the Miami Springs Elementary School Football Classic.  It wasn't the Super Bowl but it seemed like it at the time.
     Six years later Ted was the best player on our high school team. The coaches called him "The Green Giant" (a cartoon figure in the 1960's who sold vegetables).  He went on to be an all-American at the University of Miami. Tall and thin, they called him "The Stork".  After that, when he began tearing apart quarterbacks for the Oakland Raiders, he became "The Mad Stork".
   Ted retired from football in 1983. He now has his own the charitable foundation and bequeaths The Hendricks Award annually upon college football's most outstanding linebacker. He also sponsors annual sports celebrity golf and bowling tournaments.  They raise thousands of dollars for charity.  As if that's not enough, Ted is an accomplished artist.  The paintings I've seen are surrealistic landscapes.
 
     I played a minor role on Ted's high school team. I only saw action in practices and kept the bench warm during games.  I tell my kids I did catch a few passes in the Orange Bowl but it was during the pre-game warm up.
    I did have one shining moment in our senior year.  It was in the third-quarter of our post-season game, "The Menenac Bowl" in Tampa, Florida.
     Ted ripped his pants badly making it difficult for him to play.  Our coach turned to the bench and spoke to me for the first time asking, "What's your pant size, son?".  When I answered "34" he ordered me to switch with Ted.  Wearing my clean britches Ted re-entered the game and helped our team win.    
     While I never got to play in games, I did get to see them for free.  
      I also got to hang out with jocks like Ted who were smart and funny. He has always treated me with warmth and respect. Despite his years as a ferocious football warrior, he treats everyone this way.  

     Two weeks ago he was attending his first high school reunion with his long-time partner, Lynda Babi. Many asked him to pose for pictures and he kindly obliged.

 

OTHER SPORTS HEROES

      Here he is with Francesca and our high school basketball mentor, Coach Mrazovich (Ted played b-ball as well).

      It was incredible to be visiting with one of our high school teachers this late in life. Fifty years had passed yet at 90, he was easily keeping up with us in the Hialeah banquet hall. The tall Croation, long retired, continues to play guitar in a band. He showed me photos of the cigar box ukuleles he makes.

      The reunion included a softball game.  Interesting, most of the former football players chose not to participate saying they were too  hobbled by sports injuries. 
      Coconut Grove's Terry Ferrer was not one of them. He told me last week, "I was on the football team for three days. When I got slammed by Richard Earie (twice my size), it was time to quit".


     
 Terry didn't quit on the softball field two weeks ago. Playing second base, he misjudged a speeding grounder and caught it with his right eye. He continued to play and got a hit (as opposed to "getting hit") in the next inning.  

      After the game he stopped by our place.  In two hours his injury had swollen into the ugliest  black eye I'd ever seen. He said he felt okay so we had fun with the camera.



 






 

   Good sport, that Terry.

Two weeks have passed and I just checked in with him.  He says all that remains of his injury is a star-shaped bruise over his eye. He's considering joining a Kiss tribute band.

       The reunion weekend allowed us to ponder  our formative teenage years. As it ended Saturday night we said goodbyes to friends we may never see again.  
   As tall Ted chatted with the last of his admirers I asked, "Can I see a Super Bowl ring?".  He smiled and held it up, his fist nearly as big as my head. 
    As I photographed it I asked why he wasn't wearing more of them, "Oh, he replied with a laugh, "I get kidded too much when I do that".    
     It was nice to be hanging out with old friends and our own green giant again. Four Super Bowl rings, no kidding. 

                                    
                                                 The Young Stork, 1959
          
                                                                             __________

THE GROVE GUY TOUR

         Friends came to town last Saturday for our high school reunion.  Some stopped by our place for a  neighborhood tour.  They got to see what we love about Coconut Grove.
             Eight of us gathered at our 1930's cottage.  Our group included three artists, a movie producer,  university president,  museum director, and the former commander of a nuclear submarine.
  

     
   Our first stop was 50 yards east, the former cottage of singer/songwriter Fred Neil. He wrote "Everybody's Talkin', the theme from "Midnight Cowboy".  


 

   

A very Grove-y guy lives next to Fred's place.  He decorates his yard with magnificent golden dinosaurs.

 

 

Two minutes later we were in front of "El Jardin", a 20-acre mansion on Biscayne Bay. It is now a Catholic school decorated with young girls wearing identical plaid skirts and knee socks.  
   One morning I caught one trying to steal a dinosaur.
   
  
 Our haunted house is on the south of  El Jardin.  Hidden by trees and bushes, few know about this rotting gem festooned with strips of wind-ripped tarps.

   

 On the other side of the girl's school is the site this historic church named after former Grove resident, William Jennings Bryan. He was famous politician 100 years ago. His great-grandson, Graham Bryan, is a buddy of mine. The building was transformed into a synagogue, "Chabad in the Grove", eight years ago.

    Cati-corner is the church that I attend, Plymouth Congregational. The mission-style sanctuary was built in 1917. I showed my friends the wooden plug by the front entrance. It was once "the cat hole", allowing felines access for rat control.  It was covered long ago when  air-conditioning was installed and the cat population increased.

 

   A dozen cats (and several peacocks) now patrol the 9-acre property which includes "Admiral's Row".






These are the three old houses across from the sanctuary.  They were left to the church by the admirals who once lived there. Interestingly, a retired rear admiral was a member of our tour group.

 
      Morning light, Edsen Chapel, Plymouth Congregational Church. Glass design by Grove artist Sebastian Duncan Portuando.
 


   The church property also includes a former windmill, a sunken garden,
 

and the Grove's historic  one-room school house.

    Our tour's final stop was the former home of Dr. John C. Lilly. He was a well-known neuroscientist who spent his life exploring human consciousness.  

He used psychedelic drugs, isolation tanks (his invention)  dolphins, and Coconut Grove to do this.  His buddies included Tim Leary and Alan Ginsberg.  Some neighbors still remember his efforts to communicate with the dolphin living in his backyard pool.   
    Despite his wild life, Doctor John made it to the age of 86, dying in 2001.  Sometimes we see his daughter puttering around the house. 

    As we turned away from its glowing ocher tones someone said, "Your neighborhood is so lovely. You're fortunate to live here".  
   I guess I am.  It was nice to be able to share it with friends last week.
                             _________



       


Postscript:  I don't like to make these articles too long.  Here are a few houses that didn't make the cut,

Debby's dwelling, where Palmetto meets Hibiscus.

 Karen and Eliott's swinging pad "Casa Mamey", painted to match the fruit.




   The house where former attorney general Janet Reno lived when she was quite young.  She once told me how she enjoyed riding her tricycle Avocado Street.
     
    
All the houses you see here are unique and more than 8o years old.   Our cottage was built in the 1930's.





The Grove has newer houses too but most are big, boring boxes
like the McMansion just east of us.  It's like living next to a 25-foot wall. 
 
My tour ignores them.  

I choose to celebrate the charming, colorful and creative, like the home of our neighbor, Bobby Ingram.
 

Now that's Coconut Grove!

                          A poinciana tree explodes across from Plymouth Church
                                        _______________