A VINTAGE ORIGINAL, JANUARY 2014
Copyright © 2014 by Carl Hiaasen
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Vintage Books, a division of Random House LLC, New York, and in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto, Penguin Random House Companies.
Vintage and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC.
All the selections in this work were previously published by the Miami Herald Publishing Company, a division of Knight Ridder, One Herald Plaza, Miami, Florida.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hiaasen, Carl.
Dance of the reptiles : selected columns / by Carl Hiaasen; edited by
Diane Stevenson.
pages cm
ISBN 978-0-345-80702-1 (pbk.)—ISBN 978-0-345-80703-8 (ebook)
Cover design by Joan Wong
Cover illustration by Mark Matcho
1. Florida—Social life and customs—21st century—Anecdotes.
2. Florida—Social conditions—21st century—Anecdotes.
3. Florida—Politics and government—21st century—Anecdotes.
4. Florida—Humor. I. Stevenson, Diane, 1947–, editor of compilation. II. Title.
F316.2.H48 2013 975.9′064—dc23 2013024990
www.vintagebooks.com
v3.1
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Introduction by Diane Stevenson
1. Go Away
2. Surrounded on Three Sides
3. Drill, Spill, and Kill
4. Festival of Whores
5. Money Shouts
6. Liberty and Justice for All
7. Ready, Aim, Fire
8. Shock, Awe, and Swagger
9. Pseudonews
10. Party with the Fringe on Top
11. The Joke State
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by This Author
Also by Carl Hiaasen
INTRODUCTION
It’s been almost twelve years since Paradise Screwed was published as the second collection of Carl Hiaasen’s newspaper columns written for The Miami Herald, and almost fifteen years since the first, Kick Ass, appeared. Since then, Hiaasen has written some six hundred weekly op-ed columns for the Herald, in addition to five novels for adults, a nonfiction book about golf, and four novels for young adults. The first of those, Hoot, which launched Hiaasen’s career in that genre, told the story of Mullet Fingers, a boy who relocates surveyors’ stakes to stop an illegally cited development that would destroy the habitat of burrowing owls. Hoot won a prestigious Newbery Honor Book award, its plotline mirroring Hiaasen’s own life: He did pull up surveyors’ stakes with his friends in youthful opposition to the paving of Florida.
Over time, much of Hiaasen’s attention has, in fact, been aimed at young people who always inherit a future and who invigorate him with the writing energy he needs to continue railing against the destruction of his beloved state. As Hiaasen says, “I want there to be something wonderful left of Florida for them to see and experience,” perhaps as he himself did when he was just six and his father took him fishing in the Keys for the first time, an adventure recounted in his well-known essay “The Florida Keys: Something Precious Is Falling Apart.” As he observes, “You stay and fight, because otherwise you’re surrendering.” Such continuity and consistency, essential to Hiaasen as a person and a writer, are clear in this latest collection of columns.
In Dance of the Reptiles, Hiaasen resumes his verbal war against greed, corruption, ignorance, and hypocrisy, addressing such issues as hurricanes, offshore drilling, and water, all of which occupy center stage nationally. Devastating storms like Hurricane Sandy, for example, roared across the northern states of New York and New Jersey, capturing national attention; for years, however, Hiaasen has written about massive storms in Florida not only flattening entire communities but also driving up insurance premiums by splintering flimsily constructed homes and flooding coastal properties overbuilt to begin with.
Offshore drilling is another topic Hiaasen tackled almost 30 years ago, his urgent warnings poignant now that British Petroleum’s Deepwater Horizon inevitably blew, spewing some 206 million gallons of oil into the Gulf of Mexico. In a 1987 column entitled “U.S. Points Out the Bright Side of Oil Spills,” Hiaasen lampooned a government report asserting there was only a 48 percent chance that a major spill would “smear the beaches within 35 years.” The study also claimed that “offshore oil exploration is abundantly safe” and that advanced equipment “should minimize damage to reefs, tidal banks, water quality and marine life.” A fifty-fifty chance for an ecological disaster isn’t so bad, Hiaasen wryly stated, concluding with an invitation to the interior secretary to hurry on down before he had to “tiptoe through the tar balls.”
And, of course, there’s the issue of water. Surrounded on three sides, Florida remains vulnerable to all storms: Hurricanes can rip across oil derricks yet to be built or gas lines yet to be dug, with the potential for future catastrophe very real—to the coastline, the wildlife, the economy. Any construction in those sensitive waters makes Hiaasen cringe, especially since the state has problems with drinkable water; its supply is drying up. The sustained pollution of wetlands and rivers, which have been drained, paved, or contaminated by runoff and pulp residue—all permitted by questionable legislation—has reduced and diminished Florida. Nature is interconnected, Hiaasen would say, and fragile.
That most of Florida’s concerns have gone national is nowhere more evident than in voting. As Hiaasen says, “The 2000 election … put this country in the hands of the people who invaded Iraq. Those non-existent weapons of mass destruction were this generation’s Gulf of Tonkin’s ruse.” By only 537 certified votes, Bush and Cheney won the election, or so ruled the Supreme Court a month after actual balloting, in “one of the most contorted decisions ever written,” Hiaasen says, with Florida and Secretary of State Katherine Harris, not to mention Palm Beach and its butterfly ballots, leading the way. “Anytime people say their vote won’t matter, I tell them to go to Arlington and look at the thousands of graves of American soldiers who died in Iraq,” Hiaasen says. “That war happened strictly because some impulsive, arrogant and not-very-smart people got into power.”
An entire chapter in Dance of the Reptiles, entitled “Shock, Awe, and Swagger,” chronicles the arguments for, as well as the consequences of, so many years invested in the Iraq war, and demonstrates what some consider Hiaasen’s greatest strength as a journalist: He digests facts, presents them accurately and articulately, and draws clear conclusions. You know where Hiaasen stands. Perhaps this advocacy role is what earned him the Damon Runyon Award from the Denver Press Club, the Ernie Pyle Lifetime Achievement Award from the National Society of Newspaper Columnists, and a place in the anthology Deadline Artists: America’s Greatest Newspaper Columns.
At 60, Carl Hiaasen shows no signs of slowing down. As he says, “I haven’t mellowed one little bit. Mellowing would be the worst thing that could happen to a writer like me.” His novels allow him to create an ending that is morally satisfying for a change, though often wickedly funny and delivered with a punch by nature. His weekly newspaper columns allow him the immediacy of addressing issues as they arise, with humor and outrage. In both books and columns, Hiaasen acts as an agent of change; he is a person of integrity, dark irreverent humor, and passionate conviction based on the simple principles of loyalty, decency, and honesty. Always the first principle—and Hiaasen would agree—is one of continuity: As the columns in Dance of the Reptiles show, the world must be preserved for our children and theirs—environmentally, politically, geographically, an
d morally.
Diane Stevenson
Columbia, SC
July 2013
GO AWAY
May 30, 2001
Haul the Rampaging Nitwits Off to Tourist Court
Florida needs a special prison for tourists.
Not all tourists—just the ones who trash the place, rob, shoplift, vandalize, drive drunk, assault the cops, puke in the alleys, pee in the medians, and so on.
For some reason, Memorial Day brings out these troglodytes in droves.
This year it was South Beach that got the full treatment, but outbreaks of mayhem occur all over the state.
Maybe it’s time to stop worrying about crimes committed against tourists and do something about the crimes committed by tourists.
As it stands, rampaging visitors are tossed in jail with local criminals. This plainly is cruel and unusual punishment, and it’s only a matter of time before the criminals file a class-action suit.
Nobody deserves to be locked in a cell with obnoxious, whiny, ill-clad tourists. Such sociopaths belong in an institution of their own, a mini-Raiford specializing in hard-nosed discipline and social graces.
In fact, the entire justice system should recognize and deal with the uniquely repulsive nature of tourist misbehavior.
Say you’re driving through the Keys and some dork in a neon-blue rental yells, “Yee-haw!” and hurls an empty Southern Comfort bottle off the Bahia Honda Bridge. Under current statutes, that’s good for a wimpy charge of littering. It doesn’t even rate any jail time, only a piddling $50 fine.
You want deterrence? Put fangs in the law. Let the police snatch the boor off the highway and drag his sorry butt straight to Tourist Court. Same goes for the drunks, stoners, and public urinators.
Tourist Court should be set up sort of like Drug Court, only not as lenient. The judges would come from smaller venues, such as Kissimmee, Key West, Naples; places that get a rush of visitors yet still have a vestige of hometown pride.
First-time offenders in Tourist Court would be permitted to plead guilty in exchange for a one-week hitch at Sandal Camp. This would be set up like Boot Camp, only much tougher.
Here, inmates would spend seven days and six nights being drilled on vacation etiquette. For example, they’d be taught how to read speed-limit signs; how to park within the parallel lines of a parking space; how to drink and dispose of alcohol; how to vomit inconspicuously; how to steer a Jet Ski and chew gum at the same time.…
The drill instructors would be selected from an elite pool of former Highway Patrol troopers, ex–Navy SEALs, and retired tour guides from Epcot.
Defendants who don’t want to tackle Sandal Camp could instead risk a trial. However, all jurors in Tourist Court should be chosen from the hospitality industry—waiters, waitresses, bartenders, chefs, motel desk clerks, cabbies. Not easily fooled, those folks—and no tipping allowed in the courtroom!
Once convicted, it’s off to Tourist Prison. Admittedly, finding a location for such a high-risk facility won’t be easy.
In the event of an escape, you’d have renegade tourists scurrying all over the place with no cash or credit cards—a nightmare scenario for resort communities, especially during the season.
Consequently, the prison is more likely to end up someplace like Mims or Plant City than, say, Turnberry Isle.
Inevitably, the age-old debate will come to a boil: Is the goal of incarcerating lawbreaking tourists merely to punish them, or should we make a good-faith effort at rehabilitation?
Many Floridians would argue, persuasively, that the conduct of some visitors is so abominable that they are beyond redemption. Yet a humane approach compels us to consider the possibility that a few of these nitwits might actually get the message if the screws are firmly applied.
It’s even conceivable they might someday become lawful and productive vacationers who treat their holiday destinations with care and respect—no more stealing baby lobsters and flushing the heads down motel-room toilets!
Yet for the incorrigible ones, the hard-core slobs, a stretch in Tourist Prison will serve mainly to keep them off the streets, beaches, and waterways—temporarily.
Unfortunately, vigilante justice might be the only kind these outlaws understand: an angry mob in minivans and Winnebagos to chase them up the Turnpike, all the way home, and do to their backyards what they did so heedlessly to ours.
August 12, 2001
Stop Shark-Feeding Dive Expeditions
No summer would be complete without delirious shark hype, even though bumblebees and lightning bolts kill more people.
Still, in the wake of two harrowing attacks, it’s significant to note that the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission recently decided that there’s no reason to ban shark-feeding dive excursions.
While of dubious scientific footing, the ruling was consistent with the state’s anything-for-a-buck approach to marine management. At least four outfits in South Florida advertise shark-feeding scuba trips. These are promoted as “interactive experiences,” meaning dive operators get to interact with your money.
Giddy explorers descend to a place where sharks are chummed in and hand-fed pieces of smelly dead fish. The sharks themselves have no interest in communing—they come strictly to eat, which is what nature so exquisitely engineered them to do. They are also engineered for hunting, not begging, like stray cats. That’s why many dive captains and marine biologists oppose the chumming expeditions.
Supporters say the practice is educational, helping to raise appreciation for a creature that’s being ignorantly slaughtered worldwide, but whose presence is vital to sustaining the bounty of our oceans.
No one can dispute that sharks are maligned and misunderstood. However, teaching them to seek snacks from humans doesn’t seem like the smartest way to save them from extinction or to prevent future maulings.
Not that most suckers care, but a commercial shark dive is hardly a natural encounter. Sharks don’t naturally behave like Central Park pigeons.
And pigeons, of course, can’t sever a human limb.
In the Bahamas, where these dives have become popular, nine injuries were documented through 1996. Usually, the bitten party was the shark handler, not a paying customer.
The Florida expeditions concentrate on nurse sharks, a relatively slow and mopey species. Granted, it’s not easy to get nailed by a nurse shark, but it does happen. Three years ago, an Illinois teenager snorkeling in the Keys decided to tug the tail of a baby nurse shark, which promptly whipped around and chomped him. It did not let go. With the fish firmly attached to his chest, the boy was rushed to a Marathon hospital. There the shark was surgically dispatched, and its jaws were pried off.
The lesson of the story is twofold: Never underestimate any shark, and never overestimate any human. These are two life-forms that were never meant to fraternize. It’s telling that the supposedly advanced species is the one initiating eye-to-eye contact.
A shark easily can be conditioned to slurp mullet from a diver’s hand. If one day that shark meets up with a diver who has no mullet, it might impulsively settle for the hand instead. They are primordially swift and opportunistic. The ones that mangled little Jessie Arbogast in Pensacola and Krishna Thompson in Freeport weren’t rogues. They were doing precisely what sharks have been doing for 420 million years—chasing what they thought was supper.
With its crowded beaches, Florida leads the nation in unplanned shark encounters. The vast majority are nonfatal nips of surfers and swimmers in murky water.
Humans are not a shark’s normal prey, and typically, it flees after the first taste—but not always. Last summer, a tenacious bull shark killed a man swimming in a canal near St. Petersburg.
Three Broward cities—Hillsboro Beach, Lighthouse Point, and Deerfield Beach—have outlawed the offshore feeding of sharks and other marine animals. State officials contemplated a similar ban, then backed off. Instead, the FWC asked the dive industry for guidelines ensuring that the excursion
s will be safe for both the divers and the sharks. The proposals didn’t satisfy some commissioners, so the FWC is supposed to tackle the controversy again next month. Among the options are prohibiting feedings by hand and requiring chum zones to be located far from recreational beaches.
A smarter idea is stopping the dives, which are about as educational as a rerun of Jaws III. Chumming sharks is nothing but a thrill gimmick designed to hook tourists.
Visitors to Florida needn’t feel deprived of a swim with the ocean’s most magnificent predator. They’re out there every time you go in the water, all over the place.
If you’re lucky enough to see one, be bright enough not to try making friends.
April 21, 2002
Even Death Doesn’t Free Us from Crookery
Before you die, make sure your relatives install a LoJack transmitter in your casket. That way they can find your body if it gets swiped, dumped, or stripped for parts.
Even the dead are up for grabs in the Sunshine State.
Last week, agents from the Florida Department of Law Enforcement officially set up a crime scene at a cemetery in Palm Beach County. They found evidence of victims who are in no shape to testify.
The attorney general says that Menorah Gardens & Funeral Chapels has been burying people in the wrong plots, stacking coffins like Tupperware, reselling occupied grave sites, and cracking open private mortuary vaults to make room for more corpses.
It’s hard enough to find a decent parking space when you’re alive. Evidently, things only get worse after you pass away.
According to state investigators, Menorah Gardens failed to inform family members that 44 of 136 burials in one section of the cemetery had been staged in the wrong location. Other residents were roused from eternal slumber by back-hoes. Former gravediggers have told authorities that they were ordered to use heavy machinery to break into vaults and then scatter the contents, including human remains, in nearby woods.