Some locals complain that the new obsession with tourist crime is rooted mainly in economic panic. True, robbers tend to steal from our winter visitors the thing we Floridians cherish most—their money.
But only a hard-core cynic would insinuate that our interest in protecting tourists stems from anything but true compassion. Someday, if we've got any left over, we'll show the same concern for the folks who live here year-round.
Blacking out Channel 7 unplugs the local color
June 5, 1994
Thousands of tourists are being deprived of one of South Florida's greatest cultural treasures, the nightly newscast on WSVN-Channel 7.
To protest the station's preoccupation with crime, some hotels have begun blocking WSVN's news from their guests' rooms. This stringent step is being taken to guard the tender sensibilities of visitors, in the same way that grown-ups lock the cable box so the kids won't sneak a peek at the Playboy Channel.
The Continental Cos., which owns several local hotels, declared that it was fed up with WSVN's nightly dose of violent video. Another hotelier complained that tourists "look at Channel 7, and they're afraid to go out on the street."
So what? Many folks who live here are afraid to go out on the streets, and it's got nothing to do with Channel 7. It's that evening lullaby of semiautomatic gunfire and police sirens that tends to discourage social excursions in some neighborhoods.
True, on a slow news day, anchor Rick Sanchez can make a routine domestic shooting sound like a sniper attack on an orphanage. But any out-of-towner who doesn't recognize silly hype when he sees it deserves to be scared out of his trousers.
Queasy tourists we don't need. Give us the tough ones. The wily and the battle-hardened. The adventurers.
The hotels' contention that one reckless TV station can frighten off business is a backhanded compliment to Channel 7's cold-blooded programming strategy; people do watch. On the other hand, there are nights when even MacNeil-Lehrer scares the hell out of me. The world can be a scary place.
Whether they're from Oshkosh or Oslo, most of our tourists aren't easily intimidated. Gun battle on South Beach? No problem. Tonight we'll go to the Grove.
Whatever horrors might appear on the TV screen at six and eleven, these intrepid travelers won't waste their precious vacations cowering in a $150 hotel room. They will put on bright telltale clothes. They will go outdoors. They will spend money.
Unless they've been living in a cave for the last 15 years, would-be tourists are well aware that Florida has guns, drugs, nuts and social unrest. To shield them completely from the daily flow, hotels would be forced to zap all local news off the cable.
Channel 7 merely offers a more elaborate smorgasbord than the others. Sure, it's everything the critics say it is—sensationalistic, lubricious and irresponsibly gruesome. If Jeffrey Dahmer lived here, Channel 7 undoubtedly would be his favorite station.
Yet its hard-gore news format has drawn good ratings, worldwide press attention and imitators around the country. Like it or not, Channel 7 is famous.
That's why hotels such as the Grand Bay in the Grove and the Pier House in Key West shoot themselves in the cash register by yanking Rick Sanchez off the cable: Channel 7 itself has become an exotic tourist attraction, to be mentioned in the same breath as Parrot Jungle or Everglades National Park.
People who come to South Florida expect to see blood, and Channel 7 is often the only place they can find it. Take that away, and you've got some mighty disappointed tourists.
Forget the cheap souvenirs. They want lurid anecdotes of shopping-mall shootouts and Dumpster dismemberments to take back home. Otherwise, what's the point of risking a vacation in Miami?
If hotel owners were smart, they wouldn't take the Channel 7 newscast off the tube. They'd put it on Spectravision and charge $7.50 to see it, just like they do with slasher movies.
Perfectly seasoned? Half-baked
August 20, 1995
Miami's new tourist slogan was unveiled last week, to mixed reviews.
If you haven't yet heard it, here goes: "Greater Miami & the Beaches: Perfectly Seasoned."
The image will emblazon T-shirts, novelties and a fortune's worth of worldwide advertising.
Lots of readers have phoned the newspaper to offer comments, half of them rather unflattering. Much of the criticism is aimed at the clunkiness and redundancy of the phrase "Greater Miami & the Beaches."
Evidently the slogan's authors are striving to reach the most feebleminded of potential visitors—those who might come to Miami and not know there's a beach, and those who might come to the beach and not know there's a mainland.
I submit that we shouldn't be trying to lure travelers who cannot independently deduce, from the names, that "Miami" and "Miami Beach" are in the same general locale. These are folks who'd be much safer in the firm, watchful custody of a bus line tour guide.
Another problem with the new ad slogan: Why must it say Greater Miami? The purpose of such a distinction is puzzling. Is there a "Lesser" Miami that we don't know about? And, if so, why doesn't it want tourism?
Perhaps the origin of the logo's wordiness can be traced to the tide of the agency that commissioned it—the Greater Miami Convention & Visitors Bureau. (Note the "Greater" and, of course, the ampersand.)
It's very possible the advertising firm that wrote the slogan—Turkel Schwartz & Partners!—was instructed to repeat the "greater," no matter how awkward and pointless.
Don't underestimate the civic pressure put on these harried, though well-paid, copy writers. Past tourist slogans became memorable for the wrong reasons.
Miami's "See It Like a Native" campaign provoked a huffy reaction because the poster featured a beautiful snorkeler who had misplaced her bikini top. In hindsight, those were the days of innocence.
Later came Florida's unintentionally ironic "The Rules Are Different Here"—presented in the wake of riots, soaring homicide, immigration chaos, and open debate about animal sacrifice. While that particular slogan was quickly put to rest, it took years to recover from the snide jokes.
This time, clearly, the ad agency was under orders to be very, very careful. Puns, quips and metaphors undoubtedly were screened with an eye toward avoiding controversy.
The result was "Perfectly Seasoned," which (although it evokes pot roast more than it does Ocean Drive) could've been worse.
Think about it. Once the agency decided to use cooking jargon in the tourism pitch, many less palatable expressions could have bubbled to the top:
Miami—Marinated in Magic!
Or: Miami—Sauteed With Excitement!
Or even: Miami—Naw, That's Just the Shrimp You're Smelling ...
Well, you get the idea. And while "Perfectly Seasoned" might sound half-baked, I understand what tourism promoters wanted in their new slogan—something different enough to be noticed, yet bland enough that it couldn't possibly frighten people away.
Forget tourists, residents need crime warning
March 20, 1997
A Florida sheriff is in hot water for telling tourists to stay away because "it's very dangerous" down here.
As if this is big news. As if anyone who hasn't been living in a sinkhole doesn't already know we're the nation's premier sun-gun-and-psycho destination.
Yet, judging from the harsh feedback, Lee County Sheriff John McDougall might as well have stomped on the state flag. For a public officeholder in Florida, spooking tourists is a mortal sin. It's considered much worse than taking bribes.
"I would tell them not to come," McDougall said last week on the Today show. "I wouldn't tell anyone in my family to come to Florida right now. I think it's very dangerous."
The sheriff was referring to the ongoing release of hundreds of career felons from state prisons. He advised visitors to steer clear until the convicts committed new crimes and got rounded up again by lawmen.
No sooner had McDougall uttered the words than tourism-industry honchos launched a dyspeptic counterattack. The
question is why.
Tourists are notoriously difficult to scare off, and it's unlikely that the sheriffs melodramatic sound bite will have a big impact. After all, this isn't a new rash of rental-car attacks—it's just another politician hungry for a headline.
The felons being released from prison were getting out anyway. The reason they're being freed en masse is because other politicians kept them behind bars by retroactively applying tough new sentencing rules.
You can't legally do that, as any second-year law student would know. So (to nobody's surprise) the U.S. Supreme Court ordered the timely release of those prisoners finishing their terms under the old guidelines.
That was Sheriff McDougall's excuse to rant. He wants a state amendment requiring inmates to serve 85 percent of their sentences—exactly what the new law already requires.
Oh well. A headline's a headline.
The chamber-of-commerce types would've been wise to ignore McDougall's TV performance.Those who ought to be concerned are the folks in Fort Myers—they've got a sheriff who's implying that the life and property of a tourist is more valuable than that of a local.
Because whatever random perils face somebody who visits the Sunshine State for a week or two, violent crime statistically poses a much greater menace to those who live here.
If McDougall honestly meant what he said, then why warn only the tourists? He could save many more lives by encouraging his constituents to pack up their belongings and move out of this "very dangerous" place as soon as possible.
Save yourselves, people! Get out while you can!
The sheriff can quit worrying so much about the tourists. They come and they go, leaving behind billions of useful dollars.
Residents are by far the more frequent victims of homicides, assaults and robberies. Serious felonies have soared with the state's exploding population, and few places are growing faster or more recklessly than McDougall's own county.
You'll know he is sincere about cutting crime when he speaks out in favor of capping growth. Scaring away visitors is a waste of time. Try scaring away the hordes of people who keep moving here to stay.
Not all of them—a couple hundred thousand a year would be a start.
But the sheriff probably won't do that. No politician is honest enough to tell potential voters to run for their lives.
Florida would be a more attractive place if they did. Less gridlock and urban stress. Much safer.
And the tourists? They'd keep coming in droves.
At Disney, it's a wild, wild world
April 23, 1998
Good morning, bwanas! Today's the day we finally open Disney's new Animal Kingdom theme park for the world.
As tour guides, it's your job to make sure all visitors have fun. Many of you have never worked with real live critters, so let's go over the guidelines again.
Number one: If your safari bus should encounter our wild animals acting like, well, wild animals, do not under any circumstances attempt to disconnect them, deprogram them or try to locate the "off" button.
Remember, these are not the dancing country bears—and they're probably not just dancing, anyway.
I know it's a big adjustment for all of us here at Walt Disney World. In the old days, when a jungle beast went haywire we'd just replace a transistor. Not anymore.
The wildlife here at Animal Kingdom sometimes will engage in public behavior that our guests might find puzzling or even disturbing—behavior for which (I'm ashamed to say) a few of our human "cast members" have been occasionally reprimanded.
As tour guides, it's your duty not to let our visitors be distracted. Turning to page 17 of the manual, you'll find a detailed list of embarrassing animal antics, next to the officially scripted Disney explanations.
Scratching, for instance. As you've undoubtedly noticed, our primates can be indiscreet in their personal scratching habits. Please try not to bring this to the attention of your safari guests.
If, however, a guest observes this behavior and inquires, always refer to it as "grooming." Same goes for the licking—those lions, I swear, they never give it a rest … Just remember: "Grooming" is the operative word.
Several of you asked about the poop issue. I passed along your concerns directly to Mr. Eisner's office, and I've been told there's not a darn thing to be done. We've got i ,000 animals roaming here and unless the folks in Imagineering come up with some amazing new gadget, there's going to be lots of poop.
Hey, I'm on your side. Sixteen years I worked the Main Street Parade and we never had this problem, except for that one really obnoxious Pluto.
And, yes, I'm well aware how much a full-grown elephant eats—but try to deal with it, OK? "Droppings." That's the approved Disney term, whether it's from a hippo or a hummingbird.
The next item is, sadly, animal mortality. As you know, we've already lost two rhinos, some rare birds, four cheetah cubs. It's made for a few unpleasant headlines, to be sure.
But this is straight from the lawyers: Never use the terms "die" or "dead" on your Disney safari. If the tour bus passes an animal that appears not to be breathing, you may describe it as "lethargic," "inactive," "dormant" or (for the youngsters) "napping."
Finally, let's review the rules on animal sex. I don't know what genius decided to open this park in the springtime, but our animals are in quite the mood.
Some of you heard what happened on Media Day—a little problem with the Barbara Walters crew and that horny pair of wildebeests in quadrant seven. Without going into gory details, let's just say that ABC eventually was "persuaded" to give up the videotape.
As safari guides, it's imperative to remember that this is a family attraction. Animals do not mate here. They "wrestle." They "clench." They "frolic." They "romp." They "nuzzle." And of course they "groom" each other, sometimes intimately.
But they don't mate. They don't hump. They don't "do the nasty." Is that understood?
Good. Now go out there and give these wonderful folks an authentic true-life jungle adventure, droppings and all!
A State of Chaos
Why not study the brains of top Florida officials?
October 9, 1985
A true news item: State medical examiners have acknowledged secretly removing parts of the brains of executed prisoners for use in laboratory studies of aberrant behavior.
gainesville—Researchers today announced the expansion of the state's Involuntary Brain Donor Program to include members of the Florida Cabinet, the state Legislature and other qualified public officials.
"This is a tremendous opportunity for a scientific breakthrough," proclaimed Dr. Igor Hans of the University of Florida. "For years people have been wondering what makes politicians act the way they do. Studying their brain cells may unlock this terrible secret."
But several top Florida political figures immediately objected to the plan, calling it "coldhearted, barbaric and just plain icky."
"They're not getting my brain unless they get the governor's," vowed Agriculture Commissioner Doyle Conner.
"Don't worry, they're not getting the governor's," said a spokesman for the governor. "We keep a darn close eye on it."
Scientists argue that the benefits of brain experiments will far outweigh concerns for the privacy and dignity of the deceased. They say it makes more sense to study politicians than convicted murderers.
"Serial killers are a dime a dozen," Dr. Hans said, "but how many Claude Kirks are there in this world?"
Pathologists said that politicians' brains will be preserved in a mixture of formaldehyde and Johnnie Walker Red. Afterward the tissue will be microscopically photographed and dissected, then injected with powerful enzymes made from aspirin and Maxwell House coffee grounds.
To make the brains feel at home, the tests will be conducted in a $150-a-night suite on the top floor of the Tallahassee Hilton.
Dr. Hans said he expects to find striking differences between the brains of politicians and those of other humans.
"They'll b
e slightly smaller, of course," the famed neurologist said, "but this'll save us a fortune on storage space."
Behavioral scientists have speculated that many officeholders suffer from a cerebral condition known as Milhous Syndrome—a disorder causing the part of the brain that controls modesty, truthfulness and frugality to shrink to the size of a subway token.
Dr. Hans said he will test the theory on his first subject, preferably either a former Margate city commissioner or a Monroe County zoning board member.
Ironically, the donor team is having trouble recruiting experts to work on the landmark project.
"Doctors who wouldn't think twice about examining a bank robber's brain won't set foot in the same lab with a state senator's," Dr. Hans said. "People fear most what they don't understand."
Nationwide, there has been only one documented case of experimentation on the neurons of a political officeholder—a former U.S. congressman who had willed his cerebrum to science.
As part of the experiment, neurologists at Johns Hopkins University placed the congressman's brain on a laboratory table next to a stack of $5o bills. Within seconds, the organ quivered and began inching closer to the money, a phenomenon for which scientists could offer no explanation.
Dr. Hans said he would not attempt to duplicate the controversial Johns Hopkins studies.
"We already know what motivates a brain like that," he shrugged. "We're much more curious about the twisted pathology behind it."
Some ex-officeholders, including several former Florida Cabinet members, expressed "grave concern" that part of their brains already might have been removed without their permission.
However, scientists say that they're doing their best to ascertain that brain donors are actually dead before the organs are taken.
"Sometimes it's a close call," Dr. Hans conceded.