Category: Miami Stories

In the late 1950s, my world consisted of my home, my neighborhood of Stillwater Drive and my school, St. Joseph’s. Life was so simple because there were no worries – at least not from the kids in our neighborhood.

We had moved from New York with my mother, Irene, and brother, Richard, after our parents’ divorce.

Mom decided on Miami Beach since she’d spent her honeymoon there and loved it. We moved into the “Pickwick Arms,” a small apartment building on Dickens and 74th Street. Living there was a pleasant experience since the owner, Mrs. G., was a grandmotherly figure and treated us like her own. Since my own grandparents, Vincenzo and Eleonora, hadn’t yet moved here, she and her husband were like surrogate grandparents.

When Nana and Nonno finally moved down from New York in 1955, they bought a waterfront property and built the house at Stillwater Drive. It is a street shaped like a peninsula, and we faced north, toward Indian Creek Island, looking toward the few mansions that were there at the time.

Since Nonno had retired early, at 59, he needed an outlet and he figured that fishing would be a good choice since we had the bay behind our home. Up early in the morning for fishing, Nonno would come home, clean up and then head to 71st Street to the stock market. Thankfully, he did quite well.

Talk about the simple life – after a year or two, when the palm trees had matured a bit, coconuts would fall from the trees and Richard and I would grab a hammer and screwdriver and work so hard to remove the husk of the coconut so that we could enjoy the juiciness of those coconuts.

Walking barefoot was the norm – almost like being on an island. Luckily, we had great neighbors to share our time.

Our neighbors, Lucky, Dottie and Mike, were avid fishermen and every Sunday we all would be gathered on our docks waiting for the big catch. The best part for us kids was watching either Lucky or Dottie clean the fish, scale it, gut it, etc. In those days, red snapper was the prize, and catfish, well, they’d throw them back.

The Laris family, a Greek-American family, had the only pool at that time and we’d be swimming, diving, racing, doing handstands, anything you could imagine people do in the pool.

I remember places like Dubrow’s Cafeteria on Lincoln Road and their delicious tuna sandwiches.

I remember lunching there with my mom and Nana and walking over to Saks – no mall in those days. Friday nights was often a trip to Fun Fair on the 79th Street Causeway (Treasure Island). Miniature golf, arcades, hot dogs with sauerkraut, ice cream – what a treat that was for Richard and me!

Roller skating at North Shore Park on Friday night was another weekly activity that I would partake in with a friend, Judy. There would be so many kids there and we’d just skate and skate to the music of that era, the late ‘50s, early ‘60s. We never got tired, and afterward, Judy’s dad would sometimes take a bunch of us girls to Parham’s for ice cream.

Our neighborhood was mostly Jewish, but everyone got along well. We’d put up Christmas lights and other neighbors would light their Menorah candles, and I would get to participate in that observance.

Almost twice a month, a group of us would go to the movies on Saturday, which featured the “kiddie” show from about noon until the beginning of the feature film. The Surf and Normandy theatres were the hangout for all kids from age 10 to teenager. We’d be dropped off by a parent and for 50 cents we saw the kiddie show, the feature film, had popcorn and a drink. What a deal!

When we got to be pre-teenagers, we were able to take the public bus on a Saturday to Lincoln Road.

Like grownups, we’d walk over to Woolworth’s and maybe buy a lip gloss, then to Lincoln Lane for lunch, and then to a movie at the Beach or Caribe Theatre. I always loved the Caribe since it had a beautiful tropical lobby with a real parrot in it.

Taking the public bus in those days at our age was safe, and when it got crowded, we always offered our seats to older people as instructed by our parents.

I lived at Stillwater until 12 years ago. Fortunately, my children had the pleasure of growing up there and went to St. Joseph’s, as well. Though I moved from that beautiful home, I still hold such fond and vivid memories. One special memory is feeding the birds with Nonno from the dock with scraps of bread, and then many years later, feeding the birds with my own children on that dock and enjoying the beautiful sunsets.

Hopefully, Stillwater Drive will continue to exist, surviving any horrendous hurricane. Though the house in the 1400 block of Stillwater Drive may look different, the home of Eleonora and Vincenzo will always remain the same in my mind, the wonderful home that I grew up in.

The date was Jan. 17, 1961, when I left my beautiful island of Cuba and arrived in Miami. I was 10 years old. I always had a dream of going to Miami Beach, so I was very excited, but I couldn’t understand why my mom looked so upset and why my dad stayed behind. My mom kept saying we will be returning in a few months, but my father and grandparents joined us six months later, and the few months became the rest of my life.

For the first year, we all lived in a big old wooden house with my aunt, uncle and cousins in what today is known as Midtown. Eventually we all moved on our own but always within walking distance of each other. Then I finally got to live in Miami Beach, on Española Way and Meridian Avenue, what is now known as South Beach. How exciting!

Growing up in South Beach was absolutely wonderful. I attended Central Beach Elementary, now known as Fienberg-Fisher K-8. Leroy D. Fienberg was my wonderful principal; the school was named after him after he passed away. I then attended Ida M. Fisher Junior High and Miami Beach Senior High. Dr. Solomon Lichter was my incredible principal for those six years.

On weekends, my friends and I would walk to Lincoln Road or go to the Cameo Theater to see double features for 25 cents. The first summers were spent attending camp and fun activities at Flamingo Park. As I got a little older, the 14th Street beach was like a home away from home.

I am from Cuba but I am also Jewish, so that makes me known as a “Jewban.” Being a Jewban growing up in Miami Beach was a fun thing; we were a very close group and everyone knew each other, so we adopted the 14th Street beach as our own. We would then hang out at Dipper Dan, our favorite ice cream place. We also would go to Fun Fair in the north part of the beach and take buses to downtown Miami to buy records and have lunch at Woolworth.

My school years were wonderful. I learned English quickly and attended class with so many of my old friends from Cuba. In the 1960s, I would be sitting in class and when an old time friend would show up, it was so exciting that our sixth grade teacher, Mr. Bergman, would stop teaching and give us a few minutes to hug and catch up with the old days.

At Beach High, I became active with several school clubs. I enjoyed being an officer in them and most of all I enjoyed being part of the Usher Club, which allowed me to go to concerts, the circus and the Jackie Gleason show for free. Because of my grades and activities, I received a scholarship from the Lion’s Club that helped me with my education.

I definitely had the Beach High spirit, which I still do. I have worked closely with the reunion High Tides committees. To this day, there is always excitement when I meet someone from Beach High.

Because of my love of Miami, I decided to stay in town for college and graduated from the University of Miami with a degree in education. Years later I received a master’s in leadership and administration from Nova University.

While attending the University of Miami, I met my future husband who was a law school student there. Can you imagine: a Jewban from Miami meets and marries a guy from St. Paul, Minnesota, who played hockey. I was the first Cuban he ever met. I didn’t even know what hockey was and had never seen snow. I made him promise me that he would never move back. We will be celebrating our 43rd anniversary very soon.

Life has been great. I have taught and have been an administrator for several Miami-Dade County schools. We live in the north end of town and never want to leave the area. Our children attended Florida schools, University of Florida and Florida State, and you can just imagine football season at our home. Our children live in Broward and we are the proud grandparents of five. It is so wonderful to be able to live close to where I grew up and still have the children nearby.

Growing up in Miami has just been incredible. I have seen many changes to our city, but it has always been truly a “Magic City.”

I was born in Nicaragua. I lived there until I moved to Miami in 1979 when I was 19 years old. I moved with my daughter; she was almost 2 at the time.

From the moment I moved to Miami I felt at home. My sisters were living here. The first time I came to Miami from Nicaragua, I was 5 years old and I loved it; my memories from it when I was a child were beautiful. And I came often with my parents from Nicaragua. When I moved here, I was acquainted with the city. My sisters living here also helped a lot.

When I was 12 years old, something terrible happened: I lost my father, Julio C. Martinez. He died here in Miami while I was living in Nicaragua. It was a sudden death and it was really difficult. I was very close to him, so it was hard on me. I’ve always been a happy and cheerful person, but in my heart I had that sense of void, that sense of missing my dad, that grief. It is because of that great loss that I do what I do, and that’s why I share this with you.

My daughter went to school here at Carrollton School of the Sacred Heart, which she loved. When she was in high school, I decided to go back to school myself. I started at the south campus of Miami Dade College, and now I teach a class there on world religions.

At Miami Dade, I chose psychology to be my major, and then I applied to different schools and was accepted at the University of Miami. I went there and took a class in world religions, which I loved, so I took on another major, religious studies.

There I took a class that really attracted me, called “Death and Dying.” I realized I needed it for my own sense of loss. It was very healing.

When I was in Nicaragua, I didn’t have counseling or support groups, or books to help me cope with my grief. I had my family and my Catholic religion customs at the time to wear black and white. There was no music, no TV and no going out because I was mourning. But at my young age, I did not understand what was happening.

When I finished at UM with a double major in psychology and religious studies, I started the graduate program on gerontology at Florida International University and then went to St. Thomas University for a certificate on loss and healing.

Now I help people cope with grief, including immigrants who suffer from a loss of homeland, traditions and language.

Since I moved here, 30-something years ago, Miami has grown so much. A place that I like to go to is Brickell Avenue near downtown Miami. It’s beautiful, and I love to see how downtown Miami has grown. Mary Brickell Village, and now the Design District — it’s so cosmopolitan.

I’m proud to have accomplished my purpose in this amazing city. Miami is such a warm city. And being Hispanic, with so many Hispanics here, I feel at home.

I grew up on the North Shore of Boston in the ‘50s and ‘60s in a small blue-collar town with its four seasons. It took me years to figure out why every year I would get “blue” in August. I loved summer, beaches, the sun, and walking around in flip flops. In August, I knew the winter, the cold and snow were coming and I did not like that fact.

Once, in my early 20s, I begged my girlfriends to take a trip somewhere in warmer climate where there were beaches, sun, and I could walk around in flip flops. The three of us traveled to Bermuda and, on my second day there, while I was sunning on famous Horse Shoe beach, along came my future husband with two of his friends, all from Italy.

Marcello and I hit it off right away, even though I thought he was German and told him that. (He had blond hair and green eyes.) With his hands flying around, he told me he was Italian and from Tuscany. Six months later, we were married and were trying to decide whether to live in Boston, Bermuda, or somewhere else.

Marcello told me that when he was a little boy he always dreamed of Miami Beach. He also is a beach bum, likes the sun, heat, and walking around in flip flops. So, the bold decision was made that we would move to South Florida.

Marcello flew down in late 1972 and stayed with my second cousin until he found a job and an apartment for what was now a family of three (our daughter Diana was born in Boston in October 1972). He found a job at famous Valenti’s Restaurant on U.S. 1 in Kendall, and worked there for several years.

Marcello’s goal was to own and operate an Italian restaurant within five years of our settling in Miami in early 1973. He made that dream come true in 1977 when he opened Il Pappagallo Italian Cuisine in Perrine on U.S. 1. It was a small restaurant that could seat approximately 55 people, and it was very successful for almost 30 years. Marcello and several of his original staff – Karin from Germany, Anna from Italy, and Ugo from Argentina – were with us for many years. People came from all over Miami-Dade, and even from the Keys and Broward County, to dine in our quaint little restaurant.

Our first residence was in King’s Creek apartments across from the huge Dadeland Mall. I would walk there with my newborn daughter and shop at Jordan Marsh and Burdines. A couple of years later, we moved to the Briar Bay/Falls area and have owned our home for 34 years. I now walk to The Falls and shop at Macy’s.

Our second daughter Cristina was born at Baptist Hospital in Kendall on Christmas Day, 1974. On Cristina’s 10th birthday we hired a white limo and had the limo driver dress up as Santa and we ate at the beautiful Reflections restaurant in Bayside. For fun, we would take day trips and a picnic lunch to the Keys, Matheson Hammock, Cape Florida and Miami Beach. Life was good.

Our daughters went to Killian and Palmetto schools and received their degrees from Florida International University. They now live in Central Florida but still love Miami and would like to move back.

While Marcello was at his beloved restaurant, I worked for the federal government in Miami for 36 years as an international trade specialist for the U.S. Department of Commerce. In this position, I was very lucky to have met many members of the international community, exporters, and local, state and federal government officials. It has been a joy to see how Miami International Airport and PortMiami have grown into world class operations. In 2009, I received the International Women’s Day Award from the World Trade Center Miami and in 2011, the International Business Woman of the Year Award from the Organization for Women in International Trade.

The Santucci family will always remember how Miami was a small city and how it has changed since we arrived in 1973. Back then, the tallest building in downtown Miami was a bank and, of course, the Dade County Courthouse on Flagler. Miami Beach was full of rental apartments for the elderly and you would see them sitting out on the front porches in rocking chairs, enjoying the salt air and sunshine.

We did survive Hurricane Andrew even though we lost the restaurant business for four months, and our home was half destroyed. We never thought of leaving, but only thought of rebuilding. On the first day of reopening our restaurant we gave all proceeds to Zoo Miami (then Metro Zoo) and to a homeless shelter.

Miami is and will always be our home town. We love that it has evolved into an international city with people from many cultures and countries. On our small cul de sac we have families from China, El Salvador, Brazil, Cuba, and other U.S. states.

Over the years, we took at least 15 cruises, and have made many trips to Italy to visit Marcello’s family and to New England to visit my family. But, we are always pleased to return to our home, Miami.

I was always amazed at one coincidence Marcello and I shared. He and I were both born near the 42nd parallel north – he in Tuscany, Italy, and I near Boston, Massachusetts. And from our early childhood years, we both knew we wanted to live south in a warmer climate.

Marcello and I are now retired near the 26th parallel north in Briar Bay/The Falls, and are enjoying the sun, beaches, and walking around in our flip flops! Dreams do come true…..

I was born 70 years ago at Jackson Memorial Hospital. My father had done his surgical training there in the late 1930s, following his mother’s move to Miami from Tennessee.

My great-grandparents came to Coral Gables in 1928, and my mother’s family wintered here and later took the grandparents’ home. My parents’ wedding reception on Nov. 18, 1941, was the last major event at the Biltmore Hotel before it became an Army hospital.

Dad was happy to find a house after WW II, since properties were scarce. It was located near Bird and Red roads, which had Allen’s Drug Store, Woolworths, and B Thrifty. Our street was next to the rock pit where we played with the dreaded BB guns. It is now the site of the YMCA. In 1950, we moved a few blocks east to Coral Gables.

Starting in 1947, I went to JMH with my father, and after ninth grade, Dad got me summer jobs at the hospital to see if I really wanted to be a doctor. The hospital was segregated, but I worked with and under African Americans, which was very enlightening for me.

In 1958, my first summer at JMH, my monthly salary as a pharmacy tech was $212. I worked eight summers with no salary increase. In 1970, I treated Cuban refugees from the Freedom Flights in the rooms of the old ER.

Dad was willing to pay 10 cents for the Venetian Causeway instead of using MacArthur Causeway to get to my aunt’s flower shop on 36th Street. While riding the flower shop truck in the 1950s, I marveled at the wonderful new hotels in Miami Beach. I remember Dixie Highway (U.S. 1), with its two lanes, and along the two lanes of Kendall Drive, there was only tall saw grass.

In 1950, my father’s commute improved when he moved to the 550 Building on Brickell. It was the first office building on “mansion road.”

Because of a shortage of schools, 50 children were in my Coral Gables Elementary first grade classroom and we had to share desks. I became very proficient at air-raid drills. I wasn’t allowed to go to the Venetian Pool because of the fear of polio, and I was among the first to get the Salk vaccine.

Every Saturday, for 25 cents, I spent most of the day at the Miracle Theater. When I was older, I never used the double seats at the Coral Theater, but was jealous of those who did. We took buses everywhere, including to downtown Miami.

Our family ate dinners at Red Coach Grill, Edith & Fritz, and Batista’s, later called Delmonico’s, at Ponce de Leon Blvd. and Douglas Road. For seafood, we usually ate at Loffler Brothers, and on big occasions at Chesapeake’s. I would eat four or five mini cheeseburgers at Royal Castle, and never worried about it. Shorty’s BBQ seemed a long trip from the Gables but worth the drive.

At Christmas time, we drove to see the house lights, especially on South Alhambra Circle. We also went to Burdines to see the train exhibit and to ride the Ferris wheel. Of course, one had to visit the outdoor display at Holsum Bakery.

The heat at school and home wasn’t much fun during the warm months. The large attic fan helped a little, but nothing like our first wall AC unit when I was 10. During summer school, I drenched my starched shirts at the UM “cardboard campus,” which had no air conditioning. That site became part of the “new” War Memorial Youth Center. Because Tahiti Beach cost 10 cents, we went to Matheson or Crandon parks, which had the zoo. In high school, we water skied by the mangroves near Key Biscayne Yacht Club and would leave our stuff on the beaches behind private homes.

Other thoughts about growing up here: At the Coliseum, I enjoyed seeing Golden Glove boxing matches and the Harlem Globetrotters, and later enjoyed bowling when it was converted. Initially, in the Gables, we could drive through the Douglas Entrance and along University Drive through UM to Ponce de Leon Junior High. The air raid siren sounded every Saturday at noon and the UM carillon played at 5 p.m. on Sundays.

As to the demographic changes in South Florida, a few years ago I started studying Spanish, which tells it all. Coral Gables and the rest of South Florida is certainly different from my youth, but I still love it and am thankful to be home.

South Miami Heights — it brings a smile to my face. I wish the kids of today could have had the childhood we had — it was so simple.

Dad was the first of the six Sinclair brothers to move from Massachusetts to South Florida. Mom and Dad moved to Miami in the late ’50s, where they rented an apartment across the street from the Orange Bowl. I was born soon after at Jackson Memorial Hospital; I think the entire bill for the birth was about $115.

We lived in the aptly named Orange Bowl Court Apartments, and when a game was played in the OB, Dad and other OB Court renters made a few dollars parking cars on the premises. Four of my uncles followed, they worked in Doral and later settled with their families in Broward County.

Soon they heard of homes being built 25 miles south, starting at only $11,000. They packed their bags and moved south, to everyone’s dismay — it was just so far away!

Our new home was situated directly across the street from South Miami Heights Elementary. The house was a terrazzo-floored, jalousie-windowed single-family home with three bedrooms, two baths, and a turquoise eat-in kitchen with a nook where the whole family sat for every meal. Best friends Nancy and Linda were my constant companions. We went from kindergarten through high school together.

Some Saturdays, Linda and I walked up to 7-Eleven story for their famous Icee drinks, and we got the jumping beans candy for free. Food Fair, Mike’s drug store, and the pediatrician’s office were all within a mile from our homes. Where everyone shopped, they were known by name. We cannot forget the Cutler Ridge Cinema, and the Saturday morning matinee, for 10 cents.

My dad Ray was a sign painter and worked for Richards and Grant’s department stores. Later, he got a job on with Miami-Dade’s Parks and Recreation Department and retired 25 years later as the county sign painter, back when signs were actually hand-painted. He moonlighted doing his favorite thing, playing the drums. He played the drums with various bands throughout South Florida over the years, both paid and unpaid. Dad was one of the few people I have ever known who truly enjoyed his work. He vowed he would die with drumsticks in his hands, and when he died in 2008, we made sure he took them with him.

My Mom Sarah was a waitress at a few local spots, but most memorable for me was the Bowl-0-Mat, on 87th Avenue and U.S. 1. Sometimes, she would take me along and send me over to the roller skating rink during her shift. I LOVED that.

As a teen, I joined Dad and his guitar-playing friends and their families in a weekly bowling team; it was lots of fun. In between, having four more children, Mom later worked at Palmetto Golf Course where, during the summer, she would load us into her green Chevy station wagon with all our friends and we’d hang out at the pool all day.

The days were long and after breakfast, bed-making and washing the dishes, we were sent outside to play — no TV for us. Give us a ball and a bottle cap and we played for hours, a rock scratched upon the sidewalk and you now have hopscotch.

At 4 p.m., my brother Ray and his friends Lee and David would start humming, “Nah nah nah nah na, BATMAN!” and the three of them would run off into one of their homes to watch.

Our year of seventh grade at Cutler Ridge Junior High was great. Then, for eighthh grade, we were tangled up in politics — integration had begun. We would now be bused into Goulds, the neighborhood east of the highway just south of our neighborhood. National TV reporters were in town, police were everywhere, and accusations, threats, and emotions ran high.

Impromptu schools began popping up; some white parents didn’t want their kids going to Goulds for schooling. Classroom assignments and bus routes were received and I was to be at the corner for bus pick-up early Monday morning. The weekend before school started was hectic. My friends called to tell me they were not going to school, none of them. I, being a very shy, awkward, freckle-faced pre-teen, was scared to death to be alone at a new school with no friends, so I begged my mom to let me stay home. She, the all-knowing mother that she is, said, you will go to school and you will be just fine. Yes, I went. Mom was right; we were fine. We developed some great friendships and learned a lot about different cultures.

To this day, we remain close to our childhood friends, although most have moved away. I am sad when I go through the neighborhoods and see no one — no kids playing, no neighbors in the yard talking, no bicycles ….

My friends, you don’t know what you are missing.

In 1924, Jo and Frank “Spud” Murphy came to Miami from Port St. Joe in the Florida Panhandle. Originally, they were both from Alabama.

My grandfather is nicknamed Spud, after Irish potatoes. He got an offer for a better job as a bookkeeper to move to Miami. They bought a house in Allapattah and my grandfather took a job with Mill’s Rock Company. In those days, rock pits were blasted using dynamite. In a freak accident, there was a premature explosion and the owner, Robert Mills, and several workers were killed. After this happened, Ed Mills, one of the Mills brothers, took my grandfather in as partner. This became a longtime, well-known, road-building business known as “Murphy and Mills.”

In 1923, Rilla and Tom Murrell decided to move to Miami from Alabama to escape the cold and come down to the wonderful weather and easy-going lifestyle. They bought a house in Miami Springs and opened a beauty salon and barber shop together on the circle. My grandfather, Tom, also became the first postmaster of Miami Springs. My grandparents lived in that house until they passed away. My grandmother always grew a wonderful vegetable garden. Men and women would come from all over to have their hair done by my grandmother.

My grandparents all weathered the 1926 hurricane. Back then, they did not have the knowledge of hurricanes like we do today. My grandfather Murphy was stuck out in the storm at a gas station.

My mother, Ann Murphy Murrell, was born in 1931 at Jackson Memorial Hospital in the Alamo Building, which is still there as a historical site. When she was born, that was the only building at Jackson. She went to Miami Jackson High School and was a majorette in the marching band. After high school, my mom attended the University of Miami.

My father, Lee Murrell, was born in 1930 at his family home. He went to Miami Edison High School where he played football and ran track. He played back in the days when they wore leather helmets and facemasks. They did not even know what a mouth piece was. Can you imagine — they traveled around Florida by plane to play other high school teams?

After high school, he also attended the University of Miami. That is where my mom and dad met; a mutual friend introduced them. They dated for a while and then were married in the First Baptist Church of Allapattah.

My mom worked as a secretary before becoming a housewife. My dad worked for Holsum bakery with his own delivery route. Then in the 1950s, they bought property in North Miami at 131st Street and West Dixie Highway. They bought a Carvel ice cream franchise and built a Carvel shop. This was the beginning of their first business. My parents were living in Allapattah at the time, so to be closer to the Carvel, they bought a piece of property in North Miami and built their first home.

In the 1960s, they sold the Carvel store then went across the street and opened an ice cream and hamburger place called Lee’s. This became the new hangout for the North Miami kids. After owning Lee’s for a few years, the long hours were just too much while raising four kids. My father sold Lee’s and started M&M; Landscaping.

In the meantime, he went to the Lowe Art Museum to take a metal sculpting class as a hobby and also went to Coconut Grove in the 1960s to take a class to learn to make jewelry. Well, a hobby became a business. He was making jewelry and metal sculptures and selling them at arts and crafts shows. He stopped making the jewelry, but he still has his metal sculpture business, Copper Creations by Lee. Now, 45 years later, he is still doing art shows and selling online at Etsy. When anybody asks my dad where he is from, he still says, “My-am-uh,” like a native.

My mother and father had four children. The two oldest were born at Mercy Hospital, and the two youngest at North Shore. We were raised in North Miami when it was just a small town where everyone knew each other. We would ride our bikes everywhere and loved hanging out at Haulover Beach and Greynolds Park. We loved going to eat at Pumpernick’s, and then we would go to the First Baptist Church of North Miami. All four of us graduated from North Miami Senior High; we were true “Pioneers”!

Some of us still live here, and some have moved on. My parents have seven grandchildren, who were all born in Miami. My father has one great-granddaughter. We are University of Miami Hurricanes and Miami Dolphin’ fans. When the Marlins came to Miami, we became big fans of them, as well. My mother was one of their biggest fans, going to almost every game. After the games, we would go to Rascal House to enjoy dinner. She had a room in her home dedicated to all three sports teams. My parents always loved Miami, and my mother believed going to the beach could cure anything.

I have written this story in memory of my mother, who always wanted to write this story. Sadly, she passed away July 29, 2013, so I used her notes to write this piece.

I’ve visited Miami often over the past 20 years, sleeping on friends’ couches, perusing thrift stores, gorging on ceviche, watching the ever-changing crowd along Ocean Drive.

But it wasn’t until 2009, when I stepped outside all comfort zones to research my book, Fringe Florida, that I got an inside glimpse into the diverse and quirky glory that defines Miami.

My research trip was a whirlwind of interactions with everyone from python owners to nightclub promoters. I kicked it off with a day at a swinger’s convention at a hotel downtown, where waiters in guayaberas served drinks to randy nude couples. Fringe Florida is a book about the state’s unusual and sometimes illicit subcultures. In Miami you didn’t have to dig too deep to find Middle Earth.

But as with any major project, many valuable experiences fall to the floor in shaping the final piece. At the time, I was still exploring the notion of juxtaposing Miami’s 1980s cocaine glory days against its modern party drug scene. My impressions of the earlier period were colored by documentaries such “Cocaine Cowboys” and of course, the Hollywood fictions of “Miami Vice” and “Scarface.” All cast the era as violent, but glamorized by easy money and the hedonistic excesses that go along with it.

In search of remnants, I checked into the Mutiny in Coconut Grove. The Mutiny once served as a party palace for drug lords and home to many who sniffed a daily diet of the white powder that fueled the local economy. Nearly 30 years later the Mutiny had transformed into a sleepy sleek condo-hotel. All that remained of the wilder days were second-hand stories. Tips in blow, coked-up residents lighting $5 bills and then climbing balcony to balcony to escape the smoldering fire.

On a walking tour of pastel Deco South Beach, a fellow tour-goer confided he lived at the Mutiny in the day. A tan fit man in his 60s wearing designer jeans, he spoke of all-night parties and nude women running down his hallway. “It was like living in an upscale brothel,” he said. More important, his former Coconut Grove home was a set for – what else, a handful of “Miami Vice” episodes.

I later cruised by the modern three-story house shrouded by lush palms and live oaks. No Don Johnson loafing around in white linen suits and sockless loafers, just a flock of bright blue peacocks wandering the streets, interlopers from a distant land not unlike me.

I tarried through a long list of drug lore sites, real and Hollywood.
In Bal Harbour I strolled the jetty beside the Harbour House condo tower where cocaine smugglers Jon Roberts and Mickey Munday once put up women who acted as lookouts for law enforcement patrols.

On this bright October day, the white sandy beach was nearly empty and the refurbished condo tower appeared lifeless. A vintage runabout cut through the teal waters of Haulover Cut. I imagined someone behind the condo’s glass eyes watching it through binoculars. The illusion faded when a New York condo owner fishing for snook said he knew nothing of the tower’s infamous history.

Too many of the sites were drive-bys with no opportunity for interaction. The banks of Biscayne Boulevard which once laundered millions; gritty Jones Boat Yard where corrupt police raided a boat loaded with 400 kilos of coke as the crewmen jumped overboard and drowned; luxurious mansions of former kingpins in gated communities beyond reach.

By definition, the site of the “Dadeland Mall Massacre” would be available. Many consider what happened on a sunny afternoon in 1979 the start of Miami’s cocaine turf wars. Two men armed with machine guns jumped out of a panel van and sprayed Crown Liquors with bullets, killing a rival drug kingpin and his bodyguard and injuring the store clerk. After a white-knuckle drive in rush hour traffic, I arrived at Dadeland Mall to discover the liquor store had been swallowed by Saks 5th Avenue during a mall renovation.

Miami’s bad-boy glamour was an illusion cast by Hollywood and revisionist history. The world of Miami’s cocaine titans may have been an oyster, but there was no pearl, only a prickly shell that in short order began to smell foul.
As for the modern club drug scene, in the time I spent inside the velvet-roped hot spots, I found trending drugs that spanned the letters of the alphabet: Special K, X, and G. Not so different than you’d find in a nightclub in any major city. At the time, the most distinctive drug culture revolved around pill mills. I visited one. They sent me to a walk-in MRI clinic down the street.
In hindsight, I’m not sure what I expected to find. The cocaine era was a dark time and one that continues to haunt. My Miami friends say tourists still ask where to score an 8-ball.

It wasn’t until I joined the lunchtime crowd at Mac’s Club Deuce that my disillusionment gave way to an appreciation of what Miami had become. Except for the neon gracing its wall, courtesy of the “Miami Vice” crew, it looks like a set from a Damon Runyan novel. Dark and smoky with the original red laminate serpentine bar, Club Deuce has had few alterations since it opened in 1926. The bar’s real treasure is the spell of friendship it casts. Before I finished a screwdriver, I met everyone.

The longhaired fashion photographer wearing more silver bangles than I thought humanly possible who worked on his laptop to be able to write off his drinks. The young businessman in a starched shirt unbuttoned enough to show a white undershirt. A blustery former cop who ranted about Obama. An Ecuadorian pottery wholesaler who for years in the 1980s wouldn’t leave his home at night much less venture to South Beach — three men with a gun and a machete had mugged him outside a club. “It was extremely dangerous on South Beach,” he said. Now he lived there and wouldn’t dream of moving.

Mac Klein, Club Deuce owner, was 95 when I met him and looked as if he could take a man 20 years younger. He was wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt; his glasses were thick and black. He didn’t talk much, but kept reemerging from the back with memorabilia. The bar’s original menu. A flier for the “Miami Vice” wrap party. A thank-you note from the cast. A dog magazine featuring his champion Doberman pinschers. Sensing my love of dogs, he insisted that I keep the magazine, which I now treasure.

My drug scene exploration may not have turned up the type of fringe I sought for my book, but I have no regrets aside for the credit card debt I racked up. And on any trip, I make a point to duck into Club Deuce and say hello to my friends, whoever they may be that day.