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.

My father, David R. Balogh, is a Miami Beach legend. Most Beach people knew him and many, many shopped at his Balogh jewelry store.

Today, wherever I go, whether Miami, New York City or even Sun Valley, Idaho, I meet people who proudly show off their long-ago-purchased Balogh treasure.

My dad’s story is in many ways typical of the tales of those designated by Tom Brokaw as “the greatest generation,” those men and women who helped us defeat Nazism in World War II and then returned home to create the most prosperous and free nation, not even fathomed by our founding fathers.

I do believe, however, that my dad has some very distinguishing qualities, especially his unusual embodiment of both an ambitious drive coupled with romantic warmth and charm. He was the Navy vet who sent home every paycheck to his loyal wife Sallie. And when he returned from the war, they drove their old station wagon from New York City to subtropical, undeveloped Miami Beach to begin their family life with infant daughter Joan. What drove him to Miami, in addition to his run-down jalopy, was his conviction that Miami Beach was nirvana with its consistently sunny weather, the ocean and the palm trees. This was the venue to start a business and a life.

My parents rented a very small store on Arthur Godfrey Road, as they certainly could not afford Lincoln Road. They began a “mom and pop” antique business. My dad’s optimism led to his conviction that his customers would invest in and celebrate a new, good life with lovely items both to wear and to adorn their homes. He believed both in Miami Beach and in America. He was spot on about his customers, Miami Beach and America.

In addition to his foresight and optimism, he had skills. He had an uncanny business savvy, sensing where and how to buy, and he had a charismatic ability to sell. He loved beauty and believed in investing in real, tangible items. This mom and pop business grew just as he had envisioned; it was enlightening to witness the business morph from a two-person, seven-day-a-week operation into an internationally renowned jewelry store. He opened stores in Coral Gables, Hallandale, the Diplomat Hotel and much later on Madison Avenue in New York City. But the basis of his business and his heart remained in Miami Beach.

As my father’s business grew, so did Arthur Godfrey Road. It was symbiosis; David Balogh and Arthur Godfrey Road fed off each other and grew together. He purchased real estate on the street and involved himself in leadership roles, such as establishing the parking facilities to help all the small businesses and restaurants in the area. He was active in the Miami Beach Chamber of Commerce and many local and national philanthropies, such as Mount Sinai Hospital, juvenile diabetes and the University of Miami. He became imbedded in the fabric of Miami Beach life. My dad retired at age 92, but he still puts on his suit and tie every day and enjoys riding around looking at his properties.

My dad’s dedication and focus went considerably beyond his jewelry and real estate businesses. He was an accomplished musician — a pianist and flutist. He actually met my mom in Astoria, New York, through his music; he was her piano teacher. He played first flute in the Miami Beach Symphony and I remember feeling special to be called up on stage to conduct when the symphony came to my North Beach elementary school. He was so proud that he was able to play under the maestro Arturo Toscanini. My dad’s special motto, still displayed in his closet shelf, is “you never fail until you stop trying,” and this definitely permeated the inner structure of his businesses and his family. Fortunately, I was able to incorporate some of my parents’ strong work ethic and very ambitious, yet measured, approach to life.

I grew up in a very close family and was indoctrinated with family-first values. As with his business life, my dad also fulfilled his familial goals. My younger brother, Bobby, a “chip off the old block,” has built his life in the Miami area. After Yale undergraduate school and then law school, Bobby has taken our father’s real estate interests beyond even David’s expectations. He and his wife, Cara, have molded two talented children, Andrew and Alex, both Yale undergraduates.

I am a practicing psychoanalyst in New York. My husband, Marty, guided by my father, opened his own jewelry business in New York almost four decades ago. We have two wonderful and accomplished daughters. Cara is a Ph.D. and professor of American literature, while her sister, Anna, another “chip off the old block,” is in the real estate business. Clearly, all this was the result of the example he set, the drive he had and the quality and quantity of time he and my mom spent with us.

The Greek hero Achilles was given the choice by his goddess mother Thetis to live either the adventurous, but short life or the long, undistinguished one. My dad, now 94, my hero, never had to make this choice. He has lived both.

Our family moved to Miami Beach from Brooklyn, N.Y., for my grandmother’s health. It was 1943 and Dad was with the Navy in the Pacific, so it was Mom, Aunt Rose, sister Bonnie, Grandma and me.

We settled in a one-bedroom, one-bath apartment on Third Street and Jefferson. Our apartment was close to the dog track, so we could hear the announcer call the races. Bonnie and I would wager on each race while in bed, and we could hear the announcer proclaim the winners. My best friend, Sonja Lovseth, and I played with our dolls, danced in our house, and rode our bikes everywhere.

South Beach Elementary School was three blocks away, and provided the best education one could ask for. We had an assembly program every week and my sister, Bonnie, was assembly leader. I was captain of the safety patrol.

We learned Spanish beginning in third grade, and I can remember singing the Cuban national anthem in the classroom. Señora Ransom always carried a lace hankie and smelled of Old Spice cologne. The teachers were all wonderful – Mrs. Bleich in sixth grade sex education told the girls to be proud of our bodies, Mr. Little and his violin produced operettas, and Mr. Sanders was our handsome and very dignified principal. Mr. Vasey, the custodian, lived in a cottage next to the school, and he was always Santa Claus for the holidays.

Our apartment on Third and Jefferson was downstairs from Ben Cohen, an attorney for the notorious Miami Beach gambling syndicate, which attracted outside gangsters such as Meyer Lansky. He and his beautiful wife, Joan, had a baby girl and I went upstairs to see the baby.

In the bedroom were about a dozen telephones. I remember asking my mother why anyone needed so many phones. There is a window in the Jewish museum with Ben Cohen’s name and Meyer Lansky’s.

Grandma, as an observant Jew, needed to be near the synagogue, which was on Washington Avenue, and today is the home of the Jewish Museum. My sister and I attended the Hebrew School there. On Fridays when I got home from school, I had to help Grandma prepare for the Sabbath. I usually chopped vegetables or turned the grinder for the chopped liver.

When we were done in the kitchen, I would help her in the bath, wash her hair, and scrub her back, which was crooked from osteoarthritis. After her bath I combed her white hair, set the waves, and she rested for a while in her bed. Grandma had very bad asthma. There was always an oxygen tank next to her bed.

Sometimes I polished her nails. When the sun set, she would light the candles and bring in the Sabbath. Bonnie and I would not write, cut, or, later, watch TV for 24 hours.

During WWII, soldiers were stationed on Miami Beach. They marched by our house, singing army songs, which we quickly learned. Mom and Aunt Rose went to dances at hotels used as a USO (a United Service Organization with a mission to support troops).

Dad returned from the war, lived with us a short time, and then my parents divorced when I was 9. Bonnie and I continued to see our father, who worked in the window at Wolfie’s, Pumpernik’s and the Rascal House as a salad and sandwich chef. Sometimes he would take us for lunch at Burdines in Miami.

Walking on Lincoln Road in the 1940s and ‘50s was like walking on the Champs-Élysées, with luxury shops like Lillie Rubin, Saks Fifth Avenue, and so many others. Once my father took me into Saks and bought me red butter-leather sandals and an emerald-green, silk-taffeta cocktail dress. He introduced me to the finer things of life.

Bonnie and I had always wanted a dog, so when we moved to Miami, we got our first dog, a precious Jack Russell named Bing. Next, we got a blue tick hound named Penny.

We would take her to Crandon Park, where she ran for hours along the beach chasing shadows in the sand. We also had a pet duck named Christine. She followed Penny like a shadow and would greet me when I returned from a date in the evening. One day the duck disappeared. We found out several years later that Grandma had made a trade with the butcher.

I attended Ida M. Fisher Junior High on Miami Beach from seventh through ninth grades. One of my boyfriends was Norman Cement, who later became mayor of Miami Beach. In the 1950s, my grandmother and mother bought a duplex in what is now Little Havana.

I did not want to leave my friends, so Mom arranged for me to be picked up in Miami by Mr. Dutton, my music teacher, so that I could finish ninth grade with friends I’d had since second grade. Later, I attended Miami High.

On my own, I applied for a scholarship to the University of Miami, and did not tell my mother until I was accepted. I majored in Elementary Education.
At the end of my junior year, I flew to Nashville to attend the wedding of my friend, Marie Lefkowitz. It was at this wedding I met my future husband, Irwin Kaplan.

We moved to New Jersey in 1956, after we married. We have been married 57 years, have three children, 10 grandchildren, and four great grandchildren.

My sister Laurie and I share an unusual trait: we are in our 50s and we are both native Miamians.

We were born at Mount Sinai Medical Center in Miami Beach. My mother, Suzanne Gillette Collins, and her family moved here in 1939, because my grandfather, Jules Gillette, was seeking new opportunities in Miami.

He opened a men’s clothing store on Lincoln Road, Jules Gillette Men’s Clothing, leading to a succession of such stores on Flagler Street, in downtown Miami, and on Northeast 125th Street in North Miami. During World War II, the store became an Army supply store since Miami Beach was a training ground for soldiers.

My mother helped out at the store and she liked to tell the story about the first time a soldier came in and asked for a jock strap. She was clueless.

Although he didn’t know my mother at the time, my father, Ken Collins, trained here with the Army Air Corps during the war. He stayed at the Embassy Hotel on Collins Avenue which, like most other hotels, had been converted for wartime use. The soldiers would drill in Polo Park on Miami Beach.

My mother would watch the soldiers drill. My father went on to fly several missions before being shot down over Hungary. He was captured and became a POW in a German prison camp. Gen. George S. Patton’s Third Army liberated the prisoners and my father went home to Ohio.

He went to college and moved to New York for a career in retailing.

My mother graduated from Miami Beach High in 1945 and went to college out of state as well.

My parents met when they both worked at Macy’s in New York. They married in Miami in 1953, but remained in New York for a couple of years before moving to Miami when my grandfather offered my father a job at his store. On Lincoln Road at that time, there were about eight men’s clothing stores and several ladies’ shoe stores.

My parents found an apartment on Marseilles Drive in Miami Beach. The apartment was not air-conditioned, so they agreed to purchase one if the landlord would install it.

They then bought a house on Northeast 175th Street in North Miami Beach. It was one of two houses built on the block at the time, which ended in a dirt road until about 1962. The stately royal palms in the front of our house came from Miami Beach when they were constructing the Julia Tuttle Causeway.

My parents lived in that house until 1991 when they moved to the Highland Lakes area, where my husband and I also live.

In September 1960, Hurricane Donna threatened South Florida. It was believed that the low barometric pressure might induce labor in pregnant women in their late stages. Since my mother was eight months pregnant with me, she and numerous other pregnant women spent a night roaming the halls of Jackson Memorial Hospital until the hurricane threat had passed.

Since I was to be her second child, she was calmer than most of the women, but she told the story of the many large hysterical women who spent the night with her. It sounded worse than any sorority function you could imagine. I was born in October 1960.

In 1962, there was the Cuban Missile Crisis. We still have my mother’s can of Sterno, and the shovel my dad bought to dig a trench if we needed a latrine. I can’t picture either of them using either device, but they couldn’t say they weren’t ready.

My one grandmother would take us to Junior’s on 79th Street and Biscayne Boulevard, where they had great breads and rolls. My other grandparents used to take us to the Roney Pub for dinner. We loved that big quarter-wedge of iceberg lettuce they’d give you with a choice of dressing.

We’d also go to Corky’s for pastrami and corned beef back in the days when I ate big meaty sandwiches. Corky’s used to have a drive-up area where you could order from your car window, and they’d bring your food out to your car and hook a tray to your car window.

As I got older, I’d go to the Sportatorium for concerts with my friends way out on Hollywood Boulevard, before there was anything else built out there.

My mother worked at Temple Israel, where my family were members. My dad eventually opened his own store in Bay Harbor Islands, Ken Collins Men’s Clothing. I used to help out at both places during summers and holidays.

My sister and I went to Sabal Palm Elementary School, John F. Kennedy Junior High School, and North Miami Beach High School.

Two recollections I have that are not among Miami’s finer moments: in 1972, there was an organized boycott against busing, and parents kept their children home from Miami-Dade public schools for two days. I went to school both days; I think I was one of two or three kids in my class who showed up.

I also remember going to work downtown in the summer of 1980, following the McDuffie riots. I remember seeing the smoke rising from Liberty City – and, visible from Interstate 95, the National Guardsmen with their rifles standing on almost every corner.

I went out of state for college, but came back to the “U” for law school, where I met my husband, Peter Bronstein. I am a die-hard ‘Canes fan and bleed orange and green during football season.

We were married on Key Biscayne at the Sonesta. What a beautiful weekend it was, and our out-of-town guests got a wonderful taste of Miami.

We had a Michigan flag at our wedding, since my husband went to the other U of M for undergraduate studies.

We lost my mom several years ago, but my dad and sister still live close by. Miami is home, and other than my years at college, I’ve lived here all my life. In the winter, the weather is beautiful, and in the summer, the crowds thin out.

What more could you ask for?

My Miami story began the day my KLM flight touched down from Cuba at Miami International Airport.

I was traveling alone in 1961 at the age of 11. I was going to some unknown destination, which turned out to be an orphanage in Colorado, arranged by Operation Pedro Pan. I was reunited with my mother and two younger sisters almost two years later in Miami (we were some of the lucky ones).

We moved into an old wooden house near Shell’s City. I was enrolled at Edison Junior High in the seventh grade in 1963, and later I went to Beach High (Miami Beach High School). My mother was now a single mom raising three kids in a new country with a new language.

My first job was delivering The Miami News around Lemon City and Little River. Adjustments had to be made to my bicycle by installing a wooden “banana basket” to the handlebars to accommodate the heavy load from the newspapers. It felt as if I were peddling a Buick. My introduction to mobile journalism drastically ended the day my bike fell apart into several pieces and I had to walk back home in the rain carrying the wheel and frame in one arm and the chain and handlebars in the other. No more banana basket. I was 14.

Fortunately, I was told about a couple of jobs in the restaurant business. One job was as a dishwasher at Junior’s Restaurant on Biscayne Boulevard; the other as a busboy at Jumbo’s Restaurant on Northwest Seventh Avenue. Unfortunately, I was fired from both jobs the same day. Clearly, it was time to find a different line of work.

Another job came up where I was allowed to take the company car home. That was great news because my family needed a car. The pest control company was on the beach. I was hired as a “pest control specialist.” I was the only employee and was told to come back the next day so they could show me around the “company car,” a ’56 rusted four-door Packard.

The windows did not roll down and the car had no air conditioning, making the smell from pesticides and other chemicals suffocating. I sprayed the Seacoast Towers on Collins Avenue, and for the first time —as bad as it was —the family had a car. Nobody bothered to check my driver’s license. I didn’t have one. My mother must have fainted the day I got home behind the wheel of my new, smelly, beat-up company car. I was 15 years old.

We hung out at pool halls, dance halls, movie theaters and food joints in North Miami and Miami Beach. Congress pool hall and Bowlerama come to mind. I will never forget the Paramount Theater, where we skipped school to see A Hard Day’s Night. No more short hair for me after that.

Flirting with girls up and down Collins Avenue became an art form; we cruised past the Neba Roast Beef restaurant, Scotty’s Drive-In and The Castaways. I remember getting my first Beatles haircut from the master known as Evan at a cost of $5. Among our favorite eateries were Parham’s, Royal Castle on 71st Street, Tony’s Fish Market, Nathan’s, Fun Fair, the Bonfire, The Place For Steak, and Jilly’s when we were a little bit older.

We watched Wayne Cochran lift the roof off The Barn. The Hialeah Municipal and all the armories were great venues that showcased Miami’s local bands like NRBQ, the 7 of Us, The Kollection, and many others whose memories are kept alive in Jeff Lemlich’s book, Savage Lost. Man, Miami rocked!

We grooved at Coconut Grove’s first head shop owned by the now legendary Michael Lang, one of the brains behind Woodstock. He had learned from his experience organizing the Miami Pop Festival in 1968 at Gulfstream Park in Hallandale. It headlined a not-too-well-known band called the “Jimmy Hendrix Experience.”

Finally, I found a real job at a well-known auto-rental and leasing firm in Miami with a large fleet of vehicles and a high-end clientele. Driving around and picking up people at the airport was part of my new job. I took a new car home every night. I remember pulling up to the “love-ins” at Greynolds Park in a new convertible every weekend, which made me extremely popular — a rich hippie. The job lasted almost three years. I knew it was only a matter of time until the U.S. armed forces’ Selective Service System would come knocking and drafted me into the U.S. Army. I was almost 19.

I was very lucky to have been permanently stationed in one of the most beautiful places on earth, Ft. Ord on the Pacific Coast Highway in the Monterey Peninsula of California. The Santa Ynez Mountains climbed up from Big Sur. There are not enough colors in an artist’s pallet to duplicate the sunsets I was lucky enough to see along the Pacific Ocean from my ocean-view Army barracks.

San Francisco was a short hop away from Ft. Ord, and on the weekends we hung out at The Haight (not what I expected) and saw a lot of the bands you only heard on the radio. I was having a great time, but sadly the ’60s were coming to an end and so was my Army obligation.

I had choices to make. “Going Back To Miami” was playing over and over in my head, and I knew in my heart what I had to do. It was time to come home. I have no regrets.

My grandfather and other family members were Miami pioneers, having arrived in 1895 from Crescent City, Florida.

My grandfather, T. N. Gautier, was one of 500 signatures needed for Miami to incorporate as a city. He was also the first school superintendent for Miami. His grocery store, Miami Groceries, was listed in the one page 1902 telephone directory as “T.N. Gautier Groceries, dial 9.”

My father, T.N. Gautier, Jr., was part of the Miami “Dirty Dozen.” I have no clue what those guys did. I do know that they were a young group of successful businessmen in Miami back in the day.

I was first introduced to Miami at my birth in Victoria Hospital many years ago. Victoria was a small 30 to 40 bed hospital on Northwest Third Street and Ninth Avenue.

My first real memory of Miami was the Labor Day hurricane of 1935. It hit without warning, as there were no TV hurricane advisories back then. I was 3 years old, but not afraid of hurricanes because I was 3 years old. My dad came home from his job at Burdines during the eye of the storm. During the lull, my family walked through a vacant lot behind our house to Flagler Street where we weathered the hurricane at fire Chief Henry Chase’s two-story concrete block house. It was a fortress against the storm. The Chase’s house was next to Fire Station #3. For me, the highlight of that day was seeing the roof of the Dempsey’s house fly off and sail away. Of course, that was not the highlight for the Dempsey family.

I attended Riverside Elementary School from first to sixth grade. Shoes were optional and many of the kids didn’t wear shoes, and I, “Shoeless Joe,” was among the many. However, I did wear shoes to church and weddings.

We lived five blocks away from Ada Merritt Junior High. It was an easy bike ride for me. Our Ada Merritt boys’ teams won the Dade County Soft Ball Championship every year for our three junior-high years.

The old Miami Orange Bowl was half a mile away from our house. My dad and I would walk there to watch the Miami Seahawks. The Seahawks were a professional franchise in the All-American League. They had an All-American running back named “Bullet” Bill Daley and a lineman named Gene Ellenson who graduated from Miami High and ended up a coach at the University of Florida. Those two men were the only redeeming players on the Seahawks team. Sadly the team eventually folded due to lack of paying fans.

My mother Claire Gautier was a soprano soloist at Trinity Methodist Church in downtown Miami. I was used to her practicing on our piano at home and took her talent for granted. But because I loved football my mother became my hero when she sang at the wedding of Army’s All-American quarterback Arnold Tucker in the mid ‘40s.

The Mackle Company, later to be known as the General Development Corporation, changed the dynamics of home building in Miami as they provided affordable housing for hundreds of families. They developed Key Biscayne and built the Key Biscayne Hotel. They also built other developments, including Ascot Park and Westwood Lakes.

My job for The Mackle Company was titled “Industrial Expeditor and General Coordinator,” which technically translated into…GOFER! When I left Mackle to answer the call of the U.S. Army, the Mackle Brothers gave me a watch that they had engraved, “Joe Good Luck Mackles.” The watch is still ticking to this day. It’s like the houses that they built — still being used.

Fast-pitch softball was another thriving sport. It was an outdoor sport and Miami being hot did not stop fans from going to various city parks to watch the games. This, of course, was before TV and air conditioners. The softball games were an evening of entertainment for people of all ages.

I pitched in all of the city parks, but the one I remember most is Moore Park. There was a man there who went to every game. His name was Scotty. He was a one-man cheering section and encourager to all the players. He knew every player’s name and called it out when they were up to bat. I could always hear him with his Scottish accent yelling out when I got to home plate, “Hit a homer, Joe!” Eventually many thousands of people in Miami welcomed air-conditioning and TVs, and didn’t go out at night to watch fast-pitch softball in the heat and hard benches. It was a gain for them and a death knell for fast-pitch softball.

In 1956, I had the privilege of being one of the coaches for Miami’s Little Major League. The team represented Miami for the Florida state championship held in St. Petersburg. We won the state title. Several on that winning team went on to be baseball stars, including Steve Hertz, who went on to play for the Houston Astros and Eric Wanderon who played baseball for Miami High and received a scholarship for both football and baseball at the University of Miami. Tommy Shannon, a pitcher for our team, got a scholarship to the University of Florida as a baseball pitcher and quarterback for the Gators.

Miami is my hometown, where I grew up and met my wife Miriam. It is where my daughter and son were born and went to school. Living in Miami taught me about living through hurricanes, traffic, hot weather and mosquitoes. Miami, to me, was a great city to grow up in.