Tag: Written

My husband, Stewart Stewart and I, Dena Stewart, landed at MIA in November of 1986 for a two-week vacation on the beach. The South Florida Art Center was new on Lincoln Road and as artists, Stewart and I were enticed by the opportunities we were offered – a 1,000 sq. ft. storefront studio/gallery space for $100 a month. Two months later, in January 1987, we left New York and became Miamians. We were the first out-of-state artists to benefit from the grant awarded to the SFAC.

During the 33 years I have lived in Miami Beach, I have served and promoted the greater Miami community as an activist, serving on Commission-appointed committees and as a presenter of cultural events.
In 1990, Stewart and I founded Deco Echo Artists’ Delegation (non-profit organization) to raise awareness of the culture on the Beach. Now d/b/a Center for Folk and Community Art, we use our original nationally recognized outreach program “Telling Stories Through Visuals” to address social issues by combining writing and illustrating activities for intervention, prevention and education.

In 2001, I was recognized as a “Woman Worth Knowing” by the Miami Beach Commission on the Status of Women. I served on the board of the first Miami Beach Women’s Conference, and was recognized by Miami County and Miami Beach with Proclamations for my community involvement. In 2010, Stewart and I created, and for the past ten years have been producing, an online video show called “Alive on South Beach” (for Syndicated News Network). We go behind the scenes at events to talk with the wonderful people, celebrities, visitors, and locals, who make Miami, MIAMI.

Stewart and I gave up our upper East Side high rise apartment in Manhattan to make Miami Beach our home. I have never even considered leaving Miami. We love it here. When we travel, our video show Alive on South Beach goes on the road with us, and Miami is always promoted.

What makes Miami, Miami? A picture – in my case, Alive on South Beach videos show what makes Miami, Miami! The multi-national congeniality of the community, the many art and cultural venues, the sand, sun and palm trees, and the quirky people, all together give Miami a flavor unlike any other.

Having lived and worked in Miami Beach for 33 years, I have seen the evolution of Miami, the development, gentrification, ups and downs of the social and cultural scenes, hurricanes, and gorgeous weather. I trust the future will be as exciting as its past.

Our mother and father fell in love with Miami while on their honeymoon on September 13th, 1948. Their first night at the Ritz Plaza Hotel was spent in the lobby due to a hurricane coming on shore that night. Hurricanes were not named back then. Despite this “stormy start,” they moved from Brooklyn, New York, in 1949. They rode on the Florida East Coast Railway and arrived at the railway station near the Miami-Dade County Courthouse.

Our mother, Anna Agnello Perini, was a registered nurse and graduated from the Cadet Nurse Corps. She attended Long Island School of Nursing and graduated just as World War II ended. When Mom and Dad moved to Miami, Mom began working at Victoria Hospital, Jackson Memorial Hospital and Baptist Hospital until she took 10 years off to be a full-time mom. When she returned to nursing 10 years later she found her passion for pediatric nursing at Variety Children’s Hospital where she worked until her retirement. Mom loved pediatric nursing and it showed, so much so that both her daughters and two granddaughters became pediatric nurses and still carry on her legacy at Nicklaus Children’s Hospital (formerly Variety Children’s Hospital).

Our father, Anthony Perini, a World War II Navy veteran, worked at the Miami International Airport maintenance facility with National Airlines while he studied mechanical engineering. He then worked at Anchor Boat Supply near the Miami River. My parents were indeed part of the Greatest Generation.

In 1953, Rosanne was born at Mercy Hospital, followed by Roy in 1955 and Regina in 1957. We grew up appreciating the simple things in life. We have fond memories of going to Royal Castle for birch beer, Breeding’s for milkshakes, Burdines to see Santa Claus, Crandon Park for the zoo and train rides, and weekend picnics at Haulover Beach. We’ll never forget swimming lessons at Venetian Pool in ice-cold water!

In 1964 our parents put a $50 down payment on a new house in a brand new community called Westchester. We were one of the first houses on the block. The kitchen was state of the art for the time. We had a GE electric stove that was featured in the 1964 New York World’s Fair.

Summers were great and always filled with something to do outdoors. Central air conditioning had not become a household staple yet, so outdoors was the best! We took summer school just for the fun of it. Often we would walk to Bird Bowl or the skating rink next door. Working up an appetite, we then walked across the street to Frankie’s Pizza. On special weekend nights we piled into our station wagon wearing our pajamas and Mom and Dad would take us to the Tropicaire Drive-in Theatre on Bird Road. It was a great way to see “The Music Man” and “Mary Poppins.” In the daytime on weekends, the Tropicaire Drive-in became the Tropicaire Flea Market where you could always find great deals!

We were always excited when our cousins and family from New York would visit. We would spend weekends at the Castaways on Miami Beach, go to Wolfie’s for dessert or just walk down Lincoln Road.

Now, four generations later, we have truly settled in Miami. While we continue to carry on traditions from when our parents first moved down, new traditions have been established as well. We celebrated Dad’s 96th birthday at home with a family reunion of cousins coming in from coast to coast. Dad continues to be the patriarch of the family and enjoys our reminiscing and traditions. Though our hometown of Miami seems unrecognizable at times, the memories remain crystal clear. We are thankful and grateful for each and every one. We have truly been blessed.

After I left Cuba in 1959 as a teenager, I spent almost two decades living in Washington, D.C., New York and Maryland. For about 15 years, my family and I would always come to Miami on vacation. It was the closest we could get to our native land. We enjoyed visiting relatives and friends, the beach, the lush tropical vegetation, the sound of Spanish and savoring Cuban food. We would return home tanned, nostalgic, with a box of books, another one of pastelitos, and the determination that we would someday move here. In the summer of 1978 we finally did.

Not too long afterwards, in the spring of 1980, more than ten thousand Cubans sought asylum in the Embassy of Peru in Havana. A few days later, Fidel Castro declared that everyone who wished to leave the Island was free to go. Cuban exiles in Miami spared no effort to secure boats and sail to bring their loved ones to the United States. What followed was a unique page in the history of South Florida. More than 100,000 Cubans arrived by sea in a just a few months.

At that time, I was working as a secretary and going to school at night, but soon quit my job to volunteer helping with the new arrivals. At the beginning the refugees were taken to the Orange Bowl and later on to Tamiami Park to be processed.

I served as an interpreter in both locations. What I saw appalled me: hundreds of people with dog bite marks; a small boy with both arms fractured; and a desperate woman crying incessantly because she could not find her baby, snatched from her arms as she boarded the ship.

In addition to the huge number of men, women and children who fled, Castro included some mentally ill and criminals among the legitimate escapees. Some inevitable chaos ensued. However, the City of Miami created a tent city to house them, some were relocated to other cities, and many found relatives who took them in. In a surprisingly short period of time, the Marielitos –as they were called either with affection or contempt– were on their path to fulfill the American dream.

At the beginning, the first wave of Cubans accepted them with open arms. Then, they saw them as different and distanced themselves from the newcomers. At the end, they were integrated into the community. Miami changed. The new residents revitalized the use of Spanish. There were several well-known writers and visual artists among the refugees.

Others were actors, radio and TV announcers who enriched the community with their knowhow. The street vendors, so abundant in Cuba, started to fill the streets of Miami. The youngsters mingled in school with the children of early exiles and talked to them about the lives they had left behind. Personally, I can say that my daughters´ new classmates taught them more about Cuba than I had been able to do throughout the years.

However, it was also an unsettling time for Miami, with raising crime, homelessness and drugs.

Almost forty years after the Mariel boatlift, I can reflect on the lessons learned. Some Cubans even mortgaged their homes to bring their relatives from Cuba, giving us an example of how family love transcends ideological differences.

I appreciate, particularly in these times signed by xenophobia, how Key West, Miami and the Unites States generously received my compatriots, as they had welcomed us two decades earlier. I am thankful for how much Marielitos have contributed to our culture.

In 1981 Time Magazine featured Miami as Paradise Lost. To many, it was the opposite. In spite of struggles and difficulties, they found freedom and their own personal slice of paradise. The Florida sun always manages to shine bright, even among the darkest clouds.

I am glad we moved here.

My full name is Robert Joseph Ingram. I was born in Long Island City, New York, in 1938. I came to Miami literally by accident. I was hit by an automobile in New York and came down to recover in that winter of 1952 when I was 14 years old and I just never went back.

My father was a musician who worked in the hotels in Miami Beach in the winter and in the Atlantic City area in spring. It was just my father and I at first and then my mother and father reunited here after years of separation.

When I got to Miami, I started ninth grade at Horace Mann Junior High and then after one year went on to Edison High School. I was there until my senior year in ‘56 when some friends and I decided mid-year to join the Navy.

A couple of us went to boot camp together at Great Lakes. Being smart kids, we went in February. We left Miami, where the weather was perfect, to go to Great Lakes in the Chicago area where it was very unpleasant.

After that, I went to submarine school in New London, Connecticut, and wound up in Key West. I never thought I was going to leave Florida and wind up back in Florida. When I joined the Navy, I thought I was going to Hawaii or some exotic place like that, but I didn’t. I went to a very exotic place, Key West.

When I came with the military, it was just a couple of months after the Cuban revolution ended. We would make weekend trips to Havana because our captain was senior and he liked Cuba.

So I enjoyed it, I really did. I enjoyed it so much that when I came out of the Navy I didn’t stay home very long. I went to New York and got a seaman’s card and went back out on a merchant ship. I went to work for what became ExxonMobil. We sailed from Beaumont, Texas, to the ports up north – New York, New Hampshire, Boston – delivering fuel. It was a week each way, seven days down and seven days back, coming up the Gulfstream. I enjoyed that for a while.

I was home on one of my vacations, hanging out with my old high school buddies who were either in college or working. A friend of mine said, “Let’s go to this bar tonight. I want you to hear this guy, he’s a singer. He plays guitar. You play guitar, don’t you?” My father had taught me a little bit. So we went to a place called the Drum Beater’s Lounge on 79th Street and Biscayne Boulevard.

There was a guy called Vince Martin singing there. He’d come down from New York and had had one hit record in the early burgeoning folk music scene, a song called “Cindy, Oh Cindy.” And he made a lot of money on it. Then that song was re-recorded by Eddie Fisher and it became a major top-40 hit. So Vince was riding the crest of that. He came down to Florida and bought some boats, tried to start a charter business, and wound up back singing in the bars.

I went into the bar and heard him sing. When I came out of there that night I thought, I could do that. I started playing my guitar again and listening to folk musicians like Joan Baez.

We all used to hang out in the Gold Dust Lounge with a guy named Stu Gray, who ran the Gold Dust Lounge. He eventually got me to play guitar and sing in his lounge. That’s how I started, and I never went back to the merchant ships.

All these years later, I’m still happy to be here. I know a couple of things. I know I’m not going to hell. And I also think that I’ve already been to heaven, here. That’s about all I know.

In 1955, my new husband and I, as an exciting afterthought, sprinted on an Eastern Air Lines plane from Puerto Rico to Miami to cap off our memorable six-week honeymoon on the “Island of Enchantment.” It was fun to think that an added week to our honeymoon would parallel Elizabeth Taylor’s much celebrated 1950 seven-week honeymoon with Conrad “Nicky” Hilton, Jr., heir to the Hilton Hotels chain.

Miami in 1955 could have been called “a one-horse town.” Acres and acres of outlying areas were dedicated to the farming of agricultural products, such as green peppers, tomatoes, and limes; within the town itself, retail stores closed at 6:00 PM and traffic snarls were unheard of. This cosmopolitan Magic City of the 21st century could not be envisioned in anyone’s crystal ball nor in anyone’s psychedelic dreams.

We crossed the main streets and roads of Miami for one week by foot, rental car, and tour bus, awed by its wide, clean, empty streets, sausage trees we had never seen before, whole streets lined with huge Royal Poinciana trees in full bloom, a tropical ambiance exuding Hispanic footprints and history and, most importantly, the University of Miami campus with its luscious, sun-bathed landscaping and beckoning call.

When we realized at the end of the week that we had spent our last penny, we donated our blood for $20 and a donut, to help pay for our trip back home to New York City, our birthplace. This not being enough to take us home, we checked the personal ads in the Miami Herald and contracted to drive an elderly man’s Cadillac to New York City. So, although penniless, we arrived home in style. Once home, we decided to quit our jobs as soon as possible, pack our wedding gifts, and move to Miami.

We were married on April 23, 1955, in Brooklyn, New York, and arrived in Miami with a car that barely made it, on August 10th that year, at about 10:00 PM, somewhere on S.W. 8th Street, tired and sweaty, not knowing exactly where we were. We could not find a motel in sight. Finally, we saw one in the distance because of the red neon light blinking in front of it. The room, however, did not have air-conditioning. When we inquired, the manager told us that we did not need air-conditioning because we had “cross-ventilation.” The next morning, when we looked out the window, we discovered that we must have arrived at “motel row” because we were surrounded by motels.

That was how we arrived in Miami. Most local apartments and residences did not have air-conditioning. As time went by and people started moving in, noisy room air-conditioners were installed in master bedrooms and later extended to other rooms. Finally, central air made its mandatory entrance into all buildings in Miami.

Open discrimination was still observed in this vestige state of the Old South. At the Coral Gables bus depot, there were separate water fountains for colored and white people, and separate bathrooms. When we applied to rent a one-bedroom apartment, the landlady (we still call her The Dragon Lady) was chatty and giddy about what a nice couple we were. As we were signing the lease agreement, she told us, “There are only two people I don’t rent to: University of Miami students and Puerto Ricans.” My jaw dropped because my husband was a University of Miami student and we were both of Puerto Rican ancestry.

We are forever thankful to God for that first impromptu visit to Miami by two young people in love who knew nothing about life. Over the next 63 years, Miami proved good to us, even more than good. We lived through many stories, some happy, some sad, which would take up more space than is warranted here. In the end, we have enjoyed a good life, full of blessings, health, abundance and prosperity. We have three outstanding, compassionate, beautiful, productive and civic-minded children, four grandchildren who bring us joy each time we see or even think of them and, to date, two great-grandchildren.

A year ago, we moved out of Miami as the exciting, 24-hour a day teeming lifestyle and overwhelming traffic became too stressful for our advanced years. We have moved further north in Florida to Port St. Lucie, where we are surrounded by green open fields, and life is calmer, much as it was in Miami back in the early fifties.

Once upon a time, downtown Miami was THE place to go for Christmas! I especially remember one Christmas, 1960. My parents, Mildred and Edmund Stahl, brother Matthew, age 12, sister Vickie, age 10 and myself, age 7, witnessed the streets transformed into a glorious fairyland!

We all dressed in our best dresses, suits and ties in anticipation of our trip to the city. Our first stop was the Miami Public Library, where my parents put on a puppet show. My father had designed the puppets and had painted the scenery and my mother served as puppeteer. Matthew and Vickie recited Christmas poetry they had learned by heart!

Night was falling when we exited the library, at Bayfront Park, where colorful floats were being prepared in advance for the King Orange New Year Jamboree Parade. But the REAL magic was in the shopping district. I felt like I was walking through streets of heaven!

Thousands of shoppers thronged Flagler Street, which was a constellation of Christmas stars, wreaths, lights and music. There were very few “Walk-Don’t Walk” lights; police directed cars and pedestrians, handing out candy canes to children. We visited McCrory’s, Kress, Woolworth’s, J Byron’s, and Richard’s Department Store, which had a basement, (something you don’t see often in Florida). This was mom’s favorite; they sold “irregulars,” slightly imperfect underwear, socks and pajamas at discount prices.
We proceeded on to our final stop, Burdine’s, where mom worked as a temporary employee, to earn Christmas money. We enjoyed a dinner of turkey and stuffing in the Burdine’s employee break room.

Mom then changed into her “Santa’s Elf” costume to assist with photography of children on Santa’s lap. While she worked, Matthew, Vickie and I accompanied Daddy up to Burdines “Carnival in the Sky” on their rooftop. The tamest ride was the merry-go-round, the most dizzying was the spinning top, but the most exciting (and frightening) was the roller-coaster. I was catapulted skyward! Biscayne Bay looked like a blanket of diamonds. The colorful red and green lights on the causeways resembled emeralds and rubies. But the rapid descent made me feel I was flying off of the roof! In fear for my life, I screamed until an attendant sympathetically stopped the roller coaster just for me. I then stayed on solid ground.

Our final stop was to visit Santa, where we posed for our photograph. Santa exclaimed, “Look at that display of toys and tell me what you want!” Confused, I explained “We don’t have a chimney.” He replied, “Don’t worry, I’ll get it to you. I’m magic.” I selected a Betsy Wetsy Doll, Matthew a microscope, and Vickie, a book of fairy tales. Before the age of reason, I guess I didn’t realize Santa told my mom what we wanted!

In the ensuing decades, downtown lost its glamour. The sidewalks were gray and cold, with abandoned storefronts. Sadly, the joyous shoppers were gone; now there were just grim-faced lawyers scurrying to Court.
And yet….I visited downtown recently, after a long absence. It seems new life is being breathed into what once seemed dead. New high-rise condominiums and office buildings are reaching high up into the sky. I saw many young people walking, jogging and congregating in outdoor cafes. It infuses me with the faith that someday, the magic of Christmas can return to downtown Miami!

“This is Jeff Goldblum.” 

I responded, “Sure,” and then hung up. 

The telephone at Area Stage Company (ASC) rang again and the person on the other end said, “Please don’t hang up. This really is Jeff Goldblum and I’d like to speak with the owners of the theater. I don’t remember their names but . . .”

I jumped in and with some skepticism in my voice said, “Okay? Why are you calling?” 

The caller goes on to tell me that he was at his gym in Los Angeles and had asked out loud if anyone knew a good theater company in Miami. “I need some help with this movie I’m doing, and immediately three people said Area Stage Company,” he said. When I shared our names with him, he continued in the breathy pauses Jeff is known for, “Yes, yes, right. They said ask for John or Maria. I remember thinking it was biblical.” It was indeed Jeff Goldblum the actor, then famous for his roles in Jurassic Park and Independence Day. The year was 1997 and my husband, John Rodaz, and I had been running our theater company from its original location on Lincoln Road for close to 10 years. It had earned a reputation for presenting a fresh mix of contemporary plays and original works. 

We met up with Jeff at his hotel suite on Ocean Drive and helped him with the script of Holy Man—everything from helping to craft the character to learning his lines. 

Not long after that, we got to work with the legendary rock band U2 on a video production project. At one point during our meeting, lead singer Bono suggested we go get something to eat. As we ventured out the front door of the theater, the band hadn’t expected to walk out onto a vibrant outdoor mall lined with cafes and very eager wait staff! They had used the service road to sneak into the theater. What was supposed to be a secret visit from U2 was now news all along Lincoln Road and everyone wanted me to bring U2 to their establishment. Here I was, walking down the street next to Bono, and from every restaurant people would wave and shout, “Maria! Maria!” Bono turned to me and said, “Oh wow, you’re really famous!” That story always brings a smile to my face. That day I was more famous than Bono. 

Those are just a couple of the many unexpected and memorable moments I have had since moving to Miami from Ecuador 30 years ago. But there is none more memorable, or life-changing, than my walk along Lincoln Road on September 7, 1989. That was the day I stumbled upon the theater that housed Area Stage Company and was greeted by John Rodaz, its founder and artistic director. It was the night of his theater company’s first preview. I walked into the ASC theater that night and never left. From that day forward we have been together, as if by design. After learning that I had danced with a professional company and worked in production for years, John hired me to work as the theater’s managing director. 

As we worked alongside one another, we started getting to know each other. We realized we had coincidently crossed paths for years. We had both lived in New York City at the same time, been to the same shows and concerts on the same nights and had never met until that fateful day on Lincoln Road. Two years later, John and I were married on the anniversary of our first meeting and Area Stage’s first opening night. 

In those early years in the 1990s, Lincoln Road was all mom-and-pop shops, hole-in-the-wall eats and home to a community of local artists. Sculptors, photographers, actors, dancers, painters and the like, we all lived on the Road. It was very bohemian—like a tropical art deco-clad Montmartre. We were all drawn to Lincoln Road because we could rent storefronts for very cheap and the network of artists was a constant source of inspiration. As the local theater, we shared the neighborhood with the South Florida Arts Center, the Miami City Ballet and The New World Symphony. 

The local debate throughout the ‘90s was whether or not to keep Lincoln Road a welcoming haven for artists. We had a great group of people supporting us back then, including former Miami Beach Mayor Neisen Kasdin, Commissioner Nancy Liebman, and Mitchell Kaplan of Books and Books, who was on our first board of directors. We were blissfully unaware of the politics behind it all. John and I were just two theater addicts working on our craft. Despite not having a press agent, we collected boxes full of news clippings on our company and productions. We built our reputation very organically. We were unconventional, and I think we’ve retained a little bit of that spirit to this day. 

This September, both Area Stage Company and John and I will celebrate our 30th anniversary. John and I have kept our passion for theater fresh by remaining true to ourselves as artists. It is alive thanks to that emancipation we’ve held to and we wouldn’t have it any other way. I am forever grateful to this city for uniting me with the greatest passions of my life, 30 years of creating alongside my incredibly talented husband, John. It has been the most amazing love affair.

“Where are you from?” was the inevitable question in a small Michigan town with a
summer population four times the number of winter residents. When I would answer “Miami,” my stature was assured by my one-word answer. I was usually rewarded with a “Wow, you are so lucky,” or “Cool,” or “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

I was born at Mercy Hospital in 1958, and my mother always reminds me her room had a gorgeous bay view and the entire stay cost $150. My parents had moved here from Michigan in 1956. They lived in the “married dorms” at the University of Miami while my father finished his degree.

They loved the outdoors and would buy surplus Army- Navy dive tanks, strap them on and explore nearby reefs, enthralled by the gorgeous underwater world. They also went spear-fishing for their dinner.

My uncle Don Berg was a developer and businessman who lived on Key Biscayne, a
then-sleepy community serviced by a bridge that, when up, would back up traffic forever. If we stayed on the Key too late, and there was a full moon, coming home after dark meant hundreds of land crabs getting crushed beneath our tires — thousands would scurry over Crandon Boulevard and there was just no avoiding them.

Uncle Don owned The English Pub, Jamaica Inn and, later, Stefano's. He played golf regularly with Richard Nixon and Bebe Rebozo. My cousins danced in an episode of the Jackie Gleason Show. They had air-conditioning, which, in my mind, made them rich beyond belief.

My parents had bought a modest Mackle home in Westwood Lakes in 1958. I went to school across the street at Cypress Elementary. We used to buy lemonade concentrate and mix in half the water amount so it was super-sweet, freeze it in Dixie cups and sell it after school when it was blistering hot for 5 cents. It was my first taste of the freedom earning money gives you. I caught the bus to Concord Plaza for 10 cents and bought my first-ever new — not a hand-me-down — shirt.

By now, my mother was raising four children alone. Though struggling, she made our lives rich. She loved where we lived because we were on a canal, and she loved the “sea cows” that used it in winter. The first time I saw one I was so frightened I couldn’t breathe.

My mother, however, swam right up and stroked it, until it swam away lazily in no hurry to either embrace or deny her affection. We were all allowed to “play” with the manatees, and I know our neighbors thought our mother reckless to allow it. She was (and is) such an innocent, never seeing harm anywhere.

Her love of nature, especially the sea, paid off when she was hired by Miami Seaquarium as Carolina Snowball's trainer. Carolina Snowball was the only albino dolphin ever in captivity and the star attraction. I remember my fourth-grade class going to the Seaquarium, and there was my short-haired mother doing the show! One of the kids said, “That’s a guy, that’s not a girl.” And I said, “That’s a girl, and she’s my mother!”

She got the job because she wrote to the “Burning Desire” column in the Coral Gables Guide and said she always wanted to swim with a dolphin. They made her wish come true. That Seaquarium management liked her (she held her breath underwater for 2 minutes!) and hired her as a trainer was completely unexpected.

It was by far her favorite job, and mine, too. I got to play with the “Flippers” (there were three then) in the lagoon where the “Flipper” TV show was filmed, feed the penguins and play unbridled on the Seaquarium grounds with my siblings.

We roamed free back then. Miami was our playground. We got on our bikes in the
morning, and were expected home by dark. We didn’t say where we were going; we didn’t know ourselves. We made it up as the day went along, and it always included
animals or swimming. I remember walking my bike across one of the fat pipes that
crossed the canal that the turnpike now parallels.

The shortcut saved having to go all the way to down to Sunset Drive or up to Miller Road. We would enter horse country this way; it was my favorite place because I was horse crazy. I used to muck out stalls for free just to be near the horses. I loved everything about the barns, the scent of horses and fresh hay. Each barn had its own “flavor” and I visited and loved them all — big, small, fancy or plain.

Life has a way of being circular. I now own a barn in horse country called Tally Ho.
Sometimes when I am in the older back barn, I wonder if that small me was ever standing here, mucking out the same exact stall just for the pleasure of petting the horses.

We moved to South Miami when I was entering seventh grade. Our new house had a little bridge that went out to a little island in the middle of a spring-fed pond. I was again lucky to have water as my backyard. Our home was also adjacent to railroad tracks (now Ludlam Trail), and we kids would walk the tracks because they were shaded by Australian pines. It was so soothing and cooling to walk below their whispering majesty.

We jumped off the ties and ran like scared rabbits when the trains the came by. I attended South Miami Senior High School and worked part-time at a who’s who of old “Miam-ah”restaurants: Andy’s Sir Dolphin, Bodega, and the iconic (and still delicious!)

Captain’s Tavern. I went to Florida State, but graduated from University of Michigan, where both my grandfathers had earned medical degrees. My mother always reminds me that Midwesterners are great people, and is proud of her roots.

But I was from Miami and had Florida sand in my shoes. After graduation, I returned to my hometown and jumped into real estate, first with the Green companies and next with Stadler. I married Bernard Schrager, a local Miami Beach boy, and together we raised three beautiful daughters here. After many productive years in the real estate industry, I was fortunate to cofound Avatar Real Estate Services in 2002 with Vivian Dimond.

In 2017 we sold our boutique company to a wonderful firm out of New York, Brown Harris Stevens, of which I am vice president, and I continue to do what I have done my entire adult life: list and sell real estate.

And my best friend from those halcyon days of rafting on our pond and walking the
railroad tracks, Betsy Kuehner, is still my best friend and now my marketing consultant.

For me Miami was, and remains, a small, close-knit town.

It was May 1994. I can still smell the fresh and almost sweet “earthy aroma” that fateful Friday afternoon. The one you get right after the drops of rain hit the ground and interact with dirt. It is a peculiar fragrance that until this day I only experienced in my Puerto Esperanza.

Papi called us to the kitchen table. After all, our silliest to most important conversations happened at the kitchen table. We could all see his thoughts and emotions plastered on his face even before he opened his mouth. He didn’t have to speak for us to know something big was coming. He said, “Niñas, the family is escaping and leaving the country to go to the U.S.” What? When? The family? What about us?

My 14-year-old world had just stopped for a minute. All of a sudden, my heart opened as big as my eyes. Did he really mean that my dreams could actually become a reality?

Because I had dreams. Very specific dreams, from the mundane to the sublime. I dreamt of eating an entire Cornish hen by myself any day of the week. I dreamt of bubble baths and fragrance soaps. I dreamt of honeymooning in Hawaii. I dreamt of studying law so I could fight against injustice. I dreamt of having the freedom to speak my mind and practice my faith without fear of persecution.

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted, then shattered into confusion by my dad’s somber voice. “I am sorry mis niñas, but we are not leaving Cuba with the rest of the family. It’s a very dangerous trip. Domingo [my mom’s cousin] is ‘borrowing’ the fishing boat he has captained for the government all of his life.

If we get caught escaping, the adults will be charged with illegal exiting and/or pirating and at best, the adults will get 10 years in prison, and at the worst, we could be shot and even killed on the spot. How could I live with myself after that?

And then what would happen to my girls? This decision is tearing me apart, but I’m just not willing to put our family at such a great risk.” All my thoughts turned into question marks. What? Who does that? How can you be punished for wanting a better life? What country keeps you a prisoner? And what do you even mean we are not leaving? My abuelos, uncles, aunts, cousins are leaving. They are taking the risk and we are not?

As I tried to take it all in, my head was spinning. My young and inexperienced self knew that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. I had to speak up. I had to convince my dad he was making a big mistake.

I didn’t have much time to think about the usual elaborate arguments he was accustomed to hearing from me. I had to think fast. I stood up and I said, “Papi, I understand your concerns, but if you don’t take us, I am leaving with Abuela. There is no way I am staying behind.”

I like to think that those assertive words made my dad change his mind. The truth was probably that after analyzing the pros and cons and a lengthy conversation with my mom he realized his choices for a better future for his three daughters were limited. Somehow he convinced himself it was the best decision for the family at the time. I was so happy he did!

After an incognito, long truck ride through dense countryside, an unforeseen night spent in the mosquito-infested mangroves, drinking water from a murky lagoon, unknowingly being followed by Cuban border guards, almost flipping over the boat once on the open sea, and 36 hours of motion sickness and dehydration, I saw them: Brothers to the Rescue and the U.S. Coast Guard.

We were intercepted and came ashore at Stock Island in Key West and placed at “Hogar de Transito.” My prayer had been answered! We all made it. Fifty-two in total, including 32 of my close family members. We had arrived in the United States of America! I’m so grateful that we were able to get to our destination, a fate that eludes so many.

Then it was time for me to find my place at Miami’s Table.
It has been a convoluted journey. Miami has always made me feel welcomed, proud, and hopeful, although certain individuals have made me feel excluded, ashamed, and discouraged.

I can’t blame Miami or America for the actions of those individuals. I’ve become so resilient that I can’t be ignored. I’ve also learned that the freedom I obtained came with great commitment. I don’t take it for granted.

A quote by Condoleezza Rice that I once heard really resonates with me, “The essence of America –that which really unites us – is not ethnicity, or nationality, or religion. It is an idea – and what an idea it is: that you can come from humble circumstances and do great things.”So, have I found my place at Miami’s table? I have.

I lead a modest and simple life. But I never underestimate the power my smile, my compassion, my positive attitude, my listening ear, my humble advice, and my faith can have
on other people.

I cannot control what Miami is, but I can certainly control who I choose to be in Miami.