Tag: Written

A native Miamian, Irwin Futerfas was born nine months before the great hurricane of 1926. He was raised in Coconut Grove on Hibiscus Street and attended Coconut Grove Elementary School and Silver Bluff Junior High. When the family moved to Shenandoah, Irwin attended Shenandoah Junior High.

Irwin’s family owned a dry goods store in Coconut Grove, around the location of Commodore Plaza and Grand Avenue. Other stores there at the time included Snowden’s Gas Station, a French bakery, and a grocery store. The family’s dry goods store welcomed many patrons, including Marjory Stoneman Douglas. They also welcomed guests to fraternize and keep warm near their pot belly stove heated in the winter.

Irwin fondly remembers riding his bike throughout the area and on the rugged, unpaved Indian trail now named Old Cutler Road. He and his buddies also made kayaks out of wood and other materials for boating in the bay. At that time, Pan American Airways flew seaplanes that arrived on the bay and those were another source of pleasure for Irwin and his young friends. Irwin and his fellow Boy Scouts helped in the highly publicized search for 5-year-old James “Skeegie” Cash, who was abducted on May 28, 1938, in Princeton, near Goulds.

Irwin wanted to aid our country during World War II and was enlisted in the Army during high school with the proviso that he graduate first. He was assigned to the Air Force and sent to Keesler Field in Biloxi, Mississippi, for basic training after graduating Miami High. After more training at Truax and Chanute fields in Wisconsin and Illinois, Irwin was assigned to assist in the development and utilization of advanced radar equipment at Eglin Field in North Florida. He helped to test and develop radar equipment while flying in B17 bombers.

After the war, Irwin earned his undergraduate degree at the University of Miami and then his law degree there in 1952. During this time, he clerked for the law offices of William Pallot and Sam Silver. Irwin married his wonderful wife Charlotte in 1956. They have loving children, grandchildren, and extended family and friends.

In his early career, Irwin worked as a prosecutor at the Dade state attorney’s office under Richard E. Gerstein. Later, Irwin was the assistant director of administration for Legal Services War on Poverty at the federal Office of Economic Opportunity. He partnered with Bruce Rogow, who was the assistant in the legal procedures department. Both served under Howard Dixon. This office helped poor people with significant legal problems secure representation. Irwin also had positions as a staff attorney with the Juvenile Court of Dade County and later as a general master of the 11th Judicial Circuit, where he heard family cases that were referred by judges. Irwin was the second general master in Dade County. He retired after 16 years with the county and continued to see clients at his own practice for a number of years after that.

Charlotte came to Miami after college at the University of New Hampshire. She got her bachelor of science degree with a major in political science and a minor in music, piano specifically. Charlotte was also a long-term dedicated county employee, working first as the assistant to the box office manager at the Dade County Auditorium and then as box office manager for over 15 years. Charlotte notes that she had studied Spanish in high school for several years. She was glad that she remembered some of her Spanish and was happy to practice it while helping her Spanish-speaking patrons!

Irwin and Charlotte have always extended their kindness and help to charity organizations as well as in the community. They served as leaders and participants in the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts, the Elks, American Legion, Coconut Grove Masonic Lodge, Miami Old Timers Club, IATSE Ticket Sellers Union, Fairchild Tropical Botanic Gardens and the Bromeliad Society of South Florida. We thank Irwin and Charlotte for their time, concern, hard work, and dedication for our great county and country!

My name is Eugene Morris, but many know me as “Mercury.” I played running back for the Miami Dolphins from 1969 through 1975.

I first came to Miami from West Texas State for the North-South Shrine game, which was played on Christmas Day 1968. When I flew down here, it went from 18 degrees below zero and about 12 inches of snow on the ground, to summer. When I got off the plane, I thought I was on another planet.

I saw what I thought looked like the guys from “Hawaii Five-O,” dressed in those shirts. I thought it was really cool down here. They drove us over to the beach where we stayed. I didn’t know what the town was like but I said to myself I would love to play down here.

In January of 1969 I came down again. I had an agent who brought me down for Super Bowl III. So when Joe Namath and Don Shula clashed, I was at that game sitting in the nosebleed seats, up there at the top of the Orange Bowl, over on the south side.

The next month, I got a call from Joe Thomas of the Miami Dolphins. He said, “Congratulations Mercury, you’ve been drafted by the Dolphins.”

He told me Joe Robbie picked me because he said he liked me. He liked the way I ran and he liked my name. And that’s how I ended up in Miami.

I had gone to school in Texas, and that was my first touch of segregation, so to speak. It was institutionalized there. When I came to Miami, I didn’t see any of that. But what I didn’t know was what was going on with regard to the beach. I didn’t know that when blacks went to the beach they had to have a pass of some sort in order to justify being over there after dark.

Before Shula got here, there had been some segregation in the practice facility. And then he did away with that.

My first coach was George Wilson. When I got here I remember him saying he hoped for a 7-7 season. When you say you’re hoping for a 7-7 season, what you’re saying is, it’s OK to lose seven games. So that’s the mindset that he wanted to instill in us, which was mediocrity. And we didn’t even reach mediocrity.

There was a certain way things were run here. The Miami News, a newspaper here at the time, had a section in which I wrote an article twice a week called “Diary of a Rookie.”

I would talk about the things I saw in camp, and how these things were significant for the players and their relationships. Keep in mind, this was 1969. No blacks went to Alabama, Tennessee, LSU, anywhere in the Southeast Conference. So the players that came from there may have been experiencing for the first time having to play with black guys on the same team.

When I came in, I noticed we had segregated rooming. It was like Archie Bunker said: “Because whites got to be with whites, and coloreds got to be with coloreds.” That’s what we had then.

So I wrote about this. One day I was in the shower, and I noticed that the white dudes, their water’s coming out like Niagara Falls. And I went over and saw the black dudes, and their water’s trickling like it’s coming out the side of a mountain.

So I went over there and started washing myself. These guys went, “Hey rookie, what are you doing?” I said, “I’m taking a shower, just like you.” One said, “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be …” I said, “No I’m not. I’m supposed to be right here, taking a shower. Because I just came off the same practice field you did. And I got the same dirt on me that you do. And I’m washing it off the same way you are.”

These were my teammates but they didn’t know me. And I really didn’t know them. So we had these expectations of having to be a certain way because I was black, or because I wasn’t white.

And the dudes who had never been around black ballplayers, they had their expectations that they brought with them as well. So I wrote this article about the showers. I actually got flak from white guys and from black dudes. They criticized me and accused me of starting trouble because I talked about it. I wrote the article but the Miami News wrote the headline. The headline was, “De Facto Segregation in Dolphin Camp.” Half of these guys didn’t know what that meant, but they knew it didn’t mean something good.

I was in the throes of both groups. Neither group understood what was going on, except that they wanted to defend their side. They were settling with being who they were in that space. The coach was one of those types of people from that era, who played along with these expectations. We had a guy by the name of Norm McBride, who was a linebacker. This guy was really good, but his wife was white. They cut him. And he was their fifth round draft pick. Just because they didn’t like the idea that his wife was white, and he was black. And that’s in 1969.

We never reached mediocrity in ’69. We went three, 10, and one. Enter Don Shula, in 1970. And a lot of things changed at that point. That was the first year of the merger, so the old AFL was officially gone, and it became the AFC and the NFC. The format changed, and it became the new National Football League. Shula came here and the first thing he did was put Paul Warfield, a black player, and Bob Griese, who is white, together as roommates. He brought in a new era, that it’s about the football and what we’re supposed to be out there as the team.

Once, I said something about race, and he said, “Hey, you know I’m not like that.” And I knew he wasn’t because he only cared about one thing, and that was winning.

And this is the formula that he used: You treat everybody the same, with regard to who they are, what they do when they’re on a practice field, when they’re off the practice field, when they’re in the chow hall and the whole nine yards.

It was a rebirth of what the game would be, in terms of how it looked if everybody just played without the stigmas that came from the past. Because at the end of the day there’s only one race, and that’s the human race. The reality is somebody made that stuff up, and we’ve been trying to get over it ever since.

My parents were both in the United States Navy during World War II. They got together and lived in Virginia for a while. I was born and we moved to Miami when I was 3 years old.

First, we lived in West Miami for a period of time. Two sisters were born there and I went to school at Saint Teresa in Coral Gables.

We moved closer to the school in the early 1950s to Schenley Park right by Miami Children’s Hospital, now Nicklaus Children’s Hospital. I had two more sisters at that house, four sisters in total.

My mother worked at Doctor’s Hospital for the next 14 years and my father sold insurance.

As kids, we loved to go to the movies on Saturday. The only movies we’d go to were in Coral Gables. The movies for kids were at the Miracle, which is now a playhouse. Once you became a teenager you would go to the Coral, which was on Ponce. When you really got grown up and wanted to date, you would go down to The Gables.

We’d also go to the drive-in movies every Friday or Saturday night. I’d go with my family and we’d sometimes take lawn chairs. My dad would make popcorn at home and put it in a big grocery bag.

I remember they’d spray for mosquitoes at the movie and you’d just be sitting there in a big cloud. Who knows how many brain cells were killed in that process.

During the week, I’d get home from school, get on my bicycle and ride to Venetian Pool. Every single day.

At the pool they had a tower. If you dove off the tower you’d get kicked out of the pool. So about 15 minutes before closing, all the kids would go up the tower and jump into the pool. We’d get kicked out but we were out of there anyway because the pool was closing. That was a kid’s paradise.

I went to high school at Christopher Columbus, a Catholic high school. There, I ran track and played football. I was captain of the football team. While I was in Columbus I had my first real official job working at this grocery store called Food Fair.

Once I graduated from Columbus, I decided to go to the United States Naval Academy, following in my parents’ footsteps. While in school, I played football. I broke my hand and decided to leave the Naval Academy for Michigan State.

My first job in Michigan was at a reform school. I knew while I was there that I wanted to be a teacher. And so I asked myself, where were the most pleasant times of my entire life? Columbus. So where do I want be a teacher? Columbus!

So I came back to Columbus, coached football and started my teaching career. After I quit football, I ran the intramural program and taught history there for 23 years.

From there, I had an opportunity to teach at Miami Dade College. I was reluctant, but I went and stayed for 20 years. There I got involved in developing, and then running, the honors program. The program eventually morphed into something called the Honors College, which is in existence today.

When I retired from Miami Dade, I wanted to return to Columbus and ended up taking several different guidance counseling positions.

I’ve been to so many reunions and have taught multiple generations of fathers and sons. Even now, when I get together with my old classmates, it’s like no time has passed.

A lot of people say they don’t want to go to an all-boys school, but there’s just something special about it. You form a very strong bond.

My other loves are nature and the Everglades. As a kid, my father would take me fishing out on Tamiami Trail. I’d also go to the Everglades with my friends and we’d wander around sometimes and go hunting. You can’t do that anymore.

For many years I had a sailboat and when it was peaceful and calm I would go to the Biscayne National Park.

My doctoral dissertation is on the history of the islands and the waters of the Biscayne National Park. So I know all about Biscayne National Park.

During my research, I interviewed Virginia Tannehill. She lived on one of the islands, Swiss Family Robinson-style, before she had to move out because of Hurricane Andrew. She told me about a box of silver coins she found as she was walking on the beach and then gave me one. It was cool because I’m studying this island and writing the history of the site and now I’ve got a piece of it.

There was another guy who lived there whose name was Sir Lancelot Jones. He was a fishing guy who took almost every U.S. president out fishing. He told me his favorite was Herbert Hoover, whom he called “Herbie Hoover.” He was an amazing character.

I’d always done the sailboat thing, but for some reason I decided to give my sailboat away and become an air boater. I now have my own boat and belong to an airboat club, Airboat Association of Florida, which was founded in 1951. I have started getting more and more involved in the Everglades. When you have your own boat, you go to places you could never ever go before.

I’ve been to places that are just so tranquil and peaceful. As soon as you turn the engine off, you become part of nature. It’s a real spiritual feeling that the most people here in this urban environment never get to experience. I feel tranquil and at home in those areas on the water.

I’m pretty educated and I’ve done a lot of things, but I still enjoy the simplicity of nature and I want to protect it.

Today I live right down the road from Columbus with my wife. She’s a professor at Miami Dade College.

I frequent my favorite Miami hot dog place, Arbetter’s, for lunch. Everybody’s famous somewhere. I’m famous in Arbetter’s. My high school jersey is in the corner at Arbetter’s because I’ve been eating there for 50 years. I love it because it’s the most egalitarian place. You can be a lawyer, a doctor, a ditch digger; everybody’s the same at Arbetter’s.

I’ve loved watching this whole area of Westchester change. At one time it was a Jewish enclave. Gradually, as the Jewish population moved to North Miami, the Cubans moved in and made this area come alive. I love the diversity and the different kinds of people. When I go to the middle of the state, I see areas where everybody is homogenous. I just think to myself, “There’s something wrong here.” It’s like getting your food and they forgot to put the spice in it.

That to me makes Miami really, really special. I never want to leave.

Like the strong root system that supports a stately oak tree, the love of the great outdoors and parks and recreation runs deep in the lives of two Miami-Dade Parks sons — Eric King, park manager at Greynolds Park, and Chad Pezoldt, park manager at Tropical Park. Both were inspired by the formidable examples and career paths of their fathers, Jim King and the late Charles “Chuck” Pezoldt, who were leaders in the Miami-Dade Parks department.

Eric King’s early years were centered on parks and included regular car trips to the Everglades and frequent trail hikes with his dad, Jim, who was a long-time parks naturalist and a key figure in the start-up of Miami EcoAdventures. He oversaw environmental education programming for the parks system for more than 40 years.

“These experiences allowed me to learn to appreciate nature and the outdoors,” Eric King said. “But it was one parks experience that I shared with my dad as a kid that truly sparked my enthusiasm for parks and recreation and made me a committed nature steward.”

On a Fourth of July 22 years ago, a then-10-year-old Eric was excited about joining his father at his job at Crandon Park on Key Biscayne, as the Key was having its fireworks spectacle that evening. Their first stop was the park’s sea turtle hatchery. “It was my first-time there and needless to say I was awestruck and amazed at seeing the eggs hatch into tiny sea turtles,” he said, adding, “I was so hooked that I opted to stay and care for them through the evening, skipping the fireworks.”

His enthusiasm for parks continued.

As a teen, he worked as an official county parks volunteer, recalling how proud he was to wear the “Parks shirt” and be surrounded by amazing nature views and wildlife, such as herons, osprey, butterflies, horseshoe crabs, and of course sea turtles. “It’s no surprise that I decided on a career in parks and recreation,” he said.

Now 32, Eric is proud to say that he’s stilling living the “Park Life.” At Greynolds Park, he lends his expertise to the staff that he leads and introduces Miami-Dade residents and their children to South Florida’s rich history and wildlife on assorted eco-treks on land and sea.

For Chad, the county parks played a huge part in his childhood. “There are so many fond memories with Dad that it is hard to pick just one,” he said.

His dad, Chuck, was a director for the parks department and held several high posts during his 21 years of service. The elder Pezoldt, who died of cancer at age 62 in 1996, is credited with shaping and growing the county parks system to 13,500 acres and introducing innumerable high-profile special events. Chad recalled helping his dad out at the Superstars Championships at Crandon Park: “I was completely in awe of seeing famous professional athletes like Barry Sanders, one of my favorite childhood sports idols.”

However, that experience paled in comparison to his first-time volunteering with his dad at the Special Olympics games at Tropical Park. “It was the moment that I realized that parks better lives, including my own,” he said. “What so impressed me was seeing such joy in the kids’ faces as they crossed the finish line. Regardless of finishing first or last, they were joyous. Sharing their victory in that moment, gave me so much. And that continues to drive me to this day in my work and volunteerism with other adaptive sporting events.”

Before joining Miami-Dade Parks two-and-a-half years ago at age 39, Chad spent 16 years in sales and earned a master’s degree in public administration from Florida International University. “My parks career may have started a little later in life, but my outstanding experiences with my dad led me back and I am grateful to be continuing his great legacy of giving back to the community.” At Tropical Park, Chad oversees a staff of 30 and a wide range of park amenities, including ball fields; tennis, racquetball and basketball courts; a football stadium; a track and field area; a community center and a full-service equestrian complex. Residing in Cutler Bay with his wife and young son, he is nurturing “generation next,” deeply rooted in park life.

In 1937, most all the southern old timers pronounced Miami as MI-AM-MA, but I had a distant cousin, Rose Lobree, who was a member of the social coterie of the last empress of China, in Shanghai, and visited Miami for occasional winter seasons. She pronounced it MEE-AH-MEE, as did others in her social group.

At age 12, in 1937, I first learned to play snare drum as a member of the Miami Beach American Legion Junior Drum and Bugle Corps, who met every afternoon, after school, in the softball stands at Flamingo Park.  Such groups became very popular in Miami after the fabulous Miami American Legion Drum and Bugle Corps, Harvey Seeds Post, won national championships. That group brought further fame to our city with its stirring rendition of “Moon over Miami” in military style, played in major cities, nationwide.  They wore white horse-riding uniforms with high, black leather boots and WWI chromium-plated steel helmets, tipped at a rakish angle and gleaming sharply in the sun.  They marched and played at a fast pace and their appearances were heavily attended.

I practiced diligently and, in seventh grade, was accepted into the Ida M. Fisher (named after Carl Fisher’s mother) High School band.  Upon completion of the new building next door, the school name was changed to Miami Beach Senior High School.  Our outstanding band director was Felix McKernan who led us to first place designations year after year in both state and national competitions.

One day I was called to the director’s office and was introduced to a stranger, Rollo Laylan.  Rollo, it turned out, was the “Old Drum Gold Drum” award winner that year and was the drummer with the famous Paul Whiteman Orchestra, playing at the Roney Plaza Hotel, Miami Beach.  Rollo was in “delicate health” as was said in that day, and his doctors said his health would be well served if he moved to Miami.  Rollo, along with Gene Krupa, formerly Benny Goodman’s drummer, had written and published the first manual for dance band drum set, so Rollo decided to open a studio to teach drums in Miami. He chose me as his first student.   

In the ensuing years I played drums in small groups in just about every hotel from Fifth Street to Lincoln Road as most hotels had a dance and a band one night a week for guests and friends.  The hotels cooperated in alternating band nights so there was a dance most every night at one hotel or another and it was all free.  In due course I joined the Miami Musicians’ Union and played in fancier venues.  One job was as drummer with the Jose Tomasio All Cuban Orchestra at the Miami Jai Alai fronton.  We wore white uniforms with crimson sashes as we led the cesta-armed players in the opening parade each night around the playing field. 

Then came WWII and the Army took over one hotel after another to billet soldiers for basic training for the Army Air Corps. They learned to march on what had been the Miami Beach city golf course.  In 1943 I was 18 in May, graduated Miami Beach High School in June, was drafted into the Army in July and then shortly found myself in the teeth of The Battle of the Bulge in Belgium, France and Germany, in the 106th Infantry Division. But that begins a long story for another time.

This is the story of a true Miamian, our father.  He would speak of his city using the Indian pronunciation, MI – AM – MA.  There are eight of us, all born in this town.  As second generation, we say MI – AM – MI.

Richard Sanborn Hickey, our father, was not born in Miami.  He was born in Schenectady, New York, on March 8, 1921.  His parents moved from Schenectady to Miami, a booming town of opportunity.  Two brothers, Robert and John would later complete the family.

The family lived downtown on Northwest 5th Street, a block away from Miami Field.   It was on this field that the Orange Bowl would be built.  (Construction began in 1935 and was completed in 1937 at a cost of $340,000.)  The first game on the field was the Bucknell Bison vs. the Miami Hurricanes.   It was called the Festival of the Palms.

When the boys were old enough, Grandmother hired a woman to stay with the children and she opened a woman’s garment shop on Flagler Street.  Grandfather was in real estate. Business was booming.  

Bicycles were the popular mode of transportation.  The boys could be seen riding back and forth south to Kendall Drive (a dirt road that ended at 87th Avenue). On February 15, 1933, the boys decided to take a ride down to Bayfront Park.  It was there that they joined the crowd to hear the president-elect, Franklin Roosevelt, speak.   Instead they witnessed the attempted shooting of the president-elect.  A man named Guiseppe Zangara shot five people, fatally wounding Anton Cermak, the mayor of Chicago.  FDR was unharmed.

One summer Dad broke his arm.  When the cast was removed, they found he favored his arm and would not use it.  The doctor told Grandfather to find a pony and get him riding.  “He will have to use his arm.”  Grandfather bought a pony and Dad named him “Tony.”  Tony spent his days living on the land south of town on the corner of Kendall and U.S 1.  (Shorty’s BBQ stands there now.)  Grandfather would drive the boys to Kendall where Dad would hop onto Tony and ride back downtown and then return south.  The doctor was right; Dad once again began using his arm.

School for the Hickey boys was downtown.  Gesu Catholic Church offered school from grades 1 through 12.  It was perfect for the family as it was close to Grandmother’s shop.  

It was in the fourth grade that Dad made a new friend, Sonny Capone.  Every morning Sonny arrived in a black limo. Then every noon the limo would bring Sonny his own special lunch.  Sonny invited Dad to eat with him inside the limo under the protection of Sonny’s bodyguards.   Grandfather explained to Dad the need for bodyguards.  That lasted for a year until Sonny was transferred to St Patrick’s school on Miami Beach.    

Music was a very important part of the Hickey household.    They formed their own little band, practicing in the garage.  During the high school years the “Dick Hickey Melodiers” were introduced to Miami.  They played all around town – dance nights at the Coral Gables Country Club, special occasions at the Redlands Country Club, sock hops held atop the Gesu School building. They played before the movies at the Gusman Theater.  Grandmother played the piano, Robert the sax, Dad on clarinet and cousin Ted Gardinier on the bass.    The going rate of pay was around eight or nine dollars.   Dad got two dollars and the others divided the remainder amongst them.  The band era lasted throughout the college years.    

Summers for the Hickeys were often spent driving north to visit the family.  At night they would pull off to the side of the road and pitch a tent.  Motels were few and far between.

After high school, there was no question that the University of Miami was the one and only school for Dad.   He was a Hurricane, through and through.  To help pay his tuition, he began waiting on tables in the school cafeteria, ushering at the theater on 41st Street and playing with his band.  A boxing scholarship was available.  He began to make a name for himself as a Hurricane athlete.   His brother, Bob, asked him why he was taking the beating when there was a music scholarship available.   And so his music took over.

Upon graduation, the U.S. Navy was waiting. Dad immediately went into officer’s training at Columbia University.  It was 1944 and D-Day was looming. He made it through the European and Pacific theaters, receiving numerous commendations.   He returned home when the war ended and obtained his law degree at University of Miami, graduating with honors in 1948.

He met our mother at (where else) a beach party.  This is Miami, right?  One date and he said, “I am going to marry that woman.” And so he did.  That’s where the eight of us began to enter the picture.

Dad opened his law practice in the DuPont Building and practiced in state and local courts. In 1963, he began serving as a municipal judge.  After eight years, he was a county court judge. In 1978, he was appointed to the circuit court bench where he remained until he retired in 1988.

Our father, a true MI – AM – MA boy, lived 91 years in his beloved city.

It was 1991, and my father-in-law, David Berg, was still a hard-working kosher butcher in Hillcrest, Queens. My mother-in-law, Elka Berg, worked tirelessly beside him, though they were 79 and 69, respectively.

That winter, my husband, Allen, decided to buy them tickets to Miami Beach and book them into a suite at the Saxony, complete with a kitchen so Mom could continue to cook the simple, healthy foods Dad, who had a high sugar count, was allowed on his limited diet.

“Use them or lose them,” Allen told my in-laws. “The tickets are paid for and there are no refunds.” So off to Miami Beach flew David and Elka Berg; it was the first winter vacation they enjoyed since their arrival in America in 1949.

After a week, we got a phone call.

“Everything alright?” Allen said.

“Fine,” said Dad. “The sun is shining, the weather is a balmy 80 degrees. We’re walking on the boardwalk. In fact, we bought an apartment down here.”

Now, my in-laws are wonderful people. In fact, Dad started his own successful butcher business from nothing when they arrived in New York. But they’d never even considered buying any real estate in all the years they rented store space and their apartment on the lower East Side. So this was a startling development indeed.

My in-laws came home that spring, worked in the store all week and spent weekends in the summer in a bungalow in the Catskills, just the way they had for over 30 years.

Winter rolled around and off they went to sunny Miami. By this time, Allen had to see just what they purchased. So en route home from a trade show in Atlanta, he detoured to Miami Beach to surprise his parents. Unfortunately, it turned out that Allen was the one who was surprised. And not so pleasantly.

The apartment Mom and Dad bought was on the top floor of a three-story low-rise building on the corner of 41st Street and Collins Avenue – the busiest intersection in Miami Beach. Not only could you hardly hear yourself talk over the constant noise of the traffic below, but there were buckets all over the place collecting the water from the leaks on the roof. Oy! Dad was nursing his bout of walking pneumonia with tea and honey, and Mom was continually emptying the buckets filled with rainwater.

After getting Dad to the doctor to cure his pneumonia and trying to convince his parents to move, Allen came back to New York with promises that the roof was going to be fixed by next winter and all would be well. Ha!

After another spring, another summer, and another fall, winter arrived and my in-laws departed.

“How’s it going?” asked Allen during his daily calls to his folks.

“Fine, fine. Everything’s great!” Dad assured him.

But Allen didn’t live with his parents for 21 years without learning anything. And there was another trade show in Atlanta. Perfect time to check things out.

Another season. Same scenario.

At that point, my husband decided, enough is enough. Tower 41 loomed invitingly across the bridge and Allen was convinced his parents would enjoy spending their winters there.

Somebody up there likes us. Allen found an apartment in Tower 41 on the 15th floor overlooking the pool, Indian Creek and the ocean. Perfect!

Now, how to convince my in-laws to move there? After all, Dad was a very proud man who would never accept his son’s financial help. So Allen told Dad that he wanted the apartment as an investment and they should use it during the winter until 120 years, with G-d’s help.

“It’s too fancy,” said Dad.

”Can you afford the maintenance?” asked Allen.

“Yes. No problem,” he replied.

“Good. When you’re in the elevator no one knows how much money is in your pocket. Please, you pay the maintenance and I’ll have a good investment.”

And that’s exactly what we did.

My in-laws enjoyed 12 wonderful winters in Miami Beach in a clean, safe building. We had peace of mind knowing they were doing well every winter and welcomed them back to New York every spring thrilled that they both looked so good and were thriving in Miami Beach.

In October 2004, my father-in-law passed away and Mom started to fade. That summer, while Mom was in New York, we renovated the kitchen and two bathrooms, hoping she’d enjoy the newly refurbished apartment. But we were deluding ourselves. Mom was lost without Dad to lean on and that winter was the last one she spent in Florida. From then on, Mom stayed in New York, fading in front of our eyes year by year for 10 years.

For a few years, we rented the apartment for the winter months. Finally, just a few years ago, we decided to use it a week here, a week there. Every time we came down, we’d renovate it a little more, refurbish some of the furniture and purchase new pieces. We kept the 60-year-old needlepoint picture Mom made in the bungalow colony all those summers ago, reupholstered the dining room chairs and replaced the couch and coffee table. We painted the walls and changed the kitchen cabinet doors and hardware. Got rid of the dated aqua carpeting and replaced it with shiny white porcelain tile.

This year, we really made it our own. I stayed in Miami Beach January and February while Allen went back and forth to New York to take care of his business.

Who knew we would end up loving the apartment we bought for my in-laws 22 years ago? Who knew how we would be so blessed to enjoy Miami Beach in our retirement years in the very same building that gave my in-laws so much pleasure.

Charmed and excited by the October sunshine, the brightness of the buildings, the freshness of the breeze, his first sight of the ocean and Biscayne Bay and the freedom and mobility of his new bicycle, the boy cautiously ventured south from his new home at Northeast 43 Street toward the city, a little farther each day, finally reaching the corner of Flagler Street and North 2nd Avenue where his excitement peaked at the sight of the magnificent A.I. Dupont Building. These wonders were almost too much for a country boy.

Too soon the war began to change this scene: burning ships on the ocean horizon, marching soldiers on the streets of Miami Beach, sailors, soldiers and airmen all over Flagler Street.  The area north of the Prince Valdemar, a super yacht beached by the 1926 hurricane and later converted to an aquarium, was occupied by other, more benign navy facilities where my high school lady of the time served clerical duty. Other buildings in the area such as Sears & Roebuck, the Jewel Box night club, Betty’s Lobo Lounge and the Club Bali were not affected until after the war.

Further south, the venerable Bayfront Park provided the favorite Sunday afternoon stroll which nearly always ended with a visit to the “tour boat” and sport fishing boat docks where the day’s catch was on display and sometimes sold to penny-wise ladies anxiously clutching their purses. A short stroll west past Caesar LaMonaca’s bandshell brought one to Biscayne Boulevard which was the route for the famous Orange Bowl Parade; twelve blocks farther west stood the Orange Bowl stadium itself which provided Friday night football entertainment furnished by any two of the county’s six high school teams. The most popular of these was the annual Thanksgiving Day rivalry between the Miami High Stingarees and the Edison Red Raiders. I saw many of these games from my seat in the trumpet section.

We cannot leave downtown Miami without taking in a Saturday night movie at one of the many theaters; the Olympia, the Paramount, the Miami, The Capitol, the Royal and the Embassy, all of which have been made redundant by neighborhood cinemas. The movie was almost always followed by a window shopping tour of Flagler Street where wonders such as the bejeweled, carved onyx elephant in the Duval Jewelry window were transfixing. All of this with a Dairy Queen cone in hand. Had this been a weekday we might even have dropped in to the large, marble, bay-view blocking library in the park at the foot of Flagler Street. An evening drive across the MacArthur causeway brought a display of the Miami skyline which was dominated by the Everglades Hotel and the News Tower. This tower was the home of the Miami News, long ago absorbed by the Miami Herald and, in the wake of the Castro revolution, was to become the center for aid to Cuban refugees. This fact alone is the reason this building still graces our skyline rather than joining the Everglades and McAllister hotels in photographs of Miami building past.

In spite of some grumbling to the contrary, it is generally agreed that Miami has benefitted from this influx of bright, energetic and ambitious people. Some professionals, such as doctors, suffered long delays in re-establishing themselves in their professions because of the lengthy licensing process. Now, 50 years later, one is amazed at the prominence of Cuban expatriates in all the professions. This must be counted as a major plus for South Florida as a whole.

My first awareness of the UM School of Medicine came in 1950, when my then-wife, a UM graduate, and I innocently crashed the inaugural party at the Coral Gables Country Club. Our table mates were cordial and unquestioning. It was a very nice party and portended much in my future life for, as it turned out, the beautiful young lady whom I married in 1961, entered the UM Medical School in 1962, graduating in the class of 1966. From relatively modest beginnings, the school has grown to become an important institution in many fields such as ophthalmology, oncology, spinal cord injuries and care for premature infants. The county is fortunate to claim such an outstanding institution. 

The University of Miami as a whole has attained a worldwide standing since its reemergence on its present campus in 1947. I say reemergence because many of us remember attending classes in what was then known as the “cardboard college.” This hiatus in the university’s fortunes was brought about with the crash of 1926 when most of the university’s assets, which consisted mostly of pledges, went away with such promises. The post-war surge brought on by the returning veterans and the GI Bill gave UM and most other schools in the US the boost they needed.

In 1947, construction was begun on the Rickenbacker Causeway to connect Virginia Key and Key Biscayne to the mainland. This addition to South Florida continues to be the most important in the history of the area in spite of its inauspicious beginning of being populated with “starter” houses by the Mackle Company. Young professionals with vision eagerly snapped them up at $13,000, later increasing in value tenfold as multi-million dollar mansions appeared on the island.

The Cuban Missile Crisis of the early sixties was the closest that the Cold War came to directly affecting Miami. The very real danger of the affair has only become apparent with modern, post-Cold War revelations and it is just as well. I think we might have been frightened to near panic had we been aware at the time. Remnants of the temporary short range missile installations are still visible along some roads in very South Florida and the upper keys. South Florida has been a focal point for military installations since the Spanish-American War of the late 1890s. I hope we have seen the last.

Many who read this will say, “What about such and such? He didn’t mention so and so.” It was never my intention to touch all bases, only those which lay in my personal memory. Someone else can write their own memories. 

This ends my South Florida saga for now. Perhaps I will be encouraged to bring it up to date someday, but most of the continuing story will already be lived and remembered by the current generation of new, native Miamians and immigrants. In the meantime, this country boy is 86 years old and regrets that he will not be around to record the future stories of casino gambling, the expanding importance of the Port of Miami, the ascendancy of Miami as an important center for research in medicine and plant biology and the burgeoning center for trade with Cuba when the nation is finally opened. What a plethora of current memories and memories yet to come! I wish I were 40 years younger.

In June of 1949, I graduated from high school in Manhattan, NY. My mother and father wanted me to go to college in the New York area but since I had a couple of friends who were going to the University of Miami, I insisted go there.

In September of 1949, I arrived at the U. I registered late so all the dorm rooms were filled. I had to live off campus. I found a nice little apartment on 22nd Avenue, just off of SW Eighth Street on what is now Little Havana. My rent was $50 per month.

Since I spent a lot of time on Miami Beach, I decided to live on the Beach starting my second year at the U. I stayed at the Boulevard Hotel on Dade Boulevard (not the one that is now on Ocean Drive). It cost $100 per month but there was no air conditioning. It was only a few blocks from all the nightclubs such as the Beachcomber, Copy City, and Circos. A lot of the showgirls from those clubs also lived at The Boulevard. I dated one for a few years.

The other big night club was Lou Walters’ Latin Quarter, which was located on Palm Island. In those days, all the big stars such as Dean Martin, Jerry Lewis, Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett performed in those clubs. The clubs were only open for the winter season, which was November until April.

Most of the hotels on Miami Beach also closed for the summer. I found a hotel on Ocean Drive that was one of the only ones that stayed open all year. It was the Winter Haven Hotel and I paid $30 a month (that’s a dollar a day) for a window unit air-conditioned room.

I did this each year until I graduated. Six months at the Boulevard and six months at the Winter Haven. After graduation, I decided to stay here rather than go back to New York. My parents had already retired and also moved to Miami Beach. They ended up living here for the rest of their lives.

Soon after I graduated, a friend came down from New York to visit me. We went to a few of the clubs on Miami Beach, one of them being the Rocking MB. Since we both spent all of our money that night, I told my friend not to worry because I was expecting a check from my company the next day. I was working as a salesman.

When I went to the mailbox the next day there was no check but there was a piece of mail addressed to me. I opened it and there was a membership to the Diners Club. I had forgotten that I saw an ad in Esquire Magazine for The Diners and that I applied for it. That was the first credit card. There was no American Express, Visa or MasterCard yet.

Well at least we could eat.

At the time there were no plastic cards like today. It was a little book that listed all of the places in the whole country that accepted the Diners Club. The front cover had your name and membership number. We looked in the book under Miami and there were just a few places that took the Diners Club. I saw a great steak house that I knew of named The Robin Hood. It was on 36th Street and Biscayne Boulevard, which is now a Shell Gas Station. So we went there and each had a great steak dinner with a couple of drinks each. The check was under $15 and that included tax and tip.

I was now ready for an apartment and I had a friend who was a builder. He had just finished a 10-unit apartment building right on the water in a place called Harbor Island, North Bay Village. My friend lived on the first floor and I took the apartment on the second floor at the end right on the water. My rent was $150 per month and I stayed there for 10 years, all at the same rent. At that same time a place called the Racket Club just opened right across from me.

North Bay Village became the nightlife area at that time. The clubs could stay open until 7 a.m. Also starting in 1954, the big hotels came into being on Miami Beach. The Fontainebleau opened first, then came The Eden Roc followed by The Deauville, The Carillon, The Americana and also the original Diplomat Hotel in Hollywood Beach. As they all had large nightclubs, all the big stars played in those six hotels. That spelled the doom of the standalone clubs like Copa City and others.

As the bars and clubs had to close at 4 a.m. on Miami Beach, all of the entertainers and club people who wanted to party gravitated up to North Bay Village. There was one called the Bonfire, which was a great restaurant and later at night became a club. Another place was the Harbor Lounge & Black Magic Room.

Because they only served drinks and no food; when their customers got hungry they went to the Bonfire. There was an open area patio at the Harbor Lounge not being put to use, so a restaurant was put in that space. My friend was hired to build a kitchen and dining room. The restaurant was named The Place For Steak. A steak dinner included a great salad and a baked potato. That’s all they served at first. But they had two sizes. The junior steak dinner cost $2.95 and the senior was $3.95.

At first, they were only looking for a late crowd so the dining room opened at 11 p.m. Russ, my builder friend, and I were served the first two steaks. As the place became very popular, they expanded the dining room, got rid of the Black Magic Room and opened at 6 p.m.

At that time, I was doing quite well financially, so I bought my first new car.

It was a 1957 two-tone Cadillac Coupe De Ville. It cost me $5,000 and was one of the first cars to have built-in air conditioning. I also got a second car. It was a 1957 Ford T-Bird. I wish I still owned it, as it is now worth a lot of money.