• Meanwhile, a new group of international narco-assassins—these from Jamaica—has relocated its headquarters in Dade and Broward counties, where it's easy to get parts and servicing for their MAC- ids.

• To ensure that our Dodge City reputation never ebbs, many South Florida legislators backed a new state gun law that enables practically any glassy-eyed psychopath to arm himself on a whim.

• And, oh yes, the state attorney general recently was asked to give an opinion on whether animal sacrifices were permissible in Hialeah.

Image problem? What image problem? How could the Times suggest such a thing?

Face it, things get bizarre in these latitudes. Consequently, every magazine that strives for hipness has taken a crack at Miami—Esquire, Vogue, the Village Voice, the New York Review of Books, the New Yorker, and there will be more. Writers come down here because it's interesting, in the best and worst sense.

By now you'd think the Civic Pillars would have the brains to shrug it off, but no. The county manager, who had not yet read the Times article, boldly announced that "we're going to take a public stand." (Quick—call the networks. A public stand!)

Then, two days before the magazine actually appeared, an emergency meeting was convened at the Grand Bay Hotel to plot counterpublicity.

The session was closed to the public, so God only knows what was dreamed up. Perhaps it was a list of alternative headlines for submission to the Times corrections department: "Miami—We're Doing Our Best, So Lay Off!" Or: "A City Beset By Snotty Press Articles." Something mature like that.

In critiquing the Times' presentation, it should be noted that the magazine used a photograph of a mock drug bust staged by U.S. Customs. This was undeniably sloppy, but would a picture of the real thing have made the Chamber of Commerce any happier? Probably not.

The publicized summit at the Grand Bay Hotel accomplished at least one thing: It sold a heap of Sunday newspapers for the New York Times. If I were Publisher Sulzberger, I'd send citrus-scented thank-you notes to the whole Beacon Council.

For the record, Bob Sherrill's article does not portray Dade County as the sludge pit of the universe, so take your medicine and calm down. There's nothing wrong with civic pride, but civic panic is embarrassing.

Newsweek story glitz-wraps same old city

January 20, 1988

You probably noticed the restraint with which this paper greeted the current Newsweek cover story, bannering it across the front page like a new Soviet arms treaty. The reason is simple: Anytime anyone anywhere says anything nice about Dade County, it's front-page news.

Still shell-shocked from last summer's New York Times profile, local tourism honchos had huddled heavily sedated in underground bunkers to await the Newsweek piece, predictably titled: "Miami—America's Casablanca."

After a quick review, the boosters proclaimed the portrait to be darned near positive, and called off plans to mewl, sulk and fly to New York in protest.

The fact is, the content of the Newsweek story is not much different from what stirred up a storm last July in the Times. The real difference is the tropical caption and the pretty pictures.

Let's begin with the cover: There's the glorious new skyline (photographed at such a distance where you can't see all the vacant office space), set behind a tranquil Miami River (photographed at such an angle that the water somehow appears blue) .

And no wonder everybody's celebrating! In three years this is the first nationally published picture of the Miami River that did not feature dead drug dealers on the end of a coroner's gaff.

Most of the other Newsweek photography is equally flattering—more skyline, a sunset, the Fontainebleau Hilton, a parade through Little Havana. As for dramatic photos of cocaine busts, there's just one teensy-weensy shot of a crack arrest. Big deal.

By contrast, the text itself mentions the C word no less than 12 times, including this passage: "You cannot understand Miami without under-standing cocaine, either. Miami is supersaturated with cocaine and cocaine money."

Whoa there, Beacon Council, no need to panic. The very next sentence puts an upbeat spin on the drug climate: "The point many tourists over-look, however, is that the core of Miami's cocaine problem is on the wholesale, not retail level."

So bring the kiddies on down!

Any national story about Dade County must also be rated by the PAN factor—the ratio of positive to negative adjectives. My friend Tom Morganthau, who wrote the main Newsweek story, obviously plundered Roget's in search of superlatives.

At one point he calls Miami an "almost lunatic concatenation of ethnicity, glitz and restless energy." Since Tom is one of only three persons in the whole universe who know what "concatenation" means, he might be forced to defend himself solely on the "lunatic" issue.

A sample of the positive adjectives used to depict Dade County include "unique," "bustling," "prosperous," "newfangled," "proud," "jazzy," "cocky," "mellow," "multicultural," "exciting," "exotic" and "sensuous."

The only thoroughly negative adjective: "dangerous."

Unfortunately, according to the South Florida PAN factor, one lousy "dangerous" in a big magazine article wipes out "unique" and "bustling" and even "exciting"—but that still leaves "exotic" and "sensuous."

Which brings up this Casablanca business.

Miami is everything Newsweek says it is, but if I read one more story calling it America's Casablanca, I'm going to start a petition drive.

In fact, Miami is not at all like Casablanca. For one thing, the handgun laws are much tougher there.

Despite the glow, Newsweek did not overlook our poverty, discrimination, culture clashes or crime. While noting a decline in the homicide rate, the magazine observed that "no sane Dade County resident leaves his door unlocked."

Though true, this comment will not inspire cartwheels among our local image shepherds, nor will the sub-headline characterizing Miami as a "city of wheelers, dealers and refugees."

That's the bad news.

The good news is, they put in a map.

Super Bowl boosters in taxi tizzy

November 21, 1988

Pre-Super Bowl panic has already set in among the custodians of Miami's national image. The first targets of reform are taxi drivers, who are being coached, cajoled and strong-armed into a show of manners.

The dread of tourism officials is that a vulnerable visitor (and we all know how sensitive football fans can be) might encounter a gruff or opportunistic cabbie.

In truth, the odds of this happening are no greater than that of being gouged for a hotel room, gouged for game tickets, gouged for lousy food and, finally, gouged for dopey souvenirs such as official Super Bowl ashtrays and official Super Bowl kazoos.

Which is to say that the prime mission of Super Bowl Week is to separate the tourist from as much of his money as can be pried from his pale little paws.

It is demonstrably easier to accomplish this gentle larceny if one is courteous to the victim during the act. Thus, the urgency of the Miami Nice campaign.

If you wondered why no special courtesy classes for taxi drivers are held in the off-season, the answer is simple: There's no reason to impress the locals.

If you live here and have to call a cab, it's probably because your car was stolen, the bus broke down, you're miles from the Metrorail and you desperately need to get away from some place (say, the scene of a major felony). At this point, you don't really care whether the taxi driver is nice or not, as long as he knows the accelerator from the brake.