In the past, periodic creature attacks—sharks, gators, snakes, etc.—rated attention mainly from breathless local TV anchors and junky tabloid shows. But this was the big time! This was a legitimate network program embracing the legend of the mutant barracuda and beaming it into millions of households. You can't put a price on that kind of publicity.

And almost immediately the phones began to jangle with reports of other horrifying attacks. An Alabama man, fishing in Bradenton, was said to have incurred minor wounds when struck by a leaping 'cuda. A wire-service account quoted a "shark expert" in Gainesville as saying the incident was "an amazing fluke. I've never even heard of [barracudas] jumping out of the water."

Not in Gainesville, anyway.

The fact is, barracudas are adroit jumpers, especially in pursuit of bait fish. The theory that they would utilize this talent to terrorize tourists is intriguing, but far-fetched. Seasoned fishermen and charter captains crack up at the notion of a killer 'cuda, stealthily circling a boatload of pink-skinned visitors who peer innocently into the brine, adjusting their rented snorkels for that first, fateful dive ...

Yet I would urge native Floridians not to rush forward and punch holes in such a valuable myth. If people choose to believe that a primordial genetic code has gone haywire, and that a normally indifferent ocean species has turned savagely against humans (particularly those visiting from out-of-town), then by all means let them believe it.

To intervene with dull facts would only squander a prime opportunity. The appetite for weird Florida news is obviously so insatiable that the national media is ready to jump on any story, no matter how flimsy. We must ride the momentum, and keep the barracuda panic alive. Keep the calls and letters coming.

It's been years since Jaws was a hit, but lots of people still carry a phobia about sharks. The 'cuda scare has even greater potential because the "attacks" occur out of the water.

No one would be safe from flying barracudas. A splash, a gleam of silver—and suddenly a volleyballer on South Beach is scalped, mid-spike. Two lovers, minced beyond recognition during a midnight stroll on the jetty. A tawny young rollerblader, brutally truncated while skating along a seawall.

Would it ever end? For God's sake, somebody do something. Somebody call Spielberg.

Crime coverage based on how far tourist traveled

January 16, 1994

The new tourist season brings anxiety and trepidation, as South Florida braces for more rotten publicity about crime.

During the past week, visitors from Chile, Bolivia and Switzerland were assaulted by robbers in the Miami area. Although nobody was killed or seriously injured, the incidents received exhaustive news coverage.

Many Floridians are perplexed by the sensational attention these robberies are getting. Smash-and-grabs have been happening for years, and ordinarily they don't make the news. These days it's a lead story.

We in the media should come clean and explain our new guidelines for covering crime. Simply put: If it happens to a tourist, it's a major story. If it happens to a local … well, tough luck.

As victims, tourists draw more sympathy. Locals get mugged and shot on a nightly basis; the presumption is that we ought to expect it. Tourists, however, arrive in Florida with a certain sunny innocence. The presumption is that criminals ought to cut them a break.

In fact, that seems to be happening. Metro-Dade Police report that robberies of tourists have declined sharply since last spring. The figures have drawn media notice and applause from the chambers of commerce.

Buried in the stories was the fact that the total number of robberies in Dade has actually increased, meaning the thugs are merely redirecting their felonious energies toward local residents. No one seems terribly concerned. The coverage of tourist crime offers a revealing lesson in competitive journalism.

Not all tourists are equal in the eyes of the media. Foreign tourists are more valuable than domestic tourists, news-wise. The more exotic the tourist, the bigger the story.

One rule is: The farther a person travels to come here, the more significant it is when he or she gets mugged. For example, the robbery of a British couple is automatically more newsworthy than the robbery of, say, golfers from Atlanta.

The accepted method of rating tourist crime is the well-established Fitz-Sanchez Scale, which relies on both geographic and cultural disparities:

• Category One Tourists are those from Great Britain, France, Germany, Spain, Scandinavia, Brazil, Chile, Australia, Japan and the Falkland Islands.

• Category Two Tourists are from Canada, the Bahamas, Colombia, Bolivia, Peru, Panama, Mexico and Jamaica.

• Category Three Tourists are from Nebraska, Kansas, Iowa, North Dakota, South Dakota, Maine and the Amish country of western Pennsylvania.

• Category Four Tourists are from the Sunbelt.

• Category Five Tourists are from New York, which means they're practically local.

• Category Six Tourists are from elsewhere in Florida, and of marginal news value.

In our quest to report every single offense committed against tourists, we have conveniently broadened definitions. A "tourist" is no longer just a person who comes for vacation; it can also be somebody who's down here to see relatives, or make airplane connections.

When we're not really sure why they're in Florida, we refer to them as "visitors." This catch-all term suggests the same innocence as "tourists," and generates the same public outrage.

Some locals complain that the new obsession with tourist crime is rooted mainly in economic panic. True, robbers tend to steal from our winter visitors the thing we Floridians cherish most—their money.

But only a hard-core cynic would insinuate that our interest in protecting tourists stems from anything but true compassion. Someday, if we've got any left over, we'll show the same concern for the folks who live here year-round.

Blacking out Channel 7 unplugs the local color

June 5, 1994

Thousands of tourists are being deprived of one of South Florida's greatest cultural treasures, the nightly newscast on WSVN-Channel 7.

To protest the station's preoccupation with crime, some hotels have begun blocking WSVN's news from their guests' rooms. This stringent step is being taken to guard the tender sensibilities of visitors, in the same way that grown-ups lock the cable box so the kids won't sneak a peek at the Playboy Channel.

The Continental Cos., which owns several local hotels, declared that it was fed up with WSVN's nightly dose of violent video. Another hotelier complained that tourists "look at Channel 7, and they're afraid to go out on the street."

So what? Many folks who live here are afraid to go out on the streets, and it's got nothing to do with Channel 7. It's that evening lullaby of semiautomatic gunfire and police sirens that tends to discourage social excursions in some neighborhoods.

True, on a slow news day, anchor Rick Sanchez can make a routine domestic shooting sound like a sniper attack on an orphanage. But any out-of-towner who doesn't recognize silly hype when he sees it deserves to be scared out of his trousers.

Queasy tourists we don't need. Give us the tough ones. The wily and the battle-hardened. The adventurers.

The hotels' contention that one reckless TV station can frighten off business is a backhanded compliment to Channel 7's cold-blooded programming strategy; people do watch. On the other hand, there are nights when even MacNeil-Lehrer scares the hell out of me. The world can be a scary place.

Whether they're from Oshkosh or Oslo, most of our tourists aren't easily intimidated. Gun battle on South Beach? No problem. Tonight we'll go to the Grove.