Dave who? Please say it isn't so

April 16, 1998

It's definitely something in the water. First there was Mayor Loco, now we've got Publisher Loco.

David Lawrence Jr., the head honcho of this newspaper, is considering a run for the governorship of Florida. Seriously.

Lawrence has never held public office. He has no fund-raising organization, and thus no funds. Most voters in Florida don't have a clue who he is. And the primaries are only five months away.

But that's our Mr. Lawrence, optimist to a fault. Since he's the Big Cheese around the newsroom, I ought to be circumspect about this bizarre situation. So here goes:

Dave, have you completely lost your marbles?

Not long ago, a San Francisco newspaper executive went off and married the actress Sharon Stone. That makes sense, at least on one basic level. But politics?

True, one doesn't get to be a big-city publisher without honing some political skills. But outmuscling a rival in the corporate boardroom isn't the same as running for governor.

Lawrence is a smart, decent, compassionate fellow who cares about Florida and believes fervently in the innate goodness of mankind. Tallahassee would eat him alive. It would be dreadful to watch.

How did this gonzo notion ever take root in his head? It came from the Democrats, of course. Fearing a November steamrolling by Jeb Bush and the GOP, Buddy MacKay, the Democratic gubernatorial front-runner, recently asked Lawrence (a registered independent) to consider joining the ticket as lieutenant governor.

At the time Lawrence apparently was still in possession of his faculties, because he said no. Later he was approached by a fat-cat Democratic donor urging him to make a maverick run for the top spot. On Saturday he will meet with prominent party leaders to discuss his prospects.

Earth to Dave: There are no prospects. Nada. You can't possibly win.

The Jebster has never held elected office, either, but he's already raised $6.3 million. Also, he's been running for governor since puberty, so everybody in Florida knows his name. Same for Buddy MacKay, longtime legislator and currently lieutenant governor.

Lawrence is a heavy-hitter among the state's power elite, but few voters outside Miami know his name. Nor is his connection to the Herald likely to boost his chances; in fact, it'll hurt him. Good or bad, journalists don't win popularity contests—nor should they aspire to.

Which leads to a disturbing aspect of the Lawrence-for-governor story: the untenable and queasy position in which it has put this newspaper, and the reporters, columnists and editors who produce it.

The fact our publisher openly is considering a political candidacy contaminates our credibility in the eyes of some readers. No matter what we do, many will choose to believe (and the other candidates will aver) that the Herald is Lawrence's personal campaign machine, and all of us his conscripted flacks.

There's no way to deflate such suspicions, even if we give Lawrence the same tough scrutiny—even tougher scrutiny—than we do his opponents. Which is exactly what should happen if he resigns to run for governor. Some days he won't be very pleased by what he reads in these pages.

When the announcement of a possible Lawrence candidacy was posted in our newsroom Tuesday, the first reaction was incredulity. Lots of folks thought it was a practical joke. Later, two reporters—inspired by Miami's recent election scandal—facetiously volunteered to collect absentee ballots on Dave's behalf.

Newsrooms are cynical, wary, irreverent places. But to those unfamiliar with the culture of journalism, it's inconceivable that an ex-publisher won't be coddled in print by his former staff. That's the rap we're facing today, and every day until Lawrence makes up his mind.

In his defense, being asked by serious people to run for governor would flatter anybody's ego. No one who knows Lawrence questions his guts or his sincerity; it's his common sense that has deserted him.

No campaign experience. No money. No statewide visibility. And almost no time left to get things rolling.

Meanwhile, the paper to which he has devoted so much of his heart and energy is left to defend itself, fruitlessly, against charges of being used as a partisan rag. What can Dave be thinking?

I saw him in the newsroom Tuesday. He was alert and cogent. His pupils looked normal. His speech wasn't slurred. He seemed in all respects a completely healthy, rational, well-grounded person.

Then again, I'm no doctor. The true test comes this weekend when he chats with the Democrats.

Cops, Courts, and Lawyers

Latest arrests close out bad year for police

January I, 1986

I watched them on TV the other night, the beefcake cops charged with murder. As they capered and grinned and blew kisses at the courtroom cameras, I couldn't help but wonder if steroids destroy brain tissue.

Imagine: You're a young policeman.

You are hauled out of your home in the wee hours, handcuffed, fingerprinted and hustled bleary-eyed into the Dade County Jail like a bum.

You are accused of a triple homicide, of racketeering, of stealing cocaine and selling it on the street, of using your badge and oath as instruments of crime. You are accused of being the worst thing that a cop can be—crooked.

Yet when you and your weightlifter pals go to court the next morning, what emotion do you display while the whole city is watching?

Arrogance.You mug for the cameras, laughing and joking while every good and decent cop on the streets feels a hot knot tightening in the gut. The feeling is shame.

But you don't have any.

So you and your buddies cling to the macho routine. Hire a big-shot lawyer and wait for bail. Act like it's no sweat. Act like you're not afraid. Disco all the way to the slammer.

What a way for 1985 to end. It really was a rotten year for integrity.

Don't let anyone try to say South Florida's police corruption is no worse than any other metropolis, because they're wrong. No place else comes close.

Consider the local cavalcade of stars this past 12 months:

A DBA agent goes to jail for peddling computer secrets to dopers; three Customs agents are indicted in a pot smuggling ring; an FBI man pleads guilty to accepting cocaine kickbacks; a Metro-Dade officer is charged as a home-invasion robber; a Hialeah cop plea-bargains a seven-year term for his role in a cold-blooded drug execution; a Miami officer awaits trial for allegedly offering to sell badges and guns to drug dealers.

Now this latest milestone: Eight current or former Miami policemen busted in the past week for a smorgasbord of drug crimes, including the ever-popular trafficking of cocaine. One of them, his pockets stuffed with $ i, 180 cash, fled from fellow officers in a red Porsche, thus ratifying every cheap Miami cliche.

Police Chief Clarence Dickson called the arrests "a total positive," and city leaders were quick to praise the department's housecleaning.

"Housecleaning" seems a polite term for what's going on.

This is not some teensy boo-boo, but a scandal of monstrous dimensions. Arrests were overdue and welcome, but they were not the result of Miami police simply washing their own dirty laundry. The pressure was external and intense: Investigators from Metro-Dade homicide, the Florida Department of Law Enforcement and DEA have been swarming all over the place for weeks. Something was bound to break.

Still, Dickson's cooperation and determination to help solve the Miami River murders are encouraging. I know some cities where it never would have happened, where outside investigators would have hit a wall of hostility. The Key West police force, once a rat's nest of corruption, was famous for this kind of obstruction.