Dade attorney batting zero against graft

October 23, 1997

Dade's reputation as the crookedest place in America is secure, thanks to Dade State Attorney Kathy Fernandez Rundle.

On Monday, she declared that no criminal investigation of county paving contracts should begin until an independent audit is done.

And, since Dade commissioners are probably too yellow to order an audit, it's possible that any thieves who skimmed hundreds of thousands of taxpayer dollars will be safe from prosecution.

So what else is new?

When it comes to pursuing corruption, Rundle's record is even more pathetic than that of her see-no-evil, hear-no-evil predecessor, Janet Reno. That's one reason so many crooks flock to public office here—they know that nobody's watching.

The bribery epidemic at Miami City Hall.

Missing and misspent millions at the Port of Miami.

Hundreds of computer-forged housing inspections at the county building department.

All these recent scandals have one thing in common: The State Attorney's Office had virtually nothing to do with exposing them. A perfect batting average of .000.

In some places, prosecutors would be embarrassed if their communities were so visibly a-rot with corruption. In some places, prosecutors actually send out investigators to hunt for dishonest public officials.

And in some places, when wrongdoing is uncovered, indictments are drawn, trials are held and an actual attempt is made to punish the crooks. Can you imagine?

Here in Dade, the task of ferreting out graft is left to the FBI or the media. It's an icky little business, and the state attorney would prefer not to get involved.

The paving scandal is a prime example. In a random examination of three dozen repair jobs, this newspaper documented truckloads of missing materials, projects paid for but never done, and hundreds of thousands of dollars in overcharges.

Sidewalk repairs that should have cost $20,000 were billed (and paid) at $166,024. One homeowner's driveway was replaced for $19,500—six times more than what his own contractor had offered. Another minor patch job cost $9,004 when the price should have been $750.

All the work was done for the water and sewer department as part of a huge county contract with Church & Tower, the firm headed by the loud and politically influential exile leader, Jorge Mas Canosa.

The company says it's "surprised" by the size of the paving bills, and promises to conduct its own investigation, which I'm sure will be relentless, unsparing and thorough. I'm also sure that Chihuahuas can be taught to translate Proust.

Church & Tower's attorney says all the disputed work was performed by subcontractors, and that the county will receive "an appropriate credit" if overcharging occurred.

There is no "if." It happened, and it's no wonder the Church&Tower gravy train has bloated from $21 million to $58 million in 21 months. The tab for "special" concrete repairs alone has soared from $420,000 to $2.3 million.

Perhaps the company is experimenting with a new type of concrete made from diamonds. Or perhaps somebody is simply robbing taxpayers blind.

The county supervisors who approved the outlandish overpayments have been reassigned. (After being questioned by reporters, both men complained of chest pains and hurried to the hospital—a wise move.)

Facing these fresh revelations of money-squandering, the commission has grudgingly agreed to reconsider an audit of the paving contract. Two weeks ago it voted down the idea, after ferocious lobbying by Church&Tower.

The same could happen again, as many commissioners fear antagonizing the Mas family or the Cuban American National Foundation, headed by Mas Canosa.

This would seem an ideal opportunity for a diligent prosecutor, unswayed by politics and suitably appalled by such a massive rip-off, to launch a criminal probe.

Dream on, folks. Kathy Rundle says she wants to see an audit first.

Apparently not quite enough of your money is known to be missing. Oh well. Perhaps her enthusiasm for finding it will be better stoked when the sum exceeds seven figures.

Unfortunately, we might never know how much has vanished in the Church&Tower fiasco. That's because Rundle is leaving the decision to the same knucklehead politicians who approved the contract originally, politicians who've taken plenty of campaign donations from Mas family interests.

And if that doesn't kill the investigation, Rundle has plenty of other options.

Chest pain, for example. I hear that's going around.

State haggles over the cost of stolen days

April 26, 1998

What is a day of your life worth?

The answer is $79.46, if you're Freddie Pitts or Wilbert Lee. That's the amount that the Florida House proposes to give the two men, who spent more than 12 years—exactly 4,405 days—in prison for murders they didn't commit.

Pitts and Lee were pardoned two decades ago, and ever since then have been seeking compensation for their time behind bars. And every spring they've been rebuffed by the Legislature, to the everlasting shame of this state.

This year, finally, Pitts and Lee will be paid.

The debate churns around the choice of an appropriate sum. What monetary value can be placed on four thousand days of freedom lost; four thousand days apart from family; four thousand days blanked off a calendar because somebody made a horrendous mistake?

Pitts and Lee had asked for $1.5 million each. House Speaker Dan Webster countered with a degrading offer of $150,000. Last week, the House settled on $350,000, or $79.46 for every day wrongly spent behind bars.

Some would still call that disgraceful. Others would say Pitts and Lee should be grateful to receive anything.

In 1963, the two black men went on trial for murdering two white gas station attendants in the Panhandle town of Port St. Joe, which in those days was segregated. Wilbert Lee was 27 and Freddie Pitts was 19.

They were convicted by an all-white jury, and sentenced to die. Later, somebody else (imprisoned for killing another gas station attendant) confessed to the Port St. Joe murders, and his account was supported by a girlfriend.

Pitts and Lee were granted a new trial in 1972, but a judge wouldn't let the jury hear about the other man's confession.

Again Pitts and Lee were found guilty. Freedom didn't come until three years later, when they were pardoned by then-Gov. Reubin Askew.

The case remains controversial in the Panhandle, where some folks still say Pitts and Lee are guilty. That it's taken Florida so long to compensate the men can be explained by old Dixie politics.

But this year finds a Republican-controlled Legislature that's avidly courting black voters. It's also a year of great bounty in Tallahassee, so lawmakers have been throwing' hundreds of millions of dollars at all kinds of pet projects, causes and schemes.

There's money for jellyfish farming, and for special trucks to haul catfish; money for fairs and zoos and farmers' markets; money for the International Swimming Hall of Fame and even the Palatka Armory ($300,000!).

And at long last there's also some money for Freddie Pitts and Wilbert Lee, 35 years after being sent to Death Row for something they didn't do.

What's right? What's fair? The Senate will decide Monday.

Reparation might be based on the accumulated weight of a dozen productive years gone—the youth of both men, really. Or it could be calculated day-by-day—4,405 of them excised forever from two lives.

A $350,000 lump certainly sounds more generous than $79.46 a day, but it's the same number. Not an insignificant number, either, considering how Pitts and Lee have gotten stiffed in the past.

I don't know what one day in your life is worth in dollars and cents, but $79.46 still seems cheap to me.