And it was Dawkins who vowed to prevent an AIDS counseling center from opening near Overtown—"if I have to break the law and get the brothers out there and burn it down."

At these moments it seemed like Dawkins was striving to fill the void of crudity left by Carollo, or perhaps trying to eclipse the legend himself.

But, of course, that's impossible. There's only one Joe and he's ours again, at least until November—back in the headlines, back on the talk shows, back in the glare of the TV lights.

Our own little media monster, back from the bogs.

Candidates can't hide true colors

November 13, 1989

Miami poll workers ought to hand out antidepressants at the voting booths Tuesday morning.

What a lame collection of would-be commissioners on the ballot. You could toss a mullet net over any bus bench on Biscayne Boulevard and come up with four more distinguished candidates.

Thank God there were only six days between the general election and the runoff; to subject the public to any further campaigning would be an act of sadism.

First you've got Joe "I Hear Voices Again!" Carollo. Until last week, he had doggedly avoided the English-language media and confined his ramblings to Hispanic talk shows. Then he realized he would need the Anglo vote to win, and instantly he became garrulous and cooperative.

Suddenly Carollo was aiming that pained frozen smile at TV cameras and trying to sound like Mr. Let's-Unify-Miami instead of George Wallace (for whom he once campaigned).

Before long, though, the old Joe resurfaced. You just knew he couldn't go a whole week without unveiling some screwy conspiracy theory, and he didn't disappoint us.

On Friday, Carollo produced a laughably vague affidavit (with all the names conveniently blacked out) alleging a sinister vote-buying scheme in the 1987 election.

Considering the margin by which Carollo got stomped that year, the only person rich enough to buy that many votes was Victor Posner, and he was busy with other charitable matters.

This year Carollo's chances are bolstered by the performance of his opponent, incumbent Miller Dawkins, who once threatened to burn down an AIDS counseling center.

No one on the City Commission has a keener aptitude for uttering dumb things at the worst possible times. For this reason, Dawkins' advisers have urged him to run a low-key race, and to say as little as possible.

This isn't easy when a notorious drug dealer such as Isaac Hicks is announcing that he gave thousands in cash to previous Dawkins campaigns. The candidate has carefully responded that he never engaged in such a slimy transaction, which was (for once) exactly what any smart person would say.

Next we have Rosario Kennedy seeking a commission seat for which she earnestly promised not to run.

Having lost the Democratic congressional primary, the ex-commissioner faces some old uncomfortable questions. Voters are still ticked off about the $111,000 refurbishing of her city office, and they're still curious about her friendship with celebrity tax swindler Monty Trainer.

On the bright side, Kennedy has always been honest when giving her street address, which is more than you can say for her opponent, Miriam "Have Zip Code, Will Travel" Alonso.

Alonso is best known for lying about where she lived in order to run for a Metro Commission seat. The falsely sworn election document was apparently insufficient evidence for the state attorney to prosecute, but it was enough for a judge to kick her off the ballot.

This time around, Alonso promised that she wouldn't try that kind of stunt. Still, you've got to wonder about the force of her ambitions.

She changed party affiliations three times in less than two years—evidence of either crass political opportunism, or a multiple-personality disorder. Most normal people don't switch record clubs three times in two years, not even for a dozen free albums.

So this is the roster from which Miami voters must choose new leadership. It's a shame that not one of the candidates comes without a history of having done or said something profoundly stupid, or downright dishonest.

It's also a shame that only a small number of eligible voters will make the selection for the majority. If those who stay home Tuesday are waiting for a candidate who inspires them, they could die of old age first.

Unfortunately, democracy in these times is less a quest for new heroes than an obstacle course through stale mediocrity. As disheartening as it is, sometimes you've got to choke down your feelings and vote for the lesser of two feebles.

Gersten vote to test savvy of metro voters

March 11, 1993

Sometimes an election is a community IQ test.

The city of Sunrise had one this week. Next Tuesday, it's Miami Beach's turn.

Sunrise did itself proud. An impressive 73 percent of voters decided that they didn't want a convicted extortionist as mayor. The shameless John Lomelo got tromped at the polls.

On Tuesday, a scandalized Joe Gersten runs for Metro Commission in District 5, which includes Miami Beach and part of downtown Miami. For Gersten to be elected would be a big upset—and a profound commentary on the collective intelligence of those voters.

For 11 months, Clueless Joe has been dodging prosecutors seeking to ask him about the curious events of last April 29, when the commissioner's now-legendary Mercedes-Benz was stolen. The car turned up in the hands of Biscayne Boulevard lowlifes, who said they'd swiped it while Gersten smoked dope and had sex with a hooker in a downtown crack house.

Gersten claimed the car was taken from his gated driveway in Coral Gables. For weeks he toured Europe and avoided questions about the incident. When he finally returned, he unsuccessfully resisted taking a drug test. The results didn't rule out the possibility that Gersten had smoked cocaine, but they indicated that he wasn't a regular user.

Joey declared vindication, a bit too soon.

Prosecutors collected the logs from his car phones, and tapes of conversations between the commissioner and the dirtbags who had his car. They took statements from Gersten's maid and fiancée that raised more questions about Joey's wanderings on April 29. And they found a cab driver who swore that he'd picked up a man resembling Gersten on Biscayne Boulevard that night, and drove him to Gersten's neighborhood in the Gables.

Only the hurricane kept the Gersten follies from becoming a running feature on the evening news. To this day, Joey refuses to give a sworn statement about what happened, refuses to disclose how he spent the evening. He says the sneaky State Attorney's Office is trying to trap him in a perjury rap, and he's hired a high-powered defense lawyer to fight the subpoena.

It's been quite a spectacle—an elected public official, desperately ducking his civic duty to take a simple oath and tell the truth.

Clueless Joe blames ruthless prosecutors and bloodthirsty reporters for his troubles, but it was he who called police about the missing Mercedes. It was he who provided the porous yarn about leaving his keys (and his briefcase and his gun) in the unlocked car while he strolled into the house to make a phone call.

But don't count Gersten out. Scandalized or not, he's been able to squeeze an amazing $250,000 in campaign donations out of bond brokers, builders and others who do business with the county, and who want to stay on Gersten's good side in the unlikely event that he wins.

Residents of District 5 recently got a letter from "The Friends of Joe Gersten," extolling the commissioner's virtues while reminding voters that he hasn't yet been charged with any crimes. The letter carried the names of such well-known political and community figures as state Rep. Mike Abrams, Simon Ferro, Jesse McCrary Barry Kutun, Georgia Ayers, Luis Sabines and Alan Potamkin.