Who knows what will happen on Tuesday. The Oleta River project is a hot one, and the stakes are high.

Maybe the mayor will put back his telephone (375-2400). Maybe he'll just change the number.

Or maybe Melton and the other high-priced schemers will bring flashcards and hope for the best. There's always more than one way to reach out and clout someone.

Poor, confused Miller Dawkins.

Last week the Miami commissioner raised a ruckus when a man named Mario Williams was nominated for a position on the Bayfront Park Management Trust.

Williams is a black lawyer who happens to have been born in Costa Rica. Dawkins seemed unable to accept the concept. "He's a Hispanic," Dawkins said. "He's not black."

The profound ignorance of this remark would have been stunning had it come from anyone else.

The fellow who nominated Mario Williams insisted that he was indeed black, but it was to no avail. Ultimately the appointment was deferred. Meanwhile, Commissioner Dawkins has demanded a letter from Williams stating that he is, in fact, a black American.

Williams, a Harvard graduate who has lived here since the age of 10, says Dawkins is a bigot.

That might be one explanation for the commissioner's behavior. Another might be that the man is just hopelessly dim.

Dawkins (a) doesn't understand that there are black Hispanics, (b) doesn't consider black Hispanics to be black Americans, or (c) doesn't believe that a black of Hispanic heritage can fairly represent the race.

We don't know precisely what Dawkins meant because, as usual, he didn't explain himself. Assuming he was simply trying to gain a balanced representation on the Bayfront Park Management Trust, he couldn't have done so in a more degrading manner.

The panel has seats set aside for blacks, whites and Hispanics—a situation that creates obvious overlap because Hispanics can be black or white. Theoretically commissioners could challenge every Latin appointment as taking up a seat reserved for another ethnic group. At some point, common sense must be applied.

In a community where racial tensions run high, the naming leadership of Miller Dawkins has been something to behold. There was his legendary threat to burn down a Hispanic-run AIDS center if it opened in a black neighborhood.

Then, last year Dawkins pitched a fit when a white person representing the NAACP appeared before the City Commission. Dawkins seemed flabbergasted by the apparition, and refused to discuss the NAACP proposal unless the organization sent a black to the meeting.

And when a young Haitian-born lawyer was nominated to the same Bayfront Trust, Dawkins similarly questioned the color of his skin. Eventually he was satisfied that the man was black enough to deserve the job.

It would be refreshing to hear Dawkins ask about a person's education, experience or expertise. What he seems to care about most is pigmentation.

Try to imagine what kind of letter Mario Williams must write to convince Dawkins that he's qualified:

Certainly Dawkins wants to make sure that minorities are represented in all municipal endeavors—cities often need to be pushed, shamed and bullied into racial fairness.

However, in his quest Dawkins implies that some blacks are more deserving than others. Those with recent roots in Haiti, Jamaica, Nicaragua, Cuba or Puerto Rico are suspect, and must undergo scrutiny and interrogation about their true cultural identity.

To be so humiliated by anyone, much less an elected official, is an insult. It's only exacerbated by the irony that Dawkins himself is black.

At least he says he is.

From the Thick-as-a-Brick Department:

Metro Commissioner Larry Hawkins flies on a developer's private jet to New Orleans for wine and brunch at a fancy restaurant.

Days later, back in Miami, the commissioner votes in a way that would have helped that same developer build luxury homes on an old Indian burial site.

Noooooooo problem. The junket had no influence on Hawkins' vote—and he makes the argument with a straight face.

He sees no conflict of interest in accepting a free whirlwind day trip from a developer, then voting on a matter that directly affects that developer's fortunes. The commissioner says he has a right to a private life, and that his friendship with developer Lowell Dunn does not sway his judgment as a public servant.

Sure, Larry, and we still believe in the tooth fairy, too. It's merely coincidence that when Dunn wants something—whether it's zoning protection, or a big county construction contract—Hawkins votes to give it to him.

Whatever the commissioner lacks in common sense, he makes up for in style.

Many politicians would have settled for dinner at Cye's, or a pair of skybox tickets at Joe Robbie Stadium. Not this guy. He goes all the way to New Orleans for authentic Cajun ambience.

And he doesn't fly commercial, either. We're talking the big L—a Lear. Seats that swivel. Cute little curtains on the windows. Plus you don't have to rent the earphones.

And when Commissioner Hawkins arrives, a private limousine awaits to carry him through the historic Garden District to that elegant eatery known as Commander's Palace—jeepers, if only we'd alerted Robin Leach ...

Nobody would begrudge Hawkins a little glamour and adventure on his day off, but the Louisiana excursion wasn't the most brilliant move he's ever made. It gives not only the appearance of impropriety, but the stench of it.

Even the most chowderheaded officeholders know that, like it or not, they are judged by the company they keep. Friendship is one thing. Voting in a way that shovels money in your friend's pocket is something else.

Believe it or not, Dade County has a Code of Ethics. I'm not kidding.

It's an actual law that says Metro Commissioners can't accept gifts from anybody who does business with the county—"whether in the form of money, service, loan, travel, entertainment, hospitality, item or promise in any other form."

The Code of Ethics has been a source of much befuddlernent to the county attorney, especially when commissioners get caught in egregious escapades. The Hawkins case is no exception.

A fourth-grader can look at the ethics ordinance and know that Hawkins broke it (note the terms travel and entertainment) but the language remains strangely impenetrable to County Attorney Robert Ginsburg, who declared: "We will not comment on things that have already taken place … and we don't engage in speculation."

Or enforcement, for that matter.

By his bizarre utterance, Ginsburg seems to be saying that commissioners can do whatever they please—just don't tell him ahead of time. After it's happened, he's not interested. Perhaps the State Attorney's Office can pick up the slack.

While Hawkins insists he's done nothing wrong, it's worth noting that he didn't go out of his way to publicize his trip with Lowell Dunn. Obviously the commissioner knew it would look like a stinky deal, which it does.

Dunn owns 60 oak-shaded acres known as Madden's Hammock, an old Tequesta village and burial ground. The county staff wanted the land declared a protected parkland, which would limit development. Dunn wanted to build houses there.