How would we ever get by?

City flushes $101,000 right down the John

January 19, 1992

When I heard about the $101,000 latrine, I had to see for myself. The concept staggered the senses. I've been privy to some fancy bathrooms, but nothing that cost a hundred grand. That's what Dade County spent on a new public restroom at Indian Hammocks Park.

How was it possible? I didn't know. Maybe they let David Paul design it.

In any case, a $101,000 bathroom was bound to be something special—the Taj Mahal of all toilets.

Excitedly I drove to Kendall. My imagination was racing. Surely the urinals would be carved from the finest Italian marble; the toilets, thronelike. Silk towels would come from sterling dispensers. And the soap—perhaps a Parisian blend, lightly scented with tulip petals!

I arrived at the park in midafternoon. Leaves whispered. Birds sang. Children frolicked. It was lovely.

The first restroom I found was in melancholy condition. Witless graffiti artists had defaced the walls. The drain on the drinking fountain appeared to have been clogged since the Eisenhower administration. Puddles at the door suggested a grim scene within. I fled.

The search led to a simple, one-story building that looked discouragingly like Restroom No. 1, sans graffiti. It had a shingle roof and concrete walls. The architecture is best described as Neo-Modern Toolshed. I thought: Not even Metro could spend $101,000 here.

But I was wrong. This was the place. The only outward signs of extravagance were the royal blue restroom doors. Obviously the big money was spent inside, on the fixtures.

Two workers were busy in the utility area. They said the men's room was fully operational. Being a taxpayer, I felt obliged to check it out. And what a letdown: one toilet, two sinks, two urinals and an ordinary towel dispenser (no towels, naturally). There wasn't any marble or gold or sterling silver. It was a very routine restroom. At least the men's half was.

Somewhere in that latrine was $101,000, and I couldn't figure out where. Home Depot (I swear) is selling commodes for $49. Bathroom sinks start at $25.66. It didn't add up.

Let's say the county went hog-wild and ordered Super Deluxe Model everything. That still left about $97,000 lying around for the structure, electrical wiring and plumbing. They build houses for less than that.

Where did the money go? Then I remembered: The parks department said the new restrooms cost so much because they're made to be "almost vandal-proof."

Ah! I started testing for high-tech security gadgets. I touched the wall in a mock graffiti attack. No laser rays zapped my hand, no alarm bells sounded. I could've scrawled all of The Canterbury Tales in Day-Glo paint, without interruption. Next, I approached the John in the stealthy manner of a pathological toilet clogger. Again, no Mace, no shocks, no sirens. Nothing would have prevented me from flushing a load of stolen laundry down the crapper.

Vandal-proof? The $101,000 shrine is about as vandal-proof as a subway car. It would've been smarter to build a $30,000 latrine and spend the rest on security guards.

The problem with public restrooms isn't the equipment, it's the maintenance. Toilets get built and then forgotten. Using them becomes an act of courage, or perversion. One of Dade's most infamous facilities graces the boat ramp at Crandon Park. Here you can always spot the tourists—they're the ones innocently strolling toward the restroom. Those who make it out are dazed and reeling.

It would be sad if the same thing happened at Indian Hammocks. The county seems determined that it won't. The other day, when the workers finished at the new John, they tried something that certainly should thwart vandals. They locked the door.

Which is the only way to protect a $101,000 investment.

Metrorail: The bigger it grows, the more it loses

May 26, 1994

All aboard! Today Miamians can actually ride an elevated tram from the Omni Mall to Brickell Avenue.

You might wonder, why would I do that? Answer: Because you're paying for it through the caboose.

Building Metromover's two new extensions cost $224 million in federal, state and local funds. Like all of Metrorail, the Brickell and Omni legs are expected to lose tons of money.

Naturally, a big party is being thrown to celebrate the occasion. Everyone hopes the new routes will attract thousands of loyal riders, reduce traffic congestion downtown and revive the flagging Omni and Bayside shopping areas. In other words, everyone's hoping history won't repeat itself.

The Metro-Dade Transit Agency says the Metromover legs will boost daily boardings from 6,800 to 13,000. If MDTA is right—or even close—it will be an historic event.

Metrorail has bled red ink for a decade. Originally, officials predicted daily ridership of 101,000 round-trips. Today, an average of 25,000 people use the trains for round-trip commutes to work, shopping and special events. Annual operating deficit: about $34 million.

Every county resident is paying for a railway used by a tiny minority. Anti-tax crusader Richard Friedman says an MDTA study forecasts that, even with $466 million in committed subsidies, Dade's entire transit program will suffer a $148 million shortfall between now and 1999.

Undeterred by failure, the Metro Commission wants more federal funds to extend Metrorail as far north as Joe Robbie Stadium and as far south as Homestead—a plan as audacious as it is deranged.

Metrorail will always lose money. The bigger we make it, the more it will lose. Every 50-cent round-trip on the new Metromover links is estimated to cost taxpayers an embarrassing $29.90.

Miami's fiasco isn't unique. All over the country, mass transit loses big bucks. The most heavily traveled subways in the nation—New York's—are also the most heavily subsidized.

In a sensible world, suburban commuters would abandon their gas-guzzling cars for an inexpensive, hassle-free train ride. Unfortunately, it hasn't happened here or anyplace else.

Maybe Metrorail will look like a shrewd move in the event of another global oil crisis. For now, though, it's a staggering drain of precious funds that would be better spent on patching roads or expanding the bus system.

A $4.7 million Metromover station is planned here at 1 Herald Plaza, even though a gorgeous facility just opened across the street at the Omni. The Herald's parent company is paying for part of the new building, while the feds supply $3.5 million.

(How a train stop could cost as much as Madonna's mansion is a mystery, but we're hoping for crystal chandeliers.)

Transit officials say the Herald station is needed to serve the newspaper's 2,000 employees and will be closer (by at least a twentieth of a mile) to the proposed Performing Arts Center.

I admit the new station will make my life easier, especially at lunchtime. Instead of trudging two whole blocks in the broiling sun to catch a tram at Omni, I can board at the Herald's front door and ride all the way to Tobacco Road.

Since $4.7 million is a rather large sum for such a seemingly small convenience, I personally want to thank each and every taxpayer for his contribution. We promise to keep our new Metromover station bright and spiffy for future opera buffs and ballet patrons.

For that kind of money, it's the least we can do.