Two good things might come from the lawsuit. First, a new cross-bay pipeline could be built in time to avoid the catastrophe that would result from the old pipe fracturing.
Second, prosecutors could block most new construction while the sewer system is being rebuilt. Theoretically, more hookups wouldn't be permitted until more capacity is added. At least for a while, growth in Dade might slow to a healthier trickle.
A few no-growth years is the best thing that could happen here. Breathing room is what people need, especially the thousands still struggling to rebuild after Andrew.
Reckless, runaway expansion is what caused the system to fail in the first place. Faithful to the developers who bankroll their campaigns, past county commissioners approved one subdivision after another—tens of thousands of new toilets—even as sewers began to burst, literally.
Thanks to a few corrupted bums, we're now facing a septic eruption that will do for Miami's tourism what Exxon did for bird watching in Alaska.
Disaster could strike any time. The 72-inch pipe across Biscayne Bay is aged and perilously overloaded. Hydrogen sulfide gas (an aromatic product of human waste) is aggressively eating the metal from the inside out.
Much of Dade's waste is treated at Virginia Key so it travels silent and deadly across the bay. In 1992, the grand jury said the Biscayne sewer line was "a time bomb."
For years, the county environmental office has badgered the Water and Sewer Department to start work on a larger pipeline. And, for years, the Water and Sewer people have pondered and hypothesized and written reports on the problem.
Meanwhile, the building frenzy continued. The sewers got more full, and the pipes got more fragile. The most recent failure occurred at Easter, tainting the water from the Julia Tuttle Causeway to the Rickenbacker. And that was a relatively piddling leak, only 20 million gallons.
When the mother lode ruptures, forget about diving, sailing or swimming. Forget about the fish and the manatees. Biscayne Bay will look, and smell, like an immense tropical cesspool.
Fact: Fecal contamination is very bad for tourism. Fact: A moratorium on sewer hookups will be costly to powerful builders.
For one or both of those reasons, a new sewer line will be built across the bay. Pray that the old one holds out until the new one is finished. In the meantime, enjoy the lull.
Because when the new pipe is done, developers will stampede the county seeking thousands and thousands of new sewer hookups. And the commissioners will say … yes, yes, yes!
Same old story. Same old you-know-what.
'Revitalization' a threat to Virginia Key
April 3, 1997
The cash-starved city of Miami is again trying to deliver Virginia Key to favored developers and concessionaires.
Under the pretense of "revitalization," nine parcels currently marked for conservation are proposed for rezoning. The result could be hotels, marinas, shops and even houses.
Planners insist the zoning changes are technical corrections that won't affect the character of the island, but there's no reason for optimism. The stewardship of Virginia Key has been one of bungling, neglect and political favoritism.
Practically everything the city touched has turned to failure. The Marine Stadium has been a wreck since Hurricane Andrew. The beach and park on the Atlantic side—refurbished a few years ago at great expense—is now closed, supposedly because of the budget crisis.
It's as if Miami purposely abandoned Virginia Key and let it crumble, in order to stir support for development.
Mayor Joe Carollo has grandiose dreams for reviving the bayfront lagoon area by the Marine Stadium: hotels, restaurants, shops and a Jet Ski extravaganza that would bring needed lease revenues to City Hall.
At least, that's the pitch. In reality, the "technical" rezoning opens the door for transforming the island into another Dinner Key—an aesthetic calamity, and a grab bag for political cronies of commissioners.
For years the city has been aching to carve Virginia Key into a resort. The chief obstacles have been public opposition, and a large, odoriferous sewer plant.
In 1995 commissioners endorsed a preposterous proposal to put an RV park on 153 acres. The "ecologically sensitive" project included 300 motel units, a convenience store and miniature golf.
Voters, who weren't fooled by the city's tree-hugging hype, killed the plan.
This time around, commissioners don't want the public mucking up their big ideas for Virginia Key. Conveniently, rezoning can be accomplished without referendum.
Miami planning chief Jack Luft says there's no reason to worry. The changes, he says, actually will help preserve the island's unspoiled stretches.
Removing the "conservation" designation seems an odd way to protect land, but the city does many odd things at Virginia Key.
Twenty years ago the city leased out prime bayfront to the private Miami Rowing Club. Price: a whopping $100 annually.
Eventually the rowers built an 11,000-square-foot clubhouse, a swimming pool, a banquet hall and bar. In 1987 it was revealed that the club was renting out the facilities, and in one year had collected $147,000.
Guess how much the city got. And when the rowers needed storage space, commissioners generously let them fence off 10,000 square feet of land.
At the time, beet-faced officials denied any connection to the fact that then-City Manager Cesar Odio was a former president and life member of the rowing club.
Another funny coincidence: According to members, security services at the club once were provided by a firm owned by a young city commissioner named Carollo. Small world, isn't it?
Ironically, Miami wouldn't be broke today if it hadn't mismanaged city holdings and given away so many costly favors; if it had collected reasonable rents and leases (not to mention a few debts).
It would be good if the ghost-town lagoon area could be "revitalized" without ruining the rest of Virginia Key, but promises of preservation seem far-fetched. The city can't take care of a beach, much less an entire island.
Rezoning is just the first step toward another giveaway and you don't need to be downwind from the sewer plant to smell the truth.
Explanation for road widening quite a stretch
June 15, 1997
By a slim vote, the South Florida Water Management District last week launched one of the nuttiest schemes in its long nutty history:
Widening the 18 miles between the mainland and the Florida Keys from two lanes to three, with a fourth phantom lane to be prepared but left unpaved.
The new paved lane will be northbound, ostensibly to improve hurricane evacuation. The unpaved Mystery Lane will run southbound, and nobody in authority has convincingly explained its purpose.
Why scrape an extra swath along sensitive marshlands if it's not meant to be paved? Because it is meant to be paved, as soon as local opposition dies down.
Widening the so-called Stretch isn't about hurricane egress or driver safety, it's about cramming more warm bodies into the Keys. It's about selling more rum runners, T-shirts and time shares.
And, most significantly, it's about boosting road capacity to allow a wave of new construction along the islands.
Those most eager for the project are commercial interests and land speculators in the Middle and Lower Keys. The people most adamantly against it are those who live in the Upper Keys and, ironically, drive the hairy Stretch more than anyone.
Originally, the plan called for widening the entire 18-mile leg, which is now two-laned with intermittent passing zones. Opposition to four-laning was so fierce that planners devised a bizarre alternative—two lanes north, one lane south, and the unpaved "footprint" of another southbounder.