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.
Especially considering how lawmakers quietly have set aside $2.5 million for "transition" expenses for Florida's new governor next January—$2.2 million more than what was spent on Lawton Chiles' taking office.
For $2.5 million, it should be quite an arrival. They ought to hold it at the Palatka Armory, and give the rest of the money to Freddie Pitts and Wilbert Lee.
Candidates with Convictions
Forget diplomacy, try Joaquin Andujar for mayor
November 1, 1985
First, let's get this ridiculous mayor's race out of the way.
The best man for the job isn't even running, so you'll have to write his name on Tuesday's ballot.
I'm speaking, of course, of Joaquin Andujar.
If you saw the seventh game of the World Series, you know what I'm talking about. The score's about a zillion to nothing when the Cards call Andujar in from the bullpen. He throws a couple of fast balls, then goes berserk and starts chasing the umpires. He gets thrown out of the game but still won't quit: In the clubhouse he grabs a bat and beats one of the toilets to death.
As I watched them drag Joaquin, thrashing and foaming, off the field the other night, I thought: This man would make a great mayor of Miami. He's perfect—more decisive than Maurice Ferre, more stable than Joe Carollo, more intelligible than Demetrio Perez and more energetic than Miller Dawkins and J. L. Plummer put together.
In no time Andujar would mop up the City Commission. Forget diplomacy—we're talking a 93-mile-an-hour brushback pitch.
It's not such a bad idea, when you review this year's crop of political hopefuls, a veritable slag-heap of mediocrity. What is it about South Florida that compels people barely fit to function in society to go out and run for public office? Be grateful that Thomas Jefferson's dead so he doesn't have to witness our peculiar version of the democratic process.
A few stars:
• Miami mayoral candidate Evelio Estrella, who blames the Anglos and blacks for ruining the city. He also refuses to speak English during candidate forums. This guy doesn't belong in City Hall; he belongs in a Mel Brooks movie.
• Miami Beach mayoral contender Alex Daoud, who actually took out an advertisement boasting of an endorsement by Barry Gibb of the Bee Gees. We can only assume Boy George is stumping for Malcolm Fromberg.
• Hialeah city councilman Paulino Nunez, up for re-election, who allegedly pulled a handgun on one of his enemies during a city meeting. Despite witnesses' accounts, Nunez denies it happened. He says he owns several guns, but left them home that night. There, doesn't that you make feel better?
• Hialeah City Council candidate Roy Leon, who was arrested for soliciting prostitution, possession of marijuana and carrying a concealed machete. Of all the charges, it's that darn machete business that nags at me, though I'm sure Mr. Leon has a splendid explanation. When does the cane crop come in this year anyway?
• Harvey MacArthur, the socialist running for Miami mayor, who wants to fly in both Daniel Ortega and Louis Farrakhan for advice on city government. All they need is Moammar Khadafy and they'd have a fourth for bridge.
• Frederick Bryant, who is running for Miami mayor but initially refused to let the Miami News take his photograph like the other candidates. Something tells me Mr. Bryant's a bit too shy to be mayor.
• Maurice Ferre, whose bilious campaign advisers make G. Gordon Liddy look like Mother Teresa. How can a man who dresses so snappy behave like such a clod? Think about it: We're getting ethics lectures from a guy who's transferred all his assets into his wife's name. I love it.
As for the contenders for Ferre's job, none fits the bill. Raul Masvidal is a banker—never trust anyone who makes a living playing with other people's money. Xavier Suarez is a lawyer, and this town's already knee-deep in lawyers. Marvin Dunn's a bright guy, but much too even-tempered to be mayor.
Which leaves No. 47, the big right-hander from the Dominican Republic.
Andujar for Mayor—it rolls right off the tongue.
Tough, talented, unpredictable. Just the kind of leadership this city needs—somebody's who's not afraid of a little random violence.
Think about it Tuesday at the polls.
Remember, this isn't just democracy. This is damage control.
Local campaigns masquerade as serious politics