Many politicians claim to be lawyers even if they have no clients and, in some cases, no office. It's a convenient occupation because people expect you to dress nicely and eat well. When you drive up in a fancy car, everybody assumes you made the dough from your law practice and not bribes.
Another occupation often claimed by elected officeholders is "consultant." The beauty of this job is that it sounds important but, at the same time, no one knows what it means.
Unfortunately, Commissioner Valdes currently isn't in a position to do much consulting. And he doesn't have a law degree, so that's out, too.
Still, there must be something that suits his skills. All over Dade County, men and women of his age put in a full day of good honest work. The classifieds are full of interesting opportunities, if Valdes would only look.
We're talking hundreds of jobs—auto mechanics, typists, medical assistants, accountants, computer programmers, bartenders, truck drivers, salesmen, cashiers … OK, scratch that last one. It's probably not a brilliant idea for a county commissioner to be handling money.
But there's this ad for what seems a good match: "CLOWNS WANTED. NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY. WILL TRAIN." I called the number and told Fran Bombino (of the Bombino Brothers) that Commissioner Valdes needed work. Bombino said Valdes would probably make a wonderful clown, once he learns how to juggle and ride a unicycle.
For a less strenuous vocation, a Dade beauty shop is advertising for a professional hair weaver—a craft that Commissioner Valdes could probably pick up, with a little practice. Also, there'd be lots of time to visit leisurely with his constituents.
If it's solitude the commissioner wants, the Rivero funeral home is looking for an embalmer—a peaceful respite from the turmoil of county government. Best of all, there's virtually no chance of a future conflict with Valdes' official duties, since dead people seldom ask the commission for favors.
From pathetic to revolting, our leaders run gamut
May 29, 1994
Local Leaders on Parade:
First comes Carlos Valdes, state representative and volunteer field-tester for the Magic Marker company. A hidden camera caught this bonehead scribbling on the wall of a Miami Beach condominium.
Valdes says he and his mother, with whom he lives, are locked in a nasty quarrel with the condo association. Recurring vandalism near Valdes' unit caused the management to install a hidden video camera.
Catching the culprit didn't take long. The surveillance tape shows Valdes sauntering down the hall and squeaking a black marker across the paint. Then the 43-year-old juvenile delinquent scurries back to his apartment.
Prosecutors charged Valdes with criminal mischief and he doesn't deny that he's the guy on the tape. While conceding his action was "unacceptable," he says it stemmed from the legal dispute which he's waging "on behalf of my 77-year-old mother."
That's real class. Lay it all on dear old Mom.
If only she were more spry, she'd fight her own battles. But what's a good son to do? Gimme the Magic Marker, Ma. I'll take care of this!
It's a good thing Valdes doesn't live in Singapore or he'd be in prison today with stripes on his butt and Mom waiting at the gate with a jumbo tube of Desitin ointment.
From the pathetic to the revolting, we turn to the latest installment of "Larry Hawkins' Favorite Pickup Lines."
The Metro commissioner recently resigned from the board of a national veterans' group after a staff member complained that he frequently sexually harassed her and once exposed himself. The woman put her charges in a sworn affidavit.
It's not the first time. Last year, two of Hawkins' former secretaries told a state attorney that he'd hassled them with lewd remarks and raunchy overtures.
Although prosecutor Joseph Centorino declined to file charges, he concluded that Hawkins "may have engaged in a pattern of offensive conduct toward female staff members, including unwanted sexual advances, crude and suggestive language and conduct, all of which constituted a form of sexual harassment."
The names of five additional women allegedly harassed by Hawkins were provided to Centorino. He gave the case to the state Ethics Commission, which is famous for doing nothing. A hearing is set Thursday.
Hawkins won't discuss the new accusation and denies the rest.
There's probably a perfectly logical explanation: All these women—some of whom don't even know each other—have banded together in a diabolical conspiracy to destroy the political career of a wheelchair-bound Vietnam veteran.
Right, Larry. And they hatched the plot in Dallas, hiding on the grassy knoll.
Being a pig around women isn't against the law, but using one's position for sexual intimidation is a cause for legal action. There's nothing worse than a boss with runaway hormones, and juries can penalize such antics with hefty judgments.
For voters, the issue isn't financial liability so much as character. Do you want a lecher on the county commission? If so, they'll need a telephone hotline to handle the complaints.
Hawkins can deny it until he's purple in the face, but only gullible fools would believe that several different women could misunderstand his sense of humor or concoct the same terrible lie about him.
Don't expect the Ethics Commission to do much but ruminate. That agency was invented by politicians to investigate politicians and therefore was given no teeth.
Voters will be the ones to get rid of Larry Hawkins, or let him continue his quest for Bob Packwood's world title.
Homestead's sneaky deal raises hackles
December 5, 1995
A month before the final vote, Metro commissioners are catching heavy flak for their outlandish giveaway of Homestead Air Force Base.
Hundreds of South Dade residents appeared at a public hearing last Wednesday to protest the county's furtive move to lease 1,800 acres to a group called the Homestead Air Force Base Developers, Inc.
HABDI wants to turn the hurricane-battered base into a commercial airport with shopping, offices, apartments and an industrial park.
It's an ambitious plan, especially coming from local home builders who've never before developed an airport.
But these aren't just any builders. HABDI's principals are also big shots with the potent Latin Builders Association, whose members donate large sums to Metro Commission candidates.
HABDI's top man is Carlos Herrera, president of the LBA. Other partners in the Homestead project include two former LBA directors and a vice president.
Their 45-year lease agreement was quietly being maneuvered through the commission when details began leaking. No sooner did neighbors begin raising objections than HABDI started braying about discrimination.
That's what happened at Wednesday's hearing, too. HABDI's Camilio Jaime and others staged a walkout, charging that opposition to the airport is being led by anti-Hispanic racists.
Which must come as a surprise to project critics such as Metro Commissioner Maurice Ferre and former Miami mayor Xavier Suarez, who happen to be Hispanic.
HABDI isn't fooling anyone. Its accusations are a smoke screen contrived to obscure a land deal that stinks.
It began when the U.S. government decided to close most of Homestead Air Force Base and turn it over to Dade County.
Oddly, the county never advertised that the base property was available to private interests. There was no public meeting, no competitive bidding.