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Named Best Museum 2022 by Miami New Times

Growing up in Miami has been an experience for me. You never realize that where you live can have such a great impact on your life. Living in Miami has taught me some things — through struggles and hardships, to moments of rejoicing and opportunities, it has taught me that with endurance and faith I can achieve anything.

Living in Miami has made me versatile. My mother was a single parent raising my sister and me; sometimes we struggled and fell on hard times. We moved several times, so I got exposed to different areas of Miami such as Opa-locka, Carol City, North Miami, Miami Lakes, Hollywood and Pembroke Pines. I went to schools that were predominantly African American, Hispanic and other cultures, and I met students from a mix of these. This experience not only helped me to learn and understand other cultures, but I gained a mixed diversity of friends from various backgrounds.

I have participated in several activities and programs that were located in various parts of Miami. My mother believed in exposing us to different things. I participated in the Lamplighters, which is sponsored by the Omega Psi Phi Fraternity (Sigma Alpha Chapter, Miami), a program for minority young men ages 12-18, “Focused on Helping Shape & Develop Tomorrow’s Future Leaders.”

I participated in the Manhood Youth Development Camp and Educational Institute, a community-based, non-profit organization that provides personal development education, counseling, and mentoring services to youth and families. Their mission is to increase the young male’s potential of leading a productive, responsible, and self-disciplined life crossing into manhood. Through this organization, I had the privilege to go to New Orleans to help victims that experienced devastation due to Hurricane Katrina.

Other programs I participated in were Teen Upward Bound; its mission is “to build strong families, youth and teens through education and faith.” I participated in the North Miami Beach Teen Summit, volunteered at Alonzo Mourning’s Overtown Youth Center, and I am currently on my last year of a three-year internship with Teen Miami. Teen Miami is three-year research and collections initiative on the history of teen life and culture in Miami-Dade County.

My mother also encouraged us to participate in school activities. I joined the band, chorus and the drama club. Through the Flanagan Senior High School drama club, I had the privilege to go to New York and attend workshops, as well as see Broadway shows. I also got the opportunity to go to Statesboro and Savannah, Georgia, to learn about the history of my grandfather and the history of both states.

My experiences living in Miami have been inspiring, informative, interesting, with some low and high moments. Through my experiences in Miami, I have learned to take hardships and struggles, my moments of rejoicing as my learning grew, and my opportunities as a blessing, and to live my life to the fullest.

We hauled my parent’s aluminum canoe off the roof-rack of his 2002 Mitsubishi Montero and onto the grass near the edge of the Biltmore canal. I grabbed the essentials from the trunk and tossed them into the canoe: two wooden paddles, a foldable, plastic seat, a faded, waterproof cushion, and a couple of well-worn life-jackets.

Larry—the tall, Colombian-American I had just been introduced to a few weeks before—adjusted his maroon FSU hat and repositioned his thick-rimmed eye-glasses before reaching down to help me lift the canoe.
My water bottle rolled towards the stern as we lowered the boat down the grassy bank to the water’s edge. I glanced over my shoulder at Larry, trying to keep the giddiness I felt from showing on my face.

“You ready?” I asked, eager to embark on our first date adventure.

“Let’s do this,” he replied.

I held the canoe steady as he stepped in and made his way towards the back of the boat. Once he was seated, I nudged the boat so that it slid further into the water, until all that was left on the rocky shore was the tip of the bow, just enough to let me climb aboard without having to get my feet wet.

I had been in this canoe countless times before. Growing up in Coral Gables, my parents would often take me and my brother out for a Sunday afternoon stroll along the waterways that snaked their way through our neighborhood and out towards Biscayne Bay.

Our usual route would lead us from the starting point near our house to a spot where the canal dead-ended across from the football fields of Coral Gables High. There, we would spot manatees that had come in from the bay in search of more tepid waters. In the winter time, when cool air graced a muggy Miami and the ocean temperatures dropped, the warm waters of the canal offered a sanctuary for these marine mammals.

From the edge of the water, on-lookers often congregated to count the rounded backs of these dormant sea-cows, which emerged from the surface like buoys. Every few minutes a pair of circular nostrils appeared as a manatee brought its nose up for air. From the canoe, however, it was easier to see through the murky canal water and observe what went on beneath the surface.

With a few quiet strokes of our wooden paddles, we let our canoe glide right up next to them, stuck our hand in the water, and caressed their slimy, algae-covered backs. It was easy to spot the older ones, who were often coated with barnacles and striped with scars from motor boat propellers. The younger ones were more curious, and came right up to the side of the canoe, rolling belly-up and lifting their flippers out from the water as if to offer a high-five.

As Larry and I paddled through the canal on that cloudless, summer day, I was hoping that we would get to see a manatee up close. Larry had grown up in Miami as well, but had never canoed through these parts before, and I was excited about showing him a side of his home town that he had yet to discover.

From the few times we had hung out since our first encounter on a South Beach dance floor the previous month, I already knew he was the type of person who, like me, enjoyed being in nature and staying active. In our first phone conversations, he’d told me about his years playing basketball and running track, about his days owning a longboard and surfing the waves on the northern coast of Florida, and about his plans to hike in Patagonia with some friends that fall. While getting “outdoors” in a city like Miami sometimes felt like a challenge, this, I thought, would be a great way of doing it.

Cruising passed the unique Spanish-style homes that lined the waterway, with their lush, tropical landscaping and beautiful backyards, it wasn’t long before we noticed the wildlife that called the canal their home: a great blue heron perched on a mangrove; a charcoal Anhinga drying out its wings; a giant iguana sun bathing on the coral rock.

At the edge of the lawn to our left, a family of ducks wandered towards the canal, squawking a dissonant tune as they hurried passed the canoe. On the opposite bank, a slender white egret waded in the water, keeping its eyes and beak fixed on the ground below its branch-like legs as it crept towards a potential meal.

And as we drifted down the canal, I thought about how comfortable I felt spending time with Larry. Perhaps it was his laid-back personality, or how he’d been so eager to join me on this canoe ride through the Gables.

Perhaps it was the way he joked about almost anything, and how good it felt to laugh so much whenever we talked. I never expected to find myself starting a new relationship weeks before moving overseas to teach English, but that day in the canoe, as we explored the hidden outdoors of the “City Beautiful” together, I couldn’t help but recognize that being with him just felt right.

And as we slid past a “no wake” sign and turned the corner towards the high school, hearing nothing but the sound of water hitting the sides of the canoe, my eyes fell upon a pair of rounded, barnacle-covered backs emerging from the surface. There in front of us, floating near a dock at the end of the canal, a pair of manatees rested in the tropical waters of Coral Gables.

The Chandler clan arrived in Miami early in the 1920s so that my father’s father, Thomas Chandler, could make a living working construction in those boom years of early Miami prior to the big hurricane of ’26 that destroyed it all. The family, including six children, lived in the Allapattah area enjoying the fruits of the tropics and fresh-caught fish from the-then pristine Miami River.

The maternal side of my family arrived in 1944. My mother, then 23, had had enough of the cold Indiana winters and longed for warm breezes and the glittering nightlife that was Miami. She arrived by train, suitcase in hand, $75 in her purse along with the phone number of a friend’s grandmother who might be able to put her up for the night.

It was with this journey that Velma Ruth Villwock of Indianapolis became Ruth Villwock of Coral Gables. Always one to dream big, my mother took the bus downtown and, looking skyward, saw the towering Alfred I. DuPont building on Flagler Street and declared that she would work there.

I don’t think that my mother ever took no for an answer, and consequently worked there a short time until seeing another impressive building that called her name. While living on Alhambra in Coral Gables and renting a room in the home of a wealthy elderly couple, “Mom and Pop Rhoads,” she became acquainted with the majestic Biltmore, then an Army Air Force hospital.
Once again, setting her sights high, she gained employment as a medical secretary in orthopedics at the hospital.

She changed her residence to an apartment within walking distance of the fabulous edifice. Thus began her magical “Biltmore days,” eating lunch by the pool, watching celebrities like Johnny Weismuller and Esther Williams come and go, meeting wounded GIs, and dancing with soldiers at USO parties. Her photo album is filled with lovely, smiling young women and handsome men who crossed her path and are ever immortalized in fading black-and-white photos, names unknown.

A highlight of those days was a reception given at the Biltmore for General Dwight D. Eisenhower where, as a date of her boss, Mom shook the hands of the general and his wife, Mamie. Miss V., as Mom was known to her boss, was dressed to the nines and was as glittery and sparkling that evening as the event itself.

In 1947 at Coral Gables Methodist Church, she married a handsome young Marine, my father, Joe Chandler. In 1950, they bought a house on the GI bill for $50 down and $50 a month in West Miami. It was there they began their family, which included my brother Bob and me. They raised us in Riverside Baptist Church in a city where we could walk to the corner Grand Union for groceries and play outside until the street lights came on.

In 1960, when our first Cuban neighbors moved into the house next door, my mother made them feel welcome and mentored the young mother in the ways of our city. Neither spoke the other’s language but as mothers, they communicated with the same language of the heart with a little help from their children and much pantomime.

My father was busy building a business, Craftsman Commercial Interiors, which was located on the Palmetto Expressway near Hialeah. The business built and installed interiors for restaurants and bars. It couldn’t have existed at a better time. Miami was growing and prospering, as was the Bahamas. Dad frequently flew on a small plane to the Bahamas for installations. His business had among its clients Chippy’s restaurant on Miracle Mile, where the New York-style cheesecake was out of this world. Our family got a kick out of sitting in the booths that were our dad’s handiwork.

As the business prospered, my parents wanted more for their children, so we moved to a new pool home in the Westchester area where Bob and I could attend the new, all air-conditioned Miami Coral Park Senior High School.
Miami grew and changed quickly; when my parents retired in 1975 they, like so many others, left for northern Florida. In 1992, my mother returned as a single woman because Miami had never left her heart. She closed on her condo in Kendall the weekend Hurricane Andrew arrived.

After six months, she was able to move in and lived in her condo 20 more years, enjoying all that Miami had to offer. Her connection to the Biltmore continued as she went for tea in the lobby and had brunch on the terrace. She especially loved the 4th of July fireworks at the Biltmore and even took the tour inside, adding details of the Biltmore’s war days to the docent’s speech.
My mom’s love of Miami never ended and her tales of the magic of being young in Miami during the war years live on with her children and grandchildren.

We gather back in Miami for her funeral this week and to celebrate her life. The balmy breeze and slanted light of autumn remind us that for everything there is a season. This magic city grew in my mother’s lifetime from a winter vacation playground for northerners to an international metropolis. It changed with each decade as we did. What doesn’t change is the clear, clean air from the ocean, swaying palm trees, the vibrant green of our tropical plants, explosion of color from bougainvillea and hibiscus, along with stories and memories of our beloved and unique home. We all attest to the fact that Miami with her flair and charm is in our hearts always.

The winter in Cleveland was very cold and snowy in 1975.

We just came home from a night on the town, and Mort tried to put his key in the front door lock, but it was iced over.

He grabbed The Plain Dealer, which was under the mat, and luckily had a match in his pocket. He burned the newspaper to melt the ice so he could unlock the door.

As soon as we were inside, we said, “Let’s get out our Florida file.”

We had started the file a few years before since someday we planned to move to the warm weather.

“You better study for the Florida State Optometry Board,” I said. Mort wasn’t ready to retire at 48. He graduated from Ohio State University in 1951 and after 25 years, studying again was quite a determination. But he passed the state board in 1976.

We were boaters and spent weekends on our boat, Eye Spy, at Cedar Point on Lake Erie.

At first, we were going to sell the boat, but we decided it would be an adventure to sail to Florida.

It was September 1979. We contacted two boating couples, each of whom accompanied us half-way.

We started the voyage from Cedar Point, then sailed east to Buffalo, where we entered the Erie Barge Canal. It took us several days to go through the 33 locks and descend from 564 feet to 49 feet above sea level, to the Hudson River near Albany.

Sailing down the Hudson was beautiful. We passed FDR’s home, West Point and Sing Sing prison.

In the New York harbor, we cruised past the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center.We cruised down the Intracoastal; our voyage took 22 days. We sailed right into the dock at the Eden Roc condos, where we bought a three-bedroom, 2½-bath unit on the Intracoastal in Sunny Isles — for $79,000.

Collins Avenue back then was a string of motels. Now, it’s a string of high-rises. The Thunderbird is still here — we go there for great dining and dancing.

We loved the Rascal House, which sadly is gone. Our kids water skied on Maule Lake near the Bay.

We are very lucky to have all our children near us. Our two daughters settled here and our son moved here shortly after we arrived.

Today Mort is 81 and I’m 79. Mort had a wake-up call in 1972, had a heart attack and by-pass heart surgery.

This prompted him to start a healthcare program, which includes diet, nutrition, exercise and stress management. We do not take drugs, feel great and go dancing EVERY night.

We join other couples and call our group, “Do Ya Wanna Dance?”

Oh, Miami! What a wonderful and glorious place to live.

I have been in Miami since 1949.

My parents moved here from Pennsylvania, when I was almost a year old. My father opened a soda fountain on Southwest 67th Avenue and Eighth Street. At the time, it was the closest place for the Miccosukee Indians to come and eat. I remember the pictures of them in their traditional Native American dress.

We lived in a small house behind the store, and when my mother’s family soon followed from Pennsylvania, everyone lived in this small home while my father and his new neighbors built a house on Southwest 57th Avenue and 33rd Street. The mortgage? All of $7,000. The neighborhood is now known as Schenley Park.

When the area on 67th Avenue started to build and added a drugstore, my parents sold the business and my dad took a job at Dressel’s Dairy Farm as a milk delivery man. He used to get up at 4 a.m. to start his milk route. What a great place.

Dressel’s Dairy was a farm with an ice-cream shop, ponies to ride, and cows to watch being born. We used to have great birthday parties there. Sadly, this place also closed and moved upstate to a bigger plant.

I also remember the Holsum Bakery on South Dixie Highway. Who could forget the great smell — a smell you just waited for?

When my uncle Paul went to the University of Miami he would take me to football games and we played on the grass.

My grandparents soon moved into their own home on Villa Bella Avenue. My grandfather continued to work as a food business owner. I loved the trips with my grandmother to downtown Miami where we would go to the old Burdines store and I used to get M&Ms; by the pound because they were not packaged. Burdines had a “ladies lunch room” and an ice-cream parlor, which was such a special treat. At Christmas time there was an amusement park on the roof with wonderful rides and, of course, Santa Claus! So sad, it is all gone now.

One of my grandmother’s favorite places was the cafeteria on Miracle Mile. We would go there for lunch. My grandmother lived in her house on Villa Bella Avenue until her death at 103.

My dad’s favorite things were Bird Bowl and waking everyone up to go to 7 a.m. Mass at the Church of the Little Flower. Mine? The skating rink next door to Bird Bowl. My mom’s? The Slim and Trim club, to which she belonged for over 25 years.

My brother and I would walk to what was then Children’s Variety Hospital. We would fly kites and play football in their front yard. It was such a big place to have fun!

There is a canal a street over from my parents’ house with open towers in which to play “king and queen.” They were sealed shut later because of bats. The boys in the neighborhood would swim in the canal and it was sparkling clean, but I was too scared so I would just walk the wall behind the canal.

The Biltmore hotel had a pool that was so deep you could “scuba dive.” Doctors were trained there. Somehow, my doctor got my friends and me into the pool. It was so deep that it scared us.

We had Fuller Brush men coming door to door selling such great products, and also a knife sharpener who would come by every month to sharpen all of my mom’s knives. One of the most fun things was the man with ponies. He would come to our houses and had hats and costumes to take pictures of us riding. It was just a great thing to do.

When my father worked at the dairy he would get off on Wednesdays, which meant breakfast at Crandon Park. Back then it had grills set up with picnic tables and even spigots to clean with. Mom used to say I loved the spigots more than the beach. But how could you forget the zoo and amusement rides there? What a special treat to go there. I remember taking my children to the zoo and the rides there.

Mr. Crandon had a huge house on 57th Avenue that was set way back; it had a wall around it and the kids used to walk on the wall till the butler would catch us and come running to make us get off. Now that area is filled with houses.

How can I ever forget the Venetian Pool? So cold and so big. It had a snack bar when you first walked in and I just loved to get the cherry sticks, hot dogs and Florida trinkets. They even had a Miss America contest there! The pool had islands in the middle and a cave with an opening you could dive through. You had to swim across the pool before the lifeguards would let you go to the diving boards. How proud I was to do that. The pool is fed with an underground spring and every night it was emptied and refilled with ice-cold water.

We would drive to the pool and have to do a circle around this huge fountain with faces that sprayed water. On special days we would go by the fountain and it would be full of soap bubbles to clean it. But as I grew older, I spent less time at Venetian Pool.

Oh, Miami!

My adult daughter, Sage Hoffman, lies in a hospital bed, her body attached to numerous IVs, monitors and a catheter. I am in a little cot only a foot away. Sage has just donated a kidney to a long-time friend. Now she is recovering in the ICU unit where the nurses never seem to rest. Our room seems to be the tiniest in the ward. She’s in pain, and I am stressed to the max.

With nothing much else to do, I start to think about how things have changed in our lives since that day in 1987 when we first moved to an Art Deco apartment on Collins Avenue. After a botched nine-month marriage in Broward County, I decided to strike out on my own in Miami Beach. Sage was a junior in a magnet program in a local high school, and I was working for Miami Today newspaper.

We arrived in Miami Beach during a strange and wonderful time. South Beach was still a haven for elderly retirees from up north. But changes were happening. We lived in a charmingly renovated “Tony Goldman” apartment. Tony, like others from up north, was seduced by the bold geometric shapes of Art Deco architecture and the cheap prices of buildings. In South Beach he began buying up and renovating buildings, which was the beginning of Goldman Properties and its many restaurants, buildings and arts programs in Miami Beach and Wynwood.

Some evenings in the mid-1980s, Sage and I would sit on the front porch of our building and watch the world by – and what a different world it was compared to suburban Denver where we both grew up! Right across the courtyard lived Leonard Horowitz, the man who created the pastel palate that transformed the streets of South Beach. Around the corner from our apartment were the Clevelander Hotel with its open-air bar and the Edison Hotel, where Arthur and Charlotte Barron operated a swinging jazz club.

The TV series “Miami Vice” was everywhere. One day Don Johnson and his crew would be shooting scenes in our alley. Another evening Miami Vice set up shop in the beach-side café of the Edison. That day Sage put on her hippest clothes and snuck onto the set as an extra. Later in the season, we spied Sage in a Miami Vice episode. Granted, it was for three seconds, but there she was, seated at the corner table of the Edison cafe.

The streets were also filled with real Miami vice. While retirees rocked on front porches of old hotels, drug dealers and prostitutes were out on the streets. Drug dealing and cocaine cowboys were a reality. One afternoon I heard screaming out in the street. I had always vowed that I would never hide behind window shades as people had done during the murder of Kitty Genovese in Queens. I got to the sidewalk just as a guy ran by, clutching a small item under his arm. I surmised that he had mugged an old lady and took her purse, so I ran to see if I could help her. Yikes — I ran right into four policemen running after the guy with their guns drawn. Whoops. Just another 1980s day in South Beach.

At Miami Today I was assigned Miami Beach as my territory for ad sales. I had the fun task of visiting every restaurant, hotel, shop, and art gallery, from Lincoln Road down to 5th Street. What a way to get to know our adopted town! I met people who still are my friends. What a crazy town it was, but Sage and I decided to stay.

We found a 1940s home in the mid-beach area and bought it for about one fifth of what it would cost today. Sage and I then flew back to Wheat Ridge, Colorado, picked up all our stuff that we had left in storage, and drove for five days in a big yellow rent-a-truck all the way back to Miami Beach.

Five college degrees later (two of Sage’s and three of mine), a new marriage, lots of travel, and too many friends to count, we are still part of the South Florida scene. Sage is a director for Mary Kay Cosmetics, and I am the founding director of the Arts at St. Johns at the St. John’s church over on 47th and Pine Tree Drive.

But wait, what about that donated kidney? This is a story of who Sage and I have become. We are not just living off the bounty of Miami, we are part of those people who also give back to our community. Miami is a colorful, sun-filled town, but it is also a place of great need. I give back through my church and the arts program, which uses the arts as a way to address social issues. For example, in spring 2015 we are presenting “Convivencia Miami,” a project that celebrates a time in Spain when Jews, Christians and Muslims lived, worked and created together in relative harmony. We think this is an excellent model today for our very diverse South Florida.

Sage gives back through Mary Kay, in the way it supports and uplifts women. And she also felt called to give away her very healthy kidney (heck, you only need one!) to a friend who was on dialysis and needed a transplant. Her kidney is now alive and humming in her friend, and both are recovering nicely.

Thanks Miami, for encouraging us to become the people we are today!

I was born in a wood frame building on Miami Beach in 1924.

My parents were Greeks, born in Turkey. My father’s parents raised silkworms that were sold to the local factories in Bursa. A wealthy Turkish merchant in the silkworm industry who did business with my grandparents, made frequent business trips to the United States. My father would listen in awe as he related stories about a tropical paradise there called Miami.

He said it was located directly on the ocean where cool breezes prevailed all year long, people went swimming every day, it never got cold and the sun shone every day. The merchant also said no one ever went hungry because of all the fruit-bearing trees in the wild and that there are even trees for children called kumquats with oranges the size of a thumb. A glass of water was not necessary to quench a thirst because a large nut called coconut has water in it.

Picture in your mind someone never having picked a nut larger than an almond from a tree being told that in America they was a nut the size of your head with a shell inside that has the pulp of fifty almonds and holds a glass of water. Well, that was all my father had to hear. He vowed then and there we would someday live in that paradise.

After the Balkan countries declared war on Turkey in 1912, the family went to Greece, and in 1915 my grandfather left for America. Working on the railroad laying track, he settled in Cincinnati and sent for the rest of his family. My father begged him all along about going to Miami and he finally arrived here in February 1920.

It was everything he had been told, and he convinced the whole family to move here. They bought a property on West Flagler Street with a restaurant, rooming house, and a hat-blocking and shoe-shine shop. They prospered, but it wasn’t long before my grandfather noticed his two sons were running around with American girls. So he went back to Turkey and returned with two neighborhood girls. The double-wedding took place in 1923 at the Episcopal churchnear the Venetian Causeway.

That same year, my father went to work helping to build the Nautilus Hotel. Looking for a less back-breaking job, in 1924, he drove a jitney to and from downtown and in 1928, he helped with the opening of a market on Washington Avenue.

Having led a very sheltered life with only Greek and Turkish spoken in the house, I was enrolled in the first grade. When told my name was Aristotle, the teacher said, “I wouldn’t name my dog that.” She asked how it was pronounced in Greek. Because “Ari” sounded like “Harry,” that became my name through high school.

We endured the 1928 hurricane, but not the 1929 stock market crash. The Depression years were trying, but we endured. By the end of 1933, my parents had put enough aside to buy a restaurant on Ocean Drive. My father and I fished the jetties every morning, he to catch big fish and I to gather snails and big crawfish for the store. He caught mostly snook and barracuda, which was on the menu as snapper, while I caught Florida crawfish listed as Maine lobster, and snails listed as French escargot. We always sold out because my mother was a great cook.

I once crawled under the fence at the government field and picked a choice watermelon for our store. A police officer saw me walking off with it and offered me a ride. It wasn’t to my house, as I expected, but to the police station. He sat me on the curb, cut it into four pieces, told me to eat all of it, and said he didn’t want to see any red when finished. When I asked if I could use the restroom, I was told it was for police only. I got the picture and hurried home.

By 1935, my parents had put enough aside to buy the lot next to where I was born for $2,500. The following, year they built our house for $5,000. When finished with building, we busied ourselves landscaping it to be the best in the neighborhood. My job was following the horse-drawn ice wagon down the alleys, discreetly gathering horse manure to fertilize our plants. You can bet it was done discreetly.

I made money the hard way: I worked for it. I sold peanuts for an old man named Doc to bathers on the beach for five cents a bag, keeping a penny for myself. Occasionally, when given a dime, I would give it to Doc. My reward was a bag of peanuts to take home.

I would also go to the Miami Beach golf course and dive into the canal to retrieve golf balls for a nickel. I would get in free at the plaza theater by picking up chewing gum wrappers and cigarette butts from around the building. I did the same for Occasionally, I would buy shrimp from a fish market on 63rd Street to fish. When I told the owner it was my mother’s birthday and that I was going to catch a big fish for her, he gave me 10 shrimps for a nickel.

At a boat rental concession near Biscayne Bay, I was allowed to use a 10-foot sailing moth in exchange for cleaning out all of the returning fishing boats. That little moth took me all over Biscayne Bay, from the spoils banks to the ragged keys and Fisher Island.

Later, so as not to be drafted, I joined the Navy, was assigned to the aircraft carrier U.S.S. Yorktown and served the remainder of WWII in the Pacific. After being honorably discharged, I went to work for the city of Miami Beach, in the engineering department. I started as a rod man on the survey crew and retired 45 years later as assistant public works director.

The highlight of my life is my marriage to my lovely wife Artemis, who has given me 57 beautiful years and two beautiful daughters, Adrian Artemis and Andrea Aphrodite. They in turn have given us two exceptional sons-in-law, Robert Sherman and Javier Holtz, who have each given us three exceptional grandchildren: Michael, Andy and Bryan; Matthew, Nicole and Andrew.

Since I retired, the population of Miami Beach has exploded, traffic has become unbearable, and parking next to impossible. I close my eyes and reminisce about the good old days in old South Beach. As a child.

My family moved to Kendall in the fall of 1975. Both from Ohio, my parents settled here with a pioneer spirit, building a home together in an old pine tree forest at a time when the area felt like it was at the edge of civilization.

A reserve filled with Dade-County pine trees now surrounded them— these tall, skinny trees are covered with red and brown bark plated like paper scales and have tufts of evergreen needles that flourish at the top.

Early settlers built their homes from these pines because they believed them to be strong and capable of withstanding hurricane winds, in addition to being termite resistant due to their high sap content. My parents felt that “high pines” was desirable as it was supposed to fare better than most areas from flooding if Miami was ever struck by a major storm.

They bought the house from an Irish builder on a handshake, and opted for an English Tudor style design. My dad installed his own solar heating system for the pool, circulating the water through black piping on the roof, which was considered innovative for its time and featured in the Miami Herald Tropic section.

The warm tropical climate lured a succession of friends to visit from up north, so having a heated swimming pool was an exotic addition. The first order of business was to ensure that I could swim, so I was enrolled in “water baby” classes—I learned to swim before I knew how to walk.

I attended Leewood Elementary and would walk to school every day. My mother would accompany me to and fro, and when I got a little older I was permitted to ride my bicycle. She would quietly trail behind me until she was confident of my skill and I was then allowed to commute to school on my own.

The area was ripe for development with sidewalks and small homes starting to appear, yet the moment retained so much possibility and opportunity. The pine tree lots were expansive and the generous space predicated the sprawl of urban growth. It was the emptiness that was full. This was the era of magical realism, where childhood was still immersed in innocence and dreams, the excavations of invented worlds abound.

When not in school, I would spend endless days venturing out into woods with neighborhood kids, finding a clearing for forts which we would construct from discarded plywood sheets and old particle board cabinetry, making ladders of 2x4s, furnishing the hide outs with contractor bucket seats and holding court.

Traversing the soft needle carpet beneath my feet, my footsteps padded and dowsed yellow with pollen and sticky sap speckled every surface I made contact with. The edge of the woods was populated with towering cane sugar plants that had downy razor sharp leaves, leaving a stream of paper cuts on my legs in the wake of a mad dash of tag and game playing.

What kind of future could I dream about? I would always lose myself in thought, my head full of possibility and reveling in freedom — definitely a sign of my artistic temperament. Rays falling fast across the sky designating it was time I head home. My mom would be anticipating our return, hair matted hot with sun and retaining the wild airs of adventure. I remember the light had these mysterious ways of southern light, gathering itself together and suddenly dissipate.

The passage of time brought with it inevitable changes. This was a rapidly shifting suburban environment and development was encroaching, and with it came more trouble, incidents of crime were reported, and these occurrences indicated the transformation.

Someone tried to coax a young child into their car after school, a sign of times to come. I negotiated my way into middle school, and the internet became more prevalent as outdoor activities lost their appeal. My parents sold their green Karman Ghia because it didn’t have seat belts. Things were forced to change, to become something new and something different.

The early 80s also brought turbulent times — the Mariel boatlift with its Cuban mass exodus and heartache, the drug trafficking, and the abduction of Adam Walsh forever scarred the landscape of our childhood. Miami had its edge, Miami Vice and South Beach and its lively pursuits of pleasure and the pulse of constant culture, but this atmosphere was not for me. I left Miami to attend college up north, with the assumption that I would not return for a long time.

I was home with my family when Hurricane Andrew hit in 1992, and our house was one of the only ones in the area that withstood its powerful and destructive winds. That Irish builder had designed the house so the doors would swing out- not in, which would prevent the interior corridors from being blown through.

When we woke up the next morning after Andrew, our home was one that was not emptied of its contents. The majestic pine tree forest, or what was left of it after development, was decimated. Those treasured moments of solitude in the woods, and how it provided me with a childhood full of discovery and revelation still remains firmly anchored in my mind.

I moved to Miami Beach in 2009 from Naples, Florida, with my boyfriend, in search of better career opportunities.

I grew up in Massachusetts, however, and lived in Massachusetts until 2005. When I first moved to Miami Beach, I was not a happy camper. It took me a while to adjust to the craziness of South Beach. I couldn’t find my comfort zone and was intimidated by the whole “party” scene.

I didn’t have a true understanding or love for Miami Beach, until I started working for the Miami Design Preservation League. Since starting my position at MDPL, I have learned about the history and culture of Miami Beach. I continue to learn about the Art Deco, MiMo, and Mediterranean Revival historic buildings and architecture and about all the passion and hard work that went into saving these gorgeous buildings that surround my home and office.

My appreciation for these architectural gems grows every day. I feel so lucky to live in such a beautiful place.

MDPL has allowed me to become more involved within my community. I am able to meet people that live and work in Miami Beach. I’ve learned that although Miami Beach is a huge tourist attraction, it is also a small community of residents.

I’ve never lived in a place in which people are so passionate about their community. The residents of Miami Beach care about Miami Beach’s image, its businesses, its organizations, and about each other. They want it to be a safe place, a beautiful place, and a place people want to live and visit.

I feel settled in Miami Beach now. I have made wonderful friends. I am in love with the design and art scene of Miami and Miami Beach. I am a regular at Second Saturday Art Walks in the Wynwood District (the food trucks are a bonus).

I LOVE the Design District, too! I stroll down Lincoln Road every weekend and often have breakfast at Books and Books. I have become a HUGE Heat fan (don’t tell my friends and family back in Boston).

I love spending afternoons at South Point Park and sometimes splurging for dinner at Joe’s Crab Shack afterwards. I LOVE being a car ride away from the Keys, a boat ride away from the Bahamas, and only a short three-hour plane ride away from my friends and family back in (freezing cold) Boston.

I have developed a love for Cuban food and I cannot live without my cafe con leche each morning! I always take my visitors to dinner on Espanola way (its a hit every time). I take my young visitors to the Everglades for a Florida adventure they will never forget. Miami Beach is always a hit for my guests. I have developed a true love for Miami/Miami Beach and the WEATHER!

Miami Beach is my home now. I look forward to many years living and working here.

In the winter of 1937, when I was 5 years old, my grandparents took an apartment in Miami Beach for the winter.

The apartment was on the corner of Española Way and Meridian Avenue. Our family was from Youngstown, Ohio, and we would drive down for a visit and spend a few days on the beach like any other tourist. That was my first long car trip, and I fell in love with Miami Beach. Along with my brothers, Bert and Bob, and our parents and grandparents, we all had fun at the beach. That was something I can never forget. It was fantastic.

My earliest recollection of Miami Beach was in that winter. We lived there for a few years and then moved to an apartment at 15th Street and Euclid Avenue, where we spent the war years. I vividly remember seeing the soldiers marching up and down the street singing, as they counted cadence, during their period of basic training. The entire city had been converted to a large Army base, and we lived right in the middle.

I attended the Lear School on Bay Road for a couple of years, then in third grade switched to Central Beach Elementary. Then it was on to Ida M. Fisher Junior High across the street, and then next door to Beach High, where I graduated in 1950.

During my early years in Miami Beach, the west side of Ocean Drive was lined with recently built hotels. They all had front porches with chairs facing the ocean so that the patrons could sit, relax and enjoy the gentle ocean breeze while on their vacation. Lifelong friendships developed among the fellow tourists who chatted on the porch.

Ocean Drive, with its beach of golden sand, was “combed” freshly each morning by beach boys who had a chair concession every hundred yards or so along the beach. Our special spot was under a clump of three Coconut Palm trees on the beach at 14th Street. For a dime or so, you could have a beach chair set up foruse all day. Another quarter got you and your group some towels and a large umbrella planted nearby to provide shade from the broiling sun. Sunburns were frequent, and unwary visitors suffered much pain if they didn’t take proper precautions by taking the blazing sun in small doses.

Teams of lifeguards would protect the occasional bather in trouble, and each lifeguard station had a lifeboat that was used for more serious emergencies. This setting made Miami Beach a picture-perfect place to spend a vacation.

Flamingo Park provided outdoor sports venues of all types for natives and tourists alike. Baseball diamonds, tennis courts and a jungle gym kept a sports enthusiast busy from dawn to dusk. The older folks had shuffleboard and horseshoes to keep them entertained. The park also had a football stadium used by the Beach High Typhoons. Free concerts were held often, and the park was the central attraction outside of the beach scene.

Lincoln Road, today’s equivalent of an upscale shopping mall, was meticulously manicured and lined with Royal Palm trees. The Beach and Lincoln Theatre provided the latest in movie entertainment.

Miami Beach at the time was a city of less than 10,000 permanent residents that swelled to an estimated 50,000 or more during the winter season. The “season” was considered to last from November through March. Because of the extreme heat in summer, most commercial establishments would close during June, July and August. A few businesses would remain open with skeleton crews to accommodate the people who remained. In those days, even the permanent residents would leave town in the summer, leaving Miami Beach a virtual ghost town.

While about a hundred hotels had been built, all in close proximity to the beach, the city council had wisely reserved the beach along Ocean Drive be used for the public. There was also a 12-story height restriction on all buildings. The city of Miami Beach was fairly small, linking together several islands. The main island extended to 87th Street, where the village of Surfside began.

The east side of Washington Avenue from First Street to Lincoln Road housed block after block of small, mostly family-owned businesses — bakeries, food stores, restaurants, delicatessens and butcher shops. Most of these shops were owned by Jewish people who had found that a good living could be made catering to the permanent residents, as well as the tourist population.

In 1950, my grandparents built a fabulous home at 45th and Pinetree Drive just north of the Firestone property on Indian Creek. We could look across the creek and see the ocean from our living room. This view was spoiled somewhat when the Eden Roc Hotel was built.

While growing up, we spent a lot of time fishing in the Everglades, picking grapefruit and just sightseeing. It was a great time that I shall never forget.

Hopefully, some of my friends will see this article and recall with me those happy times.

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