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Named Best Museum 2022 by Miami New Times

The list could go on forever: The Treniers, Pickin’ Chicken, Sleepy Time Gal, Parhams, Club Calvert, Bible Joe, The Rockin’ MB, Chary’s, Silver Dollar Jake, Fun Fair, The Miami News, Embers, Riverside Military Academy, My Dad. When we wonder what happened to — or simply miss — the people, places and things that played a part in our youth, we are reassured by those four stalwarts still holding up the Casablanca.

Our story, like everyone who relocated to Miami, is filled with contrasts: high hopes then, and, looking back, lots of nostalgia.

When we drive around streets that have always been familiar haunts, we are disoriented by missing landmarks no longer where they could be counted upon, and overwhelmed by the numerous and oversized buildings that replaced them. At the same time, we are filled with pride over the mega-metropolis we have grown into. We miss the small town feel but appreciate the growth, the development and the impressive skyline.

1947 — Miami Beach development only went up as far as the McFadden Deauville Hotel around 66th Street and Collins Avenue — a sprawling green low-rise complex with a huge swimming pool and three diving boards. There, a father taught his very young son and younger daughter to put on a water show for the guests by diving into the pool. Thrilling and scary entertainment then; today, maybe child abuse.

1947 — That was the year my young, handsome father came down to Miami to find work after being fired by the post office in New Jersey after he punched a fellow employee who made a disparaging remark about Jews. Staying with his sister, brother-in-law and their baby daughter in their small apartment in Coral Gables, the promised paradise provided a disappointing first job: selling ice cream from a box attached to the back of a bicycle.

When Jack Winer landed a more substantial opportunity as doorman at the International Hotel on Miami Beach, he sent for his wife Ruth, daughter and son Richard. Our beautiful young mother — she taught us to say that — sold our home in Camden, packed our belongings, loaded up the 1939 Oldsmobile, and we were on our way.

At the age of 10 and 6, Richard and I recall only some of the sights we visited along the way: the Washington Monument, cotton fields where we picked bolls to treasure, and the oldest city, St. Augustine. Our first Spanish words were Ponce de Leon, but the Fountain of Youth remained lost and we were too young to care. We do now.

When we arrived here that first day, the color of the water took our breath away. Not the dark blue of Atlantic City’s ocean, this was bright aqua and deep turquoise. And best of all, we could take our shoes and socks off and walk barefoot. Oh yeah, and right across from that crowded apartment we shared with aunt, uncle and cousin, oranges grew on trees — real oranges you could walk to, pick off, peel and eat. We arrived on Thanksgiving Day and we gave thanks.

From doorman to pool attendant to pool manager, Jack provided for family and we moved into our very own one-room, one-bath efficiency, then graduated to a two-bedroom, two-bath apartment, then bought a tiny cottage, and a cocker spaniel. Those were the days when small children could walk by themselves six blocks at night to get ice cream cones at a neighborhood drug store. Drug stores had food and fountain service, with a long counter, and stools that twisted around. Movies were 14 cents at the Normandy or Surf Theater on Saturday matinees, plus 6 cents for candy. We each brought home change from our quarter.

We kids attended Coral Gables, North Beach, and Biscayne elementary schools, then Nautilus and Miami Beach High. Jack managed pools and cabanas at the Martinique, Golden Sands, Atlantic Towers, Bel Aire, Monte Carlo, Dunes, Lombardy, Attache and Thunderbird Motels. Everyone worked for Jack at one time or another, including his daughter, son, grandsons, and even Murph the Surf, the thief who stole the Star of India.

Greynolds Park, an important landmark, is one of the few things in our lives that remains a constant. Though the horse stables where I rode are gone, the park was, and still is, a place to picnic, jog, hike, bike, boat, roll down the grassy hill from the fort, and observe wildlife that refuses to be eliminated. It was where I spent my second date with my future husband Ezra, a field trip for our children, Izzy, Ken and Jordana, and a playground and adventure for our seven grandchildren. Ezra and I built our home two blocks from its back entrance.

Ezra’s family came here from the Bronx in 1939. They witnessed German POWs held where the Miami Beach Convention Center is now. He completed his college studies at The U, both BA and MBA, and now mentors students in the School of Business after concluding his years as an entrepreneur in partnership with a college buddy, another New York transplant.

We’ve been a lucky family: In the same house more than 48 years, married more than 52 years, with our two sons and daughter, their mates and children, my brother too, only minutes away. With my mother, defying mortality, working four days a week, we’ve resisted change. With support and encouragement from Ezra, I published a novel recently and surprised folks with a good read. When I attempted to sell our house and move into a condominium, the idea was quashed. This lucky house is headquarters for our gang.

Our only touch of bad luck came when Jack left us all too soon, with only good memories.

I was born in 1924 on Flagler Street and 57th Court. The house I was born in still stands. My father was born in upstate New York in 1878. He went to school in New York, moved to Virginia, went to engineering school and then moved to Palatka, in northern Florida, in the early 1900s. He met up with the railroad gang of Henry Flagler and worked with Mr. Flagler’s company. He worked his way down to Miami, where he worked on the Overseas Railroad in 1903.

In the 1903 Hurricane, my father was working on the rails in Duck Key and was blown away. He survived and was picked up by a tramp steamer. An article about this event appeared in The Miami Metropolis. My father was the first to build the viaducts from Florida City to Key West. The old photos show the construction of the concrete pillars, which supported the rails that carried the first railroad trains in 1912.

My father moved back to Miami. He visited his two sisters in Merritt Island, near Cocoa Beach, in 1917. There he met my mother, Ruby Griffiths. They were married in Titusville, then returned to Miami and the house on Flagler Street. All six of the children were born in that house. My father worked for a Miami engineering firm building sea walls and bridges. After the 1926 Hurricane, he went into real estate and was doing quite well until the Great Depression came along. We went from being very rich to very poor.

We then moved into a house on Southwest Eighth Street near 32nd Avenue, near an orange grove. We had a two-story house. The first floor was a filling station and a grocery store. We were next to the Seybold Railroad. As kids, we used to flag the traffic down for the trains or steam engines. I went to school at Kinloch Park at Flagler Street and Le Jeune Road. At that time, Le Jeune Road and Flagler Street were set up like a little pigtail. All the decent roads stopped at Ponce de Leon at Flagler, where the street cars turned around. By 57th Avenue, it was all hunting grounds.

In 1945, I married Ivey Ritch in Key West. After graduating from Miami High in 1941, I served in the military and participated in World War II. I saw many things during the war. I remember one day when I was in Italy and we were very hungry. We went to an Italian family’s house to see if we could get some eggs. A German Messerschmitt fighter plane flew over a hill and swooped down with machine guns firing at us. There were five soldiers, one woman and three children. I remember running all over them trying to get into the house.

I was a member of the Great Impersonators, which raised money for terminal children. In 1980 I was elected president of Post 72 Fraternal Order of Police Association, (FOPA) Everglades Lodge, which I enjoyed very much. The photo of me standing in front of the No. 153 is a steam engine FEC Coach 136. I am a member of the Gold Coast Railroad Museum, which is near Metrozoo. We have some wonderful pieces out there. The Ferdinand Magellan is a Presidential Pullman Car. This was the first train custom-made to carry the U.S. presidents. It carried presidents Roosevelt, Truman and Reagan.

I will be 85 on Nov. 30, 2009. I have a daughter Terry and two grandsons, David and Reed, who live in Sebastian. I work every day six days a week. I arrive at work at quarter to five in the morning. I get up every morning around 3:30. I work for MEI which is Master Excavators Inc. I have been maybe 17 or 18 years. I enjoy working for this corporation and we are working really hard to get through these rough times.

I have been through these rough times before with my family in the 1930s. I remember and I know we will get through them.

We were sponsored into the United States by a dentist in Detroit. My dad was from Sweden and didn’t speak English very well. My mom was born in Trinidad to a Barbados family. I was born in Barbados. We lived in an efficiency on top of a garage. My dad joined a union and worked for the power company repairing meters. My mom worked at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital.

I remember the two successive cars we had — an old Packard and then a Studebaker with porthole windows. I got very sick from the cold weather in Detroit, so my mother took me back to Barbados. When I was 4, we flew back to the United States to meet my dad in Florida. Again, we lived in an efficiency on top of a garage in the Coral Gables area.

My father got bookkeeping jobs at Sanborn Plumbing and then Chapman Septic Tank Co. and then at Polly Davis Cafeteria on Miracle Mile. I remember my father taking buses to and from work and then to and from the University of Miami for night school, where a large portion of what he earned went, as there were no local state colleges at that time. He finally scraped enough money together to buy a clunker of a used car, a Ford Edsel. He worked and went to night school at UM for seven years and finally earned his degree in accounting.

We made the move west to unincorporated Miami-Dade County. We lived on the western edge of countywide development, almost to where the Palmetto Expressway is now. For me, the late 1950s and early ’60s were so much simpler for a kid than it is now. I played baseball at Flagami Khoury League, played football or basketball at Flagami Elementary School or fished in a local canal. We usually had a used black-and-white TV, and sometimes listened to radio shows when the TV was on the blink. We were the first family in our neighborhood to get a color TV. The neighbors would come by to see a TV in color.

Our school would take field trips to Dressel’s Dairy, just west of the airport, and a great place for kids. I would fall asleep at night with my transistor radio (all the kids had one) under my pillow, listening to UM football and basketball games. Everything changed so fast in the ’60s. This was also the beginning of the Miami Dolphins, when the bus ride was 10 cents each way, and the student entry ticket was $1. My mother would take me to Pier 5, where Bayside now is, to buy fresh fish.

With his degree and experience bookkeeping, my dad was able to get accounting jobs at local banks and savings and loans. Among the ones I remember were Citizens FSL, Greater Miami FSL, American FSL, Dania Bank, Hollywood FSL, Home FSL and others. My father got an opportunity to be comptroller/treasurer of American Savings and Loan in Miami Beach, so we moved in the middle of my “promising” football and basketball career at Coral Park Sr. High School. (This move proved disastrous for my hopes and dreams.) My father later ended his career as the finance director of several local municipalities, such as Opa-locka and Pembroke Pines.

It was a long way from our arrival in the United States with virtually nothing — thereby proving the American Dream is alive and well.

Howard and Iris Kaplan both had early ties to the Miami area, although they were both born and raised in Chicago.

Howard’s parents brought him to South Beach in his teen years during the winter. His sister couldn’t take the cold weather; she had a heart condition, and in the 1930s, there was no surgery to help her. Iris had an aunt, Aunt Mona, who lived in Miami Beach. They met on a beach in Indiana. When she graduated from the University of Illinois, they decided to marry. Before their big wedding in Chicago, they took a lunch break and married in the tallest building in downtown Miami, the new courthouse.

He had started a business with his family, A&A Glass; he was the installer. She started having children, and they moved to West Miami, off Southwest Eighth Street and 62nd Avenue. It was a quiet street in a tract house at a development called Best Homes. All the kids on the block went to Sylvania Heights Elementary. They are still friends with those neighbors some 60 years later: Ed and Barb Myers, Doris Leventhal, Norm Leventhal, Bea Taft and Essie and George Rosenfield.

They raised their kids, traveled and still play cards once a month, meet at the track and go out for a bite. Iris was a Girl Scouts leader, a substitute teacher, and until very recently, a longtime volunteer at the Baptist Hospital Auxiliary. Howard worked at A&A Glass until he was 65, and now enjoys tennis (he sets up games in a senior league).

They both have been civic activists, helping with the recent charrette in East Kendall. They once stood on 10th Terrace trying to plant trees in the median and protested their removal. (This is where I get my tree-hugger background.) Howard runs the Crime Watch program on the street in East Kendall where they have lived for 47 years.

Iris can be seen around town shopping — Dadeland Mall’s director once said she thought the middle of the mall should have been named the Iris Kaplan Pavilion. Both can be seen up at the horse track, whichever one is open, enjoying the races and eating the clam chowder. They also love going to the movies, where the attendants know their names.

Half of their children are here: Son Steven Michael owns a beauty shop in Cutler Bay, and Howard and Iris love to go down for a trim; daughter Martha Backer lives in West Kendall; daughter Audrey Vance is the city attorney for Bonita Springs; daughter Joy Davies is a seventh-grade teacher in Flagler Beach.

We have given them 10 grandchildren, and now there are five great grandchildren. Since they settled here, both their parents also moved to Miami. It makes for one big happy family.

The house stood amid the pine and oak, far removed and away from what might pass for civilization in middle Georgia. It sat battered by time, the hot Georgia summer sun, and the harsh winter wind. The porch was falling down, and sagged at the front door.

Nearly 700 miles from the red Georgia clay, this became my parents’ house on Southwest 47th Court, just off Sunset Drive. It was in this house where my mother Keeker raised three boys, hung contemporary art, played the piano, rehearsed neighborhood children’s Christmas choirs, blasted her stereo and generally held court to her dying day.

To understand my mother, you had to understand her house. The house was built around 1850 near Dames Ferry in Monroe County, nearly 15 miles from the courthouse in Forsyth. When the Civil War came to Monroe County, it was in the form of a great army of Sherman’s soldiers, who camped on the hills northwest of Forsyth. When they passed into town the next day, the soldiers burned any structure of military potential. Thus the great antebellum homes of the town, save three, were destroyed.

Of those three houses, Agnes, Keeker’s mother, came to own one. Miss Alice, my mother’s maiden aunt, owned another. The third, the home of a judge, was too far removed from the town and too far separated from the main Northern force to justify its destruction. It is this house that made its way to Miami.

The truth is that the house did not look like much. If one were serious about moving an antebellum home to South Florida, there were undoubtedly better and grander candidates. But what Keeker saw was not its state of repair, but its dimensions — its scale, lines, and possibilities. The house consisted of four large square main rooms, paired on either side of a great hallway which ran front to back. The rooms were large with 12-foot ceilings. The house was heated by two fireplaces, which opened to each paired room.

My father George Cornell moved from Georgia with his family to Miami in 1926 just in time for the great hurricane. He attended the “new” Miami High where his classmates and friends included U.S. Sen. George Smathers and Charles “Bebe” Rebozo, the Key Biscayne confidant of President Richard Nixon.

In 1929 my father returned to Atlanta to attend Georgia Tech. When his father’s shoe store on Flagler failed, he ordered Dad to come home. Dad instead put himself through Tech drawing ladies shoes for newspaper advertisements. After college he worked in North Carolina until World War II. His first marriage having not survived the war, he joined his brother Elder in the roofing and sheet metal business in Miami. He met my mother Keeker at a party in Macon, Georgia, and they were married in 1947.

They moved the house from Georgia to 47th Court in 1952. My parents lived in the house until their deaths, and then my brother, Howell, lived there for a number of years. Growing up there seemed ordinary to me. It was neither the biggest nor smallest house on 47th Court. My father went to work every day just like all the fathers on the street. My mother did charity work at the Red Cross and taught herself enough about contemporary art to land a position on the Art in Public Places Trust in the 1970s and ’80s.

Our antebellum home was filled with Warhol cows and Lowell Nesbitt flowers. My father’s protest about the incongruity of Greek Revival design and the art was dismissed by my mother. “If it’s good,” she told him, “it looks good anywhere.” Southwest 47th Court in the 1950s was a land of kids. Between Sunset Drive and Southwest 74th St, there were eight houses. By the end of the decade those houses held 22 children.

We spent our weekends and after school playing football on our lawn, engaged in pine cone battles that would last for days or driving go-carts up and down 47th Court. Kids from nearby neighborhoods would often join us. Johnny Wolin, who became a legendary Miami Herald editor, played football with us. He was fierce and a good player in spite of his small stature.

We had neighborhood traditions. Every Christmas, Dr. Jim Lancester, our neighbor and pediatrician, and my mother, would try to whip us into musical shape so we wouldn’t embarrass ourselves when we caroled up and down the street. This tradition went on for years until the kids became teenagers who were way too cool to go door to door singing songs off key. With so many kids, birthday parties were common. Bobby Matheson probably had the best of them. We would go to his family’s coconut plantation on Key Biscayne, where the Ritz Carlton is today, and picnic and play baseball on what amounted to a private beach.

We had a few famous people on 47th Court. Phillip Wylie was a prolific author in the 1940s and 1950s whose attacks on ‘mom-ism’ probably did little to endear him to our own mothers. Another father, Boots Norgaard, was the AP bureau chief in Miami. Boots had been one of the most famous correspondents of World War II. Aside from his own kids, not one of us knew that for many years. Out of that bunch of kids came six lawyers, an Episcopal priest, a photo editor at the New York Times, an architectural historian, a painter, a home builder and a tree surgeon.

Few remain in South Florida, but our street remains a part of each of us.

G. Ware Cornell Jr. is an attorney who now makes his home in Weston.

My name is Steven Michael Moser, Steve Moser casually. I was born in 1953 in St. Louis, Missouri, the “Show Me” state. I grew up in St. Louis primarily, though I lived in D.C. and Iowa for a time. Then I decided I had enough of winter and moved to Texas for 10 years, and I visited Florida many times and I liked it, especially the water. I think I got lucky, so here I am in Key Largo. I moved here in 1989 officially, 27 years ago. I came here to be on the water.

When I got out of school I wanted to build and create things rather than do office work. I’m very obsessed and compulsive about high-end, meticulous work, which is a good trait for making things. I primarily did wood working, remodeling, building furniture, cabinets, and mill work.

Then I met Cindy the Neon Lady and got a flamingo from her. I ended up spending 9 or 10 years working with her. She had a shop where she did mill work and contracting, and I had space in my wood shop for her neon business. She had gone to neon school to learn to make neon. When she set up shop I watched her work, and I was fascinated by neon and wanted to learn. Working with neon was a natural combination for me because I’ve always been a hands-on guy and this was another outlet for my need to create with my hands.

Making neon is definitely very hard and a lot of time is spent doing it and practicing. But if you stick with it and have a natural ability, that helps a lot. There’s a lot of frustration involved, lots of bad glass, lots of bending that breaks. It’s part of learning, though. Nobody can magically become a good glass bender. I was a licensed pilot and had been flying planes for 10 to 15 years, and it’s easier to get a pilot’s license than it is to learn how to be a good tube bender.

The wholesale business was going up and down so we moved to Miami together and set up shop in Overtown, down on the Miami River. It was a cool shop. We were there working with the ups and downs of the business cycle, and we were a couple and a little in love. But in 1998 she moved back to be with her family in Texas and I’ve been soloing since then.

When I moved from Miami to the Florida Keys the economy was really bad. I didn’t have a website yet and my business depended on old-fashioned word of mouth, yellow pages, that sort of thing. I started making Florida Keys-related fish and neon stuff. I did all of the local seafood festivals and shows down here. Neon is a little pricey, and the economy was bad, but it was a little bit of cash coming in and my creativity had an outlet.

I’m obsessed with making fun, weird and cool things. My mind is always moving on to the next project. My brain is where I keep my ideas; I don’t sit and write them down. I have the idea, get the tools, and start making and measuring. I don’t really design or draw it up – if I want to make it, I start working on it and getting it together. Whether it’s neon or boats or furnishing projects.

Fundamentally, the craft of neon hasn’t changed at all. I’m doing the exact same style and types of bends that they’ve been doing for 100 years. There’s no good way to improve upon it. The only real advancement has been with the transformers and power supply side of things. The neon tube manufactured today is essentially the same tube that they used 100 years ago. George Claude designed it and 100 years later it’s still the standard. If you watch me do it, it’s the same as watching someone 80 years ago do it. It’s a really, really cool medium and people love it. It has a magical feel to it. People see it done and they still think it’s magic. And some people may follow through and try to learn it, but for most it’s pretty difficult.

You know some people say that neon is wicked evil and they will find any way to outlaw neon in inner-city and downtown environments. They think it’s cheap and sleazy, and it’s true that there’s cheap neon work that’s tacky and terrible. But really well-made neon is incomparable and can’t be beat for splash and eye-grabbing advertisement. Some of my local pieces are the outdoor Eternity Now sign and the Panther Coffee sign – everybody loves the Panther Coffee sign. I did the sign in Wynwood, the original one.

I’ve had commercial stuff in different TV shows. A Bruce Willis movie, “Mercury Rising,” had one of my neon pieces, and another was in the movie “Something About Mary.” So yeah, I’ve been around; for most of my wholesale work, I did thousands and thousands of neon lights that are scattered across the planet. I’ve shipped stuff all over the world. I’m sure a lot it will still be around when I’m not. Neon is forever, so they say.

It’s pretty cool that there’s so much neon in Miami. Miami has been good about that, the inspiration. I take inspiration from pieces here and decide how I want to make my work by adding creativity and thought to make it new.

Before coming to South Florida, I was in Texas for a decade and I loved the water down there, too. When I first came and saw the crystal clear waters of South Florida, I decided that I wanted to be a boat bum in the Florida Keys. So, the water is what drew me here. I like the outdoors here, and playing with boats. I feel lucky to be doing this in the Florida Keys, but neon is still a Miami thing, and that’s where the work and business are. Miami is where the action is.

My husband, Stewart Stewart and I, Dena Stewart, landed at MIA in November of 1986 for a two-week vacation on the beach. The South Florida Art Center was new on Lincoln Road and as artists, Stewart and I were enticed by the opportunities we were offered – a 1,000 sq. ft. storefront studio/gallery space for $100 a month. Two months later, in January 1987, we left New York and became Miamians. We were the first out-of-state artists to benefit from the grant awarded to the SFAC.

During the 33 years I have lived in Miami Beach, I have served and promoted the greater Miami community as an activist, serving on Commission-appointed committees and as a presenter of cultural events.
In 1990, Stewart and I founded Deco Echo Artists’ Delegation (non-profit organization) to raise awareness of the culture on the Beach. Now d/b/a Center for Folk and Community Art, we use our original nationally recognized outreach program “Telling Stories Through Visuals” to address social issues by combining writing and illustrating activities for intervention, prevention and education.

In 2001, I was recognized as a “Woman Worth Knowing” by the Miami Beach Commission on the Status of Women. I served on the board of the first Miami Beach Women’s Conference, and was recognized by Miami County and Miami Beach with Proclamations for my community involvement. In 2010, Stewart and I created, and for the past ten years have been producing, an online video show called “Alive on South Beach” (for Syndicated News Network). We go behind the scenes at events to talk with the wonderful people, celebrities, visitors, and locals, who make Miami, MIAMI.

Stewart and I gave up our upper East Side high rise apartment in Manhattan to make Miami Beach our home. I have never even considered leaving Miami. We love it here. When we travel, our video show Alive on South Beach goes on the road with us, and Miami is always promoted.

What makes Miami, Miami? A picture – in my case, Alive on South Beach videos show what makes Miami, Miami! The multi-national congeniality of the community, the many art and cultural venues, the sand, sun and palm trees, and the quirky people, all together give Miami a flavor unlike any other.

Having lived and worked in Miami Beach for 33 years, I have seen the evolution of Miami, the development, gentrification, ups and downs of the social and cultural scenes, hurricanes, and gorgeous weather. I trust the future will be as exciting as its past.

Our mother and father fell in love with Miami while on their honeymoon on September 13th, 1948. Their first night at the Ritz Plaza Hotel was spent in the lobby due to a hurricane coming on shore that night. Hurricanes were not named back then. Despite this “stormy start,” they moved from Brooklyn, New York, in 1949. They rode on the Florida East Coast Railway and arrived at the railway station near the Miami-Dade County Courthouse.

Our mother, Anna Agnello Perini, was a registered nurse and graduated from the Cadet Nurse Corps. She attended Long Island School of Nursing and graduated just as World War II ended. When Mom and Dad moved to Miami, Mom began working at Victoria Hospital, Jackson Memorial Hospital and Baptist Hospital until she took 10 years off to be a full-time mom. When she returned to nursing 10 years later she found her passion for pediatric nursing at Variety Children’s Hospital where she worked until her retirement. Mom loved pediatric nursing and it showed, so much so that both her daughters and two granddaughters became pediatric nurses and still carry on her legacy at Nicklaus Children’s Hospital (formerly Variety Children’s Hospital).

Our father, Anthony Perini, a World War II Navy veteran, worked at the Miami International Airport maintenance facility with National Airlines while he studied mechanical engineering. He then worked at Anchor Boat Supply near the Miami River. My parents were indeed part of the Greatest Generation.

In 1953, Rosanne was born at Mercy Hospital, followed by Roy in 1955 and Regina in 1957. We grew up appreciating the simple things in life. We have fond memories of going to Royal Castle for birch beer, Breeding’s for milkshakes, Burdines to see Santa Claus, Crandon Park for the zoo and train rides, and weekend picnics at Haulover Beach. We’ll never forget swimming lessons at Venetian Pool in ice-cold water!

In 1964 our parents put a $50 down payment on a new house in a brand new community called Westchester. We were one of the first houses on the block. The kitchen was state of the art for the time. We had a GE electric stove that was featured in the 1964 New York World’s Fair.

Summers were great and always filled with something to do outdoors. Central air conditioning had not become a household staple yet, so outdoors was the best! We took summer school just for the fun of it. Often we would walk to Bird Bowl or the skating rink next door. Working up an appetite, we then walked across the street to Frankie’s Pizza. On special weekend nights we piled into our station wagon wearing our pajamas and Mom and Dad would take us to the Tropicaire Drive-in Theatre on Bird Road. It was a great way to see “The Music Man” and “Mary Poppins.” In the daytime on weekends, the Tropicaire Drive-in became the Tropicaire Flea Market where you could always find great deals!

We were always excited when our cousins and family from New York would visit. We would spend weekends at the Castaways on Miami Beach, go to Wolfie’s for dessert or just walk down Lincoln Road.

Now, four generations later, we have truly settled in Miami. While we continue to carry on traditions from when our parents first moved down, new traditions have been established as well. We celebrated Dad’s 96th birthday at home with a family reunion of cousins coming in from coast to coast. Dad continues to be the patriarch of the family and enjoys our reminiscing and traditions. Though our hometown of Miami seems unrecognizable at times, the memories remain crystal clear. We are thankful and grateful for each and every one. We have truly been blessed.

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