1639-40 Politics SUN MAR 13 1994 ED: FINAL
SECTION: TROPIC PAGE: 2 LENGTH: 18 . 31" MEDIUM
ILLUST:
SOURCE: BILL ROSE Tropic Editor
DATELINE :
MEMO:
THE GADFLY
In the late 1970s, I was dispatched to a Miami Beach City Commission
meeting to spell a sick reporter.
I wandered into City Hall, took a seat and was immediately bewildered.
These guys were ignoring the agenda, talking about stuff I didn' t understand,
wolfing down deli sandwiches and soft drinks and laughing and whispering among
themselves as citizens tried to address them from the podium.
As I struggled to make sense of it, an old man in bifocals fairly
strutted into the chamber and took a seat near the front.
Instantly, the place grew quieter. Commissioners stopped talking and
looked at the old man, who was examining some document. People caught his eye
and nodded to him. When he rose to speak, everyone listened.
He was there for a minor item -- something about some obscure bond
issue. Yet, I sensed electricity in that room. And respect -- the sort of
respect you might have for a rattlesnake.
Another reporter kindly cued me in: "That ' s Harry Plissner. He ' s a
gadfly. "
Not just a gadfly, but the Beach' s premier gadfly. A wealthy man,
Plissner could have lived out his retirement on the golf course. Instead, he
made it his business to check on local government. A tireless fighter, he
would not quit until he had done everything possible to correct a perceived
wrong. Before he died in 1991 at the age of 90, he had changed the face of
Miami Beach.
In the early 1950s, he went to court and stopped oceanfront hotels from
building past the high water mark and accelerating beach erosion. He got
doctors put on Beach rescue vehicles. He almost got voters to call for a
buyout of FPL' s local transmission lines and creation of a Beach utility. He
also championed causes that were more divisive. Angered by a politician' s
suggestion that elderly housing complexes be shielded from tourists, he
mobilized elderly pickets to carry signs and shout "TOURISTS GO HOME! "
I have always been fascinated by gadflies, those well- meaning, rabble-
rousing, obsessive loners who take to the streets with petitions, the courts
with lawsuits and City Hall with barbed speeches. People like Gabrielle Nash-
Tessler, who once snapped at Beach commissioners because they were eating
sandwiches and gabbing, paying no mind to what she was saying. "We have to put
you on the agenda, but we really don't have to listen, " replied Mayor Malcolm
Fromberg.
Politicians treat them like pests, but I have always seen gadflies as
freelance advocates for a citizenry that is too lazy or too busy or too
uninformed to pay attention to what government is doing. By sheer persistence
and lung power, they champion the cause of people who cannot take time off
from work to speak for themselves .
Oh, they can be irritating, yes . And misguided. And just plain
exhibitionists. Like the guy who liked his voice so much he insisted on
reading his criticism of a bond issue in verse. And the old fellow at one
City Hall who claimed to head an organization that represented thousands of
people. I have yet to meet any other member of his "organization. "
The trouble is, sometimes they get frustrated and go too far. Like
eccentric Harry Powell, (Give ' em Hell Harry, Page 6 ) . Regardless of whether
his cause was right or wrong, I have to admire Powell ' s single-minded
dedication. Too few of us have the guts or the will to stick with a fight
against a bigger, richer, more powerful foe. Even if we know we ' re right.
Tragically, he finally stepped over the edge, holing up in a construction
trailer armed with blasting caps and gasoline and fertilizer. (You' ll have to
read the story. )
Fortunately, rare is the gadfly who resorts to such extreme measures.
The best ones do something politicians -- and even the press -- sometimes have
trouble doing. They focus intently on one issue and expose it layer by layer
until, even if we disagree with them, we understand the issue very clearly.
I have often wondered why they do it. Ego? Power? Time on their hands?
Some incurable mental condition? What?
I once asked Harry Plissner. "I hate big shots and I love to expose
them, " he said. "Especially when they take advantage of little people. "
Then he touched me on the shoulder and said something I 've heard from
gadflies from Mississippi to Florida: "And ya know, it can really be fun. "
Too bad Harry Powell didn't remember that.
ADDED TERMS:
END OF DOCUMENT.