I was pulling out of the City Hall garage into Simonton Street this week and there it was: deja vu all over again.
There were construction barricades in the street and a line of asphalt was torn up leading to the manhole. Just like the one in 1987 that inspired one of my early Key West Citizen humor pieces, written on a Commodore 64 computer (and then hastily rewritten post midnight, after an electrical outage erased the original piece in its entirety.)
Then it was Hycon and Commodore. Today it is Lanzo and iMac. I am grateful for the many predictions which did not come true. The piece was titled, "Key West Big Brother, circa 1990".
I had no idea I had stepped into a time warp when I crossed a seam in the pavement of Simonton Street left by Hycon's sewer repairs.
I was so wrapped up in personal concerns— the US budget deficit, foreign relations, the balance of trade— that I didn't realize anything was different until I was inside the office of the Chief Code Enforcement Officer.
"You're not Peter Horton," I said, surprised.
"Of course not," the interloper replied. "How long have you been out of town? Horton went bonkers back in `87. It happened just after they passed the Noise Ordinance amendments calling for stiffer penalties and noise impact fees on lawn mowers, babies, dogs and car stereos. He and a bunch of other loonies, including the County Tax Appraiser, joined a renegade taxpayers' group and they're reportedly hiding in the Everglades, plotting a revolution.
"So far, the DNR and DEP haven't permitted us to go in and get them, but the IRS is pushing through a new ruling which will allow the Justice Department to use Agent Orange without DEP approval if the fiscal safety of the state is being threatened."
"Tell me more."
"Look, I'm with a client right now, but if you'll take a seat I'll be with you in a minute."
I hadn't noticed the slumped and forlorn figure of a man sitting alongside the Code Enforcement Chief's desk. The official returned briskly to his casework.
"Now, the expired dog license. You've been in violation on that one since Dec. 4. Let's see: After the two-week grace period, at $10 a day, that comes to $860, plus there's a 10 percent interest penalty if you don't pay the total by next Friday. Is that dog a male or a female?"
"Female," the man confessed feebly.
"Aha! I don't see any record of the payment of your Puppy Impact Fee."
"I didn't know there was one," flinched the man.
"Ignorance of the law is no excuse. Surely you read the papers! When the Federal Animals Humanity Act was passed in 1988, it required all municipal animal pounds to provide the unfortunate strays with air-conditioning, three hot meals a day, heated swimming facilities, a television in every run and a defense attorney for every mutt— I mean, for every inmate.
"With the cost of water, electricity and appeals, the city's expenses have soared to $6,250 for every unwanted puppy, and we are getting more of them than ever. Do you think the City can pull this kind of money out of a hat? This is 1990— we still have the sewer problem to deal with! The natural solution was to turn the cost back to the user. So we passed the Puppy Impact Fee Ordinance."
"But my dog is spayed!"
"Got proof? You'll nee to bring in the dog, the veterinarian's certification, proof of payment, and two eight by ten glossies of the procedure."
"But my dog was spayed back in 1987, and the vet retired to the Virgin Islands!"
"Tell it to the Dog Board," the official scoffed. Then he had a second thought.
"Hmmm . . . you may be able to satisfy them with a biopsy," he muttered. "Check with room 1278 at the La Concha Annex about that. Oh, and don't forget to stop in with the folks at 1098 about the trimming of that buttonwood."
"Boxwood. Japanese boxwood, not the protected native buttonwood."
"That remains to be proven to the Endangered Natives Board. Better take some glossies of that, too. Before and after shots, if possible. If you can afford it, a state-certified biologist is your best investment. Your current total of fines to date is $11,049, and remember, the interest clock is ticking at 10 percent. Have a nice day."
The City's client groaned to his feet and dragged himself out of the room, slumping so badly that he banged his knuckles on the doorstop.
The official smiled at me. "The trouble with my predecessor Peter Horton was that he didn't enjoy the job the way I do. To his credit, I must admit he left this office with one last piece of sound advice: `To save the City trouble,' he said, `why not just publish a monthly form in the newspaper, with a checklist of all the common violations. Each citizen could cut it out, cite himself, and turn himself in once a month.'
"Some thought he was being facetious, but it has worked real well ever since the penalty for noncompliance was raised to $300. Your form, please?"
Twenty minutes later I walked out. I was in a daze.
"Records show you've never paid your reporter's license fee or your investigative tag or photographer's endorsement," he yelled after me. "If you think you're going to get away with printing something about me, you're mistaken," I heard him shouting in the distance.
"No paper in town will print a single word of yours without proof of payment of your First Amendment Right Impact Fee!"
I stepped out into Simonton Street. It didn't seem like 1990— the temporary patches left by Hycon were still there. I strode across the line in the pavement where the time warp had occurred, and the last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital was Peter Horton's car coming straight at me.
In the 14 years since this piece was written, Peter Horton has gone on to be Assistant City Manager, Interim City Manager, Assistant County Manager, and now Airport Manager. His old Code Enforcement slot is now occupied by his former deputy Gary Addelman.
Tax Appraiser Ervin Higgs didn't lead a tax revolt but he did get the legislature to put a 3%-per-year cap on homestead property tax increases.
The Republicans currently hold the Everglades and most of the world's supply of Agent Orange, but this is subject to change at election time, if the Democrats— the militant arm of the IRS— wins the presidency.
The City is still working on sewer replacement and on the Noise Ordinance. Jimmy Weekley is still on the Commission. The City hasn't annexed the La Concha Hotel yet, but it might expand its offices into the Republic Bank building.