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South Beach Journalist Declared Crazy

Published on May 2016 | Categories: Types, Articles & News Stories | Downloads: 6 | Comments: 0

Journalist decides not to sue the city and city officials for slander.




Author in hiding at undisclosed location


A Satire Based on Imaginary Situations
by David Arthur Walters September 5, 2013 MIAMI BEACH Readers of my article „South Beach Journalist Declared Crazy” have asked why I have not sued former City Manager Jorge Gonzalez and the City of Miami Beach for slander. After all, one of them said, insanity is a loathsome disease, and to be falsely declared insane by a public official is so injurious to the reputation that damages do not have to be proved, and an award of at least $10 million is likely since no jurors could be found that have much sympathy with public officials at that time. I cannot afford an attorney, but I did consult with a neighbor, a Russian Jewish American Cuban paralegal well versed in the law. First of all, she said, city officials have an absolute privilege—
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meaning they are protected from liability for lying about people no matter how malicious those lies may be—for declaring insane anyone who refuses to believe that their government is the most perfect of all possible governments. The Soviet psychiatrists diagnosed such skepticism as “sluggish schizophrenia,” she said, following the teachings of Andrei Snezhnevsky of the Moscow School of Psychiatry, and the notion was introduced into the United States by imprisoned Jewish dissidents and the Russian gangsters who ran the gulags, some of whom immigrated to Brighton Beach, and since then have a liking for any city with the word “Beach” in it. Some of them relocated to Miami Beach, she claimed, where family members took up legitimate professions such as politics, law, medicine, dentistry and psychiatry. They are good people, she said, and are too busy making a living and caring for families to know what is going on behind the sunny scenes, and are innocent of any wrongdoing. I believed her because „Doc,‟ my late friend who lived in Sunny Isles Beach, was an American dark mission hero, assisted in training troops against terrorism, worked for a police department, and had a brother on a police force up north. His mother married a member of the Lansky family yet none of them were involved in illicit activities. Some of the secretive South Florida leaders include a mysterious magnate, affectionately called by his feminine nickname, “Yael,” who lives incognito on Fischer Island, literally runs Miami Beach with the Cubans. They aligned themselves with influential Cuban Hebrews committed to assisting Cuban émigrés with the overthrow of the Castro regime and the reclamation of gambling and other lucrative industries in Cuba. They are loosely associated in a group called, roughly translated from the Spanish, “The Batista Boys.” She said she is writing a book about the subject, which she hopes the publisher of Sins of South Beach will have published in four languages: English, Spanish, Hebrew, and Russian. As for me, she said, scarcely anyone would have known about the slander about me if I had not published it myself, with a view to exposing the slanderers as fools, for I am one of the few and perhaps the only sane person who lives in South Beach, which in itself would make me virtually insane. In any case, I could not sue myself for libel per se without risking being committed to a mental hospital. I also consulted with a city attorney, known as “Barbie” in blogging circles, where he serves the city as its social media director and diagnoses its critics as demented, delusional, psychotic, and the like. His diagnoses in blogs and in email, she said, have made people very angry, attracting attention Yael, which he does not appreciate. Barbie said he could not provide me with legal advice because I had criticized him for calling me insane and had complained to state officials that he was practicing psychiatry without a license. He did say that declaring skeptics and critics insane was entirely within the scope of official duties, and there was nothing that could be done about it because officials enjoy the immunity of
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kings in the event of a misdiagnosis, which was highly unlikely in these parts. He said that the only way I could make a legitimate complaint is if he approved of it in advance. I have decided therefore to drop the matter, and to do nothing further about more recent misdiagnoses provided nobody else does anything first. The Taoists say that sometimes everything can get done by doing nothing. Of course that is difficult to do, as I have pointed out in my essay, „Doing Nothing on Sunday‟. ##

South Beach Journalist Declared Crazy
by David Arthur Walters Friday, Mar. 17, 2006 at 11:15 http://miami.indymedia.org/news/2006/03/3975.php NEWS LINK Independent journalists interested in public safety in South Beach must be crazy and should be ignored March 13, 2006 South Beach The reader may not be surprised to hear that a confidential source has revealed that a highly placed Miami Beach official, in response to an independent journalist’s expressions of his constitutional interest in the public welfare, has declared him, namely me, to be "crazy." Nor may the reader be astonished to learn that I, in turn, am seeking an attorney to sue the city and its official agent for slander. She will have to take the case on contingency, for my novel-news-writing schedule precludes me from taking my case. She will have to take the case as a matter of principle, for only a dollar and court costs might be won for my real damages, which have thus far been less than a dollar because I have nothing to lose except my honor, and honor is not worth much in Miami. I think the case might be won by a competent attorney: she would have to overcome the argument that to falsely declare anyone crazy around here is not slander, for the high incidence of craziness in this locale is such that crazy people fit right in here, therefore to call them crazy is not to say they are unfit for society. That is, if they were unfit, they would not be everywhere. Still, my reputation would be tarnished in the Midwest. In any case, the allegation of my craziness is false: I happen to know that I
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am one of the few people in hurricane country whose brains have not been thoroughly scrambled. That is why I fail to get other people's jokes, and why I am the only one who laughs at my own. My confidential source - whose name I cannot reveal because I cannot remember names and dates although I have an almost perfect memory of conversations - thinks the Hole in the park, in which my friend nearly broke her leg, has been filled because an official worried that some crazy editor might call attention to it now that my expose of the Blind Spot where a man drowned the other day has gotten some press attention. And who knows what might happen at the Crawl Space? Now one might wonder, even in South Beach, why would a man interested in the public welfare be called "crazy" at City Hall? What is a drowning or two or three or four or more or a few broken legs or a number of disturbed homeless people in the high-flying real-estate scheme of things? Who cares about admittedly rather minor incidents, small particulars? Anyone interested in their personal welfare should have a positive mental attitude and just ignore such dirty details instead of waxing eloquently on them. But those details, including the fact that I am considered crazy for considering them, are in my opinion significant signs of what is really going on. The truth of the matter is this, that universals are found in the particulars, and those particulars often belie the Big Picture presented to the public at large. My unnamed source said he thought my Hole had been filled because my Blind Spot had gotten some media attention. He offered to send me a copy of an official memorandum, ordering lifeguards not to talk to the press. I proceeded to the beach at once, found myself a lifeguard, mentioned that I read the letter about the valiant effort to save the drowning man, and wondered if he had received a copy of the order not to talk to the press. "That's standard protocol," said the handsome young man. "Everything is supposed to go through a public affairs liaison." "Yeah, I realize that. The public spokespersons have their own little broadcasting planet, and sometimes don't seem to want people to know what's going on in this world. Nobody listens to me because I don't remember names and I listen to gossip, so the media says my reports are too incredible to publish. By the way, I wonder when the lifeguard stands blown down by the hurricanes are going to be replaced by the city. They look like outhouses. I understand they are full of crap and condoms in the morning when you guys show up." "The city didn’t show up so we built the temporary stations."
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"What? You had to build your own stations?" "We got some police platforms used at fairs and used some scrap wood on the beach to put walls on them. The city finally put doors and roofs on them, after clean-up teams were called in several times and someone threatened to report the unsanitary conditions to OSHA. So now the doors are locked. We can build good stations too - we built the nice one, Number 72." "Number 72?" "They are numbered by streets. The lifeguard stand at Seventy Second Street." "Oh. But why haven't these temporary ones been replaced?" "We have trouble getting things from the city, especially with the current city manager. They think we are sort of prima donnas. But someone's head is going to roll about these stands. A reality TV show is being filmed, and these stands don't look good." "Well, they won't have to hire beautiful extras," I remarked, gazing over the bodies tanning all around - I wondered later where the gorgeous female lifeguards worked, as I usually see muscular white males on South Beach. "So what's with this city manager? I can't get a peep out of him, I guess because I am not an official spokesperson." "He's one of those one-hundred-grand guys with a degree who doesn't know how to actually do the things he manages, like saving lives from drowning, fires, crime.... Why should he care? He'll just go on to another job." "Yes, I've seen that in cities where city managers are not elected because they are supposed to bring professionalism to government. They're not elected, but they do the bidding of the politicians, and they take the credit when things go right, seldom take the rap when things go wrong, put the job on their resume, go on to another city or into consulting or something." The lifeguard was silent on that note, so I asked, "What about the blind spot at the Lincoln Road beach, where the man drowned in broad daylight on New Years Eve? When will a stand go up there?" "We've been warning officials about that spot for years. Maybe a stand will be put up now that someone has drowned. If you look into it, you'll find that several stands are the result of drownings. Like Number 29 - that case has
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gone up to the Supreme Court. We do our best to get stands, protect the public." "You guys are union?" "Yes, those who want to can join C.W.A., Communications Workers of America." "Communications. That's kind of ironic, since lifeguards aren't supposed to talk to the press. Are you telling me that your union has to fight against the city for the public safety?" "You might say that." - he was reluctant to affirm the proposition behind that question. "You're under the Fire Department now?" "Yes." "Is that better?" "Yes. We have more discipline, like the military, but we have more latitude in some areas. Some lifeguards want to become firemen because they have more opportunities, and some fireman want to become lifeguards." "Maybe being out here on the beach is more glamorous," I suggested. "But I suppose the lifeguards have their own spirit, stand independent from firemen." "We have our thing. That includes saving the lives of firemen who try to save people who are drowning. Sometimes we've had to pull them out of the water, puking, and save the victims they were trying to rescue." "How much does one of these lifeguard stands cost, by the way? Someone said one hundred and thirty grand, but that seems to be way high. I could build a house for that." "Not really. You can build a stand for maybe thirteen grand, but you need two guys on each stand at a minimum, say, of nineteen dollars per hour, so you could run a payroll with benefits of one hundred grand, and you need support people too. It’s not cheap, but the city should take care of the beach, Miami depends on it.” “You can say that again. I wrote an article recently about the n ymph I on
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the beach, and why I like Miami Beach – it’s the beach, stupid. The Magic City gets its magic from the beach. Hey, I really appreciate the conversation," I concluded. "My name is David Arthur Walters." "Don't mention my name," he said. "Anything I said could be found in the public record, but I am not supposed to talk to the press." "I can't remember names, and that's the truth. It's a weakness of mine."

BLIND SPOT http://authorsden.com/visit/viewshortstory.asp?id=19219 THE HOLE http://authorsden.com/visit/viewshortstory.asp?id=17446 CRAWL SPACE http://authorsden.com/visit/viewshortstory.asp?id=17483 THE MIAMI BEACH NYMPH http://authorsden.com/visit/viewshortstory.asp?id=16968

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