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13 April, 2026 2 2 Comments

What Happens When We Stop The Presses

April 13, 2026 By Jeff Perlman 2 Comments

April 9 was Local News Day in America.

As a former journalist, I still subscribe to newspapers, blogs and social media feeds that cover the state of the industry. They talk about the work. They typically don’t celebrate, because frankly there’s not much to celebrate.

Newspapers have been hit hard — real hard — by the Internet. Artificial intelligence poses yet another threat, siphoning off the web traffic that already-dwindling ad revenue depends on. These trends lead to cuts in local newsrooms, and when that happens, we lose something very important: our ability to be informed, to connect, to understand the issues and to make good decisions.

Good journalism holds those in power accountable. Strong local reporting builds community pride, because when you tell the stories of people trying to make a difference, it serves as an impetus for involvement and connection. That ultimately makes for closer, more resilient communities.

At its best, local news serves as the equivalent of the office water cooler — a place we could go to learn what was happening at City Hall, at our schools, in sports, business and culture. It was one of those coveted “third places” where a community could gather around shared information and actually talk to each other. What a concept.

Much of it has gone away. And we are left sorting through the slop served to us by billionaire gatekeepers. Yuck.

Give me the days when the local publisher and editor lived down the street, showed up at Chamber meetings, had breakfast at The Green Owl and sat through long city commission meetings so they could soak up the flavor of the community they were part of.

I think of how much people will miss about their communities if there is nobody there to tell its stories. Consider our own Delray Beach. All the wonderful characters who came here and wrote chapters.

I think about the people who shaped this town as I travel its streets.

When I pull across Lake Ida Road and drive by the Achievement Center for Children & Families I think of its founder Nancy Hurd. Barely 5 feet tall, Nancy built an early childhood learning center that started in a church and grew into a national model. Nancy was a force of nature. I adored her and I relished telling her story as a reporter for the Delray Times in the 80s and 90s.

The center did such a great job that Governor Lawton Chiles came to visit and see for himself. “Walkin Lawton” they called him. He reminded me of Abe Lincoln. The visit was tightly choreographed. But Nancy made sure I had an exclusive with the Governor. We weren’t the biggest paper in the market, but she appreciated our desire to tell her story with care and depth. She took care of me and thousands of others.

As I head east to Swinton and south to my office, I drive by St. Paul’s Episcopal Church where my friend Father Chip Stokes used to serve before becoming the Bishop of New Jersey. Chip was an early leader in race relations, a calm port in any storm. Chip is a quiet leader who cares deeply for people, especially those new to America who came here seeking opportunity.

Newspapers covered his ministry. And we were better off for knowing about his work.

If not for local newspapers, we would not have known about all the volunteers who worked for our police department. Back in the day, we read about all the World War II veterans who retired to Florida and decided to volunteer their time as Citizens on Patrol.

I remember reading and writing stories about Leo Erbstein. Major Erbstein as he was known, with his handlebar mustache, sharp sense of humor, and deep commitment to helping our police department was a larger-than-life character. Unforgettable.

A few weeks ago, I went to see my friend Shelly Pittleman hold court at the Weisman Community Center in West Delray.

On Fridays, Shelly packs the room with seniors for a program he calls “Positively Pittleman.” He reads news stories, riffs on current events and invites guest speakers to share their stories.

It was wonderful to witness. Just pure magic. And I thought, this should be in a community newspaper. Everyone should know about this program and about Shelly who spends just about every waking moment volunteering in the community.

Yes, we miss a lot when we lose our storytellers.

Yeah, yeah, I know that sometimes journalists get it wrong. As a former elected official, I used to get angry when reporters missed the mark. But they are not the enemy of the people, in many ways, community journalism was the glue that bound us together.

There are many reasons why we feel estranged from one another: divisive politics, the dangerous algorithms that keep us angry, too much time in front of screens. All of it contributes to the toxicity we experience. But I believe the diminishment of local journalism is also a reason for our estrangement — maybe more than we realize.

Strong local news builds strong communities. It’s just that simple.

But local journalism costs money, and the advertising and subscription model isn’t cutting it anymore. I think part of the answer is philanthropy. That’s not easy either, because local news — while critically important — is competing against an ocean of good causes.

Still, I maintain we are at risk when stories go untold, when local officials look around and see that nobody is watching, and when issues go uncovered.

We are at a critical juncture in Palm Beach County. A stunning amount of news is happening all at once. West Palm Beach is becoming a major city before our eyes. Financial titans are pouring into the county to set up offices. Real estate is changing rapidly. Technology is transforming our lives and our society, and while that’s exciting, there are troubling things to be concerned about.

Right now, much of it is going unreported or underreported. That puts us in peril.

Journalism may not solve these issues, but it shines a light on them. And when that light dims — or is doused — we all lose.

Loss of an artistic giant

We got the new sad news over the weekend that Lou Tyrell, a titan of local theater passed away suddenly and unexpectedly.

Lou was the founding director of Theatre Lab on the campus of FAU and served as an Eminent Scholar in the Arts at the university.

Lou was well known and highly regarded in the local arts community. Theatre Lab is a treasure. If you haven’t attended, I highly recommend that you do.

In honor of Lou’s life and contributions, Theatre Lab is dedicating the 2026 Owl New Play Festival, which opened this weekend, to his memory.

I was recently back in touch with Lou. I got to know him when he was involved in Delray’s Arts Garage some years ago.

We reconnected when I started writing plays. He was a kind man, generous with his time and knowledge.

He will be deeply missed by all those who knew him. But his influence will last.

6 April, 2026 23 23 Comments

We May Never Pass This Way Again

April 6, 2026 By Jeff Perlman 23 Comments

When I heard that Dash Crofts had died at 85, I was reminded of something unsettling.

The music stays. We don’t.

Crofts, half of Seals & Crofts, was part of the soundtrack of my youth—though I hadn’t thought about him, or them, in years. Their songs weren’t always front and center. They lived in the background, floating through long summer days, woven into moments that felt ordinary at the time but permanent in memory.

“Summer Breeze makes me feel fine, blowin’ through the jasmine in my mind.”

When I hear that lyric now, I’m back at a pool club in Stony Brook, New York. Endless summers. Families spending entire days together. Kids chasing tennis balls across hot pavement. The steady click-clack of mahjong tiles. A line at the snack bar for cold Sprites. Music pouring out of oversized boom boxes, filling the air without asking for attention.

No one checked a phone. There was nowhere else to be.

“See the smile awaitin’ in the kitchen

Food cookin’ and the plates for two

Feel the arms that reach out to hold me

In the evening, when the day is through.”

The song reaches across decades to a version of home that no longer exists except in fragments. A feeling more than a place.

For me, Seals & Crofts were never just songs. They were markers—quiet signposts along the road.

One of them was “Fair Share,” which I first heard in the movie “One on One.” I was 13 when it came out. I took a date to see it at the Smith Haven Mall. We sat side by side, eyes locked on the screen, both too afraid to look at each other.

For two hours, we stared straight ahead afraid to look at each other.

My eyes never moved. Neither did hers.

When the credits rolled, we walked out the same way we walked in.

One of many missed moments that were still to come.

And yet, those were the days.

Another Seals & Crofts song, “We May Never Pass This Way Again,” carries a different memory. I was in my dorm at college, standing in the hallway of Hart Hall, watching three young women singing at the top of their lungs into hairbrushes, using them as microphones. Behind them, a window framed Lake Ontario in all its quiet magnitude.

They were graduating, I was staying. Life was just beginning for all of us. The road ahead felt long and wide and full of possibility.

I married one of those women.

It didn’t last. But that’s not the point. I have many fond memories and that was one of them.

We believed we’d always find our way back—to Oswego, to that hallway, to that version of ourselves.

We didn’t.

We visited once or twice. But not in the way we imagined. Not with the same feeling. And then, somehow, 40 years passed.

And so it goes.

Life fills up. Kids, jobs, deadlines, obligations. The days become structured, then crowded, then gone.

“We may never pass this way again” isn’t just a lyric. It’s a truth that reveals itself slowly, then all at once.

I’m reminded of a line from one of my favorite shows “The Office.”

“I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.”

We never do know. Not really.

The moments that feel small—the ones we barely notice—are the ones that stay. The background music. The laughter from across a room. The way the light came through a window at a particular time of day.

Last week, Paul McCartney released a new song at 83. It’s called “Days We Left Behind.” It’s beautiful, classic Paul. And in it, he sings:

“Nothing ever stays…

No one can erase the days we left behind.”

Nothing lasts forever.

Not summers.

Not songs drifting from a boom box.

Not the people we thought we’d always be.

But the memories—somehow—do.

30 March, 2026 4 4 Comments

To Theatre With Love

March 30, 2026 By Jeff Perlman 4 Comments

Some theatres are grand, some are bland, but all are magical.

“The arts have a higher purpose. They are here to enrich our lives, expand our vision, enlighten our world, challenge our reality, enable our core beliefs, improve our humanity, activate our imaginations, and to bring into the world that which could not exist but through this vision, talent and invention of artists.” – David Rainey, founder Studio for Actors Houston.

The theater was standing room only.

Every seat taken, every inch of space claimed by people who had driven over, walked over, struggled to find parking — and made their way inside to watch something that had no algorithm behind it, no streaming subscription, no skip button. Just people, on a stage, doing the thing humans have been doing for thousands of years: telling stories to other humans in the same room.

This was Sea Shorts, produced by the Lauderdale by the Sea Players — a community theater festival that just wrapped its tenth year.

Two weekends, six performances, nine short plays, and a company made up entirely of volunteers.

Every actor, every director, every person who schlepped a set piece or adjusted a light or handed out a program: doing it for love. Nothing more, nothing less. Love. That’s the secret sauce. There is nothing that comes close.

I had two plays in the festival this year — “Love After Love” and “Time Table.”

Being selected was an honor. I was genuinely moved by this production. Not because of anything I wrote. Because of what happened in that room.

What Community Theater Actually Is

There’s a tendency to use the phrase “community theater” with a slight wince — a polite softening, as if to say: “it’s not the real thing but isn’t it sweet”. That instinct is completely wrong, and Sea Shorts dismantled it in about ninety minutes flat.

The actors were charming, funny, and talented. The directors made real choices. The audience laughed in exactly the right places, went quiet in exactly the right places, and gave the kind of sustained, full-room applause that you can’t manufacture. That’s art and passion meeting community. It’s electric.

This is what theater was always meant to be — not a luxury for those who can afford the ticket, but a gathering place for everyone.

Why It Matters More Right Now

We are living through a strange and fractured moment. Economic anxiety is real. Social trust is fraying. We spend enormous portions of our lives staring at screens that are specifically engineered to outrage us, isolate us, and keep us scrolling. In that context, the act of sitting in a room full of strangers — laughing together, tearing up together, startled by the same moment — is not a small thing. It feeds your soul.

Theater doesn’t let you look away. It doesn’t offer a comment section. It puts a human being a few feet in front of you and asks you to pay attention, to feel something, to be moved. And here’s what I watched happen at Sea Shorts: an audience of people sat together and shared the same emotional experience. For those ninety minutes or so, they were one room. One community. That’s magic by the sea.

The People Who Make It Happen

I want to say something about the volunteers who produce festivals like Sea Shorts, because they don’t always get their due. These are people who hold day jobs, manage families, navigate the ordinary chaos of adult life — and then show up to rehearsals on weeknights, haul set pieces on weekends, and pour themselves into the work because they believe in it.

That’s a serious commitment.

That’s love.

And the result is not some lesser version of theater. It is theater, in the fullest and most honest sense of the word.

The Lauderdale by the Sea Players have been building something real for a decade. Sea Shorts in its tenth year isn’t a happy accident — it’s the result of hundreds of people, over hundreds of rehearsal hours, choosing to invest in something that belongs to their community.

What This Does for a Playwright

I came to Sea Shorts as a writer. I left as a believer. It happened to me at the Delray Beach Playhouse as well. And when I travelled to Columbus, Ohio to share a story that happened here in Delray.

There is a particular kind of joy that comes from hearing a room full of people laugh at something you wrote or watching them lean forward in their seats because they want to know what happens next. It’s humbling and thrilling in equal measure. But more than that — more than any personal satisfaction — I was moved by the simple fact of the gathering itself.

That’s what theater does. It gathers us. It says: come be in this room, with these people, for this hour. Leave your phone in your pocket. Pay attention. You might feel something you haven’t felt in a while. You might look over at the stranger sitting next to you and realize you’re both crying, or both laughing, and in that moment, you are not strangers at all.

That’s the power of local theater. That’s why it matters. That’s why we need it — maybe now more than ever.

If there’s a community theater near you, go. Buy a ticket. Or find a volunteer night and show up with a willingness to work. You’ll be surprised what’s waiting for you inside that room.

Remembering

We lost two fine people recently that I wanted to remember in this space.

Sonya Costin was a close friend of our family, a fixture in Delray Beach for decades and an all around wonderful person.

She was married to her Seacrest High School sweetheart former City Commissioner Bob Costin. The duo ran Costin’s Flowers & Gifts in downtown Delray for over 45 years.

Bob and Sonya used to joke that they were downtown before downtown was cool.

How true that was.

Bob and I hit it off while serving on the Commission together and we became close to Sonya as a result. That meant dinners out (mostly Longhorn and Il Girasol) and time together during holidays. We even went to a destination wedding together in Florence, Italy and to Lake Tahoe together.

We have nothing but fond memories of the Costin’s. We lost Bob a few years back. I miss him and think of him often.

Bob and Sonya enjoyed time in their “chalet” on Lake Burton in Georgia and went all over the country in their prized Bluebird Wanderlodge.

Sonya was a teacher and a graduate of FSU. She encouraged my daughter who went into education.

Memorial contributions may be made to the Achievement Centers for Children & Families, 555 Northwest 4th Street, Delray Beach, FL 33444, visit www.AchievementCentersFL.org for more information.

Sonya will be missed by all those who knew her.

We also send our condolences to the family of Ivan Ladizinsky who passed March 12 at age 92.

Ivan served as the city Public Information Officer during my term in office. We worked on annual reports, town hall meetings, newsletters etc., during that time. He came to us after a distinguished career in TV where he nurtured the careers of Ted Koppel and Charles Osgood. He was a kind and gentle man.

We wish his wife Karen and four children solace during this difficult time.

9 March, 2026 3 3 Comments

Brain Coast Taking Shape

March 9, 2026 By Jeff Perlman 3 Comments

For about 9 years, Patrick McNamara, President and CEO of the Palm Health Foundation has been beating the drum for a concept called the “Brain Coast.”
The goal is to brand our community as an important hub for brain health, research and education.

While the concept has been around for a while it’s beginning to gain significant momentum thanks to Pat’s leadership and passion for brain health.
One of my colleagues on the Delray Beach City Commission used to say it takes a monomaniac on a mission to move big ideas forward.
You need passion. You need commitment. My friend Patrick has both—in abundance.

The Carl Angus DeSantis foundation recently invested in the effort because we like to make strategic bets on special people and big ideas.
The Brain Coast is a big idea. The vision is to harness the neuroscience firepower in our area to improve brain health, fuel research and create an ecosystem that will have global significance.

Last week, I attended the inaugural meeting of the Brain Coast Advisory Council to help sketch a path and a plan.
I’m excited and hopeful that our community can make it happen.

Years ago, as a Business Development Board member, I remember hearing BDB CEO Kelly Smallridge talk about branding our area as “Wall Street South.”
At the time, nobody really took the effort seriously. There’s nothing wrong with Palm Beach County of course, but Wall Street South? It seemed like a leap.
But today, Wall Street South is a reality with financial firms and hedge fund titans pouring into Palm Beach County.

We can envision a similar trajectory for the Brain Coast. There is already an impressive array of talent and institutions, devoted to brain health and research dong great work right here in our backyard.

The Max Planck Florida Institute, the Stiles- Nicholson Brain Institute, the Marcus Neuroscience Institute, Florida Atlantic University, UM Health, Cleveland Clinic, Scripps, the Alzheimer’s Drug Discovery Foundation and others have clustered in our community bringing cutting edge science to our county from Jupiter to Boca Raton.
I’ve had an opportunity to be involved with Max Planck, the Alzheimer’s Drug Discovery Foundation and FAU. The effort devoted to brain health is impressive. I recently toured the Stiles- Nicholson Brain Institute and was blown away by the work being done in their labs under the watchful eyes of Dr. Randy Blakely.

At the advisory council meeting last week, I got to listen to neuroscientists from Miami, the UK and elsewhere talk about the potential of the Brain Coast initiative.
Joining us via phone were Susan Magsamen, who wrote a seminal book on neuroarts, an emerging field that is already producing remarkable research on how the arts improves brain health and Dr. Harris Eyre, a researcher who has helped to build a similar ecosystem in Houston.
It’s an exciting time.

With an aging population, the time is ripe to improve brain health so we can offer help and hope to people with dementia, Parkinson’s, substance use disorders, bipolar disorder etc.
It will take a lot of work and coordination for the Brain Coast to reach its considerable potential. But leaving last week’s meeting I am bullish.
The elements are there: talent, capital, passion and commitment.
It takes a village and last week the village gathered to discuss possibilities. Magic happens when great minds collaborate.

2 March, 2026 2 2 Comments

Loyalty

March 2, 2026 By Jeff Perlman 2 Comments

I don’t admire Mitch McConnell.
In fact, if I had a list of least favorite people, he’d be on it and near the top. I’m glad he’s retiring.
And to prove I have some bipartisanship in me, there are many people in my party who should move on too. Here’s looking at you Chuck Schumer.

Public service should be lifelong, but I’m not sure that serving in elected office was meant to be a decades long affair. There’s a need for new blood and a need for senior statesman to move into mentorship roles.

This creates two happy circumstances: room for new leaders and a clear lane for people with experience to share their hard earned wisdom.
But let’s get back to Senator McConnell for a moment.

Recently, I saw a piece in the Washington Post about the race to succeed Mitch that made me feel a pang of empathy for the man. (Luckily it passed quickly and it may have been indigestion).
The story talked about a three way primary in which all the candidates are running away from McConnell and his political brand.
Mind you this is Kentucky, McConnell’s home and a state he has served (sorry I don’t have another word) since 1985. This is a Republican primary and the candidates have assessed that McConnell, a longtime party powerhouse, is toxic.

But the idea of toxicity is not why the article struck me. Instead, I thought about politics and endings, and the fact that it seems happy endings are so elusive in that line of work.
Imagine a pursuit in which the most likely end game is defeat, disgrace or disgust. Why would anyone jump into that pool?

I’ve been following politics since I was a kid.
It was discussed at my dinner table, I majored in political science in college, read books and newspaper articles on the subject and continue to follow the topic into my dotage.
The state of the field has not gotten any better during this time. In fact, in my opinion, it has gotten a lot worse.
Still, the toxicity surrounding politics doesn’t seem to dissuade people from lining up for their turn in the barrel.

In my decades of observing politics on the local, state and national level I can think of only a few examples of elected officials who left us wanting more.
Usually that means leaving before fatigue sets in. As Kenny Rogers said; “you got to know when to fold them.”
Few do.

In the Washington Post piece it was reported that one candidate ran an ad where he put a cardboard cutout of Mitch in the trash.
Yikes.
All three candidates are former McConnell interns. So much for loyalty.
I guess the old adage is correct. If you are looking for loyalty in politics buy a dog.
Still, it’s hard to find a parallel in real life—the exceptions being business and pro sports. Just ask Bills coach Sean McDermott. Or Dolphins receiver Tyreek Hill. Or a CEO who misses his numbers. Years of winning, profits and touchdowns don’t count for much in a culture that values what have you done for me lately and more important, what can you do for me right now.

Two of the three former interns once referred to the Senator as a mentor, one said McConnell changed the trajectory of his life.
Now they are not only distancing themselves but criticizing each other for allegedly being close to him.
I guess everyone has an expiration date.
Truth be told, there were people I was once close too but no longer admire or associate with. And there are people who feel the same way about me. After decades in business, journalism and now philanthropy, I can’t think of a single enemy I made in the private sector. But in politics I have a few.
I suppose it goes with the territory. I think I’ll will stick with my dogs—they don’t judge and yes they are loyal.
loyal.

23 February, 2026 9 9 Comments

Democracy Dies In Cost Cutting

February 23, 2026 By Jeff Perlman 9 Comments

I grew up believing in newspapers.

They were institutions — imperfect, sometimes infuriating, but essential. Sacred, even. You didn’t mess with them. You didn’t hollow them out. You didn’t treat them like a line item on a spreadsheet owned by a man worth $240 billion.

Recently, the Washington Post laid off roughly a third of its workforce. More than 300 people. The sports section — shuttered. The books desk — gone. The flagship podcast Post Reports — suspended. The entire Middle East bureau was eliminated. The Ukraine bureau chief was let go. A correspondent learned she’d lost her job while reporting from a war zone.

Let that sink in. A reporter covering a war — an actual war — got an email telling her she was done.

This is the Washington Post. The home of Ben Bradlee, who stared down a president and published the Pentagon Papers. The home of Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, who brought down a corrupt administration with shoe-leather reporting and the stubborn belief that the truth matters more than power. The paper whose motto — “Democracy Dies in Darkness” — used to mean something.

Now it reads like a warning label they ignored.

I spent more than 20 years in journalism. I know what a newsroom feels like when it’s humming — the ringing phones, the arguments over headlines, the adrenaline of a story breaking wide open. I also know what it feels like when the cuts come. The silence that follows. The empty desks. The people who gave everything to the craft walking out with a box and a severance check.

It never stops hurting. And it never stops mattering.

What’s happening at the Post isn’t just about one newspaper. It’s about what we’ve decided journalism is worth in this country. The answer, apparently, is not much — not when the owner has a yacht worth $500 million, a wedding that cost $50 million, and a company that just invested $75 million in a movie about the First Lady.

But he can’t find the resources to keep reporters in the Middle East.

Jeff Bezos bought the Washington Post in 2013 for $250 million. At the time, he was hailed as a savior. Here was a tech visionary who understood that great journalism needed investment, not austerity. He poured money in. The newsroom grew by 85 percent. The Post became a digital powerhouse, competitive with the New York Times for the first time in a generation.

And then something shifted.

In late 2024, Bezos killed the editorial board’s planned endorsement of Kamala Harris — an unprecedented intervention that sent 250,000 subscribers running for the exits. Former executive editor Marty Baron called it “cowardice, with democracy as its casualty.” Woodward and Bernstein issued a joint statement calling it “surprising and disappointing.” Columnists resigned. Editorial board members stepped down.

The damage was self-inflicted and staggering. And instead of course-correcting, Bezos doubled down. He installed a management team that reshaped the opinion section around libertarian ideals, drove away more talent, and alienated the very readers who had sustained the paper. He hired a publisher, Will Lewis, who didn’t even show up for the call announcing the layoffs.

Sally Quinn, widow of Ben Bradlee, put it plainly: “It just seems heartbreaking that he (Bezos) doesn’t feel the paper is important enough to bankroll.”

Meanwhile, over at the New York Times, they’re thriving — 12.8 million subscribers and growing, heading toward 15 million by 2027. Warren Buffett’s Berkshire Hathaway just announced a large stock purchase.

The Wall Street Journal is doing fine. The difference isn’t the market. It’s leadership. It’s commitment. It’s the willingness to invest in what a great newspaper can be rather than strip-mining it for what it used to be.

The Post’s reporter Emmanuel Felton, who covered race and ethnicity, said it best after he was let go: “This wasn’t a financial decision. It was an ideological one.”

And Caroline O’Donovan, the reporter who covered Amazon — Jeff Bezos’s Amazon — was among those cut. You can’t make this stuff up. Actually, you can. It would make a hell of a third act in a play about a billionaire who bought a newspaper and slowly strangled it.

Here’s what bothers me most. When Bezos bought the Post, he talked about civic responsibility. He invoked Katharine Graham. He said the paper would follow important stories “no matter the cost.” Those were beautiful words. They were also, it turns out, just words.

A man with $240 billion in personal wealth chose to gut one of the most important journalistic institutions in American history rather than sustain it. He chose to protect his relationship with political power rather than hold it accountable. He chose his business interests over the public interest.

That’s not stewardship. That’s abandonment.

The Post Guild said it right: “A newsroom cannot be hollowed out without consequences for its credibility, its reach, and its future.”

Former executive editor Marcus Brauchli added: “The Post occupies a singular place in American journalism. It needs visionary and independent stewardship that is equal to its journalism, worthy of its promise, and necessary to meet this important moment in history.”

I think about the reporters who were in the building that day. The ones who stayed up the night before finishing their stories, knowing they might be locked out of the system in the morning. The ones who got the email with the subject line that told them their role had been eliminated.

Those journalists didn’t fail. Their owner did. I know what that’s like. I stood in a newsroom when layoffs were announced my heart racing and aching at the same time. And I’ve made those announcements myself when ownership failed to figure out a sustainable path. Sometimes business goes that way. It’s awful and it’s painful, but the papers I worked for and eventually led didn’t have near the financial and technological resources of Mr. Bezos.

Jeff Bezos will be fine. He’ll fly his rockets and sail his yacht and throw lavish parties. His legacy, however, is another matter. When the history of American journalism is written, there will be a chapter about the billionaire who had the resources to save the Washington Post and chose not to. Who had the chance to be Katharine Graham and became something far less.

That chapter will not be kind.

For those of us who love journalism — who believe that a free press is not a luxury but a necessity — this is a gut punch. But it’s also a call to action. Support the reporters. Subscribe to the outlets that are still doing the work. Demand better from the people who own the institutions we depend on.

Democracy doesn’t just die in darkness. It dies in indifference. It dies when the people with the power to keep the lights on decide it’s not worth the trouble.

Don’t let them make that decision for you.

19 January, 2026 0 Comments

MLK 2026

January 19, 2026 By Jeff Perlman Leave a Comment

Every January, we quote Martin Luther King Jr., share a line or two from the “I Have a Dream” speech, and remind ourselves that progress has been made.

And it has.

The arc of American history has bent in meaningful ways because of the moral force Dr. King helped unleash. But if King were only relevant as a historical figure, a chapter in a textbook, we would not still feel the uneasy tug of his words. We feel it because much of what he warned us about, and hoped for, remains unfinished business.

King did not speak only about racial harmony in the abstract.

He spoke about systems.

He spoke about poverty, access to opportunity, fair wages, voting rights, housing, education, and the corrosive effects of fear and dehumanization. He challenged not just personal prejudice, but the structures that quietly keep inequality in place. In a time when economic anxiety, political polarization, and cultural division dominate our headlines, his insistence on justice rooted in dignity feels less like history and more like a live wire.

One of King’s most radical ideas was that nonviolence is not passive. It is active moral resistance. It demands discipline, courage, and imagination. In an era of social media outrage and instant condemnation, his model asks something harder: to confront injustice without becoming shaped by hatred, to seek transformation rather than humiliation, and to remember the humanity of even those with whom we fiercely disagree. That is not easy. It never was. But it remains one of the few paths that reliably builds lasting change instead of short term victory.

King also warned against complacency.

He spoke often about the “tranquilizing drug of gradualism,” the temptation to delay justice because the moment feels inconvenient or politically risky. Today, whether we are talking about racial equity, economic mobility, voting access, or how communities care for their most vulnerable, that warning still applies. Progress that moves too slowly for those suffering in the present is not neutral. Delay has a moral cost.

Perhaps most importantly, King believed deeply in the power of moral imagination. He asked people to envision a society that did not yet fully exist, and then to act as if it could. That kind of imagination is desperately needed now. When cynicism feels safer than hope, King reminds us that hope is not naive. It is a discipline. It is a decision to believe that people can grow, institutions can change, and the future can be better than the present.

Remembering King should not only be about honoring a dream. It should be about accepting a responsibility. His life challenges each generation to ask: Where does injustice persist in our time? What comfort am I protecting instead of confronting? How am I contributing, even quietly, to the world I claim to want?

King is relevant today not because the past repeats itself exactly, but because the moral questions remain the same.

Who counts?

Who is heard?

Who is protected?

Who is left behind?

As long as those questions are unresolved, his voice continues to echo, not as a monument, but as a call to action

12 January, 2026 2 2 Comments

Where Is The Love?

January 12, 2026 By Jeff Perlman 2 Comments

Social media is an interesting place to visit (but I wouldn’t want to live there.)

Spend five minutes on Facebook and you’ll see the full spectrum of human interaction. Spend two minutes on X and you’ll need a shower.

Recently, I went doom scrolling on Mark Zuckerberg’s creation and found myself marveling at the stunning array of opinion.

One post celebrated someone who has taken up art in her retirement with kind words of support and praise for the beautiful work being created.

Another expressed admiration for a woman who has overcome a health issue with a barrage of loving words expressing thanks and appreciation for the strength it takes to battle a disease.

But a few posts down, past the pictures of dogs, kids and great nights out at restaurants I found a post about the new Sundy Village.

In full transparency, I haven’t been there yet. But I drive by it every day and have watched the project take shape during months of construction on my way to work.

For weeks, I saw a statue of a guy wearing a hat sitting amidst the dirt and heavy machinery. Who was it? Could it be a statue of John Shaw Sundy, Delray’s first mayor?

I thought it was interesting to see the transformation of the landscape and the preservation of some historic homes including the Sundy House, the mayor’s iconic home said to be the oldest in Delray.

Regardless, I kind of liked what I was seeing.

John S. Sundy and family at his home on South Swinton Avenue.

Pebb Capital, the developers of the project, did not take the easy way out. In a world where developing retail is increasingly difficult, Pebb leaned in. There’s no residential buildings on the site, its office, retail, restaurants and services. Pretty bold in today’s world.

There’s also no parking garage. All the parking is underground and out of sight, an interesting and expensive choice that’s aesthetically pleasing. I find all of it fascinating.

Some of my neighbors and fellow Facebookers felt otherwise.

“Disgusting,” was one word that was used. Hmm, I thought. Disgusting? That’s a harsh word, usually reserved for stuff that arouses revulsion.

Pretty soon, like in most posts of this ilk, it degenerated into screeds about Delray Beach itself.

“My hometown has been ruined,” cried one post.

“We are Fort Lauderdale,” said another. And I thought, “have you been to Fort Lauderdale lately?”

“We are Miami,” said another. And I thought, well Delray has surely changed (what hasn’t) but Miami? That’s kind of a stretch.

“No longer quaint,” someone else weighed in. Well, we’ve been hearing that since Atlantic Avenue made the turn from moribund to vibrant a generation ago.

“Ruined the whole town,” said another. Well, that’s quite an indictment.

From there it got worse—with complaints about New Yorkers (good lord is that tiresome) and “idiots” who buy houses with no driveways or side yards.

Now to be fair, there were quite a few posts singing Sundy Village’s praises, design, vision and execution. There were also quite a few defending Delray Beach itself. Hallelujah!

Still, all in all, I think there’s something missing around these parts—and I think it’s civic pride.

I don’t have any data to back up my instincts, just a feeling that we love to gripe about Delray and Florida as a whole.

I’ve been guilty of this myself. But as I thought about it, I came up with a caveat. When I complain, it’s mostly with an eye toward improvement and it comes from a deep well of affection that has been tested at times but remains intact if tattered.

A good example is my notion of patriotism. You can criticize something and still love it. So, while I am a proud American, there are times when my country breaks my heart. That only happens when you love something. If you are devoid of feelings—you just don’t care.

I feel the same way about the New York Giants. Love the team, can’t stand how bad they are these days. Still, I’m rooting for the G-Men.

But I think there’s something going on here that ought to be addressed. Don’t ask me how, but we can use a dose of civic pride.

So, what might we look for? What might be a sign that pride is on the upswing?

Here are a few markers.

Voter turnout: Do citizens care enough to vote in local elections?

Civic engagement: Are citizens informed and keeping up to date on news and happenings?

Volunteerism: Are residents volunteering? Do they support local organizations and nonprofits. Do they belong to a civic organization?

Is Delray Beach just an address or is it your home?

Santa Monica, a pretty city in Southern California, surveys their citizens regularly and has created what they call a “Well Being Index.”

The index measures the happiness and quality of life of residents.

Santa Monica analyzes six key metrics—outlook, community, place and planet, learning, health, and economic opportunity—using data from city departments, research institutions like the RAND Corporation, and social media. While 68% of residents report being happy, recent reports have highlighted concerns about financial stress, a lack of time for leisure, and inequalities experienced by certain communities, according to santamonica.gov.

While that nearly 70 percent figure is pretty good, many residents do not feel a strong sense of belonging in their neighborhood.

That finding intrigued me, so I dug a little further. Some residents feel connected due to their history in Santa Monica. while others feel a disconnect due to gentrification and cultural changes.

Regardless, I like the concept of a survey. Santa Monica claims it is the first city in the world to measure and track its citizens’ happiness. They’ve been at it for over a decade.

The idea sprung from a simple question: what is the purpose of government? Is it to keep people safe? To make sure the toilets flush? Yes, but what’s the overarching purpose?

Santa Monica believes the answer is simple: to improve the well-being of its residents.

Food for thought.

Meanwhile, I am going to make it a point to visit Sundy Village. I may even look for that statue or try to find the spirit of John Sundy, our first mayor. I have a few questions I’d like to ask him.

Note:
I wrote far too many obituary/tributes in 2025. I delivered far too many eulogies. I was hoping for a respite in 2026. It’s hard to lose people you love.

So far, 2026 is off to a tough start. We lost two good people recently. I want to tell you about them.

Kris Garrison

Kris Garrison was a lovely person who was a prominent planner in Palm Beach County for over 35 years. She worked for the county and the school district and was town manager in Gulfstream for a spell. I really liked and respected her.

When I served on the city commission, we were focused on education issues and Kris was a huge help. She served the district as its Planning & Intergovernmental Relations Director.

She also served as Executive Director of Planning, Zoning & Building for Palm Beach County, overseeing six County Divisions.

She was a force. Smart, easy to work with. She was a visionary with a big heart.

At the time of her passing at the young age of 64, Kris was serving as a North Palm Beach Councilwoman. They were sure lucky to have her. We were lucky to know her. She will be remembered.

Alphonso Mayfield

Last week, I also learned of the passing of Alphonso Mayfield, who served as president of SEIU-FPSU. Alphonso was a formidable union leader with a blindingly bright future.

We would meet periodically at the Coffee District in Pineapple Grove to talk politics and the plight of communities and workers.

He was intellectual, tough, fair, always prepared and I would come away from these meetings endlessly impressed with his insight. He was a great political mind and while his portfolio was Florida—a huge undertaking—he was also focused on the southern United States.

Talking shop with a guy like Alphonso keeps you sharp. He was a tough-minded, no nonsense kind of guy, but I sensed a softness too. He was dedicated to his family, his membership and communities in need. He understood the struggle of workers. He understood the nuts and bolts of politics, and he was dedicated to making change.

His loss, at age 46, hits hard.

Born in Mississippi to a working-class family, Alphonso understood the plight and troubles of regular workers, and these early experiences shaped his outlook and his passion for economic and social justice. He was appointed as the Interim President of FPSU in 2009 and was elected to serve as the President in 2010. He had been president ever since.

My heart goes out to his wife Alexis and his daughter Eden.

On a brighter note, if you want to see a feel-good movie run don’t walk to see “Song, Sung Blue” starring Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson.

The movie is based on a real-life husband and wife team called “Lightning and Thunder” who fronted a popular Milwaukee-based Neil Diamond tribute band in the 90s.

The performances are amazing. Jackman and Hudson have chemistry that crackles off the screen.

We saw the movie on a big screen at the Movies of Delray —still the best way to see a film despite the annoying lady three rows in front of us who couldn’t stay off her phone. That darn blue light…oy.

I’m a Believer that you should put the phone away for a few hours and not act like you’re a Solitary Man (or Woman) at the theatre.

Until next week….

5 January, 2026 2 2 Comments

Poetry…

January 5, 2026 By Jeff Perlman 2 Comments

I can feel a love of poetry developing.
Another late life love proving that you can grow, evolve, learn and enjoy new things at any age.

Prior to this recent development, I never really appreciated, understood or enjoyed poetry.
But I’ve always loved song lyrics. I think the best lyrics are poetry.
Springsteen is a poet.

So is Dylan.

I thought John Lennon’s lyrics were magical—”In My Life”, “Norwegian Wood” and “Strawberry Fields” transport me and millions of others to a special place of joy.

Over the weekend, we saw a production of “Both Sides Now” at the Delray Beach Playhouse. It was incredible. Truly special. The show celebrates the words and music of Joni Mitchell and Leonard Cohen.

When put to music, their poetry elicited tears from the audience. Only art, only poetry, can do that.

Still, conventional poetry? It’s never been my thing.
That’s beginning to change.

In the past year or so I discovered Mark Nepo, rediscovered Robert Frost and found myself seeking out poetry during particularly tough or joyful moments.
Some poems land. Some poems don’t but I find if you make an effort the poem will meet you half way.

My friend Andrea is a poet.

She has been kind enough to send me her work which is touching, funny and very relatable.
She’s involved in a group called “Poets on the Fringe” which has open mic nights at a coffeehouse in Boca. Many of the poets also share their work at Delray’s wonderful Arts Garage.

Inspired by my friend, I’ve written a few poems and one even got published last year in a poetry anthology called “Alone Together.” Seeing my poem “Sit Spot” in a book was a thrill. But I haven’t yet found the courage to stand up in public and share. I will someday—maybe. I’m not quite ready.

Recently, my friend sent me a video of her reciting her poetry at an open mic night. I was struck by the joy on her face. It made my day. I’d like to experience that feeling. So someday. Maybe.

The same friend helped me discover the work of Andrea Gibson, an amazing poet who died tragically at age 49 in 2025.

I loved reading Gibson’s poetry and I highly encourage you to seek it out. Her story is a sad one, but she did leave an amazing body of work.
I found a newsletter Gibson wrote shortly before dying. It was basically a list of things she loved.
Gibson introduced the list with a great piece of advice: “the world is heavy right now, friends. Spend some time every day reminding yourself why the world is worth saving.”
Indeed it is.

Be thankful for the people who introduce you to the poetry of life. Those brave and generous enough to share it too.

29 December, 2025 0 Comments

Looking Ahead: Notes On A New Year

December 29, 2025 By Jeff Perlman Leave a Comment

Wishing you a happy, healthy and safe new year.

Looking Ahead: Notes on a New Year

I’ve been thinking about clocks lately. How arbitrary they are. Midnight on December 31st doesn’t really change anything—the same problems we went to bed with, we wake up with on January 1st.
And yet. There’s something we need about the ritual of turning the page, isn’t there? The permission to believe that what comes next might be different from what came before.

2025 tested that belief. For a lot of us.

The economy found its footing in ways the forecasters predicted and ways they didn’t. Inflation cooled, but not enough for the family at the grocery store doing math in their head before they reach the register. The AI revolution kept accelerating—creating efficiencies, yes, but also a quiet anxiety about what we’re becoming when machines do more of our thinking. We gained tools. I’m not sure we gained wisdom about how to use them.

In public health, we saw breakthroughs that deserve celebration—new HIV prevention options that could transform lives, childhood cancer deaths continuing to fall—and we saw trust in institutions erode in ways that make the next crisis harder to fight. The homicide rate dropped significantly in cities that had seen so much pain. That’s worth noticing. Worth saying out loud. Because good news has a way of getting lost.

What I’m looking forward to in 2026 is mostly small. Local. The places where connection actually lives.

I’m looking forward to communities continuing to figure out how to take care of each other when the systems above them can’t or won’t. Mutual aid networks. Neighbors knowing neighbors. The nonprofit sector—despite the funding whiplash and the burnout epidemic among its workers—keeps showing up. That’s not nothing. That’s everything, actually.

I’m looking forward to the arts doing what they do in uncertain times: telling the truth, holding a mirror up, reminding us we’re not alone in our confusion. Theater, especially. There’s something about sitting in a dark room with strangers, watching people work out their humanity in real time, that still matters. Maybe more now than ever.

And I’m looking forward to watching the next generation of local leaders step into roles that will test them. City councils. School boards. Community nonprofits . That’s where democracy actually lives—not in the fever dreams of cable news, but in zoning meetings and budget hearings and the hard work of showing up.

What am I wary of?

The impulse to retreat. When the world feels overwhelming, there’s a pull toward the private—my family, my bubble, my curated feed. Understandable. But also dangerous. Democracies don’t die from dramatic coups nearly as often as they die from citizens who stop paying attention, stop participating, stop believing their voice matters.

I’m wary of the way technology is fragmenting our sense of shared reality. When we can’t agree on basic facts, we can’t solve problems together. That’s not a partisan observation—it’s a structural one.

And I’m wary of cynicism masquerading as sophistication. The easiest pose in the world is the knowing shrug, the assumption that nothing will ever change. I spent seven years in local government. I know what’s possible when people decide to show up. It’s not perfect. It’s almost never fast. But it’s real, and it matters.

So here’s what I say as we step into 2026: Stay specific. The antidote to despair isn’t optimism—it’s action. And action happens in specifics. One meeting. One relationship. One hard conversation that you’ve been avoiding.

The clock is arbitrary. But we’re not. Happy New Year.
Notes:

Condolences to the family of Dick Hasko who passed December 22.

Mr. Hasko was the long time director of environmental services for the City of Delray Beach.

I had the pleasure of working with him for seven years. I always enjoyed his company and thought Dick did an exemplary job.

Mr. Hasko was widely credited with starting the city’s reclaimed water program and also stepped up in a major way during the many hurricanes we faced from 2004-2006. His intimate knowledge of our aging drainage system allowed him to deftly manage the storms making sure our lift systems worked despite the stress of the storms.

He will be missed.

I was remiss in not mentioning the loss of Betty Diggans a few weeks back.

A legendary Delray businesswoman and downtown advocate, Ms. Diggans was widely known and universally loved. She will be remembered and missed by all who knew and loved her.