1 September, 2025 4 4 Comments

Seeking Connection In An Age Of Screens

September 1, 2025 By 4 Comments

A scene from Press Conference performed in Ohio.

Last week, we ventured to Columbus, Ohio to see the opening of a short play I wrote called “Press Conference.”

I had entered the play about a mayor dealing with the fallout of a shooting in a “Brave Stories” contest run by Boxland Media.
They received over 500 entries from all over the country and a few foreign nations as well. My play was one of four chosen for the festival.
To say I was surprised would be an understatement. I’m new at this and when the winners were announced I recognized the names of two of the winning playwrights—I’ve read their work and listened to them on podcasts hoping to glean some wisdom from their success.
All three of the other plays were phenomenal and I realized that I  have a lot to learn. I’m eager to do so. But if I can brag for just a moment, my little piece of work held its own. Of that, I’m proud.
The story of Press Conference is loosely based on my experiences as mayor of Delray many moons ago. During my tenure, we experienced the tragic shooting of a 15 year old outside a school dance by a rookie police officer.
That experience affected me and many others profoundly.
This year was the 20th anniversary of the shooting and I wanted to write about it—albeit with some artistic license. As I mentioned “Press Conference” is loosely based on what we experienced. But it touches on issues that remain painfully relevant. Race, fear and a style of politics that favors the safe way out over courage and humanity.
The play was also produced in May by a group called Playzoomers for a national audience of online subscribers and a company called Tiny Scripted recently acquired the piece for additional distribution.
It’s all exciting and I am currently working to expand the work into a full length play called “Say My Name”—a nod to our tendency as a society to move on  when we would be better served to learn and talk about the issues that divide us. My theory is that if we talk to one another we’ll find have more in common than we might imagine. If we engage, we take away the corrosive power of those who seek to divide us.
I felt it important to travel to Ohio and be there for opening night. I talked briefly with the cast and director pre-show and then did what is known as a talk back after the show. The cast joined me to discuss their feelings about the play.
What I learned is that live theater can be a powerful experience. It’s one of the few communal things we do these days. We spend much of our time on phones and staring at screens. We rarely talk or gather and I think it’s hurting us.
There’s a crisis of loneliness in America. People of all ages and genders are experiencing isolation but there’s a genuine crisis among young men who are particularly isolated.
Many don’t have friends. Or the friends they do have live in their headphones as they play games online for hours at a time. It’s a very different experience from prior generations.
We used to see movies together, but that’s waning. We used to join bowling leagues and service clubs and volunteer for community projects. There’s been a documented drop in all of those categories.
Live theatre is one of the few things we still experience together, at the same time.
The best plays spark conversations and thought. They evoke emotion and get us to ask questions of each other and ourselves.
That’s what I’m trying to do with my nascent efforts in this beautiful new world I’ve discovered courtesy of FAU’s
Theatre Lab and the festival of new plays sponsored annually by the magnificent Delray Beach Playhouse.
And that’s the spirit that moved us to venture to Ohio to gather with people we didn’t know to see four plays about brave topics.
I left with new friends, new insights into the subject matter and a resolve to write more.
There’s nothing like hearing your words come to life thanks to the efforts of talented actors and actresses. I’ve been blown away by the talent I’ve seen. The directors have been excellent as well.
One of the young actors, Joe Morales, drove two hours each way from Canton, Ohio to perform a small role (spectacularly). That’s dedication. And I’m so grateful for these creatives. They make our world a better place.
The arts are so important. The arts are so meaningful.
The noise of the day comes and goes, but art..well art endures. If it’s good.
I’m trying to be good. I’m reaching for the stars. Not because it’s lucrative (it’s not) but because it matters. It matters to those we are trying to remember, to the audience we are trying to move
 or entertain and to the creatives who give us so much.
On October 11 at 2 pm and 8 pm my play “The Cafe on Main” will be performed at the amazing Arts Garage right here in Delray.
I’m hoping you’ll come out to see the talented cast of local actors and to support the Arts Garage which has become an important cultural hub for our community.
The play is about love, community, second chances and friendship. These are subjects near and dear to us all. Come share the experience with your friends and family.
You’ll leave with memories and you’ll connect with others. Netflix will be there when you come home, I promise.
Visit artsgarage.org for tickets and more information.
25 August, 2025 4 4 Comments

Born To Run

August 25, 2025 By 4 Comments

50 years ago today…

50 years ago today, an album was released that changed my life.

On August 25, 1975, one day before my 11th birthday, Bruce Springsteen released “Born to Run.”
It was a masterpiece.
Eight songs, each meticulously and painstakingly created with musicians who would soon be known the world over as The E Street Band.
The album went on to sell millions of copies. Born to Run has become a touchstone for countless fans who see pageantry and artistry in four chords and a back beat.
Countless words have been used to describe the magic of Born to Run so I will spare you mine.
But on the 50th anniversary of its release, a new book called Jungleland by Peter Ames Carlin tells the story of how the album came into existence.
After two critically acclaimed but commercially unsuccessful albums, Springsteen was given one last chance. Born to Run was do or die.
The making of the album was torturous. Springsteen labored over every note of every song driving the musicians to the brink.
The story of Born to Run is the story of a driven artist, desperate to succeed but unwilling to compromise.
It’s a great story.
And there are lessons to be learned: great artists don’t compromise, they stay true to themselves and their vision. No man is an island: Bruce needed the E Street Band, his managers, producers and engineers to fully commit and they were rewarded for doing so.  But when  it comes time to “ship” you ship.
Let me explain.
Springsteen almost became paralyzed by the desire for perfection. The album took forever to produce, take after take after take. The song Born to Run took six months to finish. There needed to be an intervention to get Bruce to agree to release it.
But there comes a time when you just have to hit send. That’s a life lesson my friends.
Every year on the anniversary of Born to Run’s release Bruce takes a drive around the Jersey shore and visits the places that inspired the album. He remains grateful for the record that saved his career and seeks to reconnect to the places and experiences that inspired classics such as Backstreets, Thunder Road and the epic Jungleland.
I think that’s an important practice. We have to drive  slow at times, take in the sites and  reconnect.
There’s a line in Thunder Road that has always intrigued me.
Because in these words I sense a paradox. That makes it interesting. That makes it art.
Here’s the line: “it’s a town full of losers and we’re pulling out of here to win.”
The protagonist in the song is asking the object of his affection to leave with him, to find a better place than the dead end town where they live.
It’s a cinematic song, a girl on a porch, dress swaying, a young suitor asking her to take a chance.
Yet we know that Springsteen is an artist rooted and wedded to his native New Jersey.
He jokes that he’s travelled the world, but chooses to live a few miles from where he grew up in Freehold.
The town holds a number of memories—some good, some bad, some joyful, some painful. It’s  been a full experience. One many of us can relate to.
It’s this realism, this depth of feeling, this sharing of pain and joy that makes Springsteen a special artist.
Born to Run was the album that introduced me to an artist that would play a big role in my life.
Alongside The Beatles, the Stones, The Who and several other bands and artists, Bruce’s music became the soundtrack to my life.
What made him a little different for me was that I feel like I grew up alongside his music.
The Beatles, so amazing they defy description and comparison, broke up when I was six. I didn’t have the pleasure of anticipating a new album. When I discovered music their whole canon was there for me to listen to. But with Springsteen there was always new music to discover—right up to today. Even at 75, he’s releasing new work that somehow, magically tracks with my life.
When I was 11, I liked the guitars and music on Born to Run. It was a visceral experience. But I can’t pretend I understood the record or the stories he was telling. I was too young. But over the years, after living a little and listening a lot the record began to take shape for me. Great art does that, it meets you where you are and clarifies at the same time. It also raises questions, makes you think and transports you.
So on the 50th anniversary, I want to savor that experience. And give thanks to an artist who has shaped me and so many others.
18 August, 2025 3 3 Comments

Lessons in Lift, Lessons in Leadership

August 18, 2025 By 3 Comments

Lift Orlando provides actionable lessons for other communities seeking lasting and meaningful change.

A few weeks ago, I told you about a business trip we took to Central Florida.

We were there to check out other foundations on what we call a “What’s Possible Tour.” The trips are designed to expose us to different types of thinking and models that we may customize and bring home with us.

While in the Orlando area, we visited a number of successful philanthropies and a few innovative programs.

In a trip full of stand-out experiences our visit to Lift Orlando stood out.

Lift is part of the “Purpose Built Communities” movement, an effort to lift distressed communities and help them meet the hopes and dreams of their residents.

The Carl Angus DeSantis Foundation recently invested in a “Purpose Built Community” in West Palm Beach called Northend Rise. We are bullish about the future of the Coleman Park neighborhood and believe strongly in the formula honed by Purpose Built Communities. What I like most about their model is that the needs, hopes and aspirations of residents come first; frankly it’s the only way you can be successful.

So, we visited Lift Orlando armed with excitement to see what we can learn from a community that has been hard at work since 2013.

What we saw was remarkable.

Unfortunately, when we visited, the president of Lift Orlando, Eddy Moratin, was on vacation. His talented team took great care of us, but everywhere we went in Central Florida people were talking about Eddy. I wanted to meet him.

Recently, we made it happen, via Zoom.

It was worth the wait.

Eddy is a dynamic, energetic leader willing and eager to share his insights. He’s one of those guys who has an intangible quality—yes he’s charismatic, passionate and smart. But there’s something else too. He has what our founder Mr. DeSantis called the “it” factor. In short, he’s a leader.

Anyway, the Lift Orlando experience contains lessons for communities trying to achieve lasting and sustainable change in neighborhoods that have been plagued by neglect, crime, blight and bad health outcomes.

On our Zoom call, we reviewed five takeaways Eddy learned from his Lift experience. I thought I’d share.

Take it away Eddy…

Eddy Moratin

“After $100M in Community Building Investments, here’s “Five Things I’ve Learned About Community Leadership.

Twelve years ago, we set out to do something that felt impossible:

Build a movement of business leaders and residents working together to create generational cycles of prosperity in neighborhoods.

Fast forward more than a decade…

  • Hundreds of safe, beautiful homes built.
  • Jobs created.
  • Children educated and given scholarships
  • A proud community celebrated

It’s been an incredible journey—and one that’s taught me countless lessons about what it takes to make lasting difference.

But perhaps the most important realization?

The best way to multiply our impact is by helping others do the same.

  1. Doing the Impossible Is Often Easier Than Doing the Reasonable

Big, bold visions are magnetic.

People want to believe in something transformative.

But trying to get buy-in for “good enough” ideas? That’s where the real resistance lies.

 

  1. The World Is Malleable When You Have a Clear and Compelling Vision

People don’t follow spreadsheets, they follow stories.

Cast a vision so clear and hopeful that it feels inevitable, and back it up with the spreadsheets.

You’ll find that moving mountains is easier than you thought, with the right partners.

 

  1. Everyone Talks About Collaboration—But We Don’t All Mean the Same Thing

True collaboration requires shared sacrifice for there to be shared wins and shared credit.

The most successful partnerships come from clarity and humility-not convenience.

 

  1. Caring More About Impact Than Credit Can Be a Superpower

 The less you focus on getting the credit, the more trust you’ll earn.

The more clearly you’ll see the path.

The more opportunities you’ll attract.

And the more lasting change you’ll create.

 

  1. Your Greatest Influence Comes From Your Hardest Lessons

It’s the missteps, the failures, and the moments of doubt that shape the wisdom others need most.

Don’t hide them—share them. That’s how we help others do more, better, faster.”

 

It’s me again, I’m back.

Isn’t that great?! Thanks Eddy!

When we toured the many triumphs of Lift Orlando, I couldn’t help but think about my leadership experience in Delray.

In the early 2000s, we created a bold, transformational vision for our downtown. We called it Downtown Master Plan.

The plan was a success, because we invited the community to the table and they showed up in record numbers. It was the most gratifying policy experience of my brief career in local politics.

One of the animating ideas of the process was the redefinition of the boundaries of our downtown. Traditionally, East Atlantic Avenue from Swinton to A1A was thought of as the downtown. But the master plan expanded those boundaries to  include West Atlantic Avenue and a few blocks north and south of the Avenue, all the way to I-95.

It was a simple but important distinction. We were seeking to erase the invisible dividing line in Delray. We were trying to achieve what we called “community unity.”

We invested in sidewalks, decorative lighting and landscaping all the way to the interstate. And we added a “welcome” feature at the I-95 exchange to signal to everyone that you were entering  a special place. That’s the entrance feature you see today, which if you slow down, depicts the rich history of Delray Beach and the diverse cultures that shaped our community.

There was also an investment in trying to restore some vibrancy to Northwest and Southwest 5th Avenue, a traditional hub of commerce.

An artist worked with the community on sidewalk art, the historic La France Hotel was redeveloped into senior housing and there was city support for a grassroots effort to create the S.D. Spady Museum. We also saw the first significant private investment in the corridor—the Atlantic Grove development—which today is home to offices, housing and great restaurants like Ziree. That development was led by a private sector developer, New Urban Communities, and two local nonprofits that shared financially in the success of the project.

Running parallel to the master plan was an effort called the “southwest plan”, a grassroots effort by neighbors to revitalize the southwest neighborhood located south of West Atlantic. That effort yielded a plan that led to the creation of The Village Academy, the first new school to open in the neighborhood in decades. Later, that plan would be updated into the Set Transformation Plan, another grassroots effort to revitalize neighborhoods north and south of West Atlantic. Tens of millions of dollars were invested in neglected neighborhoods, building sidewalks, paving dirt roads and investing in projects to improve water pressure. A new splash park was built and named after the first female mayor of Delray, Catherine Strong.

I was reminded of those days when we toured Lift Orlando. When the tour was over, we spent time with Lift’s Board, staff and area residents. At that time, I shared that what I saw in Orlando reminded me of what I failed to see in Delray when I was involved as a commissioner and mayor.

We really were making progress. We had a great CRA, a committed city staff, residents who were engaged and a supportive business community and so I thought that momentum would continue. I was wrong.

Things change. Elected officials come and go. Key staff, come and go. The CRA, once independent and focused, was taken over by the commission which has a big enough job looking at the whole city meaning that the independent, somewhat apolitical focus of a volunteer board gets replaced by elected officials, who are naturally concerned with politics.

Our unity, once rock solid, developed cracks and then fissures.

The Set Transformation Plan became embroiled in politics, a great many items in the downtown master plan and southwest plan got done, but those efforts were never replaced with a new plan.

My great lesson as an elected official was the work of building community, nurturing a city, is never done. You can never declare victory, you must wake up a little scared and constantly take stock of your strengths, weaknesses, opportunities and threats. Complacency is a killer, so is division.

I missed all that and thought the efforts would keep going. I shared with my Lift Orlando friends my hard learned lesson, and I commended them for seeing what I missed.

Lift built an infrastructure and a model that moves them forward regardless of the politics. They move forward whether friends or enemies or those who simply don’t engage are in office. They have relationships with funders, donors, business leaders that are long term and rock solid.

They understand that success is a game of addition and so they add new friends along the way.

I never had a sustainability plan, neither did my colleagues, we just had assumptions that things would go on.

I am not one for regrets, I find it a useless emotion. But I do like to learn from mistakes and see if there is a way to apply those lessons to what I’m doing today.

So as we invest in purpose-built communities and root for those good people trying to lift up Coleman Park, I will see these efforts through the lens of experience. And I will ask those we invest in to think about a time when support wavers. It’s hard enough to make change when everyone is rowing in the same direction, but it’s very hard when the pillars you rely on fray or crumble. You have to think about what you’ll do when, not if, that happens.

Community building is like a retirement portfolio–you must diversify.

 

11 August, 2025 7 7 Comments

Trust vs. Dominance

August 11, 2025 By 7 Comments

Trust vs. dominance.
That’s the battle we’re in.
I’ve been thinking about the world through this prism lately particularly when it comes to leadership.
Personally, I’ve always been a believer in the trust model of leadership. Transformation becomes possible if you can earn trust.
Trust is the currency.  The gold standard.

Trust is the end result of an investment in a relationship.
It takes time, there’s will be up and downs, but if you can get there the rewards are infinite.
The All America City era Delray Beach was  built on trust.
And trust needs to be built brick by brick. So the process is important too. It requires an investment of time.
Time.
Now there’s a concept.

Today’s world teaches us to be impatient.

We want instant results, therefore we’re often unwilling or unable to commit to a process that does not offer immediate rewards or guarantees.
But if you choose trust over dominance there are no shortcuts.  You have to put in the time. You have to take the risk.

Trust is fragile, it depends on people showing up, it depends on institutions living up to their promises, and it depends on citizens doing their part by getting and staying engaged.

The matriarchs and patriarchs of our Black community called it “the covenant”—you either lived up to it or you didn’t. The best leaders strived to honor the covenant, to keep their promises and follow through on plans co-created by leadership and citizens.
The worst “leaders” we’ve had abused that trust. Invariably they failed. It’s a guaranteed way to lose.
And those who violate the covenant harm us all. For every breach, for every broken promise, the price gets higher and higher. It gets harder and harder to rebuild trust.
What results is cynicism.
Cynicism is hard to overcome.

Sadly, we live in a cynical age. It is the highest tax in the land.
Other “leaders” bypass trust altogether and go straight for the exercise of raw power.
Dominance seems to be the “style” of the moment. Pick a team, stick with the team (no matter what) and double down on mean. If you have an advantage press it, if your opponent is down kick them, and if you are caught in a lie never admit you were wrong and question why anyone would ever dare question you.

What results is a bullying model in which those charged with serving us turn the tables and demand that we serve them, or else.
Granted, you can achieve short term results via this method. But you don’t get buy in, you don’t get the benefit of all the people, only those on your team. This model also creates followers not leaders so those benefits are minimal.
I don’t think this is a sustainable model.
But dominance is having a moment, there’s no doubt.
Dominance is also exacting a price, because bullying leave scars. You may get some results by breaking dishes, but you create a mess too, with some sharp edges to clean up.
I’m hopeful that we can get back to a trust based model of leadership, where consensus building, compromise and talking to others who don’t share our views is the way forward.
It’s a move toward unity—knowing we will never quite achieve it but believing it’s worth the effort to be inclusive.
It’s also a move toward community, a move toward a more perfect union, a kinder and gentler place where empathy, trust and freedom of expression are cherished, appreciated and protected. A place where we feel safe from bullies. And when they show up, we send them packing.

4 August, 2025 0 Comments

And So It Goes…

August 4, 2025 By Leave a Comment

“In every heart there is a roomA sanctuary safe and strongTo heal the wounds from lovers pastUntil a new one comes along” – Billy Joel from And So It Goes

I invested 5 plus hours recently in the two-part Billy Joel documentary “And So it Goes” currently streaming on HBO and Max.

I then spent another 7 plus hours over the course of a week listening to music that Joel put on Spotify to accompany the documentary.

For me, it was worth all 12 hours to lose myself in an artist who I’ve been listening to since the mid-70s.

Growing up on Long Island it felt like Billy’s music was part of the water supply—we got a constant dose of it every time we turned the radio to WBAB, WNEW or WPLJ back when rock and pop ruled the airwaves and the culture.

Those were the days to remember.

Or as Billy wrote:

“This is the time to remember

‘Cause it will not last forever

These are the days to hold on to

‘Cause we won’t, although we’ll want to.”

My goodness that’s true.

The documentary is a warts and all look at a truly unique and productive artist—although he has not written a new song with lyrics since 1993.

(Before you fact check me, he did not write his most recent release “Turn the Lights Back On.”)

In fact, one of the things the documentary reveals is how Joel loathes writing lyrics and felt imprisoned “by the rhyme.”

Imagine that; because he’s a sublime lyricist. His words land.

“When you look into my eyes

And you see the crazy gypsy in my soul

It always comes as a surprise

When I feel my withered roots begin to grow

Well, I never had a place that I could call my very own.

But that’s all right, my love, ’cause you’re my home.”

That song, “You’re My Home” is a movie in 3 minutes and 15 seconds. It’s cinematic, comprehensive, complete.

The documentary delves deep into Joel’s career, creative process, struggles and colorful family history.

Some of the revelations:

He wanted to be Beethoven and it’s possible that he loved classical music more than he loved rock music, despite his enormous success which has him selling out stadiums more than 50 years after he released his first album.

Joel shared his family’s touching and tragic Holocaust story. He describes how in his mid-20s he discovered that his paternal grandfather, Karl Joel, had a textile factory in Nuremberg. The family lived next to the park where the Nuremberg rallies were held. His grandfather was forced to sell his business but was never paid. The Joel’s escaped Germany and the factory was used by the Nazis to make the striped uniforms worm by concentration camp prisoners. This reveal, prompts Joel to wear a yellow J in solidarity with his Jewish roots.

Also prominent in the documentary was Billy’s strained relationship with his father Howard and his failed attempts to connect later in life with his dad. He wrote the song “Vienna” with his father in mind and tells how his father knocked him unconscious as a child when he played a rock version of Moonlight Sonata.

He’s also very open about his failed marriages—three to date (he  seems happily married to his fourth wife). He admits to being afraid of dying alone and never feeling totally at ease with his artistry. There’s pride but a deep awareness of his weaknesses as an artist.

“I’ve never forgiven myself for not being Beethoven,” he says.

Also apparent is Joel’s love of Eastern Long Island and his attraction to the water.

Locals in these parts are well aware of Joel’s presence in our community. He recently sold a home he owned in Manalapan and I’ve heard of sightings on Atlantic Avenue and at the Boynton Inlet.

But his love of Long Island runs deep. New York is his muse and very much a part of his artistic soul.

Watching him talk about the writing of “New York State of Mind” and “Summer Highland Falls” reminds me of Springsteen’s love of New Jersey and Jimmy Buffett’s affinity for Key West.

I think “place based” artists are fascinating. Tom Petty was rooted in Gainesville, Brian Wilson in Southern California and there’s something very English about The Beatles and Elton John. It adds a layer to their work, a perspective to explore and feel.

I cam away from “And So It Goes” with a newfound respect for Billy Joel. His determination, his devotion to craft, his honesty with his own flaws and his desire to connect to fans.

Devoted fans know that he’s currently confronting a “brain disorder.” It seems like it’s something that can be handled, but you never know. Our heroes are now well into their 70s and in some cases 80s. The health challenge was not mentioned in the documentary which was filmed prior to diagnosis. Billy describes it as a balance issue where he feels like he’s on a boat that’s rocking. He says he feels good and sounds optimistic about the future.

While there will likely be no new music (“I feel I’ve said it all”)  let’s hope he’s with us for years to come. We grew up with the greatest music ever made, 50 and 60 years later, we still listen. The art endures, the songs last—just like Beethoven.

 

28 July, 2025 5 5 Comments

Good Trouble…

July 28, 2025 By 5 Comments

“Do not get lost in a sea of despair,” John Lewis tweeted almost exactly a year before his death. “Do not become bitter or hostile. Be hopeful, be optimistic. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble. We will find a way to make a way out of no way.”

We recently marked the fifth anniversary of Congressman  Lewis’ death from pancreatic cancer at the age of 80.
Rep. Lewis, a civil rights icon, was famous for urging people to get in what he called “good trouble.”
I watched his funeral from a bed in Bethesda Hospital where I was fighting for my life after contracting Covid. That was bad trouble.  But I remember being inspired by the words of those mourning a great man.
It’s been an impactful five years for all of us.
We’ve experienced a pandemic, J6, rampant inflation, market volatility, war, natural disasters in places we thought were relatively safe (western North Carolina), toxic politics not seen in our lifetimes and divisions in our society that were once unimaginable.
We’ve been through a lot.
I have a feeling that we’re not done—there are more shoes to drop, more hits to absorb, more opportunities to tear at the seams of what used to bind us.
I also have a sense that a great many people are sick and tired of the nonsense and anxious to get to a place where we can stop fighting and get about the business of living. We inherited a wonderful country built by generations who moved mountains, who strived to create a more perfect union. To tear it apart is sinful. To those who say we are fixing things, consider this: if half the country feels left out, ignored, bullied and hated we aren’t fixing anything. The answers do not exist on either extreme, the way forward is together and that requires compromise, tolerance and bipartisanship. Both parties have failed us. We, the people, deserve better.
I’m just back from a few weeks in Maine. 
I love my time off the treadmill, its restorative, relaxing and grounding. 
The beauty of New England is stunning. There are rocky coastlines, lush woods, mountains, streams, waterfalls and flowers everywhere. 
There’s also history, culture, walkable little towns and architecture that feels very much like America. 
I feel rooted there.  I’m a native New Yorker who has spent nearly 40 years in South Florida but for some inexplicable reason I feel at home when I’m wandering around New England. 
I’m “from away” and therefore will never be considered a Mainer.
I’m OK with that.
When I’m there I want to be respectful of my surroundings. I’m here to experience a special place. I’m here to respect and appreciate it. 
I felt the same way about Florida when I arrived on July  27 1987, a year out of school and just getting started in life. 
I came to South Florida to appreciate and enjoy a place I saw as affordable paradise at the time. Coming from the gray skies of upstate NY where I went to school and got my first newspaper job to The Sunshine State was like waking up from a black and white world to a world of bright colors. 
Florida was warm, fresh, the skies were brilliant, the ocean awesome and the palm trees were inviting. I had entered a world of tropical beauty. It just felt surreal to me, in all the good ways. Life here felt limitless, relaxed and easy. 
When I stumbled upon Delray it called to me. 
It also felt like home. 
In the late 80s, the village was more than a little scruffy. The beach was beautiful, the downtown was dead, but there was a downtown and there were some very rough neighborhoods. But there was potential and the vibe felt like something significant and cool was about to happen.
There was also an inclusive feeling in the air, a message of “roll up your sleeves, get involved, we want you to be involved” aimed at everyone willing. 
I fell. 
Hook, line and sinker. 
I was a newspaper reporter in those days. My job was to tell the story of my new home. And I relished every moment. There was so much to tell, so much going on, the place was brimming with aspiration and the message was let’s make some “good trouble.”
And lots of people did. 
They came from Pittsburgh and created festivals. 
They came from Illinois and built a modern day fire rescue system. 
They came from Orlando and helped to build a police department second to none and they came from Belle Glade and replaced blight with art, culture and community. 
I watched another native Illinoisan become a model mayor, saw a rebel looking kid from Indiana redefine the ocean front real estate market and guys from Maryland, Massachusetts and Michigan create value in neighborhoods nobody else would touch. 
It was magical to watch and write about. 
It was impossible not to get involved and swept up in the evolving story of this place. 
A generation was making good trouble…not all of it was perfect, maybe none of it was, but it was something to behold. And cherish. 
It’s more than placemaking, it’s making a place. 
I miss those days. For my town and my country. I know I’m not alone. 
21 July, 2025 23 23 Comments

For Frances, With Love

July 21, 2025 By 23 Comments

Frances Bourque: one of a kind.

We lost Frances Bourque July 15.

The loss wasn’t unexpected, but when the news came it hit hard. Sledgehammer hard.

There’s  never enough time with the people we love, we want them around forever.

People around Delray know the highlights of Frances’ wonderful life—founder of Old School Square, key figure in the redevelopment of Delray Beach after blight, vacancy and crime took root in our now thriving downtown.

I’m sure the avenue will buzz with activity in the coming days but it wasn’t always so. Many of the patrons probably never heard of Frances Bourque and maybe Atlantic Avenue and Delray itself would have been saved without her someday, someway.

Or maybe not, many towns never get it right. But our town did, and largely because of Frances’ vision, drive and relentless pursuit to restore three old dilapidated buildings at the corner of Atlantic and Swinton.

Thank G-d for Frances.

She will be remembered as a local icon, but I will remember Frances for more than her civic resume.  She was, and will always be, a special person in my life, a second mom in many ways after my mother passed young, someone I could confide in, someone I could always count on for guidance and perspective.

The remarkable thing about Frances is that she served that role for so, so many.  We were all blessed to have her in our lives and frankly it’s hard to imagine what life will be like without her text messages, phone calls, infectious laugh and encouragement. A kind word from Frances had a way of washing away whatever was ailing you.

I will miss her terribly.

But I will always remember the moments and I will cling to the many lessons she imparted for the rest of my days.

All of us who loved Frances will do the same.

The weekend we all spent celebrating Frances and her wonderful husband Dr. Bob in Crescent Beach, the enthusiasm in which she shared her favorite spots in Maine after we bought a place in Portland and the fact she made it to the Delray Playhouse a few weeks ago to see a short play I wrote even though she felt tired and weak. It was the last time I saw her.

Her last words to me: “I love you.”

My last words to her were the same exact three word phrase that makes our crazy world bearable. People like Frances enrich us beyond measure. Hold them close. Tell them how you feel.

While my heart feels heavy, today I want to celebrate a life that transformed our community and touched countless hearts. For me, for her friends and family,  Frances was more than the founder of Old School Square—she was our mentor, our inspiration, and our muse. She was the embodiment of graceful leadership, unwavering vision, and boundless kindness.

I’ve often said that if we lived in a kind place, there would be a statue to Frances on the grounds she saved 32 years ago. Not that Frances would want that—she was far too humble—but her friends would, because we want future generations to know about this wonderful woman who looked at a collection of dilapidated buildings behind a rusted chain link fence and saw so much more.

Frances didn’t just see potential; she saw possibility. She saw culture where others saw decay. She saw community where others saw blight. She saw hope where others saw only problems. That vision—that extraordinary ability to see what could be rather than what was—changed Delray Beach forever.

When I think about Frances, I think about seeds. That’s what she spent her life doing—she planted seeds. And everywhere you look in Delray Beach today, you can see those seeds blossoming. Old School Square alumni are giving back throughout our community—volunteering for the Achievement Center, leading at the Chamber of Commerce, serving on the Business Development Board of Palm Beach County, giving their time, their talent, and their treasure to good causes. Frances planted those seeds of service and civic engagement.

But Frances taught us something even more important than vision or community building. She taught us about grace under pressure. When faced with challenges that would have broken lesser spirits, Frances remained steadfast. When critics questioned her work or when politics threatened and ultimately tried to wash away what she had built, she never lost her composure or her conviction. She understood that true leadership isn’t about commanding from the front—it’s about inspiring others to find their own greatness. And let me tell you, those who came for her work didn’t erase a thing.  No, her legacy endures. There’s a gaping hole that yearns to be filled, but the magic she created can be found in the hearts she nurtured for decades.  Oh how she touched our hearts.

A few years ago, I had the privilege of working with Frances’s sister and others to nominate Frances for a statewide award from the University of Florida, honoring Floridians for “exceptional achievement, impact, and leadership.” When Frances won— we weren’t surprised, though she was—the first thing she did was credit others. “No MAN (or WOMAN) is an island,” she wrote in an email. “This recognition belongs to ALL of us!”

That was Frances. Always deflecting praise, always sharing credit, always lifting others up. She made everyone around her better, and she did it with such grace that you barely noticed it happening until you looked back and realized how much you had grown under her influence.

Frances, you were our teacher in ways you probably never realized. You taught us that public service isn’t about personal glory—it’s about leaving something better than you found it. You taught us that vision without execution is just dreaming, but execution without vision is just busy work. You taught us that kindness isn’t weakness; it’s the strongest force we have for building something lasting. Let that sink in. Kindness is the strongest force we have for building something that lasts.

But kindness isn’t bullet proof. It doesn’t protect you from bad decisions. It doesn’t offer us immunity from disease.  It should, but it doesn’t.  We learned that too.

I haven’t been to Old School Square in a while.

Frances’ dream.

The brilliance of her vision is that the project addressed the past, the present and the future. Hard to find something that touches on history, enriches our present and speaks to what’s to come.

It worked because it was community run…that was the magic. Someday someone will realize that and bring the community back to their cultural center.  And when it happens, and it will, we will remember Frances’ heart and vision.  She is not done teaching us, not by a long shot.

For me, Old School Square was home. It’s where I got married, it was where my kids took classes and it’s where we spent evenings with friends listening to music under the stars.  I’m not alone. So many had that experience  because Frances created a place where community could flourish, where arts could thrive, where people from all walks of life could come together and discover what we share rather than what divides us.

We needed it then, we need it even more now.

Old School Square became more than Delray Beach’s version of Central Park. It became our heart. It’s where we gathered after the Parkland shooting.  It’s where we gathered after 9/11. It’s where the Olympic torch came in 1996. Frances understood that a community needs a place to gather, to grieve, to celebrate, to hope.

Frances, you once said that recognition belongs to all of us, but today I need to say this: while you shared the credit, the vision was yours. The determination was yours. The grace was yours. The love you poured into this community was yours, and it has multiplied beyond anything we could have imagined.

You showed us that one person with a clear vision and an unshakeable commitment to community can indeed change the world—or at least change our little corner of it. You proved that leadership isn’t about having all the answers; it’s about asking the right questions and inspiring others to help find the solutions.

To Frances’s family, please know that she didn’t just leave behind a civic legacy. She left behind a way of thinking, a way of leading, a way of loving a community so deeply that you’re willing to fight for its soul. She left behind hundreds of people who are better leaders, better neighbors, and better human beings because they had the privilege of learning from her example.

Frances, you made me so proud to call you my friend and mentor. You taught me that when we become silent about things that matter, our lives begin to end—but when we speak up for what we believe in, when we work together, when we plant seeds of hope and nurture them with dedication, we can create something beautiful that will outlast us all.

Your legacy isn’t just in the buildings you saved or the programs you created. Your legacy lives in every person you inspired to be better, to do more, to see beyond what is to what could be. Your legacy lives in every act of graceful leadership, every moment of kind mentorship, every vision turned into reality by someone who learned from your example.

Rest in peace, dear Frances. Thank you for showing us what it means to plant seeds of hope and tend them with love. Thank you for being our hero, our inspiration, and our guide. The garden you planted will bloom for generations to come.

“No man (or woman) is an island. This recognition belongs to ALL of us!”
— Frances Bourque

I also want to send my condolences to the family and friends of State Rep. Joe Casello who recently passed.

Rep. Casello dedicated his life to public service first as a firefighter, later as a Boynton Beach commissioner and then in the state house. He leaves a legacy of fighting for public safety and a slew of good causes.

He touched many lives. May he rest in peace.

14 July, 2025 10 10 Comments

Finding That Special Spot

July 14, 2025 By 10 Comments

A “sit spot” is a place for contemplation.

I follow a guy on Facebook whose posts almost always make me think.

In the often-mindless sea of drivel on social media, this guy’s posts stand out.

They are poetic, soulful and intelligent.

Truly good stuff—material that makes you stop what you’re doing so you can ponder.

It feels good to ponder.

I went to high school with this guy 40 plus years ago on Long Island.

We were friends, not especially close; but I always thought he was a cool guy. He played guitar and always seemed self-assured—not an easy feat when you’re 17 and trying to find your way.

This guy, somehow he seemed older. More sophisticated than me and my gang. He most likely was more cultured–after all, our idea of intellect was glancing at Cliff’s Notes and pretending we read the often boring books we were assigned in English class. We preferred Sports Illustrated over Chekhov.

And Kafka…he didn’t appeal to our pedestrian tastes either. I think we read The Trial. I know we read Animal Farm. But to be honest, we were more interested in seeing if we could steal glances at our dad’s discarded Playboy magazines—tame stuff by today’s standards. And no, we did not read the articles.

But I digress.

My friends and I took a class called “Inference and Argument” and we did exactly the minimum to get by, not an ounce more.

It’s something I’m ashamed of now –skating by in school– not paying attention to what was important. I guess that’s part of being a kid. But it’s no excuse and I wish I had taken my formal education seriously.

But my friend —the guitar playing intellect —-well, he seemed different. At least I recognized that.

When you’re a kid you spend your days searching for yourself; trying on new identities to see what might fit.

As a result, when you stumble across someone who seems to know who they are it stops you cold. For all I know, my old friend was lost too.  But he seemed self-assured and that’s what I noticed.

Anyway, decades fly by, and you lose touch with all but your core friends. That’s the natural rhythm of life. We make room for others. We evolve- if we’re lucky.

Then Facebook comes along and suddenly you ‘re-up’ with people you haven’t seen since the day you flipped your tassel and threw your mortar board into the air.

I reconnected with the guitar playing intellect and slowly got hooked on his poetic posts.

He still plays guitar , got remarried to someone he loves deeply and had a baby with her just a few years ago.  At our age, that’s optimism.

All of it is fascinating—poetic posts, music, babies, a passionate new love. This 60 something is inspiring!

I’m glad he didn’t peak in 1982; I know a few folks who did.

He did not stay rooted in the glory days of racing cars down Nicolls Road, eating pizza at Mario’s and drinking on a fake ID in Port Jeff.

Those were good days, but the rest were even better if you’re lucky. I count myself to be one of the fortunate ones.

But I digress again.

Which finally brings me to the point of this rambling essay.

My guitar player friend recently posted about something called a “sit spot”. I had never heard the term.  So I looked it up and it refers to a special place where you can go and gather your thoughts.

I like that concept, and I have a sit spot sort of. It’s in Lake Ida Park. I say sort of cause it’s not just one spot, it’s more an area within the park that I can go and collect my thoughts.

I went there after I learned my mother was sick and again after she passed. I went after my divorce and again when we had a fatal shooting when I was mayor.

I went after 9/11 and on Oct. 7 after learning what had happened in Israel.

I’ve been there a lot this year because I’ve lost several friends—a few before their time. And truth be told, there’s never enough time.

After reading the ‘sit spot’ post I had a dream about a place in the woods in what might have been Maine, which has become my happy place. A place I breathe better and feel most relaxed. I’m writing this while sitting in my kitchen in Portland, windows open, (fresh air is better than air conditioning), the birds are singing and its green—everywhere.

Anyway, I woke from this dream content. I wrote down these words to capture that feeling. That fleeting peaceful, easy feeling.

Here it is…thanks my guitar playing intellect friend. You continue to inspire this now aging man who remains a fan. P.S. what I hope you are about to read was just selected to be included in an anthology of poems being published by a group called Fresh Words. My first published poem.

You wouldn’t even notice it, not if you weren’t looking.

A little clearing, barely marked — just a dip in the trail where the moss thickens and the trees lean in like they’re sharing secrets.

There’s a ledge there, cool and smooth, carved by time and rain. My sit spot.

I don’t go there with an agenda. Not anymore.

At first, I thought I was supposed to do something — solve a problem, find clarity, reach peace.

But this place doesn’t ask that of me. It just asks me to stop.

To be.

Some days I sit, still as stone, and watch the wind make ripples in the canopy above.

Other times, I lie back on that ledge, stretch my arms out wide, and let the sky press down gently on my chest —

like it’s reminding me I’m small, but not alone.

The birds come and go, flickers of motion and music.

A squirrel chatters like I’ve interrupted his sermon.

Even the ants do their work with purpose, like they know something I don’t.

There’s a rhythm to the forest — not rushed, not lazy. Just… true.

When I’m here, I remember what it feels like to be a part of that rhythm.

To breathe like the trees breathe.

To think less and feel more.

I’ve cried here, laughed here, done nothing here.

It’s held all of it. No judgment.

Just silence, and green, and sky.

This is my sit spot.

Not mine like I own it — no, more like… I belong to it.

And when the world gets too loud, too fast, too sharp,

I come back.

And it remembers me.

6 July, 2025 0 Comments

What’s Possible

July 6, 2025 By Leave a Comment

Inside The Edythe

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I had a remarkable experience a few months back that I wanted to share with you.

My teammates and I at the Carl Angus DeSantis Foundation went on a “What’s Possible Tour” courtesy of the Philanthropic Services Team at Bank of America. We work closely with the team on all issues relating to philanthropy. They consult on governance, technology, best practices and any questions we might have about how to be good philanthropists. They are invaluable and we treasure their expertise and kindness.

They bring a national perspective to our “place-based” local philanthropy.

So, in the spirit of finding out ‘what’s possible’, we ventured to Central Florida to check in with the Dr. Phillips Foundation, the Edythe Bush Foundation, the Winter Park Health Foundation, Lift Orlando and the Central Florida Foundation. We also had an opportunity to visit the sensational Morse Museum on Park Avenue in Winter Park for a behind the scenes tour that served as a lesson in what culture can do for a community. The Morse is a local and national treasure.  With our local arts scene threatened by funding cuts, we need to be vigilant and make sure we don’t lose what makes us special.

We came back from Central Florida brimming with ideas and filled with inspiration, excitement and motivation. We saw ‘what’s possible’ and we are determined to pursue transformation.

It’s a good lesson for all of us. Regardless of what you do for a living, it’s important to step back and explore what’s possible. For a small investment of time, we had an opportunity to refresh, recharge and change our thinking.

I think people crave inspiration. We want to be moved by a mission, we need to know our “why” and we long to find opportunities to pursue big ideas, ideas that will outlive us.

The best philanthropists, the leaders who matter, the entrepreneurs who make a dent in our world do so with posterity in mind. They understand that their highest calling is to plant seeds that others will benefit from. They plant trees knowing that others will enjoy the shade. In that spirit, here’s what we saw. I encourage you to design your own “What’s Possible Tour.”

Dr. Phillips Charities

We were blown away by the Dr. Phillips headquarters. Words cannot do justice to the building and the grounds…just a remarkable space and a statement that Dr. Phillips is here for the long haul.

It’s hard to overstate the influence Dr. Phillips and his family foundation have had on Orange and Osceola Counties. Phillips made his fortune in the citrus industry which shaped The Sunshine State. That fortune is now being used to enhance health, culture, education and the economic and social well-being of the region.

We turned to the leadership of the Dr. Phillips team  when we were tasked with forming the Carl Angus DeSantis Foundation and their guidance was invaluable in our start-up days.

To experience their work up close was breathtaking.

Dr. Phillips has significant real estate holdings, and they are busy turning those assets into places that will benefit the greater Orlando area.

Perhaps the most exciting project they have is the 202-acre “Packing District” which is being transformed into a vibrant mixed-use project.

One of the original citrus producers in the region, Dr. Phillips used the land that stretches along Orange Blossom Trail near College Park as the site of one of his multiple packing houses, creating a key place in the early economic ecosystem of Orlando. The site was the first industrial property in Central Florida and the crown jewel in Dr. Phillips’ real estate holdings. The plan includes 97 acres of mixed-use and residential development (1 million square feet or retail/office and 3,500 units) and a 105-acre regional park which will include a 40-acre urban farm which will focus on fixing a broken food system offering learning experiences and using sustainable practices from around the world to grow healthy food.

Our team was struck by Dr. Phillips long-term vision and the importance they place on being good stewards, which was a key principle of their founder.

Edythe Bush Foundation

Stewardship and legacy are the guiding values of the Edythe Bush Foundation, which also assisted us with key advice in our early days. The Edythe Bush Foundation’s visionary leader David Odahowski has been called the “dean of Florida philanthropy.”  We wanted to borrow David’s brain and absorb his decades of wisdom. He was kind enough to cooperate.

The Edythe Bush Foundation has had a huge impact in Winter Park, which is somewhat reminiscent of Delray Beach in terms of scale and charm.

Mr. Odahowski reminded us that we probably won’t solve the many issues facing society, but we can move the needle and make a difference.

That’s good news for nonprofits, those of us who give to charity and those of us who aspire to move the needle in the right direction. Edythe Bush’s tagline is “providing a legacy of leadership” and they have done just that with a variety of investments that have helped make Winter Park, a jewel of a city. One of those newer investments is the foundation’s gleaming headquarters located downtown strategically near Rollins College.

We met inside their new building which is called “The Edythe.” It’s stunning. The Edythe welcomes the community with a variety of activities and offers meeting space to community groups. It’s designed like a theatre, which honors Mrs. Bush who was an actress and dancer. The family’s philanthropy was derived from the success of 3M, a Minnesota based conglomerate.

The foundation is unique because it has a local focus and serves as a convener. Over the past 50 years, Edythe Bush has served close to 900 nonprofit organizations and given over $114 million in grants to alleviate human suffering and help people help themselves, that is a concept that drove our founder, Carl DeSantis.

But what’s also interesting is that the foundation and its leader have served as beacons for the state of Florida. They were instrumental in founding the Florida Philanthropic Network, an organization that enables foundations to learn from each other and leverage their collective knowledge of challenges and opportunities facing Florida. The foundation also works closely with the Florida Chamber Foundation on future goals for the state. We have learned a lot from Edythe Bush and their talented staff.

 

Winter Park Health Foundation

Nearby is the headquarters of the Winter Park Health Foundation, which uses the proceeds from the sale of a hospital to offer programs that promote community health. The Winter Park Health Foundation has created a special space in a park-like setting where people of all ages come for classes, exercise, healthy food and solace from a busy world. I was especially taken by their “Nutrition Theatre” which serves as a learning kitchen where people can come to take classes. It reminded me of the work that Ali Kaufman is doing at the Community Classroom Kitchen in Delray Beach, which we are proud to support.

The Winter Park Health Foundation model is a little different from many other foundations in that they operate their own program. We saw the complexities of this model, but also its potential.

Central Florida Foundation

For 30 years, the Central Florida Foundation has been serving as the “community foundation” for their large and diverse region.

From these experts, we learned the importance of data analysis and the need to look at root causes of community challenges to ensure that philanthropic dollars are spent wisely.

The Foundation also serves as a convener and has found innovative ways to bring the community together around issues and opportunities. Currently, I’m bingeing their podcast “First You Talk” which covers issues including homelessness, housing and health.

What struck us the most was their “Thrive Central Florida” initiative which brings together the collective brainpower, funding and skills needed to address the most pressing challenges facing a region which is growing rapidly. The premise is simple: Central Florida leaders are smarter and more impactful when key players work together.  A good lesson for other regions to emulate.

Armed with this information and passion for our mission, we are so excited about “What’s Possible.” I encourage you to ask and answer that simple, but profound question.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

30 June, 2025 11 11 Comments

The Essential Service…The Essential Relationship

June 30, 2025 By 11 Comments

The Delray Beach Police Department has a proud history and has played an enormous role in the city’s success.

I don’t know the nitty gritty details of the contract dispute between the Delray Beach police union and the City of Delray Beach.

I know the basic parameters, but I can’t argue the merits of either side.

But speaking as a longtime resident, I’m rooting for this standoff to end—fairly. For all parties.

The issue must be resolved. Hopefully, soon because real and lasting damage is occurring.

What I am most fearful of is that the fracture goes beyond a contract dispute, as serious and complicated as that may be. What’s at stake is an essential connection. It’s important that a city and its police officers and firefighters have a strong relationship. Ideally that relationship should be built on trust and mutual respect.

Public safety is an essential service.  As such, we need to provide our taxpayers and visitors with top notch police and fire services. Our personal safety and the security of our homes and businesses depend on it. In many ways our economic future depends on public safety as well.

So, this labor issue needs to be resolved. It was comforting to see the fire department’s staffing issues settled, although it came at considerable cost and I am not talking about money.  Allow me to explain.

Every endeavor, at its core, is a human one.

We are emotional beings, and it matters how we speak to each other and about each other.

We want to be seen and we want to be heard. We want to be respected and considered—always.

If disputes linger and get nasty it is hard to put the toothpaste back in the tube. Words and gestures leave a mark. Those words can either build a relationship or cleave it apart.

I’m seeing some real damage being done with statements that won’t be soon forgotten even when a contract is signed.

And the longer this goes on the more we will chip away at departments that we not only count on but can thank for the quality of our community.

I’ve said on many occasions that the men and women who have served and are serving in the Delray Beach Police Department are the unsung heroes of Delray’s renaissance.

The Fire Rescue Department has been invaluable as well.

The quality of these departments, their effectiveness and their professionalism should be a source of civic pride. We have outstanding police and fire services.

Achieving and maintaining that excellence has been a joint effort between those who serve at great risk and the taxpayers who have invested in these departments.  City leadership also plays an essential role.

Supporting our public safety departments is table stakes for a quality community. The men and women who serve depend on mayors, commissioners and city managers to stand by them. They must know that if the going gets rough—and it always does—that leaders have their backs. That doesn’t mean there’s no accountability; it just means that support trumps political expediency. Good leaders take bullets for their people. They stand by them. In good times and in not so good times.

And that means that when things get hot, cooler heads need to prevail. There’s simply too much at stake.

It’s not just about money and benefits although it’s essential to be competitive. It’s also about support and respect.

Those intangible but invaluable assets need to flow both ways. It once did.

It’s going to require a lot to get back to that place. Respect is earned. So is trust. But it’s worth the effort. Failure is not an option here.

I care about the Delray Beach Police Department and Delray Beach Fire Rescue. Over my nearly 40 years here I’ve gotten to know and befriend many officers and firefighters. I admire their dedication, and I respect their commitment to the job and to us as citizens.

Earlier this year, my heart was broken when we lost legendary Officer (and former union President) Vinny Mintus followed by the loss of Fire Chief Kerry Koen, the brilliant architect of modern-day Delray Fire Rescue.

These dedicated and talented public servants loved their city. Hundreds of others past and present have devoted their lives to protecting and serving us. We have been blessed with so many special and talented officers and firefighters and they have made an immense and lasting difference.

So, there is a lot at stake in this dispute. Relationships matter.

Personally, I don’t know what it’s like to go to work in the morning, not knowing what dangers I’ll face or what horrors I might see during the day or night. But I have spent many hours “riding along” with both police and firefighters. I’ve had a glimpse into that world. Enough to be aware and grateful for people willing to do this work for a living.

They do not get rich doing this job. But officers and firefighters deserve lives and retirements that provide dignity and security.

The men and women who work in law enforcement are wired to serve. Firefighters are as well.

They enjoy the camaraderie of working with others who share the mission, and they take pride in running into buildings that others are running out of.

I’ve also been in the shoes of elected officials who have a duty to protect all stakeholders.

We faced an attrition and recruitment issue before in the early 2000s. At that time, we were told by our chiefs— both police and fire —that we were bleeding personnel and that we needed to step up and figure out a solution to stop the attrition and become competitive again.

We did.

It wasn’t cheap and it wasn’t easy. We also suffered the slings and arrows from the armchair experts who thought we were selling out to the unions.

We weren’t.

It wasn’t about generosity; it was about being competitive with our neighboring departments so that we could continue to provide an essential service.

Without public safety, you can’t have a viable city. To provide quality public safety costs money. Lots of money.

To not offer quality public safety costs even more. Businesses leave. Property values plunge, visitors and patrons who support your economy go where they feel safe.

There’s a lot at stake here.

This is where we depend on leaders to find a way forward—together.

The time has come to stop the bleeding and repair this essential relationship. I have faith that will happen because it must.

 

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