Let’s Work Together

We are all pieces of the puzzle. All of us.

 

Recently I read a beautiful magazine piece about an Amish community in Maine that harvests ice from a frozen lake.

The story detailed how the community works together to harvest, cut and store ice used for refrigeration.
It was a lovely story that detailed how the community has a tradition of working together.
Working together.  What a concept.
From early childhood through our school years we are taught to collaborate.
It takes a village, we are told.
“Coming together is a beginning. Keeping together is progress. Working together is success,” said Henry Ford.
“Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much,” adds Helen Keller.
The list of sayings go on and on.
And yet, we don’t.
Or at least our so-called leaders don’t. I call them so-called because I don’t think you can lead if you can’t collaborate.
The best businesses assemble teams to achieve goals.
The best nonprofits enlist the community and attract talented staffs and volunteers to tackle challenges.
In my role as a foundation executive, I’m seeing great collaborations taking shape around brain health and neighborhood revitalization among many other efforts.
I’m seeing collaboration on workforce development, providing pathways to college and addressing childhood trauma. I’m also seeing collaborative efforts to build and nurture an entrepreneurial ecosystem.
It’s heartening. 
But there’s one aspect of our society that is not collaborating. One important sector that refuses to work together. 
In fact, this cohort does the opposite. They fight. They undermine each other. They focus on themselves and fail to do their jobs which is to serve us. We, the people. 
If you haven’t guessed, I’m talking about our elected officials. From Washington to our state capitols and our City Halls, we are witnessing dysfunction.
Dysfunction is costly.
Dysfunction is exhausting and dysfunction poses a threat to future progress and threatens past achievements. 
We, the people deserve better. 
We live in a time of great promise and great peril. 
Artificial intelligence, quantum computing, breakthroughs in science, medicine and robotics come with both opportunities and existential challenges. 
Because the stakes are so high we need to do better. We need to demand more from those who seek to lead us—at every level of our creaky system. 
This needs to be addressed immediately. You can feel important aspects of our system melting away. It’s visceral. It’s real. And it’s relentless.
We best wake up. Because if we don’t we will lose institutions we spent decades and billions of dollars to build. And once we lose our institutions, we’re in deep trouble. Once broken, there’s no guarantee we can get them back. 
Going forward, I will only vote for people who want to work with others. People who are open to learning, who may admit that occasionally they are wrong. 
That sounds so trite, so basic and yet it must be said. 
We have politicians who tell us they’ve never been wrong. It’s unimaginable, hubris. We wouldn’t tolerate this behavior in our children or are work colleagues. And yet, we allow our elected officials to run their mouths and lie openly to us. It’s corrosive, dangerous and disgusting. And we the people, stand for what we tolerate. If they are allowed to do this, if their own “teams” won’t reign them in, we must.
If you are looking to be elected so you can “own” your opponents, I’m not interested. 
But if you want to serve, if you want to stand up and deliver I’m all ears. 
That means working across the aisle, listening, caring about outcomes not headlines and having an ability to change your mind if you hear new information and an ability to veer from the party line if the facts warrant a change. 
I want leaders, not sycophants. I long for thinkers not puppets. 
I suspect I am not alone. 
 
 
 
 
 

 

Sent from my iPhone

MLK 2026

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

Looking Ahead: Notes On A New Year

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.

The Shape Of Things To Come

 

I’ve been thinking a lot about stories lately.

Storytelling is a fundamental human art form and the most powerful way to convey ideas, create connections, and understand the world.

It has been said that all great literature is one of two stories; a person goes on a journey, or a stranger comes to town.

I have to think about that one, but it sounds about right.

Anyway, I was thinking that places have stories as well. America has a story (and may need a refresh to bring us together) and certainly cities and regions have their narratives as well.

Recently, I tuned into a webinar presented by a cool company called Mission Impact Strategies which is led by my friend Alex Price. Alex is a talented leader with lots of energy and vision. His team is skilled in coalition building, strategy and leadership development. I think he’s going to make a big impact across our state in the next few decades. I look forward to watching him soar.

On the webinar, he interviewed another talented leader named Imran Siddiqui. Imran is another friend that I expect will do big things in his new role. He’s a super smart, deeply connected and driven individual. I enjoy our too infrequent chats because I always come away with a deeper understanding of our community.

Imran recently became CEO of South Florida Tech Hub which seeks to build, grow, sustain and brand South Florida as a globally recognized innovation hub. It;s a big and important mission. A heavy lift as they say, but Imran is a talent. He’s going to make a difference.

One of his main strategies—outlined on the webinar—is to create a new narrative (story) for our region emphasizing collaboration, talent and connection.

He has his eye on places like Austin, Texas, Silicon Valley, Denver and Atlanta—metros that are known for their tech talent, venture capital investment and job growth.

Imran told us that tech innovation in Miami-Dade, Broward and Palm Beach counties are on an “upward trajectory” based on job growth, VC money, deal making and reputation.

“Talent doesn’t have to leave South Florida to have a career,” he told listeners on the webinar, a group that included nonprofit executives, public officials, business leaders and academics.

Still, there are the usual headwinds which include affordability, fractured politics, competition from other regions here and abroad, the promise and peril of AI and the usual barriers to regional collaboration, which includes a parochial mindset that prizes winning over partnership.

The webinar was a fascinating overview of what’s happening in our economy, but Imran noted some of the factors creating momentum.

Among them:

The arrival of big players.

“Ken Griffin’s presence alone is a momentum shifter,” he said referring to the business titan who went to school in Boca and founded hedge fund giant Citadel.

Griffin has been making a splash throughout the region with his investment and philanthropy. Joining him is a raft full of Wall Street financial firms and real estate magnate Stephen Ross who has adopted West Palm Beach.

All of these data points, which include several high profile deals (Bain Capital investing in Boca’s Aerospace Technologies Group, a private equity giant buying a majority stake in Boca’s ModMed at a $5.3 billion valuation, Celsius’ remarkable growth which has turned the energy drink company into a company with a $14.5 billion market cap etc.) is changing South Florida’s narrative from a place to retire into a place where serious business is being conducted.

“Narrative matters,” Mr. Siddiqui told his audience. “Because perception drives investment.”

He’s right.

And so, I wonder what is our story in Delray?

Where do we fit in?

South Florida’s brand is driven by three dominant cities: Miami, Fort Lauderdale and West Palm Beach. But the other cities in the region matter as well. Boca is punching above its weight with more than half of Palm Beach County’s corporate headquarters calling Boca their home.

Boca is a compelling story and has been for a while now. The potential redevelopment of its city hall campus, the transformation planned at the former IBM campus now known as BRIC (Boca Raton Innovation Campus) and the announcement of a $1 billion fund by 1789 Capital (Donald Trump Jr. is a partner) is said to be focused specifically on Palm Beach and Boca. The fund is described as “anti-woke” (whatever that is) and is named after the year the Bill of Rights was adopted, according to the firm’s website, 1789 Capital.

 

Meanwhile, West Palm Beach’s newly announced Service Now deal is an important milestone for the local AI economy and comes with a promise of 850 plus jobs. Vanderbilt University is coming as well.

I recently had a chance to hang out with Fort Lauderdale Mayor Dean Trantalis at an FAU football game. There’s a lot happening in his city as well; it’s dizzying. Fort Lauderdale often gets lost in the conversation relative to Miami and West Palm Beach, but the one-time Spring Break Capital has been transformed with more investment on the horizon.

I think stories and narratives need to be shaped and updated by citizens and policymakers. They can grow stale. They must be true, or they are quickly discounted or even turned into objects of derision. If you bill yourself as a city on the move, well you better be.

Anyway, a lot is happening. And investment, opportunity and jobs will go the places that are switched on, visionary, open for business and tell a riveting story.

A Wonderful & Meaningful Life

Our beloved friend Tony in front of Crossroads.

Tony Allerton was a bright light.

And that bright light will continue to burn bright. Of that I am certain.

At his essence, Tony was a man who exuded optimism, love, empathy and care. In a world that often exhibits the opposite of those words, Tony stood tall and stood out. He was someone you could always count on to find a way forward, a way toward a better future. A path toward grace.

My friend Tony passed last week. He was a few days shy of 97. That’s a good run for most folks, but for people like Tony it wasn’t enough time. He leaves a void in a whole lot of lives, but he also leaves a legacy of hope, compassion, understanding and belief in others that will last for generations to come.

If that sounds like an exaggeration, you don’t know my friend Tony and the impact he’s had on countless lives.

He was a beacon to those in recovery, those looking to put their lives on a better path. He understood their struggle, because it was his struggle as well. And he served as a model for what’s possible for those looking to live a life of sobriety and dignity.

The word recovery carries a heavy weight in Delray Beach.

Over the years, we have seen both compassion for those in recovery and we’ve seen intolerance and fear as well.

We’ve been known as a welcoming community and we’ve seen words like “cancer” used to describe those who come here to recover.

Through it all, Tony stood strong. Tony never wavered, never stopped caring and never gave in to anger or despair. He was a beacon. A man who exhibited nothing but love, kindness and understanding.

He was a rare breed. I can’t think of anyone who has done more for his community.

And Tony’s community is our community. It’s all of us. He stood for all of us.

Every family has a story. We’ve all been touched by addiction.

Some of the very best people I’ve ever met in this town came here to recover. Many stayed and built lives here. They’ve been incredible contributors.

They have been invaluable.

Tony’s civic resume alone is breathtaking: he led the Delray Beach Playhouse, Delray Beach Rotary Club and the Lake Ida Property Owners Association.

For decades, Tony has quietly but persistently been an advocate for those seeking sobriety.

I have known Tony for close to 40 years. When I came to town, his iconic Crossroads Club was operating in what is now Pineapple Grove.

Sometime after I got elected to the City Commission in 2000, Tony came to see me at City Hall.

He wanted to relocate Crossroads to an out of the way (yet convenient) location on Lake Ida Road.

He told me that he didn’t want to Crossroads to be in the path of  the progress happening downtown and that Crossroads needed more parking and a place to grow and thrive.

I thought that showed great foresight.

I remember the conversation very clearly.

I was with our Planning Director at the time Paul Dorling and Tony looked at us and with a smile said: “When we shut the lights downtown we need to be turning them on in the new building.”

Tony reminded us that Crossroads served as a lifesaver for people and he didn’t want anyone to miss a meeting. Hundreds and hundreds of people go to Crossroads on a daily basis and rely on the program for their well being.

Paul and I looked at each other and agreed.

“Ok,” we said.

Tony leaned forward with a serious look.

“ When we shut the lights off downtown we need to be turning them on in the new building.”

Then he smiled, that magnetic smile.

We got the message. And so that’s exactly what happened.

Tony and I remained in touch over the years. We would meet for lunch at Granger’s periodically to discuss Crossroads, happenings around town and the like.

Every one of our lunches proved meaningful, for me. Tony was a teacher. He was a champion for people and he was very open about his story and the importance of his work.

If he was ever hurt by some of the periods of vitriol over recovery he didn’t really share it, at least with me. It wasn’t about him, it was about others striving to recover.

I deeply admired his courage, sense of humor  and dedication.

We are taught that people are replaceable. And indeed the show must go on as they say. But I’m here to testify that there will be nobody quite like Tony.

You can’t go to the shelf and pluck out another leader to fill the void he leaves.

But being the optimist I’m struggling to be, I believe that people like Tony live on. His care for others and his legacy cannot be forgotten and will continue to pay dividends. There are scores of people doing good things in this world because of Tony’s heart and dedication. These ripples of good endure and grow.

Thanks to my friend Steve English, I had what ended up to be a last lunch with Tony recently.

I wrote about it here.

Here’s the link. https://yourdelrayboca.com/my-lunch-with-tony/

To Tony’s family and many friends I’m so sorry for your loss. What a blessing he was. Tony will always be a part of us.

Tony was a bright light.

And that bright light will continue to burn bright. Of that I am certain.

 

Trust vs. Dominance

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.

For Frances, With Love

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.

On Being A Steward

“Leaders need to be stewards of the things that work and innovators on new initiatives

and the things that are broken. Fix gently with humility.”

I saw this quote recently and I immediately wrote it down.

I can’t find who said it, but I wish I knew because I believe every single word. Especially the gentle part. Especially the humility piece. We are short of both these days.

I think we’ve lost our sense of stewardship and that should alarm all of us.

Being a steward asks us to be responsible with the gifts we’ve been given. Stewardship demands that we take care of the assets we’re tasked to protect.

In business it means we should never endanger the enterprise. In life it means we need to tend to those we cherish and in leadership it means don’t destroy, enhance if you can, but don’t break things that cannot be replaced.

Sadly, I believe we’ve lost the essence of leadership which is service. Too often, “leaders” position themselves as people to be served when their job is to serve others.

The best leaders make us feel safe when they are on the job, not fearful of retribution.

If you think I’m talking about the national situation– I am. But I’ve seen this dynamic play out on the local level too.

It’s a ruinous model.

It chases away the very people you need to build value, it screams stay away when we need to be inviting talent to the cause.

A corollary of this style of “serve me” leadership is the emergence of sycophants.

These are people who overlook every misdeed. They accept every lie, excuse every boneheaded decision and look the other way when lines are crossed. These types only hold the “other side” accountable.

That’s also ruinous.

I’ve seen this dynamic play out locally and nationally as well.

We are in a moment when everything we’ve previously cherished seems to be at risk.

Every ideal, every fact, every value, every bedrock of society seems to be under assault. All at once.

As a result, many of us don’t feel safe. There’s an aching sense that the once firm ground beneath our feet is shifting as if we live in quicksand. We reach for the life raft and a wave carries it away.

I’m reminded of a consultant that Boca and Delray used to use for City Commission goal setting.

Lyle Sumek was a former city administrator turned municipal sage. He travelled the country consulting with large and small cities. He saw what worked and what didn’t. I worked with him for 7 years. I thought his counsel was invaluable.

Lyle taught us the concept of ‘municipal math’ which I also believe applies to states and nations.

Basically, municipal math posits that it can take 20,30, 40 or more years to build something but only a few months to destroy what’s been built. It can take 10-20 years to restore what’s been lost–with no guarantee you’ll be able to do so.

Municipal math is cruel and unfair. It’s also a rock-solid truism. See Square, Old School for a local example.

Hence the need for stewards.

We’ve seen the guys with chain saws and the elected officials who tune out common sense and destroy beloved and valued institutions but the stewards…well they are a rare breed. They may have gone the way of the dodo bird. And that’s a shame. A costly damn shame.

Odd & Ends

Interesting stat:

A recent National Association of Realtors report confirms what many are seeing: the median age of homebuyers continues to rise, with the median buyer now age 56  which qualifies them for AARP benefits. The average repeat buyer rose from 45 in 2004 to over 60 in 2024, so the same generation is still buying the homes 20 years later.

Perhaps most troubling, however, is the rapid increase in age of first-time homebuyers over the past 10 years, which now sits at 38 years old—up from 30 in 2010.

Something has to give folks, an entire generation can’t get started.

Congratulations to former Delray Assistant City Manager Bob Barcinski who received his 40 years of service pin recently from an association of City Managers.

Mr. B. —as he is affectionately known—was a remarkable public servant, a quiet hero behind the scenes of so much progress in Delray Beach. He’s retired now and last I saw him (a week or so ago) he looked relaxed and happy. Well done, my friend.

 

More congratulations to everyone’s friend Captain Gary Ferreri of the Delray PD.

Capt. Ferreri was named “Supervisor of the Year” at the recent Delray Citizens for Delray Police Gala at the Opal Resort.

Over the past year, Captain Ferreri supervised multiple specialty units—including Vice, Narcotics, Criminal Intelligence, and our Problem Oriented Policing Teams—while also leading the successful rollout of Delray’s new downtown camera system. From securing funding and selecting equipment to managing installation, his work has helped strengthen public safety and modernize our policing infrastructure.

He’s also a great guy so this is extra special to see him being recognized.

I also want to take this opportunity to thank Police Chief Russ Mager for his 29 years of service to Delray.

Russ resigned last week and will be replaced at least on an interim basis by Darrell Hunter, a fine man and officer.

I watched Chief Mager climb the ranks and always respected his dedication to the job and the community. He will be missed and remembered.

There’s a whole lot of “stuff” playing out in both our police and fire departments right now. I’m rooting for cooler heads to prevail. I will say this based on 38 years of closely witnessing the impact the police and fire departments have had on our town. There is no better investment than public safety. None. These are expensive services–I get it—but they are essential services. Whatever you like or enjoy or value about Delray Beach was made possible because people felt safe to invest here. We can lose it, if we are not careful. And remember municipal math is cruel.

Finally, congratulations to Delray’s own Coco Gauff, French Open champion!

 

 

Kerry Koen: Teacher, Mentor, Leader

Chief Kerry Koen was an innovator. He built our modern day fire department in Delray and also led Boca Fire.

We lost a great man last week.

And the loss weighs heavy.

Even though we knew it was coming… the loss weighs heavy.

Former Delray Beach and. Boca Raton Fire Chief Kerry Koen passed away April 11. This is a tremendous loss for the thousands of people whose lives were directly impacted by Kerry and for the communities that benefited from his vision, courage, intellect and care.

Every time someone dials 911 in our community they benefit from Kerry’s  contributions and ideas.

At heart, Kerry Koen was a teacher. He was also a protector and a public servant whose body of work made our hometowns safer for all.

**************

Four of us went to see Kerry a few hours before he left this world and we were grateful to have one last memorable conversation  with a man who has occupied a big piece of our hearts for a long time now.

We sat bedside and he calmly told us he was dying. And when we left he said he would see us on the other side. He said he loved us and we said we loved and respected him.

In between, we shared stories, looked at his memorabilia and marveled at the breadth of his life and the strength he has exhibited through a series of health crises these past two years.

He was with us the whole time. It was a last gift, a last lesson in life, service and love.

To the end, our friend Kerry was involved in the communities that he loved–Boca Raton and Delray Beach. He sat with mayors and city managers, mentored fire chiefs and those climbing the ranks and worked hard to find a way to keep our cities on track. He told me he wanted to be relevant. And he was, until his last breath and now beyond because Kerry Koen’s accomplishments, lessons and example will inform leaders for years to come.

**************

We throw the word greatness around with abandon these days.

But Kerry Koen was the real deal. He was a great man. A great fire chief.

Some people come along in our lives and words just can’t adequately describe the impact they make on our world.

Kerry Koen was one of those men.

In the past few days, I’ve heard from firefighters, business and civic leaders and friends of Kerry who were touched in deep, lasting and profound ways just by having known him.

I’ve known Kerry for about three decades. He became a teacher, mentor, friend and sounding board.

We spoke frequently and toward the end we ended our conversations with “I love you’s.”

That’s not a common sign off for guys.

But Kerry, who always led with his heart, had grown even softer and more sensitive as he aged and as he gracefully navigated a series of health issues that would have leveled another man.

We saw his strength. We saw his resolve. We saw his fighting spirit and we saw his soft side as well.

It was all a gift. Kerry Koen was a gift. They don’t make them like this anymore and we are worse off as a result.

While Kerry led with love; love for his country, love for his firefighters, love for his cities, he also led with a sharp intellect.

He was well read. He was a deep thinker and someone who saw trends before anyone else.

He was the smartest person I’ve ever met when it comes to understanding what makes cities work. He saw the big picture and shared his knowledge generously. If you were smart enough to listen you got a master class every time you spoke with him. Every single time.

He loaned me books and articles. Showed me photos that he took and those that he loved. He invested in me as a friend and as someone active in the community. We worked well together when I was on the City Commission. But we grew closer after I left.

I loved him.

The great ones leave their marks on our hearts and our minds. If we are lucky they arrive in our lives and in our communities and if we are smart we listen, learn and appreciate.

I did.

I listened. I learned. And I’m thankful for it all. I’m not alone. Kerry touched so many of us in just this way. I’m thinking of those people too today, because I know losing Kerry weighs heavily on their hearts.

And I’m thinking about his lovely wife Lynne as well. Lynne is so very strong. So kind. So loving. What a team these two have been. How lucky we are to know them and to love them.

*********

I wanted to share the message shared by our fire union. I thought it was perfect. Here it is.

With heavy hearts, IAFF Local 1842 honors the life and legacy of retired Fire Chief Kerry B. Koen, one of the most influential and respected leaders our department has ever known.

 

Chief Koen didn’t just lead Delray Beach Fire Rescue, he built it.  He laid the foundation for the professional standards we stand on today and gave generations of firefighters the opportunity to wear this badge with pride.  For many of us, he was the one who gave us our chance to serve.  That kind of belief changes lives, and it changed many of ours.  He taught us what service truly meant—not just responding to calls, but showing up for your crew, your city, and your values, day in and day out.

 

He wasn’t interested in politics or personal praise.  He was interested in making things better…better training, better equipment, better leadership, and a better future for those who answered the call.  He gave a voice to firefighters and fought for our safety.

 

Chief Koen led with heart and backbone.  He didn’t flinch in the face of hard decisions, and he didn’t hide when things got tough.  He showed us what real leadership looks like: calm in the storm, humble in success, and relentless when it came to protecting both his firefighters and his community.

 

We’ve lost more than a former chief, we’ve lost a pillar of our department and community. But his legacy lives in every firehouse, in every crew, and in every firefighter who still strives to live up to the standard he set.

 

Rest easy, Chief. We’ll take it from here.

Honoring Perry

The City of Delray Beach gave much deserved recognition to Delray Citizens for Delray Beach Police founder Perry DonFrancisco last week.

Perry, who ran the police support organization as a labor of love for four decades, recently stepped down and handed the reins to the very capable Chuck Halberg. He leaves behind a long legacy of caring for the men and women of the Delray Beach Police Department and the broader community as well.

I’ve written extensively of my admiration for Perry in the past, but I couldn’t let the occasion pass without saying that people like Perry are rare finds in life. He’s been Delray Beach’s best friend—there in every season, through every storm, a beacon of decency, civility, grace and kindness. He has worked a whole lot of behind-the-scenes magic over the years, quietly solving problems, mediating disputes, providing invaluable guidance and leading by example.

Whether you know the man or not, please trust me when I tell you that if you live, work or play in Delray, you have benefited from his hard work and steady presence.

Perry Don Francisco is the definition of a great man and a great citizen.

 

 

Seeds Build A Village

Frances and her crew. From left, Scott Porten, Elise Johnson Nail, Bill Branning, Frances, Joe Gillie and me.

Planting seeds.
Those were the two words I came away with after spending a weekend celebrating a special leader who changed Delray and a special couple whose passion and hard work has enabled all children to play baseball.
On Friday evening we joined about 170 people to honor the founder of Old School Square Frances Bourque with a scholarship named after her that will last forever.

We had a lovely dinner with friends, watched a short film that captured the origins of the cultural arts center and listened to speakers talk about what Frances meant to their lives.
Elise Johnson Nail, Scott Porten, Bill Branning and Joe Gillie spoke about how Frances’ passion for the arts and people brought them together in a common mission.
I also had an opportunity to speak and I thanked Frances for being a mentor, inspiration and muse.

I sat next another mentor of mine, former Mayor Tom Lynch who worked with Frances in the early days of Old School Square when Delray was still trying to jumpstart a moribund downtown and find its way.
Tom’s steadfast leadership and vision made him a natural ally of Frances as she and her team created a cultural center out of a once derelict building.
The word “center” in this case has more than one meaning.

Old School Square became the centerpiece of a civic revival, one that gained national attention.
As I surveyed the room, I saw the architects that made the revival possible.  Two legendary directors of our Community Redevelopment Agency, a few former mayors and commissioners, key donors, talented staff (who were always overworked and underpaid) supportive city staff (now retired) and patrons who enjoyed decades of entertainment and programs.
The visuals filled my heart.

This is what a village looks like.

This is what it takes: good people, working together over a long period of time to move a community forward.
In this case, toxic politics pulled the plug on success. It’s a shame and I’ve written extensively about why the termination of Old School Square was a horrible and expensive mistake.
There’s no point in relitigating the issue, but there’s a point in celebrating the past, thanking people who deserve our gratitude and planning for the future.
That’s what the wonderful people of Old School Square are doing.
They are still hosting a popular “Six by Six” event which features local artists and raises funds for arts education. And now there is an endowed scholarship at the Conmunity Foundation to honor a civic heroine for the ages.
Well done.

Miracle League Founders Julia and Jeff Kadel.

On Saturday, we went to Opening Day at the Miracle League at Miller Field,
The Miracle  League of Palm Beach County is celebrating its 20th season this year and that is something to cheer.
I had the honor of throwing out the first pitch. What a hoot!
20 years ago, I threw out the first pitch as Mayor. Our city commission had given league founders Jeff and Julia Kadel a $10,000 grant to seed the new league.  20 years later, I came back to see the fruits of that seed, and it was emotionally satisfying for everyone who attended.

We saw a parade of children, joining their teammates and coaches as they got ready for another season. We saw another civic heroine, Julia Kadel, run the show with love and passion. We saw sponsors and volunteers and players and parents and business people who stopped by to cheer the kids on. It filled my heart.

I was really happy to see our fire department represented. The men and women of Delray Fire Rescue have been volunteering and supporting the league since it’s inception.  It has been a rough couple of years for our fire department, but from what I see and what I know we are absolutely blessed to have these brave people protecting and serving us.
That’s a good segue to tell you that our former fire chief Kerry Koen was honored with his own day in Boca Raton recently. Kerry was chief in both Delray and Boca. He was a remarkable chief, and he is a remarkable man.
I speak to Kerry few times a week and he always manages to teach me something.
On our last call, he told me about the honor and how much it meant to him.  I was so pleased to hear that he was given the news by Mayor Scott Singer and City Manager George Brown,  two  terrific public servants.
Well done Boca.

Back in the village, Frances planted lots of seeds in Delray Beach that are blossoming everywhere you look. I see Old School Square alumni giving back everywhere.  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 throughout our community.

Julia and  her wonderful husband Jeff Kadel planted seeds 20 years ago and this weekend we celebrated volunteers who have been with them for 10, 15 and 20 years.  They planted seeds and those seeds have grown.
And my friend, Kerry Koen…well… he continues to mentor, teach, think  and help behind the scenes to ensure that our community is well protected.
He planted seeds and those seeds became leaders who continue to serve.

On Tuesday, I will attend a luncheon with former Mayors hosted by our chamber. We are addressing the current class of Leadership, Delray.  I am an alumni of the program. I know that current and future leaders are in that class.
The education the chamber provides serve as seeds.  I can’t wait to see those seeds bloom.

Have a wonderful week.