Tag: Written

When I was just 6 months old my parents moved to Miami and rented a house across from a beach on Collins Avenue. They could actually open the front door of their house and see the Atlantic Ocean, but this beautiful view almost cost us our lives. Three months later a powerful Category 4 unnamed hurricane made landfall on September 17, 1947 at Port Everglades.

My parents were raised in New York City and were unwise to the dangers of tropical cyclones, so they elected to remain in the rented house; that is, until the Atlantic Ocean came “a-knocking.” My mother told me that when the ocean came through the front door my father decided it was time to leave. My parents grabbed me and my 4-year-old brother and tried to make it to the safety of the mainland in the family car.

When the sedan finally succumbed to the rising tidal surge halfway across the Venetian Causeway all they could do was huddle and hope for the best. An uncle on the mainland must have been more hurricane-smart and realized that one of his six brothers was probably in trouble, so he jumped into a 2 ½-ton truck they used for the family tile business and came looking for us. He possible saved our lives as my dad’s car was being battered by waves coming over the low bridge’s railings, according to my mother.

This experience had such a profound effect on my father that when he decided to build a house for his family a few years later, he used topographical maps and searched for a lot with a very high elevation. His final choice was near Southwest 23 Street and 14th Avenue and has an elevation of 36 feet above sea level. This ridge is part of the Miami Rock Ridge and is called Silver Bluff.

The fine house my father built rested slightly more than a half mile from Biscayne Bay and one mile from the first bridge of Rickenbacker Causeway, which were both in easy bike range for a young boy. This close proximity to Biscayne Bay would have a profound effect on me for the rest of my life.

At that time one could fish behind Mercy Hospital on the seawall for trout and jacks, or head over to the Rickenbacker bridges in winter for snook, loads of mackerel, bluefish, bonefish, tarpon, and big jacks. We even caught snook in the canals in the Grove and assorted fish on the bridge to “Fair Island,” before it was developed and renamed “Grove Isle.”

When I was just 3 years old my father died of natural causes and my mother had to struggle to survive. Before I was even 10 years old I took advantage of being a child of a single parent and became a free-ranging youth that ventured as far as his bike and legs would take him.

I took up fishing in earnest, and by the time I was 14 I fished in the summers all through the night, mostly solo since none of my friends shared this kind of freedom. (I leaned early on how to defend myself from pedophiles and bullies.) I was a late bloomer and did not learn how to swim until I was in 9th grade. One year later I bought a used Scuba outfit with my paper route money and started diving under all of the Rickenbacker bridges.

By age 15, I had complete usage of my mother’s ‘55 Chevy, and was ranging all the way down to the middle Keys to fish and dive. I lived a very adventurous life and often slept in her car next to bridges in the Keys, since my mother had a friend who drove her anywhere she wanted to go.

I lived to fish and dive and this pastime stayed with me for the rest of my life. In the 1950s, one really didn’t need a boat in South Florida to locate quality game fish. I caught tarpon, snook, trout, bonefish, snapper, bluefish and even grouper all from land or bridges. Some of these fish even earned me weight citations in the Miami Metropolitan Fishing Tournament before I graduated from high school, and still hang in my den.

Miami was truly a paradise for me over a half century ago. I now look how young kids are practically sequestered inside their houses out of parental fear. I always thank my lucky stars that I was fortunate to have those early experiences instead of being cooped up in front of a TV or computer as today’s children often are.

It was the end of the first week of June, 1963. I had just finished third grade at Shenandoah Elementary School and I was looking forward to summer vacation. Papi was a third-year resident in neurosurgery at Jackson Memorial Hospital; he was on call 36 out of every 48 hours.

Neither my mother nor my father was particularly young: Papi had been 45 when I’d been born; and Mami, almost 42. I was their only child: their hija consentida (pampered daughter).

In 1963, Mami had just turned 50. As for Papi, both his salary, at $219 per month, and his age, at 53, were “record-setting,” according to Mami. “He was the oldest resident in JMH’s history.”

My sweet natured, shy – yet gregarious – father had befriended many of the staff at the Jackson. A tall, lanky, bow-tie clad, pipe-smoking Tennessean became his special friend. He called my father, “Fred.”

Basil Yates, who figured in our lives for many years to come, came to our financial rescue. Estábamos muy apretados: we didn’t have much money. One day Yates asked his friend Fred if he had enough money to take care of his family. Papi very honestly responded, no. Yates reached into his pocket and pulled out $200.

With Yates’ generosity, we were able to move from the kindly, shabby tenement, “El Vanta Koor” (Vanta Court) to a better apartment building several blocks away. Not only were we to move, but – thanks again to Dr. Yates – we were able to spend a month on Miami Beach that July. We rented an apartment in the Amsterdam Palace Hotel.

There was no air-conditioning, but that’s the way Mami wanted it. Las brisas del mar – the ocean breezes – provided plenty of cross-ventilation. When Papi could join us, he was able to enjoy the alcove that fronted the balcony, right smack in the middle of the second floor of the Amsterdam Palace.

For my part, I played among the statues and fountains on the first floor, ceaselessly rode up and down the elevator, and spent as much time in the ocean as I could. Sometimes I went swimming twice a day. Mami liked to take me in the early mornings, when the sandbanks were built up, and we were able to walk out into the ocean as far as we dared. I became vey tanned that summer.

There’s a picture of me at a party, sitting next to Papi, where I’m muy bronceada y rosada, very bronzed and rosy, indeed. I’m wearing a white shift with big roses on it. I’m shyly looking down at my hands and Papi is glancing over at me. This is the way I remember myself from the summer of 1963.

Late summer found us in the new apartment. For three years, I had all but stumbled out of bed to get to school, as “El Vanta Koor” was located next to Shenandoah Elementary. Now I had to walk a few blocks.

As my English had improved tremendously, I fully expected to find myself in an English-only fourth grade classroom. To my horror, I found myself being directed back to my third grade bilingual classroom! It turned out a number of us Cubanitos were in the same predicament. We soon found out we were not being held back – we just needed a little extra “tweaking.” I remember not finding it so strange after a while.

In the old days, walking from Calle Ocho on Southwest Tenth Street Road, one was able to run smack into Shenandoah Elementary. All three floors of it, with its Mediterranean tiled roof and graceful arches.

Passing underneath these arches on Nov. 29, 1960, I embarked upon my first grade experience in the United States. I didn’t speak one word of English. I remember my first grade teacher, Mrs. Morvil, speaking to me in English. Looking up at her, quizzically, I responded en español. And that’s pretty much how it stayed, all year.

At the beginning, I wrote a few letters to my teacher in Cuba, asking her to send me my textbooks. And then I didn’t open my mouth, to the point that I almost failed first grade. I had learned enough to know that an F was a bad grade, and I had received six of them. Somehow, I was passed on to second grade.

The first six weeks of second grade were pretty bad. Then something happened: a small group of us were handed over to Mrs. Bustillo, a Cuban teacher who spoke enough English that she was able to teach us in both languages. I did much better with her, ending up the year with my lowest grade being a C in Physical Education. And, oh, how I hated P.E.

On the other hand, I didn’t fight learning English, any more. I did really well: I became the spelling champion in our class, and runner-up in the entire grade. I actually remember breathing out, “hand-ker-chief,” in spurts: that did the job.

Third grade was my year of glory at Shenandoah: the Spelling Bee, and the Hungarian Gypsy Dance.

Two Hungarians were the obvious choices to lead this gypsy dance out from underneath the central arch, under the lights one May evening in 1963. Nicky Perusina and I were all dolled up in our red velvet and gold-trimmed jackets. He wore black pants, and a long black bow fringed with gold tassels. I wore a white skirt with red and green stitching, a flower-trimmed headdress, and carried a little bouquet of flowers in my hands. I even got to wear makeup – I felt so grown up.

I DO remember being nervous, and trying to remember on what foot I was supposed to skip out, first. Most importantly, I remember telling myself, “Don’t trip. Don’t trip.”

Well, I didn’t trip. We all had a good time. And I became known as The Hungarian Dancer.

Although I was born in Miami, I left when I was a couple months old and did not return until I was almost seven.

My father got hired as a pilot for Pan American Airlines, but when they cancelled his training class, he took a job for Dominicana Airlines, based in Santa Domingo. When the political climate in the Dominican Republic became too dangerous, my family moved – first to Warner Robbins, Georgia, then to Wayne, Michigan, where my Dad flew cargo for Zantop Airlines.

My sister Kelley was born there, but his plan had always been to move back to Miami, where his parents lived. When he got hired with National Airlines (“Fly Me”), we moved back to Miami and my parents built a house in Gables-By-The-Sea. My sister Elise was a baby and my Mom was pregnant with my brother John, when we moved into our new house in 1967.

I celebrated my seventh birthday with my new classmates, at Parrot Jungle. I attended Silver Bluff, Sylvania Heights, and Pinecrest elementaries before landing at Epiphany School in the third grade.

Living in Gables-By-The-Sea, I grew up fishing and swimming in the canal behind my house, exploring the swamp across the street and going on outings on our family’s boat. I also organized musical extravaganzas for my father’s annual 4th of July birthday parties. I once water skied from Matheson Hammock all the way to Elliot Key. My father was so proud of this accomplishment, he bragged about it to my ballet teacher, Mr. Millenoff. My strict Russian instructor was none too thrilled, claiming it would ruin my legs for ballet.

After Epiphany, I attended Our Lady of Lourdes Academy and was a cheerleader for Christopher Columbus High School. Friday nights, after football games, we would hang out at Lums in Westchester, or Little Caesars in the Gables. During this time, my parents and sisters were very active in the Miami Ski Club, competing in water-ski competitions and even going to Nationals.

After graduating from Lourdes in 1977, I went to Florida State University in Tallahassee. After two years, undecided on a major, I came back home and got a job as a flight attendant with Air Florida. In 1980, National Airlines was purchased by Pan American Airlines, so my Dad ended up flying for Pan Am after all.

My first route when I got hired (since I was French-qualified) was Port-Au-Prince/Santo Domingo, so I ended up returning to the city where I had lived as a baby. I flew that line for almost a year. I was flying into Washington, D.C. on January 13, 1982, just as another Air Florida plane crashed into the Potomac. We aborted our landing and landed in Boston, but had to return to Washington the next morning to pick up our passengers.

I later flew with one of the flight attendants (and one of the few survivors) of that flight. It turned out her stepmother had hired me for Air Florida.

Miami in the “Miami Vice” eighties was glamorous, fast-paced, and a little scary. Still, I enjoyed going to clubs such as: Cats, Suzanne’s, The Mutiny, and Faces in the Grove. One night, while at Biscayne Babies, my sisters and I even met Senator Ted Kennedy. With Air Florida, I traveled to London, Paris, Zurich, Frankfurt, Brussels, Stockholm, and even Havana.

Air Florida went bankrupt in 1984, the same year I got married. I then worked at my family’s nursing home, The Floridean, as a secretary. I worked in the office with my grandmother Julia Rice, who was the Administrator and my sister Kelley, who was the activities director.

My family was featured in a MacArthur Milk commercial, since we had four generations (from my grandmother to her great-grandchildren) who had “grown up on MacArthur” in Miami.

I also did some extra work (“Miami Vice,” movies and commercials) to make some extra money. I finished my A.A. at Miami Dade when my daughter A.J. was a baby and got my B.A. at F.I.U. in 1994. Getting a degree with three young children (Brad, A.J. and Christopher), a husband, and a house to maintain was a considerable challenge but I made the Dean’s List and graduated Magna Cum Laude with a degree in Liberal Arts.

Like many other Miamians, we survived Hurricane Andrew. At the time it hit, we lived in Mangowood, very close to the strongest winds recorded. Our neighborhood was practically unrecognizable, without a leaf left on the trees. In the days and weeks following the hurricane, we got to know our neighbors very well, taking turns grilling food from our freezers for dinner, and helping each other out.

Our children, who attended Coral Reef Elementary, started about a month late with the National Guard escorting them to their first day of school. Although it took more than a year, we re-built our house and it was better than ever.

My husband and I moved to Tallahassee in 1996, in search of a slower pace of life. I decided to return to Miami four years later, in order to spend time with my dad – Butch Rice – who had been diagnosed with lung cancer. I moved back on July 3, 2001, just in time for his annual 4th of July Birthday Bash.

I got divorced in January of the next year, and my father passed away in October. I was very glad I had that year and a half to spend with my dad.

I continued my education and got my Master’s in screenwriting at University of Miami in 2003, so I now consider myself a “Cane.” I love attending UM football games with my husband Zeke (also a UM graduate), just as my father did (although no longer at the Orange Bowl).

I also enjoy entertaining, traveling, photography and all kinds of writing – from blogging to screenwriting. I edit and write articles for The Pulse, the Floridean newsletter, where my sister Kelley is now the executive director.

I play tennis on several teams and enjoy going for runs around my neighborhood, which is right down the street from Epiphany and Lourdes. All three of my grown children live in Miami and I am now stepmother to three daughters – Lauren, Rachel and Emma.

I love the energy of Miami – the diversity of its residents and the variety of activities it offers. Miami is always changing and offering new opportunities and I hope to embrace them all.

My father, John Mantell, was born in 1898, somewhere in Romania. At age 16, he emigrated to the United States and was employed by relatives as an apprentice in the parquet and flooring craft industries.

Industrious and of high intelligence, he quickly became skilled in this craft, learned to speak impeccable English, and adapted quickly to American culture.

Saving his earnings and seeking to capitalize on his newly acquired skills, he accumulated enough to start his own business. In a relatively few years, he developed one of the largest wood parquet flooring company in the United States.

When Dad discovered Miami Beach in 1922, he bought a bungalow with an unobstructed view of the ocean. In those days, people were hesitant to build too close to the ocean, so there were no buildings on Ocean Drive. In effect, our home on the east side of Collins Avenue and Second Street was oceanfront.

Almost all Miami Beach single-family homes at the time were built with coral rock or Dade County pine wood. Our pine home had wide, screened openings around the perimeter instead of windows, which kept out bugs. Canvas covers were rolled down on pipes when it rained.

Even though there was no air conditioning, ocean breezes kept us comfortable even during the hottest summer days.

In those times, no one had dogs or cats. The pet of the neighborhood was a Japanese chicken, which came with the purchase of our house. The chicken lived under our house, which sat on concrete blocks two feet high off the ground.

There were no airlines or interstate highways at the time, so our vacation travels alternated between two available coastal liners. One went from Miami to Savannah to Norfolk to New York, and the other from Miami to Nassau, Bahamas, to New York.

Our family was up north on vacation in September 1926, when a major hurricane hit. Upon our return we fortunately found the bungalow intact, except for some of the screening. Amazingly, the lonely Japanese chicken was still under the house.

The banks caved in that year and the stock market crashed. Dad had retired at age 32, but lost everything except the Miami Beach bungalow in the market crash. So the extended family moved in and Dad went back to work, this time as a general contractor and realtor.

Dad worked with leading architects, building Art Deco hotels, apartments and homes — Flamingo Plaza, Shorecrest and Chelsea Hotel, to name a few. At one time, he was one of the five biggest contractors in Florida. With the help of Seminole Indians and others, Dad had 20 jobs going at once. He built and managed the Mantell Plaza Hotel. Then World War II changed Miami Beach.

In 1942, the U.S. Army Air Forces took over all the hotels, including the Mantell Plaza, for housing Army Air Forces personnel. Miami was troop-training headquarters for U-boats. We would watch soldiers marching the streets, including famous actor Clark Gable. We were very patriotic and I sold war bonds at the local movie theatre. Lucky for us, the Mantell Plaza was the first hotel released by the Army and was the only operating hotel on Miami Beach for a year.

While my father was working to recoup the family fortune, our dear mother Anna was running the household and raising the three children: Murray, Sally and me. We had carefree early childhoods spent barefoot on the golden sands of Miami Beach. I have early recollections of jumping boulder to boulder on the government rock jetties, later the 14th Street beach.

I attended Miami Beach Elementary and Beach junior and senior high schools. It was a small student body; we all knew each other. We had small classes and great teachers. Many thanks to them for all they did for us. After class, there were fun-filled afternoon patio dances and championship basketball games.

In high school, eating off-campus was “strictly forbidden,” so lunches at Joe’s Broadway were dangerous, thus especially delicious. Weekends were for sunburns on the sandy 14th Street beach.

Most weekends, kids took the short jitney to Miami for the movies and big name stage shows at the Olympia Theater (now the Gusman). The favorite lunch spot was Burdines.

My sister Sally also went to Beach High and then University of Miami where she played violin and was a member of the UM symphony orchestra. She met her husband Dan Raylesberg during the war while he was stationed at the Biltmore Hotel.

To date, my brother Murray is the oldest living graduate of Beach High. He studied and got a degree in civil engineering.

During World War II, he was a naval architect, and after the war he became the founding chairman of Civil Engineering at UM, where he taught for 57 years and received numerous awards for teaching excellence.

I started college at the University of Miami in 1946. During my senior year at UM, while doing my teaching internship, the mother of one of my pupils arranged a blind date for me with Norton Pallot. We were married three months later.

Norton was associated with his father, and later his brother and brother-in-law, in the operation of Norton Tire Company, which sold to Goodyear in the 1980s.

Life in Miami has been good. The city has grown and changed beyond recognition, and we enjoy it all the more — and perhaps also because our three children and spouses, and our four grandchildren all live around us in Coral Gables.

(This story was compiled by Laurie Appignani Pallot, as recounted by her mother Gloria Mantell Pallot).

In 1949, I first came to Miami to check out the University of Miami.

I hitched a ride from New York with my Uncle Pat, who drove the boss’ shiny black Cadillac down south every fall to be the chief mutual racetrack teller through the winter season at Hialeah and Tropical racetracks. Leaving New York on a sleety day, we cruised the whole way down on U.S. 1 and arrived, almost magically it seemed to me, in warm, sunny Miami.

As everyone promised, it was heaven!

Then it was Miami again in ‘52 when my parents and I joined Pat for another southland sojourn — this time including the necessary tourist stop at Silver Springs. But I ended up at NYU part-time and was lucky to land a great job at IBM, so Miami had to wait until 1954 when my friend Barb and I split our vacation and took a week in August — first to Vacation Valley in the Poconos — and then a week in December back to my warm Miami.

I had booked a package tour with round-trip air fare, seven days at the Lombardy Hotel on 63rd Street, some meals, transfers and tours — for $99.

That summer before, back at Vacation Valley, Barb had been bitten by a black widow spider and had been pretty sick. Now in Miami, the sun activated the poison in her system, and she ended up at St. Francis Hospital on Miami Beach for the rest of our Miami week.

I ended up — by myself — at the hotel pool reading everything in sight, including the classifieds in the Miami Herald and The Miami News. Two ads intrigued me. They were looking for “Qualified Gals” to be stewardesses for Eastern Airlines and National.

I had become friends with a sweet Hawaiian who wove palm hats poolside. He encouraged me to apply — even lending me his old car that backfired all the way across 36th Street to the interviews. I was accepted by both airlines. The Lombardy’s doorman, George, another new acquaintance, said to go with Eastern, and I did.

I graduated — after six days of training — and remained at that great job for 20 years.

In 1957, I bought my first home in southeast Hialeah for $12,500. To go furniture shopping, I rented a car at $1 a day and 10 cents a mile (airline discount). In the middle of that “Other Century,” I wasn’t able to close on the house I bought because I was a single woman, so I called for “back-up” and sent for my mom to come down from New York and co-sign with me. But that wasn’t enough because she was a married woman and — at that time — needed her husband’s permission. I finally settled when Dad came down to sign for me. We’ve come a long way.

In the Miami sunshine, Mother’s arthritis almost entirely disappeared. When Dad came down on weekends and saw her improvement, he, too, became a Miamian, retiring from his job as an innovative production manager with Ever Ready Labels, which served the entire international label industry.

Within the year, they moved to Miami and, instead of living with my parents, the switch happened. They lived with me.

We bought a few more houses — from $10,000 to $17,000 — and rented them out to new stewardesses, and my folks happily became surrogate parents to the homesick girls. Mom, always a terrific seamstress, tailored their uniforms expertly and gave more than a few Italian-style cooking lessons. We became a happy extended family — my parents and all their high-flying “daughters.”

It wouldn’t be a bad idea for a thoughtfully written movie, I think, with worthy actors to play Sinatra and all the other celebrities we met and dined with back then — at Jilly’s on the 79th Street Causeway in those glamorous years.

I married a pilot in ’68, and we moved to Kendall. My husband’s hobby was rebuilding planes, so we bought an acre behind Baptist Hospital where he could have his large airplane parts spread out to work on. We remodeled a one-bedroom cottage to a three-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath home with a separate three-car garage workshop.

My airline job had to end in ’74 so I could be available if and when construction workers decided to show up. It was a sad day when I wrote my letter of resignation. I still had my heart with E.A.L. and became a Silverliner, our national service organization of former Eastern flight attendants.

I only recently stepped down from being Miami’s Silverliners president for 13 years, but I’m still active in our club, though our national membership has dwindled to 850 members and our local chapter from 45 to 11. I also joined the Red Hat Society, which widens my circle of friendships.

Under my mango trees and palms, I count my blessings every day for the good luck and sunny path that took me and my family to Miami.

In 1986, Miami International Airport was pretty scary for a first-time traveler coming from Guyana, a small country in South America. The escalator comes readily to mind when I think of that overwhelming experience. Although I saw others stepping on it, I was deathly afraid of this incredibly long, moving staircase. I just stood there, my fear weighing me down and keeping me rooted in place. The gentleman behind me gently suggested that I step on and he would stay close. I made it down safely and have been living in Miami since that beautiful July 4th day.

I came to Miami by way of marriage. Whenever I’m in conversation with anyone who wants to know how my husband I met and I tell them that we had an arranged marriage, many of them balk and I can see the questions tumbling around in their minds. Most times, it’s a high-pitched, capitalized, one-word question that is punctuated with endless question marks, “REALLY” A smiling “yes” will always be my response.

In the course of the conversation, I would often get this one, “Do you guys fight?” Of course, we do! Which marriage is without its ups and downs? As we continue chatting, the million-dollar question comes out, “Were you forced into this arranged marriage?” It is at that point that I have to explain that not all arranged marriages are forced. In my case, my husband’s parents met with my parents and marriage was discussed. I made the final decision.

I met my husband in February of 1986 when he visited Guyana for a week. I gave him a resounding “yes” the day after I met him. He returned to Miami and we got to know each other through our letter writing. He went back to Guyana in June of that year, we got married, and he returned to Miami on his own a week later. I followed on July 4th.

My husband and I lived in West Kendall in a condo on 157 Avenue and Sunset Drive. There were only fields west of 157 Avenue. Today, that area is a vibrant, highly populated neighborhood; it is hard to believe that it was once quiet and tranquil.

My first year of marriage was the “dating” year – it was the time my husband I and got to know each other. We went on a lot of dinner and movie dates, sometimes catching a double at the movie theater. We were frequent visitors at the Don Carter bowling alley. Not knowing anything about the sport, I cheered myself on even when a single pin fell. Often, we were tourists – enjoying the sights, scenes, and recreation of Miami. Many Saturdays we got up at 5:00 in the morning to make the drive to Key Largo to fish. Sometimes the catch was abundant and other times we returned home with an empty bucket.

My first job was at Eckerds (now CVS) as a cashier. I have many fond memories of this first U.S. work experience. A few months into the job, a customer referred me to the manager at Amerifirst for a teller’s position. That job also offered a few “firsts” in my early years in Miami. I took a taxi for the first time ever to the interview. I had my first lie detector test. I wore my first skirt suit. I earned my first “big” paycheck, and I drove my first car.

Keeping with firsts, by our first wedding anniversary, I was pregnant with our first child. Over the next nine months, we took our first Lamaze class. I had my first C-section, and I held my first-born in my arms. Six months after we welcomed our baby girl into the world, we moved into our first home in the Hammocks area.

Over the next five years, we were blessed with two other children – a boy and another girl. Our children have grown up and made warm, fond, memories in this same home since 1988.

At the age of 26, I decided to go to Miami-Dade Community College to pursue an associate’s degree in elementary education. Two years later, I transferred my credits to Florida International University and graduated with a B.A. in December of 1998. In January of 1999, I was extremely lucky to start my teaching career at an elementary school close to my home.

In 2002, I was granted a full scholarship to pursue an Urban Master’s degree at FIU. I took classes in the evening and some Saturdays. At FIU, I interacted with many brilliant professors and students who continue to have an impact on me. Miami has bestowed upon me the wonderful opportunity of education.
Miami has also blessed me with beautiful gifts of friendship.

I have great memories of being welcomed warmly into the hearts and homes of my husband’s friends and relatives. My husband and I meet often with those same friends and some new ones for fundraising for charities, cricket games, and religious and cultural activities.

Some of our most cherished memories with our friends are of the marathons we completed to raise funds for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. My husband ran his marathon in 2001 and I walked mine in 2010. In 2011, a group of us participated in the Disney Wine & Dine half marathon to mark our 25th wedding anniversary. My husband slowed his pace so we could cross the finish line together!

Miami is my home. I love the cultural, flavorful diversity here. I love it that nobody notices our Guyanese accent! Miami and all those with whom I’ve come in contact have nurtured me into the woman I am today. I’m glad that my marriage was arranged with a wonderful man in Miami.

Today, although I am no longer afraid of escalators, I must admit that navigating Miami International Airport can still be a challenge!

Some might say that I was made to serve in public office. I don’t know, but I have lived an interesting and good life.

I learned so much doing what I did, what I still do. I looked back at an old calendar from when I was a city commissioner in Miami Beach, the first woman to serve in that position. It was full of occasions and events: meetings, breakfasts, lunches, cocktails, dinners. I loved it and I still do.

I grew up in the Bronx and my husband, Sidney, was from Brooklyn, which was like a planet in itself in those days. We moved to Miami Beach in 1960 because it was just too cold up in New York. My parents were already snowbirds, coming down each winter. It was beautiful. We never closed our doors or locked anything up.

We left a grayish city for the colors of Miami Beach and quickly saw the potential in the city. It was full of retirees in those days and we were in the prime of our 30s.

Miami Beach, and even Miami, was like a secret that just needed to be told.

In the 1970s, we realized the great potential Miami Beach had and, as residents, our vision saw what the area could become for the world.

Once my two oldest sons were in high school and the youngest was starting school, I had a lot more free time and I wanted to get involved. I ran for commissioner because I thought the best man for the job was a woman.

In those days, they were called councilmen, but that changed once they had a woman in office!

I served as commissioner for two years, 1977 to 1979. I look back to the days of campaigning as a time where I was able to get a lot done to help the city, but it was after I left office that I was really able to make an impact. My husband followed and became a three-term commissioner. We were the first couple to both serve in that position.

I served as chairman on the Miami Beach Chamber’s education committee for more than 12 years, the Miami-Dade Cultural Affairs council and so many other positions. My husband and I wanted to see Miami Beach reach its potential and be the city it has become today. I had to learn all about politics; I came from the PTA.

In office and as a private citizen, I always believed in the importance of education. I worked to keep the library in Miami Beach where it is. When they tore down South Beach Elementary, it broke my heart. They didn’t have enough children living in Miami Beach to have a school there in those days. Of course, that has all changed and now Miami Beach is full of families of all ages. It’s wonderful to see.

Today, I am still advocating for my community. I believe that everyone should do their part. I am president of Miami Jewish Health Systems Hazel Cypen Tower tenants’ council and co-president of their foundation’s women’s auxiliary. We raise money to make improvements and I make sure that the tenants’ opinions are heard in an organized manner. I was asked to run for the position after living there only six months; I guess I had made an impression. I’ve been serving for seven years now; there are no term limits here.

I’ve also seen the city of Miami change. Sidney and I had a vision and feel that it has come true. I think that the Latin influence has been a tremendous cultural addition that has enhanced the city so much. It is what makes Miami, Miami. The dream I had of seeing this city become a truly international destination brings me such joy, but there are still advancements that need to be made.

Midtown and Wynwood have changed so very much in recent years; it’s beautiful.

I hope Overtown will be next. It’s a pity that the people who live there have had to suffer so much, but there has always been a vision to fix it up and ensure that everyone has access to the same great education we worked so hard to get around the city. I hope to live to see the day that that plan is in place.

Back during the mid-1950s, my parents migrated from rural Georgia, with five young kids in tow. Seeking a better life with more opportunity for their children, they sold most of their possessions, left family and friends behind and struck out for the big city.

Getting to Miami was quite a journey for us, with many stops along the way. But there was no doubt that our destination was Miami.

We arrived during the summer of 1955. For an African-American family, there were still many limitations in place at that time, barriers that would literally take years to come down. As young kids, we didn’t really understand it all.

My parents would often sit us down and try to explain to us about the harsh realities of life during those times. My father would tell us stories of his life and the many things he’d gone through as a young black man living in the Deep South. Now, living in this strange new city, they kept us very close, not wanting us to ever fall into harm’s way. In spite of this, they were determined to make the most of our new life.

We moved in with my mother’s older sister in Coconut Grove, where my aunt Irene lived in a small duplex just off Grand Avenue. We were all packed into this little two-bedroom duplex, and my aunt made pallets for us kids to sleep on in the living room. It was like a slumber party every night; we had so much fun.

I was third from the oldest, barely 5 years old, but I have such vivid memories of those days. Everything was a new adventure for me. I’d never seen a palm tree before, and I remember seeing my uncle open a coconut for the very first time. My aunt used to make the most delicious coconut candy. Some evenings we would walk up to Grand Avenue just to watch the traffic and see the hustle and bustle of the city.

We soon moved into our own apartment, just off U.S.1 in Coconut Grove. By that time, my father had landed a job working for General Tire Company in North Miami Beach.

My mother was attending nursing school at that time. With five small kids at home, that was not an easy task. My mom did eventually graduate and began working at Mercy Hospital.

There were times when my dad’s car would break down and my mom had to pick him up from work. She would let us kids tag along just for the ride. For us, driving down Northeast 163rd Street was like touring a vacation paradise.

I remember seeing the tourists walking around and frolicking in the pool at the Howard Johnson’s right at the cloverleaf interchange. There was a McDonald’s just down the street (that McDonald’s is still there) and sometimes mother would stop in for a rare treat.

I began first grade, with great reluctance, at George Washington Carver School. I hated school and would have preferred to stay home with my mom watching Captain Kangaroo or Popeye’s Playhouse.

Over the next few years we moved a few more times, until we were settled a bit further north, in an area called West Little River. My parents purchased the most beautiful and spacious home (at least to us) – three bedrooms, two bathrooms and a Florida room. We were in heaven.

We invited friends over and our cousins would sleep over sometimes. By that time, my older sister had married and moved out. I was in middle school by the mid-1960s and had made a few friends, and those relationships lasted many years after high school. I’ve known my closest and dearest friend since second grade.

By then, school was a lot of fun, and I had some of the most wonderful teachers. I especially enjoyed the many field trips to so many exciting places in Miami – the Science Museum, Parrot Jungle, The Serpentarium, Tropical Hobbyland, Crandon Park Zoo and Miami Seaquarium, just to name a few.

My parents really never had a lot of money, but they did manage to give us the most memorable childhood. Thank goodness it didn’t take a lot of money to have a good time in those days. There was always something to look forward to.

We were rewarded with spending money for doing our chores and helping out around the house.

My sister and I would take the Number 25 bus all the way downtown to go shopping. That was such a fun ride. We’d have lunch at one of the dime stores like Woolworths or McCrory’s lunch counter. Those charbroiled cheeseburgers and root beer floats alone were worth the trip. Other times, we’d enjoy Saturday afternoons at Virginia Key Beach with a big picnic basket.

If there was a new movie out, my dad would load us all into the car and head to the drive-in theatre. We wore our pj’s and made our Jiffy Pop popcorn before leaving home. It was so wonderful back in those days with so much to do.

By 1969, I was a senior at Miami Central High and ready for graduation. I registered at Miami-Dade Community College North campus and started work for the telephone company, a job that lasted more than 25 years. Both of my parents and three of my siblings have now passed on, my mom most recently.

Today, my husband and I are still enjoying life to the fullest here in Miami. More than 50 years ago, my parents wanted to provide a better life with more opportunity for their children in Miami, and I must say that was accomplished, many times over.

Today, I enjoy cooking big meals and having my children and grandchildren over to visit. That says it all. Life is great because the best time is now.