Kick Ass: Selected Columns of Carl Hiaasen

Expenses include $435,000 for lobbyists and a $2.3 million ridership survey. (We know all about ridership surveys, especially those commissioned by the same folks who are boosting the project.)

Here's the amazing part: The DOT now says the state should budget $6.5 billion over the next 40 years for the bullet train and the bonds required to support it.

The bond payments are to be guaranteed by future revenues from ridership, which is a complete joke. That's why the train can't get rolling unless the U.S. Congress agrees to repay the bond debt if ridership lags.

Meaning all U.S. taxpayers will get soaked, not just Floridians.

DOT insists a 200-mph train is a smart investment, and will eventually turn a profit.

Oh, absolutely. Just like Metrorail turns a profit. And Tri-Rail. And how about Amtrak?

Find a passenger rail system in this country that makes money on its own, without subsidies. Yet we're assured the bullet train will be a lucrative exception.

That's the word from DOT, which hasn't been right yet. It hasn't even been in the ballpark.

Initially Watts predicted the project could be propped up with $2.2 billion over 30 years. Now the price tag has tripled, without the first rail spike being driven.

How can such a half-assed plan pick up steam? Politics.

Designers, contractors and land brokers know the windfall comes when Tallahassee first opens the vault. Once construction begins, nobody will dare pull the plug no matter how bad it gets.

Bet on the usual long delays and huge overruns. Then, when the monstrosity finally is finished, the state will be stuck with what's essentially a multibillion-dollar ghost train.

Because it'll still be cheaper, faster and more convenient for passengers to catch a nonstop jetliner from Miami to Orlando.

A caboose full of drunken monkeys couldn't have devised a more foolproof formula for failure than the bullet train. Yet it got a warm reception by members of the House Transportation Committee, who apparently are bored spending tax dollars fixing roads and bridges.

To their credit, other legislators refused to be dazzled by the high-tech imagery, or suckered by DOT's groundless optimism.

What if the ridership falls short? State Sen. John Ostalkiewicz of Orlando asked Watts. "Who will repay the debt? The public is going to be on the hook for over $6 billion?"

Replied the DOT secretary: "Yessir."

See, it's not just a train ride. It's a stickup.

Miami port's generosity runs too deep May 22, 1997

The bad news: Vanquished Port of Miami chief Carmen Lunetta will receive a golden parachute of $328,501 cash, in addition to his $113,000-a-year pension.

The good news: Some lawyer will probably get most of it.

Lunetta leaves the busy cruise port awash in a $22 million red tide and a stinking scandal.

His hefty cash severance includes unused sick pay, vacation and holidays accrued over Lunetta's 38 years with the county. If he'd spent less time at the office, perhaps the port wouldn't be in so much trouble.

Lunetta hastily resigned Friday after the Herald obtained records detailing one of the artifices through which Dade taxpayers were robbed.

For years, a stream of public funds was routed through a company called Fiscal Operations, which controls the port's gantry cranes. The firm was headed by Calvin Grigsby, a rich San Francisco political wheeler-dealer.

It turns out that Miami's port paid for Calvin's California yacht, and maid service to keep it spiffy. The port also paid for Calvin's Super Bowl seats, country club membership and symphony subscription.

It even paid a parking ticket.

The port not only gave Calvin a $75,000 salary as president of Fiscal Operations, it paid him $300 an hour to give legal advice to his own company. Then it paid the company a $150,000 "management fee."

Meanwhile, Fiscal Operations secretly funneled thousands in campaign funds to Democratic candidates and local commissioners.

Along the way, the crane-operating firm fell behind on $24 million in payments and interest to the port—money that will never be collected. This sheds fresh light on the agency's embarrassing debt.

All these Grigsby boondoggles had to be approved by port boss Lunetta. The mystery is: Why was he so generous to Calvin, and what did he get in return?

Some inquiring soul ought to pose those questions today, if Lunetta appears as scheduled before the Metro Commission.

Lots of cash went streaking through Fiscal Operations, and investigators might never be able to track it all. The probe is another unhappy tiding for Grigsby, already implicated in the Operation Greenpalm corruption investigation.

The FBI has videotape of Grigsby and Metro Commissioner James Burke, allegedly chatting about a $300,000 kickback. Agents believe the payment was to be made in exchange for Burke steering a piece of Dade's municipal bond business to Grigsby's investment firm.