Kick Ass: Selected Columns of Carl Hiaasen

This week the National Planning Association predicted that Florida will have 5.7 million more residents by the year 2000 than it had in 1980.The Census Bureau forecasts 7.7 million, though this is considered high. And the University of Florida's Bureau of Economic and Business Research conservatively puts the growth at 5 million.

Which is still equivalent to absorbing the entire population of Missouri. Or, put another way, if the number of new people invading Florida during the next 15 years formed their own state, it would be more populous than 38 other states.

Incredibly, there are those walking among us who think this is wonderful news, and who are busily restructuring their banks, mapping new condominium clusters and dreaming up bigger and better trailer parks.

Meanwhile, growing numbers of dispirited Floridians wonder where it will all end, and worry about already-frayed quality of life.

"You're talking about a 50 percent increase in a 20-year period. In terms of numbers of bodies, it's a tremendous increase," says Stanley K. Smith of the University of Florida.

Among the fastest growing counties are Palm Beach, Lee, Collier, St. Lucie and Martin. Broward is still growing, though not nearly as fast as before, while Dade County is stagnant, its new arrivals nearly matched by those packing up and heading north.

As expected, most newcomers hail from places that are either cold, crowded, dirty or economically depressed. By the turn of the century, they will have enlarged our numbers to 14.7 million.

As John D. MacDonald has observed, almost everyone who moves down here wants to slam the door behind him. This might be selfish, but it's also understandable: It doesn't take a disciple of Thoreau to notice the loveliness of Florida wane in direct proportion to humanity.

"At some point," Smith says, "it's possible that the quality of life will become so unattractive that no one will want to move here. That'll solve your growth problems. But that's like cutting off your arm to save the whole body."

This year the Legislature passed a "growth management" law, supposedly to impose order on the state's tumultuous development.

Frankly, the notion of "orderly growth" is about as tangible as the tooth fairy. Growth that is orderly would break a century-old tradition of lust, greed and wantonness. Already three Florida counties (Palm Beach, Broward and Dade) hold more human beings (3.5 million) than the states of Mississippi or Colorado or Oregon or Oklahoma, to name a few.

No governor in our history has voiced as much concern for the trampling of Florida as Bob Graham, but I doubt that even he has the clout to put on the brakes. He is considered bold for endorsing "growth management," but he'd be laughed off his lectern for suggesting a growth cap.

So we're stuck with this stampede.

Developers along the Palm Beach and Treasure Coasts can salivate at the good fortune coming their way, but those living there might ponder the lesson of boomed-out Dade County.

Dade has stopped growing because it is perceived as crowded, volatile, crime-ridden and racially tense. It is seen less as a community than a newly urbanized war zone; a place with too many people, too many problems and too few opportunities.

Broward, fast bloating, will be the next to bottom out. In a few years Palm Beach County will probably follow.

By the time it all goes sour, when even Disney and sunny beaches can't trick people into coming, the big-money boys will have made their killing and hustled elsewhere along the Sun Belt.

Leaving everyone else to stew in traffic, and try to remember why they moved here in the first place.

Highway opens one of last frontiers to overgrowth July 16, 1986

The Romans managed to build 53,000 miles of road without once celebrating the achievement by dressing up in frog costumes.

Things have changed since 312 B.C. The roads are better, but the PR is worse.

Thursday brings another official opening of the Sawgrass Expressway in West Broward County. This opening—marked by the imposition of a $1.50 toll—should not be confused with two previous official openings, at which great political merriment and self-congratulation occurred.

The highlight of these seemingly endless festivities has been the introduction of Cecil B. Sawgrass, a grown man dressed like a frog. Cecil B. Sawgrass is the expressway's official mascot. If you live in Broward, you got postcards in the mail with Cecil's green likeness inviting you to try the new expressway. "Hop to it!" Cecil implored. And, sure enough, if you drive the Sawgrass you'll see dozens of Cecil's little frog cousins squashed dead on the fresh asphalt.