As the smoke was still clearing from the Arvida vs. Save Our Bay grudge match discussed in the previous post, we moved to much-more-laid-back Siesta Key. Our house was on a point of land on the inland side of the key. Typical of many normal houses in west Florida back then, it was small, low, breezy, without air conditioning, and very comfortable. Lots of jalousie windows looked out onto a small bayou, with a mass of mangroves and Australian pines beyond. A passing teacher would give my brother and me a ride home from school, and she dropped us off at the end of the road. As we walked home, we passed undeveloped land crowded with birds, hermit crabs, and sheltered by a belt of mangrove trees. It wasn’t a large area, and as such was well off the Save Our Bay’s radar. We felt pleasantly isolated from the tourist bustle closer to the beaches on the other side of the key.

One day, as we walked past our beloved, wild buffer, we saw a new dirt road leading into the sandy stretch of land. As the week wore on, we walked farther along the new road and noticed more and more clear-cut patches of denuded sand. One Saturday, we walked down to the road, and saw that almost all the trees were gone; they were chopped up and bulldozed into messy slash piles. In their place were thickets of wooden stakes with colored ribbons like enemy pennants. I didn’t care what they were, I didn’t care whose they were. I went through and pulled every single one up and tossed them like spears into the slash pile.

Next Monday, I was pulled out of school early by my mother, and we went back home. I was surprised that we were greeted by a phalanx of three sheriff’s deputies in two squad cars. I was separated from my mother, and the deputies grilled me concerning the (as I had just learned) surveyor’s stakes. Apparently, one very smug-looking weasel in a truck had guessed that kids were responsible because of the small size of the Keds shoe prints in the sand. I was driven to the scene of the crime to be confronted with my misdeeds. I was completely unrepentant, and I was pestering them to turn on their lights with such increasing frequency, that they were forced to oblige just to continue asking me questions. Once they had satisfied my juvenile desire to see the lights, they resumed asking me about the surveyor’s stakes. They just couldn’t believe that I pulled them up because the trees had been cut down. After about a quarter of an hour, the weaselly fellow’s smug grin had hardened considerably, and I suspect he was considering asking that I be arrested. Eventually, the deputies gave up, commanded me to stay off the developer’s property, and left. Under threat of massive spanking from my mother, I reluctantly obeyed.

Sadly, a small kid pulling up surveyor’s stakes doesn’t stop developers once they catch the scent of money. That section of Siesta Key was completely plowed under and reshaped into something unrecognizable. Any map I look at may as well be printed with a amorphous circle with the words, “You Were Here.”  The lazy, breezy house that we lived in was scraped to make way for a rich person’s mansion, complete with private beach. The mangrove-lined bayou with it’s fascinating tidal flats was dredged and filled to make a concrete-walled canal lined with exclusive, faux-Spanish mansions, swimming pools, and docks sporting luxury yachts.

The east side of Siesta Key as it is today: overdeveloped and crowded. And judging from the satellite picture, apparently it now comes complete with their own, artificial, private lagoon. And, yes, I know what the spit of land looks like; there's no need to point it out. It seems to me that our house should have been midway down the spit...right where the bare patch of sandspur-infested ground is.

What I learned from the Save Our Bay battle with Arvida and my insignificant, solo skirmish is that yes…most development corporations in general do not care about the land outside of its ability to generate money.  They do not care about the general decay of the quality of life of the citizens already living in the area. They demand infrastructure, tax breaks, and utility access that already-strapped municipalities may be hard-pressed to provide yet are unable to ignore.  If crossed or confronted, developers will ruthlessly fight back by using lobbyists, politicians, and lawyers.

Most importantly, I learned that a strong, unified opposition presented by a large group of steadfast citizens can defeat the biggest of destructive plans.  The voices of a cohesive, concerned voters do get heard.

Tags: Developers, development, environment, florida, Politics

Why I Don’t Like Developers
By Some Guy

Many years ago, somewhere around the end of 1959,  the Arvida Corporation, a rapacious mega-developer with Arthur Vining Davis at the helm, showboated into Sarasota, Florida, and announced the plans to develop the old John Ringling properties into a mega-monstrosity of mammoth proportions. The developments involved dredging tens of thousands of cubic feet of extraordinary tidal and estuary land and piling it up to build an empire of fancy homes build on loose sand. A.B. Edwards, a real-estate developer living in Sarasota, was aghast. He stated, “When you interfere with the channels, bars, currents, and waterways, you’re liable to have trouble.”  The man was prescient, long before researchers established the crucial role these areas played in fish breeding habitat and water quality.

First, they pillaged Bird Key by digging up the tidal flats around the little spit of land, piling up the sand, and crowding 511 houses onto the resulting sandpile.  The Arvida corporation, whetting the avaricious instincts of otherwise-decent, local real estate agents, offered luxury yachts and automobiles as incentives to whom could sell the most lots on the key.

Bird Key, before Arvida

Bird Key, after Arvida. The Arvida corporation dredged up and filled in the entire tidal flat visible in the other photo.

Neighboring Otter Key is a small island surrounded by tidal flats and tangled in mangrove and Australian Pine. Although seemingly inconsequential at the time, it provided habitat for manatees and dolphins, and is an important nesting and breeding ground for many different species. It was also right out our back door. It was a constant backdrop to our daily lives. As my brother and I played in the yard, the key was there. Fishing was incredible, and perching in the mangroves for an entire afternoon with a fishing pole was an ideal way to spend a Saturday afternoon. As the seasons progressed, different colonies of birds would flock into the mangrove, from herons to pelicans to ibis and spoonbills. The tidal flat right in front of our house harbored millions of hatchling fish and crabs. We could hear the wind whispering through the Australian Pines across the bayou. As a kid, I knew every mangrove tunnel that lead to the shell-strewn spit of land inside the mangroves. I knew every square foot of the island, and I’d spend weekends searching the island for evidence that the apocryphal pirate Gasparilla had once hidden away on the island.

Otter Key Today

After the demise of Bird Key and its zombie-like rise from the tidal flats of Sarasota Bay, Arvida turned it piggy, greedy eyes onto Otter Key in 1967. They planned to develop the island, along with the entire south end of Lido Key, into a mega-resort, complete with huge golf course, parks, waterfront resort hotels, and high-rise apartment buildings. By this point, a sense of alarm and outrage was spreading around the residents of the keys. It became evident that the Arvida Corporation was planning to dredge and fill in most of Sarasota Bay from the causeway to Big Pass, effectively destroying the entire bay. Before environmentalism was socially fashionable, John Bergen, my grandparents, and twenty-nine other concerned citizens formed the first “Save Our Bay” association (my grandfather’s humorous idea of a group name), affectionately or derisively referred to as the S.O.B.s, with the stated goal of preserving the bay from the ravages of unchecked and reckless development. The Arvida corporation was ruthless in assaulting the nascent environmental group at every turn, prowling the city halls and commisions in the county lobbying for injunctions and lavishing favors upon the politicians. Due to the long history and social standing of many of the citizens in the S.O.B.s, the mayor of Sarasota, Jack Betz, overrode the strenuous legal objections of the Arvida corporation and allowed the S.0.B.s to file petitions with hundreds of signatures from local residents.

Otter Key/South Lido project envisioned by Arvida

During the legal battles, I recall when the Arvida corporation sent unctious spokesmen around to my grandparents’ house where they dripped charm across the living room floor. “But we’re so eager to be your neighbors,” he oozed. “Just imagine how wonderful it will be to wave across the canal to your neighbors while you’re eating breakfast!” While growling vile curses and promises of legal vengeance, my grandfather ushered them unceremoniously from the house.

The S.O.B.s bought full-page spreads in the local and regional newspapers. They packed city council meetings. They petitioned city and county commissioners. They attracted the attention of the local television media. They even had bright orange bumper stickers before anyone knew what they were. In the end, the S.O.B.s prevailed. The Arvida Corporation’s grandiose plans were vanquished, and from that point on, Arvida had to deal with the S.O.B.s at every turn, who had then become watchdogs to hold uncontrolled development in check. Members of S.O.B. became politically active, and were elected into office. They successfully passed a bond issue that purchased Otter Key, Casperson Beach, South Lido Key, and land in North Lido Key for 7.5 million dollars. Otter Key and the surrounding tidal flats became a protected wildlife habitat, which by now we know helped protect the increasingly-troubled, local fishing industry by providing fish breeding habitat.

Save Our Bays groups began springing up across western Florida to battle the ravages of unchecked development, much to the irritation of the money-blinded developers that wanted to destroy the landscape of coastal Florida.

Arvida Corporation was gobbled up by the Disney conglomerate.  Don’t ask me how I feel about that.

Addendum: (11/14): Sarasota Magazine has a good piece by Craig Pittman on the depressing environmental history of Sarasota Bay. My fave quote from the article:

“I see a lot of houses where I never see any people outside,” the fishing guide says. “People pay an exorbitant price for that view and never enjoy it. They never look outside. They don’t care if it has any fish in it. Maybe if it stunk real bad, then they’d care about it.”

Thanks to hermetically-sealed houses and A/C, I don’t think they’d care even if we dumped dead fish from a red tide kill into their back yard.

Tags: development, environment, florida, Politics