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My name is David Arthur Walters. I am an independent journalist.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Official Thuggery Remains Legal in City of Miami Beach

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Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Official Bullshit Prevails in Miami Beach

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Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Dear Lady Please Help Me Letter from Giorgio

Dear Lady Please Help Me
Help Giorgio Fund
P.O. Box G-24397XP4326 Grand Central Station Annex K
New York, New York, 10016-2036
December 7, 2014
Dear Lady,
Will you please help me? I am so depressed I can barely write this request for money and a lady under me. I have been jilted by yet another ungrateful woman I met on the Internet, and I'm in such torment right now that I find it almost impossible to make another move on one.
I've been trying to watch football, but I'm too sad to concentrate or to even go out for more reuputake medication. That stuff doesn't work anyway. It just makes me go limp. My doctor said the only permanent solution to my affairs is for me to get my sex changed. He said he could do it in the office real cheap. But if I meet the right lady, I won't need the operation. I can't afford it anyway.
I've had my wages attached for alimony so many times that I can't get a decent job in this town anymore. I just can't bear to work anyhow because working makes me think of the women who cleaned me out because their mothers told them the woman should get everything. But I still want to really love the lady I've always dreamed of, and I hope she has a house or an apartment so I will not be homeless in two weeks. I am not selfish. I just need some place to stay so I can love again.
Now that the Holidays are approaching, please think of all the women I have supported, have pity on me, and be kind.  
I beg of you, Dear Lady, please, please help me.
Email a full-length photo of yourself, your place of residence, and your telephone number to Your credit card will be accepted there. Please send checks payable to the Help Giorgio Fund, P.O. Box G-24397XP4326 Grand Central Station Annex J-42-9, New York, New York, 10016-2036. 
Your desperate friend,
Giorgio Fratterccino


Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Only The Names Have Changed in Miami Beach Government

City Manager Jimmy "Nice Guy"  Morales, Esq.


13 January 2015

By David Arthur Walters

City of Miami Beach Manager Jimmy Morales, Esq., a hometown political insider without any business management experience chosen by faux reformers to conduct the city’s business to their political-economic advantage under the guise of curbing the alleged corruption of the former city manager they supported for over a decade until he resisted their bidding, is proving to be just the obsequious pawn they desired.

All that is needed is a few thousand votes to win elections on the beach. A wealthy developer, Philip Levine, capitalizing on concern with the cost of the new convention center and his friendship with the Clintons, purchased the mayor’s seat along with a majority on the commission, so developers are playing musical chairs, and the new convention center plan is monstrous, indeed, for the deeds of the new regime do not match its words. Hypocrisy certainly is not integrity.

More pressing concerns have been ignored, namely, the usual bad blades of grass in the lawn. Perfectly good grass has even been replaced by a grassdoggle.

People visiting city hall thought it had become customer-friendly because employees were rushing around with big smiles on their faces, masking the confusion as department heads conferred over glorious plans never to be implemented.

Anything less than 100% appreciation for everything done was duly ignored or referred to the city manager’s troubleshooting defense lawyer, Joe Jimenez, Esq., for summary dismissal.

In reality, the status quo has continued despite the showy decapitation of a handful of top bureaucrats and the oft bragged-about termination of scores of underlings.

The computer is blamed on much of the mess, as usual, yet the technology department drags its feet, as usual.

Police department brass had in fact made serious reforms, so they had to be dismissed for the progress, and a grateful celebrity chief imported from freezing Colorado. Yes, outsiders are needed for true reform, yet they were set aside to hire a political insider in the most powerful position in the city, that of city manager.

The troubled Building Department along with its Code Compliance Division has been left virtually untouched, except that the department managed to wash its hands of the code division when it was converted into its own department led by the same good old boys promoted on the basis of resume polish and reputation for integrity instead of objective performance audits, by an auditor who happens to have even better reason to fear for his job under the “new” regime.

Yes, some of the names have changed, but the same old rent-seeking old cronies, many of them high school chums in the distant past, still run the city. As Solomon said, there is nothing new under the Sun. The same may be said of our sunny city on the beach.

# #


25 October 2014

Jimmy Morales
City Manager

Subject: Uncollected Sidewalk Café Concurrency Fees

Dear City Manager:

As you were previously advised, Tui Munday in the Planning Department disclosed on 25 February 2014, in response to my Public Record Request 8708, that the former proprietor of the Las Olas Café at 644 6th Street apparently failed to pay the sidewalk café concurrency fee for 12 chairs at about $350 each, for an estimated total of $4,200. There were 14 chairs inside the establishment as well, so the records should be checked on them as well.

Las Olas Café is a registered fictitious name. Dove Foods Inc, the former owner, controlled by one Vincent Diaz, sold the café in 2013 to Las Olas Café LLC. Code Compliance ordered the sidewalk café seats removed, so the new owner applied and had approved 6 seats for the sidewalk café.

Although the debt is rather old and perhaps not legally collectible, Mr. Diaz may be glad to pay it if Ms. Munday is correct because he is a longstanding outstanding citizen.

On 13 July 2011, the City Commission, at the request of Commissioner Michael Gongora, honored Vincent Diaz and the Las Olas Café for their longstanding contribution to the city. The certificate was presented by Mr. Gongora and community activist Elsa Urquiza. The Clerk writing the afteraction report mistakenly identified Vincent as “Benson.’

The Las Olas Café was well known prior to the corruption scandal in 2012 not only for its excellent refreshments and relative immunity from enforcement of the parking code, but as the right place for establishing informal relationships with police and code compliance officers.

As you know, a beloved sidewalk cafe coordinator recently took advantage of an opportunity to resign to forego a full inquiry. The discrepancies in sidewalk café operations on Espanola Way pointed out to city officials by Antonio Halabi, the owner of the Flame restaurant, apparently led to the resignation.

Mr. Halabi insisted that his business was losing thousands of dollars every month as a result of uncited code violations of competing restaurants. In return, it appears that he was retaliated against by code compliance and the special master for shielding a fan from rain for an hour by placing it under an awning in his café within the sidewalk café plan; he was cited despite an official instruction that fan placement issues were not to be cited pending further consideration by the administration. And Mr. Halabi is now the subject of a retaliatory lawsuit brought by the landlord, prominent developer Scott Robbins.

I asked the city’s dependent auditor to obtain authority to audit the sidewalk café code compliance records because I found troubling data during the course of my examination of a sample of records of code compliance activities on Espanola Way. I copied several high officials with my request. He abruptly ceased communicating with me at that point.

It is with all the above in mind that I suggest that you cause all permits over the last few years to be independently audited to make sure concurrency fees were paid.


David Arthur Walters


City Clerk Public Records Request PRR 8708

David Arthur Walters <>  Wed, Mar 12, 2014 at 12:25 PM

To: "Munday, Tui" <>

Cc: "Mooney, Thomas" <>, "Beauchamp, Lillian" <>, "Granado, Rafael" <>, "Sanchez, Carmen" <>, "Santos-Alborna, Robert" <>, "Cardeno, Hernan" <>, GeorgeCastell<>, "Morales, Jimmy" <>"Grieco, Michael" <>

Thank you. I wanted to be sure before releasing a report because disturbing allegations are being made not only about that address but several others.

Best Regards.
David Arthur Walters

Munday, Tui<>        Wed, Mar 12, 2014 at 10:49 AM
To: David Arthur Walters
Cc: "Mooney, Thomas" <>, "Beauchamp, Lillian" <>, "Granado, Rafael" <>, "Sanchez, Carmen" <>

Mr. Walters,

We keep records.  But I did not find a concurrency approval nor a record of payment for a sidewalk café at the address requested.


Tui Munday, Senior Planner

Munday, Tui<>        Tue, Mar 11, 2014 at 5:17 PM
To: "" <>

Cc: "Mooney, Thomas" <>, "Beauchamp, Lillian" <>, "Granado, Rafael" <>, "Sanchez, Carmen" <>

Mr. Walters,

 Sorry this was inadvertently not forwarded to you.  My response is below.

Tui Munday, Senior Planner

David Arthur Walters <>  Tue, Mar 11, 2014 at 6:40 PM

To: "Munday, Tui"
Cc: "Mooney, Thomas" <>, "Beauchamp, Lillian" <>, "Granado, Rafael" <>, "Sanchez, Carmen" <>

May I assume then that the City of Miami Beach has no record of payment of the concurrency fee for that address, or are you saying your department does not keep such records? David

From: Munday, Tui
Sent: Tuesday, February 25, 2014 3:54 PM
To: Beauchamp, Lillian
Cc: Sanchez, Carmen
Subject: RE: City Clerk Public Records Request(PRR)8708


 I do not have any records of any concurrency payments for sidewalk café seats.


TuiMunday, Senior Planner
Sent: Monday, February 24, 2014 12:13 PM
To: Munday, Tui
Cc: Beauchamp, Lillian
Subject: City Clerk Public Records Request(PRR)8708

Please see this public records request can you respond directly to the requestor and advise me when completed. Thank you. Lilly

We need you to provide feedback on a Public Records Request that has been submitted to the City Clerks Office. Please call us or send an email on the request listed below.

Public Records Request Number: 8708

Information Requested: Mr. Granado: Tui Munday in Planning has not acknowledged nor responded to my informal request for information that would prove that the former owner of Las Olas Cafe at 644 6th Street paid its concurrency fee of $350 per chair for 12 seats placed on its sidewalk cafe. Those chairs were recently removed by order of Code Compliance, shortly after the cafe was purchased by an LLC, and 14 seats remain inside the cafe at present. Finance records show that the annual area fees were paid since the last quarter of 2007/2008, but I want to know if the concurrency fee was paid, which should be a simple record to discover if it exists. I will deeply appreciate your usual excellent assistance with this Chapter 119 request. Thank you, David Arthur Walters regards to the concurrency fee for a sidewalk cafe that existed at 644 6th Street registered under the fictitious name Las Olas Cafe (file attached) Ms. Castor kindly provided me with the annual record of payments for the area fees, the first such fee being a quarter paid for the 2007/2008. Please send me the city record of receipt of payment for the concurrency fee assessed at the time of permitting, along with the description of what was permitted (number of seats) and where placed on the sidewalk.




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Saturday, January 10, 2015

City Officials Shame Cith of Miami Beach

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Friday, January 09, 2015

Neoconservative Prejudices

Consumers Beware of The Florida Bar

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Tuesday, January 06, 2015

On The Immortal Story



Excerpt from Accounts Payable – My Life Past Due
I recently found a copy of Isak Dinesen’s Anecdotes of Destiny, a collection of five fateful stories, in the 3-for-$2 cardboard boxes at Kafka's Kafé on Miami’s South Beach, a block away Al Capone’s old hideout, the Clay Hotel at Washington Avenue and Espanola Way.
Selecting that particular book from the haphazard collection in the cheap-books boxes was a gesture to the memory of my dear father: He loved Dinesen’s stories, highly recommending them to me in my youth. However, after I read the ‘The Immortal Story’ in the small volume, I regretted choosing her book instead Kafka's Metamorphosis,

I, like Kafka, could not stand life at my fated home. Unlike him, I ran away at an early age, became an accountant, and never returned home. Yet alas, like snails, we must take the carapace with us. But I had read about Kafka’s absurd cockroach-like bug a dozen times, so I passed over Metamorphosis although the Absurd is indeed relevant to my reverse metaphorical metamorphosis, from bookworm to man.

Not that I thought Dinesen’s immortal novella was poorly written; quite to the contrary. Yet her description of greedy Mr. Clay's Jewish accountant, Elishama Levinsky, caused me to wince and reflect morbidly on my own accounting career. To that extent the author’s account was about me, wherefore I took keen interest in it.

I had always thought of myself as an eccentric man, unique and no doubt original in many respects. Both cuenta and cuento applies to yours truly. I am a frustrated storyteller inasmuch as bookkeeping frustrates my utter transition from king’s scribe to scribbling on my own account. A novella is usually a moral tale; ‘The Immortal Story’ certainly pricked my conscience, and I felt destined to discover why that was so. For the life of me, the moral of the story was a mystery to me upon first reading. If only I could solve it, I felt, my chances for good fortune might be considerably improved. At least I would know my destiny and my fate, to see if writing seals my fate.

Since Dinesen was preoccupied with myths and symbols, I wondered, first of all, what meaning the substance, clay, might have in this everlasting myth?

Jesus, as Christians know, applied clay to the eyes of a blind man and he was healed: “He put a paste in my eyes, I washed, and I can see.” So Mr. Clay the merchant may provide the reader with some insight into the fundamental nature of human commerce.

Man is naturally made of clay. As the Chinese know so well, Nu Wa fashioned humans from mud after the Great Flood. And People of the Book know that Isaiah said to Yahweh, “For you hid your face from us, and gave us up to the power of our sins. And yet, Yahweh, you are our Father; we the clay, you the potter, we are all the work of your hand.”

The clay pots who serve their potter contain his treasures, valuables precious and useful to him. Could Mr. Clay, the mean old miser, be hoarding riches for the Lord?

Clay can be pliable or brittle. Jeremiah reveals that the House of Israel can be knocked down and built up again by the potter if he is displeased with its shape.

Furthermore, on the subjected of unfired clay, it is said, “What then of those who live in houses of clay; who are founded on dust? They are crushed as easily as a moth; one day is enough to grind these to powder.”

What? Are we merely the Lord’s toys?  

Job claimed that such maxims and retorts themselves are “proverbs of ash, your retorts, retorts of clay.”

Dinesen’s protagonist Mr. Clay is apparently clay fire-hardened in the forge of commerce.  She gives us scant description of him. He was the foremost nabob of Canton, quite naturally a mean man despite his prodigious means: in sum, one-million guineas on hand.

“A million pounds, that million pounds is me myself. It is my days and years, it is my brain and my heart, it is my life,” he once proclaimed.

In fine he was a miser, an iron-hard man when not a “stony figure.” He was single; he liked to be alone. He said that being stranded on a desert island must be a good thing: "a highly pleasant thing, I should say, to be all by yourself on an island, where nobody can possibly intrude on you."

Mr. Clay had deliberately ruined his partner. a genteel Frenchman who had been weakened by “unlucky speculations,” leaving him on the streets to commit suicide. The unfortunate man’s family disappeared from sight, whereupon Mr. Clay took over their fine house.

The old stone-man’s was suffering from a painful ailment. His successful career as a nabob made him feel omnipotent, to the extent of wanting, at the ripe old age of seventy, and lacking an heir for his fortune, to make an old-sailor’s tale, the Immortal Story, come true. And he did just that.  The truth would be the death of him, so that the story, which included the purchase of a woman, and spelled out his fate, might be true for others as well. 

“Could Mr. Clay be, besides a clay pot, a philosopher’s stone or a touchstone?” I wonder out loud.

“Might he be a stone that, when stricken by the magic wand, would flow forth fortune in golden terms?”

“For I will pour out water on the thirsty soil, streams on the dry ground. I will pour my spirit on your descendants, my blessing on your children. They shall grow like grass where there is plenty of water, like poplars by running streams,” quoth Isaiah.

As for his bookkeeper, Elishama Levinsky, only El knows why Dinesen named him Elishama. The name refers to the voice crying out in the wilderness “whom El hears” (elishama). We find several Elishamas in scripture, but Elishama, scribe to King Jehoiakim, is the most likely source for the namesake Dinesen bestowed on Mr. Clay’s bookkeeper.

In 1975, 250 clay seals were found about 44 miles southwest of Jerusalem; among them were the seals of four biblical figures. “Elishama, Servant of the king”, was formally inscribed on one clay seal.
Jeremiah’s famous first scroll, listing all the evils Yahweh had in mind for wayward Jews if they did not repent forthwith, was read aloud by Baruch in the temple because Jeremiah could not attend to it himself. The book was deposited in Elishama’s office in the royal palace for safekeeping. The king was duly informed; the scroll was retrieved from Elishama’s office and read to the king, who, in turn, burned each section of the scroll after it was read, and he ordered the arrest of Jeremiah and Baruch, but they went into hiding. Wherefore Yahweh caused Jeremiah to dictate a similar scroll to Baruch, adding to the original threats a statement that King David’s throne would be vacated; King Jehoiakim’s corpse would be tossed out into the heat of the day and chill of the night; and all the disasters listed in the destroyed scroll brought down on the entire people of Judah. Fair enough.

Elishama Levinsky had washed up by chance in Canton, bleached out, without ambition nor desire nor fear for the loss of anything except security and solitude. He had been employed by Mr. Clay for seven years. Elishama was known by the other accountants in his office as Ellis Lewis, a name he had assumed, not because he was on the run like other expatriates around Canton, but rather to cover up the crimes committed against him during his peregrinations as a proverbially persecuted Jew. He had fled Poland with other Jews after the 1848 Pogrom.

He was, wrote Dinesen, "a lost and lonely child, wholly in the hands of chance, who had lived through sufferings in Frankfurt, Amsterdam, London, and Lisbon."

An old man who had died during the flight from Poland had given young Elishama a piece of paper upon which had been written in Hebrew several prophecies of Isaiah; the child carried it in a red bag hanging from his neck for some years. By chance an Italian bookkeeper in London took Elishama in, taught him double-entry bookkeeping, and how to read and write words. 

Virginie, the heroine of the story who was the daughter of the French partner whom Mr. Clay had ruined, referred to Elishama as "a small rat." Yet Elishama had his redeeming qualities, if we want to call them that. For instance, his early experience with horse trading caused him to sympathize with women. He also liked birds because they reminded him of women. The physiognomy of women does indicate that women are from the skies and men from the slime. In any event, he would be the perfect person to negotiate the purchase of a woman in order to make the Immortal Story come true for Mr. Clay.

Mind you that the possession of goods was not Elishama’s reason for being. He derived a great deal of comfort from the contemplation of the numerical series concept. And he treasured more than anything his solitude.

"One passion he had, if passion it may be called, a fanatical craving for security and for being left alone. In its nature this feeling was akin to homesickness or to the instinct of the homing-pigeon. His soul was concentrated upon this one request: that he might enter his closet and shut his door, with the certainty that here no one could possibly follow or disturb him."

His dark room was modestly furnished, with a table, a chest, two chairs, and the sofa upon which he slept; only the sofa was his, such was his despite for possessions:

"Elishama, who despised the goods of this world, passed his time from morning tell night amongst greedy and covetous people, and had done so all his life. This to him was as it should be. He understood to a nicety the feelings of his surroundings, and he approved of them. For out of those feelings came, in the end, his closet with the door to it, If the world's desperate struggle for gold and power were ever to cease, it was not certain that his room or this door would remain. So he used his talents to fan and stir up the fire of ambition and greed in people around him. He particularly fanned the fire of Mr. Clay's ambition and greed, and watched it with an attentive eye."

Mr. Clay liked to have Elishama read the trader’s old account books in the evenings before bedtime to distract him and help him fall asleep. One evening, Mr. Clay, bored with the historical transactions of his enterprise, asked his accountant if he had heard anything about the existence of another sort of account, an accounting besides financial accounting, accounts of human events and experiences; in a word, stories. Did Elishama know any stories?

No, replied Elishama. But upon further consideration of his client's needs, or rather his client's greed and his need to fan it to retain his accounting position, he recited the prophetic verses of Isaiah that he had carried out of Poland in the red bag around his neck.

In sum, sufferings of one order or another are pleasantly relieved by the Lord in the end. 

"And sorrow and sighing shall flee away." 

Mr. Clay was a realistic man; he did not like the prophecies because they appertained to something that did not exist at the moment; to wit, the future. At which point he proceeded to tell Elishama the one true story he did know, the Immortal Story, believed to originate somewhere very near the Cape of Storms and Good Hope.

Elishama interrupted him, and proposed that he finish the story for Mr. Clay, for Elishama had also heard the tall tale, a tale told by every hopeful sailor in every port of call, a story that accounts for, in particular form, the universal wish for the relief of privation. In short, a sailor is picked up by a childless rich man in a carriage and given a 5-guinea gold piece to come home with him, have dinner, and sleep with a beautiful woman in a luxuriously appointed bedroom. As a consequence of the mating, the rich man might have an heir to his fortune.

Of course the story is untrue, explained Elishama, much to his patron's chagrin: It is a matter of wishful thinking. We have a tendency to vividly imagine the things we are deprived of and to concoct stories about the satisfactions expected. For instance, financial schemes take advantage of our cravings and invariably promise more than they actually pay.

Wishful thinking did not suit Mr. Clay's disposition; after all, he was virtually King of Canton, an empire as far as he was concerned.

"The story shall become reality," Mr. Clay proclaimed, and he persuaded Elishama to make it so. And to what end? “I have not troubled to look for a hand into which I might like to deliver my possessions,” said he, “for I know that no such hand exists in the world. But it has, in the end, occurred to me that it might give me pleasure to leave them in a hand which of I self cause caused to exist.”

His possessions, he thought, would be the only part of him surviving his demise. His accountant was to spare no expense in arranging for the affair’s accoutrements: the gold piece, the bedroom setting, and, among other things, the most expensive item of all, the fateful woman, Now she would be, by some twist of fate, the very daughter of the partner ruined by Mr. Clay. Of course he would play the part of the rich old man, venture out in the carriage and pick up a lucky sailor off the streets.

As far as Elishama was concerned, greed for the things of this world is madness. Mr. Clay “had always been mad,” in his opinion. Yes, Elishama believed that “the old man was undoubtedly mad” in his desire to make every sailor’s dream, of being paid in gold for a night with a beautiful woman, come true, not to mention the miser’s proverbial wish for an heir to preserve his fortune.

However, wrote Dinesen, Elishama “was not sure whether, to a man with one foot in the grave, the pursuit of a story was not a sounder undertaking than the pursuit of profit. Elishama at any time would side with the individual against the world, since, however mad the individual might be, the world in general was sure to be still more hopelessly and wickedly idiotic.”

Of course one must die to the world when the timeless story comes true, just as it would for Mr. Clay, so it can be repeated time and again.

During the telling of this immortal tale, the superstitious reader, by virtue of déjà vu and universal vanity, gets the distinct impression that he is a participant in the perennial plot. Indeed, the ancient doctrine of eternal recurrence of all plots comes to mind. In this case, the keeper of many books might conclude that Mr. Clay, at the moment of truth (death) is at once born again to relive the story of his life again and again ad infinitum. Likewise for the rest of the stereotypical characters, whose different times of birth and death require an infinite number of parallel universes to coincide, that the Immortal Story may be told again and again to the end of all times. Finally, we realize that the Immortal Story, notwithstanding modern copyright laws, is repeated with impunity; in fact it must be repeated, for it is sort of a law unto itself.

David Arthur Walters
Miami Beach 2004

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