In Miami's Little Haiti, frustration and fear mount among kin of quake victims

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By Peter Whoriskey
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, January 17, 2010; A16

MIAMI -- In this city's Little Haiti, anxious text messages relay the news.

From under the earthquake's rubble, a relative punches into a cellphone: "I'm trapped." Survivors running out of water plead for someone to help. Often the messages are just inquiries: Has anyone heard from this friend, that family member?

The earthquake in Haiti has dismayed television viewers across the United States. But many people here are unnerved not just by their closeness to the site of the disaster but also by the difficulty of responding before it's too late. Bottlenecks have kept many supplies and rescuers from getting to Haiti and, more personally, prevented Haitian Americans from answering requests from stricken relatives.

In a demonstration of concern, Vice President Biden made two stops in Little Haiti on Saturday, promising government and church leaders that help was on the way for the residents of Port-au-Prince, the Haitian capital.

"On behalf of the administration, our hearts ache for you," Biden told about 30 officials gathered Saturday morning at the Little Haiti Cultural Center.

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Marie Etienne, a nursing professor at Miami Dade College, attended one meeting. She has been frustrated because a group of hundreds of Haitian American nurses that she organized has been unable to reach the island.

"It's heartbreaking," she said. "We see things on TV, and we feel powerless."

The sense of danger that comes with each passing hour is acute. Over the past few days, this is what Rasha Cameau, 40, the manager of a Haitian cultural center here, has learned via text messages from her sister:

Her elderly parents, their house flattened, have no food.

Her cousin, who had sent the text message alerting people that he was buried in the rubble, died before he could be rescued.

Her uncle is dead, too.

Image by Southworth Sailor via Flickr

"I keep telling my parents that help is coming so they won't lose hope," she said, tearing up.

Her husband has volunteered to join rescue efforts, and she is helping through the city of Miami, her employer.

But, she said, "My dad keeps saying: 'We are going to die here.' "

The urge to assist, nonetheless, has spurred numerous efforts.

The Catholic Archdiocese of Miami is pressing for clearance to bring Haitian children orphaned by the earthquake into the United States in an operation similar to one that brought thousands of Cuban children to this country after the 1959 revolution. The Cuban operation was known as Pedro Pan; the prospective Haitian one has been dubbed Pierre Pan. On Saturday, church officials asked Biden to help clear the way for the flights.

With some predicting another migratory exodus from Haiti, Miami-Dade County is reviewing what it calls a mass migration plan. So far, there have been no signs of organized attempts to flee Haiti.

Grass-roots donations have surged. Every Miami-Dade library, fire station and police district station is being organized to handle the outpouring. Employees at the Walgreens in Little Haiti, where six of 30 workers have yet to hear from relatives in Haiti, have set up a $5 carwash operation to raise money. Corporate donations have funded a call center where Haitian Americans can call home. Community activists are planning to hold a public wake in Little Haiti Sunday night.

Local Haitian radio personality Piman Bouk (Haitian Creole for "hot pepper") said the need to help is felt intensely. Bouk, a Christian, has been on the radio advising people to "forget about the voodoo."

"So many people are in the ground, in the rubble," he said in front of his restaurant in Little Haiti. "They don't eat. They don't drink. They are suffering. If they are still alive, we must say, 'Thanks be to God.' "

"The entire community is emotionally attached to Haiti, and it's been rough," said Rep. Kendrick B. Meek (D-Fla.), who has convened meetings in the area to coordinate relief efforts. "People really want to do something."

Haitian American employees form the base of a number of big companies in the region, Meek said, many of them at hotels, prompting firms to offer help.

In a blog post last week, Marriott International Chairman Bill Marriott, writing from the Harbor Beach Marriott in Fort Lauderdale, said that more than a third of the "associates" at the hotel are Haitian and have been affected by the disaster.

"They are struggling with trying to find out what has happened to their families and loved ones," Marriott wrote. "They have a group get-together for prayer and song every morning and our hearts go out to them all."

Community leaders and others say they hope that the attention to the poverty-stricken nation will last. On his visit Saturday, Biden promised that it would.

He said the Obama administration views earthquake relief as a possibly years-long effort.

"We are there to rescue," Biden told the community leaders. "We are there to secure. We are there to rebuild.

"This president does not view this as a humanitarian mission that is going to have a life cycle of a month. This will be on our radar screen -- dead-center -- long after it is off of the CNN crawl at the bottom of the screen."

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Hard Times Have Younger Floridians Catching the Early Bird

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By DAMIEN CAVE

MIAMI BEACH — The early bird special at Cafe Prima Pasta began last year after the restaurant’s owner, Gerardo Cea, lost all his savings in real estate and began seeing his regular customers at the supermarket.

“They weren’t coming anymore,” Mr. Cea said. “They couldn’t afford it.”

He expected his offer of a 50 percent discount before 6 p.m. to attract the usual crowd of frugal retirees. But word kept spreading, and on most nights now, at least half the tables are filled with young families, singles or hip couples — women in short skirts and men who prefer “dude” to “sir.”

Across Florida in fact, the early-bird special is experiencing a revival. With that label and some newer versions, several restaurants have introduced early dining discounts since the recession started, and younger people are arriving in larger numbers at classic establishments that have been serving up free dessert for decades.

Image by Vidiot via Flickr

Part of it is purely business — promotions work when people have less money to spend — but restaurant owners, researchers and patrons say it also reflects a changing mood. It is a sign, they say, of shifting priorities, as Americans respond to tighter budgets with a demand for value and a willingness to alter their habits to enjoy a little fun.

Many restaurant owners, on Florida’s east and west coasts, now report seeing behavioral changes that remind them of the generation that survived the Depression. In addition to coming in early for specials, they said, more customers have been using coupons, sitting down only after studying the menu and wasting less food.

“The value of money has changed in America,” said James Accursio, whose family has owned the Capri, an Italian restaurant in Florida City, since it opened in 1958. “We’re not high rollers anymore.”

His restaurant is one of many experiencing a moment reminiscent of the movie “Cocoon.” As Mr. Accursio scanned his main dining room on a recent Saturday just before the early bird expired at 6:30, he saw more young faces where only old ones used to be. To his left sat the Dawkins family, ages 47, 33, 23, 8 and 3; by the door, a man with a full head of dark hair checked his iPhone across from his date; and near the back were the Slaters, a family of 11 that crossed demographic lines.

Their ages ranged from 80 — for Marty Slater, the matriarch, who said she had been coming to the Capri since she moved to Florida in the ’50s — down to 19. Economically, it was a middle-class group. On one side of the table sat an architect, a social worker and a manager in manufacturing. And nearly all said they had been hurt by the recession.

As a result, they said, old-fashioned restaurants like the Capri — think iceberg lettuce, not arugula — had become especially appealing because they offered consistent value, and it was not just the early bird’s filet mignon for $12.95. It was also the respectful treatment — the waiters in ties, the greetings of “Mr.” and “Mrs.,” the effort to remember the orders of regulars, and letting everyone stay as long as they wanted.

“When you go out now, you have to have a plan,” said Gary Green, 34, who married into the family after leaving Jamaica. At the Capri, he said, “there’s less risk.”

Katherine Slater, the restaurant’s only diner with a nose stud and dyed red hair, said she had only recently begun to understand what her elders saw in such places. “When I was young, 18, I was like, why would I want to go out to dinner there with my parents and my grandparents?” she said. “Now I’m 21. I appreciate it.”

Nearly everyone in the state feels a little poorer these days — with unemployment at its highest rate since 1975 and real estate values continuing to drop. That insecurity has reshaped the local mindset, say many Floridians under 55, and taken the shame out of scrimping.

For instance, Cassandra Eriser, 35, an aesthetician with cover girl looks who works giving facials at a South Beach spa, is not what most people imagine when they think early bird. But there she was at Cafe Prima Pasta on a recent Sunday at 5:30 p.m., finishing up a meal of tilapia with her boyfriend, a musician with a shaved head.

With wine and tip, the couple spent less than $25 each.

“It’s a great way to try a new restaurant without forking over a lot of money,” Ms. Eriser said.

Image by Don Nunn via Flickr

A few nights later at Cafe Prima Pasta, the urge to splurge brought out a party of 13. Mostly employees of a nonprofit in their 20s and 30s, they laughed as they explained that they were eating early for a simple reason: “Because we’re broke.”

At the early bird for Tropical Acres Steakhouse in Fort Lauderdale, which opened in 1949, Edward and Denisa Wainwright said they were celebrating their anniversary there because it was affordable and still felt fancy.

“This reminds us of the New England style,” said Mr. Wainwright, 55. Even before the dessert cart arrived, he said he was full. A Harvard graduate, he said he taught at Kaplan Test Prep, making half what he used to make at a database company.

“We’ve had to get used to it,” Mrs. Wainwright, 52, said. “We don’t go out as much because of the money.”

In some circles, of course, the early bird still carries a whiff of mothballs, thus the rebranding. When Benihana tried it last summer in South Florida, they called it “twilight dining.” At Café Baci in Sarasota, which has also seen more young people lately, they use “early dining.”

Hudson Riehle, a senior vice president for research at the National Restaurant Association, said other restaurants around the country had tried “afternoon dining” or just ditched the label entirely, using “prix fixe” instead.

“The term ‘early bird’ may be a little dated from a lexicon standpoint, like ‘doggy bag,’ ” Mr. Riehle said. “But the concept has been and will continue to be an extremely effective marketing tool for certain restaurants in certain markets.”

At Cafe Prima Pasta, at least, the early bird has already become an institution, and almost too much of a success. Mr. Cea, 43, an immigrant from Argentina who learned the restaurant business in New York, said he recently realized that there were too many people arriving early with a taste for high-end meat and fish, like imported branzino. It was his turn to tighten the belt; a few weeks ago, he introduced a more limited menu.

“It’s beautiful, the American dream, it’s great,” Mr. Cea said. “But if you don’t put your feet on the ground, what it’s given you will be taken away.”

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Florida communities among those Twittering, blogging to keep criminals at bay

Florida communities among those Twittering, blogging to keep criminals at bay

Cruise down the tree-lined streets of the Old Oaks neighborhood on a summer evening and know this: Someone is watching you.

It might be Richard Vickers, who records your license plate number in a notebook as he retrieves gun shell casings from the sidewalk while out on his nightly walk. Or it might be Doug Motz, who alerts via text message: “Watch out for the green van lurking in the alley.”

Like the members of this well-oiled block watch group in central Ohio, neighbors across the country are using Twitter, blogs, e-mail and street patrols to help thwart crime. While some groups form after break-ins or muggings, there are signs of increased interest as law enforcement agencies are strained by layoffs and furloughs amid ballooning budget deficits.

Source: Gainesville Sun