Carl Hiaasen - Kick Ass - Selected Columns of Carl Hiaasen

To paraphrase another visionary leader, some men see things as they are and ask why.

Others see things that might be and ask: How much?

It's rough when even the politicians can't get a job.

This is the plight of Metro Commissioner Jorge (No Visible Means of Support) Valdes.

He claims a net worth of $357,581, drives a Mercedes-Benz, owns a big house and two boats … and is unemployed.

Times are hard, but Valdes is resourceful. His family works, and he relies heavily on the kindness of friends. Many of these friends conduct regular business with Dade County, and appear before the County Commission to seek favorable rulings. Valdes often votes for his friends' projects—but not, he insists, in return for personal favors.

Sure, a county contractor catered his daughter's wedding. And it's true that he used the legal services of a heavyweight zoning lobbyist for a private land deal in Key Largo. And Valdes doesn't deny that he has supplemented his commissioner's income by working for firms connected to the Latin Builders Association, a group frequently appearing before the Metro Commission.

Says Valdes: "It's hard for the public to understand. Personal contacts make people friends. Who are you going to ask to help you?"

In a way, it's refreshing to find an elected official who makes absolutely no attempt to conceal obvious conflicts of interest. Valdes, in fact, seems unfamiliar with the term.

Facing re-election this fall, he ought to think about lining up a real job, pronto. He can't afford the poignant delusion that all these folks are showering him with generosity simply because he's a nice guy, and not because of his position. If Valdes gets voted out of his office, his pals in the building industry won't be nearly as helpful.

No one can possibly live on the $6,000 that county commissioners are paid annually, but it's supposed to be a part-time gig. Most commissioners at least go through the motions of finding other employment. Mayor Steve Clark, for example, is part owner of a travel agency—although he doesn't spend a great deal of time at the office booking Disney tours.

Many politicians claim to be lawyers even if they have no clients and, in some cases, no office. It's a convenient occupation because people expect you to dress nicely and eat well. When you drive up in a fancy car, everybody assumes you made the dough from your law practice and not bribes.

Another occupation often claimed by elected officeholders is "consultant." The beauty of this job is that it sounds important but, at the same time, no one knows what it means.

Unfortunately, Commissioner Valdes currently isn't in a position to do much consulting. And he doesn't have a law degree, so that's out, too.

Still, there must be something that suits his skills. All over Dade County, men and women of his age put in a full day of good honest work. The classifieds are full of interesting opportunities, if Valdes would only look.

We're talking hundreds of jobs—auto mechanics, typists, medical assistants, accountants, computer programmers, bartenders, truck drivers, salesmen, cashiers … OK, scratch that last one. It's probably not a brilliant idea for a county commissioner to be handling money.

But there's this ad for what seems a good match: "CLOWNS WANTED. NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY. WILL TRAIN." I called the number and told Fran Bombino (of the Bombino Brothers) that Commissioner Valdes needed work. Bombino said Valdes would probably make a wonderful clown, once he learns how to juggle and ride a unicycle.

For a less strenuous vocation, a Dade beauty shop is advertising for a professional hair weaver—a craft that Commissioner Valdes could probably pick up, with a little practice. Also, there'd be lots of time to visit leisurely with his constituents.

If it's solitude the commissioner wants, the Rivero funeral home is looking for an embalmer—a peaceful respite from the turmoil of county government. Best of all, there's virtually no chance of a future conflict with Valdes' official duties, since dead people seldom ask the commission for favors.

Local Leaders on Parade:

First comes Carlos Valdes, state representative and volunteer field-tester for the Magic Marker company. A hidden camera caught this bonehead scribbling on the wall of a Miami Beach condominium.

Valdes says he and his mother, with whom he lives, are locked in a nasty quarrel with the condo association. Recurring vandalism near Valdes' unit caused the management to install a hidden video camera.

Catching the culprit didn't take long. The surveillance tape shows Valdes sauntering down the hall and squeaking a black marker across the paint. Then the 43-year-old juvenile delinquent scurries back to his apartment.

Prosecutors charged Valdes with criminal mischief and he doesn't deny that he's the guy on the tape. While conceding his action was "unacceptable," he says it stemmed from the legal dispute which he's waging "on behalf of my 77-year-old mother."

That's real class. Lay it all on dear old Mom.

If only she were more spry, she'd fight her own battles. But what's a good son to do? Gimme the Magic Marker, Ma. I'll take care of this!

It's a good thing Valdes doesn't live in Singapore or he'd be in prison today with stripes on his butt and Mom waiting at the gate with a jumbo tube of Desitin ointment.

From the pathetic to the revolting, we turn to the latest installment of "Larry Hawkins' Favorite Pickup Lines."

The Metro commissioner recently resigned from the board of a national veterans' group after a staff member complained that he frequently sexually harassed her and once exposed himself. The woman put her charges in a sworn affidavit.

It's not the first time. Last year, two of Hawkins' former secretaries told a state attorney that he'd hassled them with lewd remarks and raunchy overtures.

Although prosecutor Joseph Centorino declined to file charges, he concluded that Hawkins "may have engaged in a pattern of offensive conduct toward female staff members, including unwanted sexual advances, crude and suggestive language and conduct, all of which constituted a form of sexual harassment."

The names of five additional women allegedly harassed by Hawkins were provided to Centorino. He gave the case to the state Ethics Commission, which is famous for doing nothing. A hearing is set Thursday.

Hawkins won't discuss the new accusation and denies the rest.

There's probably a perfectly logical explanation: All these women—some of whom don't even know each other—have banded together in a diabolical conspiracy to destroy the political career of a wheelchair-bound Vietnam veteran.

Right, Larry. And they hatched the plot in Dallas, hiding on the grassy knoll.

Being a pig around women isn't against the law, but using one's position for sexual intimidation is a cause for legal action. There's nothing worse than a boss with runaway hormones, and juries can penalize such antics with hefty judgments.

For voters, the issue isn't financial liability so much as character. Do you want a lecher on the county commission? If so, they'll need a telephone hotline to handle the complaints.

Hawkins can deny it until he's purple in the face, but only gullible fools would believe that several different women could misunderstand his sense of humor or concoct the same terrible lie about him.

Don't expect the Ethics Commission to do much but ruminate. That agency was invented by politicians to investigate politicians and therefore was given no teeth.

Voters will be the ones to get rid of Larry Hawkins, or let him continue his quest for Bob Packwood's world title.