An Open Letter To All Historic Buildings Nearing Retirement Age
Below is a MRR and PLR article in category Society -> subcategory Weddings.
An Open Letter to Historic Buildings Approaching Retirement
Word Count: 1775
Summary:
If you're a historic building considering where to spend your golden years, you might want to think twice about Miami. The relentless subtropical sun, combined with a cycle of heat, humidity, rain, and strong winds, can age you prematurely. If you manage to withstand all that, you'll face another threat: developer’s fever. Although not a disease, it can be lethal to your existence.Article:
Dear Historic Buildings,If you're looking to enjoy your twilight years, Miami might not be the ideal spot. The harsh subtropical sun will relentlessly fade your elegance, and the punishing cycle of heat, humidity, rain, and sometimes fierce winds will age you well before your time.
And surviving the elements is just the beginning. Developer’s fever isn’t an illness you can catch, but it can end your days. Once the land beneath your walls becomes valuable, you might find yourself facing a wrecking ball instead of a graceful retirement. While some might rally to your defense, few will have the necessary clout or funds to save you from redevelopment. Your legacy might end up as nothing more than a plaque or a scale model where you once stood.
You're seasoned with wisdom by now. But if you're unsure about these challenges, my novel "Landmark Status" provides insight. In it, third-generation tavern owner Walter Marsh seeks lawyer Benjy Bluestone to assist in selling the Century Club?"a once-vibrant Biscayne Bay venue now reviving amid a building boom. A civic group files a lawsuit to stop Walter’s sale to out-of-town buyers, claiming the Club is historic and untouchable. Yet, they might just be pawns for developer Chuck Steinberg and politician Oscar Torres, who aim to derail the sale and clear the field.
Beating these odds won’t be easy, but Benjy's determination is fueled by his interest in Oscar’s niece, Delia Torres?"a savvy broker promised a hefty commission by Steinberg, but she bets on Walter’s side to secure payment regardless of the buyer. Winning an initial courtroom scuffle, Benjy delays an injunction while petitions for historic status are sorted out. Meanwhile, he introduces Delia to what once made the Century Club a legend:
To reach the Everglades Room, Delia and Benjy follow the path by the railway along the water. In its heyday, a bridge would have linked the Club to its hotel across the street, but it was demolished after an accident. “I’ll take that for you,” Benjy offers, gesturing to Delia’s drink. “No thanks,” she replies, recalling Benjy's clumsiness. She’s plotting ways to persuade Walter he needs her as his agent, considering her methods with a wry smile. Benjy returns her smile, continuing to a weathered Miccosukee-style hut framed with Dade County pine. Inside, sunlight filters through, casting patterns across walls adorned with old photos of glamorous figures. Delia pauses, illuminated like a runway model among the captured images of elegantly dressed men and women, their autographs fading. With a gentle touch on her elbow, Benjy guides her to sit.
“This was where the elite escaped the ordinary,” Benjy explains. “Feels like they never left?"this place is a shrine,” Delia observes, surveying the celebrity-filled walls.
Benjy stands, beckoning Delia to follow him to a wall of photographs?"a visual history of Miami’s notables, famous and infamous, who graced this space. There are gangsters, movie stars, writers, crooners, comedians, politicians, and developers, side by side. Al Capone, Rita Hayworth, Damon Runyon, Perry Como, Jackie Gleason, Harry Truman, and Miami Beach creator Carl Fisher all captured in time.
Portraits of Eddie Arcaro at Gulfstream and local men forgotten by history, yet instrumental in shaping Miami, all share this space?"a testament to the city’s vibrant past. “This room decided Miami’s fate for decades,” Benjy notes, “transforming pea patches into what they are today.”
“And now, it’s time for another transformation,” Delia replies, getting to the essence of their meeting.
Fighting for the Century Club brings Benjy and his opponents to sites like the Dade County Courthouse and Biltmore Hotel. Their escapades take them through storied neighborhoods like Coral Gables and Opa-Locka, charting the legacies of developers like George Merrick and Glen Curtiss. They celebrate Miami’s cyclical real estate tradition?"a city constantly reinvented, even before Spaniards claimed it from the Tequesta, its first developers.
Traveling north on Collins Avenue, Benjy and Delia embark on a journey back in time. Amidst towering high-rises, Sunny Isles’ 1950s motels are fading relics, with names echoing Las Vegas like the Sahara, Thunderbird, and Desert Inn.
"Where are we headed?" Delia inquires.
“Just a bit further,” Benjy promises.
Through high-rise canyons, they reach Hollywood, another namesake city?"an unexpected beachside retreat.
“This feels more peaceful,” Benjy observes.
“What does?” Delia asks, puzzled.
“This scale, its tranquility. Florida's full of such gems, just not here. The real surprise is coming.”
“When will I see it?”
“You'll know.”
A few blocks further, the land narrows between water bodies, home to restaurants and a day-cruise ship in the mangroves. With vibrant sunset streaks, it’s momentarily as untouched as Florida gets.
“Let's pause here,” Benjy suggests.
“I haven’t been here before,” Delia admits.
“Special, isn’t it?” Benjy agrees, escorting her toward an ocean path awash in sunset's purple hues, palms lining their way.
“Why are these trees here?” Delia wonders, kicking off her heels.
“They’re beach-going trees,” Benjy jests, reaching for her hand as they walk.
Delia glances at their intertwined hands, contemplating pulling away but deciding against it. “They checked into a tree motel, right?” she teases.
“Not quite,” Benjy answers as they near the water. “Trees choose their spot once. No regrets.” He faces her.
“What if they err?” Delia inquires, meeting his gaze.
“They don’t. Trees don’t long for what they lack.” He pulls her closer, kissing softly?"a question more than a statement. As Delia momentarily abandons caution, she returns the kiss. But soon, she retreats. “No assumptions,” she cautions with a half-smile.
“Me?” Benjy feigns innocence, as they retreat from the ocean, stars emerging above.
Like Benjy’s steadfast trees, I hope you, dear historic buildings, aren’t longing for something elusive. Pinning hopes on a smooth retirement in Miami is risky. Choose alliances wisely; luck is crucial. Avoid the fate of the Americana?"Morris Lapidus’ iconic Miami Beach hotel, demolished at fifty-one for a modern condo resort. Its elder counterparts, like Eden Roc and Fontainebleau, might not see seventy-five. My advice? Drown out the chatter of transient visitors. You're safer where you stand.
You can find the original non-AI version of this article here: An Open Letter To All Historic Buildings Nearing Retirement Age.
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