Look, I have a sound 10^th grade education – my final two-years of high school are a blur of beer and bad decisions.  But I feel like I have a pretty good grasp of the Volusia County School District’s sophomore curriculum circa 1975.

I don’t presume to have the intelligence, insight or intellectual creativity that comes with a college education – and I never enjoyed the stamp of professional competence that a degree naturally, and universally, implies.

During my law enforcement service, I was a Mustang.  I came up through the ranks, basically riding on a smile and a shoeshine, and ultimately took command of the agency that hired me as a 22-year old uneducated nitwit.

Truth be told, I often felt inferior to my peers who earned the requisite academic title prior to promotion.

Although I had amassed an impressive portfolio of in-service training and practical experience, because I never felt equal, I often kept my suggestions to myself and rarely engaged in policy matters or other discussions I felt were “above my pay-grade.”

Then, in 1990, I applied for acceptance to the prestigious FBI National Academy at Quantico, Virginia.

At that time, I was a patrol sergeant in a small department – and no one in the history of the agency before me had ever applied.  Everyone thought that a small agency like ours could never compete for a spot with “major city” departments.

After all, less than one-half of one-percent of officers around the globe are invited to participate in the world’s premiere law enforcement leadership training program.

Six years later, while serving as a supervisor in the detective division, I received a letter from the FBI’s Jacksonville Field Office requesting a meeting to discuss my potential acceptance to the 187^th Session.

I was overjoyed – so full of pride and gratitude!  And I think my chief and co-workers were as elated as I was.

It proved, in some small way, that we measured up.  All of us.

After an extensive federal background clearance, physical examinations, interviews, and the difficult loss of the 40-pounds required to meet the stringent height/weight standards – on September 29, 1996, I joined the best-of-the-best in Quantico.

During the next three-months, I lived in a cramped dormitory room with a Sheriff’s Captain from Rutherford County, Tennessee.  We shared a common bathroom with an agent from the Georgia Bureau of Investigation and a police lieutenant from Texas.

Across the hallway was a police chief from a suburb of Chicago, and his roommate, the head of the federal kidnapping task force for the Philippine National Police.

The first friends I made were a weapons trafficking expert from the Republic of Macedonia and an elected sheriff from Minnesota.

During this wonderful experience, I had the opportunity to discuss modern policing issues in an environment that encouraged open and honest discussion.

We studied controversial legal decisions, discussed civil rights legislation and consent decrees, and learned from international students how the rule of law and investigative techniques differ in other cultures and countries.

To avoid the subliminal intimidation that can come with the use of rank and titles in quasi-military organizations, everyone was addressed by their first name – and over beers in the evening a sergeant from a 30-person department in the deep south might learn that his new friend is the head of a major international police counterintelligence agency – or the chief of a department with over 7,000 employees and a $1.5 billion-dollar budget.

We were friends, equals and colleagues – and while we didn’t always agree – we learned from each other – and about each other – and our unique life experiences.

The FBI National Academy was the closest thing to “higher education” I will ever experience.  And it gave me confidence, proved my contribution potential, and taught the importance of honest dialog in understanding the views, intellectual perspectives and values of dissimilar people and societies.

While I may not have an advanced degree, I do understand the importance of exposing oneself to diverse social opinions and political positions as a means of rounding out an informed point-of-view.

Perhaps this explains why I felt so disappointed by the backlash to Bethune-Cookman University President Edison Jackson’s important decision to invite U. S. Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos to speak at the universities spring commencement exercises.

I was under the impression that a college campus was the last bastion of free speech, a place for freedom of thought and the civil debate of competing ideas?

When did that change in this country?

Given the number of speakers who are being “disinvited” or outrighted banned from colleges and universities around the nation, it is increasingly clear that the right to free speech and open expression – and a well-rounded education – only exists for some.

Now, the Florida conference of the NAACP is calling for Dr. Jackson’s removal.

How incredibly sad.  And shortsighted.

Imagine an entire generation of our nation’s future leaders who lack the basic skills to successfully resolve interpersonal and situational conflict because college administrators feared that developing those aptitudes might offend the students delicate sense of self-esteem?

I don’t believe that every speaking engagement requires a time for open rebuttal and angry refutation.  Sometimes it’s merely an opportunity to simply listen, contemplate the message, then either accept the information into your knowledge base – or dismiss the views out-of-hand.

Your choice – but only if you are given the opportunity.

And sometimes a boring speech is simply something one must endure as a ceremonial formality of accepting your sheepskin.

In my view, B-CU students deserve the opportunity to hear and ponder the thoughts of influential decision-makers, academics, contrarians, politicians, activists and others with diverse views on the issues of the day – even those they don’t necessarily agree with.

Especially when the speaker holds a cabinet-level position in a new administration – and the purse strings for institutions of higher learning, including historically black colleges.

Without listening to competing ideas, how else does one learn the fine art of discussing and settling political and social differences in a civil and constructive way?

How else does one learn to collaborate, research, develop solutions and work shoulder-to-shoulder with others in a diverse professional environment?

I applaud Dr. Jackson’s decision to invite U. S. Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos as the 2017 spring commencement speaker.

As Dr. Jackson said, “Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune, our venerable founder, did all that she could during the nascent stages of this institution to equip her students with the necessary skills to navigate the precarious waters of fundamental disagreement.”

In my view, Dr. Jackson has demonstrated incredible courage in remaining true to Dr. Bethune’s legacy.

Throughout our history, fundamental change in public policy and the evolution of creative social solutions, germinates in grassroots advocacy and the right of citizens to petition their government for redress of grievances.

From the momentous events of the civil rights movement – to relatively insignificant local issues – positive change always begins life as a few pissed-off people joining together in someone’s living room, church social hall or a public space to discuss their collective fury over a social injustice or the town council’s inactivity and neglect of an important issue.

Hell, the very foundation of our nation was born of revolt and revolution.

In 2017, rage is still the motivating factor for significant political change.

Don’t believe me?

Attend your Congressman’s next town hall meeting – or attempt to take-in a political speech on any college campus in the nation – and I think you’ll come around.  Angry shouts, provocative taunts and violent “protests” involving mask-wearing vandals are the new norm in America.

Add to that global external forces that want to annihilate us and crush our way of life, and you find we really are living in historically interesting times.

Don’t get me wrong – agitation and challenging the status quo is a good thing, especially in an environment where our elected officials, at all levels of government, are mere handmaidens of a shadowy oligarchy.

Given the current obstreperous nature of dissent in the United States, it is refreshing to see local advocates engaging in positive demonstrations and openly voicing their views on the pressing issues of the day.

For instance, in my view, Florida’s premier beach advocacy group, Sons of the Beach, has demonstrated the leadership, consistency and perseverance necessary to protect and maintain our heritage of beach driving and access for Volusia County residents.

This was never more obvious than last week’s revelation that a bill working its way through the state legislature contained language that could have been disastrous for our tourist-based economy, and our way of life, by weakening customary use doctrines resulting in the potential privatization of our beaches.

To my mind, the fact that this controversial measure passed unanimously in the House tends to expose the depth of special interest influence in Tallahassee.  And the strategic silence and inaction by County Manager Jim Dinneen and the Volusia County Council perfectly telegraphs their true intentions on beach access issues.

During the initial confusion, Sons of the Beach provided a clear explanation of the potential problems with the legislation, and offered sound encouragement to stand firm and never quit trying.

In my view, that is the epitome of community advocacy and demonstrates the strength of citizen activism when the forces of power and greed are howling at the door.

In addition, Sons of the Beach have used the court system as it was intended – to provide an impartial arbiter of the facts who can apply the law to civil disagreements, to ensure citizen input in the process – and to hold our government officials accountable.

Unfortunately, over time, our elected officials have legislatively stacked the deck to the point that taxpayers – you know, the ones who pay the bills – have no standing in important issues affecting their lives and livelihoods, especially as it relates to beach policy.

I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and tired of hearing County Attorney Dan Eckert crow about the “ultimate power” of the county council over us impecunious peons in all matters beach-related.

In my view, Dan’s near-constant focus on using the courts to protect the supremacy of a self-serving “system” – over the will of the people – speaks volumes about the Dinneen administrations true loyalties.

Trust me.  This vantage point on the maneuverings of county government would not be possible without the incredible efforts of Sons of the Beach.

I was also very impressed by those intrepid members of the South Atlantic Neighborhood Association who took the message to the masses last weekend to protest the cycle of blight in Daytona’s core beachside.

It is truly heartening to see grassroots organizations like SANA take such a proud public stand against dilapidation, squatters, slum lords, trash, debris and years of government neglect.

Residents have had enough.  And it’s beginning to show.

These public demonstrations and curbside protests bring the frustrations of residents to the forefront – and put elected officials on notice that their constituents are “Mad as hell, and we’re not going to take it anymore.”

In my view, thoughtful public awareness campaigns like SANA’s are critical to bringing positive and lasting change.  In fact, last week the Daytona Beach City Commission – in response to recent newspaper coverage and citizen outcry – began the process of reviewing and strengthening outdated ordinances and bolstering code enforcement procedures – measures that could spark the resurrection of the beachside.

Regular readers of this forum know that I have little, if any, faith in the near-constant drone of our elected and appointed officials telling us all how great we have it here on the Fun Coast.  In that theme, on Friday, cheerleaders for Volusia County “economic development” agencies touted their progress during a meeting at Daytona “International” Airport.

We’re told that tourism is on the rise, unemployment is at historic lows, and area new car and truck sales rose to new heights – along with new home starts – and real estate brokers are apparently lighting cigars with hundred-dollar-bills.

We were also led to believe that a report by the Milken Institute lists the “Deltona-Daytona Beach-Ormond Beach” metro area as the most improved local economy in the United States.

Interesting.  (I wonder if anyone from the institute visited the Fun Coast – or just relied on the artificial injection of millions of dollars in “economic incentives” from local governments to private interests as a measurement of progress?)

You remember the Milken Institute, right?

The California-based think tank founded by Michael “The Junk Bond King” Milken – formerly of Drexel Burnham Lambert – who went to federal prison and paid hundreds-of-millions in fines and restitution for securities fraud and financial crimes against investors?

He’s a convicted racketeer whose unchecked greed set the pace for other thieves in the bad old days.  Now, he’s reinvented himself – both in business and philanthropy.

Mr. Milken is the reason we still look down our noses at all bankers.  Even their family members keep them at arm’s length and know the only truly safe investment is in a shoe box under the bed. . .

I also took notice of Ms. Jane Glover’s excellent Community Voices piece in Sunday’s Daytona Beach News-Journal, calling for increased county oversight and regulation of blighted rental properties in Ormond-by-the-Sea.

Perhaps we are beginning to see a renaissance here on the Fun Coast.

The signs are encouraging, anyway.

Not because those who stand to profit tell us so – but because citizens are beginning to throw off the traces of apathy and political oppression to rail and kick against the blight, dilapidation and corruption that have hampered substantive growth and real economic development for decades.

Just don’t expect government to take this challenge to the status quo quietly.

In my view, the rebirth of our community begins with grassroots organizations forcing the important process of changing the foul image of the Halifax area and improving the quality of life for everyone – even if it takes waving posters on the curb and publicly humiliating every elected official in Volusia County.

So, take a minute to drop a note of encouragement to these resolute citizens and organizations – maybe even provide some financial support to keep them in the fight, if possible – and let them know how much we appreciate their hard work on our behalf.

Thanks for reading.  And have a great week, kids.

Photo Credit: The Daytona Beach News-Journal

The next time you’re out-and-about in the Halifax area, use your imagination.

Yesterday, I needed to run a few errands.

A lovely young couple that have been family friends for many years are tying the knot in a casual ceremony befitting the couples happy, laid-back style this Saturday, so, I thought it appropriate to up-date my tired wardrobe for the occasion with a trip to what remains of the Volusia Mall.

If you and I should ever meet on the street, chances are I’ll be clad in worn khaki cargo shorts, a weathered fishing shirt, with some run-down Sperry Top-Siders on bare feet.

After many years of wearing a uniform to work, I’m not one to give up on a “look” just because it gets monotonous.

A quick trip to “The Mall” earned me a fresh pair of Nantucket red shorts and a great linen shirt, perfect for a spring garden party.  I confirmed my color-combination with the friendly 30-something clerk sporting the fashionably shaped beard and well-greased man-bun, who assured me I was on target coordination wise.

Then, I endured the crucible of check-out. . .

Anyone else notice that the simple act of paying for retail items has become akin to taking out a complex second mortgage?

After shoving your credit/debit card in the chip reader, you are forced to make at least five important decisions in quick succession – followed by the physical inputs required to confirm your choice and authorize the purchase – the next-to-last of which is whether you wish a paper or email receipt – or both.

I suspect it’s just another way for retailers to collect marketing information – but it makes the point-of-sale experience an excruciatingly dreadful chore.

And, God-forbid, you have anyone over the age of 55 in line ahead.

Like me, they always seem to approach the small electronic box like they’ve just been asked to program the reentry sequence for a Space X rocket.  If you’re lucky, the clerk will show annoyed mercy and reach over the counter to press the correct buttons for you – as you stand there, slack jawed, staring at the box – arms raised in a pugilistic stance – looking for all the world like a victim of early on-set senility.

What became of those wonderfully simplistic days of swiping a debit card – or the futuristic, Epcot-style technologically driven advances we were promised, like “People Movers” – or a friggin’ toaster that doesn’t burn your G-D bagel every morning.  Yeah.  Like that.

Don’t get me started.

Whenever possible, I like to use the services of locally owned companies – you know, keep a dollar circulating in town – and my dry cleaner of many, many years is Acme Cleaners (conveniently located just behind Krystal at Mason Avenue and US-1) – an enterprise owned by a wonderful family who do their level-best to make sure you are completely satisfied.

As I left the mall, I decided to make my way east on Mason Avenue and drop my new purchase off at Acme on the way home.

Errands.  A typical day-to-day life experience we all share.

To make things interesting, I decided to imagine myself as a first-time visitor to the Halifax area and take-in the crosstown drive with a fresh set of eyes.  (I do that a lot.  I’m like a demented Walter Mitty, always visualizing myself in some weird fantasy.  Don’t judge.)

After all, I’m always moaning the blues about the deplorable condition of our long-neglected beachside – so I thought it time to consider aesthetics on the mainland as well.

Try it sometime.

Envision that you’ve dutifully scrimped and saved all year and your family is finally vacationing in the “Daytona Beach Resort Area” portrayed in a slick online ad by Danica Patrick.

After trying in vain to find that beautiful swimming pool Danica was luxuriating by – and having been accosted by homeless panhandlers on the Boardwalk for the umpteenth time, taken in all the attractions Main Street offers tourists, and caught the morning smell of stale urine wafting on the sea breeze near the Band Shell – you have decided to make a day-trip from your beachside hotel to Tanger Outlets or points south – Bass Pro, DIS, etc. – via Mason Avenue (or East ISB, for that matter).

Invariably, the drive will take you past the ubiquitous vacant strip centers, numerous establishments who have opted to simply spray-paint the name and service they provide on the front of the building (after all, who needs sign regulations when a rattle-can gets the point across, eh?), boarded-up chain restaurants, and overgrown lots strewn with trash and debris (for a great example, try the parcel on the southeast corner of White Street and Mason Avenue).

Last weekend, I was speaking with a young friend of mine who grew up in the Halifax area, but recently moved to Seattle to make a life – a classic example of the ‘brain drain’ of young entrepreneurs, professionals and creative-types who have fled Volusia County for better opportunities elsewhere.

She mentioned that after having been away, she took a drive to ‘downtown’ Beach Street and instinctively described the mid-afternoon scene as “closed” – a less-than-inviting feel that stood in stark contrast to the vibrant, “open-for-business” vibe she was used to in her new neighborhood in the urban Northwest.

Frankly, it was depressing.

Especially after years of hearing the near-constant promises of “more, jobs, more investment, more activity” of the CEO Business Alliance and other cheerleaders for the status quo whenever they are looking for the next “tax incentive” or cash giveaway from government.

Look, this isn’t an indictment of the City of Daytona Beach’s Code Enforcement Division.

In my view, this understaffed and under-resourced group are like the proverbial Dutch Boy holding his finger in the leaky dike, attempting to save his imperiled town by standing firm against the elements until the town elders finally take notice and make the necessary repairs.

Trust me.  I’ve lived the frustration of being responsible for alleviating code violations in a ‘one-hand tied behind your back’ political environment of “complaint-driven” efforts that can allow visible violations to fester for months and years – far beyond the point where reasonable abatement measures are possible.

It allows animosity to build – on both sides of the issue – and it becomes incredibly difficult for enforcement personnel to play catch-up, because, like time and tides, blight doesn’t wait.

It’s worse when unscrupulous politicians and the upper-echelon of government attempt to use the code enforcement system to punish political foes.

Ultimately, the only ones who win are the slumlords and irresponsible property owners who squeeze maximum profit through lack of maintenance and upkeep.

In my view, the cycle of blight speaks to the importance of an elected body with the strategic vision and strength of character to create an environment favorable to attracting quality business and industry, especially in a tourist-driven economy.

So, get outside of your comfort zone – rather than just stare at the bumper in front of you – and take a careful look at our collective experience with fresh eyes the next time errands take you across town.

(And use your damn turn signal, people!)

Imagine the possibilities – despite the empty bait-and-switch assurances of the powers-that-be who constantly crow about how wonderful we all have it, and then drive home to the sanity and security of their gated communities.

After you take it all in, demand accountability from those we elect and appoint to protect our interests here on the beleaguered Fun Coast.