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LettersPublished on April 01, 1999His Four-Year-Old Must Have Some John Hancock It's too bad Korten is too biased to show the real reason the authorities have singled out graffitists Crook and Crome. It's not because of the murals pictured in the article. It is because of the childish effort to put their names on display in as many public places as possible. This does not take artistic talent. It takes the mentality of a low-class idiot. My four-year-old nephew can scrawl his name, too. I guess he should be considered one of Miami's finest street artists. Martin Politi Advertisers Know Art's Good for Them I thought so. Mighty White of You, Pardner In fact I'd like to hear how, on an ethical level, the Cuban-American right explains the difference between land confiscation in this instance and the kind that followed on the heels of the revolution's agrarian reform of the Sixties. The fact is that it can't, except by making the usual mystifying appeals to exile virtue and revolutionary evil. What's more I can barely keep from laughing my head off when I read how the guajiros are crying racism over the attention they're getting from the environmental lobby. Last I checked the Cubans in the photos were all white, unless some of them (perhaps the friendly, ubiquitous El Negro) are passing. But this isn't surprising. We know that the exile can't deal with race unless it comes packaged Celia Cruz-style: familiar and unthreatening. When we consider that for many the first thing that comes to mind about eastern Cuba is its Afro-Cuban heritage, the greatest achievement of the west Miami-Dade guajiros might well turn out to be the extent to which their fantasy Oriente is an exclusively white phenomenon, something that is in line, of course, with the rest of Cuban Miami. Antonio Lopez I Say, Old Chap, Could You Spot Me a C-note Till Next Tuesday? While there I bumped into Mr. Zage. I grew up in New Jersey and have been in the automotive field for more than fifteen years, so when I heard his name called my ears perked up. When I inquired he assured me he was the Rolls-Royce dealer whose advertisements I had read in the New York Times when I was young. The man I spoke with had a definite New York City accent. Not Brooklyn or the Bronx, but uptown Manhattan for sure. I've spent a bit of time in England, and the man I spoke to did not have a British accent. Most likely he never did own the Rolls dealership (though someone with the same name did), did not have a wife, brother, child, or knight status. What seems to be certain is that he is a chameleon, or as the British refer to such people, a confidence trickster. Sorry about Boytano losing his $565. Name Withheld by Request More Than a Hole in the Ground, a Hole in the Head First, there is surprisingly broad support for saving the circle. Scores of people have gone to look at the site. Virtually every time I drive by during the day or night, there are a few people peering at it over the railing of the Brickell Avenue bridge. Not only were there planned rallies at the site prior to the decision to acquire it, but there were spontaneous ones as well. (How often does that happen in Miami?) Hundreds of people sent faxes and e-mails and telephoned local officials.
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