By Terrence McCoy
By Allie Conti
By Chuck Strouse
By Scott Fishman
By Terrence McCoy
By Ryan Yousefi
By Ciara LaVelle, Kat Bein, Carolina Del Busto, and Liz Tracy
By Pepe Billete
If you stand outside Miami Beach's City Hall and listen carefully, you'll hear the distinct sound of gnashing teeth, followed by the anguished turning of calendar pages. "We're not doing anythingother than Memorial Day weekend for the next two months," groaned Christina Cuervo, Beach assistant city manager, at a March Nightlife Industry Task Force meeting.
Looming ominously is a possible repeat of last year's holiday weekend, which saw more than 200,000 predominantly young black partiers converge on South Beach, turning it into a real-life Jay-Z video. As bottles of champagne were hoisted aloft through the sunroofs of cruising SUVs, Collins Avenue became one gridlocked block party. By nightfall the bacchanalia turned uglier, with a slew of disorderly conduct arrests, a mass brawl in the middle of Washington Avenue, and pepper spray-wielding security guards wading into what one onlooker termed a "near-riot" in the Loews Hotel's lobby. Beach officials freely admitted they were caught by surprise; many residents were left feeling under siege in their own homes, seething at what they deemed civic neglect.
A law-and-order solution for this year's go-round -- lining the boulevards with phalanxes of police -- may placate aggrieved locals, but it also opens up Beach officials to charges of racism. Why is it, critics such as activist and radio host Bishop Victor Curry ask, that heavy-handed responses only seem to apply to black visitors? After all, the thousands of mostly white Winter Music Conference attendees, spilling in and out of the Beach's clubs, raised barely an eyebrow.
It was just such heated accusations that led to a black boycott of Miami Beach in the early Nineties, costing some $20 million-$50 million in lost convention bookings and tourist dollars, and ending in 1993 only with the awarding of a contract for a so-called "African-American-owned hotel" to controversial developer Don Peebles. In a stroke of delicious timing, that hotel -- the Royal Palm Crowne Plaza -- is set to open just in time for Memorial Day weekend.
"Nobody wants to stick their neck out on this," observes one Beach administrator, pointing to current plans that have Miami Beach's police force of 380 supplemented by 87 Miami-Dade officers and an unset number of Florida Highway Patrolmen. "Look at Daytona Beach: They have 700 cops to deal with 150,000 spring break kids. We're expecting nearly twice that many people! So either we let people come and tear up the city or we're all a bunch of Klansmen. We can't win."
With the Loews and National hotels already projecting full occupancy for that weekend, Beach officials have been desperate to find somebody, anybody, who represents the incoming Memorial Day crowd. Yet there is no single organizer, no central promoter. Despite former football star Louis Oliver's Urban Fashion Week being originally scapegoated as the draw for last year's bash, only a handful of the 200,000 that hit South Beach even knew of its existence then. Instead the lure was the much-hyped appearance of hip-hop's glitterati and the chance to party alongside them.
And as with the spring break parties on Texas's South Padre Island or Florida's Panama City Beach, it was dozens of out-of-state promoters (not to mention the exaggerated folklore of thousands of fraternity brothers) that fueled attendance. Accordingly, city officials have been left to anxiously surf the Web, monitoring Internet sites such as blackbeachweek.com, trying to track that ever-nebulous word of mouth.
Enter Luther "Uncle Luke" Campbell, who has offered himself up as Miami Beach's savior. "This city does not understand hip-hop culture," Campbell says matter-of-factly inside his 12th Street Luke Records office and recording studio, just two blocks west of the Atlantic Ocean. "These club owners don't have a clue. The Nightlife Industry Task Force doesn't have a clue. But when people admit they don't know how to deal with certain people, that's when you can help them."
What the Beach desperately needs, Campbell argues, is a hip-hop expert, someone well versed in the music's language and economics, someone like, well, him.
"If you want to have a bar mitzvah, I wouldn't know when to stand up and when to sit back down," he laughs. But throwing the biggest party the Beach has ever seen? Now you're in his world. "I've been in the music business for twenty years. This is a no-brainer." Campbell's proposal is for his group Progressive Righteous Organized Inc. (PRO), which consists of local promoters George Dukes, Michael Gardner, and Joseph Lewis as well as the Nation of Islam's Gerald Mohammed, to be placed in charge of coordinating Memorial Day festivities. Ocean Drive is to be closed down for an African arts street fair, and a late-night concert is to be staged inside the Beach Convention Center, all in the hopes of drawing some of the people who would otherwise be hanging out on the sidewalks of Collins and Washington avenues.
Referring to spring break fetes he's hosted around the country, Campbell concludes, "If I can do it in Galveston, Texas, or raggedy Daytona [Beach], it can be done in Miami Beach." The Beach's city manager's office seems to agree. At press time, it had given a preliminary okay to PRO's plans, subject to the city commission's approval.