The White Folk's Restaurant? By Default, Yes...

North Miami has seen a substantial racial and ethnic shift over the past couple of decades. We've had an influx of mostly Haitians, some Jamaicans, and quite a few mostly Central American Hispanics. They all share a penchant for spicey food, whether too much curry like the Jamaicans, or WAY too much hot pepper like the rest of them. Another turn-off for many of the old guard is goat meat, a staple of Carribean cuisine. I never really understood that one because I grew up eating lamb on a regular basis and I'd eaten horse meat with some French Canadian friends. I've had rabbit and squirrel and deer meat and I'm still alive and kicking. I've even eaten racoon, opossum, and back when it was still legal I dined on alligator a few times. Then there was armadillo and a couple species of turtles. What's so sacred about sticking to just eating cow meat?

Little by little the "typical American diner food" type places closed up, turned into Chinese restaurants, or started serving Carribean food, although for the most part the Haitians eat in their restaurants and the Jamaicans in theirs. Awhile back a Haitian guy bought the Atlantic Chinese Restaurant but kept everything the same, including the cooks and the waitresses. The place kept its customers and does a good take-out business. Another traditional American style restaurant went Haitian all the way. I used to eat breakfast there a few times a week. I walked in one morning after the new owners took over and they asked me if I'd made a mistake. I said "no" but I never went back. I guess they pulled that with a lot of former regulars because they soon closed for good.

Well, Jimmies Place is still there, they still make you feel right at home, and a fair number of American blacks that don't like Hispanic or Carribean fare are eating there on a regular basis. There are some blacks working in the kitchen and a black waitress. Their corned beef on rye is fantastic and you can get great grits with your fried eggs, but they don't offer Cuban coffee.

The Spirit Of The Tigers Lives On

Laymond Hardy introduced me to Bobby Tiger in 1973. My wife Stephanie and I spent many pleasant days visting Bobby and his family on the Miccosukee Indian Reservation on the Tamiami Trail about 30 miles west of Miami. Bobby was married to Louise, who was half Creek and half white but Bobby was full blooded Miccosukee. He wrestled alligators for the tourists and travelled around quite a bit wrestling alligators at fairs and carnivals. That's how he'd met Louise.

They had five children. When I met the Tigers the two youngest were Donna, 16, and Spencer,14. Years later I found out that Donna was adopted, a Creek I believe. They were both students at Palmetto Sr. High. The Dade County Public Schools used to bus a bunch of kids from the reservation every day. Even at 14 Spencer was pretty good at wrestling alligators, and as I got braver I went in the pit with him on several occasions to take some photographs. Then one day he said "Here! You try it!"

It looked easy enough and the 'gator was a small one, maybe six or seven feet at most. You crouch down, stick out one hand and wave it around over the 'gator's head. He'll raise up on his front legs and lift his head upward. With your other hand you come up from beneath and grab the soft flesh of his throat, all the while pushing upward, then you can grab both jaws and squeeze them together. They might be able to bite hard enough to take off a hand but the muscles that open the jaw is very weak. Within seconds I was lying in the sand, both hands holding the jaws closed, twisting the head around and pushing against one of his legs with my foot until I flipped him on his back. Once on their back the blood rushes to their brain, so I'm told, and they black out. That's when you're supposed to rub their belly and tell the tourists how much alligators just love to have their bellies tickled, but there were no tourists there. Spencer took a long pole and flipped the gator back on his feet. He looked a bit groggy, gave us what I suppose was a dirty look, then ate a couple of garfish that Spencer tossed his way.

Now Spencer and Donna are both gone. Donna had a son Robbie who now lives with Spencer's widow Flo, a nice Jewish girl in Bay Harbor Islands. In a few days I'm going to attend Robbie's 22nd birthday party on the dock of a fancy Miami Beach restaurant. I doubt that he'll ever get the chance to wrestle a 'gator.