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the players 
the bridge
Raising Cane in Florida
FLORIDA SUGAR: HOW SWEET IS IT?
It was sugar, not citrus, that thrived in the black muck between Lake Okeechobee and the Everglades. The soil that more resembled that in the foothills of Cuba, than the Central Florida’s sand.
“Baby Sweet Baby”
Les Dudek
1977 — Say No More
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rick rosen
Raising Cane in Florida
Not So Sweet.
story by cathy callahan
photography by rick rosen
The men come by the thousands to the rich, black muckland country of South Florida; strong, proud men from the West Indies.
They come for six months of hard labor cutting cane in the 275,000 acres of sugar cane planted in the “black gold” soil around Lake Okeechobee.
They come because they want a better life for themselves and their families.
In 1974, the sugar industry produced over 823,000 tons of raw sugar and 61 million gallons of molasses.
The “black gold” of South Florida produced white gold for the sugar industry to the tune of $25 million in gross sales.
The dirty, backbreaking work of cutting sugar cane is an economic necessity for the 8500 British West Indian men, or “BWI’s,” who were imported by the sugar industry in Florida last year. Their importation is sanctioned by the U.S. Department of Labor and by governments in the West Indies.
The men leave their homes and families and an easy going life in Jamaica or the Bahamas hoping to make some money and to see the United States.
They are desperate for work since the unemployment rate in ja naica alone is 25 percent and during much of the year the men have no work except for subsistence farming and fishing.
The younger men say they come for the experience and to see the country.
Garfield Sinclair, who is cutting cane for the first time this year said, “I came to try for myself. But cane is not good work. It is slave work. We push hard.” The cane cutters see little of this country. They are isolated in company villages and their travel amounts to occasional trips to the little towns of Clewiston, Belle Glade, and Pahokee.
One cutter, who has eight children, has come to Florida for ten consecutive years. “I’m not coming back to cut that cane. I can’t cut anymore.” He is 52.
Vincent Blake who left a wife and seven children, says he sends all his money home. He doesn’t mind hard work. “It’s good for a man if he is getting something for it,” he said. “A man can’t work for nothing, money is too small for the work.” Jamaican labor is cheap. The minimum wage set by the USDA is $2.45 an hour.
The sugar companies like the arrangement, but the use of offshore labor remains a controversial issue.
Robert Lee, of U.S. Sugar, claims Americans won’t do the work and says he doesn’t know why.
“Cesar Chavez attempted to block West Indian labor but he can’t get Americans to cut sugar cane,” he said.
“We have teams of people going out to look for Americans. When we find someone who wants to work we pay their transportation here, but they don’t slay. They don’t want to work that hard,” he said.
A cane cutter’s day begins at 5 a.m. when he rises and goes to breakfast. He is in the fields by 6:30 and works eight hours with only a thirty minute break for lunch.
The cane, which grows densely, and as high as 14 feet, must be burned before the men can cut. Burning eliminates trash or excess leaf material which is a nuiscance if it goes through the sugar mill.
“The more debris or material that goes out the back of the mill the more sugar goes out,” Lee said.
Burning also drives out snakes, bobcats, and racoons which live in the cane,” said O’Neil Allen a crew boss from Barbados.
“Cutters won’t go in the field unless it’s burned,” said Lee.
Sugar cane is cut with two-foot long machetes. The cutter chops the base first, leaving the root system to produce another plant the following year. Then the leafy top is removed.
The cut cane is put in one pile and the trash in another. Cut cane is carried to the houses by rail or harvester trucks. Speeders, machines with conveyer belts, load the cane in the field.
At the mill, or “Sugar House” the cane is shredded, squeezed in a tandem mill and the mud is separated from the sugar juices. The juice is boiled until it becomes very thick then spun in a centrifuge until dry. What remains is raw sugar.
The left over cane is burned as fuel in a boiler which furnishes steam for the turbines.
There is an increasing move toward use of mechanical harvesters but according to Lee mechanization is expensive.
“A year ago a harvester cost $30,000 but this year cost it $100,000.,” he said.
He said mechanization may be necessary if the labor force is cut off completely.
“Hand labor is more efficient and cheaper,” he said.
The minimum wage increased this year from $2.15 to $2.45 an hour as set by the USDA. But sugar companies can guarantee work for only ¾ of the employment period even though six days a week, eight hours a day is considered normal.
And wages are sometimes below the minimum wage because they are not paid by the hour, but by the “piece rate” or task system.
Under the task system a cutter is paid a wage for a certain area of cane.
“Certain factors are taken into consideration when pricing the row or task”, said Lee. “I’s condition, thickness, and height, affect the price.”
If a worker cuts an $18.00 task in six hours he will make $3.00 an hour. If it is cut in seven hours he will make $2.60. If it takes him eight hours he will make $2.25.
“The quicker you can do the work the more money you make. That is why the trained cane cutter who knows what he’s doing can make money,” said Lee.
“I believe in that system. If I work harder and faster I make more money. The problem with this country is that our productivity ain’t what it should be,” he added.
But still one cane cutter in a day can harvest approximately seven tons (14,000 lbs.) of cane.
The West Indian workers live in sugar company villages on the edge of the vast cane fields. One cottage houses 22 men and approximately 500 men live in one village. Although the men are crowded together the cottages appear clean and orderly.
Workers have no holidays. Although they have one day a week free they use it to rest. They are exhausted from six days cutting.
A few men go to town, play cricket or dominos, or write letters home.
They don’t cause trouble in town. They don’t drink, gamble or fight,” said Lee.
There are no sanitary toilets are lavatories in the fields nor is there drinking water. The men must bring their own jugs of water for drinking and washing.
Sometimes accidents occur with machetes although sugar company officials say the men are required to wear metal shin and arm guards.
“You don’t have over 2,000 men in the fields swinging knives without some accidents,” said Lee.
One occupational nuisance is the powder fine muck which the wind blows into the eyes, ears, and noses of the cutters. The wind also blows the muck and soot into the food which is served from flat bed trucks which carry it to the fields.
Lunch and dinner meals are usually rice with some kind of meat. Pigs feet and oxtail are common on the menu. No beverages are provided.
The men do not like all the rice, but a company official said rice is a common part of the Jamaican diet.
Vincent Blake said he and the other men spend money on food in the village commissary or in stores in towns because the food isn’t good. He still must pay the company $3.00 a day for food. And commissary food is slightly higher priced than food in town so more of his wages go back to the company.
The cutters go back to work after their 30 minute lunch with a stomach full of rice and water and bread, for several more hours of labor under the hot sun. Al the end of the day the men return to the village on the company bus and collapse on the ground exhausted but in good spirits. They are greeted good naturedly by those who arrived before them.
Some just lie on the ground, too tired to move, while others begin to wash dirty clothes, listen to music on the “changer,” or watch television in the recreation hall.
We ask a few men who come off the bus at Bryant Village if they mind being photographed.
The men are reluctant. They are proud.
It is not good work, mon. Makes us look bad. It is a terrible thing,” said Garfield Sinclair.
The Jamaican man has dignity. He would like to remove the stigma attached to cutting cane, that is the lowest kind of work. He demands respect as an individual. He makes it understood. Then he lets you photograph him.
Percival Young said, “I’m no different from you mon. Understand where I am coming from?”
Company officials insist that the West Indians feel there is a social stigma attached to cutting cane. U.S.
Sugar officials are reluctant to let reporters or photographers talk with the men.
“No point in causing any dissension among these people,” he added, cautioning us about getting in close. But there is no dissension among the cane cutters, only a sort of resignation to the fact that there is little else for them to do.
And although, they may not like the dirty and exhausting work of cutting cane, the unappetizing and monotonous food, the low wages, the cramped housing, the lack of water and toilets in the fields, the men accept their situation.
They do so because they want something many other West Indians do not have the chance to work for – a better life.
Humble beginnings. Garfield Sinclair said “I have to try for myself.”
Meanwhile the high price of sugar and the low cost of labor bring tremendous profits for the sugar companies.
“We have to get what we can get,” said Lee. “And if you don’t believe that then we are on opposite ends of the spectrum.”
Waterhole
Outlaws
1976 — Okeechobee “Country”
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The Delta flight attendants who passed a photographer through the security checkpoint were a bit surprised when he started snapping away at an ordinary-looking, middle-aged man.
They watched with interest when two young men in solid, dark suits greeted him magnanimously, introduced themselves and hustled him outside to their car, without stopping to pick up luggage.
Crammed inside the car speeding toward Gainesville, the men finally had time to ask each other some questions. The younger ones inquired about his flight and the weather in Washington. The older man wanted to know about his class which would meet for the first time in an hour and a half.
“What’s the official name of the class? How about the books? What about the local press? Do these guys get all three networks? And how many of them get cable?”
He told the ones who were concerned about being stopped for speeding, “Don’t worry — just tell the cop I’m a friend of Castro’s.”
Inside the car were the photographer, a reporter, Frank Mankiewicz and two SG diplomats who had signed him to teach a journalism class at UF.
Mankiewicz will arrive on campus just in time to meet John Paul Jones, dean of the journalism college, betore the class begins.
He will teach the class, spare a half hour for a press conference, and join more press and politicos for a late dinner. He won’t see his Gainesville home until after midnight, and he will leave early the next morning to rejoin his family in Washington.
This is the type of life Mankiewicz became accustomed to as director of Bobby Kennedy’s and George McGovern’s presidential campaigns. Even at midnight he doesn’t lose patience when a drunk waitress almost spills hot coffee down his gray suit.
Back in the car, Mankiewicz tells Bill Rubin and Rodney Margol, the two students responsible for procuring UF’s first “Distinguished Professor,” how he immediately felt when he learned of the conviction of four top Nixon aides.
“Exulted, delighted,” he says, opening his eyes wide.
Mankiewicz says he knew Haldeman and Ehrlichman ever since their UCLA days. Ehrlichman, in fact was secretary of the inter-fraternity council there, and Haldeman was active in student government.
He says Ehrlichman was kind of a likeable guy. “He had a sense of humor about himself. Something definitely happened to him along the way…” Haldeman, on the other hand, “was pretty much of a shit all the time, I think. He was the type of guy who talked about ‘the Red Menace’ at age 20… a serious, right wing, tough guy.”
The car barrels toward the stadium building and everyone clambers out. “Let me get my briefcase,” Mankiewicz says. “I can’t get washed without it.”
Inside the stadium, he meets the dean. Rubin and Margol are grinning ear to ear. It’s 7:30. Class begins.
“Good evening. Are there really only 75 people here?”
The answer is no.
By the time the students break for a few minutes, he has them in his pocket. He’s talking mostly about the influence of TV in America, a subject he is currently researching for a book. But he flavors his talk with dry-witted recollections of the McGovern campaign.
“A lot of people voted for Nixon – one, two, three, five times — but nobody liked him.” Today, Mankiewicz says, a candidate should be likeable. Television cameras are merciless to an ill-at-ease candidate. Maybe that’s why the Democrats have no front-runner; they’re all vice-presidential material.
Mankiewicz will receive $13,000 to teach this class about the press in politics. In addition, he will give five public lectures. the first of which will be Jan.21, not the 14th as previously publicized.
He plans to commute from Washington to Gainesville weekly, occasionally bringing his family.
Sometimes, perhaps, they will stay for longer than one or two days, but not often.
His Florida home will be the best apartment at Brandywine, at about half the normal price. In addition, a local auto dealer, anxious to hook up to some of the high energy, has donated the use of a car. The Delta flight attendants would be impressed.
While he teaches, Dean Jones is in his office next door, trying to arrange a more convenient flight for him in the morning.
When the class adjourns, Mankiewicz and the press crowd into Jones’ office. The dean is all smiles. He gives Mankiewicz his chair.
“How much time will the Watergate heavies spend about the press in politics. In addition, he will give five public lectures. the first of which will be Jan.21, not the 14th as previously publicized.
“How much time will the Watergate heavies spend in jail?” a cynical reporter wants to know.
Mankiewicz says ol’ Maximum John will put them away for two to five. “Yeh, I think Sirica will remind Mitchell that he was an attorney general.” Rubin hates to interrupt, but Mr. Mankiewicz is tired. He thanks everyone for attending and hopes the Distinguished Professor Chair will be an ongoing success.
Understandably proud, Rubin and Margol pushed the program through the student senate and past an unenthusiastic student body president with veto power.
Armed with funds supplied by the recently empowered student activity and service fee advisory committee, they began approaching speakers Margol came in contact with during his days as Accent chairman.
With their noses up against a Nov. 14 deadline, they landed Mankiewicz as the first Distinguished Professor. “Distinguished has an upper case D,” he reminds the press as they filter out.
At dinner Mankiewicz is more in his element. He orders scotch and smokes Kool after Kool.
The waitress, who bears a striking resemblance to Linda Lovelace, has been hanging around the wrong side of the bar. She struts around the room taking orders and calling Mankiewicz “Lovey.”
He’s talking about his trip to Cuba. Castro is a “fascinating, very charming man. I’m convinced he could get elected in any state in this country. If he was an American politician, he could be President.” He says Cuba’s revolution was a success because Castro exported all the opposition. If all the Cubans in Miami were still in Cuba, only a police state could keep them under control. As it is, there is practically no drug problem, no prostitution there. The streets, Mankiewicz says, are immaculate.
“Havana is like Miami Beach if you didn’t paint it for 10 years.”
As Mankiewicz wolfs down a steak, talk turns to Watergate. “Who was Deep Throat?” someone asks, as the waitress approaches.
“There’s a consensus in Washington that there was no Deep Throat,” he says.
“No!” gasps the waitress in disbelief.
Mankiewicz suggests the famed Watergate source is actually a composite of several high-level figures.
The waitress flits out, scratching her head.
Tell us about Eagleton. How did he get the nomination? Mankiewicz says the McGovern camp knew the Missouri senator had been in the hospital, but they never guessed the extent of the problem.
“You’d have to assume that whatever there was in his record would have come out in. four (state) campaigns.” When it became more obvious that Eagleton had extensive treatment, perhaps McGovern should have axed him sooner, Mankiewicz theorizes.
“McGovern was at his best as a human being, when he was at his worst as a politician.”
Yet Mankiewicz says Eagleton was his first choice for the slot, after Ted Kennedy. And he says Walter Cronkite, “the most trusted man in America,” was also on the list.
Mankiewicz is optimistic about Kennedy’s future in politics. He could run in eight years and still be the youngest president ever besides his brother. In 16 years he’ll still be younger than Nixon was when elected.
He believes Kennedy’s story about Chappaquiddick because, he says, if he wanted to make up an excuse he would have done a better job.
Were Kennedy and Mary Jo Kopechne romantically involved? “Impossible,” says Mankiewicz flatly.
Mankiewicz is a tremendous hit at dinner because the crowd thinks he knows everything. If he doesn’t, he offers a guess or an opinion that sets them reeling.
The insight that made him an ace strategist for two presidential contenders is evident in his thought, and in his book, “Perfectly Clear: Nixon from Whittier to Natergate.”
Written before Agnew’s resignation, the book speculates about why an ailing President would force from office a just-as-hurting number two man.
“If Agnew will only resign, Nixon thinks the appointment of a strong, scandal-free vice president to take his place would enhance the notion that he has put Watergate behind him and is moving on with the business of the country.”*
And despite a “bland” presidency, Ford has filled the bill. After all, Mankiewicz says, ‘The national mood may very well be ‘leave us alone’–not ‘bring us together.”
“Melbourne Mambo”
Mavericks
1998 — Miami Country (Trampoline)
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[Carl Hiaasen‘s dark comedy murder mystery, Double Whammy takes place on Lake Okeechobee, and in the professional Bass fishing circuit. Cane (CBS), Bacardi, Fanjuls]
wednesday
january 10, 1975
vol 67 no 57
Space & Time
HOME IS WHERE THE ROCKETS FLY
EARTHRISE
Where I Come From
SPACE COAST
Home Is Where The Rockets Fly
NAKED LAUNCH
Pretty As A Florida Picture
ORANGES
Indian River Fruit
ORANGES (CONT’D)
SPACE COAST (NASA) TIMELINE
A Beach for All Seasons (Cocoa)
SUMMER (MORE THAN A BREAK)
DAY TRIPPING (#1.)
Cassadaga
Mysteries Deep in the Florida jungle.
DAY TRIPPING (#2.)
Weeki Wachee (SR50)
Florida’s road through Space & Time
close to home
LAKE ALICE
DEVIL’S MILLHOPPER
PAYNE’S PRARIE
CEDAR KEY (BACK IN FLORIDA TIME)
CRESCENT BEACH (MAP)
CROSS CREEK (CUMQUAT MARMALADE)
ORANGE LAKE (STEVE Z) EDUCATED GROWER
MICANOPY (MADNESS)
MICANOPY (WIKI)
LOCHLOOSA
ICHETUCKNEE
CASSADAGA (PSYCIC-DELIC)
BLUE SPRINGS
ORANGE CITY
FROSTPROOF
ZEPHYRHILLS
WEEKI WACHEE (SR50)
SILVER SPRINGS (SR40)
Silver Moon Drive-In (Lakeland)
OCKLAWAHA RIVER
OCALA NATIONAL FOREST
YANKEETOWN
ORLANDO
DELAND
DAYTONA BEACH
MOSQUITO LAGOON
CAPE CANAVERAL (National Seashore)
Playalinda Beach
MERRITT ISLAND (Wildlife Refuge)
GOIN’ BACK TO MIAMI
SEMINOLE WIND
OKEECHOBEE
“MAXIMUM BOB”
TOBACCO ROAD
“CANE”
BILL HICKS
SAM KINISON
