Heart-warming, hilarious, and horrifying - sometimes all in the same paragraph.
I remember reading this author's book "The Corpse Had a Familiar Face" when it was published in 1987 and loving it. I missed this follow-up book in 1992, but it's just as good and I'm thrilled to get the Kindle edition. In the 1970's and 80's, Buchanan's Miami Herald columns were written and talked about all over the country. She loved her city, rejoiced in its triumphs, celebrated its strengths, raged against its corruption, and mourned any time a good person there was harmed or threatened. No local columnist ever wrote with more honesty or compassion or intelligence.
The contrast between the grimness of New Jersey and the tropical paradise of Miami, Florida amazed her when she arrived as a young woman and she never lost that sense of wonder. Miami was warm, with white sand beaches, waving palm trees, clean sea breezes, exotic architecture, and a heady mixture of cultures from all over. Like many others who arrived in that era, she saw Miami as a Magical City.
If the surface was magical, there were dangers lurking below. The flip side of the balmy weather was the life-threatening hurricanes. Like many newcomers, she took her first hurricane too lightly. It was almost her last mistake. As the population exploded, so did crime, which meant that the Miami Herald's crime reporter was one of the busiest people in town.
How and why did Miami become so crime-ridden? There's no easy answer, but a large percentage of the population were new-comers. Some came from different cultures with different expectations. Some came from small town America but took the opportunity to leave their inhibitions behind when they moved. The proximity to Cuba and the political crisis there was a pressure point. Then came the drug epidemic and the Magical City was Ground Zero.
It's human nature to be both fascinated with and repelled by true crime stories. Some have accused them of being "violence porn" and there's something to be said for that view. And yet, crime happens and those it happens to and the people who love them are changed forever.
Edna Buchanan deserved her Pulizer Prize for crime reporting because she always remembered that the people she wrote about were REAL, with real lives and real emotions. They were human beings who deserved to be heard and remembered. She tried not to cause additional pain to victims and survivors, but she also knew that sometimes her columns made those people feel that they weren't forgotten or disregarded as being worthless.
Her personal life was a long-running train wreck, with three short, volatile marriages and no children. Her job consumed her and sometimes cost her friends and even threatened her life. She kept writing because she knew she could do the job and do it well and it was a job that should be done.
Today, the few newspapers left have skeletal staffs. Information is lifted from police or First Responder reports with little attention to details or accuracy. There are no Edna Buchanans following up to interview victims or their families to check the accuracy of the facts or report the effects of the crime on those involved. Maybe that's why we've become so numb to crime, accepting it as an inevitable part of life, not as something that could and should be prevented.
Today, Edna Buchanan is eighty-five years old, suffers from dementia, and lives in a nursing home. I want to believe that she still remembers all the people she touched, informed, and comforted in her professional career. There will never be another one like her.