Alex Daoud during the ‘80s was a high-flying Miami Beach politician who hobnobbed with celebrities, dined with industrialists and shook hands with some of the nation's top political leaders. Then he took his first bribe – $1,000  from then-Capital Bank chairman Abel Holtz. And so began the tale of one of the worst cases of political corruption in South Florida history – recounted here by Daoud himself.

Mayoral victory party. Photo courtesy of Daoud

   The day after receiving my first bribe – one thousand dollars – I moved my bank account to Capital Bank. The manager was waiting for me and seemed happy to have our business. I met Danny Holtz, Abel Holtz’s son, the following week at the penthouse offices of Capital Bank. I had insisted on the introduction. At first, Holtz had tried to stop me from meeting his son, whom he wanted placed on the city’s zoning board.  I explained to him that the Miami Herald would certainly want to know if I had met his son prior to my nominating him. The banker reluctantly agreed.

   Danny Holtz was of medium height, muscular but thin, and almost feminine. After fifteen minutes with the younger Holtz, it was obvious why his father had not wanted me to meet him. Danny was an empty suit, a good-looking although feckless young man who

	Daoud with Ted Arison and Abel Holtz (top left); Miami Beach City Hall (above); and Abel Holtz Boulevard in Miami.

would probably have ended up doing menial labor if his father hadn't owned Capital Bank. All of 24 years old, he just barely had a college degree and had earned no graduate or professional degrees. He was much younger and far less qualified than the present members of the Miami Beach Zoning Board. Still, nepotism, not to mention money, had its privileges.

Given the power behind the puppet, however, Danny’s appointment should have been easy. But in Miami Beach politics, there was no such thing as easy. I went directly to work garnering votes for Danny Holtz.

Among those I spoke with was Russell Galbut, who was seeking reappointment to the Zoning Board. Galbut immediately asked the crucial question: “Which member on the Zoning Board is going to be replaced?” I told him Ira Giller. I liked Russell a lot and respected his intelligence and political acumen. I told him the whole story, except the part about my retainer from Capital Bank. He listened intently, then began to tell me about the power of Jefferson National Bank in Miami Beach, about Giller’s affiliation with it, about Jefferson Chairman Arthur Courshon’s strength. Russell's advice to avoid political confrontation with that kind of muscle made sense. My problem was that my vote had been bought, and if I wanted more retainer money, I had to deliver.

I went to City Hall to meet with newly elected Mayor Malcolm Fromberg. A long line of citizens waited to see him, but the mayor, it seemed, was running late from a meeting with clients in his Coral Gables law office. My secretary asked if I would meet with the citizens in his stead, and I agreed. But as I started toward the commission offices, I was stopped in my tracks at the sight of several city employees taking down the small wooden gate that separated the mayor's and commissioners' offices and replacing it with a large, solid metal door that looked as if it belonged in a maximum-security prison. One of the workers told me that the city manager had ordered them to do so. I thought it was a mistake.

Rob Parkins was now the city manager; he had replaced Harold Toal after his unexpected death from cancer. I telephoned Parkins, and he told me that Mayor Fromberg had ordered the new door because of the lack of security. I asked him why the commissioners weren't consulted, and he replied that the mayor controlled policy in the commission office. This one simple act seemed absurd. A foreboding metal security door conveyed the wrong message to the many people that visited City Hall. Placing barriers between politicians and the people was never a good thing. I planned on talking with Fromberg and advising him that the mayor of Miami Beach needed an open-door policy, especially if he wanted to get re-elected.

I spent the rest of the day listening to the problems of Miami Beach residents. Fromberg arrived a little after five, when most of the secretaries were getting ready to leave. He rushed into his office and closed the door.

His secretary hurried in after him. I waited outside for almost half an hour before his secretary emerged. Finally, I knocked on the door and walked in. He was hanging up the telephone when he saw me and, in a distant voice, announced that he was running late for a black-tie dinner and had only a few minutes to spare. Among other things, I wanted to discuss the steel door, but it was obvious he didn't have time, so I just got directly to the point – the issue of Danny Holtz and the Zoning Board. Minutes later, we emerged from his office. Fromberg went to the black-tie party, and I went back to my office to mull over what had happened. The meeting had been a disaster. In no uncertain terms, Fromberg informed me that he was not voting for Holtz’s son. He alluded to the fact that Capital Bank was allegedly involved in laundering drug money. I tried to reason with him. Holtz’s son was both Jewish and Cuban. Voting for a Cuban Jew to become a member of the Zoning Board was a smart vote politically. I reminded him that he owed me a favor for helping him with his mayoral campaign along with his first commission race. All of my efforts were to no avail.

The following morning, I met with Gerry. He confirmed that commissioners Sy Eisenberg and Sidney Weisburd would both support Holtz. Even with that good news, I was disappointed. I telephoned Holtz after leaving Gerry’s office. His first question was how the votes were lining up. I mentioned my conversation with Fromberg, and Holtz did not seem surprised. Instead, he asked how many votes we had. There were three solid votes

The Lure of Being Rich and Famous Daoud with actor Don Johnson, actor Paul Newman, politician Walter Mondale and Princess Caroline of Monaco. Photos courtesy of Daoud

for the first round.

“I’ll meet with each of the commissioners and the mayor individually now that I know where the pressure has to be applied. You did a good job, Alex. Leave the rest up to me.” The phone went dead in my hand.

After the initial push to get votes for Danny Holtz, I didn’t follow up or contact anyone. Holtz met with or spoke to each of the commissioners and the mayor, jumping right into the middle of the ring, fighting like hell for what he wanted. I could see why he was so successful in business. Abel Holtz was no wallflower. The day of the vote, I still didn’t know if Holtz’s son would get the appointment. The only thing I did know was that he would win or there would be hell to pay.

Exactly five minutes before the nominations for the Zoning Board started, Holtz's long black limousine pulled up in front of City Hall and the chairman got out. Holtz walked into the commission chamber and went directly to the private communication room that overlooked the meeting area. He picked up the confidential telephone and spoke to me calmly. Succinctly, he said his son would win the appointment in the second round of balloting. Before I could ask questions, he disconnected the telephone, leaving me to stare into his piercing eyes.

In the tense moments before the balloting began, Mayor Fromberg established a voting procedure that differed from our routine one, obviously trying to keep Giller. I objected to the change, then looked up past the table of assistant city clerks, past the half-filled chairs, into the communication booth and the confident, unwavering gaze of Abel Holtz. There was no need for me to protest because either Daniel Holtz had five votes and would be appointed or he did not.

I was proud to be the first commissioner in the history of Miami Beach to nominate a Cuban American to the Zoning Board of Adjustment, even if I was being paid to do it. In a firm, loud voice, I announced, “Mr. Mayor, I would like to nominate Mr. Daniel Holtz to the Zoning Board.”

In the first round, four members were reelected. The final vacancy was reduced to Giller versus Holtz. In the first round, Giller received four votes and Holtz only three. Once again, Fromberg stopped the voting to clarify the procedure, another attempt to get his candidate reappointed. When he finished, we voted by written ballot. Each commissioner wrote the name of his choice on a slip of paper, and one by one, the city clerk announced the commissioners’ names and who voted for whom. There were seven votes. The winner needed five.

The city clerk passed the ballot to me, and I quickly scribbled down Daniel Holtz’s name. The other commissioners were expressionless, as if we were sitting at a poker table playing the final hand with everything we owned riding on the last card. No one spoke. We all knew there was more at stake than a zoning-board appointment. For the first time, a new force in the community was challenging the power of the Miami Beach Jewish establishment, and that force had its birth in Cuba.

All eyes turned toward the city clerk. She called out the ballots in the order in which she received them. One by one, the votes were publicly announced. In the end, the city clerk counted four votes for Holtz and only two for Giller. The final vote would decide if Daniel Holtz would be appointed. The city clerk, enjoying the suspense, announced, “The final vote is cast for …  Mr. Daniel Holtz.”

All of the commissioners turned their attention from the city clerk to Commissioner Bruce Singer; he lowered his eyes apologetically as Fromberg cast a shocked, disdainful glance at Singer. A nasty, hissing, guttural sound uttered out of Singer's mouth. “Damn! I never expected [Commissioner Ben] Grenald to vote for Holtz. Damn it!” Obviously one of the commissioners had double-crossed someone else by voting for Daniel Holtz.

There it was. The commissioners’ faces were filled with disbelief. Only the mayor and Commissioner William Shockett had voted against Daniel Holtz. Everyone seemed surprised. No one thought Danny Holtz would win – no one, that is, except his father, who had orchestrated the outcome. Abel Holtz walked out of the building right after his son’s appointment was announced. He didn’t linger to patronize the commissioners who had voted for his son. I left the chamber just in time to see the long black limousine pull away from City Hall. I couldn't help but wonder what the passenger was thinking as he rode away.

The following morning, The Miami Herald reported the appointments to the Zoning Board, and the Miami Beach Sun ran a front-page story on the younger Holtz, along with a picture of him. The article read like a prepared public relations piece.  Fortunately, no reporters questioned my support of Daniel Holtz or the brevity of my relationship with him.

That weekend, I played tennis with Holtz and two new professionals, both women. One of them, Gabriela Sabatini, would go on to win numerous professional tournaments. After the match, Holtz and I sat under the cabana cooling off and chatting. He was ebullient over his son's appointment and recalled in detail the strategies he had used to line up the votes. Holtz smiled as he told me, “I personally contacted each of the commissioners and pressured them to vote for my son.”

As a cool breeze flowed through the cabana, the waters of Biscayne Bay reflected the spectrum of rainbow-colored lights. The colors sparkled and danced across the waves, mirroring the hues of the sun. How incongruous everything seemed. In all of this natural beauty, he gloated in having pressured politicians into voting for his son. “What surprised me is how easy it is to get what you want from these commissioners. All you have to do is tell them that if they don’t vote for Danny I will finance a candidate against them. Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Well, no matter how you did it, congratulations. You surprised a lot of people. You’ve succeeded where others have failed.”

“Yes I did, but that was yesterday. Now we have to focus on our next project, and this one is even bigger than putting my son on the Zoning Board.”

“What is that?” I asked curiously.

“You will really like this one. Our next goal is to move all of Miami Beach’s accounts to Capital Bank.”

Suddenly the water didn't seem as beautiful, and the colors of the waves no longer sparkled. “Abel,” I asked cautiously, not wanting to offend him, “what do you mean by all bank accounts?”

“The City of Miami Beach has over a hundred-million-dollar budget. The administration is constantly moving millions through these lucrative accounts. By local law, this money has to be deposited in a bank that has a branch in Miami Beach. Capital Bank has a branch in the city, so we are going to convince the city manager to move the city's money to my bank.”

While he was speaking, my mind was racing. How could I explain voting to move a hundred million dollars a year of city funds to a bank that was paying me a monthly bribe by check? Instead of frantically shouting out that question, I calmly asked, “How are we going to get the city manager to transfer the funds to your bank?”

I knew that the appointment of the younger Holtz had surprised everyone, and now the forces of the status quo would be even more wary. Certainly, the bankers would vehemently oppose moving city funds to a bank owned by a renegade Cuban, even if he was Jewish. Furthermore, the Holtz family had never been involved in city politics before the Zoning Board vote.

He seemed impervious to any notion of failure. This man was amazing. Instead of talking about the difficulties, he explained his strategy for success.

“In 1979 prior to your first election, Mayor Haber and the commission passed a resolution that all of the city’s funds must be placed in a bank that has a branch in Miami Beach. The bank account was supposed to be rotated from one Beach bank to another after a year. There has been no rotation for several years because Jefferson National Bank has all the accounts. Now is the time for my bank to get the city accounts. You see, it's very simple.”

Holtz handed me the resolution. I perused the document quickly to verify the contents. Everything the banker said was correct. “Abel, you're right; the bank accounts are supposed to be rotated according to this city resolution.”

“Yes they are, and they will be rotated. Do you realize what we can do with that hundred million in city funds?”

“Capital Bank can make a fortune.”

“Yes, of course the bank will make a fortune, but even more important, I will have a great deal of money to buy property in South Beach and to lend money – to developers, entrepreneurs, or real-estate investors to spend in South Beach. Every other bank has redlined South Beach. They won't lend money on any property in the area. This has caused a blighted area. Now, with the money from the city, I will be able to leverage a great deal of loans. I will have the power to control the future of South Beach. Of course, I and Capital Bank will make a fortune doing it.”

In reality, the concept sounded as though good and bad were combined, like mixing sugar with poison, to hide the harm. But I never repeated my true thoughts. “Abel, you are a genius. Your plan can’t fail.” Once again, I found myself hypnotized by the power, the ruthlessness, and the guts of this nefarious multimillionaire who had no fear when it came to going after something he wanted, even if it was illegal.

First, the banker met alone with city manager Rob Parkins. A week later, Holtz summoned Parkins and me to a meeting with him. On the way to Capital Bank’s main office, Parkins described Holtz’s rise to power. His tone indicated that he was fearful of offending him. Indeed, from the very beginning of the meeting, Parkins readily agreed with Holtz. Then, on the way back to City Hall, Parkins talked about the Cuban influence that fueled the political flames at Miami’s divided City Hall. Being both Cuban and Jewish, Holtz embodied the two most powerful forces in Miami politics.

Moreover, he controlled vast sums of money. He could help a businessman make a fortune if he approved a loan; his refusal could destroy him. Yes, Holtz scared Parkins. The vote to move the city's bank accounts to Capital Bank finally came up to the commission. I was shocked when Mayor Fromberg took the initiative to stop it, vehemently alluding to rumors that Capital Bank was involved with laundering drug money.

No one was prepared for Fromberg’s outburst, least of all City Manager Parkins, the one recommending that the money be moved to Capital Bank. As the debate continued, I slid out of my chair and went to the private telephone, hidden from the public in the small back alcove next to the commission table. Abel Holtz took my call immediately. Furious, he ordered me to get Capital Bank approved as the city depository. He reminded me of my retainer and ended the conversation by telling me to get a copy of everything said at the city commission meeting. I was to bring the transcript to his office as soon as it was available.

As I listened to Fromberg’s diatribe, my mind swirled. My vote was paid for, and now I had to produce. There was more than just money at stake – there was my alliance with Abel Holtz and the Cuban-Jewish vote that he represented. For the first time in my life, power – and what it represented - had become an addiction. That's what this vote would be about.

As Fromberg wound down, I began forming a strategy. The mayor wanted to draw attention to allegations that Capital Bank was laundering money. I didn't know if what he said was true, and I was too afraid of the answer to ask. Instead, I reminded the commissioners that another commission had approved the banking rotation system. We had a legal requirement to honor that vote, or the city could be sued for violating a commitment.

“The city administration recommends this item,” I went on, “and City Manager Parkins supports moving the city accounts to Capital Bank. Therefore, I'm going to vote for it.” I made the motion to transfer the tens of millions of dollars in the city bank accounts to Capital Bank. The motion was seconded and passed with the mayor dissenting. Once the vote was cast, I stared at my former ally Fromberg, savoring the victory of having moved the Holtz agenda forward. He glared back at me. This vote represented the classic example of how political intrigue can destroy friendships.

Thanks to Danny Holtz’s appointment to the Zoning Board and the transfer of city funds to Holtz’s Capital Bank, I became more powerful and influential in the first three months of my third term on the commission than I had ever been. I had made the motions on both of these controversial votes and won. I’d also learned there was money to be made in politics, particularly if I remained on Abel Holtz’s payroll.

This story is excerpted and condensed from Sins of South Beach with permission of the publisher and author. Pegasus Publishing House Inc. Copyright: 2006 Alex Daoud. All rights reserved.