Richard M. Nixon) was still very much the rallying cry for young idealists. They were all very funny and very articulate. After the dinner, almost everyone ran to Young, Bond, and Jackson. Everyone wanted to meet them, secure their autographs, and get pictures with them. Jimmy Carter was standing by himself, in a corner of the room.
I have always cheered for the underdog. Feeling sorry to see him standing by himself, I decided to approach him and introduce myself. After a brief conversation, he invited me to join him for a cup of coffee. It was just the two of us; we spoke for hours. Mostly, I just listened to the reasons he had for running for president, and to the multiple references to his honesty (post-Watergate). On the drive back to Miami, I reflected on our conversation. He’s a decent man, a good man; he has a pretty progressive record. As soon as I returned, I contacted Alfredo, Mike, and Sergio with an idea.
At the time, many of us were highly concerned about George Wallace, the white segregationist governor of Alabama who had run for the presidency in 1972 and performed better than expected—even outside the South. Democrats worried that Wallace might perform even better than he had in 1972, possibly winning the primaries in states like Michigan and Illinois. He had to be stopped early and his campaign had to be derailed in the South. If Wallace were to pick up momentum in the Southern primaries, who knew what could happen in the later primary states? And, in the South, where’s the best place to beat him? Florida. But how do we beat him in Florida? The answer for me was Jimmy Carter, another Southern governor who could win Florida. He’s progressive enough to appeal to the more progressive side of the party, but he’s still a Southern governor and can connect with the Southern Democratic conservatives. Carter had the right combination. The group agreed to support his candidacy.
We started a statewide organization for him and held the first mock convention vote by the Florida Democratic Party—a straw vote that proved to be instrumental to his candidacy. The straw vote was a great way to bring exposure to your candidate (the same strategy would later work well for another Southern governor, Bill Clinton). The party faithful and leaders vote, and the candidate the national pundits never expected would win, does. That is what we did for Carter. The headlines went from “Jimmy Who?” to “Carter Wins Florida Straw Vote.”
The strategy and execution were a testament to our ability to organize and mobilize a strong turnout at the convention. Although it is never simply one factor that determines winning or losing an election, there can be no doubt that winning the straw vote gave Carter a huge lift, attracting the support necessary for him to later win the Florida primary, and ultimately win the presidency. Interestingly, a Carter presidency was not my original plan. In fact, after Florida, he was no longer my candidate. I merely wanted to beat Wallace and open the field for other candidates I was more prone to support for the presidency.
During my early years, I also devoted a significant amount of time helping get Cuban Americans elected into office at all levels of government. Those first campaigns were extremely tough. It was practically impossible for a Diaz to beat a Smith, regardless of qualifications. Voting patterns essentially followed demographic lines. Electing the first Cuban American judges required first convincing our Florida governors to fill vacancies with Cuban Americans. Governor Bob Graham (later U.S. senator) is to be commended for heeding our call to make these early appointments. However, once appointed, our attention turned to helping them get elected. I was actively involved in both efforts, lobbying our governors to appoint Cuban Americans and helping the appointees and non-incumbents organize their judicial campaigns.
The electoral process was itself a game, even before qualifying to run. The game was to succeed in running unopposed. For the most part, only a handful of people actually ran for judicial office. There were plenty of seats and only a few candidates. Naturally, Cuban American candidates would be vulnerable in any race with even a handful of candidates.
Here is an illustration of the game. In order to protect the few Cuban American incumbents and candidates, I was required to meet with a political operative who for years had been the behind-the-scenes kingpin of judicial campaigns. He singlehandedly decided which candidates run for which seats. He would threaten me with running his candidate(s) against one of the Cuban Americans. Of course, if we retained his services, our candidate stood a much better chance of running unopposed. Committed to breaking down this long-standing, albeit pathetic practice, our candidates refused to pay his fees and instead relied on me to play poker with the operative. Since he represented candidates running for other offices, I would match his threat with an equal threat, that we would rally the Cuban American community in opposition to his other candidates. Of course, this was a complete bluff; I had no such power. I don’t believe anyone has that power.
But, we had to play the game. The final test of our efforts would occur on the last day of qualifying. At this point, candidates wishing to qualify would have to appear physically in Tallahassee, our state capital, and file their papers by noon. The game went down to the wire as the operatives and potential candidates walked the halls at the very last minute, trying to determine whom to run against. I would stand outside the secretary of state’s office all morning, waiting and watching to see which candidates were running for judge. Rumors were rampant, and in the end we learned how the game was played and how to win. I am so proud of that early group of Cuban American judges and candidates—Mario Goderich, Maria Korvick, Gisella Cardonne Dienstag, Margarita Esquiroz, and others. They served or continue to serve us with great distinction and in the process refused to be threatened by the old political system and stood on their principles. And in so doing, they virtually eliminated the game and paved the way for many others who followed them onto the bench. Being adequately represented in the judiciary by reflecting the community it represents is absolutely critical in ensuring a fair and just society.
While fighting for Cuban American judicial candidates, I also turned my attention to the Florida Legislature and the creation of single-member districts: districts where people elect only one person to represent them in a legislative body. Our success in this area helped not only Cuban Americans, but African Americans as well.
The Florida Legislature was dominated by white males. The system of multimember districts had made it impossible for Cuban Americans and other minorities to win a legislative seat. There simply were not enough pockets of minority voters located within these large districts. Single-member districts were the only plausible solution to achieve minority representation in the legislature. Again, I spent a significant amount of time lobbying in Tallahassee. Ironically, I met a considerable amount of resistance from my own local delegation made up almost exclusively of Democrats. I was well aware of the fact that one of the by-products of single-member districts would likely be the election of Cuban American Republicans—which is in fact what later happened. Nevertheless, this issue was about principle; from a policy point of view, single-member districts are essential to achieve diversity in Tallahassee. This was my priority. Separately, it would be up to the Democrats and Republicans to elect their candidates. But that should not detract from the goal.
We succeeded in persuading the legislature to adopt single-member districts. This could not have happened without the leadership of the Senate president, a conservative Southern Democrat from the Florida panhandle, Dempsey Barron. After spending a considerable amount of time with him, I became convinced that he truly believed in our goals and that he very much wanted this legislation to serve as his legacy for Florida. He was willing to overlook plenty, both personally and politically. Yet even when some of my Democratic friends from South Florida tried to circumvent the process, he would call them on the carpet in front of me and admonish them in his deep Southern drawl, “Heard y’all are tryin’ to do this. That’s not gonna happen.”
After the legislation passed in 1982, we elected our first Cuban Americans to the Florida Legislature, Ileana Ros Lehtinen (now in Congress), Humberto Cortina, and Lincoln Diaz Balart (recently retired from Congress). Equally as important to me, we also saw the election of Carrie Meek, the first African American since Reconstruction to become a member of the Florida Senate and later the U.S. House of Representatives (her son, Kendrick, later occupied her seat and unsuccessfully ran for the
