Clear Cut Reasons
Why Jacksonville should vote 'yes' on the tree amendment
By Anne Schindler
Folio Weekly
October 17, 2000
Once upon a time, in a subdivision not very far away, a burgundy Mazda sputtered along
a long stretch of paved road. The driver was lost, and deeply frustrated. It
was late summer, and the car’s air conditioning was broken. To make matters worse,
the driver was unable to find the right house. Each side of the road was filled with
homes - gray with beige, beige on gray - all with prominent two-car garages and emerald
green turf. But none resembled the house described in the directions: "The one
with the big tree out front."
There were no big trees. Not only were there no big trees, there were almost no
trees, period. The entire subdivision had been scraped clean as a $10 shave. It
was perfectly flat, perfectly even, and perfectly treeless. Perfect for hundreds of
new homes.
Without trees, developers can build homes quickly and easily. There are no
troublesome roots interfering with in-ground sprinkler systems, no backhoe-blocking
trees. Builders just roar in with cement trucks and plenty of lumber, and within weeks
Jacksonville has a spanking new community, of sorts: a vista of clean white driveways,
plastic swingsets and the perpetual hum of air conditioners.
And, perhaps, one tree. The driver (in the interest of full disclosure, me) finally
spotted the "big" tree. Planted between the sidewalk and the street, supported on both
sides by ropes and stakes, the tree barely cast a shadow. It stood alone in the
punishing summer heat, its trunk as thick as a 4-year-old’s thigh. It was the only
tree on the whole block.
Sadly, the subdivision is not unique. For as long as there has been home building
in Jacksonville, there has been clearcutting. Residential developers have cleared
property with immunity, felling vast tracts of forest - some hundreds of years old - in the
name of progress. The practice has continued despite efforts to stop it (strong tree
protection laws were passed in 1988 but never enforced), despite mounting public outrage and
despite a growing body of evidence that the practice is both an economic and environmental
boondoggle.
That may be about to change, however. On Nov. 7, Jacksonville residents will vote
on an amendment to the city’s charter that would offer protection to trees throughout the
county. It is a balanced amendment, one that recognizes the difficulty and cost of
preserving trees, and that offers developers a variety of approaches to preservation.
Far from onerous, the amendment mostly just restores preservation standards originally
passed by local legislators in ‘88.
While the proposal is not itself revolutionary, the November amendment is. Placed
on the ballot by a grassroots organization that gathered more than 31,000 supporting
signatures, the charter amendment represents the first time in 10 years that Jacksonville
residents have had the opportunity to directly shape local law. The city charter is
the document that drives both the function and form of local government, as fundamental to
Jacksonville as the Constitution of the United States is to the nation. A vote to
amend it is the most explicit kind of democracy there is.
But the charter amendment isn’t without detractors. The powerful home builders
lobby has been harshly critical of the effort, accusing the citizens organization of
attempting to "usurp" the power of local government. Two weeks ago, the home builders
upped the opposition ante, filing a legal challenge to the amendment. Several of the
area’s most prominent and powerful builders have asked Circuit Court Judge Karen Cole to
remove the amendment from the November ballot.
The group’s effort likely won’t stop there. Even if the request for an injunction
fails, developers will continue to fight the amendment, relying on their considerable
political influence and deep pockets to convince voters to reject it.
It isn’t the first time a citizens initiative has faced strong opposition - and it
probably won’t be the last. But if the past is any guide, the battle will grow
increasingly bloody over the next three weeks.
It’s easy to envision the boy Bill Brinton describes: an earnest adolescent,
troubled by the recent death of his mother, captivated by the busy life of his father, a
top Jacksonville official. At 14, the boy is already a sucker for government intrigue
and city politics: He reads the City Charter for fun.
The boy is Brinton, of course. Only someone enchanted with local politics so young
could have his adult passion for the foundation of, and ideals behind, Jacksonville’s
consolidated government.
Thirty three years later, an attorney and activist, Brinton still recalls the intensity
of 1967, the year the county and city agreed to merge. "It was a real big deal," says
Brinton of consolidation. "Even as a 14-year-old, I knew it was a big deal"
Today Brinton channels his civic passion into pro bono legal work on behalf of citizen
activists and extensive community involvement. It’s a vocation that occasionally
threatens to overshadow his day job - especially now. As co-chair of Citizens for Tree
Preservation, Inc., a role he shares with former City Councilman John Crescimbeni, Brinton
essentially has a second full-time job. His law office, normally a state of controlled
chaos, seems to have slipped the restraints. Piles of paperwork cover his floor like
lichen, crawling up bookcases and crossing Brinton’s wide wooden desk. At times,
Brinton seems overcome by the scene, shaking his head in mute helplessness.
Seated in his spacious 32nd-floor office in downtown’s Modis building, Brinton neither
looks nor acts like a political insurgent - probably because he’s not. The 48-year old
has more faith in the political process than most. It is this belief in government,
ironically, that makes him a true revolutionary. Brinton is the single biggest agent
of citizen-based change this decade, and arguably since consolidation in 1968. The
tree amendment, if successful, will mark the third time in 13 years that Brinton has
successfully challenged the power structure and changed the local charter.
The first change, in 1987, banned new billboard construction along city streets, and
established a program to remove existing billboards. The second, in ‘91, placed a
two-term limit on local legislators.
If there is a unifying factor among the three initiatives, it is the arrogance of local
legislators. In each case, City Council members ignored and even flouted the wishes
of the people, bending instead to the will of powerful special interests.
In the case of the two-term limit, legislators flatly refused to put the issue before
residents for a vote. Despite demands for a public referendum and obvious support for
term limits, council members refused to put their jobs in jeopardy. In the case of the
billboard ban, legislators considered but eventually rejected residents’ calls to reduce
visual blight. Council members were heavily lobbied by wealthy billboard companies,
which ultimately persuaded a majority to let the issue drop.
In both cases, the subsequent citizens initiatives were fueled by public outrage.
According to Crescimbeni, who was also involved in the term limit initiative, fury is an
effective motivator. "I got involved in [the tree amendment] for a lot of the same
reasons I got involved in term limits," he says: "The way it was handled."
The City Council’s bungling of tree protection in December 1999 certainly generated ample
fervor. Not only did its vote gut a tree protection ordinance that had been on the
books for more than a decade; not only did members ignore literally hundreds of citizen
appeals for stronger tree protection. The greatest offense to the public’s sensibility
was watching a 19-member legislative body buckle like a bum leg under pressure from the
development lobby. With the notable exception of council members Suzanne Jenkins, Jim
Overton and Mary Ann Southwell, the full council endorsed a plan so ineffective it was almost
laughable.
The new law protected only trees larger than 2 feet in diameter, or about 6 feet
around. Anything smaller could (and still can) be removed with impunity: There is
no financial penalty for removing the trees, and no requirement to plant replacements.
At the time the bill was passed, Overton complained that it would in essence save only
giant sequoias. Jenkins concurred, pointing out that the city doesn’t have that many
big trees in the first place. But council members ignored such complaints, buying
arguments from the administration and the home builders that the new law was a true
"compromise," and the best anyone could hope for.
It was a view Jenkins labeled self-deceiving. "We’re not being honest," she told
the Florida Times-Union after the council approved the measure. "We don’t have a tree
ordinance."
John Crescimbeni values trees, but he doesn’t always like them and he certainly doesn’t
hug them. In September of last year, in fact, he took great pleasure wielding a
chainsaw against a massive water oak. The tree came down in Crescimbeni’s Arlington
yard during Hurricane Floyd, destroying his car completely, and doing substantial property
damage.
The accident, if not a bit of ironic foreshadowing, at least served a higher
purpose. Crescimbeni can often be found hauling around a giant circular slab of wood,
taken from the midsection of the tree. It is his visual aid, a persuasive argument in
favor of stricter tree protection. Although the slab measures 71 inches around, it is
not large enough to meet city standards: It is one inch shy of protected status under
the current tree ordinance.
It’s in good company. Former City Councilman George Banks, who suspects the current
council got "hoodwinked" by developers, says that under the new tree ordinance, home
builders can remove even trees with obvious value. "They could take out every tree in
Hemming Plaza [without penalty]," he says.
One thing the current tree ordinance does protect is home builders’ profits. Since
the ordinance took effect in February, the city’s Tree Protection Trust Fund - the account
where tree removal fees and fines are deposited - hasn’t received a dime from residential
developers. Since home builders only have to pay for (or replace) trees 6 feet around
and larger, most of this "debt" is repaid either through incidental landscaping or trees
left on the site - both of which count as "credits." Six developments in September
removed 3,548 inches of protected trees - or about 150 "sequoias." But because of
landscaping credits, none of those trees - to say nothing of the thousands of other smaller
trees removed - cost developers anything.
"Based on what the council passed," says Brinton, "no additional tress have been planted
and not a penny has been contributed to the Tree Protection Trust Fund. And that," he
adds with a chuckle, "is not ‘fuzzy math.’"
Last month, after members of Citizens for Tree Preservation, Inc. turned in the collected
petitions to the Supervisor of Elections Office, they brought their unused petitions to a
paper recycler. With an eye to dramatic irony, the group donated the $11.55 they
received from the recycler to the city’s tree fund. In so doing, Brinton says, "we
contributed $11.55 more than the entire residential development community of Jacksonville
has since the passage of the tree ordinance."
The current law might not be so difficult to swallow if the city’s history of tree
protection wasn’t so dismal. The previous tree ordinance, passed by the City Council
in 1988, explicitly protected trees with a 3-foot circumference. This standard was
certainly no landmark; several cities in Florida protect trees as small as 4 inches
across. But it could have saved thousands of trees over the last decade, and would have
done much to soften the bald look of Jacksonville’s suburban empire.
The ‘88 law was a bust, however. It was rarely enforced in large commercial
developments, and was never enforced in residential developments. The reason was a
1992 city memo from then-Chief of Building and Zoning Inspection Claude Bagwell.
Cryptically addressed to "All Interested Parties," the one-page memo essentially dismantled
the tree ordinance. Without explanation or legal justification, Bagwell concluded, "No
tree removal permit is required for ... a property platted or in the process of being
platted for a single-family development."
It was an illegal decision, as land use attorney Susan Grandin later observed,
representing a "clear violation of [the] separation of powers between the executive and
legislative branches of the city government."
But the Bagwell memo was not discovered until 1998, when Mayor John Delaney asked for an
examination of the city’s tree protection laws. The unearthed memo prompted a request
for a legal review, which found - to no one’s surprise - that the Bagwell memo was legally
void.
If City Hall was a place of logic and reason, this finding would have put an end to the
home builder’s exemption, and the original intent of the ordinance would have been
restored. But because City Hall is in many ways under the thumb of developers, the
discovery of the Bagwell exemption led to a lengthy series of delays and compromises.
Although the administration was alerted to the flawed Bagwell memo in early 1998, it wasn’t
until March of 1999 that city attorneys decided it was illegal. Even then, the
administration didn’t act. Explaining that home builders deserved time to adjust to
the discovery, Delaney enacted a 150-day grace period for developers, which was later
extended twice by the City Council. It wasn’t until last February that the city began
enforcing restrictions of any kind on residential tree removal - almost two years after the
Bagwell memo surfaced, and 12 years after the city first attempted to legislate tree
protections.
The mayor called the final law "a compromise." Howard White, first vice president
of the Northeast Florida Builders Association, said the bill "pretty much" satisfied
everyone. Crescimbeni, however, says the entire process was a cop out.
"I think it’s pretty clear that the council didn’t do what the people of Jacksonville
asked them to do," he says. "They dropped the ball."
The recent circuit court challenge of the charter amendment adds an additional bit of
déjà vu to Bill Brinton’s efforts. One of four plaintiffs in the case
(a list that includes the Northeast Florida Builders Association and developer J.D. Collins)
is Mitch Montgomery, owner of Montgomery Land Company and Brinton’s chief nemesis in the
billboard battle.
In 1987, Montgomery headed up Citizens Against Charter Amendments (CACA, to its
detractors) a billboard-industry group that fought bitterly to defeat the sign
initiative. In the final days of before the vote, the group unleashed an all-out
assault, buying radio time and full-page ads in the Florida Times-Union, and inundating
voters with inflammatory direct mailings. The sign companies poured nearly $200,000
into the effort, dwarfing the citizens group’s reserve fund of $7,000.
One appeal, titled "Straight Talk about the Charter Amendment," explained that the
"unprecedented" amendment would "emasculate the authority of the City Council" and
"seriously weaken, if not destroy, an industry."
"Are we comfortable, secure and callous enough," the ad asked, "to say we don’t care
about a 60-year-old worker with 30 years on the job who can be put on the street as a
result of our vote?"
Brinton, who keeps a thick file containing every single ad, newspaper clipping and news
transcript from the billboard fight, says he expects more hyperbole when the vote draws
near.
"They were throwing everything they had at us those last two weeks," he recalls.
"We may see a repeat of that."
Worse things could happen. The players and the economics of the tree initiative are
already strikingly similar to the billboard battle. With any luck, Brinton says, the
outcome will be identical.
"If my faith in my fellow man is well placed, this will pass with a far greater margin
than the Better Jacksonville [Plan] did [on Sept. 5]," he says. "I believe the people want -
and will demand - a truly ‘better’ Jacksonville."
