Adios, Amos

At long last, the most unqualified, incompetent, ethically compromised, intellectually barren, catastrophically lazy, pathologically dishonest, comically overpaid, woefully unprepared, politically weaponized, transparently partisan, and staggeringly ineffective city manager in Coral Gables history has finally resigned. And by finally, I mean less than a year into his spectacularly pointless tenure at the City Beautiful.

I suppose that last part should serve as a silver lining. The fact that KFC managed to shove Amos out the back door before someone could trick him into doing something irrevocably stupid—like selling the Biltmore to the Miccosukee Indians for nothing but a gift card to Outback Steakhouse and a stack of scratch-offs—should be hailed as a minor victory, or at the very least, a dodged bullet.

And I really mean that—at least the part about the back door. Remember the sadistic pageantry that accompanied Peter Iglesias’ departure less than a year ago? Remember the ridiculous memo Ariel emailed to every last resident sensationalizing his plan to terminate his city manager, as if he were Caesar and Iglesias his Vercingetorix? Remember the primetime time slot reserved for that deliberately humiliating public ritual? Remember how all this was done, per Ariel, “with the purpose of openly discussing the direction residents want for our city and how to proceed with the immediate succession of the City Manager"?

Yeah, not this time, folks. This time, all that fanfare was swapped for furtiveness. This time, all we got was a quiet little item buried at the bottom of the meeting’s agenda, euphemistically described as: “Succession plan for the City Manager’s Office.”

Let’s face it, the public at large wouldn’t have known it was coming if I hadn’t scooped the story. Amos would not have written that email to city staff if I hadn’t forced his hand. News of the manager’s departure would have been dropped on our collective lap with exactly as much notice as the news of his arrival, which is to say no notice whatsoever.

But no notice is sort of how KFC rolls, isn’t it? At least with regard to certain issues. Make no mistake, the date and time a donated clock should be unveiled remains a question of immeasurable civic importance, one that demands both extensive public notice and input from fire union chiefs as far away as Manhattan. And when it comes to critical fiscal matters, like whether the building department should be permitted a coffee maker or, God forbid, cheap silverware, we need not only copious public input but a full-fledged investigation spearheaded by the always sober and judicious amateur forensic accountant, Mrs. Cruzchev. Because who better to investigate potential fiscal abuse than a credibly accused embezzler of public school booster funds and check forger?

But when it comes to other matters, such as increasing the salaries of newly elected commissioners, the resignation of a manager who never should have been hired in the first place, and the question of who should replace him…well, these are all best handled strictly on a need-to-know basis. It’s one of the many caveats set off by that invisible asterisk attached to Ariel’s, and now KFC’s favorite slogan, “Residents First.”

By the way, I can't hear that phrase anymore without being reminded of that classic Twilight Zone episode: "To Serve Man." My fellow old fogies will remember that one—it's the episode where seemingly benevolent aliens arrive on Earth bearing magnificent gifts and a mysterious book titled "To Serve Man," which the humans take to mean “to be in service of.” Only after humanity has begun eagerly boarding the aliens' ships do our cryptographers discover the horrible truth: it's not a manual for helping mankind, it's a cookbook. They meant “To Serve Man” in a strictly culinary sense. Indeed, “Residents First” strikes me as having a similarly sinister double meaning: “Residents First…to get screwed.”

Anyway, the fact that Iglesias' firing was staged with all the fanfare of a Tyburn Tree execution while the official announcement of Amos' resignation—and the appointment of his permanent successor, no less—was quietly tucked away at the very end of a marathon commission meeting, granted roughly the same importance and visibility as one of Kirk's perfunctory announcements about whatever stupid taxpayer-funded film he’s screening at the Art Cinema, tells you everything you need to know about how KFC viewed each departure. The former was their tour de force, the latter their tour de farce.

Hence the back door.

Insanity

I've spilled enough digital ink exploring Aimless Amos' many shortcomings as both manager and man. I see no need to beat that already mutilated horse any further.

Moreover, though I'm writing this post less than 14 hours after Tuesday’s commission meeting mercifully concluded, the flurry of emails and WhatsApp screenshots that have already flooded my inbox make it clear that the main through line of this debacle needs no explanation. The consensus is overwhelming: Amos' premature departure marks the predictable and just unraveling of what KFC once considered their defining achievement.

Don't get me wrong, Tuesday's manager fiasco was intriguing on multiple levels, not least of which was Ariel's Zoom attendance, apparently necessitated by what I can only assume is an entirely novel strain of Influenza A—one whose primary symptom appears to be precisely two gentle coughs every time the patient remembers he's on camera. Other noteworthy aspects included Dr. Castro recommitting to her role as Ariel's meat shield while doubling down on her apparent belief that there exists no quantum of stupidity that a middle-school caliber PowerPoint presentation cannot cure.

Nevertheless, the only part of this that inarguably merits deeper exploration stems from one resident’s astute reference during public comment to a popular definition of insanity (often misattributed to Einstein), i.e. that insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. She was referring, of course, to KFC's inexplicable, irresponsible, and obviously premeditated decision to once again foist another incredibly important hire upon us all without so much as a pretense of public input or process.

Speaking of KFC and Einstein quotes, there’s always this banger: “The difference between stupidity and genius is that genius has its limits.”

But that resident got right to the heart of the matter, didn’t she? This doubling down on a strategy that was objectively terrible on both ethical and practical grounds. Even if Aimless Amos wasn’t completely inept and utterly compromised, his hiring still would have remained an ethical slap in the face. Even if he’d proven to be some kind of prodigy, a wellspring of untapped administrative genius; even if he’d rooted out all that mythical corruption as promised, heck even if he had tried—imposing him on the city through brute force would have remained a travesty, not just because of the lack of process it entailed, but the lack of integrity it revealed.

And please, let’s not add insult to injury by pretending there is any merit to KFC’s excuse for eschewing any semblance of process once again, which is, essentially, that diligence is bad. That’s basically the argument, isn’t it? The central thesis of Dr. Castro’s idiotic PowerPoint? ‘We tried a national search once, it produced a bad manager, ergo process=bad.’ QED, apparently.

Do I really need to add word count debunking this moronic logic?

Of course, not even KFC believes this nonsense (though I'll grant an exception for Dr. Castro, bless her heart). How do I know? Because just 11 short months ago, back when KFC was busy ramming Amos down the city's throat with all the subtlety of a medieval battering ram, their position wasn't that multiple candidates were bad, that interviews were bad, that process was bad. Quite the opposite—they insisted all that stuff was wonderful. It was just that we couldn't afford such niceties because Lago and Anderson would only undermine them through 'threats and intimidation'—and by threats and intimidation, they meant such outrageous acts as actually meeting with potential hires and asking basic questions like 'What’s your name?'

Make no mistake, a year ago KFC's take on process was that it was a very nice thing indeed. It was just that, thanks to Lago and Anderson, we couldn't afford to have nice things. Such a pity.

Fast forward to today and suddenly process is inefficient, considering multiple candidates pointless, taking a beat to pause and actually think about such an immense decision, to consult experts, to involve the public…all this is inherently bad now. Because reasons.

Reasons indeed. The real reason process has to be bad is because the bullshit rationale they used to circumvent it last time no longer computes. They couldn't credibly argue that Lago would suddenly scare off a guy he's worked with for years without issue. They couldn't position Parjus as some fresh-faced, doe-eyed candidate marching unprepared into a firestorm. Much to KFC's chagrin, Parjus and Lago have worked quite well with one another.

Which means if you can't credibly argue that a process will be undermined, then you have to argue against the process itself.

And that, truly, is what this is about. KFC wanted Parjus, plain and simple. And if you want Parjus, then process is not your friend. Considering external candidates who likely have far more experience and talent than a guy who was merely a deputy director in a different jurisdiction less than three years ago isn’t exactly helpful. Looking for the best person for the job is not a good strategy.

Insisting that the city promote from within, limiting the pool of candidates to current employees by prioritizing "continuity," valuing seniority over merit—this is how you land on someone like Parjus. This is how you guarantee yourself a manager who already understands his marching orders and has proven willing to obey them.

It's also your only hope of putting this entire mess behind you. If you're KFC, the last thing you want is the smoldering remains of what was supposed to be your crowning achievement polluting the air with its thick, rancid smoke throughout election season. You don't want your man Kirk and the rest of your puppet candidates fielding difficult questions about a massive, unresolved, and highly unnecessary conundrum like a city manager vacancy. Process only prolongs the misery. Process is problematic.

And speaking of problematic process, there's something particularly telling about Amos' exit that deserves attention. During Tuesday's meeting, Ariel made a calculated move to corner Amos and abruptly move his last day up from February 28 to the end of January. Amos reportedly looked shell-shocked during the moment—and for good reason. Many of you wondered about Amos' curious decision to linger for another month and a half, and I shared those suspicions. My guess was that besides the obvious factor of additional salary, it was potentially about Amos selling what was left of his 120 hours of paid leave to the city, which by my math could be worth over $15K. Per his contract, that time is sold back on an "annual basis," which may be why he was trying to hold on until February 28. It's open to interpretation, but it's hard to sell something on an "annual basis" without triggering the "annual" part, i.e. sticking around for at least a year. Perhaps Amos was trying to eliminate that potential legal objection by shooting for the full year? If so, one is led to wonder: why the parting knife twist from Ariel? Did Amos do something to make him unhappy? Hmm 🤔

Last point: Ariel was dismissive of Lago and Anderson's argument that rushing to appoint a permanent manager less than 90 days before an election that puts three seats up for grabs is probably not a good idea, as it potentially puts the new commission in a tough spot if the newly elected body has a different vision for management. Now, in a normal world, one ruled by logic and reason, this argument alone would prevail. But not in KFC's world. Ariel, beside himself with contempt for this particular logic, mocked Lago and Anderson for even entertaining it. To paraphrase the rhetorical question he sarcastically muttered, 'What are we supposed to do, not make any decisions until after the election?'

No, you moron. Just this decision. Particularly because there is no exigency whatsoever. You want to make Parjus the permanent city manager, right? Great. So here's what you do: make him acting city manager for now. You know, like you did after you fired Iglesias? I mean, if he's competent enough to do the job permanently, he's more than capable of doing it temporarily, correct? Think about it, the guy you'd have holding down the fort is the same guy you want for the permanent slot anyway, which means you and your colleagues are under no pressure to rush into a decision. You can take all the time you need, be as diligent as you want. If it takes a month, six months, a year…who cares? You've got a steady hand at the wheel.

KFC had this obvious solution staring them in the face, one that would have allowed everyone to have their cake and eat it too (and you'd think KFC would be eager to eat their cake). KFC would get to have the guy they want to run the city—get this—run the city. And be in pole position to land the job permanently, to boot. Meanwhile, they'd assuage their colleagues' concerns about process, afford the public an opportunity to chime in, defer the final decision to the next commission, and allow future commission members to have some input in choosing the city's chief executive. Literally everyone wins.

But it's not about everyone winning, is it? No siree. In KFC’s zero-sum world, a win for their enemies is a loss for them. And they simply can't have that. No matter what it means for anyone else. As Kirk likes to say, it's about putting politics over people.

In the end, Coral Gables finds itself trapped in a cynical political theater where process is sacrificed, accountability is an afterthought, and the mantra of "Residents First” rings as hollow as Dr. Castro’s cranium.

April 8th can’t come soon enough.