Running Head: MIAMI'S METROPOLITAN SEWAGE SYSTEM

Address:

Keith D. Revell, Ph.D.

School of Policy and Management

North Campus, Florida International University

North Miami, FL 33181

Phone: (305) 919-5325

Fax: (305) 919-5848

This chapter analyzes the evolution of a regional sewage system in Miami-Dade County since 1896, with an emphasis on the post-World-War-II era and describes the partial triumph of a county-wide approach to sewage policy over the political and spatial fragmentation of the metropolitan area. The discussion focuses on battles among county leaders, state bureaucrats, municipal officials, and real estate developers over pollution control and metropolitan growth. The chapter also explores changes in federal sewage policies, especially the increasing emphasis on environmental protection. This change in federal policy, along with concerns over the deterioration of aging local facilities, precipitated a heated debate over replacing the fifty-year-old sewage main across Biscayne Bay. That debate culminated in a consent decree between the Environmental Protection Agency and the county government in 1995 requiring the expenditure of a billion dollars for regional sewage improvements. By focusing on these key conflicts among local, state, and federal officials, this chapter examines successive attempts to balance affordability, environmental protection, and metropolitan expansion.

+For the next decade, a consent decree between the Miami-Dade Water and Sewer Department and the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency will guide sewage policy in metropolitan Miami (i.e., Miami-Dade County.¹ As approved by the county commission on February 7, 1995, the agreement requires the Miami-Dade County Government (hereafter referred to as "the County") to spend $1.1 billion to overhaul its wastewater treatment system, in addition to paying a $2 million penalty, at that time the largest ever collected for violations of the Clean Water Act. This consent decree followed closely on the heels of a 1993 agreement with the Florida Department of Environmental Protection (DEP) and the EPA which forced the County to replace the 40-year-old pipe that carries sewage 5.3 miles across Biscayne Bay to the Virginia Key treatment plant. The EPA emphasized that the consent decrees were necessary because the County had failed to maintain and upgrade its mammoth collection and treatment system--which includes 2,400 miles of gravity mains, 640 miles of force mains, 874 pumping stations, and three treatment plants, processing an average of 320 million gallons of wastewater per day, with a peak flow of over 700 million gallons. According to the EPA, years of underfunded maintenance resulted in over 2,200 raw waste spills into streets and waterways between 1985 and 1994, posing a serious threat to both public health and the environment (Wright, 1996).

Undoubtedly, the sewage system in metropolitan Miami has had its shortcomings over the last decade. Several well-publicized spills contributed to the appearance of a system near collapse. In October of 1987, for example, a force main spewed 10 million gallons of untreated wastewater into the Miami River, resulting in the cancellation of the popular Miami RiverFest (Wallace, 1988). Local officials have also probably paid more attention to expanding new lines to facilitate development rather than upgrading and maintaining the existing system (Phillips, 1997). Low sewer rates also reinforced the perception of an underfunded and undermaintained system. Until recently, Miami-Dade County had among the lowest sewer rates of large cities in the United States. To meet the requirements of the consent decrees, however, rates more than doubled between 1988 and 1995, from a monthly average of about $20 to about $44 (Wright, 1996). As the Miami Herald scolded in response to the 1993 EPA suit, "the county chose to keep fees low rather than raise them and use the increase to improve the system in a timely way. Now it's time to pay" (Editorial, Miami Herald, 1993).

It would be too easy to characterize Miami-Dade County as yet another derelict local government, postponing maintenance on aging sewer pipes in order to channel tax dollars to more visible issues while ignoring the warning signs of decay in the basic infrastructure systems that make cities liveable (Peratta, 1996). The consent decrees may have been necessary, but they also distort the County's significant achievements in wastewater management and mask important changes in sewage policy locally and nationally. Viewed from the perspective of a half-century, what stands out is not the consent decrees but the partial triumph of a county-wide approach to sewage policy over the political and spatial fragmentation of the metropolitan area.

To provide that perspective, this chapter places the consent decrees in the context of three long-term changes in sewage policy since the end of World War II. First, the primary goal of sewage policy in Miami-Dade County has shifted from protecting tourism, to facilitating real estate development, to safeguarding the environment (along with preserving the public health, which has always been a leading objective). Second, the principal emphasis of the federal government has evolved from assisting localities with public works, to funding regional wastewater management programs, to vigorously enforcing environmental regulations. Third, leadership on local sewage policy has changed hands from pro-growth fiscal conservatives to county, state, and federal environmental regulators. Together, these changes suggest that the consent decrees between the County and the EPA represent a shift in the balance of regional sewage priorities, rather than a response to the failures of previous approaches to wastewater management. By taking a historical perspective, this chapter traces how regional sewage priorities changed as local, state, and federal officials attempted to balance affordability, environmental protection, and metropolitan expansion.

Magic City, Polluted Paradise (1896 to 1956)

The City of Miami has had a sewage problem for a hundred years, and the story of the emergence of regional sewage policy starts with this most populated area of the county. As is typically the case for urban sewage systems, the initial solution to a public health problem created a larger environmental problem. As early as 1896, civic leaders lamented the wretched sanitary conditions in what was then the Village of Miami. For the next 30 years, Miamians installed nearly 130 miles of sewer pipes, discharging effluent into Biscayne Bay and the Miami River through 60 outlets (City Manager, 1926). Between 1926 and 1949, plans to address Bay pollution were destroyed by hurricanes, postponed by the depression, and set aside because of rising construction costs. The decisive first step toward addressing both the local and regional problem--the opening of the Virginia Key treatment plant in 1956 -- was thus 60 years in the making, culminating what Miami Daily News reporter Verne Williams called "a curious history of civic procrastination, blunders, and misfortunes" (Williams, 1953). More importantly, the long list of delayed and aborted plans for a comprehensive sewage collection and treatment system illustrates just how difficult it has been to balance cost, pollution control, and urban growth even when political authority was relatively concentrated.

It took a national airing of the local sewage problem to focus public attention on the threat of environmental damage to the tourist industry. In 1949, Philip Wylie, author of the popular "Crunch and Des" stories about fishing in Miami, published "Polluted Paradise" in Look Magazine. Wylie, who described himself as the "enfant terrible of Miami's mephitic marinescape," graphically portrayed the damage done by the careless disposal of sewage and waste in Florida's once-pristine waters (Wylie, 1950). Wylie's insistence that Florida had become one of the "nation's filthiest states" was made all the more persuasive by his gift for vivid description. "Water-ski schools take their pupils out on the turgid, often evil-smelling bays," he observed. "Recognizable debris, floating and repugnant, invades the seaside premises of smart hotels. Even the celebrated golden strand of Miami Beach grows visibly nastier every year." The prospect of encountering a "noxious oddment from the sewers" while enjoying the sand and surf was certain to give tourists second thoughts about vacationing in Florida -- and that prospect, Wylie hoped, would spur local authorities into action (Wylie, 1949).

The Florida State Board of Health illustrated the threat of pollution to the tourist industry more pointedly only eight months later. "The main industry in Miami is now the tourist business," the Board affirmed; and the "grossly polluted" condition of Biscayne Bay threatened the city's future as an "international recreation center." The typical tourist came to boat, swim, and fish, but 70 outlets dumping raw sewage into the River and the Bay made the area increasingly inhospitable to such recreational uses: "A boat trip in the bay and out the main channel gives the visitor a chance to contrast the dark brown-grey polluted water near the city with the beautiful green ocean water. He has to go out over a mile to get to this beautiful clear water, and during the trip out he can get the cooling breezes and fine spray of diluted sewage in his face." The Board strongly recommended that until the city constructed a comprehensive sewage collection and treatment system, local authorities should prohibit bathing, water skiing, shellfishing, and other water activities in the Bay between the Rickenbacker and 79th Street causeways (Board of Health, 1949).

A tug-of-war between affordability and environmental protection dominated the public debate initiated by Wylie and the Board of Health. Advocates of restoring Biscayne Bay to its pristine condition argued that only an elaborate, expensive treatment plant could truly protect the marine environment from the growing volume of municipal sewage. They rejected the less expensive (although not by any means inexpensive) alternative of a primary treatment facility on Virginia Key and an ocean outfall pipe extending into the Gulf Stream (Committee Report, 1950).

Critics of the ocean outfall plan had reason to be skeptical. Miami Beach had constructed a similar pipeline extending 7,000 feet off shore to dump its untreated sewage. The Beach outfall, which Wylie described as "a great fecal fountain" (Wylie, 1950), generated a vast oily slick suffused with pink algae. Fishermen termed the area around the outfall "the rose bowl"--where the fishing was great, but the fish inedible (Redford, 1997). And depending on winds and tides, the sewage and its attendant odors would occasionally float back toward shore. In light of the performance of the Beach pipeline, the prospect of another outfall with an even larger plume of sewage did not appear to be much of a response to the environmental problem or the threat to tourism.

The alternative to the ocean outfall, a complete treatment system, also had shortcomings. Most importantly, a complete treatment plant would cost considerably more to construct and to operate. Even if voters approved the project, advocates wondered whether the city could sell enough bonds to raise the money to build it. Tampa, Oakland, San Francisco, and New York, among other cities, had recently begun multimillion dollar sewage treatment systems (Williams, 1953). With so many other municipalities competing for investors' money, Miami might have to pay usurious interest rates to attract scarce capital (Voltz, 1950).

Two years of debate produced an expensive compromise. Officials agreed on an ocean outfall to dispose of the effluent, coupled with a complete treatment plant on Virginia Key, connected to inland collection pipes via a 72-inch pressure main across Biscayne Bay. The cost of the huge project had now risen to over $27 million. With local health officials arguing that the 47,000,000 gallons a day of untreated sewage flowing into the Bay posed a serious and likely threat of epidemic disease, the expenditure seemed justified to Miami voters, who approved the plan by a 4 ½ to 1 margin in a 1952 referendum ("Bay's Raw Sewage," 1952; Voltz, 1952). That did not put the question of affordability to rest, however. Miami had to offer its bonds at a higher interest rate than first expected, primarily because of the city's fourth place bond rating (Voltz, 1953). After a year of acrimonious debate, the City Commission finally agreed to go ahead with the financing plan, which the Miami Herald described as "the largest and worst financial undertaking in Miami's history" (Editorial, 1953). After decades of delays, the city finally broke ground on a modern sewage treatment system.

As difficult as it was to create the Virginia Key plant, this expensive and controversial plan hardly met the City's sewage needs, let alone the regional sewage problem. Although the new system was quite costly, it served only about one-third of the city's 260,000 residents. The remaining two-thirds of Miami residents still used septic tanks, and the $27 million plan did not include any financing for new sewer lines. More importantly, the Virginia Key system did not serve any of the other municipalities in

Miami-Dade County. Miami Beach used an ocean outfall; North Miami planned a similar project; and new areas of the county, especially in the growing northwest, were rapidly learning the limitations of septic tanks. While the Virginia Key plant signaled a great step forward for a portion of the City of Miami, it did little to address what many in the county now recognized as a regional sewage problem.

The need for a regional solution to the sewage problem became an important element in the creation of Metropolitan Dade County (now Miami-Dade County) government in 1957. A 1954 report by the Public Administration Service described sewage as "probably the most critically deficient public works service in the Miami metropolitan area" (Hesser, 1955). The County charter included provisions designed to remedy that deficiency. But early efforts to implement county-wide sewage policy failed, while the brisk pace of development, especially in northwest Miami-Dade County, only complicated the problem.

Rapid growth during the 1950s highlighted the county-wide nature of the sewage problem. County population doubled between 1950 and 1960, to nearly a million residents. During the same period, the population of unincorporated areas tripled, to just over 350,000. Hialeah's population jumped from 19,676 to 66,972, while North Miami Beach grew tenfold to 21,405 (Sofen, 1963).

By 1960, this growth produced severe fragmentation of sewage disposal systems. The County had 44 separate wastewater installations discharging various levels of treated and untreated sewage into canals, creeks, the Bay, and the Atlantic. The two largest systems -- Miami Beach and the City of Miami -- used ocean outfalls to serve their nearly 233,000 customers. Carol City, Coral Gables, and North Miami discharged treated effluent from their 57,000 customers into canals that oozed their way toward the Bay (Greeley and Hansen, 1961).

The smaller private utilities caused greater concern for County policymakers. Serving a total population of around 95,000, these systems varied considerably in quality of sewage treatment. Many had been thrown together in response to State Board of Health regulations prohibiting the use of septic tanks in large-scale developments. By the early 1960s, the name of the game in real estate development was to construct the necessary treatment plants in a "cheap and dirty" manner, build out the developments, and then unload the facilities as quickly as possible. The resulting multiplication of private utility companies, along with lax or ineffective regulation, resulted in serious pollution in many of the canals that emptied into the Bay (Carter, 1997).

The County attempted to stop this fragmentation by purchasing the private utilities. However, in 1960 the County failed in its effort to purchase General Water Works, one of the largest private utility companies. That failure, coming so soon after creation of the county government, seemed to stall the fledgling county-wide approach to sewage policy (Phillips, 1997; Sofen, 1963). And while the County did produce a sewage master plan in 1961, it simply collected dust (Carter, 1997). Privately, County officials called the failure of county-wide sewage policy "Metro's biggest flop" (Wickerstrom, 1964).

The County's abdication on sewage policy could not have come at a worse moment. Development all over Miami-Dade County continued unabated through the early 1960s. New State Board of Health regulations to protect ground water supplies forced burgeoning cities like Hialeah -- the largest unsewered municipality in Florida -- into the sewer businesses (Greene, 1965). At the same time, cities like Miami and North Miami, which had invested substantial sums in treatment plants, were anxious to provide service to new sewer customers in order to amortize the cost of their systems. This led to "cherry picking," as larger municipal utilities attempted to provide service to new developments that could meet their price (Carter, 1997).

To pay for treatment plants and new sewers, municipalities also turned to the federal government. In 1965, the new Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) began providing grants to cities for sewage projects. Although in previous years Miami-Dade's cities had looked to Washington for aid (often unsuccessfully), the availability of HUD grants initiated intense competition among municipalities hungry for money to fund the sewer systems that state laws required for their continued development.

By 1965, then, real estate development, competing municipal and private utilities, and a weak county-wide government resulted in a profusion of sewage systems and a growing environmental problem. Complicating matters further, for inland communities which did not rely directly on the beaches or the Bay for tourist dollars, downstream pollution did not pose the serious economic threat that had prompted the City of Miami to undertake its ambitious sewage program. The county needed a regional approach to sewage policy to overcome both the spatial and political fragmentation that contributed to environmental damage.

In 1966, Metro made its first decisive move toward a regional sewage program when County Manager Porter Homer assigned Dennis Carter to "get us into the water and sewer business" (Archbold, 1967a). Carter, a University of Miami business and accounting graduate, had worked as a budget analyst and then as budget director for Metro between 1959 and 1965. Carter recognized that the sewage problem needed a regional solution. He knew that developers were anxious to rid themselves of the responsibility of providing sewage treatment plants, a job which they did grudgingly and poorly, especially from an environmental perspective. And after years of putting budgets together at Metro, he knew just how difficult it was to raise taxes. As a pro-growth fiscal conservative, Carter believed that development should occur, but that the County needed to find ways to protect the environment in a cost-effective manner (Carter, 1997).

Carter realized early on that to do a county-wide sewage system right, he would need about $1.3 billion (Carter, 1968). But with no staff and no budget, he had to capitalize on whatever opportunities presented themselves in order to lay the groundwork for a long-term regional plan. This meant competing with Miami-Dade's cities for control of key projects and access to federal dollars while piecing together creative financing packages to get the job done.

The first such opportunity appeared when Hialeah officials began searching for someone to dispose of their sewage. Hialeah, widely known as "a city built on septic tanks," had been threatened with a moratorium on new construction by the State Board of Health. To avoid such a ban, Mayor Henry Milander began discussions with the City of North Miami, which had constructed an ocean outfall (Greene, 1965; Holland, 1967b). North Miami had ambitions of solving the sewage problem for north Dade communities while financing its expensive outfall by hooking up sewage-soaked inland areas to its system. To move sewage between Hialeah and the North Miami outfall, the cities needed a transmission pipe running for about eight miles across northern Dade, in part through unincorporated areas. Carter seized on this pipeline as the County's entrée into the sewer business. He flew to Atlanta to discourage federal officials from funding the project through North Miami or Hialeah, emphasizing instead that they should assist the County with an initial step toward a regional sewage plan. After months of competition between the County and the cities, Carter secured $1.2 million in federal grants, Hialeah voters kicked in $1.3 million in revenue bonds, and the County contributed $500,000 to complete the pipeline (Holland, 1967a). The resulting patchwork sent sewage from Hialeah homeowners through their municipally-owned collection system, via the County's cross-Dade pipe, into North Miami's ocean outfall into the Atlantic.

Although projects like the North Dade pipeline were significant, Carter warned that the County needed a much more ambitious program, funded by general obligation bonds, to combat the growing pollution problem and keep development going (Archbold, 1967b). For too long, the County had limped along with a "pay-as-you-go" approach to sewage infrastructure, scraping together million dollar packages for billion dollar problems. A $100 million bond issue would be a better approach, but as one Miami Herald reporter noted, "it has been the considered, and probably quite correct view, of Metro decision-makers that up to now the public wouldn't buy such a bond issue supported by taxes" (Williams, 1970a).

In the face of continuing development, however, a piecemeal approach to sewage policy led to further fragmentation of treatment facilities and, consequently, deteriorating environmental conditions. By the early 1970s, the county had 94 wastewater treatment installations--including 29 major plants (18 privately-owned) serving 800,000 people, and 65 minor facilities (55 privately-owned, 3 county-owned, 3 municipally-owned, and 2 federally-owned) serving, among other things, trailer parks, hospitals, apartment complexes, and a Steak and Brew Restaurant (Greeley and Hansen, 1973). With polluted inland canals threatening drinking water supplies and ocean outfalls making beaches unsafe for swimmers, the patchwork sewage system cried out for remedial action.

Frustrated by the County's lack of progress on pollution control, an increasingly militant environmental movement encouraged federal and state officials to intervene. During the 1960s, conservationists and sportsmen had turned their attention to preserving Biscayne Bay as a national monument, enlisting the aid of the state and federal governments with considerable success. James Redford played a leading role in that process. Redford had grown up along the Merrimack Valley in Massachusetts, where the legacy of industrial pollution scarred the landscape. Along with others in the environmental movement, Redford feared the long-term consequences of dumping untreated sewage in Florida waters (Redford, 1997). As a member of the Izaak Walton League and the State Pollution Control Board, Redford was among those who urged Governor Claude Kirk to convene a federal-state enforcement hearing to push the County to deal with its fragmented, ineffective sewage efforts (Williams, 1970b).

In October of 1970, a joint conference which included the Federal Water Quality Administration and the State Pollution Control Board imposed strict new sewage treatment standards on the County, along with deadlines to meet them. The conference gave the County until January of 1973 to stop all sewage discharges into inland canals and until January of 1974 to provide secondary treatment for all sewage discharged through ocean outfalls. To meet these requirements, private utilities would have to hook up to a regional collection system or find another place to dispose of their sewage. More importantly, every facility in the region would have to be upgraded and modernized to provide secondary treatment (Toner, 1970).

The legacy of fragmentation slowed these efforts to meet the new water quality goals. The key battle raged between the County and North Miami and North Miami Beach over the location of a proposed regional plant at the Interama site, adjacent to the present-day Florida International University campus. North Miami officials especially did not want the County's new plant on the site. In August of 1971, state pollution control officials became exasperated and threatened the County with a ban on new construction (Tasker, 1971).

To avoid that fate, Dennis Carter and other county leaders devised a two-pronged approach to create the institutional resources necessary for a regional sewage program. On the administrative front, Carter joined forces with an old adversary, Garrett Sloan, who was then in charge of the City of Miami's Water and Sewer Department. Sloan, who had joined the department in 1955 and taken the helm in 1966, ran the utility like a successful business. He maintained low sewer rates, turned a profit, and kept his department independent of city politics. Sloan also had a large, competent staff and the most developed sewage collection and treatment infrastructure in the county. Carter had the vision of a regional sewage treatment system, the County's bonding authority, and the ear of federal administrators. The merger of County plans with City facilities would represent a major step toward an adequate regional sewage system (Carter, 1997).

On the financial front, the County undertook the Decade of Progress campaign -- ten bond issues totaling $533 million, including $50 million for a consolidated regional sewage program. The centerpiece of that program was an upgraded Virginia Key plant, along with the creation of two other regional treatment plants. These ambitious plans seemed workable because times were good, and county leaders felt that the moment had come to invigorate County government with a financial shot in the arm. Along with other County officials, Carter conducted a whirlwind tour of the county, speaking to organizations to muster support for the bonds. Carter recalled that he "was campaigning like he was running for mayor" during the final days before the November of 1972 referendum (Carter, 1997). His efforts paid off. Although voters rejected two of the ten bond issues, they passed the sewage bond issue -- the first general obligation sewer bond issue in the County's history -- by a vote of 204,106 to 101,921 (Barger, 1972).

The County's efforts paid unexpected dividends, particularly where federal funds were concerned. By 1972, the federal government, under the auspices of the newly-created Environmental Protection Agency, began funding 75 percent of the cost of sewage treatment facilities, with a preference for regional systems. The prospect of large federal grants came as a very pleasant surprise for County officials. Dennis Carter and Garrett Sloan both described federal money as "manna from heaven," "fantastic," "wonderful" (Carter, 1997; Sloan, 1997). With the combination of EPA grants, Decade of Progress bonds, and contributions from developers (for local collection systems), the newly-created Miami-Dade Water and Sewer Authority had the financial means to upgrade the Virginia Key plant, build two new regional treatment facilities, construct an extensive high-capacity collection system, and consolidate over 30 private utilities into a regional system.

The legacy of fragmentation posed a final obstacle to the county-wide system. Although the EPA approved the County's regional master plan in October of 1973, the City of North Miami, which did not want the County's new sewage treatment plant at the Interama site, sued to prevent the EPA from funding the facility. The suit jeopardized the entire regional plan. By attacking a key element in the plan and slowing the progress of the regional approach, the suit disqualified the County for $86 million in federal grants. Fortunately, County lawyers persuaded federal district court judge John Sirica, of Watergate fame, to transfer the case to the Southern District in Florida. There, William O. Mehrtens, a Floridian, found in favor of the County, thus paving the way for EPA grants to fund the new regional sewage plan (North Miami v. Train, 377 F. Supp. 1264, 1974).

With the creation of a consolidated, independent, county-wide Water and Sewer Authority (WASA) in 1973 under the direction of Garrett Sloan, the County made its most decisive step toward solving its sewage problems. Sloan ran the Authority the way he had run the City of Miami's Water and Sewer Department -- financially conservative, politically independent, and thoroughly professional. In Sloan's view, Miami-Dade County was destined to become a "world-class" metropolitan area, and his utility had to plan the expansion of the water and sewer systems to keep pace with that development (Sloan, 1997). He also illustrated a remarkable ability to secure federal financing to achieve those goals. By having plans for expansions and upgrades at the ready, Sloan's Authority took advantage of federal grants the moment they became available; other municipalities, which had to scramble to create plans, inevitably lost out to WASA (Brant, 1997; Sloan, 1997; Ready, 1997).

The steady flow of federal funds -- over $346 million between 1973 and 1988 -- allowed WASA to bridge the gap between developers and environmentalists. Along with $50 million in Decade of Progress bonds, $32.5 million in cigarette tax bonds, and contributions from developers, federal grants meant that the County could pursue both expansion and pollution control, rather than move scarce resources to one or the other (Day and Zimmerman, 1989).

With a combination of federal grants and local funding, WASA constructed the major elements of the current regional wastewater treatment system. Over $84 million of EPA funds poured into the North District Wastewater Treatment facilities at the Interama site, with additional grants paying 75 percent of the cost of pump stations, interceptor sewers, and force mains to move sewage from north Dade communities to the North District plant (Day and Zimmerman, 1973). The completed facility began service in 1979, and after upgrades and expansions now provides primary and secondary treatment for 100 million gallons of sewage per day, discharged through an ocean outfall extending over two miles off shore. Federal money also helped expand and upgrade the Virginia Key treatment plant (renamed the Central District plant), which now discharges up to 143 million gallons of effluent per day into the Atlantic Ocean (Clemente, 1995). Over $85 million in EPA grants, along with $29 million local dollars, funded the South District treatment plant (Day and Zimmerman, 1989). Unlike the North District and Central District plants, which use ocean outfalls, the South District plant injects treated sewage into the ground for disposal. This deep-well injection method pumps effluent some 2,700 feet down to the "boulder zone," a subterranean cavern separated from drinking water aquifers. After expansions and upgrades, the South District plant, which began service in 1983, now injects up to 100 million gallons per day into the earth (Clemente, 1995).

Remarkable though they are, these regional facilities did not eliminate the vestiges of the fragmented system that preceded them. The legacy of fragmentation persisted in the presence of wholesale and retail sewage customers. Cities such as Hialeah, Miami Beach, North Miami, Coral Gables, North Miami Beach, Opa Locka, Miami Springs, Homestead, Medley, and Hialeah Gardens continue to operate their own sewer departments. By 1988, although the County served 176,000 retail sewage customers, all other customers were, technically speaking, served by city sewer departments. These separate municipalities then paid the County to process their sewage (Day and Zimmerman, 1989). Although in the long run it may be more cost effective for cities to shut down their sewer departments, the opportunity for patronage and a tradition of municipal independence will probably sustain this artifact of fragmentation well into the next century.

Although municipal sewer departments have survived, the independent Water and Sewer Authority has not. The transformation of WASA into a County department in 1983 occurred largely because Garrett Sloan ran the Authority too independently. For ten years, the County Commission had little choice but to rubber-stamp Sloan's decisions, given his financial independence. But when Sloan asked for two double-digit rate increases in the early 1980s, followed by a proposed third increase in the summer of 1982, the Commission used the opportunity to call for an audit (Ready, 1997). In October of 1983, the Commission stripped WASA of its independent status and made it a County department, with Sloan reporting to the County Manager (Hirsch, 1983).

As a practical matter, however, the change from authority to department did not alter County sewage policy significantly. Sloan continued to deliver what politicians and developers wanted--low rates (always politically popular) and enough service to prevent building moratoriums. Sloan's independence irked Commissioners, but his professional goals were broadly congruent with their political values; they might have disagreed on who made the decisions, but all were pro-growth fiscal conservatives. That consensus would not last into the 1990s, however.

By the end of the 1980s, the County's sewage policy experienced another important shift in priorities, forcing local officials to change the balance among affordability, environmental protection, and metropolitan expansion. That shift was precipitated by a battle between the Water and Sewer Department (WASD) and the County's Department of Environmental Resources Management (DERM) over the routing of the force main to carry sewage across Biscayne Bay to the Central District treatment plant. The battle, ostensibly over the location of a new cross-bay line, was really about differing priorities, institutional missions, and philosophies of resource use between pro-growth fiscal conservatives like Sloan and a new generation of environmental regulators.

DERM's concern over the cross-bay main emerged from its Biscayne Bay restoration and enhancement efforts. In the late 1970s, DERM investigators began monitoring the Bay to determine long-term trends in water quality. By the mid-1980s, the Miami River had become the focus of their research. They discovered that the River was chronically contaminated with high levels of coliform bacteria, an indicator of sewage pollution. Further investigation revealed a complex combination of illegal connections between businesses and the storm drainage system and accidental infiltration from aging sanitary sewer lines in the downtown area (the oldest sewer pipes in the region) which kept a steady flow of raw sewage flowing into the Miami River (Markley et al., 1990; Markley, 1997).

In 1987, DERM also discovered a second type of problem affecting Bay waters: acute contamination of the Miami River. A well-publicized sewer pipe failure in October of 1987 sent millions of gallons of sewage into the river, resulting in levels of contamination hundreds to thousands of times higher than standards, similar to levels reported in 1949 before the construction of the Virginia Key treatment plant. DERM investigators concluded that such acute contamination episodes resulted from limits on the transmission capacity of the sewage system. Because of choke points in the sewage transmission system, such as the cross-bay force main, unreliable pumping stations, and corroded pipes in the downtown area, key sewage facilities could not handle extreme effluent volumes and were occasionally forced to jettison raw sewage into the river, leading to high levels of coliform contamination in the Bay (Markley et al, 1990; Markley, 1997).

Officials at both DERM and WASD thus recognized that the cross-bay main needed to be replaced both to provide additional capacity for future growth and protection in case of the failure of the existing main. By the early 1990s a series of well-publicized spills prompted widely-shared concerns that it might be in danger of collapse. Pipes of similar age had failed due to the corrosive effects of hydrogen sulfide gas. The gas ate away the lining of the pipes, weakening them significantly. Unusually heavy rains contributed to the problem. Although the county had a separate storm sewer system, rainwater infiltrated the wastewater system through leaky pipes and manholes, overloading pumping stations, putting pressure on corroded pipes, and forcing spills. If hydrogen sulfide gas had corroded the cross-bay line, a rupture would send hundreds of millions of gallons of raw sewage into Biscayne Bay. But because there was no way to inspect the interior of the line, officials were left to speculate about the extent of corrosion and the likelihood of a rupture (Wilson, 1993; Sloan, 1997).

In spite of their shared recognition of these issues, DERM and WASD officials had serious disagreement over how to approach the cross-bay force main problem. To be sure, DERM and WASD disagreed over where to locate the

pipe--parallel to the old pipe, in a tunnel underneath the Bay, or along Rickenbacker Causeway. But there was far more to the subsequent debate over the cross-bay line than technical matters. The larger issue concerned the priorities that drove policy decisions. While WASD and DERM worked together to address the problem of chronic River contamination, the issue of limited transmission capacity highlighted their differing institutional missions and priorities (Markley, 1997).

As the head of WASD, Garrett Sloan worried about costs: how great was the danger and what was the most efficient way to deal with it while keeping rates low. Sloan's concern for costs emerged from his view of his professional obligations. Utility managers should keep rates low while providing adequate service; that was their job. Given the history of the Water and Sewer Department and the long-standing concern over financing a county-wide sewage system, Sloan's concern for costs reflected the institutional values embedded in his department. Reinforcing that concern was Sloan's sense of the social obligations of public servants. Sloan had grown up during the Depression in New York City and had witnessed firsthand what poverty and joblessness could do to a community. With something like 35 percent of Metro-Dade County's population living below the poverty line, utility managers had a duty not to impose unnecessary costs on poor customers (Sloan, 1997; Markley, 1997).

DERM officials, like biologist Susan Markley, worried about the short- and long-term consequences of environmental damage. The prospect of a massive spill demanded action. But simply digging a huge trench across the Bay to install another force main meant disrupting delicate marine ecosystems. Just as importantly, DERM did not want WASD to choose an unpermittable route. To get a permit, and to defend the permit against possible legal challenges from environmental groups, County officials would have to show that the route minimized environmental impacts. As Markley put it, "we felt strategically that it was unwise to choose a route or construction method that basically blasted through the most environmentally sensitive places but maybe saved a few million dollars." Such a route could be tied up in litigation for years, delaying construction, and increasing the likelihood of a catastrophic failure of the cross-bay main (Markley, 1997).

Although Sloan and DERM were slowly working toward a shared approach to the force main issue, the extended disagreement between these County agencies caught the attention of other government officials. State Attorney Janet Reno, who had a keen interest in environmental matters, convened a grand jury to investigate the pollution of the Miami River. The grand jury's report, "Miami River: Beauty and Beast!", blamed the wretched condition of the river on "Dade's antiquated and inadequate sanitary sewer system," but reserved its most stinging criticism for the neglected cross-bay line, which it dubbed "the time bomb laying under the bay" (Grand Jury, 1991).

The grand jury report contributed to the emerging picture of a sewer system on the verge of a complete collapse. The Miami Herald began describing the sewage system as "decrepit" (Strouse, 1992) and "falling apart" (Wilson, 1993). Without any way to check the actual condition of the cross-bay line, environmentalists, sewer officials, and reporters were left to speculate about when the "time bomb" would explode, fueling a sense of crisis. That sense of crisis grew as regulators from all levels of government began to take action. In January of 1993, DERM imposed a ban on sewer hookups in central Miami-Dade, arousing the concern of builders all over the county. The State Department of Environmental Regulation intervened to expedite work on the cross-bay line (Filkins, 1993). And the EPA began an investigation of Sewer Department records (Brant, 1997).

This accumulation of pressures resulted in something of a philosophical reconstruction of the Water and Sewer Department. Garrett Sloan retired in June of 1993. The Department's new top three officials have all previously worked for DERM (Sloan, 1997; Wilson, 1993; Brant, 1997). As a consequence, the Department now places a much higher priority on environmental protection.

This change in leadership philosophy proved to be important, especially after the EPA sued the County for violating the Clean Water Act. The EPA was not merely interested in the cross-bay line problem. It used the emerging crisis to make Miami-Dade County a test case for new, more stringent regulations on sanitary sewer overflows. Perhaps because U.S. Attorney General Janet Reno and EPA chief Carol Browner are both from South Florida, or because federal regulators have become more sophisticated and ambitious with their programs, the EPA has set a goal of zero sanitary sewer overflows for Miami-Dade County (Wright, 1996). The County will have to replace pipes, upgrade pumping stations, and eliminate stormwater seepage into the system. Unlike the early 1970s, however, the EPA will not provide the funding for these changes. The County will have to raise money through bond sales, paid for by increased sewer rates, to cover the billion-dollar improvement program.

It took more than the promise of a clean environment to get the County to spend a billion dollars for sewer upgrades. The threat of a building moratorium hung over negotiations between the County and the EPA like the sword of Damocles. Builders and politicians, who naturally prefer low utility rates, found it much easier to accept the huge increases in sewer charges since the alternative was a halt to development (Brant, 1997).

The new financial strength of the Department has allowed it to pursue an aggressive modernization program. The new leadership has reorganized the Department along more functional lines, increasing the number of divisions from seven to seventeen, and significantly expanded the staff. With more resources at its disposal, the Department has rebuilt large sections of the collection and transmission system, increased capacity at all three plants, and, most importantly, undertaken an extensive maintenance program. The combination of philosophical and managerial changes has made the Miami-Dade Water and Sewer Department a "model utility," performing ahead of state and federal expectations--an almost unbelievable feat, considering how recently the County was considered to be a model of negligence (Brant, 1997).

Perhaps even more ironic has been the discovery that the cross-bay line, allegedly a "time bomb" set to destroy the environment, was actually in pristine condition. With the completion of the new cross-bay line in September 1994, the Department could finally perform an inspection of the interior of the 40-year-old bay main (Lantigua, 1994). To everyone's surprise and relief, the pipe was as good as new, without any hydrogen sulfide gas corrosion (Carter, 1997; Sloan, 1997).

A cynical observer might conclude from the evolution of Miami's metropolitan sewage system that the history of fragmentation, the long-standing preference for low rates, and the strength of development interests render Miami-Dade County incapable of acting in its long-term best interests where the environment is concerned. A more dispassionate reading of the history of sewage policy suggests a different lesson. Although the County has triumphed over the political fragmentation that led to competition among municipalities and neglect of the broader sewage problem, public officials still confront an array of institutions with contrasting perspectives on local sewage policy. Modern administrators have to work with pressures from local interest groups and politicians, as well as state and federal officials who have considerable power and are willing to use it. And as the conflict between WASD and DERM illustrates, County departments with overlapping jurisdictions but distinctive institutional missions and histories can have very different approaches to the same problem.

As the other chapters in this volume illustrate, Miami-Dade County faces a vast array of pressing issues, from rampant poverty to inadequate health care to unchecked immigration. The billion dollars Miami-Dade County is now spending on the sewer system might have been better spent on these other problems. A fiscal conservative like Garrett Sloan might argue that the amount of environmental protection we are getting for that billion dollars is simply not worth it, given the other challenges that the County must address. On the other hand, Biscayne Bay and the Miami River are unique natural and economic resources. Given their importance to the Miami region, both practical and symbolic, environmental regulators could argue persuasively that protecting these natural treasures certainly justified relatively modest (viewed in a national context) increases in sewer bills.

This disagreement represented only the most recent episode of the long-standing tension among affordability, environmental protection, and metropolitan expansion. In the case of the cross-bay main, that tension, expressed through the differing institutional missions of WASD and DERM, was resolved (at least partially and at least temporarily) by a change in leadership at WASD, expedited by the intervention of state and federal environmental bureaucrats.

Future policymakers may not be confronted with the internal fragmentation that characterized the county's past. Nonetheless, they will certainly have to negotiate the allocation of resources and debate the importance of policy goals with other institutions -- local, regional, state, and federal--which have differing, and perhaps competing, conceptions of local priorities.

¹The name of the county in which "Metropolitan Miami" is located was changed from "Dade County" to "Miami-Dade County" in November of 1997. County publications, names of county government organizations, and special committees, etc. before the end of 1997 include the names "Dade County" or "Metro-Dade" (referring to the official name of the county government before the vote in November). County organizations, etc. are currently changing their titles to include "Miami-Dade." Most--but not all--have done so at the time of this writing.

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