"Media is not aware of examination of books," Lightning chief financial officer Mark Anderson recounted in the four-year-old scrawled minutes from a meeting with Bob Harrell, finance director for then-Mayor Sandy Freedman. "The documents reviewed make these public document (sic). He (Harrell) does not want this to be public….Does not want to get into relationship with bankrupt co. (company). Doesn't want a 1/2 built arena." My, my, did a city official consciously endeavor to conceal public records -- documents that might have been crucial for the city council, the county commission and Joe Citizen to form an opinion about the Lightning and the arena? Did the official conspire with the Lightning to circumvent the law? There are even more serious charges contained in related documents -- that citizens and officials were misled about financial conditions at the Lightning prior to the team being awarded about $87 million in public money for the arena. Anderson speculated that the team might have committed "fraud." A little context about 1994. Freedman was desperately trying to get the city to OK a very bizarre deal to build a $141 million convention center hotel. At stake were tens of millions of dollars some of the mayor's closest friends hoped to suck out of the hotel without having to put a dime of their own at risk. Powerful forces (bring up the Darth Vader theme) were at work. The downtown boys were yanking politicians' strings to get taxpayer money for their grandiose plans, including the Florida Aquarium and the Lightning arena, which were considered essential ingredients to make Freedman's hotel successful. We'll be paying for those foolhardy schemes for decades. The aquarium failed financially, forcing a taxpayer bailout. And, the Ice Palace costs the public much more than anticipated. Fortunately, in late 1994, Dick Greco was running sort of a government in exile and prevailed on a city council majority to kill Freedman's hotel. A recent resurrection of the hotel plan, with minimal public financing, proved the wrong-headedness of Freedman's deal. At the time, one thing Freedman didn't want was to read any bad news about downtown. She had allies. The Tampa Tribune's management was in bed with the administration on the downtown deals, especially the hotel. And, the Trib's main sports guy, Tom McEwen, doubled as the Lightning's travel agent, a colossal conflict the newspaper refuses to publicly acknowledge. Thus, it should be no surprise that when government officials and McEwen in 1993 were briefed about dark suspicions over the Lightning, no attempt was made to find the truth. Nor did you read in the daily newspaper about any serious effort to check out the charges. That gave birth to more closet skeletons: Much of that 1993 briefing found its way this year into investigative reports in the Weekly Planet, Sports Illustrated and the New York Times -- but not, of course, the Trib. Puffery was the name of the game. And, when necessary, city officials fibbed. Often, Harrell would deny to reporters that the city had documents on the deals. Later, it would become clear, the information had existed all along. (Harrell did not return a phone call.) Lightning honchos were perfect accomplices. In the team's disastrous financial state, the Bolts probably wouldn't have qualified for an American Express card, much less $140 million to build an arena. All the Lightning needed was a little help from a city administration that, in turn, wanted an assist in padding the pockets of the hotel developers. And, of course, the party of the first part agreed wholeheartedly with the party of the second part that the public didn't need to know. But even some Bolts execs became nauseated, such as team CFO Anderson, who on Aug. 25, 1994, drafted an explosive letter to William Reece Smith Jr., a prominent lawyer who sat on the team's board of directors. The note said that while Anderson was on vacation, team officials transferred liabilities from the Lightning balance sheet to that of the arena. "This was done in my absence and without my consultation," Anderson wrote, adding that after the changes were made, the material was sent to government officials and auditors. The changes made it appear that the Lightning was in good financial shape. Actually, the team was mired in debt. "In the accounting profession, this type of activity constitutes misrepresentation or fraud," Anderson wrote. The Lightning's attorney, Paul Davis, strenuously denied two weeks ago that anything sinister had taken place. He said that that officials might have been "unintentionally misled" but they were soon given the straight dope. Davis observed that among Anderson's records is a notation that Smith subsequently spoke with the team officials who had made the bookkeeping changes, and they assured Smith "no misrepresentations occurred." Davis also cited a second letter, dated Sept. 9, 1994, in which Anderson stated that Harrell's worries about the team were minimized because the Lightning's Japanese owner, Takashi Okubo, continued to fund operations. There are two problems with the Lightning's interpretation. First, Smith is an icon of legal virtue, the type of civic statesman who would be furious to be associated with deception. Once Anderson went ballistic over the funny accounting, team officials had little choice but to explain away the adjustments as perfectly proper. The fact that the team's chief bean counter didn't immediately see the logic of the accounting changes remains … curious. At all costs, the lid had to be nailed shut on this episode. More importantly, citizens and the media were intentionally deceived. Some public officials -- those who weren't Lightning or Freedman insiders -- apparently also were kept in the dark. Anderson, in his hand-written notes and in his Sept. 9 letter, states that Harrell didn't feel the Lightning was a "super solid triple A" financial risk. So, why weren't we told that our money was being used to back some pretty shaky Japanese businessmen -- people who have never explained the origin of their money? County Commissioner Jan Platt asks the same question. And her timing is exquisite. The Lightning's Japanese owners hope to close a $117 million deal this week to sell the team to Palm Beach insurance magnate Art Williams. That transaction would hinge on continuation of the county's bond issues. Platt has asked whether the government should challenge its own financing by what is called a bond validation suit. She is concerned that the Lightning deceived the county and city governments. If so, she wonders whether public support could be rescinded. It was because of Platt's probing that Anderson's notes and letters became available. At the very least, taxpayers owe her a thank-you for the insight these documents shed on the machinations of government. The commissioner also wants to know why the county's bond lawyers, Holland & Knight, don't think it's a conflict that they represent so many entities with a stake in the Lightning. A Holland & Knight lawyer, Hank Morgan, responded to that inquiry by saying the firm's client list is confidential. County Attorney Emmy Acton correctly slapped Morgan around a bit for that effrontery. It's not hard to come up with a pretty interesting list of Holland & Knight clients who all have a stake in making sure nothing goes awry with the county's underwriting of the Lightning -- a conflict if I've ever seen one. The list includes:
If we had a real State Attorney in this town, which many people doubt we do, he might want to take a look at those notes and ask about possible violations of Florida's public records law. |