$118 million. That staggering figure echoed through the Crestview City Council chamber like a whistle at the end of a game—signaling not victory, but reconsideration. After years of envisioning a sprawling sports complex to serve as a hub for athletic pride and community unity, city leaders were faced with a sobering truth: the dream carries a price tag that could weigh down Crestview taxpayers for decades.
The following was originally published July 12, 2025, at editorandpublisher.com and is a transcript of a vodcast series hosted by Mike Blinder. This perfectly encompasses how our newspapers and reporters feel about the role of newspapers.
Like most bills that go through the legislature in Florida, Senate Bill 180 is a mixed bag of good intentions and concerning consequences. Signed into law last month, this sweeping legislation is designed to improve hurricane recovery and emergency preparedness across the state. But while its goals appear laudable on the surface, the law raises serious red flags about local autonomy, land-use regulation and long-term community resilience.
It was a glorious morning. The sun was shining and the wind was from the Southeast. Up especially early, a tall bony, redheaded young Virginian found time to buy a new thermometer, for which he paid three pounds, fifteen shillings. He also bought gloves for Martha, his wife, who was ill at home.
My column this week may be considered “religious,” but I’m going to be as factual as possible and even include a historian who was a Jew, but didn’t necessarily believe Jesus was the prophesied messiah.
Labels can get you into trouble if you don’t know fully what it is to which they refer. A case in point: I was born and raised in a part of Canada where all Americans, northerners and southerners alike, are called “Yankees.” You can imagine the firestorm that ignited when, after I moved to South Florida, in ignorance, I called a native Floridian a Yankee. His eyes blazed, his body went rigid, his face blossomed red, and his nostrils flared to accommodate the building steam. I was grateful that all I received that day was a short, very intense lesson in American history with extra emphasis on what my friend called, “the war of northern aggression.” The label “Yankee” no longer resides in my vocabulary.
