Opinion: Should we say good riddance to Miami Seaquarium — or mourn another loss to neglect?
Good riddance to the Miami Seaquarium, I want to say.
But a part of me feels that there’s also room for a mournful goodbye to a flawed but historic institution.
What does the home to 1960-70s icon Flipper the dolphin — happy times now eclipsed by the dingy state of the park, allegations of animal neglect and the heartbreaking death of orca Lolita — deserve as a requiem?
For us old-timers, a rush of memories follows news that the county is shutting down the Virginia Key marine park after the latest in a string of federal inspection reports alleging poor care of animals.
Who can argue with the enough-is-enough decision after continued poor stewardship of what should’ve been a dignified place for animals and a fun place for kids to learn about sea life?
Although Seaquarium lease-holder Eduardo Albor, president of operator Dolphin Company, has said he’ll “defend our rights in the courts,” it’s hard to imagine another outcome for a depressing and pathetic facility that has had plenty of time to get its act together — but hasn’t.
It’s a shame. There was love from the people of Miami for those majestic animals.
Some of us remember a better, brighter place, one of the few venues where the harried multi-tasking parents of a changing Miami could expose our children to delightful sea creatures and share our love of nature.
Once the county’s top family attraction, the Seaquarium opened its doors on Sept. 24, 1955. Tourists flocked and so did locals.
Given the eviction notice issued by landlord Miami-Dade County government, the institution that lent the Miami Dolphins its performing mascot — also the star of the hit national television show “Flipper” — will not make it to its 69th anniversary.
In fact, the county has ordered clearing the premises by April.
Still listed on Tripadvisor and Google as open Thursday, no one answered the phone. The glowing descriptions of the 38-acre park remain, but Tripadvisor has added this cautionary line: “Does not meet animal welfare guidelines.”
Hopefully, the animals will go to better homes and the humans in South Florida will continue to patronize Zoo Miami and the Frost Museum of Science, Aquarium & Planetarium. But, the lack of a
stand-alone aquarium in a city surrounded by the sea is a loss to new and future generations.
MIAMI SEAQUARIUM MEMORIES
Back when I was birthing and raising kids, it seemed an uncomplicated choice to visit the Seaquarium. The venue was a regular school field-trip destination. Controversy wasn’t in the public domain loud enough to hear.
One epic family visit in 1987 stands out.
Think Miami, somewhat in recovery from the tumult of boatloads of refugees and cocaine-fueled killings of the earlier part of the decade.
Think Madonna’s La
Isla Bonita at No. 1 in the charts and the delight of my 6-year-old daughter, who broke into rhythmic dance at the drop of a musical note by the diva.
Think Sesame Street and Cookie Monster and my 3-year-old daughter, attached at my hip and wanting to eat chocolate chip cookies at all meals — and me, fully pregnant with my third and last, supposedly the boy, and still working like my husband at a high-charged job.
Whew.
Baby due-date nearing, the doctor advised spending the weekend walking so the baby got the message to descend — and off we went to the Miami Seaquarium.
Oh, the heat. Oh, the not-so-appealing junk food (some things never change), but the dolphins, sea lions, manatees and multi-colored fish always made the trip from northwest Miami-Dade to the gorgeous Rickenbacker Causeway worthwhile.
Salty the Sea Lion was a favorite. Of course, the star of the show was Lolita — caught in her native Puget Sound and brought to Miami in 1970 — wetting all of us fools, packed in the amphitheater’s front rows, with her famous performance splash.
If you weren’t an animal rights activist, there was little awareness that the tank was too small for a 7,000-pound killer whale. When Hugo, Lolita’s partner, died from a brain aneurysm in March of 1980, after repeatedly ramming his head against his enclosure, the gruesome story stirred up debate but didn’t have the audiences that come with today’s viral videos and round-the-clock news cycle.
When we left the park, we left it all behind, not even remembering Lolita’s native Lummi nation name, Tokitae and her nickname, Toki.
We simply selfishly enjoyed Lolita, to our shame today.
REGRET
How cruel of us to have kept Lolita captive for decades for our amusement. My regret for not having advocated for her is real.
But it’s also regrettable to lose yet another Miami landmark to mismanagement, lack of interest, neglect and, no doubt, also greed.
Because, given our history, we can already smell the public land-grab vultures circling over the valuable waterfront real estate.
As with the historic Orange Bowl stadium in 2008, I suspect demolition will follow — and another memory marker will be gone from sight.
We’ll have nothing but the innocent memories of childhood — and, for me, young motherhood.
Near the end of that family day at the Seaquarium, my youngest, tired and cranky, only wanted me to carry her. So I did, all the way to the car, wrapping her legs around my big belly. When we arrived home and I got out of the car, my water broke.
Twenty-two hours of rough labor and an emergency C-section later, my third daughter was born.
She’s a fish in the water — and an animal rescuer, and not sad at all to see bad operators shut down.
The end of an era is here, and this time, it’s merited.