AN ECONOMY GONE TO POT

In Florida, Palm Beach County Commissioner Burt Aaronson's generation
is known for golf course communities, early-bird specials and
impossibly strict homeowners association rules. After winning World
War II and leading the postwar boom, America's Greatest Generation
flocked to South Florida for sand, sea and sun.

Smoking pot by the shuffleboard courts never entered the picture.
That's why it's surprising that Commissioner Aaronson has taken a
public stand in favor of legalizing marijuana. Commissioner Jeff
Koons -- whose sister, Deborah, married the late Grateful Dead
guitarist Jerry Garcia -- maybe. But the 81-year-old Aaronson?

In fact, coming from the parental side of the '60s Generation Gap,
Commissioner Aaronson is suited to the role of pied (water) piper. No
one ever won a bet accusing Burt Aaronson of inhaling.

In the age of easily accessible medical marijuana and
decriminalization, Commissioner Aaronson made his case on the basis
of cold, hard cash. Palm Beach County, he said, pays too much to lock
up nonviolent offenders. His cost-cutting is driven by the
realization that even if the county had the money for its $267
million jail expansion, it wouldn't have the money to guard all
those extra inmates.

The commissioner long has urged the courts to assign more inmates to
house arrest, saving millions in jail costs. From there, it's not too
far-out to suggest decriminalization. Forget about pot as a gateway
drug or health hazard. Think of its street value in fewer arrests,
fewer trials and fewer lockups.

Commissioner Aaronson's thinking, however, is small-minded. There's a
changing of the guard in America. Now the generation of sex, drugs
and rock 'n' roll is retiring. Palm Beach County's Leisureville is
no longer the first choice of Yuppies and ex-Yippies. If Commissioner
Aaronson wants to assure a spot for himself in county lore, the
commissioner known for ruling the condo commandos has to take a much
bigger hit off the bong.

Already, Florida is losing Baby Boomers to more rugged locales, such
as North Carolina. But if gated communities were to plow under
browning golf courses to turn plush greens into lush buds, it would
give a whole new meaning to the name Sunny Acres. Forget Century
Village. If we go with Burt "The Dude" Aaronson, we'd have Sinsemilla
City.

Baby Boomers would be hitting the restaurants for the early bird and
staying on through the night. Homeowners association rules would move from
regulating the size of pets to establishing penalties for bogarting
joints. Instead of calling the county "The Best of Everything," tourism
officials could roll out a new slogan: "Palm Beach County: A Great Joint."

If cultivation comes out of the closet, owners of the county's vast
agricultural lands, with the rich soil and hot climate, could cash
in. Disputes over development of the 700,000-acre Everglades
Agricultural Area, now mostly sugar cane fields, would take on a
psychadelic hue. Why stop with existing farmland? Hemp farmers could
convert abandoned subdivisions back to the land.

The move could be transcendental when it comes to transforming the
South Florida of Commissioner Aaronson's generation to the South
Florida of the Baby Boomers. And Commissioner Aaronson is
particularly well-situated to bring it all about. Next week, he
takes over as county commission chairman. In that role, when he talks
about legalizing marijuana, he won't just be blowing smoke.

Who would have thought that, after all these years, the '60s
Generation Gap finally would be bridged by an octogenarian
commissioner intent on saving money? It's a blending of the
capitalism of the World War II generation with the lifestyle of the
'60s counterculture. Commissioner Aaronson's peace offering to the
peaceniks could alter the consciousness of Palm Beach County.

Joel Engelhardt is an editorial writer for The Palm Beach Post.