Shining light on the good, bad and ugly of bureaucracy in Florida’s communities

Final part of a series

It’s easy to feel discouraged when examining what hasn’t materialized around the MagLab. There are no recognized clusters of private-sector R&D, no noticeable proliferation of startups, and no regional plan in place to activate this scientific powerhouse as an economic engine for North Florida. 

But that reality is not set in stone. 

The MagLab’s scientific output is elite. Its researchers are top-tier, and the facility’s presence in Tallahassee—backed by substantial NSF and state investment—is a rare asset. 

And there are signs of life. 

The Motor Drive Systems and Magnetics (MDSM) annual conference was held in Tallahassee for the first time this year and is returning in 2026. 

Companies such as Biofront (disease testing kits) and Piersica (new battery technologies) have a toehold in Tallahassee. 

What’s missing is a comprehensive strategy: a bold, shared vision among FSU, FAMU, TSC, the city, the county, state government and the business community. One that moves beyond resting on the lab’s reputation – and empty slogans like “Magnetics Capital of the World” — and actually delivers tangible results. 

That means: 

• FSU must open the gates — removing barriers to private-sector partnerships. 

• The city must prioritize infrastructure, particularly power and site readiness for innovation-driven firms. 

• The Chamber and economic development agencies must treat the MagLab as a keystone and persist when it comes to getting alignment among all the stakeholders listed above. 

• And speaking of economic development, a collaboration between local government and the private sector must dramatically rework how OEV interacts with prospects to create a much higher level of agility and creativity. 

• Leadership must emerge – that can convene stakeholders and tackle the issues that have led to 30 years of stagnation. 

In the short term, here are 5 more quick wins that could be achieved in the next 24 months. 

1. Launch the MagLab Commercialization Challenge 
   An annual, high-visibility competition offering seed funding, lab access, and expert mentoring to startups or companies that can develop market-ready products from MagLab research. Winners commit to establishing or expanding operations in Tallahassee, turning lab breakthroughs into local jobs. 

2. Launch an “Innovation Sites” Map 
   Publish an online, publicly accessible map showing shovel-ready industrial parcels, with details on power capacity, broadband speed, and zoning — the same intel site selectors demand on day one. 

3. Secure a Signature Industry Partner 
   Land one high-visibility corporate tenant in advanced materials, clean energy, or biotech that actively uses MagLab capabilities, and announce it prominently. 

4. Host a National Tech + Science Summit in Tallahassee 
   Use the MagLab as the anchor venue for a multi-day, industry-heavy event — following the MDSM model but broadened to attract venture capital, suppliers, and manufacturing prospects. 

5. Set a Goal – and Achieve it 
   Commit to recruiting at least five MagLab-related companies and creating 250 new private-sector R&D/manufacturing jobs by the end of year two — and publish progress quarterly. 

Conclusion 

There is no way around it – Tallahassee’s inability to build an economy around the MagLab is a massive underachievement. 

But it’s not too late to turn things around. 

It starts with acknowledging how little has been done so far … and recognizing just how much is still possible through collaboration, humility, creativeness and energy. 

Bay County Commissioners are headed to the Florida Association of Counties conference with a little problem in their carry-on: millions in so-called “surplus” building fees that, by law, they’re supposed to refund. Instead, they’re trying to wish the whole thing away. 

Here’s the hitch. Florida Statute 553.80 isn’t subtle. It says building permit and inspection fees can’t be padded to turn a profit. They’re supposed to cover the actual cost of enforcing the building code. Nothing more. Nothing less. If counties collect too much, they either roll a limited amount forward to cover future costs or they refund the excess. Pretty straightforward. 

But Bay County’s interpretation seems to be: “Thanks for the cash, citizens, we’ll hang on to it.” 

The statute even includes a bright-line test. Counties can’t carry forward more than the average of their last four years of building code enforcement budgets. Anything above that is supposed to go back to the people who paid it — builders, homeowners, business owners. In other words, the folks who thought they were paying a fee for service, not donating to Bay County’s general slush fund. 

And yet, Bay County is signaling it has no intention of writing refund checks. That’s not just bad optics, it’s potentially illegal. Attorney General opinions have long warned that when governments collect more than the actual cost of regulation, those “fees” start looking a lot like unauthorized taxes. And last we checked, counties don’t get to levy their own surprise taxes on construction projects. 

So why is Bay County digging in? According to minutes and chatter around the FAC meeting, the surplus is being rebranded as a “reserve” — a rainy-day fund for future code costs. Never mind that state law already defined how big that reserve can be. It’s a little like trying to claim your kitchen junk drawer as a retirement plan. 

The scale of the numbers matters here. Bay County’s 2022-23 Building Permit and Inspection Utilization Report (required by law to be posted online) shows collections far outpacing expenditures. The statute requires the report to include revenues, permit volumes, inspections, and costs — a transparency measure meant to prevent exactly this kind of gamesmanship. But transparency is useless if officials look right past the black-and-white rule: surplus beyond the cap has to be refunded. 

This is more than a bookkeeping squabble. Builders and homeowners are already paying some of the highest input costs in memory — materials, labor, insurance. Now they find out Bay County may be pocketing fees in excess of actual costs. The law says those fees belong back in the wallets of the people who paid them. 

If Bay County thinks it can out-lawyer the statute, it should brace for pushback. Other counties have been down this road before, and the pattern is clear: the longer you hold onto surplus fees, the worse the headlines and the higher the risk of legal challenge. 

The kicker? All of this is playing out while county leaders beg for more trust from taxpayers and the Legislature. Nothing erodes credibility faster than ignoring the plain text of the law because it’s inconvenient. 

Bay County can fix this two ways: 

1. Adjust fees downward so collections match costs. 

2. Refund the surplus as the statute requires. 

What it can’t do — legally or ethically — is rebrand illegal surplus as “savings” and hope nobody notices. Spoiler alert: people are noticing. 

So, the question heading into the FAC conference isn’t whether Bay County officials will discuss surplus fees. It’s whether they’ll follow the law or keep pretending the rules don’t apply to them. 

“Profit sharing” at a nonprofit.

A $25,000 signing bonus.

A salary higher than the 20-year veteran a new director replaced.

Internal documents and interviews obtained by Red Tape Florida reveal how the North Florida Fair is rewarding its leaders — and why officials are demanding answers.

After Red Tape Florida first reported about the now-infamous $28,000 retirement watch, fallout was swift, with local and state officials demanding an investigation.

Now, a new revelation: The incoming executive director of the Fair — who has defended the board’s decision to buy the luxury watch for her predecessor — herself received a $25,000 cash signing bonus upon being hired.

In a Dec. 5, 2024, offer letter from then-board Chair Rachel S. Pienta – who resigned in protest after the watch controversy — new fair manager Miranda Muir was offered a contract that included:

• $125,00 annual salary
• Health insurance
• 401k with 3 percent employer match
• A one-time $25,000 signing bonus

Minutes from the September 12, 2024, meeting reveal a discussion about the offer to Muir, who had been attending meetings since 2023 as the heir apparent to the director’s job and seemed a lock for the position.

While Harvey had not yet set a retirement date, the board moved toward making an offer to Muir. Initially, a base salary of $100,000 was discussed – below the long-time outgoing manager Harvey’s salary of $112,000. But board member Marcus Boston said he “went on the internet” and found a higher range

A committee was formed and there was also a mention of one-time moving expenses, but no mention of any sort of bonus. In the end, Muir received a base salary more than 10 percent higher than Harvey — and the $25,000 bonus.

Board member Steve Hurm, contacted this week by Red Tape Florida, said the board never discussed a signing bonus. “That information was never brought to me and if it had been I would have objected,” said Hurm.

Pienta declined to comment on the Muir offer saying in a statement: “I want to reiterate that it has been an honor and a privilege to serve on the North Florida Fair board over the years, including as Board President/Chair since 2024. I have stepped down from that position and will continue to focus on and strengthen our local 4-H programming and participation in the Fair moving forward.”

“Profit sharing”

Meanwhile, the bonus money has been flowing at the fair for years and has been referred to at meetings and in minutes as “profit-sharing.”

When Hurm first heard that term he was alarmed.

“When a board member mentioned ‘profit-sharing,’ Hurm recalled, “I interrupted and said it was a nonsensical term – we’re a non-profit.”

By law, nonprofits don’t have “profits” to share. The IRS flatly prohibits it: no part of a charity’s earnings may inure to the benefit of insiders. Reasonable salaries? Sure. Profit sharing? That’s the language of Wall Street, not a 501(c)(3).

Watchdog groups warn boards constantly about even appearing to funnel surpluses to executives. Florida law is equally clear: compensation must be reasonable, but distributing income to officers is off-limits. And yet, here is a nonprofit agricultural fair association putting “profit sharing” in black and white — not whispered in a back room, but recorded as if it were standard practice.

It’s not just sloppy language. It’s a governance red flag that makes the organization look less like a community charity and more like a for-profit corporation cosplaying as one.

In 2023, Harvey received $27,500 in bonus money for strong performance of the annual fair. Minutes for 2024 aren’t available, but the 2025 proposed budget shows that total staff bonuses in 2024 were $74,000.

It is not clear if Harvey received a bonus this year for 2024 fair performance, but the 2025 total budget for bonuses rose to $100,000.

In the North Florida Fair’s most recent publicly available form 990 – from fiscal year 2023 – Harvey had a reported $178,000 in total compensation. Of that, according to schedule J on the form, $103,715 was base salary, $63,500 was bonuses, $7,619 was “other compensation” and $3,726 was retirement and deferred compensation.

Also that year, two board members of the non-profit were paid — $2,809 to George Kolias and $571 to Carole Abbott. The watch controversy drew withering criticism from Leon County Commissioners Bill Proctor, Christian Caban and Brian Welch at Wednesday’s meeting, while Commissioner Nick Maddox did not appear as concerned. Hanging over the issue is $30 million in proposed Blueprint funding to enhance the fairgrounds. That funding was frozen at a recent Blueprint meeting by a 9-3 vote with Tallahassee Mayor John Dailey, City Commissioner Dianne Williams-Cox and Maddox voting against.

Also a factor is Leon County’s lease with the Fair.

But before the retirement watch controversy broke, it was fair board members who thought they had the upper hand in negotiations with Leon County over the fair’s $1 lease.

Board member Lee Vause Jr., who remains on the board after supporting the retirement gift, was quoted in the minutes responding to a conversation about the Fair’s lease with Leon County by saying: “We don’t have to negotiate lease with County. They want something, not the Fair. Fair is in better position, not County. Wait for County to get in touch with the Fair.”

Part 4 of a series 

Florida State University secured the bid and has drawn world-class researchers to the MagLab. It has kept the MagLab operational, but without the lavish upgrades seen elsewhere on campus (Doak Campbell Stadium, student union, etc.). The successes at the MagLab have primarily been the product of the scientists and researchers doing the actual work.  

And when it comes to translating that scientific prestige into broader economic benefits for Tallahassee, FSU’s role becomes more complex and, at times, restrictive. 

1. The self-evaluation problem 

FSU regularly publishes economic impact reports estimating the MagLab’s local annual output. However, these reports are produced by FSU’s own research center (CEFA) and rely heavily on FSU-generated spending data, rather than independently audited outcomes or private-sector-led growth. 

This raises concerns about potential bias and the absence of independent validation. 

2. A culture of insularity 

While many universities collaborate with local stakeholders, FSU appears to operate with limited outward engagement. Although Innovation Park – over which the university now has much more control — hosts some private sector entities, it remains predominantly academic and research-focused, rather than a thriving hub of public-private innovation. And there is no way around the fact that the park’s location – save for its proximity to the airport – is not desirable. 

3. Gatekeeping vs. partnering 

Some business leaders feel FSU treats the MagLab as its own asset—rather than a community resource. Further, FSU does not give the MagLab its own voice to be a community resource because all the business-related deals must go through FSU-sponsored research. 

These perceptions may ultimately undermine trust and deter entrepreneurial or investment opportunities. 

4. No clear economic vision 

FSU lacks a visible, comprehensive plan to translate the MagLab’s scientific strengths into a citywide economic strategy. Unlike institutions that launch innovation districts, venture funds, or commercialization pipelines, no comparable effort is evident here. 

What Could Change 

This isn’t a critique of FSU’s scientific excellence but a call for strategic recalibration. FSU should: 

• Invite independent review of its economic impact claims. 

• Formulate a public-private economic growth strategy centered around the MagLab. 
  On this point, there are numerous examples of institutions that have taken the lead. North Carolina State University’s Centennial Campus in Raleigh is a 1,300-acre, university-planned public-private research community that intentionally recruited more than 75 corporate, government, and nonprofit partners to co-locate with academic departments and research centers — creating thousands of private-sector jobs and driving Raleigh’s transformation into a tech hub. Similarly, Arizona State University’s SkySong Innovation Center redeveloped a shuttered mall into a thriving mixed-use campus housing over 80 companies, blending academic research with industry to generate sustained regional investment and employment. These projects weren’t incidental spinoffs — they were university-designed strategies to harness institutional assets for local economic growth. 
• Expand partnerships with private-sector firms, accelerators, and developers. 

• Reposition itself not only as a scientific steward, but as a partner in regional prosperity. 

If the MagLab is truly a national asset, its benefits should reach beyond campus boundaries. 

And then the burden shifts to other stakeholders: 

Local government: The lack of a community economic development vision is apparent to anyone paying attention. That has to change. Further, businesses that visit our market lament the bulky, clumsy structure of the Office of Economic Vitality with its unclear lines of decision-making and lack of dexterity. That has to change, too. 

State government: Understandably, Tallahassee is viewed as a business-unfriendly, anti-growth, hyper-political town. But the potential of a MagLab-driven economy is too great to let those realities overcome it. 

Private sector: The Chamber has simply not been effective in convening the public sector stakeholders to solve this problem. Perhaps a different group of strong business leaders is up to the challenge.  

Coming next: Is it too late? (Spoiler alert: No) 

Part 3 of a series 

In August 1990, the National Science Foundation awarded the National High Magnetic Field Laboratory to FSU — a decision that surprised many, including MIT, which had operated the Francis Bitter National Magnet Laboratory for 30 years. The original promise was vivid: a world-class scientific facility anchoring Florida’s capital city in the emerging area of magnetics. 

Three decades after FSU won the competition to host the National High Magnetic Field Laboratory, the scientific mission of the MagLab is undeniably successful — the lab holds multiple world records and attracts top researchers from around the globe. But in terms of local economic impact, the results have fallen short of the original vision. 

So, what would success have looked like? Here are four areas where Tallahassee has not kept pace with other national lab communities — and where it still has an opportunity to improve: 

1. A research park that catalyzes private-sector growth 

In thriving innovation districts, anchor institutions spark the development of adjacent private-sector firms. At Los Alamos and Oak Ridge, for example, national labs are surrounded by ecosystems of federal contractors, startups, and applied research firms. 

Tallahassee’s, by contrast, is dominated by public and academic entities. It mainly consists of empty lots and aging buildings, except those built by FSU which have no connection to the MagLab. As detailed in part 2, the commercialization pipeline remains underdeveloped. 

2. A tech corridor with venture capital and startup activity 

Florida ranks among the top ten states for total venture capital investment — but virtually none of that flows through Tallahassee. From 2012 to 2021, the state attracted over $85 billion in VC and private equity, with nearly all of it concentrated in Miami, Tampa, and Orlando. 

In Tallahassee, tech-based entrepreneurship remains rare, and there are very few examples of biomedical spinoffs or next-generation materials companies directly tied to MagLab research. 

3. Strategic alignment between lab, government, and infrastructure 

Cities like Los Alamos and Oak Ridge benefit from coordinated local and state investment in infrastructure, workforce development, and commercialization strategies to support lab spillover. 

Tallahassee lacks such alignment. Its electric grid and zoning regulations have not been meaningfully modernized to attract energy-intensive firms. And the MagLab has also failed to embrace current energy solution technologies, instead choosing to stay the course from the early 1990s on how energy is managed – which is wasteful given what is available today. 

4. Brand equity and national recognition 

The MagLab is recognized in the scientific community for its world-record magnets — but its national profile is surprisingly low outside of research circles. 

Unlike Oak Ridge or Los Alamos, which are synonymous with scientific innovation, Tallahassee rarely markets the MagLab as a signature asset. That’s not a failure of the science — it’s a missed opportunity in branding and communications. 

5. More and better energy capacity and usage 

If Tallahassee ever hopes to build an innovation economy around the MagLab, a basic question must be asked: Is the city even equipped to support one? 

The answer is: maybe, maybe not. 

Start with electricity. The MagLab is a power-hungry facility — among the largest single energy consumers in the region. In summer 2024, reports circulated that Florida State University had been asked by the City of Tallahassee to shut down MagLab power operations for an hour due to load concerns. This raises a fundamental red flag about whether our city-owned utility can support the demands of energy-intensive research or industrial-scale commercial spinoffs. 

One issue is that the MagLab is still using 1990s-era magnets that are high-energy consumers.  Existing technology would make these magnets operate more efficiently and lower power consumption when it comes to cooling and powering the magnets. 

The MagLab’s most powerful magnets can draw between 18 and 33 megawatts. At the upper end, that’s enough power to supply roughly 20,000 U.S. homes. Tallahassee apparently has no surplus generating capacity – where would the power come from if a new data center, battery plant, or high-wage advanced manufacturer was eyeing Tallahassee? 

6. Site readiness 

Beyond electricity, there’s also site readiness. Tallahassee lacks shovel-ready parcels that are truly equipped for tech-sector investment. In communities like Oak Ridge and Los Alamos, federal labs are surrounded by pre-zoned, utility-ready development pads supported by regional industrial recruitment efforts. Not so here. 

Bottom line: Even if the MagLab did produce a wave of commercialization, it’s unclear whether Tallahassee could physically support the growth. Our infrastructure isn’t ready, our energy grid is strained, and our land inventory is weak. 

The Good News 
It’s not too late. The MagLab remains among the world’s top facilities in its field. Realizing its broader potential will require: 

• A serious commercialization strategy 

• Infrastructure enhancements to attract private investment 

• Deliberate partnerships across academia, government, and industry 

• Independent economic metrics and bold regional targets 

A world-class lab deserves a world-class regional strategy. Tallahassee has a second chance — if its leaders seize it. 

Coming next: Is this an FSU problem or an all-the-other-stakeholders problem? 

Leon County Commission Chair Brian Welch blasted actions by the North Florida Fair board on Monday as “completely inappropriate and utterly confounding,” adding he will seek a review by both Leon County Government and the Blueprint Intergovernmental Agency to determine “what level of oversight we have in the management of the fairgrounds.” 

“I cannot believe that a non-profit board that oversees the administration of a public asset would act in such an irresponsible way,” Welch wrote. “I intend to ensure that both Leon County Government and the Blueprint Intergovernmental Agency investigate this situation as soon as possible.” 

Tallahassee City Commissioner Jeremy Matlow also weighed in on Red Tape Florida publisher Skip Foster’s Facebook page saying the gift was “incredibly out of touch.” 

Florida State Rep. Allison Tant also registered her outrage: “If this watch was paid with anything supported by tax dollars, it should be returned and refunded,” Rep. Tant said. “And the fairground authority should be audited. This is not what public or not-for-profit funds should be used for.”  

Welch’s post landed as social media comments were unanimously outraged and featured calls for accountability. A sampling: 

Anger over spending and priorities 

• “Blatant misuse of funds.” — Allison Flynn 

• “Personally, I don’t think anyone should have a $35,000 watch when children are homeless and/or going hungry!” — Liz Jameson 

• “$200 watches work just as well.” — Colleen Castille 

Credit for dissent and calls to return money 

• “Proud of Rachel Sutz Pienta and the others who resigned. Now, how about the director refuse to take it and return the $? That’s what should happen next.” — Carrie Boyd 

• “What incredible audacity! … Bravo to Rachel Sutz Pienta and the other board members who refused to go along with this…” — Rick Oppenheim 

Governance and oversight concerns 

• “Truly outrageous. I wonder if an audit would reveal other reckless expenditures.” — Bill Berlow 

• “The fairgrounds board has had a cloak of protection… They answer to no one. This can only change with leadership addressing it.” — Henree D. Martin 

• “This is the ‘rest of the story’ I’ve been waiting for.” — Pam Jordan Anderson 

Bigger-picture ideas 

• “The fairgrounds need to relocate to Gadsden County. Become truly regional.” — Ed Murray Jr. 

Why it matters 

The North Florida Fair is run by a private not-for-profit association but operates a community asset and regional venue. That public–private mix is fueling questions about who sets the rules, how directors are chosen, and what public oversight exists. 

What’s next 

• Welch says he’ll press for County/Blueprint inquiries into oversight levers (leases, grants, interlocal agreements). 

• Commenters are calling for the Fair Association to publish its bylaws, explain how board seats are filled, and return any inappropriate purchases. 

• Several readers urged a full audit and a public workshop before any board changes move forward. 

RTF has requested the association’s governing documents and any county/Blueprint agreements related to the fairgrounds. If you have records or perspectives to add, email info@redtapeflorida.com. 

The non-profit North Florida Fair Association board has voted to spend roughly $25,000 on a luxury retirement watch for longtime fair manager Mark Harvey, based on public records obtained by Red Tape Florida.  

That number bears repeating: twenty-five thousand dollars. On a watch. For a man already paid over $174,000 a year in salary, bonus, and benefits from a nonprofit that exists only because of public trust and taxpayer-owned land. Combined with a $10,000 donation from a fair vendor, it adds up to a $35,000 retirement gift. 

The razor thin 5-4 vote led to multiple resignations from the board, including by its president and secretary. 

How We Got Here 

The idea began innocently enough. Some board members floated the notion of a nice retirement gift for Harvey, who, by all accounts, has had a long and successful run as the fair manager.  

But it quickly spiraled. Pressed by a board member to choose a gift, Harvey identified an Audemars Piguet Code 11.59, a high-end timepiece more likely seen on Wall Street than at a county fair. At one point, a $42,000 Rolex was even under discussion. 

To defray the cost, a vendor pledged $10,000. The rest — about $25,000 — will come directly from fair funds. 

The Dissenters 

Not everyone was willing to sign on. In his resignation letter immediately after the meeting, board secretary Steve Hurm cited Florida Statute 616.07(2), which makes clear that fair association property is public property to be held in trust for the “legitimate purpose of the association.” He argued that spending tens of thousands on a luxury watch flouted that responsibility. 

Board president Rachel Pienta echoed the concerns in her resignation email, warning she could not defend the board’s action. Their point was straightforward: nonprofits benefiting from public assets cannot treat themselves like private clubs or corporations. Also submitting resignations: board members Ashley Edwards and David Gardner. 

How the Vote Went Down 

If the substance was troubling, the process was worse. After a June meeting lost its quorum, the board initially conducted an email “survey” vote, even though one board member had warned that such votes are improper and have no standing under Robert’s Rules.  

That vote was deemed invalid and at the board’s specially called July 7 meeting, the $25,0000 expenditure was approved by a 5-4 vote. 

The Optics 

The fairgrounds sit in a neighborhood where the median household income is around $25,000 — less than the cost of this watch. The board’s decision effectively told those families: we think a departing executive’s wrist deserves more than what you live on for a year. 

This is, at best, colossally bad judgment.  

The new fair manager, Miranda Muir, denied a Red Tape Florida public records request stating that the association is “not subject to the State of Florida Sunshine Laws.” Hurm, an attorney, disagrees. He warned the board in a May 7 email that “this is not something we can discuss or vote on without violating the Sunshine law.” 

Red Tape Florida was able to obtain the documents despite Muir’s stonewalling. 

Why It Matters — and the RTF Connection 

The North Florida Fair Association is not a private outfit. It is a nonprofit that exists because of public trust, tax-exempt status, and free use of Leon County land, including taxpayer-funded improvements. To wit, it has recently been in the news because more than $30 million of taxpayer dollars have been allocated via Blueprint 2020 to improve the fairgrounds’ facilities. 

With these public dollars come an obligation to act as stewards, not spendthrifts. 

Instead, the board demonstrated the classic symptoms of bureaucracy-creep that Red Tape Florida was built to expose. Quasi-public bodies, cushioned by tax breaks and government assets, start operating as if the rules don’t apply to them. Transparency slips, accountability erodes, and insiders reward themselves at the public’s expense. 

The fair itself remains a cherished community institution. But its board just sent a message that stewardship takes a back seat to self-indulgence. We salute the board members who resigned in protest – this action was indefensible and wrong. 

A watch may tell time, but this one tells a deeper story — of poor judgment, of blurred lines between public and private, and of how easily trust can be squandered. Unless new board leadership steps in, the North Florida Fair Association may find that credibility, once lost, is far harder to buy back than any luxury timepiece. 

Part 2 in a series

A research facility doesn’t create economic value by itself. It needs an ecosystem — private-sector firms, infrastructure, and capital — to translate science into jobs. Tallahassee has failed to build that. 

The reasons are structural:  

• Limited commercialization pipeline. 
  Florida State University has not established a robust tech-transfer process to consistently spin out companies from MagLab research. In fiscal year 2023, FSU generated just $251,000 in licensing and royalty revenue, a modest figure compared to top-performing research universities.

• Lack of a corporate cluster. 
  Unlike national labs such as Oak Ridge and Los Alamos, the MagLab is not surrounded by a dense network of R&D firms or advanced manufacturers. Even within Innovation Park, there is little evidence of a thriving private-sector ecosystem linked to the lab’s research. 

• Inadequate infrastructure. 
  Tallahassee’s electric grid, industrial land supply, and air travel connectivity are frequently cited by site selectors and business leaders as barriers to growth. The MagLab itself accounts for 7–8% of the city’s total electricity use — and reports suggest it has been asked to reduce load during capacity constraints. 

• No targeted incentives. 
  Unlike Oak Ridge, TN — where city and county officials have deployed tailored incentive packages to attract lab-adjacent companies — Tallahassee and Leon County have no specific economic development tools tied to the MagLab’s potential spinoffs or commercialization opportunities. 

• Insufficient marketing. 
  There is no dedicated marketing campaign to promote the MagLab to corporate site selectors, research parks, or innovation investors. Though the MagLab is featured in some general OEV (Office of Economic Vitality) materials, there is no sustained marketing outreach effort positioning it as a business development asset. 

• Community culture unfriendly to business 
  Tallahassee’s reputation precedes – it is widely known in business circles that the city is not easy to work with when it comes to permitting and economic development. OEV’s clunky structure prevents even talented leaders from succeeding.  

Despite the reality on the ground, FSU often touts the MagLab’s economic development impact on the community. But things aren’t as rosy as the picture that is painted.  
 

Economic ‘impact’ 

At first glance, the economic impact figures associated with the MagLab sound impressive. Florida State University and its supporters often cite large numbers — including a $325 million annual statewide impact. But these estimates rely heavily on internal modeling, and a closer look at the components raises questions about what kind of impact is really being measured. 

Let’s break it down. 

1. Who created the impact estimates? 

The most commonly cited impact numbers trace back to FSU-affiliated analysts (CEFA) and FSU publications, not an independent third party — e.g., $325M statewide (FSU BOT materials) and $221M Tallahassee / $325M Florida (MagLab “Economic Impact” PDF sourced to CEFA 2019). To date, there is no publicly available economic impact report on the MagLab conducted by an unaffiliated national consulting firm or neutral economic research organization. 

2. What’s actually included in the “impact”? 

The $325 million impact figure includes: 

• Salaries and benefits paid to lab and university staff; 

• Federal and state funding allocated to the lab; 

• Construction, equipment, and operational spending; 

• Indirect and induced effects estimated from lab visitors, vendor spending, and employee consumption. 

These are typical components of input-output modeling — they reflect the flow of public funds through the regional economy. In other words, much of the “impact” represents economic activity, not necessarily private-sector growth or wealth creation. There is little in the estimate to suggest substantial returns in the form of new tax revenue, private investment, business formation or job creation. 

Unfortunately, these numbers are usually lapped up or parroted by business advocates and the media. 

3. What’s missing from the equation? 

In economic development terms, the presence of a high-profile research facility like the MagLab would ideally spark spinoff companies, attract venture capital, support industry partnerships, and expand the local tax base. However, publicly available reports and presentations from the MagLab do not document a pattern of commercialization successes, private-sector relocations, or large-scale job creation beyond the lab itself. 

One exception is Danfoss Turbocor, a private manufacturer that has cited the MagLab as a factor in its decision to grow in Tallahassee — a point noted in an FSU Board of Trustees presentation.  

4. How does MagLab compare to national peers? 

Consider Oak Ridge National Laboratory (ORNL) in Tennessee, which has built a significant economic ecosystem around federal research. DOE’s Oak Ridge Reservation — which includes ORNL — generated $7.2 billion in economic impact and supported ~43,000 jobs in Tennessee in FY2020 (ETEC/Baker Center study). ORNL’s role is amplified by robust technology transfer and manufacturing partnerships. 

Now, again, to be fair, ultra-high field magnets (the Mag Lab’s primary focus) have limited manufacturing purpose right now. But that didn’t stop Danfoss from seeing the potential of an ecosystem forming and of the proximity to research. 

Even accounting for scale differences, the gap in economic reach and private-sector spillover is substantial. Despite being a world-class scientific asset, the MagLab has not yet catalyzed a broader innovation or manufacturing cluster in Tallahassee. 

Bottom line 

The MagLab’s economic impact claims are based on modeling of public spending and its local ripple effects — not on independent analysis of long-term economic transformation. While the lab clearly delivers scientific value and supports high-wage public-sector employment, the evidence for substantial private-sector growth around it is limited. An independent economic assessment could help clarify the lab’s true role in regional development — and what might be done to enhance it. 

Coming next: What could have been and could still be 

Introduction 

In the early 1990s, Tallahassee won what looked like a jackpot: the National High Magnetic Field Laboratory. With more than a billion dollars in federal investment, a dedication ceremony featuring Vice President Al Gore, and Gov. Bob Graham hailing it as a “lynchpin of economic development,” the MagLab was sold as Tallahassee’s ticket to a high-tech future. 

The promise was classic government pitch: build a world-class research facility and the private sector will follow. Startups will sprout, high-wage jobs will cluster, and a sleepy capital city will become a science and innovation hub. 

Three decades later, the private-sector return can be counted on one finger. Aside from oft-cited Danfoss Turbocor, there’s no visible cluster of spinoffs or manufacturing base tied to MagLab expertise. The only impact figures in circulation are FSU-affiliated: an earlier CEFA study estimated about $90 million a year in economic output for the Tallahassee MSA; newer FSU/CEFA materials scale that to ~$221 million in Tallahassee and ~$325 million statewide, numbers subsequently echoed in Board of Trustees decks and congressional letters. These are input-output accounting results built largely on university payroll and procurement, not independent evidence of new enterprise formation. 

This disconnect between the hype and the reality is exactly why Red Tape Florida exists. Too often, bureaucrats and institutions oversell projects, pocket the accolades, and move on — while taxpayers and communities are left wondering where the promised growth went. If the MagLab had landed in Austin, Raleigh, or Nashville, would it have been wasted potential or a genuine catalyst? Tallahassee’s record speaks for itself. 

The MagLab is an incredible scientific asset. And there are hopeful signs, including strong research performance and the return in 2026 of an important magnetics conference to Tallahassee. 

But as an economic engine, it’s a cautionary tale of bureaucratic inefficiency and missed opportunity. Over the next several installments, Red Tape Florida will dig into how this happened, what lessons can be learned, and what it will take to finally turn an expensive, underperforming government project into the spark of private-sector growth it was supposed to be. 

Part 1: Los Alamos vs. Tallahassee — A Tale of Two Lab Towns 

To understand what’s missing in Tallahassee, consider Los Alamos, New Mexico — home to another National Science Foundation-supported lab: Los Alamos National Laboratory (LANL). The contrast is striking. 

LANL has been a magnet for defense tech firms, manufacturing contractors, and federally funded spinoffs. More than 600 companies are part of the regional contractor network. The lab directly or indirectly supports over 25,000 jobs in the state — many in the private sector. 

Meanwhile in Tallahassee, the MagLab supports fewer than 500 jobs — most of them public university employees. There is no comparable cluster of firms, no surge of startups, no downstream manufacturing ecosystem. 

Why the difference? 

First, to be fair, Los Alamos and Tallahassee are not perfect analogs. LANL is a massive national security lab with a multibillion-dollar budget and a mission tied directly to federal defense contracting. The MagLab is smaller, academically focused, and funded by the National Science Foundation.  

But that doesn’t excuse the failure to build any real ecosystem around a world-class research facility. Other communities have done far more with less. 

Take for example the Sandia Science & Technology Park in Albuquerque  — 44 companies/organizations, 2,018 on-site employees (July 2025), nearly $500M cumulative public+private investment and 25-year impacts include $7.7B in wages and 6,500+ jobs tied to park companies 

LANL’s operator, Triad National Security LLC, actively recruits corporate partnerships and administers grants to private companies. In contrast, the MagLab is operated by a public university and has focused primarily on academic research — not economic development. The new regime in Wescott has promised more results in this area. So far, evidence is hard to find. 

In Los Alamos, the lab is an anchor for a private-sector ecosystem. In Tallahassee, it’s a silo. 

Basically, it boils down to leadership and collaboration.  

Coming next: The missing middle – why Tallahassee’s ecosystem never formed. 

In Manatee County, growth has become a political football. Local voters recently elected commissioners promising to “rein in sprawl” — and those new leaders quickly moved to cap development, raise impact fees, and restore regulatory barriers. That sparked a backlash from Tallahassee, where the DeSantis administration ordered a sweeping audit and reminded Manatee that state law, including Senate Bill 180, protects the right to reasonable, consistent growth rules. 

Some in the media are portraying this as a story of greedy developers clashing with grassroots reformers. That narrative is simplistic, wrong — and damaging. Developers are not the villains. They are the people building the very homes Florida desperately needs in the middle of an affordability crisis. Pretending otherwise lets politicians score points while families struggle to pay rent and can’t find a starter home. 

The real enemy is red tape. Every time a county drags out approvals, changes the rules midstream, or piles on new fees, the cost of housing goes up. A six-month permitting delay adds about $12,000 to the cost of an average home. A new round of fees adds another $5,000. Sudden rule changes tack on $8,000 more. That’s $25,000 per home — enough to price countless working families out of the market. 

This is why SB 180 matters. The law was designed to stop local governments from using moratoriums and procedural tricks to shut down growth. It doesn’t mean development is a free-for-all — projects still have to meet rigorous environmental, safety, and infrastructure standards. What it means is that the rules are consistent, predictable, and fair. That predictability is essential if we’re serious about delivering affordable housing. 

Every time a politician calls developers “greedy,” or a commission celebrates blocking growth, the practical result is fewer homes and higher prices. Builders won’t stick around in places where the rules change every week — they’ll move on to counties that welcome investment. The losers aren’t the developers. The losers are families who want to buy their first home, seniors looking to downsize, and renters watching their monthly bills spiral upward. 

The Manatee dispute isn’t just about one county. It’s a test case for Florida’s future. Will we choose red tape and rhetoric, or will we embrace a strategy that balances oversight with opportunity and actually makes housing attainable? 

Florida doesn’t need scapegoats. It needs more homes, more infrastructure, and more leaders willing to work with — not against — the private sector that builds them. Until we stop demonizing development and start connecting the dots between regulation and affordability, the housing crisis will only get worse. 

Whenever government officials talk about tax cuts, there’s a familiar refrain: “It’s only a dollar per person.” That’s how some Jacksonville leaders are framing the proposed $13 million property tax cut — as if saving a buck a month for the average homeowner is inconsequential. 

This is insulting. It ignores the reality of how taxes and fees actually weigh on families. For taxpayers, it’s never just a dollar. It’s dollars layered on dollars, fee stacked on fee, until the cumulative burden becomes very real. 

Consider just a few examples for the typical Jacksonville household: 

• Property taxes: The average homeowner’s bill has risen by nearly $900 over the past five years, as higher valuations outpaced the city’s small rate reductions. That’s $15–20 more every month — not “symbolic,” but a real chunk of a mortgage check. 

• Sales tax: At 7.5 percent in Duval County, families pay thousands every year. A household spending $35,000 annually on taxable goods and services hands over about $2,600 in sales tax — more than a month’s rent for many. 

• Utilities and stormwater fees: JEA bills routinely top $250 a month. Built into that are “modest” charges like stormwater fees, franchise fees, and surcharges that tack on $20–30 each cycle. Multiply that by 12 months, and it’s another $300+ a year. 

• Licenses and local fees: Car tags, building permits, garbage fees, school activity fees — they’re always pitched as small, one-off charges. But for a family of four, these routine costs often add another $500–600 annually. 

That’s already more than $4,000 a year in taxes and fees — and that’s before factoring in state gas taxes, federal payroll taxes, or the next “it’s only a dollar” idea from City Hall. 

Now, look again at that $13 million property tax cut. Spread across Jacksonville’s 950,000 residents, it might sound like “just a dollar.” But for a family of four, that’s closer to $50 a year. For 50,000 families, that’s $2.5 million staying in household budgets. For the entire city, it’s $13 million less government takes and $13 million more left with the people who earned it. 

That’s not trivial. That’s groceries, gas, utilities, medicine, school supplies — real things for real people. 

City Hall sees budgets in billions. Taxpayers live in reality, where margins are tight and every symbol matters. What officials dismiss as insignificant is precisely the point: if government truly respected the people it serves, it would stop minimizing their dollars. 

Because here’s the truth: all those “small” dollars taken by government over decades have piled up into big burdens. When leaders finally give even a few of those dollars back, the last thing taxpayers want to hear is that it doesn’t matter. 

It’s not “just a dollar.” It’s proof that taxpayers come first. 

Plantation Mayor Nick Sortal is promoting what he calls the city’s first property tax cut in seven years — a slight drop in the millage rate from 5.8 to 5.7, projected to be the lowest since 2014. On its face, that’s progress: any reduction in the tax rate is better than none. As Sortal puts it, “affordability is a significant challenge” and the city can “maintain the high quality of services” while collecting slightly less revenue.  

There is only one problem with this tax cut: It’s not a tax cut. 

This a rate cut, not a real cut. Because Plantation’s property values are rising, lowering the millage doesn’t necessarily translate to lower bills for homeowners. In many cases, residents will see their tax obligations stay steady — or even climb. 

Millage Rate ≠ Real Tax Relief 

To see why, let’s break down how Florida property taxes are calculated. Your taxable value is your home’s assessed value (often capped annually under “Save Our Homes”), minus any exemptions like homestead. That value is then divided by 1,000 and multiplied by the millage rate.  

Example: 

• Assessed (taxable) value: $200,000 

• Millage: 5.8 → 200 × 5.8 = $1,160 annual tax 

• New Millage: 5.7 → 200 × 5.7 = $1,140 annual tax 

Seems like $20 saved. Nice. But if the assessed value increases — say it climbs to $210,000 due to market trends — even at 5.7 mills, your tax bill rises to $1,197. That’s a net increase of $37, despite the rate cut.  

Real Relief Means Real Cuts 

Plantation’s seemingly heroic rate reduction is mostly symbolic as long as rising property values outpace that cut. What residents truly need is a deep enough rate slash to counteract value gains — one that actually lowers their annual bill, not just the rate technically. 

Imagine if Sortal had dropped the millage to, say, 5.0 mills. In our example: 

• 5.0 × 210 = $1,050 tax — that’s real savings and a signal that affordability matters. 

Instead, lowering from 5.8 to 5.7 feels like rearranging lounge chairs on the Titanic. 

Context Matters — But So Do Outcomes 

Our homes are our biggest investments, and for many Plantation residents, even modest tax hikes can pressure budgets. Florida, on average, has seen property tax bills surge — as much as 35% in five years — far outpacing inflation.  

So, while cutting the mill rate is technically better than holding firm, real affordability requires a rate cut substantial enough to offset increasing home values — a Mount Rushmore–level boldness, not a cameo appearance. 

Bottom line: Plantation’s “tax cut” is more symbolic than substantive. Residents need actual tax relief, not just rate maintenance. If the council is serious about affordability, they should be checking the arithmetic, not just the optics. 

If there’s one truth that emerged from our four-part interview with housing expert Dr. Sam Staley, it’s this: Florida doesn’t have a housing demand problem — it has a housing supply problem. And the reason we’re not building enough homes isn’t economics or interest rates or evil developers. It’s the result of deliberate choices made by local governments — and by the residents who pressure them.

This disconnect lies at the heart of our housing crisis. So many people — especially here in Tallahassee — claim to care deeply about affordable housing. They campaign on it. They organize around it. They pray over it.

But when someone proposes a new apartment complex or a cluster of townhomes or a modest liberalization of residential planning regulations, the tone changes. Traffic. Neighborhood character. Drainage. Trees. Suddenly, that same passion for housing gets buried under a long list of reasons why this development, in this location, is unacceptable.

That position isn’t just contradictory — it’s harmful. You cannot say you want affordable housing and then work to block the very development that creates it. Those two beliefs are incompatible.

And it defies basic laws of economics.

At last weekend’s Greater Tallahassee Chamber conference, economist Ron Hetrick shared a sobering statistic: since 201, Tallahassee’s median home prices jumped 52 percent, to $377,000. Does anybody really think that increase isn’t connected to the city’s burdensome regulations and rabid anti-growth activism?

Opposing virtually all growth is also morally repugnant. Anti-growth advocacy leads directly to homelessness. To poverty. Simultaneously opposing growth and advocating for affordable housing is like banning umbrellas and then protesting about how wet people are.

As Staley reminded us, the data is crystal clear: Housing becomes unaffordable when supply fails to meet demand. And supply fails when cities slow-walk projects, impose overly restrictive zoning, or let NIMBY pressure grind everything to a halt. The result? Fewer places for teachers to live. Longer commutes for hospital techs. Rising rents for everyone else.

It’s time we started telling the truth about what NIMBYism costs. It is not a morally neutral stance. Every blocked project is a family that didn’t find housing. Every delayed permit is a young worker who left town. If you want to oppose development, fine — own the consequences. Don’t hide behind buzzwords like “neighborhood character” or “smart growth” while the housing shortage worsens.

Groups like the Capital Area Justice Ministry have done admirable work in drawing attention to the housing crisis. But it’s not enough to demand only public sector solutions to the problem. That movement — and others like it — must evolve to support the actual steps needed to make housing more abundant. That means higher density. That means faster permitting. That means building near existing neighborhoods.

And our local leaders — including those at the Tallahassee Chamber — need to lead with courage, not caution. For too long, public officials have deferred to the loudest voices in the room, which often represent the narrowest slice of the community. It’s time they represented everyone, including those who haven’t yet arrived — the workers, students, and families who want to live here but can’t afford to.

By the way, this is a special opportunity for progressives to show some leadership – if you want to truly show you care about the “least of these” you should be leading the charge on eliminating red tape and not letting anti-growth forces run roughshod over local policy.

Growth isn’t guaranteed in Tallahassee — and lately, it’s been in short supply. The real question is whether we want to keep turning on the red light or finally roll out the red carpet for those who would build a better future here. Dr. Staley gave us the facts. Now it’s our turn to act.

Part 4: Why Reforming Permitting Is Essential — and So Hard 

In Part 1, Dr. Sam Staley explained how Florida’s housing crisis stems from an undersupply of homes. Part 2 explored how local regulatory systems choke off new development. And in Part 3, we looked at the limits of state intervention. In this final installment, we drill into one of the most fixable — and frustrating — parts of the puzzle: the broken permitting process. 

Skip Foster (RTF): Sam, a lot of your critique focuses on the permitting process. What exactly is wrong with it? 

Sam Staley: It’s slow, opaque, and often unpredictable. Developers will tell you it’s not even that they mind following rules — they just want to know what the rules are and how long it’s going to take. But in many cities, permitting timelines are open-ended. Reviews get bounced between departments. One small objection can reset the whole process. And that creates uncertainty, which increases costs. 

RTF: Why is it so hard to fix? 

Staley: Because permitting is seen as a bureaucratic function — not a core piece of economic development. Cities don’t invest in making it better. Staff are underpaid, undertrained, and overwhelmed. And there’s no real political incentive to change, because the people who suffer most are future residents — people who haven’t shown up yet to vote. 

RTF: Is there low-hanging fruit here? 

Staley: Absolutely. Digitizing the process is one. Setting performance metrics — like time-to-permit or approval ratios — is another. Just treating permitting like a service rather than a gatekeeping function would make a huge difference. It wouldn’t solve everything, but it would help a lot. 

RTF: Are there examples of this being done well? 

Staley: Some cities have experimented with “permit streamlining” or concierge-style services for major projects. Others outsource part of the review process to third-party professionals. These aren’t silver bullets, but they show what’s possible when you take the issue seriously. 

RTF: Any final thoughts on how we get out of this? 

Staley: If we want to fix housing, we have to fix the process. That means educating the public, reforming local practices, and treating housing supply like the infrastructure issue it is. Until we do that, we’re going to keep falling short. 

RTF: You’ve talked a lot about zoning and permitting. But what role do local comprehensive plans play in the housing crisis? 

Staley: A major one — and it’s often overlooked. Every local government in Florida is required by law to include a housing element in their comprehensive plan. But in practice, it’s routinely ignored or subordinated to other priorities like parks, commercial development, or downtown revitalization. Cities may have 10 or 12 different elements, but housing — arguably the most urgent — is rarely the top priority. That needs to change. 

RTF: What should be done to elevate the housing element and make it more effective? 

Staley: I think the state can and should play a stronger role here. Local governments should be required not just to include a housing element, but to prioritize it. At a minimum, comp plans should include measurable targets to ensure housing supply keeps pace with population growth. And if population or job growth exceeds projections, the default should be to allow more housing — not less. There needs to be a presumption toward accommodating growth, not resisting it. 

Last night, Tallahassee International Airport pulled off the rare double-play of shutting down both of its runways — and its communications channels. One runway was already closed for construction. The other was blocked by a disabled aircraft that the airport apparently couldn’t move because they didn’t have the right equipment. The result: inbound flights were told midair to turn around and head elsewhere. 

One Dallas–Tallahassee flight got within minutes of landing before being sent all the way back to Texas, where passengers landed at 11:15 p.m. Eastern. From there, they were told to “sit tight” while the airline figured out whether to put them up overnight or send them back to Tally on another plane. 

You might think an airport with 58 full-time employees and a $19 million budget would be able to tell the public what was going on. You would be wrong. TLH’s social media feeds were a graveyard — the airport’s X (Twitter) page hasn’t posted since May, and not a single real-time update appeared last night. The only official, public-facing acknowledgment of the problem came from the FAA’s status page, which blandly reported a “disabled aircraft on the runway” with an end time around 10:30 p.m. Eastern. 

It’s not like the airport shouldn’t be able to handle communications with that budget, but even if they can’t, we respectfully point out that the City of Tallahassee Communications department has 9 staffers and a budget of almost $1.5 million. Surely between the 67 staffers in those two departments there is somebody who can alert travelers about a major disruption.  

If this were a one-off, maybe it’s just bad luck. But Red Tape Florida has reported before on operational gaps that go beyond the occasional mishap. In March, flight delays left planes sitting on the tarmac. One passenger said the pilot announced that: “Their one maintenance contractor lives 45 min east of town and has to drive in whenever there’s sign off needed.”  

Tuesday night’s silence is especially baffling given that TLH is in the middle of a major airfield rehab project — including work on Taxiway B approved this spring — which already reduces runway capacity. When you’ve only got one usable runway, you’d think “publicly explain when it’s closed” would be at the top of the to-do list. Apparently not. 

This isn’t about whether an airport can prevent a mechanical issue — it can’t, and no one expects it to. It’s about whether they can grab their phone, type “Runway closed due to disabled aircraft, expect diversions” and hit “post” before hundreds of passengers find out the hard way from a pilot in a holding pattern – not to mention friends and family waiting on the ground. 

If Tallahassee International wants to be taken seriously as a growing regional hub, it might start by proving it can communicate during the most basic of operational hiccups. Last night, runways for airplanes — and runways for communications — were all closed. 

Part 3: What State Law Can — and Can’t — Do to Solve the Housing Crisis 

In Part 1, Dr. Sam Staley explained why Florida’s housing affordability problem is a supply issue — not a demand one. In Part 2, he highlighted how local governments often serve as the biggest bottleneck to building new housing. In this installment, we turn to what role state policy can — and can’t — play in breaking the logjam. 

Skip Foster (RTF): Sam, what about the role of state government – can it override some of the problems we’re seeing at the local level? 

Sam Staley: They can, and I think they’ve started to move in that direction. The Live Local Act is a good example of a strong attempt by the state to preempt some of the barriers local governments put in place. It encourages higher density and overrides certain local zoning restrictions for affordable housing projects. 

RTF: Does it go far enough? 

Staley: It’s a start. But at the end of the day, most land use decisions are made locally. So unless you want the state to take over completely — which I don’t think is the right answer — you have to find ways to make local governments more responsive. 

RTF: What could that look like? 

Staley: Transparency in the permitting process would help. Timelines for decisions. Better data reporting. Right now, it’s very difficult to even compare one jurisdiction to another, or to figure out where the hangups are. If cities had to publish their permitting timelines or denial rates, I think you’d see a lot more pressure to perform. 

RTF: Is there an argument that the state should simply force the issue? 

Staley: In some cases, yes. When a city is actively obstructing growth or using zoning to exclude certain types of housing, preemption may be the only answer. But that’s a blunt instrument, and it can create its own problems. Ideally, you want to see local governments solving these issues themselves, with the state acting as a backstop. 

RTF: Are other states doing this better? 

Staley: Yes. Places like Arizona and Texas have more pro-growth policies built into their planning and zoning codes. Florida is playing catch-up, even though our population growth is stronger. We’ve got the demand — we just need to align the governance to support it. 

RTF: Is there a risk Florida ends up like some of the high-cost states we always hear about? 

Staley: Yes — and we’re already seeing the signs. California, Oregon, Massachusetts — they all made it incredibly difficult to build. They layered on local regulations, bowed to NIMBY pressure, and drove up costs until only the wealthy could afford to live there. Florida is not immune. We’re seeing the same patterns: growing cities resisting density, permitting systems slowing things down, political pushback to infill development. If we don’t change course, we’ll be facing the same kind of affordability crisis — maybe worse. 

Coming in Part 4: If you think excessive permitting delays hurt developers you are wrong – it hurt working-class prospective homebuyers much more. 

Part 2: Local Government — The Hidden Bottleneck in Florida’s Housing Crisis 

In Part 1, Dr. Sam Staley of Florida State University’s DeVoe Moore Center laid out the fundamental problem behind Florida’s housing affordability crisis: a failure to meet demand with adequate supply. In this installment, we turn our attention to the local policies and processes that are preventing solutions from taking root. 

Skip Foster (RTF): Sam, in the first part of our conversation, you pointed to local governments — zoning, permitting, planning — as major barriers to housing development. Can you talk more about that? 

Sam Staley: Well, it really is at the local level where the bottlenecks occur. The permitting process, the zoning approvals, the comprehensive plans — all of that stuff is done at the local level. And what we’re seeing is that the political will to allow growth, particularly in already developed areas, just isn’t there. 

RTF: You’ve touched on permitting delays, but can you explain how that actually affects the price of housing? 

Staley: Absolutely. Time is money in development. Every month a builder waits for approval, they’re still paying interest on the land loan, carrying financing costs, sometimes redesigning to meet shifting requirements. That delay doesn’t just eat into margins — it gets baked into the final price. And that price is passed on to buyers or renters. So when cities drag their feet on approvals, it’s not just frustrating — it directly contributes to higher housing costs and less supply. 

RTF: Why is that? 

Staley: You know, the phrase is NIMBY — “not in my backyard.” The minute someone proposes an apartment complex or even townhomes, the neighbors show up at the meeting and say it’s going to ruin the character of the neighborhood or cause traffic problems. So elected officials hear that, and they get nervous. And a lot of projects just die. 

RTF: Is this a new phenomenon? 

Staley: No, it’s been building for decades. But the mismatch between demand and supply is now so extreme that the consequences are becoming more visible. It’s not just poor people who can’t find housing. It’s middle-income families. It’s young professionals. It’s teachers and firefighters. And we still see this reflexive resistance to development. 

RTF: What does that mean in practice? 

Staley: It means a lot of developers won’t even try. They know they’re going to get fought every step of the way. So they look elsewhere. And that means less housing, which drives up the price of what already exists. 

RTF: Are there any examples of cities getting this right? 

Staley: Some cities are trying. I think Miami is starting to move in that direction — more density, more flexibility. Orlando too, in some areas. But for the most part, cities still use land use planning as a gatekeeping function, not a growth management tool. And that’s a huge part of the problem. 

Coming in Part 3:  Could Florida actually become the California of building regulations? 

Part 1: Why Housing Costs Keep Rising in Florida — and Why Supply is the Key 

Florida’s housing crisis isn’t just about sky-high prices or families getting priced out of their hometowns. According to Florida State University’s Dr. Sam Staley, it’s about something far more fundamental: a system that simply won’t let the market work. 

Staley, director of the DeVoe Moore Center and one of the state’s most respected voices on housing policy, says the real culprit behind Florida’s housing affordability woes isn’t demand — it’s supply. And what’s blocking that supply? Local governments, outdated zoning laws, and a political class that talks a good game about affordability but won’t approve the density or development needed to deliver it. 

Ironically, Staley says it is leading bright red Florida down a path similar to ones in California, Massachusetts and other states plagued by costly regulation and an affordable housing crisis. 

In this first installment of a multi-part Red Tape Florida Q&A, Staley breaks down why housing costs keep rising — and why, until cities, counties and the state get serious about reducing regulatory barriers, things aren’t likely to get better. 

Skip Foster (RTF): Sam, let’s start with the question everyone is asking: Why is housing so expensive in Florida? 

Sam Staley: I mean, we have a supply problem. It’s not demand-driven. It’s regulatory-driven, zoning-driven. It’s planning-driven. It’s process-driven. And we’re simply not building enough units to meet the demand. So, what happens is that the people that are in the housing have it. The people that don’t get left out. And the people that get left out are the ones at the bottom end of the market. 

RTF: So it’s not so much that prices are being driven up artificially? 

Staley: The price goes up because of the shortage of supply. The data is there. In fact, there are some economists that have gone through and have documented this pretty clearly. The cost of housing has increased significantly above inflation in urban markets that are growth-constrained. And it hasn’t in areas where housing markets are allowed to operate. 

RTF: Are there unique elements to Florida’s housing landscape that make this worse? 

Staley: Well, you know, the pandemic migration was massive. People fled high-tax, high-regulation states. They were looking for freedom. They were looking for lower costs of living, and they wanted the amenities. So people came down here. They bought. But now we’re dealing with the consequences of that, which is enormous demand. 

RTF: And the problem is our systems can’t keep up? 

Staley: Yeah. The permitting process takes too long. The zoning process is uncertain. Cities talk a lot about affordability and inclusive growth, but then they oppose projects or delay them for years. If you want affordable housing, you have to allow the supply to respond. You can’t be against growth and for affordability at the same time. 

Coming next in Part 2: Those who delay housing projects are accessories in the affordable housing crisis. 

Note: Lake County has seen aggressive anti-growth forces kill new development and object to others as county meetings have becoming increasingly contentious. This piece by Amanda Wettstein previously appeared in the Lake County Triangle Sun

Something is happening in Lake County. And if you’ve been paying attention, you know it’s not just politics as usual.

A small but noisy group has hijacked our public discourse. They attack, bully, and grandstand. They twist facts and turn every meeting into a battlefield. They claim to speak for “the people,” but they’ve broken faith with basic decency, honest governance, and the rule of law.

And now, they’re trying to punish leaders who won’t play along.

Let me be clear: this is no longer about a single party or a single meeting. This is about the soul of local governance. It’s about whether Lake County will be led by rational, responsible public servants or ruled by chaos agents who thrive on division and drama.

I’ve spent my career working in public relations and civic engagement. I’ve sat at tables with elected officials, business leaders, and everyday citizens who care deeply about this place. And I’m telling you right now: what’s unfolding in Lake County is not normal. And it’s not okay.

We are watching the collapse of basic standards.

We’re watching bullies target Republican leaders, not because they betrayed their party, but because they didn’t bow to a fringe. We’re watching people with no plan for governance tear down the people who do.

And we’re watching good people stay quiet.

Here’s the thing: silence is no longer an option. Not for me, and not for anyone who values truth, transparency, and public trust. We cannot allow a handful of loud voices to dominate the future of this county; not in our party, not in our government, not in our neighborhoods.

So I’m asking: where are the rest of us?

Where are the common sense conservatives, the independents, the business leaders, the parents, the pastors, the neighbors who want leaders to focus on roads and schools and safety and not performative outrage?

It’s time to speak up.

Lake County needs a reset. We need to reassert our expectations, both for elected officials, and for the kind of discourse we allow in public life. We need to stop rewarding the loudest liar in the room. We need to stop mistaking chaos for courage.

Most of all, we need to protect the right of our community to be governed by reason and  not by rage.

There are good people serving this county. There are Republicans, Democrats, and nonpartisan officials trying every day to do the right thing. But they cannot do it alone. They need backup. They need all of us, the exhausted majority, to reclaim the air.

Because Lake County is worth fighting for. And we deserve better than this.

Amanda Wettstein is a public and government relations consultant based in Umatilla.

A recent concept paper developed by Tallahassee State College and regional partners raises a vital question for those focused on growth in North Florida: Is the region’s energy infrastructure keeping pace with its economic ambitions? 

The document, titled North Florida Energy Futures and authored by Kyndra Light, Corporate Solutions Manager for Tallahassee State College, outlines a range of opportunities tied to manufacturing, logistics, and clean technology — but it also flags a significant limitation. Uncertainty around the availability and scalability of energy infrastructure, especially electricity, has already impacted the region’s ability to attract investment. 

In fact, the paper confirms that some prospective economic development projects have been lost as a result. 

In fact, just this week, power was cutoff and research suspended for an hour at the FSU National High Magnetic Laboratory because of peak power use during the recent heatwave. The MagLab uses as much as 8 percent of the city’s power. 

READ THE FULL DOCUMENT HERE

This isn’t alarmism. The report frames the issue as a solvable challenge, but one that requires immediate coordination. It calls for the development of a Regional Energy Readiness Plan that brings together utilities, local governments, workforce partners, and economic development agencies. The goal: to assess current capacity, streamline planning, and identify where gaps may prevent future growth. 

The report also hints at fragmentation. North Florida is served by a mix of municipal utilities, investor-owned providers, and electric cooperatives. Each has its own service territory and planning process. Without a shared understanding of regional energy availability, even the best-located sites may fail to meet the needs of modern industry. 

For regions competing to land high-wage, high-skill jobs, energy availability is no longer a behind-the-scenes consideration. It’s a deal-breaker. Whether the focus is electric vehicle supply chains, advanced manufacturing, or data-driven logistics, companies need to know they can power their operations on day one — and scale that power over time. 

The concept paper doesn’t point fingers. It offers a pragmatic roadmap for future coordination. But it does carry an implicit challenge to those in leadership: growth planning must account for energy planning. Without it, job creation strategies risk running into invisible walls. 

For economic developers, planners, and public officials, North Florida Energy Futures is worth careful review. It’s a reminder that in the race to attract business investment, infrastructure still matters — and energy is at the heart of it. 

In Palm Coast, the only thing growing faster than rooftops might be the dysfunction inside City Hall. 

Just months after Mayor Mike Norris pushed — unsuccessfully — for a sweeping development moratorium, he now finds himself censured by his own City Council. The charge? Overstepping his authority, creating a hostile work environment, and interfering with staff operations. The mayor calls it political theater. But for residents and builders, the circus has real-world consequences. 

The Palm Coast moratorium proposal, floated earlier this year, would have frozen most new development in one of Florida’s fastest-growing cities. Citing infrastructure strain and ballooning utility costs, Norris declared the city was on the brink: “We’re going to be broke,” he warned, urging council to slam the brakes on growth. 

But it didn’t land. The council shot it down — twice. And not quietly. Developers showed up in force, warning that even talking about a moratorium sends a chilling message to investors. One builder called it “the most anti-business proposal I’ve seen in a decade.”  

Then, earlier this month, the political dysfunction exploded. The council voted to censure Norris, accusing him of interfering in staff operations and confusing administrative boundaries. What started as a policy disagreement had metastasized into a full-blown leadership crisis. Staff morale took a hit, and several projects reportedly stalled amid uncertainty. 

Meanwhile, red tape on the ground was thickening. In response to complaints from homeowners about flooding caused by newly elevated construction, the city scrambled to rewrite its building codes midstream, creating more confusion for builders and homeowners alike. 

And as if that weren’t enough, the council voted in June to sharply increase impact fees on new construction — raising the cost of doing business in Palm Coast by tens of thousands of dollars per project. The local Home Builders Association warned that the hikes would “price out” new development. One builder said flatly: “If I had known these fees were coming, I would never have started this project.”  

This is the red tape trap in real time: when governance breaks down, rules don’t tighten — they tangle. 

Palm Coast used to market itself as a growth-friendly community with space to expand. Today, it risks becoming a cautionary tale, where elected officials feud in public, rules shift mid-project, and fees climb without warning. 

The city doesn’t need a moratorium. It needs clarity, competence, and a City Hall that doesn’t actively discourage investment. 

When Backstreet Boys member Brian Littrell bought a stretch of beachfront property in Santa Rosa Beach, he likely didn’t expect the Walton County Sheriff’s Office to play the role of absentee landlord. But that’s exactly what’s alleged in a new legal petition filed this month. 

Littrell claims that, despite repeated reports of trespassers crossing onto his deeded beach, sheriff’s deputies refused to intervene — citing vague jurisdictional rules and unclear direction from county leadership. Translation: “Not our problem.” 

This isn’t just a celebrity property dispute. It’s a window into how local red tape — in this case, through inaction rather than overreach — can leave taxpayers holding the bag for services they’re already paying for. 

A Legal No-Man’s Land 

In Florida, the line between public and private beach is supposed to be clear: sand below the mean high-water mark belongs to the public, while sand above it — if deeded — is private. But in practice, that line is invisible. And when county law enforcement refuses to enforce property rights above it, homeowners are left to defend their land themselves. 

That’s exactly what Littrell is now doing. In his petition, he says he’s been forced to pay out of pocket for private security just to keep trespassers off his property — all while still paying taxes that fund the very law enforcement agency declining to act. 

The Walton County Sheriff’s Office declined to comment on the pending legal matter. A public records request by Red Tape Florida turned up no current policy or directive governing beach trespass enforcement. 

The Politics of Non-Enforcement 

This isn’t the first time Walton County has punted on beach-related governance. In 2018, under pressure from the state, the county repealed its customary use ordinance — which had allowed the public to access privately owned beach areas — sparking years of legal and political battles. 

Now, in the vacuum left behind, enforcement appears to be optional. But optional for whom? 

This case reveals the dangers of selective governance: when public officials shy away from enforcing established rules because the issue is politically hot, regular citizens — even famous ones — get left behind. 

The Red Tape at Work 

At Red Tape Florida, we spotlight government dysfunction in all its forms — whether it’s regulatory overload or bureaucratic cowardice. This case is the latter. 

If citizens must pay out-of-pocket to enforce their own legal rights, then we’re no longer just talking about bad governance — we’re talking about a fundamental failure of public duty. 

Walton County doesn’t get to stay silent forever. The taxpayers — and beach owners — deserve a straight answer. 

There’s no more fitting tribute to Red Tape Florida’s recent piece — “The Red Tape Machine Doesn’t Get Its Start in City Hall. It Cranks Up in the Comments.” — than the actual Facebook comments reacting to it. 

You can’t parody this stuff. In the very thread responding to a story about how grassroots outrage creates red tape, commenters lined up to — wait for it — fuel the very outrage machine that begets red tape. It’s a meta-loop of performative fury. 

The story made a pretty simple point: bad public process doesn’t begin in a conference room at City Hall. It starts when political leaders are bombarded with contradictory, emotional demands from people who may or may not have even read the proposals they’re railing against. Leaders over-correct, stall, and then wrap a simple plan in a hundred-page binder to appease the masses. Thus: red tape. 

And then the comment section delivered — with full-volume fury and not a whisper of irony: 

• “This was done behind closed doors.” 
• “They already paid off the commissioners.” 
• “All the politicians are bought.” 
• “Same sh*t, different day. The politicians are all corrupt.” 

Let’s pause here: These comments were made under a post of the actual story that explains what happened — a story that exists for the very purpose of dragging sunlight into the process. And yet, folks still lined up to type angrily that “no one’s talking about this.” 

And by the way, all those comments are maliciously false.  

Irony doesn’t get much more pure than that. 

Let’s be clear: frustration over development, traffic, tree loss, and neighborhood change is valid. But righteous anger loses its edge when it becomes a reflex rather than a reasoned contribution. And when that anger hits Facebook before it hits a planning meeting, what happens is exactly what this thread illustrates — the civic version of shouting at clouds. 

A few of the comments get closer to a real conversation — one asks why all the homes are going up in Northeast Tallahassee while other parts of the city sit idle. Another makes a fair point about lot sizes and tree cover. But instead of thoughtful exchange, they’re buried under accusations of bribery, developer cartels, and some half-baked call for criminal prosecution. 

Here’s the punchline: the very people who are most upset about local government dysfunction are often the ones unknowingly helping to cause it. When we argue from a position of ignorance, delay becomes the fallback. When we expect scandal, officials lawyer up. And when we insist that every pothole hides a conspiracy, we turn real planning into risk management theater. 

So yes — Tallahassee may have a development problem. But it also has a comment section problem, which then becomes a “t-shirt brigade” problem at public meetings, before whom local leaders all too often cower. 

And until we reckon with all that, the red tape machine will keep humming — powered not by bureaucracy, but by the very people shouting at it from their phones. 

Last week, Ghazvini Development posted an aerial photo announcing their newest residential project: the Summerhill development on the northeast side of Tallahassee. The tone was upbeat — “Exciting news!” — and the land was pictured in a sunlit overhead shot, ready for transformation. 

Then came the comments. 

“Why do developers clear-cut all the trees?” 
“So many trees…” 
“Oh, another subdivision, yay…” 

The outrage was fast, emotional, and utterly predictable. 

This is now a standard feature of local development in Tallahassee: post → outrage → assumptions → pressure → process gridlock. And increasingly, this is where red tape is born — not in some back office at Growth Management, but in the comment section of social media. 

Let’s take a closer look at that image. 

To many, it triggered sadness or frustration — a large swath of green space on the cusp of change. But to others familiar with land use and forestry in North Florida, it looked familiar: rows of evenly spaced trees, planted in straight lines, bounded by clean property lines. 

That’s the visual fingerprint of a managed pine farm, not a wild, old-growth forest. No one’s suggesting it wasn’t wooded. But the difference between a functioning timber tract and a natural ecosystem matters — and it’s a distinction lost in a digital environment where “tree = sacred” and “developer = destroyer” is the default. 

It also misses the larger point: this land is zoned for development. This project is legal. And this city is growing. 

According to the Tallahassee Board of Realtors, median home prices have surged nearly 40% in the last five years. Yet construction — especially of starter homes and workforce housing — has failed to keep up. The result? More demand, less supply, higher prices. 

When public outrage triggers more hearings, more delays, and more regulation, it doesn’t protect the environment. It chokes affordability. It drives up the cost of every permit, every foundation, every final inspection. It turns the middle class into renters and the next generation into transplants. 

And here’s the kicker: Tallahassee’s tree canopy is still over 55%, one of the highest in the country. That’s according to the city’s own Urban Forest Master Plan. In fact, many modern developments include mitigation requirements that replace more trees than are removed — just not in the exact place where someone used to jog. 

We’re not saying development is always perfect. Or that criticism is always wrong. But we are saying this: when every new project is treated like a public emergency, the only guaranteed outcome is more red tape. 

That’s bad for builders. But it’s also bad for neighborhoods. Because the more unpredictable the process becomes — the more it’s swayed by online emotion instead of transparent rules — the fewer people want to build here at all. And when they do, they pass the costs on to the very people who can least afford it. 

This isn’t about defending developers. It’s about defending process — so that rules mean something and growth doesn’t become a game of political dodgeball, which often puts commissioners and staff in a very difficult position. 

We can protect trees and build homes. We can plan responsibly without letting the loudest thread on Facebook become city policy. 

Because if we keep letting the Facebook mob write the rules — the same people who cleared forests for the homes they live in — we’ll be left with nothing but pine trees and the broken dreams of the families who want to live in Tallahassee, but can’t. 

Tallahassee’s fire service fee is back in the news — and once again, city leaders are finding new ways to explain something that doesn’t make sense to begin with. 

This time, the controversy is over churches: some are being billed, others aren’t. The rules are murky, the enforcement inconsistent, and the legal fight is already underway. But the real issue isn’t confusion — it’s principle. 

Here’s the bottom line: 
No church should be paying this fee. Not now. Not ever. 

1. The Fire Fee Is a Tax in Disguise — and Churches Are Exempt from Taxes 

Tallahassee can call this a “special assessment” all it wants, but functionally, it’s a mandatory government fee imposed on properties to fund a core public service: fire protection. And Red Tape Florida has already written about questions regarding how the City of Tallahassee uses these funds.

In other words, it’s a tax — and in Florida, churches and religious organizations are constitutionally exempt from taxation when their properties are used for religious or charitable purposes. 

You don’t get to slap a new label on the same old scheme and pretend the Constitution no longer applies. This is a backdoor tax — and it doesn’t belong on a church’s doorstep. 

2. Churches Earn Their Exemption — Because They Serve the Public 

This isn’t about churches looking for special treatment. It’s about recognizing the critical civic role they play. 

There are over 200 houses of worship across Tallahassee and Leon County. According to national averages, these congregations contribute 20%–30% of their budgets to direct community outreach — from food pantries and utility assistance to addiction recovery, housing aid, and disaster response. 

Assuming a reasonable average budget of $350,000 per church, that puts direct financial community support in Tallahassee at more than $23 million annually. 

And that’s just the start. 

Add the value of volunteer labor — conservatively estimated at $14.5 million/year — and donated facility space for AA meetings, civic events, and emergency shelters, and the total annual contribution by churches easily exceeds $30 million. 

Let that sink in: 
Churches are quietly contributing $30–40 million a year to the public good. 
They don’t need to do less of that to pay a tax. 

And while we’re on the subject of fairness, let’s be honest about compensation. The average Tallahassee firefighter earns over $60,000 a year in salary alone — before overtime and benefits. Compare that to the average pastor of a local congregation, who often makes half that amount (if that), or the median income for Leon County residents, which sits around $50,000. In that context, asking churches and modest nonprofits to subsidize fire operations through a glorified tax feels not only unconstitutional — it feels upside down. 

3. The Real Problem Is the Fee — Not the Exemption 

Some will argue that everyone should pay their share. But that logic falls apart when the mechanism is this flawed. 

The fire fee is regressive — meaning lower-income households pay proportionally more than wealthier ones. It’s confusing — with different rates for different zones and unclear exemption rules. It’s under legal attack — for good reason. And it now puts the city in the absurd position of deciding which churches count as religious enough to deserve an exemption. 

That’s not tax policy — that’s red tape in its most dangerous form. 

4. This Isn’t Church vs. State — It’s Common Sense vs. Bureaucracy 

Let’s not make this political or theological. You don’t have to be religious to understand that churches, synagogues, mosques, and faith-based ministries are on the front lines of community care. 

When government policy ignores that — or worse, punishes it — something’s broken. 

The fire department deserves funding. But it should come from transparent, equitable, legally sound taxation — not a patchwork fee system that burdens the poor, confuses the public, and taxes Tallahassee’s most charitable institutions for doing their job. 

In Gulf County, Florida, the government has come up with a creative new definition of “fairness”: if you don’t use their services, you still get to pay for them. 

That’s the setup behind Gulf County’s latest fee scheme — a $500 “planning department review fee” charged to property owners and contractors who exercise their legal right to use a state-authorized private provider for construction plan review. And here’s the kicker: that $500 isn’t replacing anything. It’s on top of the standard permit fee — possibly with only a modest discount. 

In other words: you still pay for services the County isn’t providing — and then some. 

A letter sent last week by attorney Erica Augello to County Administrator Michael Hammond raises serious questions about the legality of the fee. She points to Section 553.791 of the Florida Statutes, which gives property owners the right to hire licensed private firms — known as private providers — to review their construction plans and perform inspections, bypassing the traditional public permitting process. 

That statute isn’t vague. When a private provider is used, the law requires that permit fees be reduced to reflect the government’s reduced role. Yet Gulf County has gone in the opposite direction — charging more when they do less. 

Whether that holds up under legal scrutiny remains to be seen, but the message to property owners is already clear: if you don’t want to use our people, we’ll make you pay anyway. 

You don’t need a law degree to see the problem. State law is clear: if a private provider is used for plans reviews or building inspections, “the local jurisdiction must reduce the permit fee by the amount of cost savings realized.” Any fee charged by the jurisdiction for clerical and supervisory assistance must be tied directly to real, documented labor costs. 

What’s not allowed? A catch-all, pre-cooked $500 fee, apparently invented from scratch. 

Augello points out that Gulf County’s own ordinance cites this fee, but there’s no documentation of any actual administrative burden, cost basis, or justification. That makes it a violation not just of the statute’s letter, but its entire spirit: local governments can’t throw up extra hurdles or penalties to steer people back into the public permitting process. 

In plain terms: this is red tape designed to punish anyone who dares to use a competitor. 

Speaking of County Administrator Hammond, it appears he has placed Brad Bailey in the role of the county’s building official. But this raises a potentially significant question: does Bailey hold the required professional license? 

According to the Florida Department of Business and Professional Regulation, Bailey is currently listed as “eligible for exam” — meaning he has not yet obtained a building code administrator’s license. 

That status could raise compliance concerns under Florida Statute 468.603, which outlines strict licensing requirements for building officials and inspectors. The statute states: 

“Each building code inspector must be licensed in the appropriate category… The building code inspector’s responsibilities must be performed under the direction of the building code administrator or building official without interference from any unlicensed person.” 

It does not appear that Bailey’s current role aligns with those statutory requirements. If he is performing the duties of a licensed official without the credential, it is a matter that likely deserves scrutiny. 

What happens next is unclear. Gulf County could rescind the fee and quietly move on. Or it could double down and face legal action. The letter makes it clear: if the County withholds or revokes any permits over failure to pay this “review” tax, it could end up on the losing end of a courtroom — and a hefty attorneys’ fee award. 

But maybe the bigger question is this: Why are some Florida governments so determined to make “choice” a dirty word? The private provider statute exists to empower the private sector. Gulf County is using its ordinance book to strip that power back. 

Red tape, meet the red flag.  

In the latest chapter of Florida’s ongoing battle between state authority and local control, the City of Deltona just sent a not-so-subtle message to Tallahassee lawmakers: “We’ll see you in court.” 

On July 1, Deltona’s City Commission voted to approve a six-month moratorium on new residential development applications — despite a state law (Senate Bill 180) that went into effect the very same day making such local moratoriums illegal without explicit state approval. 

The move sets up a legal showdown and raises big questions about local government overreach, political theater, and whether cities like Deltona are willing to gamble taxpayer dollars on lawsuits they’re almost certain to lose. 

The Backstory 

Deltona officials say their moratorium is necessary to slow down what they call “out-of-control” growth that’s straining infrastructure, overburdening schools, and choking local roads with traffic. Sound familiar? It’s the kind of anti-growth rallying cry that plays well in certain neighborhoods — until, of course, it doesn’t. 

SB 180, signed by Governor Ron DeSantis earlier this year, was designed specifically to prevent exactly this kind of municipal slowdown. The new law prohibits cities and counties from adopting any moratorium on residential development unless approved by a supermajority vote of the local governing body and vetted for legal compliance with state growth laws. Deltona’s vote barely squeaked by on a 4-3 margin — nowhere close to a supermajority. 

Legal Jeopardy? Almost Certainly 

City Attorney Marsha Segal-George didn’t sugarcoat it. Before the vote, she warned commissioners that approving the moratorium would almost certainly trigger a lawsuit and likely violate state law. 

But that didn’t stop the majority from moving forward. Their reasoning? They’d rather get sued now than face more population growth tomorrow. 

Let’s be clear: The odds of this ordinance surviving a legal challenge are slim. The state law was written specifically to take discretion out of local hands for exactly this type of scenario. And the fact that Deltona pushed ahead despite legal advice to the contrary opens the door for developers—or even the state itself—to file suit almost immediately. 

The Bigger Picture: Local Defiance in the Face of State Preemption 

Deltona isn’t the only Florida city pushing back on state preemption of local authority, but it’s quickly becoming the most visible. For cities tired of what they see as Tallahassee’s heavy hand on local affairs, this is a test case — a political and legal act of defiance wrapped in home-rule rhetoric. 

The irony, of course, is that this isn’t just a clash of ideologies. It’s a clash with real-world financial consequences. If (or when) the city loses in court, local taxpayers will be left footing the bill for legal fees, court costs, and possibly damages. 

And that’s where Red Tape Florida enters the conversation. Whether you’re for or against growth, one thing is clear: Cities making illegal policy decisions based on emotion rather than legal reality create financial and operational red tape for everyone — including the very residents they claim to protect. 

The Takeaway 

Deltona’s moratorium vote is a textbook example of local government overreach colliding with state-imposed guardrails. It’s a warning sign for every other Florida city tempted to ignore the law in the name of political messaging. 

At the end of the day, this isn’t just about development. It’s about governance, accountability, and the growing cost of performative politics at the local level. 

Stay tuned. Court filings are almost certainly coming next. 

Let’s start with this: Congratulations, Tallahassee! 

Earning the title of All-America City — not once, not twice, but three times — is a big deal. This is not a participation trophy. It’s not something you buy. It’s something you earn by demonstrating that a community knows how to tackle challenges, bring people together, and chart a path forward. 

That’s exactly what Tallahassee did. The Southside Action Plan. The Clean Energy Blueprint. The growing network of over 100 parks and public spaces. These aren’t just bullet points in a PowerPoint deck. They’re tangible investments in the kind of city we all want to live in. 

This isn’t about who’s on what side of what debate. It’s not about politics. It’s about community. And it’s right to pause and take pride in a moment like this. 

A spirit of collaboration 

Look at the effort that went into this award submission — the planning, the execution, the collaboration. City staff. Nonprofits. Neighborhood leaders. Civic groups. Everyone pulling in the same direction to solve big problems. 

It’s proof of something we sometimes forget: when Tallahassee aligns around a shared goal, big things happen. 

And that’s not just theory. It’s a fact. Winning this award three times puts Tallahassee in rare company nationally. That’s a reflection of a community that knows how to work together, even when we don’t always agree on everything. 

But what if we broadened our All-America horizons? 

Here’s a thought: what if the same commitment that went into these public initiatives was applied to the barriers that hold back our private sector? 

Because here’s something worth noticing. Every one of the projects highlighted in Tallahassee’s All-America application was a government-led effort. Not one featured the private sector at the center. 

That’s not a criticism. It’s an observation. The award judges were right to reward these efforts. But anyone who’s built a business here, developed property here, or tried to navigate City Hall knows another side of the story. 

For too many, navigating Tallahassee’s bureaucracy feels like a second job. 

This city knows how to mobilize when it wants to. Knows how to plan. Knows how to execute. The question is: when will that same energy be aimed at removing the red tape that holds back the private sector? 

And it turns out we’re not the only ones thinking about what’s next. Gus Corbella captured it beautifully in a recent column for the Democrat, writing about how much he loves Tallahassee — and how much more he wants to love about it. He’s right. The All-America award is a celebration of where we are. Now the challenge is deciding where we go. 

The next All-America chapter is ready to be written 

Imagine the next All-America application telling a story not just of government-led wins, but of a community that became the best place in Florida to start a business, to build a home, to invest in an idea. 

What would that look like? 

• A permitting process that takes days, not months. 

• Zoning and development rules that solve the housing crisis instead of compounding it. 

• A reputation as Florida’s most small-business-friendly city. 

• An attitude shift—from “how can we regulate this?” to “how can we make this happen?” 

This isn’t an either/or proposition. It’s both. Tallahassee can — and should — be a city that builds great public amenities and unleashes private-sector dynamism. 

This community knows how to win – let’s do it again 

The All-America award proves something important: Tallahassee knows how to collaborate, execute and win. 

Now imagine putting those same skills to work — not just to build parks and plans — but to build prosperity, unlock opportunity, and clear the runway for anyone ready to take a risk on this city. 

Yes, let’s celebrate this well-earned moment. And then let’s turn the page. 

Let’s make Tallahassee an All-America city for entrepreneurs. For builders. For job creators. For anyone with a dream and the grit to chase it. 

How hot does it have to get for a fire station to cost $34 million? 

That’s the burning question after Leon County Commissioner Christian Caban called for a formal vote on local fire projects, citing “staggering costs” that have quietly ballooned over the past few years. His concern comes as Tallahassee prepares to break ground on Fire Station 17 in the southwestern part of the city. The new station will clock in at $34 million — nearly four times the cost of similar fire stations in nearby Alachua County. 

Wait — four times? 

Yep. In 2022, Alachua County built Station 80 in Hawthorne for just $7.7 million. The following year, it added Station 33 in East Gainesville for $9 million. That means the average cost of a new fire station in Alachua is under $9 million — and Tallahassee is spending nearly $25 million more for Station 17.  

Now, to be fair, one could argue that costs vary depending on size, staffing, and equipment — and that’s true. So, let’s look at the most basic metric of all: how many households each station is expected to serve. 

Station 17 in Tallahassee is projected to serve about 11,500 households. That’s not insignificant — in fact, it’s nearly twice the number served by some rural stations. But it’s not dramatically more than what Alachua’s stations cover: Station 33 in East Gainesville serves an estimated 8,600 households, and Station 80 covers around 7,400. 

So, while Tallahassee’s Station 17 serves roughly 35% more households than the average new Alachua station, it costs nearly 300% more. 

“Where there’s there smoke, there’s fire and there is definitely smoke when it comes to the fire services fee and how it’s being spent,” Caban told Red Tape Florida. “It’s unacceptable for us to be paying $34 million for a single fire station when surrounding counties are paying a fraction of that cost.  

“These fire service fees directly impact the cost of living in our community and we cannot just rubber-stamp them without serious due diligence.” 

Meanwhile, Alachua County continues to build functional, efficient firehouses that meet basic public safety needs without blowing through taxpayer funds. Gainesville isn’t exactly known for its fiscal conservatism, so when it’s making Tallahassee look like Dubai, something’s off. 

Commissioner Caban has emerged as the leading voice raising red flags, asking for transparency and accountability before more millions are committed. He’s also said what many in the community are quietly thinking: Why does everything the City of Tallahassee builds seem to cost double, triple, or quadruple what other cities spend? 

While city officials might defend the fire services fee by noting it’s “only a few dollars a month,” that phrase has become the oldest trick in the local government playbook. Whether it’s stormwater, garbage, fire service, or a thousand other line items, those modest monthly charges quietly stack up — and for working families, they eventually hit hard. 

According to the latest budget projections, the fire fee will generate more than $40 million this year alone, paid directly by homeowners and businesses — on top of their property taxes. And if you live in Leon County but outside city limits? You’re still paying. That’s because a sizable portion of county fire service is now contracted out to the city, with the county transferring nearly $10 million of taxpayer dollars to fund it. In short, everyone’s paying — even if you don’t vote for the commissioners making these decisions. 

It’s a shell game that hides the true size of local government. Instead of raising the property tax millage, which would be politically unpopular and more visible, officials slap fees on your utility bill or create special assessments that rarely get the same scrutiny 

Fire protection is not a luxury — it’s one of the most basic and essential functions of local government. The price tag should reflect that, not some grand vision that prioritizes bells and whistles over core service. 

Commissioners owe it to their constituents — especially in lower-income, high-need neighborhoods like those served by Station 17 — to explain why the city is spending $34 million for a firehouse when neighboring counties are doing it for a fraction of the cost. 

Kudos to Commissioner Caban for not letting this one slip quietly through the consent agenda.  

Firefighting may be expensive. But it doesn’t have to be extravagant. 

Imagine having your home or business tied up in a lien worth almost three-quarters of a million dollars, not because you ignored a serious threat, but because inspectors took forever to verify your compliance. 

That’s exactly what happened in Lauderdale Lakes, Broward County’s hidden slice of government overreach. A CBS Miami / News4JAX I-Team investigation revealed the city’s latest magic trick: turning routine property fixes into windfall revenues—to the tune of $300,000 in code-enforcement income projected in the 2025 budget (up 161.6% over last year). 

One case sounds scripted by Kafka: Alan Levy, a prominent landlord, said his tenant’s minor bathroom permit violation should’ve cost around $18,000 to fix. Instead, it hung fire for more than 1,000 days, ballooning into a $740,000 lien—all while the city apparently had no digital system for reviewing compliance  

“It took seven or eight months to do $18,000 worth of minor work… one delay after another,” Levy told CBS. “When I went in for my lien reduction, [city staff] said, ‘We don’t have a platform for that—you’ll have to speak to the city attorney.’”  

Then there’s Kenneth and Mildred Bordeaux, an elderly couple with a duplex and a mortgage they hoped to leave to their kids. They were hit with $366,000 in fines because inspectors waited 222 days to recheck simple fixes—like cracked outlet covers and broken window handles—and then hit them with daily, $1,500 perviolation fines during the delay. Kenneth’s quote says it all: 

“I feel like I’m just being beaten with a sledgehammer.”  

Here’s the rub: the city’s 2025 budget didn’t just casually mention it—it relied on code-enforcement revenue as a major funding lever. When pressed, the city attorney refused to comment, telling CBS Miami the issue is “pending litigation before a magistrate”  

So what does all this add up to? 

1. Profit-first code enforcement. The city is weaponizing backlog and bureaucratic inertia into a cash cow. 

2. Innocent homeowners and business owners—the Bordeauxs, Levy—get stuck between punishment and paperwork, with no digital system to verify whether they’ve complied. 

3. A broken appeals process. No streamlined path to challenge or reduce liens—just silence and red tape. 

4. Taxation without transparency. The fines are levied before services are complete, and residents have zero idea how to fight back. 

Lauderdale Lakes’ story is a cautionary tale. When enforcement is untethered from accountability, government doesn’t protect—it preys. 

So, you want to open a coffee shop in Tallahassee? You’ve got a lease, a business plan, and some solid beans from a local roaster. Should be easy, right? 
 
Cue the circus music. 
 
Before you serve your first oat milk latte, you’ll need the blessing of a dizzying array of government entities, each with its own forms, timelines, and “standard review windows” that make continental drift look speedy. 

Let’s start local. You’ll need: 

• Business Tax Receipt from the City of Tallahassee 

• Certificate of Occupancy from Growth Management 

• Health inspection 

• ADA compliance 
   

But we’re just getting started. For civil review, you’ll need even more: 

• Land Use Compliance Certificate 

• Natural Features Inventory Exemption 

• Traffic Concurrency 

• Site Plan 

• Environmental Management Permit 

Then, if triggered, you may also need: 

• Right-of-Way Permit 

• Letter of Agreement 

• Parking Standards Review 

And if the state is involved, the project may also trigger a FDEP water permit DEP sewer permit. That’s all civil. For building, you need a building permit, which is no simple task. 

Next up: A visit to the Sign Police. If you want to do anything the least bit creative with your sign – including anything to do with its size, location, illumination, location on the building, etc. – you may need a variance from a board of volunteers, which meets on a monthly cycle that may or may not fit your project timeline. 

Want outdoor seating? Heaven help you if your space’s espresso machine is interpreted to mean your coffee shop is located in a non-retail, making it a “non- conforming use.”  That kicks it to a different zoning code altogether — possibly requiring a new permit and perhaps even a public notice to neighbors, who may suddenly discover they’re deeply offended by caffeine. 
 
Now zoom out. You’ll also need: 

• State license from the Department of Business and Professional Regulation (DBPR)Florida Sales Tax Certificate 

• Federal EIN registration 

• Music license 

• Workers’ compensation coverage 

How long does all this take? Officially: “Depends.” 
 
Unofficially: anywhere from 10-12  months, assuming you don’t run into a reviewer on vacation or a missing document that mysteriously got “kicked back” into the void. And, of course, given that you are moving through the building department, the growth management department, the traffic department, the electric department, the underground utilities department, public infrastructure and more, it’s not exactly a system set up to be business-friendly. 
 
And the kicker? After all this hoop-jumping, no one — not a single agency — can tell you what your total startup costs will be. Each fee is siloed, and there’s no master checklist. 
 
This isn’t just a Tallahassee issue. It’s a Florida issue. But as the seat of government, the capital should be a model of streamlined small-business support. Instead, we’ve created a permitting gauntlet so cumbersome it rewards only the well-connected or the well-lawyered. 
 
So the next time you walk into your neighborhood café, tip your barista. And maybe also offer condolences to the owner, who probably aged two years before opening day — all because they had the audacity to sell muffins and macchiatos in the Sunshine State. 

The green T-shirts will be out in force at City Hall this week — a visual show of concern, conviction, and community spirit. These neighbors care deeply about Tallahassee’s future, and that deserves respect. 

But passion, no matter how well-intentioned, must still be weighed against facts, data, and consequences. And the truth is: opposing this Comprehensive Plan means saying no to the very kinds of growth that can make our city more affordable, inclusive, and resilient. 

It’s time to take a hard look at what this debate is really about — and what’s at stake if we let fear win out over thoughtful planning. 

The proposed Comprehensive Plan update is the product of years of work — workshops, studies, legal review, and public input. Its central goal? Encourage smart, sustainable development inside the urban service area, where infrastructure already exists. That’s not sprawl. That’s the opposite of sprawl. 

Urban infill has long been championed as the antidote to environmental degradation and costly, inefficient growth patterns. Yet somehow, even this approach is now under attack. 

Some of the loudest critics claim to support “smart growth,” but what they oppose is precisely the kind of development that allows for vibrant neighborhoods, shorter commutes, and more housing options for working families. The contradiction is clear: you can’t be against sprawl and against infill — unless you’re against all growth entirely. 

Let’s be honest about what that means. 

Cities that refuse to grow — or make growth virtually impossible — tend to struggle with increasing poverty, higher crime, and declining opportunity. You can find that pattern across the country, from California to the Rust Belt. The economic research is clear: places that stop building start falling behind. 

We see that impact locally, too. Tallahassee has actually lost population in recent years. Its housing supply is tight, prices are rising, and families are getting squeezed out. Killing this plan won’t solve that — it will make it worse. Even first-year economics students understand what happens when supply is restricted: costs go up. Way up. 

That brings us to equity. Many of the arguments against the plan are wrapped in language about neighborhood “character” or “charm.” But we should pause and ask: who benefits when we prevent new housing or retail from entering a neighborhood? Too often, it’s those who already have comfort and access — not those who are still trying to get a foothold. 

“Not in my backyard” may sound like a local planning issue. But it often functions as a wall — one that keeps out people who don’t look the same, earn the same, or live the same way. That’s not how vibrant cities are built. 

Then there’s the claim that this is all moving too fast. The reality? The process has been unfolding for nearly five years, with more than 50 public meetings, extensive public comment, and expert input throughout. This isn’t a rushed job. It’s a careful, deliberate process — and now is the time to move forward. 

If we cry “too fast” every time something changes, we risk dulling that phrase into background noise — which is dangerous when something actually is rammed through without scrutiny. This plan doesn’t deserve that label. 

It deserves support. 

The bottom line is this: the proposed Comprehensive Plan doesn’t force growth. It simply allows it — in the right places, in the right way, and with the right priorities. 

To those in the green shirts: your advocacy matters. Your voices matter. But this time, you’re fighting the wrong fight. The stakes are too high to cling to the status quo. 

Tallahassee must be a city that welcomes new families, builds for the future, and creates opportunities for everyone — not just those who already have them. 

Standing still isn’t safe. It’s costly. Let’s not let good intentions lead us to bad outcomes. 

Proposed new City of Tallahassee budget would result in an 8.69 percent average increase in property taxes 

Tallahassee residents are about to see another increase in their property tax bills — not because City staff is proposing a millage rate hike this year, but because it doesn’t have to. Property values across the city have surged, and if the current rate of 4.45 mills holds, tax bills should increase by an average of 8.69%. That increase comes on top of last year’s decision to raise the millage rate from 4.10 to 4.45 — the first hike in seven years. In other words, this is a compounded increase, and residents are right to be concerned. 

This year’s tax burden is driven not by new city policy, but by a changed economic landscape. A combination of inflationary pressures and reassessments has led to significantly higher property valuations. And while that may be a sign of a growing city, it also puts strain on homeowners, especially those on fixed incomes or just starting out. 

State law gives cities the choice: hold the rate steady and collect more money, or roll back the rate so residents endure a smaller increase. With a projected increase of nearly 9% in taxable value, now is the time to do the latter. 

It’s not that the city isn’t making good use of public funds. This year’s proposed budget shows investments in affordable housing, infrastructure, parks, and public safety. Long-deferred capital projects are moving forward, and the city is taking steps to improve transparency and financial resilience. Those are commendable efforts and should be applauded. 

But there is also some contradiction – spending money on affordable housing program, then adding to the property tax bills of homeowners by an average of almost 9 percent is obviously counterintuitive. 

Sound budgeting doesn’t mean maximizing revenue every time the market allows it. True fiscal responsibility is about balance — weighing the government’s needs against the capacity of its residents to fund them. In this case, a reasonable course of action would be to modestly reduce the millage rate to neutralize the spike in property values. Doing so wouldn’t threaten core services. It would simply give homeowners a break after two years of upward pressure. 

The City Commission has an opportunity to show leadership and restraint. A full or partial rollback would send a powerful message: that Tallahassee’s leaders are listening, and that growth in revenue shouldn’t automatically mean growth in taxes. 

As budget workshops and hearings approach, the Commission should take a close look at the numbers and ask not what is legal or permissible, but what is fair. An 8.69% increase in property taxes, following a millage hike last year, is too much for many residents to absorb. 

This is a defining moment for our city’s fiscal identity. Are we a government that quietly lets tax bills rise through valuation? Or are we a community that takes pride in being proactive, responsive, and responsible with every dollar? 

By adjusting the millage rate downward, the City Commission can protect the public’s trust while continuing to invest in Tallahassee’s future. 

Author, Gabriel Carraro de Andrade is a recent graduate and research intern at the DeVoe L. Moore Center in the College of Social Sciences and Public Policy at Florida State University where he majored in economics.

The  Health Resources and Services Administration (HRSA), an agency of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, indicates that Florida is the worst state in the nation for dental access.

Currently, 65 of Florida’s 67 counties are designated, either in full or in part, as dental health professional shortage areas, with population-to-dentist ratios exceeding 5,000 to 1.

This has left over 7.1 million Floridians living in “dental deserts.”

According to HRSA, an additional 1,536 dentists are needed just to eliminate the current shortages. Lafayette County in the Big Bend has no dentists at all, and there are several other counties where the ratio is as low as one-tenth of the national average. This is a critical issue, as dental health is as important as general health care.

A Florida Workforce Survey regarding dental care professionals found that around 70% of dentists work in a general private practice, while only 4% work in a public health practice. The lack of dentists in public health limits accessibility to dental care. Many private practices do not accept Medicaid.

With an aging population and declining interest in healthcare professions among younger generations, the dental care shortage is worsening. The same Workforce survey found that a mere 4.7% of dentists are 20-29 years old, and the extensive process of becoming licensed as a dentist in the United States is scaring university students away.

On average, students require six to eight years before they are able to practice in Florida, excluding any specialization licenses.

Increases in costs of living due to post-COVID inflation have caused many to avoid taking out massive loans needed to afford dental school, since these costs can range from $100,000 to a whopping $400,000.

Florida needs more accessible licensing pathways. According to the American Dental Association (ADA), a dental hygienist is responsible for performing preventive care, such as teeth cleanings, oral health assessments, and providing guidance on maintaining oral hygiene, which supports the work of dentists but does not involve advanced or invasive procedures. Additionally, a dental hygienist needs a license to apply anesthesia, strangling even more the supply of professionals.

However, the current licensure process requires candidates to have graduated from an ADA-accredited dental hygiene program or an unaccredited dental program with equivalent training. Additionally, a dental hygienist needs a license to apply anesthesia, which they rarely if ever apply directly, limiting even more the supply of professionals.

Applicants must pass multiple examinations, including the National Board Dental Hygiene Examination, ADEX Dental Hygiene Licensing Examination, and Florida Laws and Rules Examination. They are also required to submit numerous documents, such as official transcripts, certification of licensure, and even proof of CPR and AED training.

The licensing problem is even more bizarre for immigrants wth foreign licenses as their license is worthless regardless of their experience and practice as a dentist. Foreign dentists must start their studies from zero and enroll in dental school.

Moreover, Florida public dental schools, such as the University of Florida (UF) require applicants to be permanent residents. Excessive lawyer fees and a lengthy process mean foreign dentists must wait at least seven years to be able to apply to dental school. Affordability and complexity push away skilled workers looking to serve the American population.

Florida is facing a dental care crisis, and reducing unnecessary barriers for individuals entering dentistry, particularly for immigrants with foreign dental training, would help address this shortage.

Loosening these restrictions to allow competent and talented dentists and hygienists into the field would reduce wait times for patients and ensure that preventive dental care is accessible to more communities in need.

A change of this magnitude would serve as an example for reform in other fields in need, such as general health care and even education. The overarching issue of the labor shortage and gap is not being given the required attention from politicians, and even those running for the highest ranks in the US.

In a May 29 Tallahassee Democrat op-ed, a local resident laments Tallahassee’s new growth plan, wringing hands over trees, neighborhood “character,” and supposed flows in a new Comprehensive Plan. But strip away the foliage and euphemisms, and what’s left is a familiar chorus: “I’m not against all growth—just this growth.”  
 
We’ve heard this tune before, and it’s getting old. 
 
Let’s call this what it is: the Smart Growth Shuffle. It’s performed by people who claim they hate sprawl, but also oppose urban infill. Who say they support affordable housing—just not here. Who support more density—just not next door. What they really support is nothing at all changing within their line of sight. 
 
It’s time to make these folks own their true belief: They don’t want any growth at all. 

This new comp plan, which encourages development within already built environments and reduces bureaucratic red tape, is the very definition of “smart growth.” It promotes infill, encourages mixed uses, and supports a more sustainable and efficient pattern of development. And yet, it’s being opposed by the very people who claim to support those principles.  
 
So which is it? Do you want growth that is denser and more environmentally conscious, or do you want to keep the city frozen in amber? Because you can’t have it both ways. 
 
Spoiler alert: this is not about trees. This is NIMBYism with a nice haircut and a compost bin. 

Meanwhile, the consequences of this “keep it just the way it is” mentality are already playing out. Leon County has actually lost population in recent years.  

That might be fine if you’re protecting some sleepy mountain town. But this is Florida’s capital, home to two major universities, a state college and a regional economy. Growth should be a feature, not a bug. And when people can’t find housing—because the same people shouting “no sprawl!” are also saying “no apartments!”—they look elsewhere. 
 
The result? A shrinking tax base, fewer young professionals, and more pressure on existing services. Over time, that erodes opportunity and leads to exactly the things people say they want to avoid: poverty, inequality, and crime. 

And those trends are already visible. Leon County’s poverty rate sits at 17.6%, well above the Florida average of 12.3% (U.S. Census). Its violent crime rate is 34.3, compared to a national average of 22.7 (Best Places). That’s not just an economic concern—it’s a quality of life concern. 

Want to improve public safety? Build stronger neighborhoods. Want to reduce poverty? Attract employers and workers with housing options they can afford. That starts with embracing policies that allow our city to grow responsibly. 
 
This plan does that. It’s not perfect—no plan ever is—but it represents a good-faith effort to address Tallahassee’s growth challenges. It streamlines overly restrictive policies, encourages development near existing infrastructure, and lays the groundwork for more housing choices across the economic spectrum. 
 
The people standing in the way of this plan aren’t trying to “protect” Tallahassee. They’re trying to preserve a narrow slice of it, usually one that benefits them. And they’re doing it at the expense of younger families, renters, students, and workers who are just looking for a place to call home. 
 
If we let that mindset dominate, Tallahassee won’t stay the same—it will slowly decline. That’s the real threat to our community character. 
 
Let’s stop mistaking obstructionism for wisdom. It’s time to grow—smartly, sustainably, and unapologetically. 

If you’ve ever wanted to watch a group of well-meaning citizens twist themselves into philosophical pretzels, look no further than the debate over Tallahassee’s new Comprehensive Plan. 

The “Comp Plan,” as the insiders call it, is a big, sprawling, long-range planning document that’s supposed to guide development, transportation, housing, and environmental stewardship over the next 20 to 30 years. It is also, ironically, the one document designed to reduce sprawl — a concept we’re told is a moral imperative — while simultaneously being attacked by people who don’t want more density in their neighborhoods. 

You can’t have it both ways. 

After nearly eight years of community engagement, workshops, hearings, and more community engagement (did we mention the engagement?), the updated Comp Plan is finally making its way through local government. That hasn’t stopped the familiar chorus of NIMBYs — many of them from affluent, leafy neighborhoods — from waving their HOA pitchforks at the prospect of townhomes being built within eyesight of their azaleas. 

Yes, it’s true: some residents who say they want to protect the environment and promote walkability are now clutching their pearls at the idea of slightly taller buildings or mixed-use zoning. This is what we call Lexus Liberalism — progressive in theory, allergic to reality when it moves in next door. 

But let’s be clear: this plan isn’t about paving paradise or tossing zoning to the wolves. It’s about making the rules clearer, more flexible, and frankly more modern. The old Comp Plan was a bloated, bureaucratic behemoth — so dense and arcane that it required a Rosetta Stone just to navigate a permit application. The new version shifts some of that micromanagement to the land development code, and yes, to elected officials. That’s called local control, folks. 

More importantly, this isn’t just about Midtown homeowners feeling inconvenienced. It’s about neighborhoods south of Orange Avenue — poorer, often ignored, and primarily minority — where this plan could finally unlock real, needed development. Reducing red tape doesn’t just benefit builders; it creates opportunity in places where infill development has been virtually impossible under the old system. 

And let’s talk about housing. Tallahassee has an affordability crisis. The only way to solve it is to build more units — across the income spectrum. This plan encourages exactly that, using density and mixed-use policies to make housing more available and, over time, more affordable. Commissioner Christian Caban even voted against the weakened version of the plan because it didn’t go far enough to reduce regulation and boost supply. Good for him. 

So yes, the process was long. Yes, the hearings were held. And yes, some neighbors are grumpy. But this Comp Plan is a win for affordability, equity, and common sense. The fact that it makes people on both extremes a little uncomfortable? That’s not a flaw — it’s a sign it’s probably right. 

It’s time we stopped letting the loudest voices — the ones with the most to lose from even the slightest change — hold the rest of the city hostage. This plan isn’t radical. It’s rational. And more importantly, it’s responsive to years of community input that overwhelmingly said: “We need more housing, better mobility, and a clearer path forward.” 

So to the Commissioners: approve the plan. Tell the NIMBYs that they can’t veto the future. And let’s build a city that works for everyone — not just the ones who already made it in. 

“The Comp Plan.” 

It’s one of the least understood – yet most important – documents in all of local government. 

It’s short for Comprehensive Plan, a state-mandated policy document that outlines goals, objectives, and policies for the physical development of the community over a 20- to 30-year horizon. It addresses land use, housing, transportation, conservation, infrastructure, and public services, and it is used to guide zoning, permitting, and capital improvement decisions. 

That’s a mouthful. 

As County Commissioner Nick Maddox pointed out at the last commission meeting, the fact that the new plan is causing everybody a bit of discomfort is evidence that it’s probably a good mix. The county commission approved the plan 6-1 with Commissioner Christian Caban laudably dissenting (more on that in a moment). 

So, what changed in the Comp Plan? According to experts consulted by Red Tape Florida, the most important change was making it less detailed. Tallahassee-Leon’s Comp plan has been notoriously long, compared to most others in the state. The result of that is a stifling of innovation and anything other than cookie-cutter development. 

The new plan shifts more responsibility to local officials and to the land development code. While this might seem dangerous to those mistrustful of bureaucrats, it actually puts more power in the hands of private property owners who find the comp plan virtually impossible to challenge. 

In recent days, the City of Tallahassee and Leon County have held public hearings on the new comp plan. These hearings marked a significant step in the region’s ongoing efforts to address housing affordability, manage growth, and enhance transportation infrastructure. 

The need for a comp plan is glaring – Tallahassee-Leon is losing investment dollars based on its current onerous restrictions, according to experts consulted by Red Tape Florida. 

The current plan is so detailed and impenetrable that it can lead to unintended consequences. For example, the current Comp plan requires an existing access to a canopy road be used, rather than a new access somewhere else on the property. That sounds good, but there has been at least one instance where an existing dirt road access required more trees to be taken out rather than a place elsewhere on the property where the canopy was less prolific. 

Now, there have been complaints from neighborhood groups falling into two main buckets: we don’t like the impact on our neighborhoods and the process has moved too slowly. 

Red Tape Florida will have more to say on those matters soon, but as a sneak peek, you should know that this process began around 8 years ago. 

A central focus of the plan is to tackle the city’s housing affordability crisis. By revising land use policies to encourage higher-density development and mixed-use zoning, the plan aims to increase the supply of affordable housing units. This approach is particularly crucial in areas experiencing rapid growth, where housing demand has outpaced supply, leading to escalating costs.  

That’s one reason Leon County Commissioner Christian Caban was the lone dissenting vote. He supported the plan advanced by staff, but did not approve of changes made at the county commission meeting that watered it down a bit. “If we’re looking at adding regulations to building homes in Leon County I think that will drive the cost of housing stock up and not do anything to increase the amount of homes with affordable housing,” Caban said. 

The City has not yet voted on the plan as that body lost a quorum at its last meeting due to illness and meeting conflicts. 

Mayor Donna Deegan’s newly unveiled 8-point plan to streamline Jacksonville’s civil plan review and permitting process is a masterclass in modern governance. It not only accelerates development timelines but also fosters transparency, collaboration, and innovation—qualities that many Florida cities, including Tallahassee, would do well to emulate.  

At the heart of Deegan’s initiative is a commitment to efficiency and responsiveness. By transferring the Development Services Division to the Public Works Department, the city has already eliminated bureaucratic silos that often stall progress. The plan’s embrace of digital tools — most notably the JaxEPICS permitting platform — has modernized the review process, reducing permit approval times from 100 days to just 40. This digital-first approach, coupled with the exploration of AI-driven comment analysis and an “Express Lane” for expedited reviews, positions Jacksonville as a forward-thinking city ready to meet the demands of rapid growth.  

Crucially, this transformation wasn’t crafted in a vacuum. Deegan’s administration actively engaged industry stakeholders, including the Northeast Florida Builders Association and the National Association of Industrial and Office Properties, to identify pain points and co-create solutions. This collaborative ethos ensures that reforms are grounded in real-world needs, fostering a sense of shared ownership and mutual benefit.  

Contrast this with Tallahassee’s development review process, which, despite some digital advancements, remains encumbered by complexity and delays. Developers in the capital city must navigate a labyrinth of approvals — from Land Use Compliance Certificates to concurrency applications and Natural Features Inventories — often resulting in protracted timelines and increased costs. A 2017 study by the DeVoe Moore Center highlighted these inefficiencies, noting that the average wait time for permits imposed significant opportunity costs on entrepreneurs.  

While Tallahassee has introduced electronic plan reviews and concurrent processing to streamline operations, these measures fall short of the comprehensive overhaul seen in Jacksonville. The absence of integrated platforms like JaxEPICS and limited stakeholder engagement means that systemic issues persist, hindering the city’s ability to attract and retain development projects.  

Jacksonville’s approach demonstrates that meaningful reform requires more than incremental changes; it demands visionary leadership, strategic investment in technology, and genuine collaboration with the private sector. By prioritizing these elements, Jacksonville has not only improved its permitting process but also signaled to businesses and residents alike that it is open for growth and innovation. 

For Tallahassee and other Florida cities grappling with development challenges, Jacksonville’s model offers a clear roadmap. Embracing digital transformation, breaking down bureaucratic barriers, and fostering public-private partnerships are not just best practices —t hey are imperatives for cities seeking to thrive in a competitive landscape. 

In an era where time is money and efficiency is paramount, Jacksonville has set a new standard for municipal excellence. It’s time for others to follow suit. 

Tallahassee’s latest brainstorm? A proposed moratorium on new gas stations through the end of 2025. Because nothing says “forward-thinking governance” like halting business development in response to a single neighborhood’s discontent. This move, sparked by the Circle K controversy in the Canopy neighborhood, is less about urban planning and more about appeasing a vocal minority. 

Let’s be clear: new gas stations don’t sprout up because developers have a fetish for fuel pumps. They emerge in response to market demand. If there’s a need for more fueling options, businesses step in to meet it. It’s called capitalism — a system that, until recently, Tallahassee seemed to participate in. 

But now, the city is considering a blanket freeze on gas station development. Why? Because a group of homeowners in a single neighborhood didn’t want a Circle K nearby. Never mind that the proposed station met all zoning requirements and had been in the works for months. The city’s response? Threaten eminent domain, then pivot to a citywide moratorium. Talk about overkill. 

This isn’t just about gas stations. It’s about a troubling precedent: local government inserting itself into the free market, deciding which businesses are acceptable based on the whims of a few. Today it’s gas stations; tomorrow, will it be fast-food restaurants? Coffee shops? Where does it end? 

Moreover, this knee-jerk reaction undermines the city’s credibility. If businesses can’t trust that approved projects will proceed without political interference, why invest in Tallahassee at all? The message is clear: your investment is only as secure as the city’s latest PR crisis. 

Let’s also not kid ourselves about the so-called “evaluation period.” This isn’t some impartial study session. It’s a year-and-a-half timeout, cooked up under the guise of “planning,” when in reality, it’s a panic-driven overcorrection to a neighborhood spat. If Tallahassee genuinely cared about thoughtful zoning reform, it would follow its own existing planning processes — not slam the brakes on an entire sector of the economy while it figures out what it might want to do. 

And for those who think this is a visionary move, let’s look at other cities that have tried something similar. In Petaluma, California, outright bans ignited lawsuits and raised concerns about fuel access in lower-income neighborhoods. If Tallahassee wants to add itself to the list of overregulated cities that kill investment through regulatory whiplash, it’s well on its way. 

In the end, this moratorium isn’t about thoughtful urban planning or environmental stewardship. It’s about optics and short-term appeasement. And it’s a disservice to the principles of free enterprise and the long-term economic health of Tallahassee. 

For a city that prides itself on progress, this feels like a step backward. 

In the wake of a number of Red Tape Florida reports on the flailing Tallahassee airport, local government officials are rolling out a plan to throw money at airlines in hopes they’ll stay for more than a weekend. In the latest Blueprint agenda item, TLH outlines its strategy to use Minimum Revenue Guarantees (MRGs)—basically taxpayer-backed safety nets for airlines—as a shiny new tool to lure carriers into offering new routes. Of course, they stop just short of calling them “subsidies,” preferring euphemisms like “community-sponsored incentives.” But let’s call a spade a spade: if public dollars are handed to private airlines to offset risk and cover losses, that’s a subsidy in everything but the name. 

Right now, TLH says its hands are tied by FAA grant rules that limit airport-sponsored incentives to things like waiving facility fees and tossing in a few marketing dollars. Since other cities are sweetening the pot with off-airport money—courtesy of city halls, tourism boards, chambers of commerce, and anyone else with a public checkbook—TLH wants in on the game. So the solution? A $10 million MRG fund over 15 years, sourced from “economic development resources.” Translation: tax dollars from sources they hope no one scrutinizes too closely. 

That sounds lovely—until you remember this airport has been down this runway before. 

Take AirTran. In the early 2000s, the city threw more than $2 million in revenue guarantees and marketing support at them. The moment the money dried up, so did AirTran’s interest in Tallahassee. Or look at JetBlue, the most recent flame. TLH finally wooed the airline into launching service to Fort Lauderdale in 2024, thanks in part to over $3 million pledged by eager local boosters. But the route was pulled within months. It turns out you can’t bribe people into buying plane tickets they don’t want. 

The math is optimistic. According to TLH’s consultants, a $10 million investment will miraculously return $1.1 billion in economic impact and over 1,100 new jobs. How? Well, that part is fuzzy. The estimates are “based on assumptions” about aircraft size, load factors, airline strategy, and other conveniently unprovable forecasts. But don’t worry—they have charts. 

In practice, MRGs guarantee airlines a minimum revenue threshold. If a flight underperforms, the public makes up the difference. TLH even gives an example: a hypothetical airline flying from TLH to LaGuardia is guaranteed $1.5 million, but if it only makes $1.2 million, the city writes a check for the shortfall. Any leftover MRG funds get “rolled over” to lure in the next suitor. 

There’s a notable bit of revisionist history in how they discuss JetBlue’s now-defunct route to Fort Lauderdale. It flopped due to low performance—but TLH says that, had they had an MRG in place, they could’ve saved it. Or maybe just delayed the inevitable? The silver lining: fares dropped, traffic surged briefly, and they estimate consumers saved $620,000. Of course, JetBlue also bailed, but hey—stats! 

The document tries to spin this all as a win-win. Airlines reduce risk, passengers get lower fares, the city gets “economic impact,” and no one dares say “corporate welfare” out loud. But at its core, this is a bet that taxpayer-funded parachutes will entice airlines to stick around longer than the next quarterly earnings call. Whether that’s smart economic development or just subsidized hope remains to be seen. 

Tony Knox is a character. He has run for governor twice. He speaks his mind. 

But mainly, he shines shoes. 

Lots and lots of shoes. 

He had a gig at the Tallahassee airport for more than a decade in the 1990s and 2000s before his contract wasn’t renewed. 

The 72-year-old has shined the shoes of Jeb Bush and countless other politicians, lobbyists and members of the process. He’s worked the League of Cities convention every year since the year Ronald Reagan left office. 

And last year, he tried to get back into the Tallahassee airport to provide his services to the members of the process and other businesspeople who fly in and out of town. 

But Knox ran headlong into a lack of creativity and flexibility that have contributed to TLH being the most expensive airport in the country. 

Knox spoke with a lot of Tallahassee leaders about this – from commissioners to City Manager Reese Goad and finally Airport Director David Pollard, who asked to see a picture of what his stand would look like. 

The response from Pollard: it doesn’t match our new airport design. 

“He didn’t like the stain on the wood,” Knox said.  “He told me that have a beautiful airport and that the stand looks too bad. But they wouldn’t even tell me what they wanted the stand to look like.” 

Knox sent him the picture, which you see as a part of this story. 

Knox then asked if the airport wanted to design its own stand, but was told they couldn’t afford to do it. A recent piece in Red Tape Florida revealed that the airport has $1.5 more in revenue than expenses, with the excess shuttled off to the fire services fund or other unnamed general funds.  

Knox says the typical shoe stand costs a couple hundred dollars to construct. “The chair costs more than anything else,” he said. “You’re basically just building a small porch with one step.” 

But apparently the airport wanted something much grander and more expensive that would match TLH’s marble-heavy aesthetic. 

Knox doesn’t know about all of that – he just wants to work and meet people, and perhaps most importantly, train new workers. 

“Tony Knox isn’t going to stay there and shine shoes all day,” Knox said. “I teach a person how to work. I’ll teach you how to present yourself and shine shoes. Most people don’t even know how to talk to people.” 

Ryan Cohn, EVP and partner at Sachs Media in Tallahassee, has been a Knox customer and proponent of independent airport governance. He says Knox’s story is another example of the missed opportunities that hold the airport back. 

“Imagine if our airport actually felt like Tallahassee,” Cohn said. “Before your flight, you could sip a Lucky Goat latte while getting a shoeshine, browse local books from Midtown Reader, and buy handmade candy from Lofty Pursuits. That’s the kind of experience people remember.” 

“But that takes vision,” Cohn added. “Instead, we got an airport bar named after Monroe Street.” 

For his part, Knox says he isn’t giving up. 

“I just want to shine shoes,” he said. 

By Jami Holder 

To readers of Red Tape Florida:  We are pleased to announce a new content-sharing partnership between Red Tape Florida and the Devoe L. Moore Center at Florida State University. From time to time, the Devoe L. Moore Center will share research and other writing that is relevant to Red Tape Florida’s mission of shining a light on excessive local government regulation and bureaucracy. Today is the first installment in that partnership. 

Floridians are currently suffering from an affordable housing crisis. According to a recent report from the Florida Housing Coalition, more than 2.1 million Florida households were cost-burdened, or spending more than 30 percent of their monthly incomes on housing costs. This crisis is occurring as a result of a housing supply shortage. Even with an influx of new apartment complexes being built across Florida, the market is still not providing enough housing options for low and moderate-income households.  

S.B. 184, a bill sponsored by Florida Senator Don Gaetz, R-Pensacola, would require local governments to allow Accessory Dwelling Units (ADUs) in certain areas of all cities in Florida. ADUs, also referred to as granny flats, casitas, or in-law suites, are small-scale developments contained within pre-existing single-family housing lots. The passage of the Senator’s bill could soon become a promising step in promoting the development of ADUs and other forms of medium-density and urban infill housing. 

ADU’s are part of a trend toward medium-density housing and are increasingly popular alternatives to large-scale apartment complexes. These types of housing help restore “missing middle housing” because they aim to fill in a gap between single-family homes and high-density apartment buildings. Missing middle housing types include townhouses, duplexes, triplexes, condos, and, in some cases, ADUs. They are typically designed to be cohesive within an existing neighborhood design. This housing also minimizes urban sprawl by allowing for urban infill within pre-existing neighborhoods to avoid new subdivision development. 

ADUs can address the state’s affordable housing crisis by providing Floridians with a cheaper alternative to single-family houses. For example, ADUs can be especially beneficial for seniors, who may wish to age in lower-density residential areas rather than in apartment communities. ADUs can also provide families with flexible housing options for young adults and can provide property owners with an additional source of income. 

Despite these community benefits, ADUs currently face a number of legal and regulatory barriers in Florida. Several of Florida’s 67 counties do not mention ADUs in their local ordinances at all, and some counties explicitly prohibit them from being built in single-family zoning districts. When they are allowed, ADUs face restrictions in size, location, and owner-occupancy. These burdensome regulatory barriers deter homeowners from constructing ADUs on their land. 

If Floridians wish to have more affordable housing options, restrictions against ADUs should be eliminated. ADUs should be allowed by default in all single-family zoning districts in Florida, and excessive minimum lot size requirements should also be reduced so new units can more easily be developed. Additionally, property owners should be encouraged to rent their ADUs on the long-term market instead of as vacation rentals or short-term leases.  

Sen. Gaetz’s bill is a great step in the right direction by Florida lawmakers, but more bills should still be introduced to further ease regulatory barriers to ADUs.  Policies that relax restrictions on market-driven housing will be necessary to meet the affordable housing challenges faced by Floridians. 

Jami Holder is a Research Intern at the DeVoe L. Moore Center in the College of Social Sciences and Public Policy at Florida State University and an Interdisciplinary Social Sciences major with a concentration in urban planning.  

via: floridapolitics.com

Builders and homeowners often get exasperated by delays — waiting costs time and money.

Good news might be coming soon for people in Florida who build houses or need home repairs.

A new proposed law (HB 683) aims to make the process of getting building permits for smaller jobs faster and easier. On Friday, the House passed it unanimously, 114-0.

Read the entire story on Floridapolitics.com

Sometimes, break even isn’t break even. 

At a high level, the City of Tallahassee budget site (which is a wonderful service to residents, by the way) shows that the Tallahassee Airport is spending exactly what it is taking in. 

But a deeper dive shows that is not the case. 

For years, the airport – with the highest fares in America – has been making a profit of more than $1.3 million. That money has been shuttled off to the fire services fund up until this most recent year when $1.506 was sent to what was simply described on the web site as “other funds.” 

What is “other funds?”  We can’t find it on the site. But it begs the question, why is the City making its most-expensive-in-the-nation airport a profit center. Sure, $1.5 million is only about 7.5 percent of the total budget, but the airport is the butt of local jokes and is an albatross around the city’s neck, why not reinvest that money into … something. 

Also, how about some local vendors in the airport?  

The book selection in TLH is embarrassing – couldn’t a local bookstore be a better alternative? What about a Lucky Goat, Red Eye or Ground Ops coffee shop? Why does everything have to be some vanilla airport vendor? 

And why is change always so off the table? 

This August piece in the Tallahassee Democrat featured some excellent arguments from Sachs Media executive Ryan Cohn on an airport authority, but City Manager Reese Goad dismissed the idea for no other reason than it had already been talked about before.  

That’s not good enough. 

The Greater Tallahassee Chamber – which had at one time strongly advocated for an authority – seems to have backed off that position and sided with Goad.  

We recently featured our own ideas on changing the dynamic at the airport, followed by some even better ones from local CEO Eddie Gonzalez Loumiet.  

Another way the airport could do better at holding down costs is through salary control. The total salary line for airport employees has increased around 30 percent since the 2021-2022 budget, from $4.13 million to $5.35 million. The rate of inflation during that period was around 18 percent.  

Dividing total FTEs (58) into total salary lines, gives an average salary of $92,313. 

It should also be noted that the airport has allocated expenses back to the city for functions that are well represented by airport personnel. For example, the airport sends $157,000 back to the “home office” for accounting expense even though there are 3 full-time equivalents (FTEs) listed in “Admin-Finance.” 

The bottom line: TLH airport — which isn’t growing, features the highest prices in the country and which isn’t exactly known for its stellar service — should be reinvesting every penny it makes into improvement.  

Red Tape Florida recently released an investigative piece on the slow growth and high fares at Tallahassee International Airport, and the feedback was enormous.

Local Tallahassee resident, Co-Founder of Launch Tally and WellConnector and Sr Advisor, Informatics Strategy, APHL Board Chair at Ruvos, Eddie Gonzalez Loumiet weighed in on the issue at hand and offered some insightful suggestions.

Here are some ideas…some may already be in the works and some may not make sense for our region but maybe it will keep the conversation going…we need to think differently…

Build a Regional Air Alliance

• Form a multi-county/regional partnership with neighboring counties and cities to jointly market TLH as the airport for the broader region (not just Tallahassee).
• Leverage joint funding for incentives to attract airlines

Create a “Fly TLH” Incentive Program

• Offer rebates or local tax credits to businesses that book a minimum number of flights through TLH annually.
• Develop a frequent flyer cash-back or perks system that rewards residents who consistently choose TLH over Jacksonville or Panama City.

Develop an Airline Incubator Program

• Partner with start-up regional airlines or charter operators and help incubate new routes with subsidized landing fees, marketing help, and operational support.
• Pitch TLH as a test market for new short-haul or hybrid models (examples: semi-private flights or subscription-based air service like JSX).

Strategic Public-Private Partnership

• Create a public-private fund involving FSU, FAMU, TSC, major local employers, and the state to subsidize or offset the financial risk for new airlines/routes.
• Example: Amazon, Apple, or JetBlue helped fund new airport developments in other markets. It could also be a way to attract them to do business in our region.

Tech + Travel Innovation Hub (one of my favorites)

• Position TLH as a smart airport innovation zone, inviting tech startups to test autonomous luggage handling, biometric security, or AI-enhanced travel experiences. We can be a beta testing ground..make it easy for these companies to do biz in Tallahassee.

Redefine TLH’s Brand

• Launch a bold rebranding campaign that positions TLH as “The Capital Gateway” or “The Smartest Airport in the South.” We have a ton of smart marketing folks in our community..they can come together (work as one) to help.

Now, if we want to change the game…we will need a quarterback willing to lead the vision and execute.

Oh, there is one more….Free Parking.

Offering free parking at TLH could be a game-changing incentive….especially in a city like Tallahassee, where travelers drive to the airport.

Immediate traveler savings: For many, parking adds $50–$100 to a trip. Free parking makes TLH more competitive vs. JAX or Panama City. And it is not only about the $ but the time and convenience…how many people get a family member to drop them off at the airport at 5AM or get picked up at 11PM to save on parking…..

Behavior shift: People often drive 2–3 hours to fly cheaper. Free parking could help tip the balance back in TLH’s favor—especially for last-minute or short trips.

Perceived value: “Free parking” is simple and powerful marketing ….easy to remember, easy to sell. To me this is the best part. The publicity alone could drive more attention to TLH as we are thinking different about travel.

“Fly TLH Free Parking” Program

Why not try it? Conduct a pilot program for 12–18 months offering free parking for travelers who book through TLH (would require proof of boarding pass).

Could be tiered: first 3–5 days free, then reduced pricing. We won’t know if it will work if we don’t try it…

Free Parking for Loyalty

Partner with local banks, business groups, or airlie to offer free or discounted parking based on flight frequency, employer affiliation (state worker, FSU/FAMU/TSC, etc.), or enrollment in a “TLH Perks” program.

Weekend or Off-Peak Parking Free

Free parking Friday–Sunday or for early morning/late-night flights to encourage use of underutilized times. Again, proof of a boarding pass is needed.

Free Parking as a Business Incentive

Offer companies and agencies free airport parking for employees who book business travel from TLH

Make it part of Tallahassee’s business retention and expansion strategy.

Amplify the Strategy

Combine free parking with targeted airline recruitment, marketing, and economic development initiatives.

Use it as leverage in regional business conversations: “We don’t just want you to stay in Tallahassee—we’ll make it easier for your people to travel too.”

Just some initial thoughts and ideas…..

Here is a hint: You won’t have to pass “Go!”

In addition to having one of the greatest nicknames in all of sports – the Chanticleers – Coastal Carolina University knows how to market and drive attendance. 

The Conway, S.C., Division 1 football team had a decent 2024 (6-7 record) with decent attendance, averaging 17,128 in a stadium of 20,000. Season tickets average around $200. 

But that didn’t stop Coastal Carolina Athletic Director Chance Miller from being bold. He announced that all concessions at Coastal Carolina football games will be FREE (excluding alcohol, of course). Hot dogs, soft drinks, pretzels – all free for ticket buyers. 

Miller is throwing an estimated $250,000 a game down the drain, but what a great investment! Think of the goodwill, the increased ticket sales and the brand boost for the program. It’s a move that will create positive momentum and loyalty to the Chanticleers (which is a fierce rooster, by the way). 

Now, you probably know where this is headed. 

Tallahassee has long fought what is called “leakage” — in-market travelers who drive to Jacksonville, Atlanta or even Orlando to save money. They do this because the Tallahassee airport’s fares are the highest in the nation.  

Sometimes the financial calculations can be tricky – a $100 difference for a single traveler might not be worth the trouble and added expense of gas, parking, and time. 

But if a family of 4 is saving $250 per passenger, that’s a thousand bucks and mom and dad would probably spend some time on I-10 to save that kind of cash. 

In the middle of those two, it can be a close call, balancing finances, convenience and time. 

The big idea: 

What if Tallahassee’s airport decided to make that call a little harder by going to free parking? The short-term lot costs $15 for a full day; $13 for long term. For a 7-day vacation that’s around $100 of savings that could be offered to travelers. For some, it might be enough to make a difference. 

Another idea: How about free coffee at the airport, especially for the plague of pre-dawn flights that seem to be the only options to travel out of town? Sure, there are existing contracts, etc. but why is Tallahassee making its lightly traveled airport a profit center instead of finding ways to make it attractive for residents? Put another way, if Coastal Carolina can give away free food and drinks to their football fans, can’t Tallahassee figure it out for its travelers? 

We’ve talked about downtown Thomasville, Georgia’s allure – how much do you pay for parking there? Zilch. 

Time for new leadership? 

There is also the issue of governance. The Greater Tallahassee Chamber has, in the past, sought to move the airport to an “authority” as exists in other Florida communities.  While we certainly aren’t in favor of change for change’s sake, can the performance of the airport really get any worse under a new structure? 

We can’t find a single commercial airport in Florida that hasn’t seen passenger traffic growth in the last 30 years, which would make TLH dead last in growth. That alone should be cause for a new model. 

One thing to keep an eye on is the state of Florida deciding to take control of the airport. It is certainly a nuclear option, but the airport of a capital city is a vital link in the state’s economic development efforts.  

Changing the mindset 

Back to the spirit of the Chanticleers, there is good evidence that Tallahassee leaders are thinking innovatively. The City of Tallahassee recently announced a new exhibit at the airport touting the National High Magnetic Laboratory at Florida State. 

Even though that’s an idea that has, ahem, been around since at least 2017, it’s a good one. 

One last point: Surely it’s just a matter of time before someone loses their life driving for hours to fly out of a cheaper airport. Our current setup is unsafe, not good for the environment and not respectful of city residents. It’s time for some truly innovative thinking to turn this airport around. 

So, raise a glass of coffee – or the arm of a parking garage barricade – to the Chanticleers and their innovative approach to customer relations.  

While TLH fares are highest in the land; traffic has stalled 

In 1994, the Tallahassee Airport celebrated a major milestone – more than 1 million passengers flew out of TLH. 

In the more than 30 years since then, growth in other Florida airports has been rapid. 

Palm Beach Airport passenger traffic has grown 50 percent. Ft. Myers has almost tripled. Nearby Jacksonville up 38 percent. In fact, along with Pensacola, Jacksonville was recently rated one of the fastest growing airports in America. 

And another state capital airport, in Austin, Texas, opened in 1999 with 6.6 million passengers – in 2024 that number tripled to more than 21 million. 

So, how about TLH in the past 30 years? 

Traffic has actually dropped. That’s right, there are fewer people flying in and out of Tallahassee than there was when Lawton Chiles was governor. The Tallahassee airport had about the same number of travelers the year of The Choke at Doak (FSU’s comeback from 31-3 vs. UF) as it did in 2024. 

According to the Office of Economic Vitality, while 1.06 million passengers flew in and out of TLH in 1995, that number was just 968,000 in 2024. 

Those JetBlue blues 

It’s not for lack of trying. Efforts to attract new carriers and new routes have led to brief interludes with JetBlue and other airlines. Various marketing campaigns have attempted to stem the tide of in-market travelers choosing to fly out of Jacksonville, Atlanta or Orlando (called “leakage” in the industry). 

And there have been failed deals to develop the airport, including a much-ballyhooed $616 million deal with North American Aerospace Industries that was the subject of celebratory party and claims by Mayor John Dailey that it would be a “gamechanger” (two months before his narrow primary election win over Kristin Dozier) before it eventually fizzled.  

Other improvements to the airport have been frequent and expensive: 

• In 2015, more than $10 million was spent on a terminal redesign. 

• In 2021, another $4.5 million was spent on improvement to the concourses.  

• In 2022, an international processing facility was constructed, at a cost of $28 million, with the promise that it would create 1,600 jobs.  

• In 2023, the City allocated another $1 million to airport renovations.  

Oh, and about those fares 

Another thing that has kept Tallahassee passenger traffic low is high fares. Presumably because of limited supply, TLH fares were recently found to be the highest in the entire U.S. The analysis found that the average fare out of TLH is a whopping $562. 

One theory, in media reports, is that the willingness of Tallahassee’s political class to fly at the last minute means airlines hold fares higher.  

A larger issue is the lack of competition and the lack of growth in the market, as evidenced by this recent Red Tape Florida report.  

Sandbagging gets new meaning 

But then there are questions of service, coordination with federal partners, communication and more. 

Complaints about airport service are legendary in Tallahassee. 

To wit, the week of March 22 was not a good one for TLH as multiple issues surfaced. 

On March 22, passengers on an American flight to Miami spent an hour on their plane before being taken off en masse and then reboarding again less than an hour later. As one passenger posted on X, “According to our pilot, there is no maintenance crew here to sign off on the flight log.” Another asserted that the maintenance contractor lived 45 minutes away. 

Red Tape Florida reached out to Airport Director David Pollard for clarification on this, but he has not responded.  

That same day, an American flight to Charlotte was delayed 4 hours which meant two flights to Charlotte left at roughly the same time from two separate gates. Red Tape Florida’s Skip Foster witnessed a passenger end up trying to board the wrong Charlotte flight – after his actual flight had already left.  

It was also noted that employees wearing the same work garb as baggage handlers were serving as gate agents and were boarding flights.  

Then, on March 28, both TSA scanners apparently malfunctioned at the same time, resulting in hand-wanding of passengers. 

This caused so many to miss their flights that, as one passenger posted on Facebook, the pilot had to order sandbags added to the plane to get the balance correct.  

Thankfully, the flight arrived safely. 

Always soaring: Bureaucracy 

Meanwhile, even though passenger traffic isn’t growing, the airport bureaucracy is. 

Just since 2010 (so, for half of the 30-year span of growth-less-ness at the airport), the airport budget has grown more than 50 percent to just under $20 million. More than $4 million of that is for salaries and overtime. 

The current budget increased more than 16 percent over prior year. City of Tallahassee budget numbers are not available online for 1995. 

COMING LATER THIS WEEK: Red Tape Florida offers a few suggestions for changing the game at TLH. 

Let’s state this clearly up front: 

The City of Ormond Beach is on a course to spend tens of millions of taxpayer dollars fighting a perfectly legal new home development on behalf of a handful of nearby homeowners who are weaponizing local government to deny someone their property rights.  

The casualties of this futile battle are: local jobs, affordable housing, smart development, public trust, taxpayer dollars and common sense (more on all of these shortly). 

A Red Tape Florida investigation detailed the situation earlier this week. The short version: A property owner wants to develop a defunct golf course into homes that will fit well within the current neighborhood, but the city is denying them any kind of zoning. A federal lawsuit has been filed after the homebuilder exhausted all efforts. 

That this type of anti-free market activity is happening in a bright red county is quite breathtaking. 

This is not a simple difference of opinion, by the way. As the homebuilder’s legal team has unearthed, the city is simply not operating in good faith on this matter. They are starting with “how do we deny this” and then trying to find (or manufacture) a rule to support their desired final outcome. 

That leads to email correspondence such as the planning department admitting to the city attorney: “(we) cannot find another city that has assigned a Planned Development with no development order.” The city attorney’s response is, essentially, don’t worry about it. 

If you’re reaction to this is to shrug, then let us offer some dominos that might affect others in Ormond Beach and around the state. 

Domino No. 1: The impact on blue collar workers. These 300 or so homes would all need roofers, plumbers, electricians, landscapers, painters, cabinet makers, dry wall installers, irrigation experts, graders and countless other tradespeople. This is work that is being withheld from them by the government and neighbors who don’t actually own the land in question. 

Domino No. 2: Affordable housing. What’s particularly insidious about this weaponization of local government by NIMBY neighbors is the attempt to strong-arm the developer into building houses that are LESS affordable (presumably because the nearby homeowners don’t want to associate with any riffraff). It’s embarrassing and insulting.  

Domino No. 3: Erosion of public trust. Ormond Beach is going to lose this lawsuit and be forced to do what is clearly their legal obligation. Then what will happen to the millions in legal fees the city must pay? Answer: Of course, it will be just absorbed into the massive bureaucracy that is local government. And remember, the city could also be on the hook for tens of millions in punitive damages for the lose of use of the property – perhaps even as high as $40 million. That’s a disaster for Ormond Beach taxpayers.  

Domino No. 4: The loss of revenue to local government from higher property values – revenue that could help lower taxes or provide vital services to residents.  

By the way, there was an easy solution here: The 500 homeowners could have bought the land in 2018 for the same purchase price, and it would have been just about $5,200 each. If financed, as a group, the monthly payments would have been manageable. 

Instead, ALL Ormond Beach taxpayers are on the hook for a lawsuit that could cost many times the value of the property in question. 

It’s time for Ormond Beach taxpayers to demand an end to this. The developer has already shown a willingness to compromise, adding greenspace, buffers and more to his proposal. 

The city needs to show some leadership and look out for all of its taxpaying residents by coming to the table and working out a solution.  

City Attorney censors Planning Director; did commissioners know? 

The email from Ormond Beach Planning Director is as damning as it is shocking. 

While Ormond City Commissioners and the City Attorney grandstanded for the public on how a former golf course was not eligible for a zoning designation called R-2, the planning director was raising his hand with a different view. 

“Good morning, Randy,” wrote Planning Director Steven Spraker to City Attorney Randy Hayes on Dec. 20, 2023. “We are having issues with the analysis of why the R-2 zoning is not appropriate zoning for the application.” 

Spraker then listed three reasons why R-2 was the appropriate designation: 

1. It was zoned that way for more than 40 years.  

2. The surrounding subdivisions are all zoned R-2. 

3. The R-2 designation is consistent with the type of land use that had been proposed to the city commission. 

City Attorney Hayes was having nothing of Planning Director Spraker’s views. 

Red Tape Florida obtained a “red-lined” draft of the portion of the planning board report written by Spraker in which the Hayes struck the planning director’s views and didn’t bring them up verbally to commissioners or the public during the April 16, 2024, meeting in which the matter was discussed. 

Now, Ormond Beach residents are facing a massive lawsuit, lost opportunities for affordable housing and the jobs that would be created from a new development. 

First, a recap of the story: The long-defunct Tomoka Oaks Golf Course in Ormond Beach was acquired by developers aiming to revitalize the area with an upscale residential community.  

The proposed development seeks to transform the neglected land into a vibrant neighborhood, addressing the increasing demand for quality housing in Ormond Beach. The developers emphasize that this project will not only enhance the aesthetic appeal of the area but also contribute to the local economy by attracting new residents and creating job opportunities during the construction phase.  

But the entire commission has kowtowed to a small group of residents who oppose the plans, saying it will hurt their quality of life.  

The city has demanded the developer dramatically reduce the number of homes built on the property – without giving a specific number – and has refused to allow R-2 zoning even though that’s what existed before and after the golf course and that’s how the surrounding homes are zoned. 

The city has gone even further, pressuring the developer – Tomoka Reserve – to build homes that were $1 million or even more in a transparent attempt to placate residents’ concerns that “riff raff” will invade their neighborhood.  

No movement from the city 

While Tomoka Reserve has voluntarily increased green space, increased buffering, decreased density and made other concessions, the city hasn’t budged. 

“It’s understandable that city commissioners want to be responsive to the neighbors of this project,” said Patrick Slevin, a spokesman for Tomoka Reserve. “But why should the land in question be zoned any differently than the land the protesting homeowners live on? Why is R-2 good enough for the current homeowners, but not potentially NEW homeowners? 

Also, what about taxpayers? What about property rights? What about affordable housing? What about jobs?” 

The price of NIMBY: Jobs 

When it comes to jobs, local tradespeople pay a price for NIMBY obstructionism. 

Fortunately, we don’t have to guess at the negative impact on jobs and the economy, the University of Colorado created an interactive model to quantify it. 

The numbers are staggering: 

The Tomoka Reserve project would create an average of 365 jobs a year for the five years of the project, pumping over $200 million into the economy.  

Those jobs would mean a lot to local tradespeople like Cuba Hanks, who runs Abaco Windows, in Ormond Beach. New homes mean he can hire up local workers and pay them a fair wage. Even if he only got a third of the window business, Hanks says it would be huge. 

“This would absolutely benefit my company and all of the trades,” Hanks said. “It would give security to me and my company and my employees. 

‘There is a very good chance I’d need to hire more people.” 

Hanks bristles at the idea that the project wouldn’t have a positive economic impact. 

“If somebody tells you that it won’t help Ormond Beach, they are bald-faced lying,” he said. “I don’t care who you are, nearly 300 houses is life-altering for a business.” 

Property rights for me, not thee 

Meanwhile, not only can the property owner not create new homes and new jobs, but the nearby homeowners – who are fighting to deny Tomoka Reserve its property rights – are flagrantly infringing on those very rights. 

Trucks, trampolines and more are residing on Tomoka Reserve property. 

So far, the city has not responded to Tomoka’s requests for action.  

Which means all that is left is expensive litigation and the promise of less pressure on the housing market. And more jobs are missed. 

Leon County Commissioner for District 4, Brian Welch, took to Facebook this week to talk about the developments near Chiles High School.

Read his full statement here.

Red Tape Florida’s Skip Foster weighed in on a situation in Ormond Beach where some commissioners are trying to tie up the mayor in knots of bureaucracy by having him defer to “public information officers” when he is approached by the media.

It’s such an amazing moment when the Mayor of Munchkin City makes the impromptu announcement on the public square that “the joyous news be spread” that the Wicked Witch is dead.

In Ormond Beach, he would have needed to clear that with the public information officer first.

Read the full article here.

In Leon County, our growth industry is bureaucracy 

Anytime even the smallest new development is announced in Tallahassee, someone inevitably says “we are turning into Orlando.”  

Not only is that not happening, Tallahassee and Leon are getting much farther away from being a growing, vibrant community where our citizens see their incomes rise and our children stick around to build meaningful and rewarding careers. We can, however, find growth in at least one major category: We grow bureaucracy the way Iowa grows corn. 

The easiest way to measure the growth of a community is by looking at population. And if you believe the science and research – that communities with stagnant populations are most likely to suffer crime and poverty – the population picture is ugly. 

Since 2015, Leon County has added just 12,544 residents – a 4.4 percent increase over that period. 

In the short term, the picture is even worse. Leon County actually LOST population between 2022 and 2023 and early estimates show another loss in 2024. 

It’s a stark contrast to the period from roughly 1970 to 2010 – a 40-year period when  Leon nearly tripled in size. 

Compared to its fellow Florida counties, Leon’s population growth looks even more anemic. From 2020-2025 (est.) Leon ranks No. 63 out of 67 for population growth, just behind Union County, home to Raiford and Lake Butler. 

Public sector anything but low growth 

You might think that since the county isn’t growing, that the two local governments that serve Leon residents have also shown smallish growth, but that hasn’t been the case. 

The combined operating budgets of the City of Tallahassee and Leon County now total $1.285 billion, a $377 million or 42 percent increase since 2015. While local government doesn’t necessarily need to grow at the rate of inflation, those two local governments’ growth has far exceeded the rate of inflation during that time. 

Some of the categories on which local government spends money are eye-popping. 

The City of Tallahassee spends more than $1.47 million on its communications department; $839,000 on “strategic innovation” and $463,000 for its ethics office (even after it was recently rocked by its own ethics scandal).  

Leon County (and most other Florida and U.S, counties) have been able to grow at this high rate, without leaning into millage rate increases,  because property values have increased so sharply during the inflationary period of the last few years. Property tax revenue in Leon County has increased almost 50 percent from 2020 to 2025 ($147 million to $218 million). 

In Tallahassee, property tax revenue has increased more than 50 percent since 2020. 

But cumulative inflation for that period is just 25 percent.  

Back to the private sector 

More evidence of Tallahassee’s lack of growth is the lack of available housing inventory. This chart compares Leon County to the three counties closest in population (greater and less than). As you can see, Leon has fewer listings than any counties with similar size populations. Eventually this will result in upward pressure on prices as we know from our high school Econ 101 price curve. 

And that’s exactly what is happening in Leon County. 

Since the start of 2020, the median price of a home in Leon County has risen from $225,000 to $315,000 – a 40 percent increase in just 5 years. Those percentages in similar counties: Alachua up 19 percent; Hernando up 41 percent; Escambia up 26 percent; St. John’s up 38 percent. 

Orlando? Really? 

It shouldn’t be surprising that Leon County’s growth is anemic – anti-growth forces have opposed all sorts of new development, both residential and commercial, with varying degrees of success. 

From parking garages to gas stations to urban infill and many more, Tallahassee-Leon has consistently advocated against ALL growth, even as it claims to be for “smart growth.” 

Invariably, snide comments in social media posts on new development claim that Leon is on the verge of “turning into Orlando.” Here are Google Earth shots comparing the two: 

Of course, it’s a ridiculous comparison. Orange County (Orlando) population has grown more in the last two years than Leon County has in the last 35. 

While the issue is being demagogued, Tallahassee-Leon is experiencing exactly what you would expect from a low-growth area – high poverty, particularly concentrated in certain areas, and decades of high crime.  You can draw a direct line between our failure to grow and the desperation in our poorest neighborhoods. 

Leon County’s rolling rate of people below 150 percent of poverty (2019-2023) is 25.6 percent – well above the state average of 21.3 percent. And the 32304 zip code has become infamous for being one of the poorest in the state.  

And while Leon County’s violent crime rate is no longer worst in the state, it is still above the state average.  

An Urban Land Institute 2002 working paper on the relationship between growth and economic strength presciently identified this type of nexus. 

The study found the following benefits of growth: 

• Maintains the current standard of living, at a minimum; 

• Accommodates the steadily growing population of the United States that results from annual birthrates and immigration levels that continue to outpace the number of deaths and the rate of out-migration; 

• Provides additional choices of where to live and work;  

• Generates new jobs, new income, new tax revenue, and higher property values; 

• Stimulates greater opportunities for the revitalization of urban areas. 

Further, ULI compared high-growth metro areas to low-growth and found that the higher growth areas had more jobs, better transportation, better education and better recreation, even as the market tried to keep pace with an influx of new residents. 

Back to poverty, should we really hate Orlando so much when the average Orlando household makes more than $1,000 per month than the average Tallahassee household?  That extra income in our county would transform the lives of Tallahassee’s struggling families.  

(Why is one almost triple the other?) 

How much is a fair discount for work not done by local government? And why does that question have so many different answers, even within the same county? 

Red Tape Florida took a look at work done by private providers – businesses who do electrical inspections and the like. 

Florida law is crystal clear – if a homeowner or contractor uses a private provider inspector to perform electrical or other types of building inspections in lieu of the local building official, the local government must discount the permit fees by the amount of the cost savings realized for not having to perform the services. 

In Leon County, that discount is 60 percent. Same in Bay County. In the city of Clearwater, it’s 50 percent. In Martin County, it’s 65 percent. 

But in Tallahassee, that number is just 20 percent.  

Why? 

The fee for the permit is supposed to cover the costs incurred by the government. In fact, statutes require building departments to operate as enterprise funds. They are only allowed to use the revenue generated from permit fees to fund the operation of the department. But Tallahassee is taking 80 percent of the money it would receive for doing the inspection itself, even though it’s not actually doing the work. Which also begs the question of where that money is going? 

According to John Reddick, the City of Tallahassee’s Growth Management Director, it’s because of the city’s “maintaining of high-quality service.” 

“Due to the relatively larger scale of projects in the city limits, the types of construction and requests from builders can demand significant time and attention from staff,” Reddick said.  

But the actual providers have another theory – that the city simply doesn’t want private providers to do the work. That was the case in Bay County before a lawsuit was filed by Al Wilson, who runs a private company called the Florida Building Code Compliance Authority. Bay County was giving just a 25 percent discount to private providers, much less than the discount mandated by statutes. 

After successful litigation, Bay County is now up to 60 percent, which means hundreds of dollars per inspection no longer flow into local government coffers in exchange for no work being done. 

But lest you think this is inside baseball for builders, contractors and developers, the people actually paying this added expense are the eventual homebuyers. It’s part of the reason why overregulation is such an underreported factor when it comes to the affordable housing crisis.  

“These local governments are just thumbing their nose at the will of the Legislature,” said Wilson, who has become a crusader against overregulation. “They take money for work they don’t do, and force you to sue them to make it right. 

“But the people paying the price aren’t people like me, it’s the homebuyer. When you start adding up a few hundred dollars here and a few thousand dollars there, it can really make a huge difference in the eventual sales price,” Wilson said. 

What’s stark about the situation in the state capital is that right across the street at Leon County’s office, the discount is 60 percent – about three times what Tallahassee is offering. 

Why is Leon County so much higher than the City of Tallahassee? 

According to Justin Poole, Leon Director of Building Plans Review and Inspection, the number was determined by his predecessor 6 years ago. But he thinks it’s too high. 

“After six years of experience with private provider projects, I can easily say that 60 percent is too much of a discount,” Poole said.  “Dealing with private provider projects is an administrative nightmare, and in my opinion, the discount should be around 25 percent.”   

Stay tuned for future updates… 

The controversy over proposed changes to Thomasville Road in midtown Tallahassee generated overwhelming opposition from local businesses, commuters, and residents alike.  

On one hand, it’s a great example of how broad and admirable visions – in this case, improving the overall attractiveness of Midtown – don’t always survive the descent into the nitty gritty details of implementation. 

Folks spent a lot of time developing a vision for Midtown and, in many ways, it is a good one – a more vibrant, walkable destination area where businesses can flourish.  

But as the Midtown plan pertains to the southern end of Thomasville Road, it simply didn’t pass the common sense test – eliminating a left turn lane would have been disastrous move for commuters and businesses. And it likely wouldn’t have mattered because few of them would have survived two years of the vital road being converted to one way southbound. 

We are relieved that FDOT killed the Blueprint-driven plan, sparing businesses and commuters from what could have been an economic disaster for that area of town. 

Taking a step back, however, Red Tape Florida believes this is a symptom of a larger problem – Tallahassee seems to be a one-trick pony of “placemaking,” without a true vision or understanding of how to grow a retail economy.  While murals, landscaping, and wider sidewalks may enhance an area’s aesthetic appeal, they are not enough to grow a thriving retail economy. 

Midtown’s future success requires more than cosmetic changes; it demands a serious strategy for attracting and sustaining retail businesses. 

While it is now clear that Blueprint citizen engagement badly missed the mark, something else caught our eye. The survey of residents about what to do in Midtown was notable for what was NOT included as options for a response. Blueprint asked survey takers to rank the following in importance: bicycle facilities, bus stops and amenities, congestion relief, pedestrian facilities, placemaking, travel speeds and signage and wayfinding.  

Notably absent from the survey? Business development and parking. The entire survey is devoid of anything that might help drive some actual commerce. 

Making a difference is going to require some new thinking, not just from local government, but from folks in nearby residential areas who too often take a NIMBY (not in my backyard) approach. 

The area will never become a thriving walkable area until there is a critical mass of places to walk. Right now, a smattering of wonderful restaurants and retail establishments are surrounded by non-retail establishments such as associations, law offices, accountants, office parks and even an oil-change shop.  But, visionary public officials would realize that we need a level of retail density in the area that attracts and engages strolling shoppers.   

How can they help achieve that vision?  Re-write our local building code so that it embraces flexibility in retail design and makes it easier and faster to get building permits.  Usher in a cultural change so that Tallahassee’s permitting bureaucracy looks for a way to say “yes” instead of tolerating a bureaucracy that loves to say “no.”  And, expand to the Midtown area the successful grant programs, such as the ones used by Tallahassee’s Community Redevelopment Agency. These are programs that help finance new retail construction and façade improvements.    

And then, of course, the issue of parking simply must be addressed. There isn’t nearly enough of it, even for existing businesses. A plan for a garage was shouted down by nearby residents who want their cake – a quiet walkable area – and eat it, too (preferably at a place they can walk to).  

The irony? A central parking facility encourages walking by getting people out of their cars and onto the sidewalks. And perhaps a surge in retail activity would make it easier for business owners to survive new traffic patterns rather than take it in the teeth while lipstick is put on the pig. 

Tallahasseeans often look longingly north to the bustling downtown across the Georgia state line. But downtown Thomasville isn’t a destination because of cobblestone streets and fancy light fixtures. It works because of a healthy glut of retail. Parking is easy. Shopping is prolific. It’s safe and easy and thriving …. that’s what real placemaking looks like. 

The intersection of local government and private business is never simple. But it’s time for Tallahassee to run some new plays – and one of them should be to develop a strategy specifically designed to grow retail. Midtown seems as good of a place as any to start. 

In other words, let’s take a sharp turn toward a business-first approach to placemaking. 

We are a new site, powered by Hammerhead Communications, which will shine a light on local government bureaucracy in a unique way. 

You will find that most of our content falls into three buckets:

1. Accountability: There are far too many stories of excessive government red tape that are never told – RedTapeFlorida.com will shine a light into the dark corners of bureaucratic inefficiency. 

2. Affirmation: Along with that vinegar will come honey – telling the stories of when government does things the right way to encourage best practices. 

3. Advocacy: We will offer our thoughts on the best way to address shortcomings and build on successes. In particular, you will read a lot about our belief that the increased costs of government red tape are connected directly to the issue of affordable housing. 

We might even break a little news regarding how local government does business in other ways.  

While our initial focus will be on Tallahassee, we are already expanding into other markets around the state. This effort will be focused on local government – the state of Florida has already taken steps to reduce red tape, but some of that has not trickled down to the local level. 

As our site launches, you will see compelling stories about red tape and its impact on our economy, such as: 

• The inside story of the Thomasville Road/Midtown Tallahassee controversy and the failure of the bureaucracy to adequately communicate the ramifications of the project. 

• A column on how reducing regulation can impact the issue of affordable housing. 

• A story of how the joint Tallahassee-Leon County urban design studio is proving to be an effective operation.  

As you can see, those initial stories cover the three buckets of accountability, affirmation and advocacy. 

Often, it’s the small business entrepreneurs and their blue-collar employees — such as plumbers, electricians, roofers and the like – who bear the brunt of the added time and cost these regulations impose. And, then of course, those costs are inevitably passed down to consumers such as homebuyers or the small businesses that occupy commercial property. 

There is also an economic development price to be paid for localities who have a reputation as not being business friendly because of glacially slow permitting or other red tape. 

Here is one thing RedTapeFlorida.com will not be: Involved in any way in political campaigns or electoral politics. We started this “off-election-cycle” to make this point clear – RedTapeFlorida.com is about policies and procedures, not precincts and polling. 

One feature you will see on our site is “Retribution Watch.” For too long, private sector people have been afraid to tell some of the stories you will read for fear of retribution. We will not allow that to happen without shining a light on such unscrupulous behavior. 

It’s also this fear of retribution that has caused us to keep our list of sponsors private, even as some businesses choose to tell their specific stories publicly. 

As you encounter red tape, we hope you will share those with us, using this link. You might also have suggestions on public records requests in your community or other ideas for the site. 

If you would like to be a sponsor, please reach out to us here. We have a variety of packages including an “affiliate” sponsorship for just $175 a month for those who may not be directly involved in these matters but simply want to support the mission. 

You can follow us on all major social media platforms (@redtapeFl), and we hope you will share the site with your friends and colleagues. 

Through accountability, affirmation and advocacy, we look forward to lessening the burden of government red tape in a way that benefits our entire economy. 

Skip Foster 

President 

Hammerhead Communications 

Lost in the national discussion over affordable housing is this: Fully 25 percent of the cost of a new home goes to regulations.  

One quarter.  

It’s essentially a regressive tax on housing that impacts starter and luxury homes alike. 

In Florida, the median price of a new home is a bit higher than the national average – a little over $400,000 — so more than $100,000 of that goes to government regulation. 

Sure, the home building market needs regulation, for safety, to protect the environment. But $100,000 for every $400,000 home? It’s excessive and a sign that the bureaucracy is out of control.  

How come all we ever hear about is “greedy developers” and “unscrupulous contractors” when, by far, the entity making the most money of a new home is the government? 

Red Tape Florida is always fascinated, and disappointed, when groups advocating for affordable housing – such as the Capital Area Justice Ministry – fail to include reducing government regulation in their often-voluminous list of recommendations. 

Are these groups really trying to address affordable housing or are they just pushing a narrow ideology. 

It should be no surprise to anyone that the affordable housing crisis is particularly acute in Tallahassee – it’s one of the most difficult places in the country to build a house.  

And that’s reflected in the numbers. Tallahassee-Leon’s new housing permits totaled just 517 in 2024 LINK COMING. Comparing that to the two counties that rank just above Leon in population is, well, embarrassing. Escambia County had more than double the permits at 1,200 and St. John’s had 2,746, five times Leon’s new home construction. 

Surely we all remember Economics 101 and the price curve, based on supply and demand. 

These numbers make it easy to argue that something is suppressing Tallahassee’s housing supply, which the law of supply and demand tells us will increase prices every time. 

It’s RedTapeFlorida.com’s contention that, in Leon County at least, that “something” is excessive red tape and regulation. 

When someone wants to include that as a part of their affordable housing platform, perhaps they will get a more friendly reception. In the meantime, RedTapeFlorida.com will continue its mission of making housing more affordable by shining a light on the good, bad and ugly of local and state government red tape. 

An inside look at Tallahassee’s midtown debacle 

By Skip Foster, Red Tape Florida 

The story of last week’s Thomasville Road controversy started 15 years ago. 

But the key date was, believe it or not, Nov. 9, 2019, when a small group of people unwittingly set into motion the series of events that culminated with a community-wide uproar. 

Before we get there, let’s start with some background. 

When vision collides with common sense 

About 15 years ago, a committee of local residents set out to make Midtown Tallahassee a more livable, walkable, and vibrant place. These well-intentioned volunteers came up with a grand plan that sounded like something anyone would support – spacious sidewalks, lush landscaping and vibrant public spaces aimed at boosting economic development. 

But a funny thing happened on the way to actual implementation. It turns out, what the local bureaucracy thought was appropriate public engagement and communication, actually resulted in just 30 people deciding the future fate of Midtown.  

And what those 30 people chose was not just wildly unpopular, it was viewed as openly hostile to businesses and to workers who commute through one of the city’s most vital arteries. 

Most critically, the conversion of Thomasville Road to one-way traffic for two years — a move that could cripple businesses — was never disclosed to the very property owners with whom local government was negotiating for right of way access. As a result, business owners only recently learned about a change that could devastate their livelihoods. 

In fact, the two-year, one-way plan doesn’t appear in any documents reviewed by Red Tape Florida. 

Not in the Midtown placemaking committee. Not in any documents of the Capital Regional Transportation Planning Authority (CRPTA). Not in Blueprint. Not in either the Tallahassee City Commission or Leon County Commission. 

Some Midtown property owners only found out after they had negotiated the sale of their property rights. Heartbreakingly, multiple business owners shared that their employees  started asking last week if their jobs are in jeopardy because of the plan.  

While Friday’s decision by FDOT to kill the Blueprint Midtown placemaking plan was welcomed by most in Tallahassee, it almost didn’t happen.  

Red Tape Florida has learned that even the office of Florida Governor Ron DeSantis became engaged on the issue, making it clear to all stakeholders that Blueprint-proposed changes to Thomasville Road were a non-starter. 

Here is Red Tape Florida’s inside story of how a Tallahassee “placemaking” project collided head on with common sense.  

From idea to implementation 

The Midtown Action Plan – which became a part of the Blueprint process — was the product of discussion that began as early as 2009. A working group was formed, consisting of heads of local business and neighborhood associations, private business owners and two retailers. Sadly, the two retailers have since gone out of business. 

The plan that resulted from this effort is filled with aesthetic and brand improvements to the area which encompasses part of the Thomasville Road and N. Monroe corridors, such as murals, colorful planters, “xeriscaping” and such. 

Then the plan moved into an implementation phase. For years, elements of the plan materialized in small increments, such as the North Monroe/Lake Ella pedestrian crossing. 

However, initial references to Thomasville Road were vague and the plan initially only spoke only in broad generalities. 

By 2019, some specifics were taking shape and a communications plan was implemented. Blueprint, in collaboration with CRPTA, held a public meeting at the Tallahassee Senior Center on November 9 and asked attendees to vote on three options for changes to Thomasville Road in Midtown. 

Options 1 and 2 both eliminated the turn lane and had minor differences with regards to sidewalks. Option 3 kept the turn lane, except it converted to a median where there is no place to turn. 

There were 49 total votes. That’s less than 2 ten thousandths of the county’s 2019 population of just over 293,000 residents. Option 2 — eliminating the turn lane — was the “winner” with just 30 votes.  

Did commissioners understand the vote? 

Those 30 people voting at the senior center ultimately led to the solution that was approved by the CRTPA board, which included three Tallahassee City Commissioners (Jeremy Matlow, Curtis Richardson and Dianne Williams-Cox) and four Leon County Commissioners (Bryan Desloge, Kristin Dozier, Nick Maddox and Rick Minor) 

But what presentation was shown to the CRTPA board that led to its approval on Oct. 19. 2020? 

Well, let’s look at two consecutive slides. First, a slide showing how many people were engaged in the process. 

While 883 people were reportedly engaged in the public process, the vast majority of those were from a survey that didn’t clearly include the elimination of the turn lane on Thomasville Road as an option. It also remains unclear how many “unique” participants this entails – that is, were there repeat attendees? 

Now, here is the next slide commissioners on the CRTPA would have seen: 

See that 61 percent number? Well, remember the vote at the senior center? 30 votes for Option 2, divided by 49 total votes equals … you guessed it … 61 percent. One has to wonder if commissioners thought that 61 percent of the total number of people engaged in the process supported eliminating the turn lane, rather than just 30 people (note: Blueprint literature does not mention whether other stakeholders were surveyed on those three specific options). 

Blueprint board buried in paperwork 

Next stop for the Midtown plan was the Dec. 10, 2020, meeting of the Blueprint IA board (made up of all five city commissioners and all seven county commissioners). 

The Midtown plan appeared in what is called “consent” — a block of items that are approved together, usually unanimously without any discussion. The 595-page Blueprint agenda included 62 pages of information on the Midtown placemaking plan. References to the elimination of the turn lane were on pages 110 and 112. There was no mention of the road becoming one way for the two years of work on the project. 

The minutes show that the consent package, including the Midtown placemaking plan, were approved 12-0 without discussion of the plan. 

Businesses Left in the Dark 

The next major development in the project seems to be September of 2024, when property owners along Thomasville Road received a letter about right of way acquisition. The letter included the same literature and renderings about eliminating the left turn lane. 

But it did not include any mention – none – of Thomasville Road becoming one-way for two years. In fact, there is no mention of that reality in any Blueprint literature reviewed by Red Tape Florida. And, of the four business owners contacted by Red Tape Florida, none knew of the “one way for two years” plan until the last week or two. 

It should also be noted that there does not appear to be any media coverage of the plan to eliminate the turn lane and at least two business owners on the impacted stretch of Thomasville Road did not know about that facet of the project until just a couple of weeks ago. 

For perspective, here is how Blueprint describes its public engagement policy: 

Did FDOT save the day? 

So, where does the Florida Department of Transportation come in? 

The Blueprint project was initially aligned with a planned Florida Department of Transportation (FDOT) repaving project. The idea was to complete both projects simultaneously, along with utility maintenance. 

But, ultimately, all parties must agree to the entire scope, including the Blueprint plan. Put another way, as FDOT officials made it clear to multiple attendees during the March 4 open forum on the project: “It’s our road.”  

FDOT officials were already strongly hinting to some in the overwhelmingly opposed-to-the-new-plan March 4 crowd that the state would likely reject the plan, given the level of opposition. Three days later, they made it official. 

To FDOT’s further credit, in the days before the public meeting, Project Manager Travis Justice and his team took steps to inform Midtown businesses by proactively visiting  them to alert them about the impact of the project and make them aware of the public meeting.  

FDOT was concerned there hadn’t been adequate communication. 

Where do we go from here? 

It will be interesting to see how city and county commissioners deal with the fallout from this meeting. Red Tape Florida has learned that more than one commissioner has expressed frustration that Blueprint so badly missed the public’s wishes when it comes to this plan. Blueprint apparently went to some lengths to engage the public, but why aren’t they getting a true sense of what the community wants? What other decisions have been made with incomplete or inaccurate community input? 

For now, when it comes to Thomasville Road, FDOT has bailed out the community and prevented Blueprint from taking a wrong turn. 

By Skip Foster, Red Tape Florida 

Tallahassee — While the stories of red tape in Tallahassee are legendary and will be chronicled on this site, Red Tape Florida is also committed to showing when things are done the right way. The City of Tallahassee’s urban design studio, called DesignWorks, is a good example of a local government success story. 

Here’s how it works: DesignWorks serves as a problem-solving hub for builders, developers, and citizens navigating local regulations. Citizens, builders and developers bring a problem to DesignWorks. The team goes to work coming up with solutions, all the while getting input from all the potential stakeholders, such as the local government teams that regulate stormwater, traffic and engineering, etc. 

The DesignWorks team then comes back with potential solutions that have already incorporated feedback from all the individual departments from which the builder would have had to seek approval. 

The result? A collaborative approach that helps projects move forward efficiently, with solutions crafted upfront to avoid bureaucratic roadblocks later. 

Todd Sperry, of OliverSperry Renovation, is a big fan. 

“Regular permitting is black or white,” Sperry said. “But with this you can work with them more conceptually. The attitude is ‘how can we make you compliant with regulations.’ 

“If they can’t, they can deviate on the project because they have been in it with us from the start,” Sperry said. 

The list of DesignWorks-aided projects is impressive – Champions Ranch, the new Charlie Ward-led sports and recreation complex; Camelia Oaks, a 55-plus residential neighborhood off Mahan Road; Il Lusso and the Ballard building, an urban project in downtown Tallahassee; and smaller projects in the Bond neighborhood.  

For Sperry, it was a project in the All Saints neighborhood. 

“We had a lot that stretched between two streets – it was in violation of four different zoning regulations,” Sperry said. “They said: ‘We aren’t going to let a black-and-white interpretation get int the way of the whole project – we’re going to look holistically first.’” 

The project was ultimately completed successfully. 

Artie White, the Director of the joint city-county organization PLACE, which is over DesignWorks, said the program has its roots as far back as 2000, but was formalized in 2012.  

White says that while 75 percent of DesignWorks projects are in the private sector, government projects are also run through the program to maximize efficiency and creativity. The department handled 151 projects in the last full fiscal year. 

Mike Alfano, Administrator of Special Projects and Neighborhood and Urban Design, said inquiries to DesignWorks are usually quite open ended. “People reach out or are referred to us from city or county growth management. They come into us and the ask can range from ‘hey I have a piece of property and I don’t know what I can do.’ 

“Or, ‘hey I want to do some things but how?’”  

Alfano said DesignWorks planners then develop site plan concepts that can jumpstart the development process. 

Both Alfano and White hasten to add that the program isn’t just for big builders – individuals can go to DesignWorks for smaller projects on the property. 

One thing DesignWorks does not want to do is take business away from private sector engineers or architects.  

“We are very cognizant of not competing with the private sector,” White said. “It’s more ideation and hand-drawn sketches.”  

Sperry is hopeful the collaborative mindset and spirit of DesignWorks can permeate into the lower-level regulatory departments.  

“Everybody – from environmental codes, building codes, zoning codes, solid waste, driveway people — everybody is pass/fail,” Sperry said. “If you have a problem with one, you’ve got to figure it out or you don’t move forward.” 

With the design studio, it’s more collaborative and “can do,” he said. 

“They have a mindset there that I wish we had on the regulatory side – they try to help you rather than restrict you.”