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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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121189
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12118900.049
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1990-09-22
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AMERICAN SCENE, Page 21Key West, FloridaPritam Singh's Strange CareerAn eccentric developer brings good taste to a tacky islandBy Richard Conniff
At 9 o'clock on a weekday evening, having just flown in from
his Vermont retreat, following the previous week's human rights
mission into the hills of El Salvador, Pritam Singh is touring the
best piece of real estate on Key West: the Truman Annex, a former
Navy property where Harry Truman had his Little White House.
Singh owns the place now, and one is unsure which jarring and
inapposite piece of his biography best begins to explain him: That
he is a former SDS organizer who is building a Ritz-Carlton hotel?
Or that he is a developer whose fondest wish is to run away with
Sea Shepherd, a Greenpeace splinter group, and ram whale ships?
Perhaps that he is a 36-year-old Massachusetts-born Sikh of
French-Canadian extraction, in a turban and a Ralph Lauren polo
shirt? Or that he read about this 102-acre property one Sunday in
1986 and bought it on a hunch three days later for $17.25 million,
outbidding a group of Alaskan Indians bearing federal
pollution-compensation credits? Around Singh, one sometimes needs
to stop, press rewind and take it all in once more, slowly.
"This is exciting," he tells his architect, surveying the
half-finished plaza he has conceived as the social center of the
new community he is building. "Have you done the guardhouse? Let's
go see the guardhouse." Singh is minutely attentive to aesthetics,
even with interest costs and overhead running $30,000 a day. The
guardhouse, it turns out, is coming along nicely, except for some
ugly screens, which Singh promptly removes from the muntined French
doors. He peers at a Government facility up the road: "Now we gotta
get the Navy to straighten out the Stalag 13 look there. Those guys
are so subtle."
When he is done with the $250 million project in 1992, Singh
intends the Truman Annex to be an environmentally sound,
architecturally pure, socially engineered complex of 700 homes,
condominiums, shops and hotel rooms. His design guidelines,
reflecting the conch-house architecture of historical Key West, run
to 27 dogmatic pages: "White is the preferred and approved basic
color for all structures." "Each single-family unit shall have a
bougainvillea within the front-yard area . . ." What he is building
is an enclave away from the trashed-out, mixed-up modern world, and
he gleefully plans to earn a pile of money doing it.
Singh has sea-blue eyes, magnified by thick, round glasses;
his beard, unshaved since he was 17, is sparse and wiry. Born Paul
LaBombard, he was, in adult eyes, a bad influence on anybody who
knew him as a teenager. He ran away from his working-class family,
smoked dope and organized a high school SDS chapter. Lacking money
for college, he spent two winters camping out and gathering shells
for a living in Key West. He was arrested at the Mayday antiwar
demonstrations in Washington in 1971, and spent three days locked
up in the basement of the Department of Justice. Afterward he
sought spiritual growth in a Sikh ashram in Massachusetts, where
he remained for five years before revolting against the
power-hungry leader.
Singh says his past and present connect perfectly. He was
always good at organizing things. He has always tried to live a
moral life. "I don't see any divergence in my program," he says.
In 1979 he borrowed $7,500, started rehabbing buildings in New
England and prospered; luck or savvy got him into Key West before
the Northeast real estate market went flat.
The odd thing is that he never stopped being a Sikh, and he
remains full of admiration for the social reformers who founded the
religion: "These guys were, like, wacko. They just appeared out of
nowhere and were talking about justice and equality. Treat women
equally, serve the poor, defend your rights. It fits the social and
revolutionary agenda of the American republic to a tee." He shrugs.
"Except that we wear beards and turbans."
Singh can be disarmingly frank about his failings: he has dealt
with the problem of homelessness in Key West by putting up gates
to close off his streets at night. His complex includes more
affordable housing than required, but up to half may go to friends
and vacationers, rather than to year-round residents.
He is most ardent about environmental issues, having become a
rehabber at least partly because he believes it is wrong to build
on open land. An aide informs him that Greenpeace will be tying up
at his dock on Thursday morning. "That oughta impress the Japanese
guys," he jokes, referring to a group of financiers arriving the
same day with the prospect of a $100 million loan. He dreads the
idea of having lived in a period of ecological collapse and done
nothing but good deals.
He also dreads power, which he admits is what he enjoys most
about being a developer. "I read the papers and I think, `I could
do that deal. Grrrrr.'" He makes a low self-mocking growl. "I
could make $50 million on that deal." The fingers of both hands
wriggle in acquisitive frenzy. Sheer insatiability has convinced
him that he must give up the business after Key West. "I'm
successful only if I can walk away from it and deal with who I
really am." He aims to retreat to his sprawling farm in Vermont,
where he has built a private Stonehenge, a Jeffersonian library in
the middle of the woods, a Japanese teahouse. Cross-cultural
follies.
Singh's efforts have generally gone down well among the blithe
spirits of Key West. Without Singh, the Truman Annex might have
become "Meldorado," a pirate theme park. But if islanders
appreciate having a developer as sensitive as Pritam Singh, they
are also worried that he is exerting a more profound influence on
the island, as an apostle of good taste in a place long known for
exuberant tackiness.
Key West has begun cracking down on noise, street vendors,
store windows filled with obscene T-shirts. Singh acknowledges his
power to influence this trend: he will in time be paying 25% of the
island's tax revenues. Before the recent election, two of the five
city commissioners were, by amazing coincidence, slated to have
shops in his coveted retail space. But he argues that the city
would be adjusting its image, growing up, even without him.
It's possible to grow up, he suggests, without becoming dull.
Among other anarchic touches, he plans to rent office space in his
complex to environmental groups that "will drive other developers
crazy." He is restoring the Little White House to its tacky
Truman-era splendor, spending $15,000 just to repair the Sears,
Roebuck fluorescent lights on the porch. Presidential bad taste
doesn't trouble him, in part because he has income projections for
his planned Truman museum. "The Little White House is a little gold
mine," he says. But he also claims he does not mean to make Key
West precious and yuppified.
"Yeah, you've got the nice guardhouse," he says. "You've also
got Harry Truman in the middle, and across the street you've got
the Peekaboo Lounge." For the foreseeable future, Key West also has
Singh, who is weird enough all by himself to keep the place
interesting.
"Eh," he shrugs. "It works."