While drawing this, I was thinking about how much it would cost the taxpayers of Broward County to effect a cosmetic name change for their bustling metropolitan political entity.
Think of all the letterhead that would have to be reprinted, the fancy metal signs on buildings replaced, the buses and other county vehicles repainted. The BSO—excuse me, the LSO—would have to change all the patches on the shoulders of its uniformed personnel. Private businesses with “Broward” in their names would suddenly find themselves unfashionably out of date.
The bright idea behind of all this is to make the county more marketable to outsiders, from whom “Broward County”—thankfully—elicits no more than a head-scratch. Nicki Grossman, Broward’s tourism czarina, indicated that the name of her outfit has been the Greater Fort Lauderdale Convention and Visitors Bureau for years, and that as far as she is concerned, no change is necessary.
Besides, a name change to favor the county’s largest city would only be rubbing salt in the wound for Broward’s smaller incorporated burgs, which already suffer enough of an inferiority complex (Why can’t one look at the sea from a town named “Miramar?” Why are there no deer in Deerfield Beach? Was Tamarac really named after a company called Caramat? What happened to the “ugh” in Hillsboro? Why do people always have to say, “No, not that Hollywood?”).
So, as we can see, names are a sensitive topic in the mass of sprawl located between Miami-Dade and Palm Beach Counties. For a host of reasons, we shouldn’t fix what ain’t broke. Stick with Broward. We should wallow in it, celebrate it, be proud of it, and in certain cases, live with the shame of it.