In the 1920s, the American people witnessed profound changes in their lives, morals and manners. But nothing that happened to the nation could begin to compare to the mania that struck Miami. As the tempo increased, Miami's boundaries exploded.

By 1923, even the most high blown predictions for Miami's future seemed to be coming true. Population had doubled in only three years. As soon as one record-breaking building was completed, ground was broken on another. Flagler Street took on a new appearance after the demand for downtown property sent prices sky-high. As pioneer buildings were demolished, new "modern" structures rose in their place.

World War II changed Miami as much as any other event in its history. Even before it was over, people sensed the beginning of a new era. In 1942, a Miami Herald writer predicted, "political, economic and geographical factors slowly are swinging Miami into a position that will make the Indian wars, coming of the railroad, the land boom and even the present military cauldron look like a quiet Sunday afternoon on a Swiss Alp."

By the mid-50s, Miami's "unincorporated area" was growing dramatically. Most of the suburbanites were newcomers pouring into South Florida in record-breaking numbers. In response to the sprawling population, developers built new shopping centers and, for the first time, challenged downtown for the shoppers' dollar.

In Miami, true progress had always been measured by growth. Whatever developed the city was good; whatever hindered development was bad. Suddenly, in the 1960s, developers became suspect. They were challenged by a new breed of environmentalist. Ecology became a watchword. For the first time, mangroves and estuaries had equal billing with man-made canals, fill, and waterfront lots.

The early '70s were closer to a "Golden Age" for all of Miami's varied population than any other period in history. The city was booming again. The decline of downtown seemed to be over.

When the last "Freedom Flight" ended in April 1973, most Miamians believed that it marked the end of the turmoil created by the constant arrival of new Cuban refugees. Miami's "Trail" (S.W. Eighth Street) became Calle Ocho, a lively, vibrant, thoroughly Latinized "Little Havana." Citizens were proud of the way Dade County schools had educated refugee children. In a spirit of optimism and brotherhood, the Dade County Commission declared Dade County a bilingual, bicultural community.