From deep in the land of the hanging chad, where a tabloid empire made tabloid-like headlines when anthrax was discovered in its Boca Raton headquarters, where terrorist cells have standing orders for submarine sandwiches, a voice cries. Not in the wilderness exactly. It cries in Palm Beach County, on the edge of the Everglades, in the lush, clipped lawns of southwestern suburbia, where cream-colored stucco homes with red, barrel-tile roofs are the überstyle, where the population is in some parts more than 98 percent white, where just about every community has a gatehouse to screen visitors, a cushy clubhouse, and a dazzling, crystalline-blue swimming pool. There on a Wednesday in early May, retired District of Columbia social studies teacher David Goodstein climbs into his gray 2000 Toyota Camry on his way to yet another community meeting to deliver a warning that has many permutations but can be boiled down to a single, poignant plea:... More >>>