People have been dying to get out of the house. By 11 a.m., Miramar Beach is crowded with tan bodies and white bikinis. He walks among them, but he is not one of them. The sugar-white sand burns his feet. Cloaked in black, wielding a plastic scythe, he is here in protest, a walking reproach of their mask-free behavior, a reminder of impending doom.
When he’s not the barefoot grim reaper of the Florida Panhandle, Daniel Uhlfelder is an attorney and a bit of a rabble-rouser. But today is May 1, and to his chagrin, the beaches have just reopened after a pandemic shutdown. So he pulled on a black mask, black gloves, and the black linen robe he had custom-made to survive the heat, and came out to show people what he thinks.
Cameras and cellphones stalk him up and down the shoreline. Beachgoers are supposed to stay socially distanced, but people don’t go to the beach to isolate, Daniel thinks. He tells them as much when they inevitably approach him, which happens plenty.
Sometimes, they’re not too friendly. A week later in Pensacola, he’ll clash with a man wearing an American flag morph suit who calls himself “Captain America.” But clashing is standard for Daniel; it’s what started his grim crusade.
In some ways, it started about a year ago, when he and former Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee fought on Twitter about public access to beaches. Daniel wanted 26 miles of coastline open to the public, while Huckabee fought to allow beachfront property owners to privatize their oceanic backyards. The feud gained Daniel over 100,000 Twitter followers and led to him founding the “Make My Day” Political Action Committee, whose goal is challenging “bad actors.”
When coronavirus hit, Daniel picked another fight — with Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis, an ally of President Donald Trump. Daniel sued, trying to force DeSantis to keep beaches closed. He requested state records related to the virus, which he was told would cost $51,000. And, he says, one of the governor’s lawyers threatened to “make (his) life difficult” if he kept up the lawsuit. “He thinks he’s the supreme leader of North Korea,” Daniel says, “instead of the governor of Florida.”
That frustration eventually spawned an idea. Not an epiphany or a eureka moment, but a concept developed through rigorous thought about what he could do to get people to take the virus seriously when, in his view, the government wasn’t: He would force beachgoers to confront death.
His wife didn’t like the idea. Even Daniel had doubts about it. Would it be too distracting? Would it accomplish his mission? Was it completely crazy?
He needed to do something. It felt like his duty to society, as a lawyer. So he embraced the swarm of cameras and the constant questions. And once it started, he took to it. He’s even planned a “Florida Grim Reaper Tour.” He’ll visit beaches across the state to encourage social distancing and raise money for his PAC.
When he’s finished here, Daniel heads back to his white sedan. He stows his gloves, mask, scythe and robe, stripping down to board shorts and a T-shirt, and slides behind the wheel. Over the next few hours, he’ll walk three more local beaches. He’ll inspire more intrigue than terror in a populace trying to escape the aridness of indoor existence.
Later, he’ll find his way onto a “Saturday Night Live” segment called “Weekend Update,” with Colin Jost remarking, “There was an awkward moment when he bumped into the actual grim reaper, who was just making his regular Florida rounds.”