STEVE REID
Editor & Publisher
sreid@lbknews.com
On the third floor of a gleaming condominium complex overlooking the Gulf of Mexico, there is a unit that exists in two separate realities.
In the first reality—the one where real estate agents trade keys and wire transfers—this three-bedroom, three-bath apartment is a fortress of equity. It is pristine, untouched by the storm surges that swallowed the coastline a year ago. If listed today, amid the jubilant, storm-free winter of 2025, it would likely command a price north of $1.5 million.
But in the second reality—the dusty, bureaucratic ledgers of the Manatee County Property Appraiser’s office—this same unit is a ruin.
In 2024, the county valued the condo at $1.4 million. This year, the assessment arrived with a shocking new number: less than $450,000. It was a 69 percent write-down for a home that hadn’t lost a single shingle. The computer had decided that because the building’s ground floor had taken on water during Hurricanes Helene and Milton, the pristine apartments floating above it were suddenly worth a fraction of their former selves.
For the owner, it was a tax-bill miracle. For Howard Tipton, the Town Manager of Longboat Key, it was a mathematical catastrophe.
“The town is concerned,” Tipton says, measuring his words carefully, “that a mass devaluation… does not actually reflect the true property values on the island.”
Tipton is the man tasked with keeping the lights on in this sliver of paradise, and right now, the math isn’t adding up. As Longboat Key enters the winter of 2025, it is living through a bizarre municipal paradox: The private wealth of the island is booming, but the public checkbook is bleeding, trapped by a paperwork disaster that threatens the town’s ability to pay for the very services that make it livable.
The $724 Million Ghost
The trouble started on January 1, 2025. That is the date Florida law requires property appraisers to take a snapshot of value for the upcoming tax year. On that day, Longboat Key was still wearing the bruises of the 2024 hurricane season. But Tipton and his staff argue that the resulting snapshot wasn’t just a candid photo; it was a distortion.
On the Manatee County side of the island—Longboat straddles the line between Manatee and Sarasota counties—taxable property values didn’t just dip; they collapsed. A total of $724 million in value vanished from the rolls.
“Not every property within Manatee County was adversely impacted,” Tipton wrote in a pointed letter to Manatee Property Appraiser Charles Hackney on Nov. 19. He cited the “mass devaluation” that seemed to sweep up undamaged homes in its wake.
The result is a hole in the budget that no amount of sunshine can fill. According to Finance Director Sue Smith, the town is collecting 12 percent less revenue from its Manatee County properties than it did the year before. For a town that relies on property taxes for 75 percent of its general revenue—money that fuels the police cruisers, the fire trucks, and the paramedics—that figure is terrifying.
A Tale of Two Counties
The absurdity of the situation is heightened by what is happening just down the road. Cross the invisible line into the Sarasota County portion of the island, and the financial picture flips.
While Manatee County was slashing values, Sarasota County’s tax base actually grew. The reason? A single, glittering behemoth: The St. Regis Longboat Key Resort.
The opening of the ultra-luxury hotel and condo complex acted as a massive financial adrenaline shot. The St. Regis alone pumped $2.3 million in new tax revenue into the town’s coffers, helping to drive a $3.9 million increase on the Sarasota side.
It created a fiscal illusion. On paper, the town’s total revenue is up 5 percent. But strip away the St. Regis, and you find a municipality struggling to stand on one leg. The shiny new hotel is effectively subsidizing the gaping wound left by the Manatee devaluations.
The “Homestead Trap”
The immediate pain is sharp—the town had to burn through $8 million in reserves just to clean up the mess after the storms—but the long-term headache is the “Homestead Trap.”
In Florida, the “Save Our Homes” amendment limits the annual increase in the assessed value of a primary residence to just 3 percent.
“And with potential property tax reform on the horizon, starting from a deficit situation, it’s concerning,” Tipton notes.
The math is unforgiving. If a $1.4 million condo is officially re-valued at $450,000, it cannot simply snap back to its true value next year. It must climb back slowly, 3 percent at a time. It could take decades for the town’s tax base to catch up to reality. It is a “lost decade” staring them in the face—a scenario where the town must provide first-class services to a billionaire class while collecting taxes on a middle-class valuation.
The Price of Paradise
For now, the residents of Longboat Key are enjoying a “lag year.” The beaches are raked, the landscaping is lush, and the memory of the storms is fading with every seamless sunset.
But inside Town Hall, the lights are burning late. Tipton and his team are pressing for answers, meeting with appraisers, and trying to convince the bureaucracy that a dry, third-floor condo is worth more than the computer says it is. They know that eventually, the bill for paradise always comes due. The only question is who—or what—will pay for it.
