For the Liberty City community, former State Rep. Roy Hardemon was a fierce and passionate Miami lawmaker, a lifelong advocate who fought relentlessly until his last breath. He was the man who stood in county and city chambers demanding overdue investment in the streets that raised him. But to his children, he was simply “daddy,” the man who never missed a birthday and always showed up.
When her car ran out of gas on I-95, Hardemon’s daughter Gloria Maestre remembers calling her father. He was on his way to a meeting, she said, but the moment he heard she was stranded, he turned the car around.
“In no time, he was there to help me,” she said, standing outside of Richardson Funeral Home on Friday. “That’s just who he was. If we needed him, he came.”
Roy Hardemon was born and raised in Miami on Aug. 12, 1962, and died on Nov. 12, 2025.
(Florida House)
Maestre’s sister, Ebonie Taylor, recalled a different kind of rescue. Years ago, while she was away at Tallahassee Community College, her car broke down, so she called her dad in Miami. Instead of sending a mechanic, Hardemon walked her through the repair over the phone.
“As a young woman, you learn how to find your independence, and he gave that to me, like, ‘I can do it.’ I can do whatever I can because of just that car moment,” Taylor said.
Those everyday acts spoke just as loudly as any fiery speech he delivered at County Hall. Over the weekend, hundreds of friends, family members, and elected officials gathered to bid a final farewell to Hardemon, who passed away on Nov. 12, 2025.
Roy Hardemon’s daughters at the funeral service. Hardemon had 12 children.
(Gregory Reed)
The road to State Rep.
Born in Miami on Aug. 12, 1962, Hardemon worked as a truck driver before becoming a janitor for Miami-Dade County Parks and Recreation — a job that his family says pushed him toward public service. A proud Miami Northwestern graduate, he rose from Liberty City’s rough political scene to become one of its loudest voices in Tallahassee.
Elected in 2016 to represent Florida House District 108, he filed dozens of appropriations for youth programs, seniors, cultural institutions, and stormwater upgrades. He co-sponsored measures to expand children’s initiatives, improve public health grants, and make expungement more accessible for certain offenses. He even carried a resolution honoring the creators of Moonlight, the Oscar-winning film set in Liberty City.
A mural honoring Roy Hardemon was unveiled on Sunday at the Broadway Art District in Liberty City.
(Derrick Danzel Days II Corporation via Facebook)
City of Miami Commission Chairwoman Christine King, who called him “Uncle Roy,” remembered the early days of Hardemon’s career, when she volunteered on his campaign and traveled with him to Tallahassee.
“We drove these roads, bucket of KFC chicken in the back seat, and he’d reach out, eat the chicken, throw the bones,” she said, sparking laughter during Hardemon’s funeral service at Friendship Missionary Baptist Church on Saturday.
King also recalled one moment during a heated budget debate, when Hardemon confronted fellow Democrats.
“He told all of the Democrats, ‘What are you doing? Why would you go in there? Stand out here. Protest. Don’t go in there. They don’t need our vote, and we need to show them that we’re not with that,’” King said. “And I was standing right next to him. I was so proud of him.”
Boots on the ground
Community members showed their love to Roy Hardemon during a viewing on Friday, Nov. 21, 2025.
(Amelia Orjuela Da Silva for The Miami Times)
Hardemon’s community send-off felt less like a quiet goodbye and more like a roll call of the people and projects he’d touched and fought for.
“He was boots on the ground, fighting every day to make his community better,” said his brother, Billy Hardemon. “He sacrificed his opportunity to make money. He put the community first.”
After leaving the Legislature in 2018, Roy Hardemon threw himself into local activism. As chair of the Model City Community Advisory Committee, he pushed the county to reinvest in long-neglected neighborhoods until the board was dissolved in 2020. He remained a fixture at County Hall, pressing officials on housing, jobs, and infrastructure.
Miami-Dade County Mayor Daniella Levine Cava said staff braced themselves whenever they saw him approaching the podium.
“He would let you know there was more to be done,” she said. “And you know what? There is. I hope we can deliver on what he called for, on behalf of this community.”
Among the projects unfinished — yet tied deeply to his name — is Poinciana Industrial Park, a vision he fought for for decades.
“Poinciana, that’s still not fulfilled,” said Pastor Brian Dennis, himself an activist. “He always championed what it should be, and it has not happened.”
Poinciana Park was the brainchild of Hardemon, who made two attempts to seek funds from Tallahassee for the project. He envisioned a hub for trucking and shipping interests that could create jobs for Liberty City residents. As recently as early this year, he was still advocating for Black equity at community meetings where the project’s development plans were discussed.
Coffee and memories
Miami-Dade County Commissioner Keon Hardemon, Roy Hardemon’s nephew, shared memories about his uncle at the funeral.
(Gregory Reed)
Miami-Dade County Commissioner Keon Hardemon, Roy’s nephew, recalls a childhood car accident and his uncle rushing to stop his bleeding mouth.
“I remember what it felt like to have a man care for me in that moment,” Keon told the crowd. “That didn’t come often in my life.”
Others shared memories that displayed a different side to Roy Hardemon: not just the fighter at public meetings, but the man who found joy in a simple cup of coffee.
“As long as the boy got a cup of coffee, he got some stuff to talk,” joked Broadway Harewood, a childhood friend who grew up with Hardemon in Liberty City.
Hardemon’s cousin Ali Rappsodi described plans to honor the ritual by creating a space known as Roy’s Inn. In this small restaurant, neighbors could gather, sip coffee, and remember the community builders who shaped Miami’s Black neighborhoods.
On Hardemon’s shoulders
As tributes filled the weekend, one question hung over the crowd: What will happen to his work now?
“We’ve lost most of the Model City board,” said community advocate Renita Holmes. “For those who fight for us at the bottom, they make a big sacrifice. That man was good. He knew legislation, but he knew lingo too. He was a warrior.”
Taylor and Maestre said the family intends to push for the projects their father championed to be seen through.
Ebonie Taylor and Florida state Rep. Roy Hardemon.
(Courtesy of Ebonie Taylor)
“I think he would want us to make sure the inner city gets what it deserves,” Taylor said. “He would want us to keep love in our hearts and push to keep anybody, whatever culture it is, fighting for tradition, fighting for what we can say is the heart of what we believe in.”
“We’re going to try our best,” Maestre added. “Because nobody can fill his shoes.”
Harewood, who credits Hardemon with inspiring his own work revitalizing the Broadway Art District along Northwest 18th Avenue, echoed that sense of responsibility.
“When I wanted to give up, he’d say, ‘Nah, we can’t. They got the money, they need to share it,’” Harewood said. “At the end of the day, I feel compelled to work harder now, so when he looks down, he’ll say, ’About damn time, Broadway.’”
A mural honoring Hardemon, painted by Marvin Weeks, was unveiled Sunday in that same district.
Taylor, still processing the loss, said the weekend’s services were “humbling.”
“To hear everybody and the gestures and the flowers and things that he did get, amongst the community he served in — it made me feel whole,” she said. “It made me feel like he really was loved.”
Longtime friend Nathaniel Joseph said Hardemon’s legacy will always be remembered.
“Remember him as a fighter for the community, the person who loved his community and wanted to make sure his community was taken care of, in any way, from jobs to housing,” he said.