This is the end, beautiful friend
This is the end, my only friend
—Jim Morrison, "The End"
I have railed on ad nauseam about white bastions such as the Palma Ceia Country Club. So, my good friend Bruce Sampson thought it only fitting to drag me to the club's "Men's Grill" for a farewell lunch. As expected, it was a bunch of white guys in pastel golf shirts. One in particular is worth mentioning:
Tom McEwen.
For six years, I have trashed McEwen, relentlessly criticizing his ethics. Yet, truth be told, while by contemporary journalistic standards what the former Tampa Tribune sports editor did was unacceptable, he played his role with the approval and encouragement of his bosses. Their fault is far greater than his.
Despite all that I have written about McEwen, he has always treated me with courtesy. He is a gentleman. He approached my table at Palma Ceia, extended a hand and warmly wished me well. That's class. While I don't back off a millimeter from my critiques, I know that if I chose to view McEwen through other lenses, I'd see the civic giant that many others do.
I owe a few words to all the other the people who have shaped my life in Tampa.
I wasn't a stranger when I hit town 11 years ago. My mom spent her teen years here, attending Hillsborough High in the 1930s. We had distant relatives in Tampa. I knew many people, ranging from members of the Lykes family to old friends who had been radical dissenters with me at the University of Florida. My roots were in Miami, and I thought that the Magic City would always be home. Then, one day I found those roots wrapped around to the Big Guava.
When I arrived, it was on a sailboat. Looking back there's symbolism in that. I had little baggage, few responsibilities. My household consisted of a boat cat named E.R. (for "emergency rations") and two hermit crabs, Nietzsche and Camus.
Now I'm leaving on what amounts to an ark. I finally found a life partner in Tampa, my wife, Catherine. And we found five great kids — Robert, Robin, Adam, Andy and Amy — who needed parents. Then, there's Basil our weird dog, Hal the black cat, Bo the striped cat, Baymont the black and white cat, Paulie the always dirty cat and Cryer the noisy cat. Also, the rabbit, Fifi, who likes yogurt. And the Barbies, bicycles, stereos, footballs, basketballs, and countless other "things" that accompany a family. I'm blessed (at least that's my thinking most of the time).
What is most vivid in my memory of these Tampa years are people. There are some I could do without, and I'm going to be unSugglike and not name them. Well, shucks, I can't resist. Here's one:
Memo to Dan Ruth: Dan, grow up. You got it wrong and you won't admit it. You only conceded your conflict of interest because I blew the whistle on you. Try to mature in your writing. You're very, very stale.
There is one character in Tampa who is larger than life: Dick Greco. I knew him long before I moved here. I'm sure he'll be on my Rolodex for many years to come. I don't always agree with his policies. But you know what? He probably doesn't give a damn. No critic seems to get to Greco (other than when the St. Petersburg Times launched a tabloid attack against his wife). I think it's because he so enjoys life. I have met few people who are so alive as Greco. He'd better give me a hug before I split.
This town has blessed me with too many friends to name. I'll mention a few, due to their special relationship to my family: Dottie Berger, our kids' godmother sort-of; Judges Greg Holder and Robert Foster; people who have helped me on my spiritual quest — the late Pat Riordan, businessman Guy King, musicman Kenny Veenstra; intellectual goads Owen Whitman and Harry Teasley.
If I could give Good Government Awards, they'd go County Commissioners Pat Frank and (of course) Jan Platt, Elections Supervisor Pam Iorio, Tax Collector Doug Belden and Property Appraiser Rob Turner. Among those who might run for Tampa mayor, my choice would be Belden or Iorio — but I think City Councilman Bob Buckhorn is worthy and certainly dogged in his pursuit of the job.
The ex-politician I'd most like to see back in public office is Phyllis Busansky — someone needs to salvage the indigent health care program she originally crafted. It's the most enlightened legislation in recent county commission history, and it's now in peril from the onslaught of the barbarian right-wingers. People will die from the recent cutbacks.
My Community Treasure Award goes to Rob Lorei and the hearty band who keep progressive thinking alive at WMNF.
Elsewhere in the media, I bestow I'll Miss You Awards on Mary Jo Melone (harsh, but perhaps the most honest voice of dissent in print locally), Steve Otto (everyman with a brain), Howard Troxler (the edge is a little dull, but still maximum insight and biting humor) and Bill Maxwell (a truthful seeker). On the TV, WFLA-Ch. 8's Steve Andrews (numero uno investigator) and, recently, WFTS-Ch. 28's Robin Guess (a little tightly wired, but she gives them hell at City Hall).
My I Hope I've Helped Your Quest for Justice Award goes to two minorities. First, Tampa's black community, which city officials want to sweep away. And, especially to this area's Muslim community, led by Sami Al-Arian and Mazen Al-Najjar, so badly maligned by the Tribune and unconstitutionally persecuted by some law enforcement officials.
The public figure I kick around the most but still think is a helluva nice guy is our own Zeus of Olympic bids, Ed Turanchik. His intellect and creativity, if applied to real civic pursuits, could result in greatness.
And, finally, I owe any acclaim I've received at the Weekly Planet to my comrades: Kelli Kwiatkowski, Julie Garisto, Eric Snider, Fran Gilpin, Dave Jasper, Cooper Cruz, Susan Dix, Bill Boyd, Ben Eason, and
My friend and co-editor, the person who has kept me from self-immolation, Susan Edwards.
I'll send postcards from Georgia. Adios.
The blue bus is calling us
The blue bus is calling us
Driver, where are you taking us?
—Jim Morrison, "The End"
This article appears in Aug 16-22, 2001.