In a cozy, almost grandmotherly Seminole Heights home, Joe Redner listens attentively as a resident's tightly wound frustration with his incumbent representatives unspools, possibly interminably. A rather zealous old Seminole Heights denizen (let's call him Captain NIMBY) first captures the District 6 candidate's attention with the subject of traffic woes — apparently, the Save-A-Lot going up on Hillsborough is filling the surrounding residential streets with commuters looking for a shortcut — and has since moved on to the nixed plan for a massive, contemporary Walgreens on Florida Avenue. Redner occasionally interjects, tactfully implying that these issues illustrate the need for new, more open ears on the Council. Moody instrumental music wafts into the living room from the depths of the house; either there's a Lifetime Original Movie on, or somebody's quietly brushing up on their church-organ skills. The seven other folks on the two immaculate couches and displaced dining room chairs listen, fidget and occasionally get a phrase in edgewise whenever Captain NIMBY pauses before plunging onward.
"We happen to be a pretty vocal area," he says at one point.
No kidding.
Redner campaign volunteer Mauricio Rosas is hosting this intimate meet 'n' greet, as he did one for Redner's opponent, Mary Alvarez, a week earlier. He welcomes everyone warmly at the door, finds them a seat, offers them a beverage from the spread on the dining room table. The affair is meant to feel comfortably low-key and informal, but I'm obviously not the only person put slightly on edge by the prospect of entering a stranger's home, among other strangers, for an ambiguous event that's almost certainly not going to mutate into a party.
According to fellow Redner camper Adam Eland, who first met the candidate while in town from California, shooting documentary footage on LapDanceGate, the evening is less about fundraising and stump-thumping than it is an opportunity for voters to feel out his people skills.
"These people aren't necessarily supporters of either side," he says. "They want to know how [Redner] will communicate, whether or not he'll listen to them."
I don't know about communication, but Redner's abilities as a listener are awe-inspiring. Capt. NIMBY makes a short side trip through the loopholes in Florida's Sunshine Laws; Redner grasps at the chance to talk about his advocacy of open government, but it's not to be. The Captain segues into police presence and crime deterrent. The subjects of law-enforcement priority and focus are ones near and dear to Redner's heart, and an actual dialogue forms. Briefly. I leave without having heard what more than half of the attendees' voices sound like; I am convinced, however, that at least one person is really, really concerned about the vagaries of life within a few square blocks of a district that sprawls from tony Culbreath Isles to uppermost Seminole Heights, north of Sligh Avenue.
At the stately, venerable and all-out massive Tampa Heights Methodist Church four days later, the vibe is decidedly different.
Erected in 1913, the enormous edifice is currently undergoing a rebirth as The Sanctuary, an upscale loft and office-space complex. Last November, the space hosted Tampa's annual multimedia art exhibition Gala Corina. Today, it's the site of a fundraiser for District 3 incumbent and citywide candidate Linda Saul-Sena.
"I just wanted everybody to see this beautiful space," says Saul-Sena.
Using the building for a little grassroots get-together is a canny move. It's an obvious symbol of renewal, metamorphosis, of betterment-in-progress. Upstairs on the main floor, I am presented with a unique amalgam of the classic and the urban. Lovely stained glass murals give way to windows missing their panes. Leave the openness of the cavernous main hall, with its stratospheric arched ceiling, and you're lost in a labyrinthine construction site from between whose pipes and studs occasional archaic remnants emerge. It's a dream-playground for every kid who ever spent the time between Sunday School and the service proper exploring their church's every sacred nook and cranny.
In the main hall, a one-man jazz band ably accompanies his keyboard rhythms with some live saxophone. The acoustics are amazing. A dozen or so folks of the affluent, hip-Boomer persuasion mill about an ample buffet spread along the west wall. There are two kegs and no waiting — while some patrons are having wine, 2:45 on a Sunday afternoon is apparently a bit early to break the seal on a trusty sleeve of red plastic Solo cups. Or perhaps nobody's hitting the suds because the presence of a working bathroom has yet to be substantiated. Condensation from the keg-bins soaks into the unfinished plywood sub-flooring, inspiring idle collapse fantasies.
I overhear very little political conversation, and believe me, I'm trying. But if words like "community," "art" and "Preservation Society" were mosquitoes, everybody here would shortly be in need of some serious West Nile testage. The pol-talk quotient increases dramatically with the arrival of District 2 Citywide candidate Kelly Benjamin, but is generally confined to those exchanges which either include or are about him.
Prominently displayed Sanctuary floor-plans and brochures add to the less-than-vague feeling that this event is as much an advertisement for the coming lofts as a fundraiser for Saul-Sena. And its relaxed, conversational nature (surely perpetually emitted by the folks present, like confident radiation, to fill whatever space in which they gather) is the antithesis of Redner's socially taut and overtly political — if microcosmically so — shindig.
But they still remind you to pick up a donation envelope on the way out.
Scott Harrell can be reached at 813-248-8888, ext. 109, or by email at scott.harrell@weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in Feb 19-25, 2003.