If you buy a house and move in here, someone will show up with a cake within three days," says Bob Jeffrey. An urban planner with the city of St. Petersburg, he's widely regarded as the central figure in the resurgence of Historic Kenwood.
In the last half-decade Kenwood, a rectangle west of downtown, has become known for its monthly porch parties, so named because of the quaint porches characteristic of the district's 1920s bungalows. The neighborhood association adopted run-down Seminole Park (Third Avenue N. and 29th Street) and, with an $8,000 grant from the city, built a lovely gazebo in its center. The project was done with all-volunteer labor, completed over 24 consecutive Saturdays.
On the first Saturday of November for the last five years, Historic Kenwood has thrown Bungalowfest, a tour of homes celebrating the community's architecture. (This year's is Nov. 5.) One of the festival's bonus activities was inspired by TV's While You Were Out; thus far volunteers have done home improvements for two single moms. The first project, in October 2003, stripped away the jalousie windows from Robin Smith's porch, restoring it to its former glory.
Historic Kenwood, which earned its historic designation in 2003, may also have the highest density of gay residents in St. Petersburg. But unlike exclusive gay havens in other cities, this is not what is sometimes called a "gay ghetto."
Brian Longstreth, who owns Your Neighborhood Realty on Central Avenue in the adjacent Grand Central business district, reckons that 30-35 percent of Historic Kenwood residents are gay. "This is the best assimilation of gays and straights working and playing together that I can think of," he says.
Longstreth is the co-founder of St. Pete Pride, a gay and lesbian festival that marks its third year in June. Held in Historic Kenwood and Grand Central, the first year drew 10,000 and last year nearly doubled that number.
Historic Kenwood/Grand Central also houses St. Pete's preeminent gay bar, Georgie's Alibi, and the city's first gay/lesbian community spot, called Metro Center, situated next door to the bar. On Fifth Avenue sits the gay-friendly King of Peace Metropolitan Community Church, which has an openly gay pastor.
Historic Kenwood's bungalows, which make up a sizeable portion of the area's roughly 1,200 homes, run the gamut of styles, from the familiar Craftsman – with its asymmetrical shape, overlapping eaves and ample porch – to Tudors and colonials. The bungalows range from 900-1,200 square feet and most feature 8-and-a-half to 9-foot ceilings, large windows and spacious rooms.
Historic Kenwood's streets alternate between pavement and brick; they're heavily lined with trees (an oak is the neighborhood symbol). Every corner is decorated with a Historic Kenwood sign. Only a handful of homes have driveways leading to the road; most are connected to a network of alleys.
First platted in 1912 and developed by Charles R. Hall, Kenwood became a home to the city's working middle class. As St. Petersburg earned a growing reputation as a refuge for retirees, more and more elderly people moved into the neighborhood. The last wave came in the '70s, Jeffrey says. By the next decade, when most of the oldsters had died off, some 80 percent of Kenwood dwellers were tenants. The neighborhood fell into disrepair, in part the victim of that decade's crack cocaine epidemic.
Kathy Young, a mortgage broker and another Kenwood pioneer, says, "When I first came around I was kind of scared. I remembered locking my car door."
She was surprised when a St. Pete Beach realtor sent her several gay customers to arrange mortgages for homes in Kenwood.
But these trailblazers were merely following an established pattern: "Gay people will take risks," Longstreth asserts. "We upgrade the property, and then it attracts everybody."
Those intrepid pioneers bought fatigued bungalows for as low as $30,000. These days, there are scant few fixer-uppers left. With property values in the neighborhood rising around 20 percent per year, a rehabbed bungalow can run $200,000 or more. The 80 percent tenancy figure has flipped; now about 80 percent of Kenwood's dwellings are lived in by their owners. Jeffrey estimates there's been a 75 percent turnover in home ownership over the last six or seven years.
These days, he says, Historic Kenwood is made up of "likeminded people who like old buildings."
He figures that, at present, the first chapter of Historic Kenwood's renewal is about 80 percent done, with the next phase being an overall landscaping upgrade. After that? Home additions that fit the district's architecture. In the next 10 years, he projects that half the homes will be enlarged.
At that point, finding a deal on a house in Historic Kenwood will be rare, indeed.
The Mayor of Kenwood: Bob Jeffrey
Driving down tree-lined streets at a leisurely pace in his Volvo, the man they call The Mayor of Kenwood can point out this or that about nearly every house on every block. If there is a modern Lewis or Clark of this historic district, it's Bob Jeffrey, who lives in a loft on First Avenue N. and owns the nicest apartment buildings in the area.
He also works full-time for the city as an urban planner.
In 1990, Jeffrey, fresh from grad school at Kent State in Ohio and with a keen interest in historic preservation, was looking for a depressed St. Petersburg neighborhood where he could spearhead a turnaround. He says his motivation wasn't built on personal financial gain. And that's easy to believe, because 15 years ago Kenwood was a neighborhood flirting with out-and-out blight.
A diminishing group of elderly residents lived in rundown apartments or their own, often ill-kept homes. Transient tenants argued with each other on stoops. A handful of drug holes dotted Kenwood's blocks. A small store, the now-closed Corner Depot, sold 40s of Natural Lite and generic cigarettes to down-and-outers.
Despite all of this, Jeffrey saw potential in Kenwood. "This neighborhood never got as bad as some did," he says. "It was mostly a matter of people not wanting to maintain their property."
Before buying, he burned some shoe leather in the neighborhood and noticed, "that people would actually say hello to me. Not a lot, but enough."
Jeffrey bought his first house on Burlington Avenue N. for $31,000. It was next door to a junk merchant whose yard was so overrun with crap that it made Fred Sanford's place look like a Martha Stewart set.
Once a week, he and some other neighbors called code enforcement to pressure the junkman. A family eventually bought the place but left the property the same. When they put it on the market about a year later, Jeffrey swooped in and bought it.
"We hauled 17 tons of junk out of that yard," he says with a laugh still tinged with incredulity. "There were TVs buried in the ground. I even found a swing set buried."
That was Jeffrey's first fling with preemptive buying to keep the neighborhood on the right track. Along the way, concerned Kenwoodites have developed the custom of letting each other know if a desirable property comes up for sale, allowing someone in the neighborhood to grab it up. Few of the good houses hit the open market.
While Jeffrey and his fellow Kenwood activists can't control who moves in, they can let new owners know their standards. "When we see someone with a 'We Buy Homes' sign, we first go over and introduce ourselves and let them know how it works," he explains. "We make sure they stick to code, follow the rules and regulations. This is not a good place for flipping a property."
Those that have tried to turn a quick buck have usually blown it, Jeffrey says: "If they go on the cheap they can't get their price. They'll end up getting $60,000 less. The ironic thing is that they could've avoided that by spending an extra $5,000."
Jeffrey says he's rehabbed a house a year for 10 years (the most he paid was $44,000), and that his profits have been modest. He characterizes his apartment buildings, two pink Mediterranean-style boxes with a generous, fenced-in courtyard, as solid "long-term investments."
"My goal was to start a neighborhood renaissance," he says. "That was the goal, but the result blows me away."
Grand Plans: The Grand Central District
Five years ago, the 12-block stretch of Central Avenue from the I-275 overpass to 31st Street was home to little more than warehouses, used-car dirt lots and auto repair shops. In December 1999, the City Council ratified its Central Avenue Tomorrow Plan, which unveiled some grand ideas meant to revitalize the bleak section just west of downtown.
Christened the Grand Central District, the area (which also includes First Avenues North and South) received funds and resources to tackle such issues as transportation, urban design, land use and marketing.
While Grand Central has not reached full bloom, it's "on the right track," says St. Petersburg city planner Gary Jones. "There's still a lot of new business activity and construction and renovation that's needed."
Some 40 new businesses have opened since Grand Central's genesis. Some are blossoming; a handful have failed. Many of them skew boho/boutique/artsy, including several art galleries, antique stories and gift shops. That's because the district's renaissance came on the heels of Kenwood's upsurge, which was spurred in part by an infusion of gay residents.
Grand Central has exactly one chain business: a Budget Rent-a-Car on its western edge.
One move the city made to energize Grand Central was loosening its zoning restrictions. Any building in the sector can now include retail, office and residential under the same roof. Structures can also go up to 60 feet (five stories), the highest outside of downtown, although currently none do.
The idea, says Jones, is to develop a "pedestrian-friendly district that includes retail, residential and offices, where you could park your car and walk from one end to the other, going through shops, restaurants and so forth. A self-sustaining urban village."
Thus far, Grand Central has not established itself as a hot destination point; it's more of a haven for denizens of Historic Kenwood. The reason: It's still in search of an identity. Galleries and interior decoration shops mingle with check-cashing joints, auto detailers, a Jamaican variety store and even a place called Pretty Boy Staffs, for all your pit bull needs.
That Grand Central could reach its full potential and remain this multicultural is an appealing notion, but maybe not so realistic. Also in danger of dying out are Grand Central's nonprofits that cater to homeless, recovering substance abusers and the mentally ill. The Mustard Seed, Beacon House and especially Carden House, which provides residences for mental patients, don't fit the grand scheme.
"If the goal is to have vibrant business activities across the district, those places represent dead spots," Jones says. "I would imagine that someone would take over the building, a developer would change the use of the property. But the city is in no way trying to get rid of those places."
Brian Longstreth, who owns Your Neighborhood Realty in Grand Central, sees a coming influx of condos in the area, which will only spur the mixed-use aspect. He says roughly a hundred units are in the design stage.
So when will Grand Central reach its goal as a vibrant urban village? Longstreth thinks five years is realistic, but then realtors have optimism built into their DNA.
Side by Side: Andrea, Dawn and Richard
Last spring, two businesses opened next door to each other in St. Petersburg's Grand Central business district: Grinders, a coffee shop owned by a lesbian couple, Andrea Pawlisz and Dawn Bielawski; and Grand Kitchen and Bath, whose proprietor is Richard Valmain, a conservative Republican from Texas.
Valmain didn't know about Grand Central's reputation as a gay haven when he set up shop in space he liked for its good location in south Pinellas County.
It didn't take long for him to find out. One afternoon that spring, with business slow, Pawlisz and Valmain were chatting on the sidewalk. "He asks me, 'Am I the only straight guy on the street?'" Pawlisz recounts. "And I said, 'There's one … Oops, they got him.' We both cracked up."
That quip has led to an abiding friendship between two shopkeepers with drastically different lifestyles. "I consider them more than friends," Valmain says. "They're more like sisters. Andrea and I, especially, are very close. They didn't go with preconceived notions about me."
"He's come a long way," Pawlisz says. "We made a difference with one man, who was able to look beyond who you're sleeping with."
Although Valmain says he still does not "agree with the gay lifestyle," he attends Historic Kenwood porch parties and has been to the nearby gay bar Georgie's Alibi (sort of – he has eaten at one of the outdoor tables). He won't advertise in gay-themed periodicals like The Gazette and Watermark, but was a $500 sponsor for last year's St. Pete Pride gay and lesbian festival.
Although not the sort of man given to confessionals, Valmain does allow this: "I've sensed I've been more accepting, more open about it."
A generally more tolerant fellow?
"Guess so."
Grinders Coffee & Art Bar, 2444 Central Ave, 727-327-3990; Grand Kitchen and Bath, 2448 Central Ave., 727-327-3007
This article appears in Mar 2-8, 2005.