In 1987, Frederica "Freddie" Russell was, to use her words, "a poor woman with four kids and no influence." She was also devastated that her beloved Sulphur Springs Pool, a long-standing institution in her neighborhood, was about to be closed. While picketing at the pool site, someone asked her to be on a television program about the problem. She did not know that public access existed. "
After the show, they asked me if I'd like to have my own program," Russell says, and then chuckles. "I thought, 'I must have done such a fabulous job. No one could tell how scared I was.' Then they told me that anyone could be on."
That launched Russell's love affair with public access. With her husband in the control room and her kids helping out, she launched Save Our Earth and produced about 200 programs from 1987 to 1990.
In '89, she took a job as a receptionist at the station, then owned by Jones Intercable. She worked her way up to master controller in the Time Warner regime, in charge of training, among other duties. Today, Russell is operations manager for TBCN. She's worked for 15 years in the same building.
While Russell praises Jones' stewardship of public access, she says Time Warner was dismissive and outright antagonistic.
"They saw it as a waste of time and channels that could bring in money," she says. "They would make tapes of controversial programs and show them in communities to discourage them from having public access. They didn't follow any rules. They loved it when the producers went crazy, 'cause they thought it would hurt the station. We had to fight for every dollar; they didn't want us to succeed."
Russell was a natural fit when the nonprofit Speak Up Tampa Bay took over. She's the ideal advocate for public access, because the medium literally changed her life. Russell was raised in the strictly fundamentalist Church of God — "almost a cult," she says. "We weren't allowed to play with Catholics, Democrats or union people," she says, adding ruefully, "Which was kind of hard 'cause we lived in Flint, Michigan."
Her family moved to Tampa in 1955, when Freddie was 11. She attended USF for one semester, but her parents were upset about the godless environment and shipped her off to a church-sanctioned college in Indiana. But her brush with secular life stirred a curiosity in Russell that never waned. She left the church.
When Russell landed the public access job, she spent hours in the control room soaking up every religious program she could. "I listened to everyone's beliefs and there was a fascinating variety of viewpoints," she says, her voice nearly breathless with wonder. "It was just thrilling."
Russell never returned to Christianity. After reading the ancient text Gilgamesh, she carved out her own spiritual system. "I worship the Great Goddess," she says. "I tried to be an atheist, but I needed to believe in something. I couldn't believe in a male God. I wasn't made in his image."
She smiles. "I was so sheltered," she says. "None of this would have happened without public access TV."
This article appears in Dec 1-7, 2004.