We've all got that guy: The stranger you see everywhere. At bars and restaurants. At the beach. At the coffee shop. Who knows if it's karmic or cosmic or some other —ic, but the that guy relationship is guaranteed when you live in a city as small as St. Petersburg.
That guy for me is a lanky gentleman with glasses and dreadlocks. Mostly, I see him out downtown; for months, we showed up for all the same events and drink specials. He usually came alone, but never had to wait long to find someone he knew.
Then a few weeks ago, the —ic gods kicked into overdrive. I saw him pumping gas as I drove by on Fourth Street. I stepped outside a bar to make a phone call and there he was, cruising by on his bike. I saw him on five straight days. And on the sixth, a slow Thursday night, he walked into the same empty bar I was in.
Enough, I thought. Sometimes you just gotta figure out who the hell that guy is.
George McFarley III is 32 years old. He spends his days building custom cabinets and his nights playing in a jazz band, Manchild. Born in St. Petersburg, McFarley grew up around the world, depending on where his military father was stationed. He came back to St. Pete in 1998, and quickly immersed himself in the burgeoning downtown scene.
Now a Central Avenue vet, McFarley can't walk more than a few steps downtown on a Saturday night without being stopped. Everybody — waitresses, homeless folks, hipsters, yuppies — knows "Sir George." And a few days ago, I got to know the slick-talking McFarley, too. Sort of.
So, either I'm stalking you, or you're stalking me.
Yeah, unknowingly I'm there. I'm there for ya. It seems like whenever I hit the door, man, it's never my time. It's everybody else's. So when I'm not out, I hide out.
Well you must not hide out very much. I've heard people call you a "St. Pete Staple."
Oh my God. AKA "The Love Child."
"The Love Child"?
Don't fall prey to the propaganda. Just kidding.
OK. Part of the reason I could see you five random times in five days is because St. Pete is so small. Do you think it ever gets too small?
It does. I've dipped out several times.
But you've come back. How has the scene changed since you came here in '98?
Well, gosh. Downtown only had a few venues to hang out in, let alone play. Now you've got these buildings popping up, things getting torn down. People from out of state coming in and going, "Oh yeah, I live here." I go downtown now and see faces I don't know.
I'm from out of state. We're not all bad.
No no no no. I'm not saying that. Aside from being born here and spending summers here, I could be considered a transplant, too.
You were a military brat, right?
Yeah. Uncle Sam says [when] you're home. I got tired of hearing that cliché — "Home is where the army sends you."
Is this place home now?
Yeah. But do I want it to be? No — I'm restless as hell, man. I want to go.
Where do you want to go?
Where don't I want to go? Brazil. Back to Europe. I want to go back to Germany and see where I grew up. I have to get out soon.
Why?
Because there's so much out there, man. When I'm here, I'm comfortable in this little thing. I've got my own dilemma that I'm just griping about. I'm always saying "If only."
What are your St. Pete spots?
I like hideouts. My new one is the Uptown Bar and Café, or as people are saying now, The UBC. And The Garden. I walk in there and that's a home, I've been going there for 10 years. I like going to The Independent. Manchild was the first band to play there. I like their beers. And because it reminds me of New York City.
Do you think that The Independent is —
Hoity-toity? Yes.
I think The Independent is for the folks that are going to move into those condos going up downtown.
Oh yeah. It's becoming that. But when it first opened, it was cool. It was chill.
How do you think the city's gonna change when people actually move into those places?
You remember that NWA song — "Trying to be like Compton?" St. Pete's trying to be like Miami. The rich are blocking out the most beautiful part of Florida for the people that have always been here.
Have you ever had someone you ran into all the time?
You always have that chica you've got the little crush on that you always run into. But you don't talk to her — that's asking for a heartbreak. Mama always told me … (laughs).
Who's George McFarley III, in a sentence?
George McFarley is very sensitive, he's in tune, he's open, giving, full of mistakes, gosh, so full of mistakes, music is his soul. There you go.
That's a long sentence.
I'm sorry. Comma, comma, semi-colon, exclamation point. "Buts" and "ands" aren't included — because you gotta take it like you see it.
What do you think people see when they see you downtown?
They see this crazy man. I've had people come up to me and say, "You're crazy." And I'm like: What? You don't even know me! But I guess I've sort of adopted that — maybe I am crazy. But guess what: You're fucked up.
The scene downtown is pretty white.
Yeah. The downside of it is people assuming that they know you, or looking at you and saying "He's just another nigger." You think that's been put away, but you can see it, and you can feel it with certain people.
With all that, can you still love the scene?
Do you question the love of your lover?
Um, I don't think so.
Sometimes you do. It's not that I hate this place, but I'm restless. And I know that my opportunities aren't here.
So it's a love/hate thing?
Definitely. I hate to love it and I love to hate it.
Well, no doubt I'll see you around.
Oh, man. Of course. Here's my number.
You can catch McFarley's jazz band, Manchild, at the Uptown Bar on Feb. 4. If you can't wait until then, just go downtown. Trust me, you'll find him.
This article appears in Jan 25-31, 2006.