Category: Tampa Bay

“This is Petty Officer Duncan. Can I help you, sir or ma’am?”

Some folks calling the Harbour Island Athletic Club late this summer had to be taken aback when the front-desk phone was answered in this fashion. Had they been patched through to CentCom?

Hardly. Their call actually had been taken by Roosevelt Duncan, HIAC’s affable front-desk man. Duncan, it turns out, had recently returned from three months of military service in Afghanistan. His by-the-numbers phone etiquette reflected the less-than-seamless transition he was making from battlefield corpsman to civilian employee.

Duncan, a 32-year-old Naval reservist, was making the quantum-leap adjustment from triage scenarios in eastern Afghanistan to the pedestrian, Harbour Island world of membership cards, lockers, keys, towels and guest registries.

War-zone work takes a toll, underscores Duncan.

“It was only three months, but it was scary,” recalls the 6-foot, 3-inch, 245-pounder who is cross-trained as a Seabee and a medic. “There were live bullets whizzing by. Something you really can’t simulate in training.”

A crucial part of his job, he explains, was to stay focused and calm while ministering to wounded marines and special-ops troops. “You have to tell ’em ‘You’re fine.’ You let them know they’re all right. Even if they aren’t. It’s like with the ER docs. They never say, ‘You’re not going to make it.’

“There are those you can’t save, but you still have to reassure them,” says Duncan. “You try to at least ease their mind. That’s what really stays with you. The guys you had to let go — although we always come back for our own. A friend from high school died in my arms. Sometimes I still wake up in a sweat.”

And there are the other times — such as the sight and sound of a helicopter — that would startle him. “I’ll duck from a backfiring car,” says Duncan. “I’ll grab my wife and pull her down.”

It’s why he took an extra week off before returning to his HIAC job.

“Roosevelt is a genuine guy,” says Tim Forrest, HIAC’s sales director, “and easy to work with. He cares about doing a good job. He’s very polite, very disciplined.”

Duncan, however, was very concerned that the good-humored, gregarious guy who didn’t abide “negativity in the world” had returned in an edgy state.

“I like things to run smoothly,” he points out. “Now coming back from (overseas) orders, some checks didn’t get into my account. They bounced. I took it personally. I’m like ‘Don’t threaten me.’

“I wasn’t myself at first,” he acknowledges. “I needed a little extra time to get it together for civilian life. You take a life or save a life and then come back to the civilized world. Some things are a little harder to readjust to — like when you hear people moan and complain about stuff. Really petty stuff. And you want to say, ‘You have no idea how lucky you are. You have no idea what some people are going through.’ I had to bite my tongue a lot at first.”

To avoid severing it, he would retreat to a reclusive spot by the bay or gulf to meditate. “You want your sacrifice to have meaning,” he says. “I just remind myself of that.”

As a reservist, Petty Officer 3rd Class Duncan has six years remaining on his eight-year commitment. He’s obligated to a weekend a month and two weeks a year. He’s also subject to 48-to-72-hour notice for active duty. He may not have seen the last of the Middle East cauldron.

Which means he may have to go through the hardest part — leaving his family — again. His wife, Ouida, is pregnant with their first child — due in late December. He also has two daughters, 7 and 10.

“If I were single, this wouldn’t be as tough,” says Duncan. “The hardest thing is reassuring others. ‘Daddy has to leave, but Daddy will be back.’ You say that, but you also think, ‘Is my family going to be taken care of? Is this my last day?”

He doesn’t dwell there, he says. Instead, he goes to the enlightened self-interest of the bigger picture.

“I have no regrets about enlisting,” he stresses. “I’m now in this to make it better for the kids. Mine and everybody else’s.”

One more thing.

Thank you, Roosevelt.

The much ballyhooed, well-received trolley debut is now history, but still ahead are ambitious scenarios for future phases tying in downtown and Hyde Park. Meanwhile, don’t be surprised when plans for the Franklin Street extension are accelerated if Tampa lands the GOP convention.

And this sobering note. Obviously the TECOline Streetcar System is a uniquely attractive, nostalgia-steeped, economic development tool and tourist-visitor attraction. But isn’t it also a starter-set for light rail? And doesn’t it remain quite the parochial commentary on this area that such a mass transit reality still can’t be uttered publicly for fear of political repercussions?

Fitness author Don Ardel seems less a candidate for mayor than that of personal trainer for the city. So be it. He’s an engaging, 64-year-old blithe spirit among more traditional candidates — and would certainly trim fat wherever he found it.

But while his campaign may be running in place, Ardel continues to excel in his most familiar arena: road racing. Earlier this month he won a silver medal in the 60-64 division of the (bike and run) World Duathlon Championships in suburban Atlanta.

Kathy Castor is an attractive candidate.

She looks good on paper and pretty in person. Smiling disarmingly as she decries “property taxpayers subsidizing urban sprawl development,” she actually seems to enjoy public policy.

She’s affable, informed and typically positive on the stump. Her best credential — a 3-year, assistant general counsel stint at the Florida Department of Community Affairs — dovetails nicely with Hillsborough County’s thorniest issue: assuring smart growth isn’t some oxymoronic delusion.

And then there’s that Castor name. Without which, some contend, she might have been a winsome loser in the District 1 county commission primary against solid opponents with non-household handles such as Osiason and Dingfelder.

But that was then and this is Chris Hart III.

The 58-year-old Hart is formidable. He is business-issues savvy and a true believer in raising the county’s profile. Hart also has the sort of family name recognition that comes from more than a decade of public service. Moreover, his son is a two-term state representative. He has contacts in Washington, even if inflated.

Although Hart jumped into the race at the last minute, he initially raised more money than Castor immediately following the Sept. 10 primary. He has served on the Hillsborough County City-County Planning Commission and been elected and re-elected to (a countywide seat on) the county commission.

Around here, however, that’s not just hands-on experience. It’s also guilt by association. The commission, dysfunctional on a good day, is collectively and routinely disparaged.

Hart acknowledges the double-edged sword of incumbency.

“Each of us hopes we’re not the one,” he says. “It’s like a family where someone got up on the wrong side of the bed. But the criticism is not totally deserving. We can get too wrapped up in personalities. I think we need to ask what got done at the end of the day. On health and transportation, we have moved forward.”

While the 36-year-old Castor can wax wonkish on water, transportation, indigent health care and older neighborhood re-investment, her best chance is to go right after Hart’s incumbency. Her ethics reform package takes dead, if decorous, aim.

The parameters of a Hillsborough County Ethics Commission would include all the municipalities and could address, she says, everything from nepotism in county government to the sort of legal/ethical dilemma that plagued Mayor Dick Greco over the Steve LaBrake affair.

More pertinent to the election, however, are proposals to strengthen disclosure rules for lobbyists, “clarify” term limits and make commissioners more accountable for their travel and expenditure reports. The latter two provisions are thinly veiled Hart attacks.

In a recent press release, Castor vowed: “When elected, I will work to add a provision to the (County Home Rule) Charter limiting commissioners to two terms — including a jump from district to district. Period. This was the intent of the voters in the first place.” An intent, she more than implies, disregarded and disrespected by Hart who is completing his second term representing District 5 countywide. He hopscotched into the District 1 competition on the last day of qualifying — after bowing out of the mayor’s race.

Then there’s Hart’s reputation for junketeering.

Castor also wants commissioners to publish travel-related expenses in the Commission’s official agenda. Hart’s county travels, notes Castor, have included top-dollar stays in Mexico, Las Vegas, Hawaii and Washington and “exceed all other commissioners combined.”

To Hart, the criticism is like a sucker punch in a velvet glove.

“I followed the end of her (Senate District 13) race with Victor Crist (in 2000) and was disappointed,” says Hart. “It turned negative. Now I’m beginning to wonder.

“She’s looking for issues upon which to mount a campaign,” adds Hart. “There’s already a state ethics commission. Otherwise, her agenda mirrors mine.”

Frankly, some insiders have questioned why Castor hasn’t been more aggressive in going after Hart’s relatively undistinguished record. But Castor sees a localized ethics commission — with reasonable turnaround-time accountability and teeth — as a necessary means to a pragmatic end.

“Before we accomplish anything of substance,” stresses Castor, “we must restore trust. The public has lost trust in the county commission. This could help build confidence. The starting point is a new board in November.”

John Dingfelder, first runner-up to Kathy Castor in the District 1 County Commission Democratic primary, is now tossing his hat — and maybe a bunch of retooled campaign signs — into the City Council ring. Democratic Party strategist Clay Phillips, who has been campaigning for several months, is the early frontrunner in the race to represent South Tampa.

Dingfelder says a city council run was never a fallback plan during his county commission race. He says it never crossed his mind “professionally or politically.”

He attributes a good primary showing, a number of encouraging phone calls, confirmation that he did well in South Tampa precincts and “a desire to continue public service in this (elective) capacity” for the necessary motivation.

Dingfelder says that protection of neighborhoods, stormwater needs, fiscal responsibility and governmental integrity will loom large on his campaign agenda.

“We’re going to pick up where we left off,” he says. “I hope people will see it as a continuation of four months of campaigning. Maybe we’ll just cover over county commission and put in city council on our old signs.”

And, yes, look for his mom to be out and about again gathering petition signatures.

Except for petty sniping about fund-raising, jibes over some amateur sleuthing and chagrin from a pollster gaffe, the mayor’s race stayed off the political radar during the latter, climatic stages of the primary and on into the general election. But that profile has heightened in the wake of a detailed poll published by the St. Petersburg Times .

The poll also yielded an interesting result: the three leading candidates — a frontrunner, an old timer and a newcomer — couldn’t be happier with the findings.

The Times’ telephone poll, conducted by Communications Center Inc. of Lakeland, surveyed Tampa residents familiar with the race. The result: 25 percent backed City Councilman Bob Buckhorn, a familiar name and early frontrunner; 21 percent named Charlie Miranda, the folksy, 60-something City Council chairman; and 19 percent supported Frank Sanchez, the return-of-the-native, first-time candidate for elective office. For all intents — given the 5 percent margin of error — it’s a toss-up right now.

“It reflects what we’ve been seeing,” says Buckhorn. “My own polling tells me that the issues people care about are in line with what my campaign is talking about: neighborhoods, safety, ethics in government — the fundamental things that affect the quality of people’s lives. This is about who knows the potholes, the cracks in the sidewalk, the dope dealers. When we hire a mayor, we want someone to fix problems and run the city

It’s trite but true. That Middleton-Blake grid clash a fortnight ago was much more than a football game. And it was much more than the bragging rights that should accompany a 46-0 pasting, even if it’s (9-11 grade) Middleton putting it on Blake’s junior varsity.

It was even more than the sort of feel-good story we can all use a good dose of during especially troubling times.

That’s because Middleton-Blake was about reunion and revival — of a rivalry. And celebration — of what was best of a time that wasn’t better in so many ways.

Back when segregation-era black schools, such as Middleton and Blake High Schools, were community linch pins. And when their football teams met in the annual “Soul Bowl,” it was a community happening. It all ended with the arrival of court-ordered desegregation. Both historically black high schools were closed in 1971 and converted into junior highs.

Now they’re back. Sort of.

A new Blake opened in 1997 near the old Blake in West Tampa. This year a new Middleton opened near the old Middleton in East Tampa. In barely more than a month the football rivalry that had been dormant for 31 years was renewed. And an overflow crowd of some 6,000 fans, many of them 50-somethings reliving another time, turned out for history and nostalgia.

“We want to bring the guys back together,” said Henry Washington, Middleton ’68 and a former Tigers’ quarterback. “We want to make this an annual tradition like it used to be.”

It was an auspicious kick-start, but the challenges belie the emotions of the moment. Especially for Middleton.

This is now; that was then. Middleton is no longer a de jure black school forced to rally proudly within a Jim Crow universe. The overwhelming majority of teachers and administrators don’t live in the area. Middleton is a choice-plan, post court-ordered desegregation-era product.

With nearly 1,400 students, it is approximately 70 per cent black this start-up year. The School District of Hillsborough County is aiming for 39 per cent black enrollment next year when there’s a senior class and the 2,100-student school is fully magnetized for math, science, technology and engineering. (Blake, an arts magnet with some 1,700 students, is about 45% per cent black.)

Minorities as majorities or pluralities creates a unique 2002 dynamic in the celebration of a de facto family reunion. Most of the fans at the Middleton-Blake game were black, as were the players. But there are more than 200 white kids at Middleton. And a lot more on the way next year. Is there a meaningful part in this nostalgic, back-to-the-future black experience for them?

“It’s coming around slowly,” acknowledged Washington, who’s now the hands-on principal of Middleton. “But, yes, that’s a tough one for the white kids. We tell them how much we love them. I never walk past a student — white, black, Hispanic, Asian — without saying something. I’m all over this campus. We want to make sure this isn’t one-sided. I mean, how many principals get on the intercom each day to say ‘I love you’? This one does. And I mean it. And I’m going to preach that until it’s in their souls.

“Even though there is a black tradition,” stressed the 53-year-old Washington,” this is a new age. No one is left out. We want all students to feel wanted. Teachers were selected carefully with that in mind. Diversity is very prominent on this campus.”

Race, moreover, is not Washington’s only inclusion issue. Next generations, black and white, don’t always read minutes of previous meetings. An adult “reunion” may be merely another variation on a school-choice integration theme. Additionally, all students went somewhere else last year, and for many their allegiances didn’t die with the rebirth of Middleton.

“We preach family here,” underscored Washington, who previously was principal at Chamberlain High School. “You might have been a Plant Panther or a Robinson Knight. Well, now, you’re a Middleton Tiger. No matter where you came from, this is your school. This is our school. We’re all Tigers.”

He may have a Tiger by the tail in the short run, but Washington is holding out for the best of both worlds long term.

“Look, times have changed,” he pointed out. “There’s not the parental backing of the old days. But we’re not wringing our hands over that. In years to come, these young people will be creating their own traditions.

“I hope I can build this family relationship over the years,” added Washington. “This school is for everyone. But there’s a special piece of history that will always be there. The community won’t allow otherwise.”

Nor should it. Race and roots aside, pride in a school — and its role as a community catalyst and hub — can be a colorblind model for all.

Frankly, the easiest part of Washington’s job is already behind him. That was the unfettered fun he and fellow alums had at the historic football game. No one is expecting a 46-0 blowout of Blake’s varsity next year.

More importantly, no one is expecting Washington to turn his increasingly melting potluck of a student body into an instant “We Are Family” love-fest. Some days they may look like the Muddleton Social Engineers.

But every day that begins with kids — black and white, neighborhood and magnet, erstwhile Panthers and Knights — being reminded that someone important in their lives loves them has to matter.

Go, Tigers.

You don’t get much more Republican around here than Al Austin. Not county-yahoo-Svengali stuff, mind you, but seriously partisan establishment sort with a patrician touch. Austin’s a major party player and statewide go-to guy for GOP fund-raising. His Rolodex includes more than one generation of Bushes.

The “Pioneer Developer” of the Westshore Business District hasn’t missed a GOP convention since Richard Nixon was re-nominated in 1972. During that same time frame he has served in leadership roles in every presidential, gubernatorial and senate campaign in Florida. In 2000 he was a member of the Florida Electoral College. He’s currently finance chairman of the Republican Party of Florida, arguably the best run, most flush of all statewide GOP organizations.

He’s not, however, a campaign strategist. But if he were, you can bet he wouldn’t have signed off on the counterproductive ads that attacked Bill McBride during the primary.

When he sizes up the Jeb Bush-Bill McBride contest, Austin hearkens back to his experience chairing the successful senatorial campaigns of Connie Mack in 1988 and ’94. He expects an ’02 variation on the theme that was so successful against Buddy MacKay: “Hey, Buddy, you’re a liberal.”

Because of McBride’s war-hero record and role in running one of the biggest law firms in the country, he’s increasingly accorded centrist status. Last week’s BusinessWeek magazine, for example, noted that “the first-term governor (Bush) has good reason to worry: the MODERATE McBride has emerged in recent weeks as a serious threat

Some musings from election day — and night:

*Voting was a seamless exercise locally. As well it should have been; it needn’t be hard. But still, well done, Pam Iorio and staff — and polls apart from the performances turned in by Miami-Dade and Broward counties.

Here in Hillsborough, poll workers were ready and well trained. Voter education proved more than ample. Should be no different in November, even with a bigger turnout. Touch (screen) of class goes a long way.

*What to say about South Florida ? Bad enough that it persists in comporting itself as a sovereign state, but must it be that of a banana republic? Should Jimmy Carter be sent in next time to monitor? More material for Jay Leno, David Letterman and Fidel Castro.

*And more disenfranchisement fodder for caustic U.S. Civil Rights Commission Chairwoman Mary Frances Berry. She justifiably condemned the condemnable and then heaped criticism on the U.S. Justice Department and “state officials.” But what about (black) Supervisor of Elections Miriam Oliphant , the Peter Principle princess of Broward County?

*No one, of course, was more disappointed in Mimi Osiason’s County Commission District 1 showing than Mimi Osiason . But a close second had to be John Dingfelder . His most viable scenario for winning was for Osiason and Kathy Castor to cancel each other out, enabling well-regarded, lone-male Dingfelder to slip by with a modest plurality. It never came close to happening with Osiason failing to break into double-figure percentage.

*At his election party at Pipo’s on Davis Islands, Dingfelder acknowledged the uphill race against name recognition and how the campaign had to “go to the mattresses” at the end. Literally. With a brother in from Philadelphia, a best friend in from Seattle, plus parents and grown kids briefly returning to the nest, the Dingfelder house was awash in ad hoc bedding.

*Speaking of District 1 , it was obviously top-heavy with quality Democratic candidates. Too bad one or more couldn’t have been parceled out elsewhere for an infusion of sorely needed, progressive, non-confrontational, new blood.

*At Castor’s Cactus Club campaign party, Castor’s husband Bill Lewis was the conduit for election updates. At each juncture, Lewis referenced the candidates as “Kathy,” “John,” and “Mimi.” It’s not a big deal, but symbolically reflective of the civility and respect that uniquely characterized this race. Doubt if there were comparable “Jim-and-Stacey Lynn” or “Ronda-and-Arlene” scenarios. Moreover, Dingfelder wasted no time in making a contribution — $100 — to the Castor Campaign. The combination of District 1 candidate chemistry and sense of party unity should bode well for Castor against Chris Hart .

*When asked who was most nervous about the District 1 race, mom-of-the-candidate-and-Democratic-icon Betty Castor didn’t miss a beat — and nodded at Lewis. No wonder he was kept so busy.

*What happened to all those seething, anti-Storms Democrats who had a golden opportunity (with the universal primary) to rid the county commission of Tropical Storm Ronda? Thanks for nothing.

* “Victory parties” are unique gatherings. Starting with the premise that there might not even be a “victory.” It’s an eclectic gathering of family, friends, campaign workers, party activists, minor luminaries, VIPols and political groupies. One or more bars and televisions are de rigueur .

A dynamic of back-slapping and glad-handing

It’s not often that the New York Times obituary page references one of Tampa’s own, let alone prominently. But such was the case recently because such was the reputation of Bern Laxer, creator of Bern’s Steak House.

Before there were Super Bowls and amenities dubbed “world class,” there was Bern’s. Since the 1950s, Tampa has basked in its reflected glory. Bern’s is “one of the country’s more unusual and most popular restaurants,” understated the Times’ obit.

And not unlike his restaurant, Laxer was also one of a kind. He was as eccentric as he was exacting.

His passing jogged my memory to when I first met him. I was doing a profile piece for the Tampa Bay Business Journal . The 1981 interview was at 10 p.m. Any earlier, he had made abundantly clear, would have conflicted with his hands-on approach to running his restaurant the way it should be run.

Personally, Laxer was as low key as his restaurant was high profile; as nondescript looking as it was over-decorated in that SoHo-meets-the-Renaissance motif. With a cluster of keys hitched to his green Bermuda shorts, the wiry restaurateur looked like some culinary custodian.

After a tour of the huge, spotless kitchen and a peek inside the cavernous wine cellar, we adjourned to his second-floor office — a cramped, cluttered cubicle. The focal point was his paper-strewn desk where nine television monitors were mounted, affording various vantage points of the kitchen. Between books, within nooks, under piles and atop heaps were hints of the myriad awards, local and national, that Bern’s had won through the years. None were on display.

I inquired about the seeming insouciance. Most folks can’t get their chamber of commerce appreciation plaques hung quickly enough, let alone testimonials to being the best in their field.

Laxer’s pithy answer spoke volumes. “They really don’t mean a damn thing to me,” he said. “I don’t want to be looking back just because I won an award. That makes me a big shot. I want to be better than that. I want to pretend that I haven’t won any awards. So I can be a better restaurant.”

As a result, Laxer’s legacy now transcends a restaurant that catered to VIP palates and helped put Tampa on the map — and globe. By his work ethic and attention to detail, Bern Laxer also served up food for thought — and what it meant to be “world class.”