(This story originally appeared in Music magazine, May 17, 1984.)
Artist Lance Rodgers in Jacksonville, Florida (photograph via Facebook)
By Bob Andelman
The name refers to a military state of readiness, the highest level of nuclear war anticipation.
DEFCON-1, a term made familiar to millions in last summer’s film War Games, is an attention-getting sure thing.
Encountering DEFCON-1 is something less than walking into a war zone, though. An off-the-wall, amusing, rocking demilitarized zone, maybe.
Lance Rodgers is the front man for the band. He is a man to be reckoned with and respected, first because of his size, and second for-the many talents he possesses. Along with lead guitarist Larry Lynch, Rodgers composes most of the original music performed by DEFCON-1 and writes all the lyrics.
Take a look at excerpts from his song “Third World Girls””:
Snell Isle spoiled child
Raised in a rich style
With some alien “help” to raise a preppy clone
“Mummy & Daddy” just didn’t have the time ..
Third World, Third World Girls They’re the ones with his
attention
They’re his refugee redemption
Third World, Third World Girls Cambodi bodies not too
Other curious compositions include “Low Rent/High Life” and “Grovel For Love.” Of the latter, Rodgers has a vivid ending to the llve version done on his knees before a dancing, gyrating female.
To introduce “Sex” at Club Detroit a few weeks back, Rodgers barked, “This song is for those Tyrone girls over there … Heterosexuals—Dance!!”
“Some people take Lance the wrong way,” admitted keyboard player Chad Dobransky. “Well, he’s not crazy—he’s just very vivid. They can’t understand how a guy his size moves so fast.”
DEFCON-1 has 10 original songs in their club set, only one of which is slow and/or serious: “Gray Blankets.” For the rest of the evening they cover Thomas Dolby, Elvis Costello, Talking Heads and early Joe Jackson.
Even as Rodgers adds the vocal colors to much of DEFCON-1’s work, Dobransky presents a flavorful sound on his synthesizers. The rest of the band fills out with Monte Video on bass and recent addition Bob Breault on drums. They are a strong outfit, leaning heavily toward power-pop strains.
Previously known as Doc, the band originally featured Rodgers on drums and congas with a woman singing lead. That didn’t work out and Rodgers moved from occasional to full-time front duties.
Between them, Rodgers and Dobransky make the band a visual humanscape. The larger Rodgers is nonetheless fleet of foot, while Dobransky in a character in the Rick Nielsen mold, like a cartoon, bald on top, wearing a pencil-thin mustache on the tip of his upper lip and an equally narrow necktie.
Dobransky’s home is both endearing to his personality and to his band. There are his record, hat and cork collections on display, dozens of mirrors on the walls from his days as a liquor salesman, nearly 200 of his trademark ties, and a bomb shelter (with its two-foot thick walls, “it’d be the ideal place for a band to rehearse”) in the front yard.
The living room is a tribute to his friend Rodgers, featuring a trio of black and white photographs by the singer, airbrushed with color. The sharp images of old cars and female legs with off-color hues are impressive, as are the homemade Christmas cards Rodgers sent his friend.
Rodgers has found many outlets for his abilities. Some of his paintings will hang at the Tampa Museum this summer, the result of being noticed at the Gasparilla arts festival, and he also designs all the DEFCON-1 promotional materials. That includes the: individually hand-painted buttons the group sells for a dollar and a monthly new wave calendar the band sends out.
Promotion is an important part of DEFCON-1 and it is all done in-house by the band members. They blanket bulletin boards and liquor stores with flyers announcing heir gigs. On his coffee table Dobransky has “The Entrepreneur’s Manual” by Richard M. White, Jr.
“It costs the club owner $20,” Dobransky said of the publicity blitz, “and it’s the best 20 bucks he ever spent ’cause we hit everywhere.”
As Doc, this band once peaked as opening act for the B-52s at Tampa Jai-Alai last year. But as DEFCON-1, they were “Rock Stars” for 2,000 screaming, supercharged, nubile young ladies at a Girl Scout Jamboree at the Florida State Fairgrounds recently.
“All the girls were between the ages of 12 and 17,” Dobransky said. “In the contract was written ‘No obscene gestures and movements’ … Bob Breault changed his shirt between sets and they attacked him … We’re all signing autographs and I remember thinking ‘These are the kids that buy records!’ … I was so pumped up.”
(Originally written in November 1989 for Florida Business/Tampa Bay; also published the same year in the Orlando Sentinel Sunday magazine. Merkle died at the age of 58 on May 6, 2003.)
Robert Merkle, United States Attorney, Middle District of Florida (Photo Credit: C-SPAN)
The man who stared down Panamanian strongman Manuel Noriega, the man who sent Colombian drug lord Carlos Lehder to prison, the man who challenged Connie Mack for the Republican nomination to the U.S. Senate-yes, Bob “Mad Dog” Merkle-couldn’t turn on a telephone.
He’d never before seen a phone that ran on batteries. The federal government didn’t buy ’em that way.
That wasn’t Merkle’s only problem in setting up his first business since running a lemonade stand as a kid. There was all that governmental red tape, all the bureaus to visit and license fees to be paid. For a man who had spent his entire career in government, it was an eye-opening experience being on the other side.
Until he could afford a secretary, Merkle did his own typing. He rented office space within another law firm until he could get on his feet. Merkle only had two phones-one in his office and one for a parade of temporary secretaries. That left his partner, Joe Magri, in the cold. When someone called for Magri, he’d have to use Merkle’s phone and Merkle would have to wait outside the office.
Then there was the problem of research. Unable to afford their own law library, Merkle and Magri had to spend nights and weekends looking up cases in the Pinellas County Courthouse law library. “It was inconvenient as hell,” says Merkle. “It’s very inefficient having to leave your office, especially when you’re the only one there. You go downtown, look for a parking space then find you don’t have any change for the meter.” Merkle’s notoriety didn’t help; everyone he ran into wondered why the infamous attorney was doing his own searches through the stacks.
When they finally bought their own statutes, Merkle and Magri discovered a new problem: no room in their makeshift office for book shelves. So the lawyers took out the indexes and had to leave the rest of the books in boxes. To find something, whole cartons would have to be shuffled.
“It’s one of those things you look back fondly on,” says Magri, “and thank God it didn’t last long.”
Welcome to the world of private lawyering, former federal prosecutor style.
Among modern U.S. attorneys, only New York-based Rudolph Giuliani enjoyed more renown and infamy in the 1980s than Bob “Mad Dog” Merkle. While Giuliani played the game of federal prosecutor in a bigger arena, there are many similarities between him and Merkle, including national television profiles in 1987-Giuliani on ABC’s “20/20,” Merkle on CBS’s “60 Minutes”-and the failure of both to leapfrog from appointed to elected office. (Giuliani wanted to be mayor of New York in ’89; Merkle chased the role of U.S. Senator in ’88). Now both face at least the immediate future in private practice.
From 1982 to 1988, Merkle went after the biggest fish in the sea of 32 counties making up the Middle District of Florida. His office’s cases never failed to make headlines: the corruption trials of members of the Hillsborough County Commission and Nelson Italiano, a once-prominent figure in Hillsborough County Democratic politics; drug indictments brought against Lehder, Noriega and ex-baseball star Denny McLain; perjury charges against State Rep. Elvin Martinez; investigation of former Hillsborough State Attorney E.J. Salcines; and the prosecution of plastic surgeon Dr. Dale B. Dubin on child-pornography charges.
“We didn’t win all the cases, but nobody does,” says Merkle. “It was claimed I only went after Democrats, that I only went after lawyers-depending on whose ox was being gored, that defined ‘the problem with Merkle.’ If there’s a rap there, it was that I went after everybody. Nobody was above the law.”
Merkle was the first U.S. attorney to successfully extradite and prosecute a member of Colombia’s feared Medellin Cartel. The life sentence drug lord Carlos Lehder received in 1988 was a precursor of the bloody civil war that has since wracked Colombia.
When he won, Merkle lavished compliments upon the American legal system, judge and jurors. When he lost, Merkle explained it away by saying the jurors and judge didn’t understand the case.
Along the way, many respected voices called for his firing, including Florida Governor Bob Martinez (cross-examined by Merkle in the Italiano case), Barry Cohen (Salcines’ attorney), a majority of Florida’s sheriffs, the Tampa Tribune and the St. Petersburg Times. Senators Bob Graham and Lawton Chiles were openly critical of Merkle. (The Times eventually recommended Merkle over Connie Mack in the Senate primary; he refused to accept.)
Robert Merkle, United States Attorney, Middle District of Florida (Photo Credit: C-SPAN)
Clearly, not everyone will be rooting for Merkle to succeed in private practice. Not Tampa attorney Barry Cohen, who sought Merkle’s removal from office with a full-page newspaper ad and petition campaign after the U.S. attorney’s three-year, public investigation of Cohen;s client, E.J. Salcines, damaged the former Hillsborough State Attorney’s reputation. Merkle never brought charges against Salcines, but all the negative publicity probably costing Salcines re-election.
Although Cohen declined comment for Florida Business, he did describe to Morley Safer of “60 Minutes” what he called Merkle’s “McCarthy mentality.” On the nationally broadcast television program, Cohen accused Merkle of ” … inducing people to tell untruths … threatening people that they’ll be indicted if they don’t tell you what you want to hear so that you can manipulate the facts … telling witnesses that you’d better testify in a particular way.”
Merkle and Magri have both had run-ins with Cohen over the years. They say Cohen is an expert at trying cases in the media. “Barry Cohen is a good defense attorney in that he knows how to utilize the media,” says Magri. “He gives talks on how to use the media to help defend a case.” Cohen used a Florida Bar seminar in October as a forum to criticize Pinellas-Pasco Chief Assistant State Attorney Richard Mensch for prosecuting chiropractor William LaTorre as a way of getting back at Cohen for winning a drug case.
After leaving office, Merkle continued to lose friends and influence enemies. He called his former boss, Attorney General Edwin Meese III, a liar and described Connie Mack and Bob Martinez as a “dynamic duo of sleaze.” When Mack refused to debate him, Merkle traveled the state with a lifesize representation of Mack, which he dubbed “Cardboard Connie.”
Whatever his faults, the sleepy-eyed, sharp-tongued Merkle has never been dull.
* * *
Merkle, a graduate of Notre Dame and reserve fullback on the football team in 1964, spent 17 years in professional law enforcement as a trial attorney for the U.S. Department of Justice and as an assistant state attorney in Pinellas County for the Sixth Judicial Circuit before being recommended by then-Senator Paula Hawkins to be U.S. Attorney for the Middle District of Florida in 1982. Merkle left office in mid-1988 to challenge Connie Mack for the Republican nomination for the U.S. Senate, which Mack later won.
After the campaign, Merkle set about finding a job to feed his wife Angela and their nine children. He set up an independent law office in downtown Clearwater and, at age 45, began competing for the first time for clients.
Merkle has done his best to make the setting of private law as similar to public work as possible. He took on his former chief assistant, Joe Magri, as equal partner and hired his former secretary, Dot Bunger, as office manager. Also joining the firm from the U.S. Attorney’s office was Ward Meythaler, who spent five years as an assistant under Merkle; Jeff Albinson spent five years as an assistant state attorney in Pinellas County; Robert Persante, a nationally ranked chess player, folded his sole practitioner office in Tampa to sign on; Dayra Morales is the freshman member of Merkle & Magri, having just graduated University of Florida Law School.
The Merkle & Magri team goes back to a time shortly after Merkle’s appointment by Ronald Reagan in 1982. “I met him at a party that my law firm threw on Capitol Hill,” recalls Magri. An uncle of Merkle’s was a partner in Cummings and Lockwood, the firm where Magri worked. “We got talking about doing some prosecutions and it really sounded good to me. And he liked to play golf.”
Over the years, a good working relationship developed into a deep friendship and respect between the two men. “We complement each other well,” says Merkle. “There are certain talents he has and certain talents I have that mesh. It’s a very good relationship.”
Magri, 41, was promoted to acting U.S. attorney when Merkle left office in June 1988 to run for the Republican senate nomination vs. Connie Mack. Less than six weeks later, then-U.S. Attorney General Ed Meese announced Robert Genzman of Orlando would be the new U.S. attorney for the middle district of Florida. The announcement may have been timed to embarrass Merkle just days before the Republican Senate primary; Merkle has said he had an understanding with Meese that Magri would be his permanent successor. Had he known otherwise, Merkle has publicly suggested, he might not have left office. (Magri served as acting U.S. attorney until early 1989.)
“We’ve been about as close as two lawyers could be in terms of our working relationship over seven years,” says Magri. “I have a great deal of respect for his ethics, his approach to the law. He’s a very aggressive lawyer. He fights very hard for his position. I think he’s an exceptional lawyer.”
There are enough rooms with a Rocky Point waterfront view for five more attorneys in the spacious, 11th-floor Waterford Plaza law offices of Merkle & Magri. There is plenty of work to go around; Merkle himself is likely to surpassed his $70,000 federal salary in the firm’s first year of business. “I wouldn’t commit myself to significant salaries if I didn’t have the work to support it,” he says. Then, adds Merkle with a twinkling eye on the bottom line, “That’s a fundamental business decision.”
One of the advantages to private practice for an attorney with Merkle’s celebrity status is that it draws in all kinds of people with unusual problems. That is also the chief drawback of being Bob Merkle, P.A.
“I get people who, frankly, are nuts,” he says. “I had one guy who claimed he was the past owner of Amtrak, Yankee Stadium and the Skyway Bridge. This was a conspiracy to involve all sorts of people. I didn’t accept him as a client. I used to get these people at the U.S. Attorney’s office but I had a screening process where we could file a letter in the nut file and let it go.
“I spend an awful lot of time talking to people who have no intention, no wherewithal to hire me. They’re looking for emotional support, free advice.”
Then there are clients operating under what might be called “Mad Dog Fever,” which Merkle says has been spread by defense attorneys and newspaper reporters. The “Mad Dog” nickname began in his assistant state attorney days when he took on unwinnable cases and won them.
“My clients have hired me,” says Merkle, “because they perceived I was the meanest, nastiest sonuvabitch in the valley. They feel, ‘I don’t like you, but I want you as my attorney.’ They perceive that I can walk in, wave a wand and they get what they want. But that’s not the way the system works.”
Merkle insists he’s no frothing wild animal; it’s not practical. “I have always been in total control of myself in the courtroom. The image of a mad dog is certainly a repugnant image for a lawyer to have. A mad dog foams at the mouth and attacks everything in a mindless fashion.” The image has been built out of proportion but he hesitates to reject it entirely. “The good side is the way it was coined. It connotes tenacity and fearlessness. The irony is that that fiction hasn’t hurt my business,” he says. “But there’s another side of that. Sometimes when I walk into a courtroom, a judge who hasn’t met me operates on the same principle.”
Joe Magri is the perfect partner for Bob Merkle: he’s used to standing in the “Mad Dog’s” shadow. For seven years of federal prosecutions-successful or not-it was “Merkle this, Merkle that.” Guys like Magri and Meythaler worked just as hard but in relative anonymity. “Joe Magri deserves every bit as much credit as I do for what we did at the U.S. attorney’s office,” says Merkle.
In the private sector, the magnetism of Merkle’s name will be a mixed blessing. It will keep Magri in the shadows but probably make him a rich man.
“I don’t consider that a real issue,” says Magri. “If you want to talk about it from a business standpoint, an attorney that has the ability to attract attention generally attracts cases. That’s very good. That’s what we’re here for. If things go well for me and Bob does well, I’m going to be happy. What’s important is that the firm do well. If that results in Bob Merkle gaining publicity or continuing what he has, that’s something we should embrace.”
* * *
The days of chasing corrupt county commissioners and drug lords are over.
Bob Merkle has made a conscious decision to generally refuse criminal cases. He doesn’t want to belittle a long career of criminal prosecution by switching sides to defend drug dealers. Instead, he has chosen the more dignified civil arena, specializing in lender-liability, environmental and land-use litigation.
“There are obviously differences,” he says. “But there are some fundamental things that remain the same. A hearing is a hearing. A deposition is a deposition. The law is the law. Clients come to me because there’s the prospect of real litigation experience.”
Merkle says he’s not ruling out criminal defense work entirely, but he is unlikely to accept it unless “there is a situation where I can work to further both the client’s interests and the government’s interests at the same time. (Otherwise) it would be an abrupt and unacceptable jolt from what I’ve been committed to for my entire professional career. That’s a prospect when I’m using my skills to defend people who are otherwise guilty. I will not do drug work. I happen to have a personal experience in which I have a very high anti-drug profile. I don’t want to be in the position where I get people off as a routine manner of the way I work. I’m aware of the recidivism rate. I’ve known lawyers who’ve represented criminals and gotten them off. I don’t feel comfortable in using my talents to get these people off. Why should I be a mouthpiece for the Mob? Why should I be in-house counsel for a drug organization, insuring their people get back on the street?”
George Tragos, managing partner, managing partner at the Law Offices of Tragos, Sartes & Tragos, Clearwater
George Tragos was a chief assistant under Merkle at the U.S. attorney’s office; like Merkle, Tragos also put in time at the state attorney’s office. But when Tragos left the federal prosecution business, he had no trouble working for the other side.
“I made the transition from prosecuting criminals to defending criminals,” says Tragos. “I’ve done it twice. I just wake up one morning and see the Constitution from the other side. I see words I never saw before. I enjoy practicing law and I enjoy trying cases. I don’t care if I’m prosecuting or defending.
“Bob-his personality didn’t allow him to make that transition,” according to Tragos. “He’s a person that didn’t feel psychologically he could defend criminals. Some people can, some people can’t. (Merkle) has a very negative idea of criminal defense lawyers. If you’re talking political ambition, representing drug smugglers and criminals doesn’t get you a lot of votes. He’s doing the right thing not tarnishing his image as a crimebuster.”
Tragos believes that the different directions he and Merkle have taken has been largely responsible for the end of their social contacts. But, notes Tragos, “In the civil work I’ve done, some of the people I’ve met have been bigger crooks than in criminal.”
Denis M. de Vlaming is another former assistant state attorney who turned the tables on the system and now makes his living as a criminal defense specialist. He expects Merkle’s aggressive style and tactics will be preferred by a certain type of client and that the former prosecutor will do very well in private practice.
“I admire him for not accepting criminal cases,” says de Vlaming. “I’m sure Mr. Merkle could win six-figure fees for drug dealer cases.”
de Vlaming says he once had a client who had been charged with three different burglaries. The man was acquitted of the first two charges. This occurred when Bob Merkle was an assistant state attorney. “The third time, Merkle came in and said, ‘You’re not winning this one,'” recalls de Vlaming. “Judge Fred Bryson has since said it was one of the most enjoyable cases he ever had. We went after each other, nose to nose. And he topped me. He did a good job.”
* * *
Attorneys who have spent a portion of their careers in public service say there are a number of differences between working for Uncle Sam and Joe Shmo.
For one thing, there’s money. When you work for Uncle Sam, he pays all the bills no matter what the cost and whether or not he can cover the debt. That’s important when a Carlos Lehder can pay a reported $2.5 million for his defense. And there’s a regular paycheck to depend on, utility bills are paid and plenty of No. 2 pencils and yellow legal pads. In the case of Merkle and Magri, there were also 47 assistant U.S. attorneys to share the work load.
Joe Shmo, on the other hand, won’t necessarily pay his bill on time. He’ll pay it late if he can and it’s no fun for a dignified attorney to chase down deadbeat clients. And if the firm doesn’t get paid, there’s no blank check from the government to keep the wheels turning. It’s a quick lesson in business for lawyers who haven’t had to worry about such details in government service.
“When you’re a U.S. attorney,” says Merkle, “you’re here for the United States. You have a client who exists, from a certain perspective, in the abstract. When you are a private lawyer, you find out how many problems there are out in the world and how many there are that can’t be solved.”
When you’re with the government, you’re 100 percent lawyer. But when you’re in private practice, you’re 50 percent lawyer and 50 percent businessman. And the business responsibilities can really get out of hand.
“If you open an office and make lots of money, it’s easy. If you’re not making money, you have to budget,” says George Tragos. “I can’t operate at a deficit as the U.S. Government does. Nobody ever said, ‘You can’t do this drug smuggling (case) because we can’t afford it.'”
For attorneys who plan to stay in business and prosper-perhaps even drop a shoe in the political arena-there is an even broader agenda to be considered in private practice.
“You become very conscious of not just your role in a given piece of litigation,” says Joseph Donahey, a partner in Clearwater-based Tanney, Forde, Donahey, Eno and Tanney, “but the practice you see over many years, the relationships you have with colleagues, the relationships you have with the bench. Your approach is different. When you’re a prosecutor, you’re not beholden to anybody. You can approach each case in any manner you choose.”
There is also the growing issue of attorneys who make campaign contributions to judges. Merkle supports blind trusts for judges or judicial candidates so that the influence of law firms making large financial contributions could not give a hint of judicial impropriety. “I guarantee you’ll see contributions go down,” says Merkle. “I’m not going to indulge in the practice I’ve heard other lawyers do-routinely contributing to incumbents on the bench. Somebody may get their nose bent out of shape by my saying there are incompetents on the bench. But there are incompetents on the bench.”
A potential drawback for a Bob Merkle-type attorney shifting gears is the distinct lack of limelight surrounding most lawyer’s everyday affairs.
“One of the things you really have to develop a means of handling is the hum-drum routine of all our lives,” says Joe Donahey. “I’m looking at a mound of work. I have the same commitment to each of these files yet there’s probably only two that that any challenge or any meaningful legal interest.”
Not every case, in other words, is a international drug cartel or politician with his fingers in the cookie jar. The average lawyer rarely makes headlines.
Spending time on the government payroll has been lucrative for many people who earn huge consulting fees, write books or end up as partners in nationally respected law firms. Some simply add marquee value; some bring real insight.
George Tragos has says when Bob Merkle was appointed to be U.S. attorney, the two discussed Tragos’ joining the team. Tragos told Merkle he couldn’t afford the pay cut but ultimately used his savings to maintain the lifestyle which he had become accustomed to as a high-price lawyer. “It was worth it,” says Tragos in retrospect. “I made contacts all over the country. Now my business is 60 percent federal.”
* * *
There are many stories floating around that reinforce the “Mad Dog” nickname Merkle earned as a young buck coming up through James Russell’s Pinellas County State Attorney’s office in the ’70s..
“Bob Merkle in the courtroom was like a linebacker bursting through the line,” says Denis M. de Vlaming. “He’s extremely intense, almost physically imposing. When he argued, he would walk right up to you and argue. Almost to the point of intimidation so his opponent cowers. It’s a style that’s only his.
“I went snow skiing in Vermont with him one year. I don’t know if I’d go again,” says de Vlaming. “He has to go faster than you, he has to go further than you. He has to beat you at everything. We had an argument over dinner. He always has to be right. He carries over that competitive aggressiveness into every aspect of life.”
“The guy is an excellent trial lawyer,” says George Tragos. “But if I see him in an airport-as well as we know each other-I have to say hello first. He’s not personable. That’s just the way he is. But I like him.
“You have two schools of thought,” says Tragos. “There’s people who really hate the guy. And there’s people who think he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. I think he did more good than bad. The people-they got their money’s worth with him. Not everything he did turned out right, but on balance, he did more good than bad.”
* * *
Is Bob Merkle merely on hiatus from public office? When he does run again, will it be for governor?
“Ah,” he answers, “the old question-resting-on-a-presumption trick.”
Those who know him best expect the “Mad Dog” to slip his leash again and run for office after feathering his private practice with a layer of cash insulation. “I personally think he’ll run for public office again,” says George Tragos. “I don’t think he can be happy so far out of the limelight. I don’t think money motivates him.”
Joe Magri—who knows exactly what his partner’s plans are—is cagier about making predictions.
“One of the important things in life,” says Bob Merkle’s law partner, “is that people who are doing that which they want to do tend to be the most happy and productive in life. If you spend the time swimming against your emotional current, you achieve less. I think it’s important for people to maintain the options that exist.”
If he does run again, Merkle will have to plan his next campaign better than his first, which began with just 70 days to go before the primary. (Connie Mack had been beating the hustings for more than a year.) The first campaign cost a remarkably paltry $70,000 but ate up Merkle’s federal retirement, money he lent to the campaign and another loan he is still paying off. But he has no regrets.
“It was an ad lib effort, an amateurish campaign by necessity. It was fun in that regard. I think I performed pretty credibly,” says Merkle.
Not surprisingly, Merkle isn’t ready to tip his hand. He certainly won’t rule out another shot at election-“it depends on a lot of things,” he says, then adds, “I have no intention of running for governor.
“I don’t have much patience with people who say, ‘You have to run for governor.’ I say, ‘Oh, yeah? Who’s going to feed my kids?’ I didn’t see anybody in October (after he lost the senate primary) offering to give me a hand. Not a soul. Bitter? No. Practical? Yes. I’ve been approached many times. I say, get real. Don’t talk ideals or how great I’d be. Talk the language. Talk about what I need to be an effective candidate. I’m a pretty tough, resilient guy. I was going 24 hours a day in that campaign. I’d be willing to do it again. But there’s got to be a germ of success. I’m not going to be somebody’s spear-carrier. There should be enough people now that know I’m a credible candidate.”
Mean Business: How I Save Bad Companies and Make Good Companies Great by Albert J. Dunlap with Bob Andelman. Order your copy now by clicking on the book cover above!
“Fate” by Bobby Friss. Order your copy today by clicking on the album cover above!
Profile By Bob Andelman
(Originally published in Tampa Bay Life, 1990)
“This is like the guy next door that you grew up with,” says Russ Albums. “If you wanted to have a best friend, this would be the guy. He’s a prince.”
It’s one of those nights.
Saturday night at Tampa’s Rock-It Club and a few hundred people are crowded together, ready to party. Pretty young women in skin-tight half shirts, mini-skirts and teased hair. Rugged young men in tight jeans, leather boots and air guitars strapped over their shoulders.
One man has brought them all together.
Unfortunately, he’s got about a million other places he’d rather be right now.
It’s not the club, the audience, the pay or anything else but him. Bobby Friss plays rock ‘n’ roll 300 nights a year — tonight he wishes it was only 299 nights.
But standing outside in the cool air after his first low-key set, Friss is mentally preparing to give his best when he goes back in, whether his heart is in it or not. That’s just the kind of guy he is.
“It’s one of those nights,” he says with a shrug, that silly grin coming up from under several pounds of blond hair. “You play the same thing so many times. I have played 300 nights a year for 15 years. So playing a Saturday night in Tampa is not an ‘I can’t wait to do it.’ ‘Cause I do it every night.
“My days for 15 years have been, get up, take care of business, take a shower and come to work and play music. Just ’cause people get revved up and say, ‘I’m going to see Bobby Friss!’ — it’s just another rock ‘n’ roll night to me.”
The grin becomes a frown. Friss — by all accounts the most professional, workman-like musician in the state of Florida — knows what he’s said is the truth but it’s also a mood. It will pass — in fact it already has. “I’m going to have to turn myself up a gear,” he says to no one in particular. “A night like tonight, to be honest, I need a kick in the ass. I came in here tonight apathetic.”
Trouble is, an average night in Tampa before his hometown fans pales after the experiences of the last few weeks. Overfl ow Spring Break crowds in Daytona Beach and Panama City. Opening gigs for Otis Day & the Nights and comedian Jerry Seinfeld. Over 40,000 people in Pensacola. “Then I come to the Rock-It Club on a Saturday night and it’s a little anti-climactic,” he says. ” People don’t understand. They work days at a computer, they slow down, take a break. I can’t do that. I’m on stage. I control the crowd. If I’m crazy, they’re crazy. If I do nothing, they sit there like flounder. I want them to have fun.”The Act
The Bobby Friss Band
“You have to do more. Nobody is blown away by virtuousity. They work all day, they want to be entertained at night. They don’t want to see guys getting off playing guitar.”
“You have to literally reach out and strangle the audience. There’s just too many distractions. I’d love to be Bruce Springsteen, singing just my songs. But you’re the sideline at the club, you’re not the main act. That’s why I’ve become the guy who jumps on the table, slugs down a beer. Whatever it takes. I can’t stand having a room full of p eople milling around, not watching what I’m doing. The only thing worse than playing to an empty house is playing to a packed house that’s not watching. Whatever it takes, I’ll do.
“Once, a guy at a club had inversion boots. I hung from scaffolding 30 feet above the stage playing my guitar. I’ve gone across streets and stopped cars and played on their roofs while the band is playing indoors. I invited the whole audience on stage one night at the 49th Street Mining Co.
“I randomly select somebody every night and slide a Miller Genuine Draft down my guitar neck into their waiting hand. I do it every night. It’s predictable, but everybody gets up to see it. It’s like Sammy Davis Jr. doing ‘Candyman.’
ART HAEDIKE, owner, Porthole Lounge, Tampa: “He’s played his guitar in the parking lot. Once, he was singing in the john with the microphone and you’d hear the toilet flush.”
RUSS ALBUMS, WYNF (95 FM) disc jockey: “”He’ll sit down and schmooze with the audience and let them play his guitar while he has a beer.”
RICK RICHEY, childhood friend: “I rember walking through the parking lot of Mr. T’s Club 19 in Clearwater and he was standing there with his cordless guitar, wailing away. I was trying to figure out what was going on.”
“It’s a ‘slap’ society. People want something to slap them in the face. You get overlooked if you’re subtle.”
“We play about four or five originals a set and I better do some damn good cover material in between because these people are too primed to hear it.
“It’s too bad. We should be able to just play our own music. But I think even Led Zeppelin — unknown — would have a problem doing three sets of original material.
“The bands in Tampa Bay playing one or two nights a week — I guarantee they’re doing day jobs and starving.
“I run a business. The band is on salary. As soon as I decide we’re only playing originals, only playing concert-type shows, I take away the tightness of the band. In order to sustain their lifestyles, the guys would have to get day jobs. That’s what breaks up bands. Some weeks you don’t work, you work one night. The music becomes a sidelight. Right now, this is what we do. No distractions. During the day, we write, we record. We work on furthering our careers.
“Stranger and myself gross the most money among bands in town. That’s not to say there aren’t a town of other bands that aren’t as good as we are or better. The thing is, we’re the ones playing cover songs on Tuesdays and Wednesday nights. These other bands don’t want to do it. That’s great, but they’re not going to have the big money, they’re going to have to get a second job.
ART HAEDIKE, Owner, Porthole Lounge, Tampa: “When they say Bobby Friss cleans up at the Porthole, they’re right: we have him sweep up and he washes my car.
“He’s a good, consistent act. One of the best, if not the best, rock ‘n’ roll entertainers in Tampa Bay. Bobby works the crowd. A quick wit, lots of extraneous stuff. He gets more money than most of the other bands that play here. Maybe they haven’t rubbe d elbows with the right people yet. But they’re probably the best club act working. The nights are a little better when he’s around.”The Studio
Returning to the studio early in 1990 to record his second album, Friss took a long hard look at his first effort and decided it wasn’t the best he could be. There were only a few songs — “Long Way Down” and “Can’t Come Back,” which has become a local radio staple — that he is fully satisfied with two years later. It is driving him to do be more critical this time around.
“I learned a lot,” he says. “There’s good parts, but I don’t think, overall, the songs hold up.”
There are two roadblocks for Friss on his new record. First, because of his budget limitations, he must once again produce the album himself. Despite the engineering expertise of Morrisound Chief Engineer Jim Morris, that can be a drawback in the experien ce department. “I know what sound I want,” says Friss. “But I don’t necessarily know how to get the sound.”
Another problem is time. Being on the road five days out of every six cuts into available recording hours. That’s why the first album was done over four months instead of four weeks. “I just go in and do it when I can,’ says the guitarist. “It’d be nice to go in and do a month straight but I can’t afford the time.” When he’s on the road, Friss reviews tapes, making notes and plans for alterations.
Friss will rarely sample a new song in a club before it’s been recordedIt’s His Band
Note the name of the group: The Bobby Friss Band.
When he first formed a quartet in 1983, one thing was established from the beginning: “It was going to be my band,” says Friss. “I make the decisions, the song selections.”
Friss likes to be in control. He follows and believes strongly in his own muse, to the point of writing and composing almost all of his band’s original material. “We haven’t collaborated that much because if we get a record deal, I’d like to get it with my material,” he admits. “Not so much for my ego, but I’d like to show I have that capability.”
“My career is directed. I know what I’m doing.
The Bobby Friss Band, By Bob Andelman
Family Ties
Friss’s older brother Jay — a.k.a. “Ray Blade” — is the drummer in the Johnny G. Lyon Band.
His younger sister, Susie, is a schoolteacher.
His father Dick — “the oldest rock ‘n’ roller in the universe,” according to Friss — is the night auditor at the Paradise Lakes nudist resort in Land ‘o Lakes. He is also the older gentleman at every Friss Band show wearing a black satin “Bobby Friss Band” jacket.
“They say you must be proud,” says Papa Friss. “But if your kid is in sports or music, you go see them play. If you’ve got a kid who sells socks at Maas Brothers, you don’t go see him work. I’ve got a daughter who teaches school but I’ve never seen her teach. But why should I sit home and stare at a TV when Bob’s in town? I t’s entertaining.”
Dick and Bobby’s mom, Jackie — who lives in Rochester, N.Y. — were divorced in 1973.
Michele Wyatt, Friss’s new bride, met the musician in Michigan when he was managed by her brother Warren. Warren was reportedly not too happy with the arrangement at first. The Wyatts have a third sibling, Brett, who is quite close to Friss. Growing Up
Music wasn’t Bobby Friss’s first love. That would be sports — particularly basketball.
“Bobby’s an obsessive kind of guy,” says his dad, Dick Friss. “He was not a natural athlete, not gifted. But he forced himself. He shot baskets until after dark. He’d shoot and shoot and he made varsity at Largo High. He was never going to be a built-in basketball player, but he forced himself to get better by persistence. The same thing with the guitar. Nobody said, ‘We want you to take up the guitar.’ He went into room his with a Sears Roebuck guitar and just practiced.”
Dick says his youngest son was not the kind of boy to announce his intentions to the family — he’d just go out and do things. Like the day he took up pole-vaulting. “I said you’re a what? A pole-vaulter? He said running around a track eight times wasn’t a s much fun.” Or when the Largo Sentinel hired him to write about sports at his high school and the family found out about it by accident — seeing his byline in the newspaper. Friss was paid by the inch, so he wrote about everything from badminton to tiddylwinks, including describing his own play in basketball games — “Friss scored 10 points” — in the third person. “That’s just the way he’s always been,” says Dick, laughing.
“I was really into sports as a kid,” says Friss. “I didn’t pick up the guitar until I was 17. I missed the Beatles and Motown — I had to go back to them because I was out shooting baskets.”
Rick Richey has known Friss since they were in 7th grade together. He remembers when his pal would take his guitar out to Indian Rocks Beach every summer night and sit on the seawall, playing for the passing crowd. And Richey was road manager for the first Friss band, U.S. Steel, which played its one and only job at an apartment complex dance.
Not that Largo teen life was all dribble and strum.
“My senior year in high school I was not in the crowd I needed to be in,” says Friss. “”Let’s just say I was experienced with everything. It wasn’t a healthy environment. I was probably hanging out with people who are doing the same things now they were then.”
“By his own smarts, he rejected the things many people find it hard to reject,” says Dick.
After graduating from Largo, Friss packed a pillowcase full of clothes, grabbed his guitar and hitched rides north to Michigan. He moved in with family and eventually enrolled in journalism at Central Michigan University. If he didn’t apply his basketball intensity to studying, he at least invested his time well in practicing the guitar.
“I didn’t know anybody and the winter cold was ungodly,” says Friss. “I stayed inside and played and played. That was the year that secured my love for music — there wasn’t anything else to do.”
Higher education lasted less than two years, but Friss went on to a higher calling. He formed his first band, Force, and toured with it for six years from Michigan to Florida. He left the group in ’81 and spent six months seeking work as a songwriter in New York before relocating to Orlando. The Bobby Friss Band was formed there in 1983, although all the faces save Friss’s have changed through the years.
“Cut Loose” by Bobby Friss
As Real As It Gets
In 1981, the Rolling Stones were the first rock ‘n’ roll band to have corporate sponsor — Jovan. Since then, it’s hard to find any act on the road that isn’t shilling for some product or service. Paul McCartney does it for credit cards; Tina Turner does it for cars. So it wasn’t too surprising that when Miller Beer was looking to make a long-term promotional investment in its Genuine Draft brand years ago, it searched the country for young musicians with bright futures who needed a leg up. For 10 years now, the brewery has provided promotions and music equipment for bands such as the Fabulous Thunderbirds, Del Fuegos, the Rainmakers and, since 1987, the Bobby Friss Band.
“It’s a validation of his talents that Miller would pick him up,” says Bill Templeton, editor of Players magazine in St. Petersburg. “He’s paid his dues here, always ranked as one of the top bands in town. When people see him, they know they’re going to get the goods.”
“You play for eight or ten years without corporate sponsors and you know the daily grind of paying $4 for a guitar string,” says Friss. “Then they come in and say we’re going to give you strings, instruments, guitars, posters — all these things that otherwise come out of my pocket. They step in and become big brother. There’s no cash exchanged — just equipment and promotion.”
The promotional boost is probably the best part. Each year, all 26 bands in the Miller Network attend a seminar on upcoming promotions, expectations, and public relations. They are skillfully taught how to talk to disc jockeys, reporters, club owners and fans. Then the Miller machine guides them from city to city with local advertising, parties, in-club posters, glossy pictures suitable for autographs and plenty of media contact. Friss has also recorded nationally broadcast radio commercials in which he sings the brew’s jingle and is I.D.’ed as “Florida’s Bobby Friss Band” at the end.
Miller has been a dream come true for Friss’s agent, Omni Talent vice president Rick Young. “He’s very easy to book,” according to Young. “He’s popular in nearly every city in Florida. Miller’s been very helpful with that.
“I go to Louisville, Kentucky to do a one-nighter and the PR people at Miller have already set up interviews with two radio stations,” marvels Friss. “They usually play a song or two off our record. Here I am, unsigned to a record company, getting airplay on a major station.
“Advertising money talks,” he adds, referring to the power of the beer company’s enormous marketing budget and its potential to pull dollars from uncooperative media.
Is there a downside for Friss?
“If there is,” he says, “I haven’t seen it. At no point in the night do I hold up a beer and say, ‘Let’s have Miller Geunine Draft.’ That’s not what they want you to do. They want to be associated with you. (The audience) will figure if you’re affiliated with it, it must be good. And if it wasn’t a good beer, I wouldn’t drink it.” (Trivia: While in Michigan, Friss was a Stroh’s drinker; prior to the Miller deal, he preferred Budweiser in Florida.)
What does Miller get out of the connection?
“We feel the Bobby Friss Band has a lot of potential,” says spokesperson Mary Houlihan. “We want to help Bobby as much as we can. We think he’s going places. Miller wants to take the burden off promoting their tours. If they’re going to do six weeks of one-nighters, it takes their concentration off the music. We want them to do what they do best — perform their music.
“Miller is looking for a positive lifestyle association with these bands. They’re looking for people to go out, have a good time listening to the bands and the want Miller Genuine Draft to be a part of that. We don’t want them to be salesmen for the beer. One mention would be nice.”
“They’re trying to promote their Miller Genuine Draft Beer,” says Friss. “They’re looking for men 18 to 35.”
Participating bands don’t have to do much once they’re chosen for the Miller program. They place a banner behind them that reads “Miller Presents … ” They are introduced on stage the same way. They are not asked or even encouraged to shill for beer, although if they drink on stage or in a club, the company prefers they be seen with Miller products.The Studio
Drums make a variety of noises depending on how, where and how hard they are hit. Cymbals are even trickier.
Friss is behind the sound board in Morrisound Studios’ main recording studio, listening to drummer Leroy Myers bash the skins and cymbals. Neither is happy with the “crash” coming off the cymbals so they load up in Friss’s band and head for Thoroughbred Music on Hillsborough Avenue. This rock ‘n’ roll supermarket is to musicians what Home Depot is to handymen and Workplace is to small business people: Mecca. The Friss party immediately gets sidetracked by amps, the guitar museum, friends and fellow players.
“It’s a sweetheart isn’t it?” says Friss, caressing a ’62 vintage Stratocaster guitar. “It’s like Christmas everyday here.”
Morris, checking out amplifiers, says working with Friss in the studio is a unique experiencing. “He knows exactly what he wants,” says the engineer. “He’s one of the few self-produced artists who knows what he wants. He makes my job easier. He’s businesslike, efficient. It’s not a party. We get down to work and get results. He’s a very directed guy. I imagine he’s that way about the rest of his life. Planned out, doesn’t leave a lot to chance.”
Eventually, the group catches up with Myers in the drum department and Friss narrates the play-by-play.
“We’re in the drum department,” he begins. “This is the least interesting part of the place. It’s guys who beat on plastic and metal for a living. They pretend it’s music, but we know it’s just noise. Drummer are just diddlers … ”
Myers takes three cymbals at a time into a sound-proof room and Friss, Morris, Brett Wyatt and I make the mistake of following him in. Stick in hand, Myers bangs on each one numb to the Crash! in the rest of our ears.
“They all sound the same to me,” says Friss.
“They’re all different!” protests Myers as Friss laughs.
Myers has lasted longer than any other player in the Friss band — six years. They met as rivals in a Michigan “Battle of the Bands” competition in ’79. Years later, Myers was vacationing in Florida when Friss called. Now, when the band hits the road, Friss and Myers are roommates. (Myers likes his hotel rooms freezing, Friss prefers moderate.)The Next Day
Returning to Morrisound for the last time before the band hits the road for most of April, Friss is concerned about a ballad he has recorded, “Lonely One.”
“It’s still got some holes in it,” he complains to Jim Morris. “It’s hard to believe we have as much as we do in there — it’s still empty.
“It’s good to have some holes,” rebuffs Morris. One recurrent critical blast against Friss is his habit of putting to much sound on his recordings. He’s not from the less is more school of thought.
The Kids
Christmas, 1985.
Rock radio station WYNF and the old Mr. T’s Club 19 sponsor a benefit concert for the Children’s Home of Tampa — a residential treatment center for abused and neglected kids — featuring local bands and master of ceremonies Bobby Friss. They raised $5,000.
For Friss, it was a major turning point: the star turn helps break him out of the pack of club bands and begins his association with the Children’s Home. The connection has grown from playing and organizing the annual holiday show to regular trips to the non-profit’s villas, where Friss plays his guitar, shoots baskets and presents youngsters with a positive role-model. It has also put him in a position to rub elbows with the Children’s Home’s better-known benefactors, including the Bullards and Steinbrenners.
Friss donated proceeds from the song “Suzie Darling” off his first album to the Home. And he’s hoping to organize a “Christmas in July” concert to benefit the Home this summer.
“I did it at first because it made me feel good, giving something back. At Christmas, it’s nice to think about other people,” says Friss. “Now it’s just part of me. It’s not, oh, I gotta do my Christmas thing. I go out there all the time. I break the stereotype of what a guy with long hair who plays in a band can be. They don’t need me to tell kids right and wrong. They like me to come out and be a friend. I like to go because the kids are cool.”
“The kids love him,” says Michele Pernula, public relations coordinator for the Children’s Home. “Your initial thought of a rock ‘n’ roller is not Bobby Friss, other than the long hair. He’s just been a wonderful person, a great role-model for the kids, too. He tells them to keep hanging in there, work hard, and you’ll do well.
Year-’round involvement is important to Friss, because it helps dispel the notion he’s involved just because it makes good P.R. For instance, while he has a basketball court in his own backyard, he prefers to play at the Home.
“I use it all the time,” he says. Then, laughing, “I helped buy it.”
Birdies and Bogeys
When he’s in town and not recording, Friss hits the links with WYNF (95 FM) air personality Russ Albums and Greg Billings of Stranger.
“He’s got that rock ‘n’ roll swing,” says Albums. “It’s a pure powerfade with a grunt like you heard when (boxer) John Mugabi gives you a punch in the solar plexus, a rush of wind like Hurricane Elena through your ears. Then we go looking for the ball.”
On a good day, Friss says he’ll shoot a 90, but 100 is more likely. “I just haven’t turned the corner,” he says. “I’ll shoot a couple good holes, then I fall apart.”
They play “wherever they want to comp us,” says Friss. “We’re fortunate. We have a lot of golf courses that like my music and Russ’s show.”
Golf has been good on the road as a soft public relations tool.
“Most DJs seem to play,” says Friss. “A lot of club owners play. It’s good to get to know people on a more personal level.”Mr. Business
There are three bottles of Miller Genuine Draft beer in the Friss refrigerator and one well-aged bottle of Seagram’s Wild Berry wine cooler. Bobby Friss may have his drinking tricks on stage, but at home, he’s stone cold sober.
“He’s almost a poster boy for the ‘Say No’ syndrome,” according to his father. “He uses (alcohol) in his act, but not in his personal life. You can’t be as busy as he is and be in a fog all time.”
That must be a significant difference between Friss and other local band leaders because virtually everyone interviewed about the musician commented on the sober focus he keeps on business matters.
“He’s been the most business-oriented musician for both the band and the club,” according to Art Haedike of the Porthole. “It’s always been, ‘What do we need so we can both make money?'”
Friss — whose band can draw anywhere from $500 to $4,000 for a night’s work — takes his role as benevolent dictator (his brother Jay jokingly refers to the position as “D.H.” — “Designated Hitler”) seriously. He is responsible for a six-man, full-time payroll — paid weekly in cash, incidentally, because that’s the way the band likes it. The four musicians and two roadies working for him rely entirely on the popularity and market value of the name Bobby Friss.
In the early days, Friss followed a simple philosophy: “In tune, on time, with clean hair.”
And forget about hoping to die before he gets old. This is a home-owning man getting married this June 17 with plans to have children and a future.
“Being 34 — if somebody else started working with a firm at 21, they’ve got 14 years of pennies put away by now. I don’t,” he says. “I’ve got to be prepared for that. But a guy in my position is always thinking you’re going to make that big jump, that you’re going to have so much money, which keeps you going, I guess.”
Leroy Myers says his boss is shrewd.
“We get more airplay than we probably deserve around here,” says the drummer. “That comes down to the fact that Bob, on a daily basis, deals well with people. I’m sure the disc jockeys and club owners see him differently than guys in younger bands who come in and say, ‘Hey, dude,’ and ‘Mind if I smoke a joint?’ They see him as an equal, a guy running his own business.”Yesterday, Today, & Tomorrow
“He just needs that one break to make it to the big time,” says friend Rick Richey. “There’s no one more deserving than Bob.”
“In the nine years I’ve known him, he’s really changed a lot. If you really want to be successful at something like music you have top be single-minded and directed. But he has a good balancer and hasn’t lost that direction. He’s always looking the step ahead. He might be happy where he is,” but he’s not satisfied,” says Michele. “He’s never content to pat himself on the back and say, yeah, I’m doing okay. I think that’s why he’s making progress. And he’s very talented.”
“I like my house. I like being with Michele. This number one in my life. My number two life is being on the road,” says Friss. “But if I get a record deal and it means six months on the road opening concerts for Whitesnake, you can bet your ass I’m going to do it! When you get your shot, you have to take it.”Back to Work
Break over. Back to the stage of the Rock-it Club.
Steeling himself, doubts are dispelled and the party animal is back. As Friss makes his way back to the stage, he autographs pictures for his fans, shakes a lot of hands and says hello to a lot of people whose faces he can instantly attach to a name.
As the red LED crawl for “Ruben’s Bail Bonds” — “Traffic-Criminal-Narcotics … 24-Hour Service … 3 Generations of Successful Bail Bondsmen” — goes across the ceiling of the dance floor, Friss comes clean with the audience.
“I’ve got to admit when I came to the club, I could’ve cared less. Then I started to think about how lucky I am. I’ve got a great band, we’ve got a new album, I’m healthy, I live in the greatest country in the world — what do I have to be pissed about? I feel a little like Jimmy Stewart. I’m the happiest, luckiest man alive! This is the greatest night of my life!”
And he means it.
FRISS BITS
Home: North Tampa
Age: 34
School: Largo High
Love Life: Married girlfriend of nine years, painter Michele Wyatt, on June 17
Guitar: Fender
Professional Secret: Is a Bucanneer season ticket holder; schedules concerts around football games
Personal Flaw: “He doesn’t have a lot of patience with hammers or screwdrivers,” according to Michele.
Conversational Tip: “When I get with my close friends we don’t talk about my last gig. We talk about their kids or Michele’s art classes.”
Listen For: Many Friss songs contain Tampa Bay references. On his new album, the song “Welcome Home” mentions Lowry Park and playing pool at Mr. Stubby’s in Clearwater
Kicking Through the Ashes: My Life As A Stand-up in the 1980s Comedy Boom by Ritch Shydner. Order your copy today by clicking on the book cover above!
Playlist: The Very Best of Jermaine Jackson. Order your copy today by clicking on the album cover above!
August 4, 1986
There were three times Saturday night when a person in the more than half-empty Ruth Eckerd Hall could have forgotten that Jermaine -Jackson was you-Know-Who-With-the-Gloves older brother.
The first was during a handsome version of his biggest hit, “Do What You Do.” Jackson pushed his voice and emotional range to its limit in making a strong vocal and visual demonstration. It was the first time ali night he sounded like a lead singer instead of someone in the chorus.
The second and third instances came immediately thereafter.
“Feeling Free,” a funky chestnut from one of his first Motown solo albums, was the peak of an extravagant light show, hot band and Jackson himself melding together for the first time. Unfortunately, it was the penultimate song of the evening.
For his encore, Jackson pumped up his most recent single, “I Think It’s Love.” And in a rare relaxation of house rules, people were allowed to rush to the edge of the stage and shake hands with Jermaine, creating an electric atmosphere as he sang a nine-minute version of the perky tune.
The closeness with his fans was exactly the opposite of what his brother might have done and that left a good impression.
So much for the good news.
The first 50 minutes of Jackson’s 70-minute concert was simply a disappointment.
Appearing onstage half an hour late and without an opening act, Jackson wore a gold lame cape, jacket, slacks and suspenders. Under the jacket he wore a white muscle T-shirt.
For the first four song, “Dynamite,” “Tell Me I’m Not Dreamin’,” “Come to Me,’ and “I Hear a Heart Beat,” Jackson couldn’t be heard over the percussion.
Between then and “Do What You Do,”; the three female back-up singers were the lead vocals, or so it seemed. Jermaine sounded as though he was still doing harmony parts behind Michael’s faisetto in the Jackson Five.
Speaking of which:
“Seventeen years ago, my brothers and I created a musical force that captured the world,” Jermaine said, modestly, of course. “All we wanted to do was give love, peace and harmony through our music.”
And here’s where Jermaine, on his first solo tour ever, made a tactical error, performing a medley of J5 hits that Michael originally sang lead on “I’ll Be There,” “I Want You Back,” “ABC” and “Never Can Say Goodbye.”
It was a mistake because it invites comparisons. And “Jermaine just doesn’t compare to Michael.
Wait “a minute, though. Who can compare to Michael Jackson?
The point is that Jermaine invites the comparison and it isn’t necessary. Compare him against other current R&B acts with big l0-piece band & and Jermaine shines. As a solo artist, he has had plenty of success with good songs, from “Let’s Get Serious” to “Do What You Do.”
In a relatively brief show like this one, Jermaine early on needed to attain the level he reached at the end of his Eckerd Hall concert, then top it. Undeniably, he has- the-tools; he just needs more practice asserting himself and what he is today, not what he was part of a decade ago.
Playlist: The Very Best of Loverboy. Order or download your copy today by clicking on the album cover above!
Mike Reno, the lead singer, gave her a big hug and a kiss.
So did the other four members of the rock ‘n’ roll band.
They also signed her handmade, blue Loverboy scrapbook- full of pictures, headlines and ticket stubs, with a page devoted to each musician – and a white hotel towel with an arrow green stripe down the middle. “I got this towel- it was around Mike’s neck at the Blossom in Ohio,” recalled Kelly Thorsby. “I tried to get ‘onstage and a roadie gave me this.”
Miss Thorsby, a 17-year-old high school senior dressed in green blouse, skirt, beads and earrings, was quaking with joy, shaking in disbelief.
SHE WAS one of more than 700 fans of the rock ~ Loverboy to stand in line for autographs, pictures. arid’ kisses in the Peaches record store on Gulf-to-Bay Boulevard. The band stopped by Friday afternoon on the way to play a concert in Lakeland.
Are you okay?” asked her friend, Kelli Kovalchik, 18, who flew in from Ohio with Miss Thorsby.
“No,” Miss Thorsby answered. “I’m gonna pass out.”
“She paid $400 for a plane ticket to fly here for the weekend to see them,” her friend explained.
Told by her sister to calm down, Miss Thorsby- in tears – said, “I can’t, I can’t! This is my _dream, my ultimate dream. to Seconds later, she burst out: “I knocked Paul (Dean) off his chair! I can’t believe I did that!” Mike Reno’s response to his fan’s devotion?
“HE LAUGHED at me. Mike Reno… he kissed me! Did you see it? He’s going, ‘Just don’t attack me.’ … He got marker on my hand. I’ll never wash it.”
The surprising thing was that Miss Thorsby traveled so far just to get an autograph. She wasn’t planning to go to the concert, referring to wait until the hand plays Cleveland next week.
“She’s not to going to see us at the concert?” drummer Matt Frenette asked later. “(She) just came to see us here? Unbelievable.”
A vast majority of the autograph seekers were women. And for a band with hits like “Get Lucky,” “The Kid Is Hot Tonite,” “Lovin’ Every Minute of It” and “Hot Girls in Love,” there could be no more appropriate fan.
Pretty women – chosen by band members – were taken aside by the band’s road manager and tempted to the night’s show with back stage passes.
IN THE meantime, mother surged their daughters to kiss the boys in the band while they took pictures.
But one of the most interesting interactions between the band members and their fans came when a woman carrying a small baby arrived at the front of the line.
“Oh! What a cutie!” sighed Frenette. “What’s her name?”
“Tiffany,” said the mother.
“She a good kid?”
“She’s a very good. kid.”
As mother and child took their leave, the 32-year-old musician waved.
“Bye!” he shouted. “Have a nice life!”
The Millionaire’s Convenient Arrangementby Jane Peden. Order your copy today by clicking on the book cover above!
Joan Baez: 75th Birthday Celebration. Order your copy today by clicking on the album cover above!
Three summertime faces of Joan Baez:
Singing in a recent episode of the syndicated TV show Fame, helping the students of a performing arts school understand the importance of speaking up for their futures relative to a nuclear freeze;
Singing in the upcoming July 13 “Live Aid” concert in Philadelphia – alongside Mick Jagger and Duran Duran – in a benefit for the starving in Ethiopia, and;
Singing at Ruth Eckerd Hall before a sold-out crowd on Sunday night, despite the lingering after-effects of a bout with laryngitis. ,’.
Baez, is more visible in the summer of 1985 than she has been in years, full of irrepressible spirit and determination, still ambitious to educate minds and change perceived injustices, yet balanced by the times rind their limitations.
Baez played 13 songs in about 70 minutes, apologizing frequently for the condition of what she felt was a ravaged voice. Actually, the 43-year-old singer hit her notes more than she missed and even if she did miss, there gill are very few people who could do better.
Besides her music, the most entertaining taste Baez left was not of her left-wing politics and convictions for her humor.
She introduced a new song called “Recently” this way: “This is the song I wrote for people my age who get married, had children, got divorced, went through bitterness and then more bitterness . . . This song helped me – for about an hour and a half.”
Her impression of friend Bob Dylan near the end of “Lily, Rosemary and The Jack of Hearts” (which he wrote) was hilarious, as was her jabs at Tina Turner before singing a surprisingly touching acoustic cover of “Private Dancer.”
There were political moments, of course. “Everything happened in the ‘60s, but if we don’t do anything in the ‘80s, we won’t have the ‘90s,” she said before singing “Children of the ‘80s.” The funny, sometimes poignant lyrics ticked off current interests, music, style in health and fashion – and their attendant hypocrasies.
“Warriors of the Surf” had the best line of the night:
“You prove you’re needy by eating dog food;
“One of these days, the Alpo’s gonna hit the fan.”
Another song, “Freedom,” had a pedigree as riveting as its lyrics. Baez said she had once sung it to wake up Martin Luther King Jr., as well as to the dissident Sakharovs in the Soviet Union, from the roof of a building in Hanoi during a bombing raid, and more recently, for Bishop Desmond Tutu in San Francisco.
To give her voice a break, Baez read an excerpt from a book she is, writing. It provided vivid imagery, first from her kitchen window, then out into the heavens of Star Wars, down to earth in Nicaragua and the American farmland, off to the American hostages in Beirut, to Israel for the release of Shiite prisoners “not because of pressure but because it’s a good time of year,” and finally back to things flowery and sweet. It was “Doonesbury,” “Bloom County,” the Democratic Party and everything to the left rolled into one, and left a desire for a look at the rest of the book in the future.
Kicking Through the Ashes: My Life As A Stand-up in the 1980s Comedy Boom by Ritch Shydner. Order your copy today by clicking on the book cover above!
Jimmy Page by Jimmy Page. Order your copy today by clicking on the book cover above!
The fans started waiting around the parking lot at 5:30 p.m.
Most never got to see more than the back of Jimmy Page’s head, but it didn’t matter. They were there, and so was he.
Page arrived at rock radio station WYNF 95-FM just after 11 p.m. Monday night. Smiling slightly, he was surrounded by about a dozen people, including security guards, promoters and radio station personnel.
The guitarist was herded off to a studio, out of reach of the media and the 10 people who had been invited to the station to meet him.
Page, in the area rehearsing with the Firm for the kick-off of their 1986 concert tour at the University of South Florida Sun Dome tonight at 8 p.m. (tickets, available through Select-A-Seat are $15, reserved seating) came to be interviewed by people across North America during a rare remote broadcast of RockIine, a weekly, 9O-minute call-in talk show which is simultaneously broadcast via satellite to 135 stations in the United States and Canada.
“It is an honor to be speaking with you,” began Kurt from Broken Arrow, Oklahoma “I hope someday to meet you in person.”
Rockline normally originates from Los Angeles, where host Bob Coburn is a disc jockey at KLOS. The last time the program hit the road was to go to Texas last spring to talk to Page’s former mate from Led Zeppelin, Robert Plant.
“You can see the stature of artist that it takes to drag me out of L.A.,” says Coburn.
“We feel Jimmy Page transcends rock ‘n’ roll – it’s a cliche, but if there is such a thing as a legend, he certainly qualifies,” Coburn says.
Led Zeppelin released its first album in 1969, its last in 1982. “Stairway to Heaven,” a solemn, winding ballad, is the song that defines the essence of the band, but the Zeppelin could rock hard and fast, as on “Communication Breakdown “and “Whole Lotta Love.” The band’s followers remain fanatic in their devotion to Page and Plan” who reunited publicly for the first time at Live Aid last summer. Rumors are still strong that Led Zeppelin will officially get back together sometime this year- sooner if the Firm doesn’t pan out.
While Page was on the air with Coburn, the Firm’s bass player Tony Franklin wandered about the WYNF studios, chatting with fans and posing for pictures.
Janice Cohen was one of the lucky ones. She took a picture of her 14year-old daughter Joann with Franklin, then posed for a picture with them. Mrs. Cohen got the chance to beat the studio by winning a contest for the best excuse for being late to work. She refused to repeat the rea…, son, citing acute embarrassment.
One of the callers asked Page if playing with Franklin, singer Paul Rodgers, and drummer Chris Slade in the Firm was different from working with Led Zeppelin.
“For me, playing with the Firm it’s three new guys. The output of each guy is obviously different from Zeppelin. Hopefully, it’s something you enjoy; it appears you do,” said Page. Outside the studio, almost three dozen fans – mostly young men had car radios turned up or carried portables. Those in front of the building congregated beneath the window they decided’ Page was behind.
I wish they’d open the curtains,” an unidentified man said.
“He’s a great artist,” said Mike Edwards, 21, of St. Petersburg, when asked why he was standing in wet grass outside a two-story building after midnight. Edwards was wearing a T-shirt that read “Drunken State.”
“There’s only two groups that I’d do this for,” he continued. “One is the Beatles. The other is Led Zeppelin/The Firm. Wouldn’t do it for anybody else. I’d be out partying … I still can’t believe he’s here.”
A man called Rockline and asked Page about an album the guitarist played on called White Boy’s Blues.
“I don’t know anything about it,” Page said, irritated. “I don’t have any bootlegs.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s a bootleg,” the man insisted.
“Tell me what titles are on it,” Page said.
“I don’t know,” the man responded. “I can’t read. I’m blind.”
“Well, if you don’t know the titles,” said Page, “I can’t help you.”
It was the only evidence of the guitarist’s legendary short temper, but the incident caused the guys sitting on their car hoods to shake their heads at their hero’s insensitivity.
At the back of the building, several men and women were waiting to see Page depart after the show.
“This band here started rock ‘n’ roll,” said Scott Henkel, 20, of Clear-OJ’ water. “If it weren’t for them, there wouldn’t be no bands. Zeppelin is the number one band. I wouldn’t be here if it was any other band. I wish they were still together. They mean a lot to me. If it wasn’t for Led Zeppelin, I don’t know if I would listen to music.”
Night disc jockey Charlie Logan was thrilled about Page’s appearance at the station.
“I’m excited about it and I’ve been in rock ‘n’ roll for a long time. But when it comes to rock ‘n’ roll, is there a bigger name? Mick Jagger might be a bigger name in a certain demographic, but Led Zeppelin I’ crosses all demographics. My brother-in-Iaw would love to be here. My 8-year-old nephew would kill to be here.”
Logan was quite an attraction himself. Several women asked him to pose with them for photos.
“This is a very big moment for the station,” he said. ‘4We’re getting a lot of exposure – it’s because we have a lot of respect nationally that we were able to do this.”
WYNF was just one of the local places the Firm could be spotted in the past two weeks. The first sighting was made at the Del Fuegos concert at London Victory Club last Thursday; several band members reported1ywentbackto the Tampa club last weekend. The group rehearsed this past week at the Sun Dome.
After the interview, contest winners were escorted in pairs to meet Page and get their pictures taken with him. (He had autographed albums for them earlier.)
“I thought it went very well,” described host Coburn. “Jimmy’s manager was even commenting on what fine form Jimmy was in.”
Curelop agreed. “He was a very gracious guest, seemed very glad to be here. Sometimes you hear about people and their bad reputations- I didn’t see any of that tonight.”
“I know they’re weird,” he said, “but I don’t care.”
The St. Petersburg-based jazz singer also has a distinctive tattoo on his left forearm.
“This was supposed to be Dennis the Menace, but the blond hair didn’t show up too good,” he said, joking. “I got it when I was in the Marine Corps, part of my crazy days.”
All of which had nothing to do with why this 36-year-old man can sing and “scat” with incredible precisions and style. But physical appearance is part of the image, and Johnson is pretty straight-arrow aside from these quirks.
“I can’t remember a time when I didn’t sing, since I was 4 years old,” he said. “It was just a gift that the good Lord gave me. It’s helped me jump some barriers that might otherwise have been insurmountable. Music is my life.”
When it comes to jazz in the bay area, more people will probably recognize Johnson ahead of any “name” performers at the Clearwater Jazz Holiday.
FOR THREE years a fixture at B.B. Joe’s management, Jim Reichle and Greg McCarthy, for much of his good fortune.
“I started at B.B. Joe’s about a month after it opened. Not too many guys that do improvisational music like I do keep a gig three years. We’ve developed both a professional and a personal relationship.”
Johnson came to St. Petersburg from Boston in 1977. He first turned up in these parts at the Hurricane Lounge in Pass-a-Grille with Bobby Kostreva.
Perhaps the brightest star in a small constellation of regional jazz acts, Johnson, together with Kamau Kenyatta, has forged a strong reputation in an area noted for limited support of live music in any category.
“It’s certainly an evolving area. I’ve been here eight years. I’ve seen the growth, and I’ve seen the changes in attitude. I really think the Tampa Bay area is fusing its likes. A lot of professional folks are coming out, more people are traveling between Tampa and St. Petersburg. I think they’re learning to appreciate it.”
JAZZ IS not the easiest musical art form to market. Club owners get afraid they’re not going to make the dollar they would if they put in recorded music.
“A lot of good concerts are coming to the area with Ruth Eckerd Hall Modern Jazz Quartet, Wynton Marsalis – I think that’s done a lot to educate the community about how varied the music is.”
Johnson blends popular and standard music with improvisational leanings. “There are people that say I’m not the purist I used to be,” he said. “What’s important to me is to give good quality, a feel, your own signature.
“When I started here, the audience was more into standards. I’ve moved more into the pop vein the past few years.”
This year, people will find Johnson a little more electric than in the past. The band has added a second synthesizer player and is performing a lot more original material.
Kenyatta, a triple threat on soprano saxophone, tenor sax and synthesizer, is the leader of Johnson’s group and writes much of their original compositions.
“KAMAU IS a very creative writer,” Johnson said. “We’ve been together as musical partners since 1980.” The two met in Detroit. “I consider him to be my best friend and my musical planet.”
Two of Kenyatta’s songs – “The Sailing Song” and “For Lady Day” -. have become. Johnson standards. Another, “All My Own,” which Kenyatta wrote with Mike Scaglione, is very special to the singer.
“Kamau said when he wrote it he had me in mind. It’s about a singer who goes out into the world and tries to make it:
As long as I can glue
I’ll keep shining, growing, singing, growing. . .
Now I’ve found others of the same mind
Now the road is not too hard to bear
I thank God, who brought us together.
“I’m sure that’s an example of a lot of groups, but that’s what it’s all about. When you Ian hnd people you know are really–on you-r side and support you, that’s what it’s all about.”
Together, Johnson and Kenyatta composed “Journey,” “I’m Glad to Know” (a recently released single) and “Regina” (pronounced HEY-zheena).
“Kamau is sort of the solidifier,” Johnson said. “He has the ability to put together a collection of ideas into a finished product. He has said he’s not sure of the finished product until I sing it. I’m basically just an interpreter. They give it to me and I blow that final breath of life into it.”
FILLING OUT the quartet are bassist Mark Neuenschwander; Scaglione, who can play alto sax, flute and synthesizer; and drummer John Jenkins.
This is the group that will play the festival. Guitarist Todd Dykman will join them on stage, and he will be replacing Neuenschwander in the group. Following the festival, Ted Thomas, formerly a drummer with Earl Klugh, will take Jenkins’ place.
“It’s hard for me to do that,” Johnson said of the replacements. “And you don’t want to put anyone out of work. That was probably the most difficult thing I’ve had to do, tell someone that I have to make a change. (But) as you grow, your direction changes.”
“For the first time in my life,” he added, “I’m considering having a manager and agent. I love this area, and I always want to work here, but my scope is broadening and I think it’s time to gain some national recognition.”
(I used to write a bi-weekly column, RadioRadio, for Players magazine in the Tampa Bay area. The following story appeared in 1990.)
By Bob Andelman
They bid him farewell with a medley of Neil Diamond/Air Supply/Johnny Mathis and then “Fast” Eddie Yarb – master of voices, traffic, game shows from hell and song parodies – was gone.
“First place and you’re leaving now, Eddie?” kidded Ron Diaz. “When we were in 12th place, that was the time to leave.”
95 WYNF Tampa Bay radio station promo photo: (Front) Carey Curelop, Scott Phillips, Shawn Portmann; (Back) Russ Albums, Ron Bennington, Ron Diaz, JJ Lee, Robt Reed, Fast Eddie Yarb, Becky Flash Gordon
Perhaps the timing was ironic – Fast Eddie bid farewell to his buds at WYNF (95 FM) on July 19, just one day after the latest Arbitron ratings showed “Ron & Ron” had risen to the top of the Tampa Bay area morning ratings heap in virtually every category.
But for Eddie the chance to become creative director at easy listening WARM (107 FM) was too good to pass up. Besides, he may be leaving the station with the top-rated morning show but he’s signing on with a new station that has the highest overall ratings in the market.
“It is a position that I always wanted, a golden opportunity,” he says. “I’ve never really (wanted) to be on-air. I have no desire to do what these guys do, to be pressed to make ratings. Money was a small, very small part of it. Matter of fact, they counter-offered me very nicely. But I’m looking to see what creativity I have in the real world.”
Yarb has now completed his second cycle at YNF. He began at the station in 1983 as an intern/assistant to Diaz, who was then doing middays. “I made sure his office was in order,” recalls the formed flunkie. When Diaz joined up with Jack Strapp in the “Breakfast Flakes,” Yarb started doing “goofy things” for them. He left in ’85 for a stint as creative director at WTOG-TV (Ch. 44), then returned in ’87 as a producer of Russ Albums’ short-lived and under-appreciated morning show. That’s when he was “Eddie Moore,” as in “Albums and More.”
That rolled into Diaz’s return from a brief stint in Los Angeles and back to the a.m. and subsequent teaming with comedian Ron Bennington. As “Ron & Ron” emerged, so did Fez Whatley, Becky “Flash” Gordon and “Fast” Eddie, on-air traffic reporter and behind-the-scenes production and creative whiz.
“A lot of the game show themes are mine,” says Eddie. “A lot of the concepts are developed by me and fleshed out on a group basis. ‘Andy’s World’ was my idea, although I blatantly ripped off (Saturday Night Live’s) ‘Wayne’s World.’ ‘Catholic Jeopardy’ was all mine. So was ‘Pick the Pervert.’ ‘Awful Options’ – done to the American Bandstand theme – was my first attempt at harmonies.”
“I give him all the ideas for the morning show,” interjects Charlie Logan, who eavesdrops on all of Eddie’s telephone calls.
“Being a producer,” continues Eddie, “my job was to take voices and concepts and jazz them up. I can’t take credit for ‘Dykes on Bikes,’ but I gave them the format.” A pick-up group he calls Eddie & the Idiots – mostly Eddie – did the singing on most of “Ron & Ron’s” most famous bits.
One bizarre Fast Eddie concept was “Silk ‘n’ Jeans.”
“My favorite,” says Logan, picking up the phone again.
“‘Silk ‘n’ Jeans’ sounds like every bad spot you would hear over on WRXB or TMP,” says Eddie. “It’s your Don Cornelius (host of Soul Train) voice with a lot of echo. My latest is one is ‘Silk ‘n’ Jeans’ having a Marion Barry sale.”
An excerpt: ” … Clothes designed to cover up all your crack problems …”
“I think Eddie was a good player in the morning show,” says Program Director Tom Marshall. “He brought a lot more to the show than just the traffic reports. He’ll be missed, but we’ll move onward.” (Marla Stone will do afternoon traffic with Logan; no full-time replacement for Eddie in the A.M. will be named immediately.)
Eddie – whose 1988 wedding to Karen a one-time YNF secretarial temp, their honeymoon and the birth of daughter Melissa three months ago were all chronicled by Ron & Ron – says he’ll miss YNF.
“We really put something together,” he says. “It was tough to make the decision but I’m just looking down the road for myself. I’m really proud of what we created on the morning show. It’s been 100% blast.”
Ed Yarb today
•••
He Called! Finally heard from Randy Wynne at WMNF (88.5 FM), who confirmed the hiring of Greg Musselman as the new station manager of the alternative community station.
Musselman, who is currently a social worker with a Hillsborough County youth services program, is a familiar name to the station’s volunteer core and listeners. He’s been president of the board of directors since October and has worked on-air and behind the scenes himself as a volunteer for the past four years.
The hiring of Musselman ends a nine month search to replace Lisa McCormick, the embattled former station manager who last just one year at WMNF.
“I think a lot of people are hoping – because of the past experience – people are nervous about somebody they don’t know,” says Wynne. “Lisa was hired from out of town and they feel she didn’t have an appreciation for what the station was about.”
Musselman takes the conn Aug. 20.
From the Heart of Tampa Bay! I’m real late in reporting this but long-time WTMP (1150 AM) jock Mark Vann split the station in April for WYLD AM/FM in New Orleans. Alfonzo “The Fonz” Blanks picked up his slot and can be heard nightly from 7-11 p.m.
Anybody Remember? … Dr. Chuck Stevens, former music director and on-air guy at WLCY? WYUU (92 FM) is bringing him back on Sun. July 29 to do all-new editions of “Breakfast with the Beatles.” The show will air weekly from 8-9 a.m. and feature Moptop tunes, rarities and information.
Alert the Media! Have you ever heard WYNF – a.k.a. 95, 95 YNF, YNF or even the Pirate – ever called “Y95” ? Me either, yet the Tampa Tribune and St. Petersburg Times insist on referring to it that way.
Question for Mike Welch of St. Petersburg! What’s the frequency?
Say Goodnight, Ed! Famous Fast Last Words: “Meet a couple of guys who are number one in your hearts and they’ve got the ratings to prove it … Ron & Ron!” (Fast Eddie’s final intro, July 19, 1990.)
Ratings Blarney! Next issue, we’ll do our quarterly dissection of the latest Arbitron ratings. By now you’ve probably heard the basics, anyhow: 95’s “Ron & Ron” swept nearly every morning category for the first time; the Q Morning Zoo and the rest of 105’s lineup continue their tailspin; Power 93 is losing ground; and WARM and country kicker WQYK (99 FM) have shot to the top.
Here’s a few harsh notes from program directors around the dial on the latest ratings:
Scott Robbins, U92: “WHBO did not show! They’re gone. They’re not in the book.
“I’m sorry to see it happen. I am. Hey, I like Howard (Hewes) and Marvin (Boone). But they did it to themselves.”
Greg Mull, 98 Rock: “We’re happy that we’re still moving up. It wasn’t (as much as) I expected.
“The one thing I get out of the book is there’s only one morning show in this town in all formats. Until somebody puts a morning show on, all the Top 40 (listeners) are going to YNF.
“Cleveland – there’s a big vacuum over there (at Q105) where he’s sucking real bad. And the Pig – they’re doing what we’re doing, playing a lot of tunes.”
Tom Marshall, 95 YNF: “We try to be entertaining and informative to the listener but we also try to give them what they want. The ratings show the people prefer us over 98 Rock, at least in the demos we’re after.
“I think some of (the morning increase) is coming from Q105. The guys are hot. They may even be bringing in people who haven’t been listening to radio. And I think we’re getting people listening longer.
“(Power 93) spent a lot of money on cash giveaways and yet they dropped down. Maybe they’ve peaked a little bit. Maybe it’s just the audience sampling. Maybe because Q105 is going dance and urban, even though their numbers were down.
“(Q105) probably realized it’s a different situation than it was a few years ago. The heyday of Q105 is gone. The market is tougher and more fragmented. It’s tougher for any one station to dominate the way they had in the past.”
95! 95! 95! One place 98 Rock has been hurting 95 is in the evenings and at night.
“Nighttime has been a challenge for us,” says Tom Marshall. “It’s not unusual for a station like 98 Rock to do well at night. When AOR was core 18-24 adult, (night) was core. As they aged up, it was harder to get them to listen at night, they’re watching TV, playing with their kids.”
Marshall began a new assault on late-night listeners on July 23. He and Charlie Logan are fine-tuning the music from 7 p.m. on and adding something called “Revvin’ at Eleven” at 11 p.m.
“It’ll be an opportunity to air more new music and local music. It’ll be more sizzle, a little more of an attitude,” says Marshall. “Sometimes it could be a whole hour, other times it will be 20 to 30 minutes.”
Scott Phillips, Robert Reed and Don “The Hitman” Capone maintain their positions as the overnight guys.
(Originally written in December 2007; the story is no longer on Biz941’s website archive so I am re-posting it here.)
Tina Taylor Little, owner, Queen’s Wreath Jewels, Sarasota, Florida
Gemologist Tina Taylor Little discovered up-and-coming jeweler Michael Beaudry at the 1996 New York Jewelry Show, and it changed her professional life. At the time, Little was the manager of the jewelry department at Sarasota’s Saks Fifth Avenue, but she sensed that Beaudry was a rising star, and her eye for spotting talent gave her the confidence to quit her job and open her own store. Within 30 days, she obtained financing from a private angel and welcomed her first customers to Queens’ Wreath Jewels.
That was in 1999. A year later, brandishing strong initial sales numbers, Little went back to Beaudry-who, at 41, is now one of the most respected jewelry designers in the luxury niche-and asked if he would do a trunk show for her in Sarasota.
He did; customer response was enthusiastic; and the two have been a powerhouse duo ever since. Little continues to show and sell Beaudry’s designs, along with a variety of other luxury jewelry.. Her store, now on St. Armands Circle, is one of the region’s most upscale jewelry businesses, with customers-many of them from Sarasota-who have the ability and desire to pay six figures for an heirloom-quality piece.
Being an upscale retail jeweler is not a bad position to be in these days, according to both Little and Lauren Thompson, public affairs coordinator for the New York-based industry trade association Jewelers of America.
“Retail jewelers are experiencing greater sales growth than other retailers,” Thompson says. “And mass-market retail won’t experience as much growth this year as a high-end retailer such as Tiffany. Consumers will pay more for quality. And high-end consumers are still shopping. Ken Gassman, president of the Jewelry Industry Research Institute, predicted that the higher-end retail jewelers might see growth as high as eight to 12 percent. It’s very important to differentiate your business; it’s easier for an independent jeweler to do that versus a mid-range jeweler who is competing with a big-box retailer or jewelry chain.”
Little agrees.
“We tend to sell at the extremes,” she says. “We’re kind of living in a bubble here in Sarasota, as far as a luxury market goes.”
For the past five years, Little has organized and hosted a private, invitation-only dinner and jewelry event (our sister publication, Sarasota Magazine is a sponsor) for 75 called “Beaudry & Bentley.” For the past two years it has been held at the Crosley Estate.
“Tina plans this event a year in advance,” Beaudry says, “and always comes up with new ideas to make it a luxury experience. She sets the stage, and I show up with my dancing shoes. It has grown every year to be the must-attend event in Sarasota [raising $70,000 for All Children’s Hospital in Sarasota]. The idea of a ‘Best of Breed’ partnership for events and promoting had not really been done when Tina started this. We have shared this winning formula with our dealer network. You cannot pick up a magazine now without seeing co-branding advertisements featuring two separate companies in a complementary brand statement.”
This summer, Beaudry named Little as a consultant and ambassador for his jewelry line, sending his good friend and supporter to Dubai last December to represent his interests at an international jewelry show.
“Tina is one of the most successful brand ambassadors of Beaudry in the country,” the diamond designer says. “She has a wealth of experience in high-end retail jewelry sales, presentation, sales training and event planning, and is willing to share her knowledge with other Beaudry dealers to help enhance their business. This is a testament to Tina’s mindset and broad vision.”
Little was born and raised in Los Angeles. Her mother, Wilda Taylor, danced in films (Roustabout; Harem Scarem; Frankie and Johnny) and choreographed Elvis Presley movies in the 1960s. Taylor worked with everyone from Pearl Bailey and George Raft to Don Knotts and Andy Griffith (separately), eventually growing her influence from dance to design, placing her clothes with Saks Fifth Avenue and I. Magnin at one point. More recently, Taylor-who has her own Web site (www.wildataylor.com )-appeared in small roles in Star Trek Enterprise and Six Feet Under. She also performs every Monday at The Comedy Store in L.A. “I was expected to take that road,” her daughter says, “but I had my own passion, which was jewelry.”
As for her father, producer Robert Fallon, Little thought he was dead until she was 15 and he came out of the Hollywood shadows after his wife, actress Marie Wilson, had died, prompting him to acknowledge Little-born out of wedlock-as his daughter.
“That’s the facts,” Little says. “I’m not protecting him; he’s dead. He was a guy’s guy who went hunting with Steve McQueen and Paul Newman. He was one of those guys who hung out on motorcycles on Sunset Boulevard. It was not pretty in a lot of ways. He never helped my mother. She raised two kids all by herself. He liked looking at me because I looked like him.”
Little followed her heart to Nashville in 1984-her father’s famous last words to her were, “I can’t believe you’re leaving L.A.”-and became a graduate gemologist, learning the business from top to bottom. A vacation in Sarasota turned her on to the city a few years later and she relocated here, managing stores for jeweler McCarver & Moser, among others, and opening a jewelry department for Saks.
“Several of my clients have been putting together collections with me here in Sarasota for more than 20 years,” she says. “That’s my niche; helping people put together their heirloom collections. It is all about collecting. If a man says, ‘You already have three rings, why would you need another?’ the answer is, ‘She doesn’t need another ring, but it would enhance her collection.’ I deal in diamonds that are so rare that there might be only five or six available in their category in the world. When I handpick a diamond, I have had people hand-carry it from Europe to New York to Sarasota to delivery it to a client.”
Diamonds aren’t cheap, certainly not at Queens’ Wreath.
“At this store there really is not a limit to what we could handle,” says Little. “Several hundred thousand dollars is not unusual. That would not be our average sale; we fill the gamut from $500 to whatever the customer’s desires are. Whatever the price tag, we feel confident.”
Queens’ Wreath Jewels has one stockholder, a family that is a silent partner to Little’s success. She won’t reveal annual sales revenues, although it is tempting: “I don’t even tell the Jewelers Board of Trade, who would love to put me in their Red Book. It’s like a DMV for jewelry stores.”
For the same reason, Little declines to discuss how she finances her high-flying jewelry deals.
“Some of it is trade secret,” she says. “What I do is magic. At the end of the day it may be a three-carat fancy, intense pink diamond. If everyone knew how I acquired things, then what have I done spending my whole life separating myself from a crowd? This business is trust-oriented. Deals are made on handshakes that are irrevocable. This is probably the last business in the world where a handshake and a word are a commitment.”
Little is married to architect and interior designer Thorning Little in Sarasota. Thorning, who is known for his expertise in lavish Mediterranean-style architecture, has designed all three of his wife’s stores.
Little also has discovered and cultivated relationships with many fine jewelry designers, but there is no question it is her chemistry with Beaudry that has loomed large over the success of Queens’ Wreath Jewels. The store is now in its third location in eight years, each one progressively larger and in a more highly trafficked spot than the last. Employment hovers around 10 people.
“In every jewelry store I’ve managed in Sarasota, I personally captured a share of the market’s loyalty and trust. And they followed me,” Little says. “When I opened my own store, they supported me. I have acquired friendships and relationships through trustworthy transactions. I established a reputation and I work hard to maintain that.”
Bob Andelman is the Tribune’s new radio columnist, and he will report weekly in this space news about Bay area and national radio. But in his first column, he reminisces about radio in his hometown – and about one announcer in particular, an announcer who now is on the air in Tampa.
My mother has an old radio, cased in tattered black leather, planted squarely on a little corner table in the cramped kitchen of her house.
It’s there, beneath the phone, standing upright among telephone directories, scratch pads, dried-out pens and blunt-end pencils, the most important object in getting her hectic days off to a good start, rating higher even than a good cup of strong black coffee.
I’m not even sure she’s consciously aware of her dependence on the old radio. But for the 20 years she has been in that house in a small central New Jersey town, turning on the radio in the morning has been as automatic as walking a frantic 60-pound dog at the crack of dawn or telling one of her three kids we were going to be late for school – again. The radio has three bands – AM, FM and shortwave – but its dial rarely has been twirled in these past two decades. It sits at 1450AM, tuned to WCTC.
WCTC is the station you listen to in Middlesex and Somerset counties for all the local news, high school sports and agricultural county agent programs.
When I was growing up in the ’60s and early ’70s, listening to WCTC meant listening in the mornings to announcer named Jack Ellery, who was spinning lightweight pop records and cracking wise.
I was a child when I first discovered him. Ellery struck me as a laugh riot, telling silly jokes a 10-year-old considered sophisticated. As I got older, he didn’t amuse me much anymore. My grandfather had given me a radio of my own, and I listened to New York City sta-tions such as WABC (with its DJs, Cousin Brucie, Dan Ingram and Harry Harrison) and WNBC (Don Imus, Wolfman Jack) with a pale yellow wire plugged permanently into my right ear. Tuning into Ellery and WCTC became something I did only on winter school days when I’d look longingly out the window at 7a.m. for even the faintest hint of snow.
Ellery was the man whom the principal would call to announce school closings, a man everyone under the age of 18 knew deserved to be revered at least a few times during each cold winter season.
My mother never stopped listening to Jack Ellery – like Archie Bunker, he always was referred to by his full name in my house.
Jack Ellery,WFLA 970 AM radio, Tampa, Florida
A few weeks ago, a cycle of sorts came full circle when David Okamoto reported in this column that Jack Ellery had come to Tampa to work at WFLA (970 AM).
It struck me as ironic that as I was taking over the writing of this radio column, the man responsible for my earliest memories of radio should turn up in town and fall under the scrutiny of my new beat.
I called home with the news about Jack Ellery. Mom was glad to hear he was still working.
“Ever since Jack Ellery left, I do not listen to WCTC,” she said, to my surprise. “I didn’t like him, but he was so outrageous to listen to. The new guy is dull, monotonous. You can hate what Jack Ellery says, but it’s never dull listening to. him. He creates reaction.'”
And Jack, if you read this, I know that even as a talk-show host, you’re up to your old tricks. Last week that involved declaring that “South Florida is full of anti-Zionists,” and a recent morning you were wondering aloud if convicted murderer Ted Bundy didn’t deserve clemency from the governor .
Good luck, old friend. And welcome to Tampa.
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(Originally published in Sports Arena, October 1987)
Tedd Webb, Tampa Bay radio legend (Photograph by Bob Andelman)
Got a question about sports? Tedd Webb is the answer.
There are days when it seems like this familiar face and radio voice knows every sports player, team, scouting report and statistic on the books. He also has an opinion on every sports situation and is not shy about sharing it.
Most amazing about Webb is that he seems to know everybody in town. He remembers their names, faces, jobs – even telephone numbers.
“I know prosecutors, public defenders, cops, burglars, cocaine dealers,” he says with a touch of irony. “The section of town where I grew up – it was either saints or sinners. We had lawyers come out, and a lot of people doing time at Raiford.
“I used to cultivate relationships with people media guys don’t want to know,” he adds. “Those guys generally only want to know the presidents of big corporations. You’re better off knowing the janitor – he cleans everybody’s office.”
As for his widely admired memory, even he describes it as amazing.
“I don’t know how it happens. I remember phone numbers because of football players’ jerseys. An example is 229-8963 – I always remember that as 229, then Kevin House (#89) followed by Lee Roy Selmon (#63). I was great in school. The rest of the stuff I can’t explain. I also remember voices really well.”
Since getting out of the Air Force in 1969, he has worked on every radio station in town – from the original Q-Zoo on WRBQ to WPLP and WWBA – “some three, some four times.”
He never wanted to work at WFLA (970 AM) and yet it’s been his steadiest gig – four years in November.
The years at WFLA have been a time of increasing popularity for the 38-year old native Tampan, a graduate of Jefferson High School. His hour-long “Sports Huddle” show, a collection of scores, commentary, guests and listener calls, was highly rated and completely sold out in advertising terms.
When the station changed hands this year, though, someone looked at Webb and said he should be doing more. To capitalize on his popularity, “Sports Huddle” was canceled in mid- summer and replaced with three hours of Webb as a general interest talk show host.
Reviews to date have been mixed. Some enjoy hearing Webb speak out on everything; others wish he’d shut up and stick to jock topics.
“When I was told ‘Sports Huddle’ was canceled and they wanted me to do talk, the only thing to do was go with the flow,” says Webb. “But, it wasn’t like I was bored with sports and ready to move on.
“The transition to general interest has been tough for me,” he continued. ”Every day is something different. I get more hate mail than ever before.”
Sports still make up a portion of Webb’s new show and they’re still big part of his personal life. In order, he loves football, baseball and basketball “during the playoffs.”
Wrestling is also a favorite – in the late 1970’s he managed Black Samson, the Scorpions, Colt Brothers and Colonel Karl von Stroheim.
For football, Webb visits his nephew on Sundays for an afternoon of television contests, warming up with NBC’s pre-game show because he hates CBS’s Brent Musberger.
In Tampa, Webb is more likely to be catching a game on the tube rather than in person.
“I don’t go to the stadium because I’m not a Bucs fan,” he said. “I’m a Dolphin fan. They were the first (NFL) team in the state and I’m a loyal person. “I hope the Bucs do well, I pull for them, but I’d rather stay home and watch the other games on television.”
As for his second favorite sport, Webb believes baseball is destined for Tampa Bay. He doesn’t care which side of the big water it comes to, either – to a point.
“It’s coming. Baseball can’t stay away. I don’t think it’ll be expansion. It’ll be relocation – preferably an American League team so I can see the Yankees; and, I can’t wait.”
“I would go no matter where it was (played),” he says. “I would go less to St. Petersburg. But, not because of St. Petersburg, but where they’re building (the stadium) is ridiculous.”
But, what does he think about the groups trying to bring baseball to the Tampa Bay area?
“They’re split whether they even want it in Pinellas. The Tampa groups, though, have it all together.”
As for other sports, Webb faults a lack of promotion for the demise of the Rowdies, Thrillers, Flash and Stars.
“This area expects a winner,” he said. “Promotion is a big factor. What was the last Thrillers commercial you heard or saw (for the Thrillers)? A great team doesn’t means … You have to promote them. You have to sell them.
“The Rowdies – when they first came on – had great advertising. You have to tell people you’re exciting, remind them that you’re exciting and then you have to be exciting. The Rowdies simply lost track of excitement.
Ever the optimist, Webb thinks the new Arena Football League would succeed in Tampa Bay.
“There’s enough fans that would pack the Bayfront. I think it would fly and I’d like to be part of that ownership,” he says.
Also on his wish list for Bay area sports: Professional boxing, an NFL Governor’s Cup and the Pan Am Games.
“I would like to see the Bucs and Dolphins play every year in pre-season for a Governor’s Cup. And, I would like to see them bring the Pan Am Games, or something similar. That would make this area big league.
Webb ponders his last wish and laughs.
“You print that,” he said. “And, St. Petersburg will try and lure the Winter Olympic Games… And now, folks, the slalom in Largo…”
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Bob Andelman (l) and Phil Esposito statute in front of Amalie Arena, downtown Tampa, home of the Tampa Bay Lightning, 2017
By Bob Andelman
(Originally published in The Sun-Times of Canada, January 11, 1993)
Maybe the Tampa Bay Lightning has turned out better than any of the jokes about how ridiculous it would be to play ice hockey in Florida. But with a second NHL team on its way to the Sunshine State as early as next season, can a new round of jokes be far behind?
Consider: They’re talking about naming the team “The Humidity.” As in, if you thought the Miami Heat was bad, wait till you see the Humidity.”
Phil Esposito isn’t exactly thrilled to see a second Florida hockey team hitting the boards by the 1993-94 season. It’s a little soon, says the president of the first-year Lightning, much the same way new Miami franchise owner H. Wayne Huizenga said last summer that it was a little soon for Tampa Bay to get a baseball team to compete with his new National League team, the Florida Marlins.
“Now that it’s a done deal, I’m very excited,” he says. “But I didn’t think it should come yet. It should wait until ’95, ’96, give us a chance to sink our roots.”
Esposito is especially concerned about the way Huizenga may market his team. “There’s no way the Miami franchise can call itself ‘Florida’s team,'” he says. “They might try to do that, but we’ve got to stop them. He can call it Miami, Fort Lauderdale, Hollywood. I don’t care. But I don’t want it called the ‘South Florida Hurricanes.'”
The president of the Tampa Bay Lightning figures that without him, Huizenga wouldn’t even have a hockey team.
“They wouldn’t have even come close to getting the franchise (without us),” he says. “We were the guinea pigs. We’re doing a lot better than most expansion teams do in their first year. We’re way ahead.”
Still, he believes, “It’ll be a good, friendly rivalry.”
As for the continuing wisecracks and snickering he hears out of northern fans, Esposito doesn’t understand what all the fuss over hockey in Florida is all about.
“Once you get inside the building, it’s the same to me,” he says. “I don’t know what’s going on outside, whether it’s snowing, raining or 90 degrees. Inside, the fans are yelling; I’m very impressed with their knowledge of the game, by how fast they’ve started picking on the referees. It’s no different than Boston or New York.”
Ric Green, director of sports development for the Broward Economic Development Council in Fort Lauderdale, thinks hockey will work in South Florida. “Personally, I don’t know a blue line from a hockey stick, but I’m looking forward to learning about it. And South Florida is populated by so many people from elsewhere that I think we might be surprised by how much sense it makes,” he says. “Hockey is a real nitty-gritty, city sport. I think it could do real well.”
During a sold-out December exhibition game between the Lightning and the New York Rangers at the Miami Arena, 80 percent of the crowd cheered for the Rangers. “If the Dolphins aren’t on, we don’t get the (Tampa Bay) Bucs games, we get the Jets and Giants.”
Green expects hockey will make a smooth transition across South Florida’s multicultural lines. “All the Dolphins games are carried in Spanish, as will be the Marlins games,” he says. “I’m going to be curious to see how this plays with kids because they can’t go out and play hockey here.”
Not now. But soon. A popular ice rink in Homestead was destroyed by Hurricane Andrew; with the coming of the NHL, it is expected to be rebuilt. And a new Miami rink will open in January. Statewide, rinks are open or scheduled to open in the Tampa Bay area, Orlando, Sarasota and Jacksonville. Rich Wasilewski, owner of the SunBlades Ice Arena in Clearwater, expects that Miami’s NHL franchise will cause a flurry of new rink construction in South Florida.
“The Lightning has had a significant impact on hockey awareness in our area,” Wasilewski says. The Lightning practices at SunBlades once a week, he says, and visiting teams often come to the arena as well. SunBlades is home to 16 leagues and the University of South Florida hockey team. A competing rink opened nearby a year ago but hasn’t dented SunBlades’ business.
* * *
In related Florida hockey news, Tampa Coliseum Inc. – which has an exclusive contract to build a permanent arena for the Lightning – has missed deadline after deadline to complete its financing and begin construction. By the fall of 1992, TCI began to make large penalty payments to an escrow fund, first of $250,000, then $500,000, due every 30 days. Failure to make the payments would wipe out TCI’s deal with the Lightning.
“If they aren’t going to build it, I sure as hell want to know soon,” Esposito says. “It’s very difficult to make plans.”
Esposito says TCI’s D-Day is March 7. “If they don’t have everything in place on that day, we terminate (the lease agreement),” he says. Tampa developers would like to build the Lightning a downtown arena, one of several options Esposito is considering. Other possibilities include a $30-million upgrade of the Expo Hall; a retrofit of the empty Florida Suncoast Dome in St. Petersburg, converting it from a baseball-primary facility to hockey; and a facility built by and for the Lightning itself.
The significance of TCI’s failure to start the arena weighs heavily on the Lightning’s purse strings. Season ticket sales were flat until the team actually began play at a temporary facility, the Florida State Fairgrounds Expo Hall in Tampa. But even a sellout accommodates just 10,000 fans, half of what a permanent arena will handle.
“It’s hurt quite a bit, to be honest,” Esposito says. “We still have a lot of people say, ‘They’re not going to make it, they still don’t have a building.’ But we’re not dumb. We know we need a facility.”
end
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By Bob Andelman Originally published in Tampa Bay Monthly, May 1987
It was a Sunday afternoon in late 1973, near what was then the African People’s Market on Central Avenue in Tampa.
“Somebody got shot in a bar or something, and there was some degree of disturbance,” says Askia Muhammad Aquil as he remembers the day.
Aquil was known as Otha Favors in those days. This particular Sunday, Favors would fear for his life.
“Because we (the Black Students for Peace and Power) were labeled as a militant organization, (the police were) watching us. Around dusk, I walked out of the door of my business on Central. A police car was there. They searched me. I had done nothing.
“I had a copy of Dick Gregory’s (book) No More Lies in my pocket. The officer threw it on the ground, put me in the back seat of the car. They rode me around for an hour or two. By then it was dark. The officers were really hostile. I’d been reading about things in other cities where people were found by the sides of the roads. After an hour of being parked in the back of the police station, they said all right, you can go.”
No harm came to Favors that day. His arrest was just one episode in a series of threats, harassment and intimidation by local police under the heading of “field interrogation” that African-Americans had to endure just a decade ago.
Relations between law enforcement authorities and the man who became Askia Muhammad Aquil in 1976 have improved drastically.
The converted Muslim is now perceived in a different light.
Instead of wearily fighting the establishment, he, like many activists of yore, has become a 20th-century turncoat. He has joined the enemy.
“I guess it is a turnabout from when he was known as Otha Favors,” remarks Bobby Bowden, manager of community affairs for the City of Tampa. Bowden got to know Aquil when Mayor Bob Martinez appointed Aquil to serve as co-chairman of the Community Awareness Task Force last year.
“He has a genuine concern for this community,” according to Bowden. “He has thought it better to work within than outside.”
“He has a very good relationship with the chief of police and the sheriff. He’s a well-rounded individual and I think he put all of his energies in a positive fashion to see things shape up in the inner city.”
WHAT MAKES A militant?
Otha Favors was a student at Gibbs High School in St. Petersburg, involved in church and neighborhood activities. He once considered a journalism career and spent a summer as a St. Petersburg Times intern, His life, by all standards, was simple and carefree.
The day Martin Luther King was murdered in 1968, a tremor went through young Favors.
“I was confronted with my own need to be involved and accept some social responsibility.” Favors took up the banner of black power and black nationalist issues while getting his associate’s degree at St. Petersburg Junior College.
Transferring to the University of South Florida in Tampa, Favors saw an ad in the Black Panthers’ newspaper offering a guide for establishing black studies programs on college campuses. Favors ordered it and worked with other students to apply it to USF.
On the day they decided to present the curriculm to the president of the university, the students walked toward his office. As Favors put it. “He saw us coming and locked the door,” thinking trouble was brewing. The group had to slide the proposal (which became the current Afro-American studies department) under the door.
“That’s how I got the label ‘militant,” Aquil says, noting a Tampa Tribune headline referring to him that way. “I hadn’t burned any buildings, shot anybody. We said the education we got was lacking.”
“Quite a few of the people that were involved in the ’60s are still around doing different things. Very few are active on the same level as 18, 20 years ago. Alot of ’em got stirred up over Vietnam. After it was over, they went home. There were still civil rights, education and employment problems that were not addressed.
“In my opinion, there is going to be a resurgence of activism, even though it’s different issues and different people. I don’t think the activities will be of the same high intensity, seemingly threatening, explosive incidents we had (in the ’60s),” said Aquil. now 38. “There are some issues we need to march and protest, but there are more constructive ways.
“Part of what we were trying to assert in the ’60s was that (First Amendment) right. We African-Americans were denied the right to free speech. That degree of progress has been made. People can speak freely and protest without being afraid of being attacked by dogs,” he says.
Aquil lists political, economic, educational and cultural gains as priorities for the African-American community agenda in the ’80s. ·
“We cannot attempt to function in the ’80s the way we did in the ’60s. If we do, in the year 2000 we’ll find ourselves with the same problems.”
Increased employment of teenagers is high on Aquil’s list of social cures.
“So much of the crime (and) drugs being done by teenagers are economically motivated. The business community is largely ignoring what is a very large problem. These teenagers are unemployed, day after day, week after week, not having the opportunity to do an honest day’s work, get a paycheck and buy some of the things that other people do.”
One of the few regrets Askia Muhammad Aquil has in his life is that he never finished his bachelor’s degree. He now works as an advertising salesman. When he was younger and had the time and money, something more important came up.
“I could have money in the bank and still be a second-class citizen,” he says. “A slave’s first responsibility is to fight for his freedom. The other things, you fight for as you go along.”
Andrew Young and the Making of Modern Atlanta by Andrew Young, Harvey Newman and Andrea Young. Order your copy today by clicking on the book cover above!
By Bob Andelman
(NOTE: This story, written in May, 1990 for the Maddux Report, was the first of three times–so far–that I have had the pleasure to work with legendary civil rights leader Andrew Young. More recently, I have worked with him in writing introductions to books by two of his close friends, Herman J. Russell and Felker Ward, Jr.–Bob Andelman)
Andrew Young hasn’t been to Tampa Bay very often. Probably wouldn’t know Ybor City from Kenneth City. But the former mayor of Atlanta knows the lure of the metropolitan area well enough to take it very, very seriously.
“Put it this way,” he says “We’re very sensitive to competition in Atlanta. We like to meet and beat the competition. Look around. We don’t see Jacksonville, Charlotte or New Orleans. The only place that is competitive is Tampa Bay.”
Say what?
“We envy the seashore,” he says. “We think we have a very good climate. But we don’t question that maybe yours is a little better.
“The reason people there are surprised by what I said is they see Tampa and St. Petersburg as separate entities,” says Young in a telephone interview. “From the outside, we see it as one tremendous area that if it ever starts working together, could be competition for any place in the United States.”
The former mayor of Atlanta, expanding upon his comments to National Association of Industrial and Office Parks (NAIOP) members in February, says he knows a thing or two about building bridges and replacing political barricades with economic development, two of the hottest topics in Tampa Bay business circles.
And he says the biggest single business challenge to Atlanta is the single market sell of Tampa Bay, Inc.
Long before the Bay area was reaching from Hillsborough to Pinellas counties through the Tampa Bay Partnership, Tampa Bay International Trade Council, Tampa Bay Congress of Chambers of Commerce, Tampa Bay Advertising Federation, Tampa Bay Interconnect, and a variety of super task forces, Andy Young’s Atlanta was bringing as many as 12 diverse counties into its economic web.
What brought them together?
“I think it took a decision on the part of business to think of the economy united instead of as separate political units. The five different banks don’t think of counties. They think of Atlanta,” he says. “Our airport, our mass transit, our highways help. They all tie together, they bring you through downtown Atlanta. We tied mass transit from the airport to downtown to the northern suburbs. And businesses started locating along (the same) highways.”
Can Tampa Bay use Atlanta as a blueprint for more homogenous metro growth?
Absolutely.
Here’s a few examples of Atlanta’s accomplishments in the ’80s under Young’s leadership:
* Redevelopment of Underground Atlanta, a 220,000 square foot, downtown specialty entertainment marketplace. It was financed through a partnership of $37-million in public funds, $19-million in private equity, and $85-million in industrial revenue bonds. The project employs 3,200 people and generates $5-million annually in tax revenues.
* The Downtown Development Authority assisted the city in issuing more than $148-million in industrial revenue bonds used to develop 20 private sector projects with a construction value of $224-million.
Building Atlanta by Herman J. Russell with Bob Andelman; Introduction by Andrew Young. Order your copy today by clicking on the book cover above!
* Central Area Study II brought together business, civic and government officials together to form a consensus for downtown Atlanta’s future development.
* Atlanta invested $6.3-million in the development of the 330-acre Atlanta Industrial Park, which has generated $75-million in private investment. A$2.2-million city investment in Southside Industrial Park returned $16-million from the private sector. The two parks have created or retained 1,500 jobs.
* More than $4-billion worth of new construction has taken place in Atlanta since 1982.
* More than 4,200 new businesses have been licensed in the city, creating 50,000 new jobs.
* According to the Atlanta Chamber of Commerce, 2,775 new projects have begun in metro Atlanta since 1983 with a total value of $67-billion.
* Taking advantage of Young’s years and contacts as U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations, Atlanta has rapidly expanded its international exposure and opportunities. The city hosts 29 foreign banks, 36 consulates, 13 foreign chambers of commerce, and six tourism offices.
Two regional bodies drew the disparate counties together around Atlanta. Every community is represented on the Atlanta Regional Commission. And the Atlanta Action Forum balances 20 black and 20 white leaders from business, civil rights groups, banking, and higher education. They meet once a month, informally, with no minutes taken, no press allowed. “There’s no surrogates,” according to Young. “If a CEO is not present, nobody can represent him. It’s just a group of powerful people who get together informally to think and work for the good of the community.”
Young also credits an “aggressive” area chamber of commerce with building bridges between businesses.
“We made a killing on economic development,” says Young, chuckling. “We got new airlines, new construction – four 50-story buildings are under construction right now. One is a hotel; the other three (office buildings) are half-leased up before they’re complete. And I think we’re going to get the (1996 Summer) Olympics. That and the (1992) Democratic National Convention would just help us take off.”
Young left the mayor’s office to Maynard Jackson in January and is now the Democratic candidate for governor of Georgia and a special consultant to Law Companies Group, Inc. But his pointed remarks regarding the highly charged, competitive air between Atlanta and Tampa Bay created a buzz that still resounds in Bay area business, political and community circles.
Bill Knight, president of NAIOP, wasn’t caught off-guard by Young’s comments. “Having been in the Tampa Bay area for only four years myself, that was a comparison that’s easy for an outsider to make,” he says. “They’re both the banking centers for their regions, the labor pool is comparable. I think Tampa Bay can compete favorably with Atlanta and I think Atlanta realizes that.”
Young, who says he tends to speak off the cuff, formed the tone and tenor of his remarks to NAIOP after meeting with local developers and privately with Tampa Mayor Sandy Freedman. It was the first time the two prominent Democrats had ever met and both came away with positive impressions.
“He told me he couldn’t understand the attitude of some of the people he had spoken to here (who were) negative,” recalls Freedman. “He said he always thinks of Tampa Bay as a competitor. I wasn’t surprised; I think it’s something people here need to recognize. We talk to an awful lot of folks who are looking to relocate their headquarters. And frequently, Atlanta, Tampa Bay and one or two other places top their list.
“I think there’s a lot of comparisons to be made,” continues the mayor of Tampa. “I see a lot of similarities between Atlanta 20 years ago and Tampa today. There’s a lot of lessons to be learned, too.”
Ron Weaver, chairman of governmental affairs for NAIOP’s Tampa chapter, was responsible for recommending Young as featured speaker. “He was invited because of Atlanta’s success – Tampa views Atlanta as a strong competitor. We thought the other star in the southern domain should have a chance to speak. We got an idea when we invited him that he would tie us into a package with our sister city – Atlanta,” says Weaver.
The former mayor of Atlanta was surprised by the hubbub generated by his speech. “I wanted to be supportive of what (Freedman) was trying to do,” he says. “I thought she was on the right track and I was trying to be supportive of her agenda.”
Not everyone is ready to put faith in Tampa Bay/Atlanta comparisons.
“I think it’s a bit of a stretch from several standpoints,” says Bob Carr, managing partner of Carr-Rubin Associates in Clearwater. “Atlanta is a hub. We’re not. We’re the end of the line. You don’t have anywhere to go once you get to Florida. They have a heckuva population of businesses up there that we’re just beginning to be considered by. I disagree with the thought we’re competing with them. I would be real surprised if competition for a company came down to us and Atlanta. I could see us and other Florida locations, but I would find it a real stretch to say Atlanta and Tampa Bay.”
Atlanta is helped in its dominance of Florida by the lack of equally dominant cities anywhere else in the state of Georgia. Atlanta is also the state capital. Florida’s population and business is more spread out, with major regional centers in Tampa, St. Petersburg, Orlando, Miami, Jacksonville, and the state capital of Tallahassee.
Florida’s growth management act is another difference between the two states. Georgia has no comparable legislation and Young – who says Atlanta follows the intent of concurrency less the letter of the law – is not a proponent of copycat rules for his state.
“I think we’ve done it a little more flexibly. Instead of doing it by state law, we’ve done it by regional commission. Before we zone, we negotiate the environmental impact. Nothing is mandated. We try to work with the developers and investors, simply because a state-mandated law scares people away,” according to Young.
Young tells a story about a generous contribution his gubernatorial campaign received from a developer. Young’s administration had earlier denied the man a demolition permit. Instead of sending the man packing, however, the city came up with an alternative solution, swapping parcels of land to make his project work. “Because we had the local flexibility to deal with it,” says Young, “he got what he wanted and we got what we wanted.
” ‘course, I don’t mind you all scaring them off,” he adds, “because they come up here.”
In the case of the spurned-yet-satisfied developer, Young says the man stays in his corner because he knows he’s welcome there. “The main thing that investors want is access,” says Young. “I had to disagree with most of the people who contacted me on special problems. But they wanted their day in court. I tried to be available whether I could help or not.”
One of Atlanta’s strengths over Tampa Bay and other emerging metropolitan areas is the number of major international conglomerates that call Atlanta their corporate headquarters. The list is headed by Coca-Cola, BellSouth, Delta Airlines, Georgia-Pacific, Turner Broadcasting (CNN, Headline News, WTBS, TNT), and Scientific America. While Tampa Bay has a few corporate headquarters of note, it has gained more back-office operations and subsidiary action than headquarters relocation.
The difference is significant.
“These companies (in Atlanta) have more of a stake in the town. We have cultivated a sense of corporate responsibility,” according to Young. “I get a sense that Tampa is having a problem with that because Tampa is a branch office and good people are picked up and moved to the home office.”
Young is sympathetic to Tampa Bay’s dearth of corporate headquarters because Atlanta is itself home to branch offices of two of America’s largest multinationals, IBM and AT&T. IBM has 14,000 employees in the Atlanta area; AT&T has 12,000. “The community response from those two is noticeably different,” says Young. “They’re less involved, even though they’re among the largest companies and employers. In the pursuit of the Olympics, they’re involved, but it’s the home companies that put up the money.”
Good, lifetime corporate citizens are difficult to find and maintain in Tampa Bay, as Young indicates, because they tend to make a short-term mark locally then move on up their corporation’s ladder. No one would undermine even brief community works, but the effect of a locally-based corporation in terms of dollars, volunteerism and education is different than that of a branch office.
The effect of corporate headquarters is felt in many ways.
“Delta Airlines’ headquarters makes a big difference. (Atlanta is their) hub city and they have 30,000 employees here,” says Young. “With Delta, Coke, CNN, and Georgia-Pacific, we have a good, diverse base of industry.”
Atlanta has another major advantage over Tampa Bay and many other metro areas with 29 thriving colleges and universities serving up to 200,000 students. Many of the schools are spinning off actual business activity. They also offer diverse MBA and Ph.D evening courses, which Young credits with upgrading the region’s workforce.
Perhaps the centerpiece of Andrew Young’s economic success as mayor was the way he drew minorities into Atlanta’s growth and development. “Fair share” was a priority and hallmark of his administration – the one-time preacher was, after all, a chief aide to Dr. Martin Luther King during the ’60s. “I think one of the best things we’ve got going for us is affirmative action,” says Young. “In a lot of places, the minority community doesn’t feel a part of growth and development. They are a part of OUR growth.”
Minority participation held up airport expansion at one point because Young’s administration insisted on a minimum of 25 percent minority involvement. While that requirement was declared illegal by the U.S. Supreme Court, it made the mayor’s point of view quite clear to any affirmative action holdouts in Atlanta’s business community.
“They kinda understand it’s good business,” Young says with a laugh. “We have to close streets and do things to sewage (to accommodate construction). I really believe the national corporations understood what we were trying to do. It doesn’t cost you anything and it’s good business, too.”
In the case of a new city hall annex, construction was split between minority and majority contractors and 30 percent of the subs were minority owned and operated. The bid came in $4-million under budget and the job was finished before deadline.
Young claims Atlanta has 12,000 certified, minority-owned businesses that train blacks and others, “making assets of people who in other communities are liabilities through welfare or crime.”
Not that Young was able to solve Atlanta’s crime woes.
“I think the biggest problem we’ve not been able to solve is crime,” he admits. “You don’t ever solve crime. But one of the problems we have … I encouraged very aggressive police work, constant raiding of drug dens by the police. That runs your statistics up. In an attempt to make the city safe, we get a very high crime rate.”
That unique interpretation of Atlanta’s crime rate may not be one that is shared by others in the city.
Another area Young concedes he failed in is Atlanta’s high school dropout rate. While he says 69 percent of city graduates go on to college, a disgraceful 25 percent of all students dropout. Young hopes to prioritize on the problem should he be elected governor; he has at least one harsh idea for correcting the dropout rate.
“One of the things I want to do is recruit more male teachers, particularly from the ranks of the military, to get men with that kind of discipline in the school system,” he says. “You need male role models for the boys. I’d put them in the 6th through 12th grades.”
Young believes that Atlanta shares with Florida the growing homeless crisis. He says the time has come for federal responsibility.
“Our warm climates attract the homeless. We’re caring for them,” he says. “But I’m afraid the homeless are going to grow, the more you care for them. We’re building shelters, but we need to educate these people. We need the federal government’s help. The homeless are not being generated in Florida or Georgia – they’re coming from all over the country.”
One area that Young is credited with improving may not seem important on the face of it. But the transformation of Atlanta’s taxicab hacks into an elite crew of polite, informative, economic developers – “Atlanta Ambassadors” – may save countless business deals from leaving town on a daily basis.
Young devoted his attention to this minor detail of big city life when he heard about a $300-million real estate sale that fell apart. An out-of-town buyer left his hotel and hailed a cab for the two-block distance to the closing. The driver had been waiting in line watching minutes tick by, anxious for an airport fare. Instead he got a guy who wanted to go two blocks, which isn’t worth peanuts. The driver cussed at his stunned passenger – who decided this wasn’t a city in which he cared to do business with after all. So the fare said, you win. Take me to the airport. “He walked out on a $300-million deal,” recalls Young.
Recognizing a major public relations challenge – shades of Reaganism – Young was instrumental in pushing through new taxi ordinances. They required courtesy and crimewatch training for all drivers facing license renewal, new vehicle standards – specific colors, vintage and models – flat fees from the airport to downtown hotels, and a flat $3 fee for travel anywhere in a downtown zone. The city also bumped the overall rate structure upwards to make the changes more palatable to fleet owners and drivers.
“All we did was make them feel a part of the growth and development of the region and let them know we needed their help,” says Young.
Order ‘The Wawa Way’ by Howard Stoeckel, available from Amazon.com in print, ebook or audiobook from Amazon.com by clicking on the book cover above!
(AUTHOR’S NOTE: What follows is an excerpt from my very first book “STADIUM FOR RENT: Tampa Bay’s Quest For Major League Baseball,” which was originally published in May 1993 by McFarland & Company. An updated, expanded 2nd edition of the book was published in 2015 by Mr. Media Books. It is available in paperback or ebook wherever great books are sold. — Bob Andelman)
“I’m no rabid baseball fan. I’m an average guy, maybe not even average. I’m not going to sit there and talk to someone about so-and-so’s batting average. That’s not my game. I’m a businessman.” — H. Wayne Huizenga, Chairman of the Board, Blockbuster Video, Florida Marlins
The death in 1989 of Miami Dolphins owner Joe Robbie, the man who brought professional sports to Florida, might have dealt a crippling blow for baseball expansion in the southern part of the Sunshine State had it not been for the emergence of H. Wayne Huizenga.
The Making of a Blockbuster: How Wayne Huizenga Built a Sports and Entertainment Empire from Trash, Grit, and Videotape by Gail DeGeorge. Order now by clicking on the book cover above!
Huizenga was the embodiment of the American dream. A college dropout who dreamed large, he bought a garbage truck in Fort Lauderdale and formed his first company, Waste Management Inc. It became the largest garbage company in the world, of course; Huizenga didn’t do anything small.
He left the company in 1984 with 4-million shares of stock worth an estimated $150-million. In February 1987 he bought into a Texas video rental company with a handful of retail outlets and a fuzzy notion of becoming a nationwide chain of video superstores. Two months later he took over the company and fine-tuned the picture. Soon, Blockbuster Video became as synonymous with renting videos as McDonalds is with Big Macs.
Blockbuster caught on quickly, expanding across the United States by building new stores or buying competitors. Almost every day, a Blockbuster Video store opened somewhere. By mid-1992 there were 2,935 stores in operation and more coming on-line daily. Other chains competed on a regional basis, but none could match the Fort Lauderdale, Florida, chain’s name brand recognition coast-to-coast. In 1991, with Huizenga as its chairman of the board and chief executive officer, Blockbuster Video grossed $1.5-billion in sales. Entertainment Weekly abruptly ranked Huizenga the ninth most important person in the U.S. entertainment industry.
And Blockbuster was mighty in other ways. Early on, Blockbuster management made a decision to avoid X-rated and even some R-rated films. Its refusal to stock The Last Temptation of Christ in the mid-’80s made news and deflated the grosses for the film’s producers. The chain stressed family values and themes. A movie that wasn’t stocked on video by Blockbuster after its theatrical run wasn’t going to earn much money.
Anyone who earns blockbuster bucks — U.S. News & World Report estimated Huizenga’s net worth at $600-million in 1991 — is going to have a few dollars left over. But Huizenga isn’t a man to spend money freely. He spends money only to make more. That’s why Huizenga bought half of Joe Robbie Stadium (JRS) for $5-million (and assumed responsibility for half its debt) and a 15 percent interest in the Miami Dolphins for $12-million in March 1990.
“When I approached Joe Robbie about buying into the stadium — or buying the stadium, because at first I wanted to buy it — he showed me drawings and a model of the stadium,” Huizenga says. “That stadium was designed for baseball from day one. The only thing was, the retractable seats weren’t put in. I looked at the economics of bringing baseball to the stadium. You put another 81 events in the stadium, bring another two and a half million people in, all of a sudden that made the stadium investment look very attractive.”
He called his good friend Carl Barger, a member of the Blockbuster board of directors and, more important, president of the Pittsburgh Pirates.
“The more questions I asked, the more [buying into the stadium] looked like a good thing to do,” Huizenga says. “When I signed the agreement with the Robbies, there was about a three-month lag from the signing to the closing. [During that time] I got more and more interested in baseball. So when word got out that we were going to close the deal, not only did we say we’re going to buy part of the stadium but we’re going to go forward and try to get an expansion team.”
One of the first people Huizenga told about his baseball plans was Frank Morsani, the man who tried to bring a team to Tampa Bay.
“I met with him in Jacksonville before he ever made his bid,” Morsani says. “I know Wayne pretty well. People say well, he had this thing with Barger already done. I don’t know whether he did or not unless he is an awful good con artist. We were on the Florida Council of 100 together and we had a meeting in Jacksonville. He and I spent a couple of hours together talking about it. He said, ‘You deserve baseball. For all you have done … but I have to put in a bid. I am not going to go to anything elaborate. I am not even going to do anything, just tell them we are here.’ That’s exactly what the man told me. I was concerned but I didn’t think we could lose.”
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Once he jumped in and formed South Florida Big League Baseball Inc., Huizenga entertained second and third thoughts about the cost. Every time another superstar ballplayer signed a multiyear, multimillion-dollar deal, Huizenga winced. For a man who ran his company by the bottom line, baseball’s salary structure looked insane.
“We hired [the accounting firm of] Arthur Andersen & Co., which had experience doing auditing for several different teams,” he says. “We ran the numbers and ran the budget. We looked at that and came to the conclusion that we wouldn’t be interested in baseball in any city but South Florida.”
Owning a sports franchise was not always a goal of Huizenga’s. A native of Evergreen Park, Illinois, and a one-time Cubs fans, he no longer followed the game. “I lived on the South Side and the Cubs were the North Side team, but I was a Cubs fan,” he says. “The only reason I really wanted to go after it was to be sure that we got it. There were two other groups looking for a team; I wasn’t sure they could get the job done.”
* * *
The expansion committee liked Huizenga instantly. They wondered aloud, did he plan to take on partners?
“My answer was that I preferred to do it alone,” Huizenga says. “If they wanted me to take in a partner, one from Dade County, one from Palm Beach, I would have considered that. Their response was, ‘No, we like the fact you’re going alone.’ That made me feel good.”
Weather wasn’t as easily dismissed. Huizenga acknowledged rain as a potential problem, but told the committee the harsh South Florida rains usually came in the afternoon, ending by 7 p.m. “There will be those times it doesn’t,” he told the committee. “We will have rain-outs, no question about it. We’ll just have to figure out how to make those up on days off.”
* * *
Huizenga’s attitude toward the expansion process foresaw a win-win-win situation for himself and Joe Robbie Stadium:
1) He might be selected to purchase an expansion franchise that would play 81 games at JRS.
2) Someone else from South Florida could be chosen and be convinced to play at least their first few seasons at JRS.
“On the one hand, we had a facility, such as it was,” Huizenga says. “But remember, it was a multipurpose facility. Baseball said, ‘We would prefer to have baseball-only, open-air, grass.’ The mayor of Miami said, ‘We’ll build that facility, well build it right down here on the bay.’ We thought the other guys may have had the inside track.
“[The Schmidt/Horrow group] said, ‘We’ll decide where to put the team after we get it.’ They figured they’d sign a lease with us once they got a team. And then maybe they’d build [their own stadium] five years later. You see, the other two groups knew we were spending the money to remodel our facility to get it ready for baseball. So if we didn’t get baseball, it would only make sense for us to lease them the stadium for a couple years, even if they were going to build their own facility. And we could recover some of our investment.”
3) Tampa Bay would host the only team in Florida, but in doing so would make South Florida number one in line for relocation of an existing team.
“That was our game plan from day one,” Huizenga says. “We assessed what would happen from reading the newspaper reports and listening to all the people that had been in this thing a long time. St. Petersburg had been in this a long time, Buffalo had been in this a long time. Denver — it seemed obvious that somebody felt obligated to put one out in the western part of the country rather than two more in the eastern part. There happened to be this time zone without a baseball team and whether that meant anything or not I didn’t know but everybody was making a big deal out of it. I felt that politically, Denver was going to get a team.
“I figured St. Petersburg would get a team,” he says. “And with the economics of baseball, some of the small market [teams] had to be sold. Carl and I had a conversation about small markets in big trouble and that people didn’t really realize the trouble they were in. Some teams make money, but a lot of teams don’t make money. It’s pretty bad for that guy at the bottom of the barrel. The bottom is in deep trouble.”
* * *
Once Huizenga made the National League owners’ short list in December 1990 to represent South Florida against Tampa Bay, Orlando, Washington, D.C., Buffalo and Denver in the battle for an expansion franchise, he became the pack’s front-runner, surprising even himself.
Tampa Bay, which had pursued a team for 14 years, found itself in the unaccustomed position of playing second fiddle to South Florida and Huizenga. Although the Tampa Bay area — and its two daily newspapers — didn’t take Orlando, Buffalo or Washington, D.C., very seriously, South Florida was a different threat entirely. It was a genuine metropolis, urbane, sophisticated and international; everything Tampa Bay dreamed of being.
H. Wayne Huizenga
Tampa Bay baseball fans, already thrown a curve when baseball picked Stephen Porter’s group to represent the region over hometown favorite Frank Morsani, shook their heads in dismay when “Captain Video,” Huizenga, paid Morsani $10,000 for the rights to use the name “Florida Panthers” if he were selected by the National League.
Unlike the battle of wits engaged between the Miami Herald ‘s Dave Barry and the Orlando Magic’s Pat Williams in 1989, the St. Petersburg Times and Tampa Tribune each went for H. Wayne Huizenga’s jugular. The slightest bit of controversy or bad news about Huizenga or Blockbuster Video — the Carl Barger connection, Blockbuster’s business dealings with Phoenix Communications and Major League Baseball — took on great significance. No matter how insignificant.
Huizenga denied that Blockbuster Video’s five-year exclusive deal with Phoenix Communications to sell licensed Major League Baseball videos improved his chances with the owners. Blockbuster also became a sponsor of national baseball telecasts in 1990.
And Huizenga’s 20-year personal friendship with Pittsburgh Pirates president Barger rocked the boat, too.
“All the bad stuff came out of Tampa/St. Petersburg,” Huizenga says. “Those guys did not get all their facts. They wrote from their emotions rather than from the facts. Okay, fine, they can write what they want to write. But they had Carl Barger influencing Danforth. I mean, not in a million years could that happen. You gotta know Doug Danforth. He’s chairman and CEO of Westinghouse. He was used to getting pressure all his life from people — ‘I need this, I want that.’ Doug Danforth was one of the leading CEOs ever in this country. He was not going to let somebody else make up his mind. Plus, it is not only the expansion committee that makes the decision. The ownership has got to vote. To think that Carl Barger, one guy, who’s not even an owner, just a president, an employee — to think that one employee on one team could go around and influence 26 owners — there was no way that could happen. Baseball guys couldn’t care less what some general manager or president tells them. Plus, it worked just the opposite for us, because Danforth was reading these same newspaper stories and he ended up keeping this thing at arm’s length. The other guys [Fred Wilpon, Bill Giles and Bill White] were friendly. They talked to me, they talked to Denver, they talked to St. Petersburg. But because Doug was worried about the perception, he wouldn’t even return phone calls.”
Barger wasn’t Huizenga’s only friend in the National League. Tom O’Donnell, president and publisher of the Fort Lauderdale-based Sun-Sentinel newspaper, which is owned by The Tribune Co., parent of the Chicago Cubs, introduced the Blockbuster Video boss to Stan Cook, president of the Cubs.
Huizenga dealt with expansion by deliberately keeping a low profile. He avoided the media as much as possible, concentrating on Blockbuster and his other businesses. He also steered clear of most rallies and other baseball events.
“You could have the whole community 100 percent behind you but the community doesn’t vote. Only the owners vote,” he says. “What’s the point of spending all your time and effort preaching to the choir?”
* * *
There remains considerable speculation that Huizenga was told early on he would receive one of the two franchises and that’s why he confidently invested $10-million out-of-pocket to convert JRS from football-only into a baseball stadium.
“The conjecture fits with what most people thought to be the economic decision analysis,” Miami Mayor Xavier Suarez says. “Anybody spending $10-million, plus a $100,000 application fee, probably had to expect the outcome. He had a very good idea that he fit the parameters of what they were looking for. But I lost my bet. I thought he’d begin work and not follow through. I didn’t see a lot of back-up use for all that [construction] without a baseball team.”
When Joe Robbie gave Huizenga his pitch about baseball in JRS, he showed the video magnate a model of the stadium in which the left field seats were removable for baseball. Unfortunately, Robbie had built left field with permanent seats, not knowing when or if baseball would ever come. Huizenga, once he owned a 50 percent interest in the stadium, decided JRS would be a whole lot more convincing as a baseball venue if the movable seats were in place.
“It’s difficult to take someone to the stadium and you look out there and you see the goal posts and say, ‘Just picture those left field seats coming out.’ Well,” he recalls, “somewhere along the way, we decided — ‘Why don’t we just spend the money and do it.’ “
Huizenga calls it “a roll of the dice,” but Ric Green, the Broward EDC’s sports director, says Huizenga would not spend $10-million on chance.
“Wayne Huizenga is a very smart businessman,” Green says. “He didn’t get where he is by not doing everything possible. He prepares 120 percent. I don’t want to claim the fix was in and I don’t want to cast any aspersions on Carl Barger. Everything that Wayne Huizenga could legitimately do I will guarantee you he attempted to do. His people over-prepare him for everything. I would imagine it would be foolish to not say he went to his good friend Carl Barger and said, ‘Who could I talk to?’ “
“I thought the team was going to St. Petersburg,” Huizenga says. “I thought that [converting JRS for baseball] was a long-term decision. Sooner or later we would get a team. Let’s say disaster happens somewhere, there was a fire in a stadium, an earthquake, and all of a sudden someone has to move. They’re going to have to have a place to go. The stadium in St. Petersburg is booked, because I figured St. Petersburg was going to get the team. So where else are you going to play? We’d be ready. Or if you wanted to buy a team and you could get permission to move it, okay, fine, you better do it quick. You wouldn’t want to buy a team and play in a town for two years saying, ‘We’re going to move two years from now.’ That wouldn’t work.”
As usual, Huizenga’s roll of the dice turned up lucky. Two hastily arranged exhibition games in late spring brought out 125,013 fans to JRS, a show of community support that backed up Huizenga’s open wallet. The numbers spoke for themselves.
Huizenga says the exhibition games let South Florida fans sent a message to Major League Baseball. And baseball heard them, loud and clear.
The spring games came after a bilingual, multicountry campaign to drum up support, including petition drives from Panama to Brazil, Key West to the Dominican Republic.
Volunteers inundated local sports agencies, offering to do anything they could do to help. A group called Baseball Maniacs formed in Fort Lauderdale. Pep rallies were held at the Bayside marketplace in downtown Miami. Sports bars across South Florida participated. So did the Cuban and Latin communities.
Suarez did everything he could — both as mayor and baseball fan. “One time I was watching ‘This Week in Baseball,’ “ he recalls. “They had a segment on broadcasting baseball games in Latin America. I sent copies of that segment to the expansion committee. I tried to convey that this would be very important for Major League Baseball. Forget Miami — this would be a stage to the world, I told them.”
Through the first few months of 1991, Huizenga says he understood South Florida to be running second to Tampa Bay in the minds of the expansion committee. “Everybody knew the Kohls had lots of money,” he says. “And everybody told me [Roy] Disney was in that deal. I don’t know if he was or not. But I kept seeing the propaganda out of Tampa, that their group’s net worth was a billion-five or something. And the guy in Orlando [Richard DeVos], he was a heavy hitter, worth a billion or so. So we weren’t the heavy guy in the pot, that’s for sure. I figured, we’ve got to keep plugging away and do our thing, see what happens.”
In late May, something happened to Huizenga, something painful. Despite explosive store growth and impressive earnings, Blockbuster’s stock tanked, dropping from $14.50 to $8.87 a share in nine weeks. Huizenga personally lost $115-million on paper, about the cost of a National League expansion franchise — not including players.
The Tampa Bay and Orlando media purred as it lapped up the bad news, making a final attempt to pump up local efforts for one last push. But Huizenga addressed investor concerns about his company’s future, convincing Wall Street it had panicked. Slowly, the price edged back up and Huizenga earned back $40-million of his loss.
Maybe Wall Street lost faith temporarily in the video star — but baseball didn’t. Rumors flew that Huizenga was in.
“I started getting phone calls saying, ‘Hey, I hear you guys are looking good,’ “ Huizenga recalls. “It might be an acquaintance. Or I might go to Wall Street on Blockbuster business and I’d bump into some guy and he’d say, ‘I was with somebody the other day who works over at the Mets or the Yankees and the word around there is you guys are looking good.’ Well, you don’t put much credit to something like that. When you stop and think that that’s some third-level person in the Yankees organization — they don’t know anything. But then a couple days would go by and I’d hear the same rumor two or three times and I’d say, ‘Whew, there’s too many rumors.’ “
* * *
Guys like Ric Green, the Broward EDC’s sports director, and his counterpart, Bill Perry III, executive director of the Miami Sports and Exhibition Authority, were easier to reach than Huizenga and his lieutenants. So they heard all the latest rumors.
Outrageous rumors had it that Huizenga made a deal with (University of Miami baseball coach) Ron Fraser to be his general manager, Green recalls. “They said he offered Blockbuster Video franchises to Bill White. Friends and reporters called me with this stuff. He was going to build a brand new stadium. He offered to put a dome on the stadium. Not one person was reliable. There was an article in [the failed sports daily] The National. They interviewed Mike Veeck — Bill Veeck’s son — who has a Florida State League franchise [The Miracle]. Mike was closely tied into this whole process because he owned the team that had the local baseball rights. Mike talked about how baseball will love South Florida. I told [Huizenga assistant] Don Smiley, ‘This is a great article, wouldn’t you say?’ and he said, ‘No, I hate it because baseball owners hate Bill Veeck.’ Oh, shit. Here you think you got some good publicity and … Oh boy.”
* * *
Anyone living in or visiting South Florida in May 1991 that didn’t know the region had a chance to get a baseball team must have had his head in the sand. The anticipation was palpable.
Instead of wondering where the two expansion teams would be placed, the question became who would be number two to South Florida. Would baseball place two new teams in Florida — with Tampa Bay second — or would it go with geographic diversity and make its second pitch to Denver?
“By the end of the whole process, everybody was saying South Florida didn’t have any weaknesses,” Mayor Suarez says. “I spoke to Doug Danforth and he said South Florida sounded good to him.”
* * *
All of the national baseball columnists weighed in with opinions on who would receive the two National League expansion franchises, all based on inside sources and educated guesses.
• Sports Illustrated announced Miami and Tampa Bay were a 1-2 punch for expansion.
• USA Today conducted two polls, one of a six-member professional panel, the other a survey of readers. Denver topped both polls as the No. 1 pick. The panel picked Miami as No. 2; readers chose Washington, D.C. One of the national newspaper’s panel members, baseball consultant Peter Bavasi, picked Tampa Bay and Miami.
• USA Today baseball writer Hal Bodley went with Denver and Miami.
• The Sporting News did a three-part study of the potential expansion cities. “If The Sporting News were picking the two expansion teams,” Paul Attner wrote, “they’d go to Miami and St. Petersburg. But if baseball decides to put only one club in Florida, Washington should get the second. What will baseball do? Pick St. Petersburg and Denver. And they better pray Denver can survive.”
• ESPN’s Peter Gammons first guessed St. Petersburg and Washington, D.C., then switched to Miami and St. Petersburg.
• Las Vegas oddsmakers listed St. Petersburg as a 1-5 favorite, Miami at 2-1, Denver at 4-1, Orlando and Washington, D.C. at 8-1 and Buffalo at 20-1.
• Sen. Tim Wirth, D-Colorado, chairman of the U.S. Senate task force on baseball expansion, said he received information indicating teams would be awarded to St. Petersburg and Denver.
• New York Daily News columnist Bill Madden wrote that Miami would beat out Tampa Bay due to a larger TV market and a single local owner. He foresaw the second team going to Denver.
• The Rocky Mountain News and Denver Post separately polled active ballplayers to learn which cities they preferred to see receive teams. Tampa Bay came out on top, followed by Denver, in both polls. Miami finished third in the polls.
• Baseball America columnist Tracy Ringolsby wrote, “Miami has made the strongest push at the finish to land a team, but St. Petersburg is the emotional favorite. The folks there put their money where their mouth is, building the stadium to prove a commitment. . . . Each time, the Florida folks accepted their role as patsy without causing legal headaches for Major League Baseball. Loyalty says it’s time to repay the kindness and give the folks the baseball team they have wanted for so long.”
* * *
“It’s a big mistake, I think, for baseball to expand. What they should do is let some of the weaker teams move to bigger cities. That’s not what the fans want to hear, but the economics of baseball have gotten so cattywonkus that the small towns can’t make it. Those teams are going to have to do something. That’s why I think St. Petersburg will get a team pretty soon.”
— H. Wayne Huizenga, Chairman of the Board, Blockbuster Video, Florida Marlins
The Florida Marlins and Colorado Rockies were born on June 10, 1991 — two days earlier than anticipated — dashing Tampa Bay’s hopes once again.
H. Wayne Huizenga — who paid Tampa’s Frank Morsani $10,000 for the rights to the name “Florida Panthers” but didn’t use it — told reporters he chose the statewide name “Florida Marlins” to take advantage of being the first baseball team in Florida.
His first major hiring decision as a team owner didn’t please or surprise Tampa Bay fans who felt the “fix” was in from the start: Carl Barger, Blockbuster Entertainment board member and president of the Pittsburgh Pirates, agreed to move south and take the helm of the Marlins.
“That didn’t seem to pass the smell test,” Porter group investor Mark Bostick says.
South Florida — which couldn’t care less what Bostick thought — fell at Huizenga the Conqueror’s feet.
“The baseball owners are very much like a club,” Miami Mayor Xavier Suarez says. “Huizenga was ideal for them. He was a very likable guy, low-key and soft-spoken. He was the kind of guy who would not come blustering into meetings, would not be too aggressive. And he put his money where his mouth was.”
* * *
(Missing out on expansion, St. Petersburg still refused to give up. The city began courting the financially troubled Seattle Mariners, a team frustrated by low attendance and miniscule media revenues.)
* * *
At the 1991 baseball winter meetings in Miami Beach, St. Petersburg assistant city manager Rick Dodge learned that winning an expansion team did not make a good sport out of Florida Marlins chairman H. Wayne Huizenga when it came to the neverending talk of a team relocating to St. Petersburg.
Not over my dead video rewinder, Huizenga told fellow team owners in a private meeting.
Huizenga figured he beat St. Petersburg fair and square. (Never mind that he hired his pal, Pittsburgh Pirates president Carl Barger within days of being awarded the Marlins.) If he was going to plunk down a $95-million fee just to get into the National League and invest another $30-million to get an undoubtedly lousy team up and running, he wanted some guarantee of at least temporary exclusivity in Florida. It wasn’t going to be easy or cheap to build fan support those first few years; an established team that might relocate and start play in St. Petersburg in 1992 would steal the Marlins’ bait.
In December and January, the video king threatened to renege on his deal or sue baseball unless a team moving to St. Petersburg paid a compensatory territorial fee to him estimated at $15-million.
Didn’t take long for that declaration to leak to the press. Huizenga and Marlins president Carl Barger denied they made such demands but too many baseball insiders confirmed the story for it not to be close to the truth.
“We heard that he went to the commissioner and was very direct about it: ‘If you allow Seattle to come here, I am going to withdraw my deposit or sue baseball,’ “ Dodge says. “I heard this from a couple of different people. People who have been friendly to us in the NL, we saw them shifting to protect Huizenga’s supposed interest. We knew it was a serious issue.”
Barger was quoted as saying with regard to a possible Mariners relocation to St. Petersburg, “We’re not going to take this sitting down.”
He wasn’t the only one, either. Steve Ehrhart, president and chief operating officer of the Colorado Rockies, was equally pissed off. “There’s going to be hell to pay on this,” he told the Tampa Tribune’s Joe Henderson. “Jeff thinks he can just come in there in a great market and line his pockets . . . while the rest of us are struggling. Well, he can’t have his cake and eat it too . . . We were prohibited from dealing with Seattle before we got this team, and we did inquire. We could have bought the Mariners for a lot less than we paid for this.”
Huizenga had every right to protect his interests. And baseball owners greedily clung to their individual shares of the video king’s expected cash contribution, afraid to contradict this powerful rookie member of the club. But Tampa Bay civic, political and sports leaders kicked up a fury. Screw you, H. Wayne, and the remote control you rode in on. Campaigns to boycott the Tampa Bay area Blockbuster Video stores were plotted. The Hillsborough and Pinellas county legislative delegations looked at ways of punishing Huizenga and Joe Robbie Stadium through legislation. And the bad publicity caromed across the country.
Although it’s doubtful they truly had a change of heart, Huizenga and Barger held a press conference at the Florida Suncoast Dome February 7 and bought newspaper ads in the St. Petersburg Times and Tampa Tribune to clarify their position.
“We spoke that day independent of the press conference,” Jack Critchfield recalls, “a personal, man-to-man reiteration of what they were saying publicly. They understood that Tampa Bay was not part of their market, that there would be no reason for them to oppose a team here and, in fact, they hoped that Florida had at least one, if not two more. Mr. Huizenga had a genuine concern that he paid too much for the franchise. He is a good man, and his record in business had been one of integrity. What they did was in their best interest. I think they would never have opposed a franchise here had they known it would be public knowledge. The fact that it became public put them in an untenable position and they had to go out and mend fences. They were silent on the issue from that point forward.”
Dodge was less enamored of Huizenga than was Critchfield. He heard the video king’s words, he just didn’t believe him.
“Very impressive guy,” Dodge recalls. “He said that he wouldn’t object and wouldn’t stand in the way and that there may have been some misunderstandings, but it wouldn’t be that way in the future. We all kind of looked at each other. Right. Sure. You wanted to believe him but he raised the issue of Seattle in the commissioner’s eyes. [Before coming to St. Petersburg,] Barger or somebody claimed that Smulyan had met with us. That got Smulyan in trouble with the commissioner; In fact he got fined. Heavily. When he met with us we assumed Jeff had [the commissioner’s] permission. But he didn’t inform the American League or the commissioner. The commissioner fined him $100,000.”
Smulyan would neither confirm or deny the fine. But Barger was right: Smulyan had finally met face-to-face with representatives of the City of St. Petersburg.
* * *
( The Seattle Mariners were eventually sold to Nintendo of America, the Japanese video game manufacturer, and the team remained in the Pacific Northwest. Not long after the sale was approved, a press conference was held at the Florida Suncoast Dome to announced that a local group led by businessman Vincent Naimoli had an agreement in principle to purchase the San Francisco Giants and relocate the team to St. Petersburg.)
* * *
When it came right down to brass balls, only two factors decided the future of the San Francisco Giants: television revenues and H. Wayne Huizenga. In that order.
In 1992, baseball was not the hot broadcast property it was four years earlier, when the game’s owners signed a $1.06-billion, four-year deal with CBS-TV and a $250-million deal with ESPN. Ratings were down. The game moved too slowly and dragged on too long for an audience choosing between baseball, American Gladiators, Geraldo Rivera and The Simpsons. ESPN notified Major League Baseball late in the ‘92 season that it would not renew its option for 1994 and ‘95, buying out the contract for $13-million instead. And CBS — which tried to renegotiate its deal in 1992 — made it quite clear that while it might renegotiate a new broadcast contract for the ‘94 season, the price would be at least 25 percent less than the original deal.
The idea that baseball might allow a franchise to leave the No. 5 television market in the country, San Francisco, for the No. 13 market, Tampa Bay, was pure idiocy to CBS. The introduction of CBS executive (and San Francisco native) Larry Baer to the behind-the-scenes machinations of the San Francisco bid left no doubt from where the real power and influence of this deal came. It wasn’t Bob Lurie, Vince Naimoli, Mayor Frank Jordan, Walter Shorenstein or Bill White. Baseball was warned that a bonehead move of the Giants out of San Francisco could cause the ‘94 broadcast offer to be in the neighborhood of $500-million, or 50 percent less than the old deal. That’s power.
To a team, this could mean a per team, annual drop in national broadcast revenues from $5- to $10-million. Television was the financial villain in all of this. Not the baloney about baseball’s traditions and resistance to team relocation.
Further stirring the money pit was Captain Video.
In the final stages of the 1991 expansion derby, Huizenga was assured that if he paid out the $95-million franchise fee demanded by the National League, he would be guaranteed at least one year of exclusivity — no competition from another team in Florida. It was an important part of the deal for Huizenga, who understood the desperate need of an expansion franchise to be loved and cherished by as many people as possible in its first undistinguished seasons.
The first time Huizenga felt this promise might be broken, during the 1991 winter meetings, he told fellow baseball owners that if they moved the Seattle Mariners to Tampa Bay, they could kiss his $95-million goodbye. They caved in and bent over backward to structure the Nintendo of America bid that wrestled the Mariners away from a frustrated Jeff Smulyan.
When the Giants issue arose just weeks after the Mariners transfer was done, Huizenga’s political situation was more delicate than ever at home. A hero to South Florida, he was ill-considered in the central and northern reaches of the Sunshine State for his success in winning an expansion franchise at Tampa Bay’s expense, for the perception that he derailed the Mariners from the Florida Suncoast Dome, and for his two-headed handling of the Giants opportunity.
Publicly, Huizenga encouraged Bob Lurie to come to Florida even before Vince Naimoli made his first offer for the Giants. (“Not only would we not stand in the way, we sought him {Lurie} out and encouraged him to come,” Huizenga said.) Publicly, Huizenga talked about the dollars-and-cents value of an in-state rivalry. (“We are pleased for the fans in the Tampa Bay area and pleased that the team is in the National League. This will help in building a friendly cross-state rivalry.”) Publicly, Huizenga said all the right things.
Privately, Huizenga and Marlins President Carl Barger reportedly turned every screw they could think of to keep the fourth most populous state in the country to themselves. And every time they howled with indignation at the charge of backstabbing, an owner called Rick Dodge, Jack Critchfield or Vince Naimoli to reconfirm that the Marlins were indeed lobbying opposition to the Giants deal.
“I had a lot of theories,” Dodge says, “but I heard often enough that Wayne Huizenga said he was promised an ‘exclusive’ to Florida for a number of years. He is not going to say that and baseball is not going to say that because that is collusion. I think there was a promise made. I’ve heard it from enough people in baseball to believe it. If that’s true, that is a whole other issue. What we found inconsistent were things like Carl Barger saying he was surprised that Bob Lurie moved quickly on this deal without getting approval. Huizenga said, in advance of us going to San Francisco, that he had called Bob Lurie and invited him to move the franchise. It was real simple. They wanted to protect their exclusivity as long as they could and they didn’t want to have an experienced, powerful club in the same state to compete against. They also wanted to see this market eventually have to pay an expansion fee that the Marlins could share.”
Critchfield wanted to believe Huizenga. He had met the man, discussed matters with him face to face and he truly hoped Huizenga was being straight with him. Wouldn’t an in-state rivalry help the Marlins? Wouldn’t Huizenga save on travel expenses by a relocation of the Giants to the Tampa Bay area?
“He stated clearly that if a vote came they would vote for it,” Critchfield says. “What he left unsaid was that they certainly would have liked to see that there was never a vote. They wanted at least one year before they had any competition in Florida. I couldn’t get inside Mr Huizenga’s mind. It was unfortunate that he gave the impression publicly and to me that they’d do nothing to resist relocation; in fact, there appeared to be evidence that they did. I tried to understand why. While I disagreed with the way he handled it, I suspect that if I were a new owner and if I realized that I paid far too much for a new franchise in a community that may or may not support it, with a stadium that probably needs a roof on it, and I lost even a million dollars of projected revenue, then I couldn’t be very happy about it. Especially if someone in baseball legally or illegally gave me reason to think that they would see to it that I had no competition. I was unhappy and I was disappointed it wasn’t handled better by the Marlins in general and that obviously is Mr. Huizenga.”
Huizenga made it no secret that he overpaid for the Marlins. And he resented anyone who might reduce his income by siphoning off media or other revenues, which was exactly what he feared a Tampa Bay franchise might do. But it was exactly that attitude that disquieted Tampa Bay partisans. Making matters tougher for Huizenga, he was unable to take that position public because much of the state of Florida — from the governor on down — didn’t believe that stonewalling a major economic opportunity for Tampa Bay meant operating in the best interest of the state.
Hard evidence of Huizenga’s alleged complicity was hard to come by, but rumor and innuendo were thick. St. Petersburg Times sportswriter Marc Topkin called it “the Energizer Bunny of rumors, because it keeps going and going and going.”
• “We didn’t get into this thing anticipating that we were going to have competition 250 miles away before we even threw out our first pitch,” Marlins President Carl Barger told Topkin.
• New York Daily News columnist Bill Madden reported that Huizenga “defected from the growing group of owners seeking to oust Fay Vincent after the commissioner promised he would use his ‘best-interests-of-baseball’ powers to block the move of the Giants to Tampa-St. Pete if the owners approved it.”
• The Miami Herald — another Huizenga-friendly daily — reported that the Marlins owner wanted to place his Triple A farm team in Charlotte, North Carolina. To do that, Huizenga flew to Charlotte in September and reached an agreement in principle with the man who owned the Class A Charlotte Knights and territorial rights — George Shinn. The deal would have put at least $1-million in Shinn’s wallet and an NL owner in his pocket at a time when he was negotiating to buy the Giants and keep them in San Francisco. But the baseball commissioner’s office nixed the deal, awarding the Triple A rights in Charlotte to the Cleveland Indians and banishing the Marlins’ top farm team to Edmonton, in western Canada.
• And in a curious move, Blockbuster Entertainment purchased 236 stores in the Sound Warehouse and Music Plus chains for $185-million. The seller? Shamrock Holdings, a firm controlled by Roy Disney, late of the unsuccessful Tampa Bay expansion group. To the business world, the transaction meant Blockbuster was simply diversifying. To Tampa Bay baseball fans, it portended something more sinister, such as a payoff for the apparent pullout of Disney’s cash from Steve Porter’s group in 1991.
Tampa Bay’s baseball fans reached the breaking point with Huizenga on October 22, 1992. Spurred on by WFLA radio talk show host Jay Marvin and organized by local resident Jim Cohen, 75 people protested Huizenga’s meddling by creating a scene in front of a Blockbuster Video store in St. Petersburg. They lined the sidewalk on Fourth Street N, waving an array of signs aimed at Huizenga: “This Ain’t Your World, Wayne!” “Just Say Yes, Wayne.” “No Support, No State $.” “Wayne is Being a Pain!” “Blockbuster Chairman is Against TB Giants.” “Hey, Wayne: Vote Yes on Tampa Bay Giants or No Videos!” “Shame On You Blockbuster!” And even one non-aligned sign: “Will Work for Season Tickets.”
Passing motorists honked their horns in support of the protesters, several of whom lined the store’s driveway entrance and pleaded with Blockbuster customers to turn in their rental cards. Many did.
Marlins President Carl Barger didn’t get the point.
“It’s getting a little old,” he told St. Petersburg Times reporter Tom Tobin. “Blockbuster is a publicly held company. Blockbuster has nothing to do with the Marlins just because Wayne Huizenga has an involvement. No one loves baseball more than I do {but} I think to take baseball to those extremes is kind of sad.”
A competitor of Blockbuster in St. Petersburg, Network Video, printed T-shirts to establish a distinction between the two companies: “Network Video supports baseball for Tampa Bay. The OTHER video store doesn’t!”
“If what we heard about Mr. Huizenga was untrue,” Dodge says, “he was the most maligned person inside baseball.”
(There were three encores. That’s a lotta waiting.)
When is he going to do it? they wondered. When is Elton John going to strip down to his skivvies?
He never did, it is a pleasure to report.
Unlike his 1984 appearance at the USF Sun Dome – supposedly his last concert anywhere – John maintained his dignity and kept his pants on throughout his entire two-hour-and-15-minute concert Sunday night before 10,782 people.
Dignity is a relative term when it comes to Elton John. He may not have re. moved his pants, but you should have seen these pants: luminescent yellow baggies with a black stripe on either side.
And his jacket was a, pop art nightmare, a kitschy cross between Keith Haring and Peter Max.
Only Elton John gets so much review paid to his apparel.
How was his music? Not bad for a white guy with a furry, Day-Glo green mohawk.
John reached way back in his 16-year catalog of hits for much of his material.
With nearly all of his older songs, John played it straight for about three-fourths of the tune and then added playful, sometimes bombastic flourishes.
During “Rocket Man” the pianist diddled the high-pitched, far end of his keyboard. At the close of a bouncy “Philadelphia Freedom,” his four-piece horn section lashed a pound of flesh to the old pop favorite.
Ballads were very much in vogue Sunday. The sell-out crowd heard John croon his way through a wide variety, from “Someone Saved My Life Tonight” and “Love Song” through “Blue Eyes” and “I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues.”
Midway into the show, the singer announced he would do a song from “one of my most requested albums.
“It is not one of my favorite albums,” he said, “but every time I run into an Elton John fan, they always request something from ‘Madman Across the Water.’ So … this is ‘Levon.’ “
This version of “Levon” was one of the most pronounced variations of any John classic all night. Like the others, it began in a familiar way, with John singing high over his gentle piano playing, telling the story of how Levon, “he wants to go to Venus,”
Congos added an extra dimension to the song, then John picked up the pace by turning the tone to gospel:
He shall be …
“He shall be …
“He shall be … Levon”
Instead of ending with the piano with which it began, “Levon” concluded with an abrupt guitar twang from Davey Johnson. Like many of the thing’s John did with his songs, this, too, was a pleasant way to punch life into an oldie.
It is surprising, in retrospect, that few of John’s songs – ballads or rockers – induced audience singalongs. Through 22 songs, all but two or three were recognizable to even the occasional radio listener or pop fan. And certainly anyone who paid the price of admission must have been predisposed to those songs.
There was some grumbling that John’s choice of material was a bit too mushy, that he left out foot stompers such as “Crocodile Rock” and “Honky Cat.”
The real problem – as has been evidenced in the recent appearances of Stevie Wonder and James Taylor – is that these artists have maintained careers over three generations and have a barrel full of money – er, material. John introduced just one new song, “Paris,” (written by Bernie Taupin) from his upcoming LP. Unless he plays a four-hour show, there’s no way everyone can be satisfied.
John did perform “Restless,” “The Bitch Is Back,” “Saturday Night’s Alright (for Fighting)” and “I’m Still Standing.” These songs kicked in hard and tight.
His best time all night was during the six minutes of “Bennie and the Jets.” Always a popular, albeit turgid tune, “Bennie” was alive Sunday. John leaped to his feet and – without a microphone – shouted “Bennie” at the capacity crowd, to which they responded in kind. Returning to the piano, he tossed aside his stool and began playing on one knee, then fell to the floor on his back and noodled a few one-handed honky-tonk blues turns.
That wasn’t enough for Captain Fantastic. He paused and the song appeared to be over, but it wasn’t. Leaning over the piano, John muscled through familiar bits and pieces of songs before making it clear he still was playing “Bennie.” He jumped on top of the piano and lay still momentarily before standing atop the white baby grand and raising his fist. It was worth the standing ovation it received.
But the overall impression of the night resides with slower songs such as “Candle in the Wind,” “Daniel,” “Nikita” and “Your Song.”
So what? Elton John dressed his musical best. (But personally, the mohawk has to go.) His oldies got a new set of clothes, he kept his own pants on and the cynics were turned away for another round.
Diana Ross hits are getting shorter as the years grow longer.
Songs such as “I’m Coming Out,” “Rescue Me,” “Why Do Fools Fall in Love?” “Swept Away” and a few others have been compressed to one- and two-minute versions in the singer’s latest show, witnessed Wednesday evening at the Bayfront Center arena.
There is no catch. These were not pieces of medleys; Ross was passing them off as whole songs.
When she did start a medley, doing snippets of “Baby Love” and “Stop! In the Name of Love,” the diva snapped.
“Could I have some coffee?” she asked the startled audience of 6,910 people.
Complaining that her throat was raspy, Ross turned to her band and said, “I wonder if I could change the … What was I going to do?”
Several times during the night, the band started to play, and Ross, baffled, turned to her pianist. He then would feed her the first few words to a tune and get her started.
Ross has a lot of silly, plastic bits she does with the audience – the arm waving of “Reach Out and Touch” comes to mind, as does the male striptease during “Muscles” – but this interchange with her musicians seemed too bizarre to be rehearsed.
“What are you playing?” she asked the band. “Oh? … I don’t know … I’m thinking, I’m thinking.” When the crowd cheered, she turned angrily. “I need quiet when I think!”
She was pleasantly inspired, as it turned out, and launched into three, full, lush numbers from her film, “Lady Sings the Blues.” Ross has a great big voice, but these smoky Jazzers represented the few instances all night when she put it to work.
Although Ross did reappear for three encores in three different costumes, she seemed to work up genuine excitement only for the third, a six minute, upbeat version of “Swept Away,” dancing and singing her little heart out.
Had La Ross presented her talents in their entirety for an hour, it no doubt would have been something to write home about. Instead, she takes her fans for granted.
Anybody who would pay $21.75 or $18.75 for a ticket probably is predisposed to liking a performance; the singer seemed to want to get away with as little creativity and effort as she could while laughing all the way to the bank.
For the money people paid to see Ross, it’s a shame to say she didn’t give them value. But it isn’t a difficult statement to support.
There were the ridiculously short versions of the old songs. This would have been more acceptable if it were a vehicle to fit in more songs, but Ross must have wasted 20-25 minutes of her 1 3/4-hour show wandering aimlessly into the seats and whining about the sound quality.
Actually, Ross had a point about the sound produced by the theater-in-the-round arrangement. It was pretty poor.
But instead of whispering quietly to her production people, she made the problem all the more apparent to the crowd by standing in the wings, and announcing:
“You know, I can’t even hear the music here! Where are the speakers?”
Someone pointed to the ceiling. Ross actually seemed surprised to see them there, then pretended to be a member of the audience. “We can’t hear the music. We’re going home!”
That wasn’t the end of it, though. She walked up to speakers on the floor, pushed her fabulous, fluffy mane aside and listened. “It’s not coming through here!” she said.
As the second half of the program began, Ross did her two-minute rendition of “Swept Away.” She followed it with “Telephone” (from the “Swept Away” album).
“This (“Telephone”) gives me the opportunity to play with the band,” she said, making one wonder whom she was playing with before. “The groove is good … More bass! More bass! … Jack – more bass! Can I have some keyboards and bass here? … Need some more congas!”
The last word on the amplification carne at the beginning of her second encore.
“I hope the sound has been OK for you,” she said. “For me, up here, it’s been horrid.”
Two years ago, Diana Ross performed a memorable concert at the Bayfront Center. Folks seem to recall it because of her tirade aimed at them for arriving late and distracting her while they found their seats.
It didn’t happen this time, for good reason.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?” came the voice over the public address system. “The show will begin in l0 minutes. No one will be seated after the first 10 minutes!”
Should someone have missed that announcement it was repeated at l0 and five minutes before the show, and again during intermission.
When Ross came onstage, she said, “They told me tonight it was two years since I was here last. I told you – if you need me, call me.”
Don’t sit by the phone, Diana.
The Millionaire’s Convenient Arrangementby Jane Peden. Order your copy today by clicking on the book cover above!
By Bob Andelman (Originally published in Tampa Bay Life, 1990)
Don Mains is a little edgy.
Not that he doesn’t have good cause. Waiting by the phone for the White House to call would be enough, and that’s precisely Mains’ situation at 4:30 this Tuesday afternoon. In less than two hours, he’s expecting a call from Barbara Bush’s staff to let him know whether he has been chosen as the First Lady’s advance man.
The kissing game began three weeks ago — shortly after the St. Petersburg man organized Union Station in the nation’s capitol for one of Bush’s 11 inaugural balls — and Mains’ personal and professional lives have been on hold ever since. He has shuttled to Washington weekly for interviews and conversations.
“They’re talking to me about assistant director of presidential advance,” he explains. “But my specific responsibilities would be as director of First Lady advance.”
Mrs. Bush took him along on a trip to Denver when she visited a food bank. On the way back, he sat alone with her in a private cabin for a visit.
“She was bragging about her new granddaughter — her 11th — talking about going to Japan,” saya Mains. “It was a chance for her to scope me out; it went real well.”
•••
Ten years ago, Don Mains was a nobody, one more northerner whose destiny carried him to Florida in search of that ever elusive Something Big.
Even he couldn’t have dreamed of the life that would unfold before him, from launching Vision Cable and a Greek Republican congressman to launching the Hall of Fame Bowl and a president of the United States.
Back in the days when he was trying to fit an entrepreneur’s knack into the brave new world, Mains read in a local newspaper that the Clearwater Chamber of Commerce needed a tourism director and in typical bravado, decided he was right for the job although he had absolutely zero experience. He didn’t have a car either, so he rode his bike to the chamber’s offices and hid it in some trees.
“I told them I would raise the money to pay for what I wanted to do,” he says. It was an offer the chamber couldn’t refuse and Mains had a job.
Downtown Clearwater was a no man’s land a decade ago, straining under the weight of the Church of Scientology’s unwelcome, growing presence. Retail stores were leaving in droves for the suburbs. There was still plenty of automobile traffic — all passing through to the beaches.
Like a sponge, young Don Mains — part P.T. Barnum, part young Republican and part carnival barker — soaked up all he surveyed.
The downtown merchants wanted to sponsor a festival on the order of St. Petersburg’s International Folk Festival (SPIFFS), something that families would attend and yet be more in step than music to clog by. While entertaining two British journalists during the parade for another Clearwater festival, Sun ‘n Fun, Mains was inspired.
“They saw a dixieland band and said, ‘That’s American!'”
Jazz become the manner of connecting the genteel hoi-polloi of Belleair, south of downtown, with the rhythm and blues of impoverished Greenwood, to the north. Clearwater Jazz Holiday was born and the ascension of Don Mains’ star had begun.
•••
Wed. 10:15 a.m. “I spoke to them last night,” says Mains, some irritation showing in a voice that has been getting much rest. “No, I haven’t heard yet. They were going to talk to Mrs. Bush this morning or on the plane to Japan. I’ll either hear something today or when they get back next.”
•••
If Republicans have a God of their own, James Baker put the fear of Him into the presidential candidate’s advance team last summer. You are the front lines, he told Don Mains and others; George Bush will either shine or be embarrassed by what you do. Usually, the team did well by their man. But every day meant a new town and a new challenge.
“I coordinated a speech in a park outside of Detroit at Lake Erie,” says Mains. “The local people wanted to demonstrate the lake was back. They wanted the vice president to fish. So I thought about getting him a fishing license. But we got consumed with the details of the event and I heard he wasn’t going to fish.
“Three or four weeks later, I’m reading Erma Bombeck and she says, ‘How can you believe in a president who fishes in a three-piece suit and doesn’t have a license?’
“I had nothing to do with the three-piece suit. But the license was my responsibility.”
•••
Don Mains, chief of staff, First Lady Barbara Bush
Cary Stiff was Mains’ main partner in crime during the early days. If Mains was the father of the Jazz Holiday, Stiff was its mother.
“Who got us in the most trouble?” she asks rhetorically. “Him. He would stretch the truth and I would swear to it.
“At that time, I was a broker downtown. We started tossing around some ideas and came up with Jazz Holiday. He was trying to appeal to the European tourists; I wanted to do food and music,” she says.
The Clearwater Chamber of Commerce had no budget for jazz in those days, so if Mains and Stiff wanted to put on a show they were going to have to raise the money in the community. Today, both Mains and Stiff — who is now marketing director for the Chi Chi Rodriguez Foundation — could pick up the phone and tap any number of high rollers. But in 1980, Mains was a 24-year-old kid just out of Penn State who didn’t matter and didn’t know anyone else that did, either.
He decided to track down Bronson Thayer at home and make the jazz pitch. Spotting Thayer’s car roll in about 11 p.m., Mains stuffed the following note in a plastic bag, put it under Thayer’s windshield wiper and ran.
The note read:
“Dear Mr. Thayer,
This is the closest I want to come to bothering you at home. … I just wanted to see if I could get a 15 minute appointment with you sometime tomorrow. If it goes longer than that, feel free to throw me out. … ”
“Sure enough,” says Mains, marveling at the memory of his own now-legendary tenacity, “9 a.m. the next morning I get a call and he gave us $2,000.”
•••
In Star Junction and Ford City, Pa., Mains grew up an introvert, daydreaming and reading all the Hardy Boys books he could find. “Frank and Joe were my best buddies,” he says. “I’d go off on each adventure with them.” Later inspirations: the autobiography of Ben Franklin and Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged.
His father was a high school baseball and football coach; mom organized community support to buy a scoreboard. If he was disappointed that Don was too scrawny or too nerdy to play for him, Coach Mains — who was the first in a line of coal miners to go to college — took pride in his son’s inventive nature and broad ambition.
“I did backyard carnivals for Muscular Dystrophy. I was president of my class, I did the prom,” he says. At Penn State, he organized homecoming and was the “mike man” for cheerleaders at football games. “(Coach) Joe Paterno could be a variation on my dad; they’re very similar. When I was a freshman I got this call — it was Joe Paterno. Wanted to know how I was doing, if I needed anything.” Their acquaintance — passed down from Coach Mains to his son — came in handy when Mains was being interviewed as a general manager candidate years later for Tampa’s fledgling Hall of Fame Bowl and again when Mains hit the campaign trail for Paterno’s friend George Bush.
Paterno was one of many father figure/mentors who influenced Mains through his adventures. Charlie Bohart at Vision Cable, Congressman Michael Bilirakis, Joe Zapulski at the Hall of Fame Bowl, Steve Studdert with the Bush campaign and others have had a chance to direct the rising star.
“I really believe a mentor is important,” says Mains. “I’ve often looked for employers who become coach. I want to be the star quarterback.”
•••
Every successful man makes his mistakes and Mains’ are as monumental as his hits.
On the heels of Clearwater Jazz Holiday, he had another idea. To this day, he swears by it, although his friends best remember “Celebration of Light: The Indomitable Spirit of Man and Woman” — 14 days of “living, laughing, loving and — as “Mains’ Folly.”
“That was pretty weird,” even Stiff admits. “He didn’t get me on that one.”
“I put together this great prospectus,” Mains still enthuses. “Because of the success of Jazz Holiday, I had a lot of people listening to me, but no one would sign on the dotted line.”
He envisioned a natural symphony of wind chimes ringing across Clearwater, solar power demonstrations and New Age self-awareness seminars. The centerpiece and publicity-getter would be a hang glider trip from Clearwater to Chicago, “20 cities, eight states, six capitols, fly over the Indy 500, that sort of stuff,” he says.
When all the sponsors he approached turned thumbs down, Mains almost caught a breath of reality.
Almost.
“I had three options. One was kill myself. One was forget about it. One was fund it myself. Sell my condo, do it myself. I quit my job; I had tunnelvision. My friends thought I was going over the deep end. I went from Glory Boy to the Fool on the Hill.”
After a phenomenal personal effort failed to motivate public interest in a “Celebration of Light,” Mains took a job with fledgling Vision Cable as program director. But even then, he wouldn’t completely give up the idea. When former Good Morning America host David Hartman was in town, Mains turned an interview into a plea for support of his hang glider trip. He later tried to convince one of Clearwater’s wealthiest widows into backing him by telling her he would be Christopher Columbus to her Queen Isabella.
As Mains puts it, “I figured if you’re trying to create a festival to celebrate the indomitable spirit, you’ve got to become one.”
Vision Cable’s public access channel eventually caused him to set aside his celebration. His video crews took cameras into places they never went before; for example, residents of Clearwater who had never seen government in action before were glued to their TV sets when Mains televised the city’s controversial hearings on the Church of Scientology.
From TV, Mains jumped into the political arena as press secretary for first-term Rep. Michael Bilirakis (R.-Tarpon Springs). They shared a similar background; both hailed from western Pennslvania and Bilirakis knew of Coach Mains’ reputation.
But Washington didn’t agree with Mains. “I was one of many and couldn’t jump in and do any major projects,” he says.
Near the end of his second year with the congressman, Mains was intrigued by the Hands Across America hunger project organized by rock stars. It was intended as a follow-up to the “We Are The World” recording sessions. Mains came up with a complementary program called Hands Along the Shore. The idea was to form a human link up and down the Florida gulf beaches and across the waterways. It was an ambitious attempt that was dogged by ridicule, dissension, delay and bad weather. Mains needed 20,000 people to make it work; 7,000 participated.
“The thought was good,” says long-time Mains admirer and Clearwater Mayor Rita Garvey. “It wasn’t a flop but it wasn’t as successful as Don would have liked. He takes risks. And that’s not bad.”
Bilirakis’ name was the one out front on Hands Along the Shore and he took a lot of the heat when the idea failed. Mains left his position with the congressman shortly thereafter, which he says was coincidental because he had already accepted a position with the Tampa Sports Authority (TSA) as general manager of the Hall of Fame Bowl. (Bilirakis did not respond to a series of interview requests made to both his Washington and Clearwater offices.)
“Don showed up one day,” says Joe Zalupski, executive director of the Tampa Sports Authority. “He had a creative bent; he did his homework. He came over, made a pitch and we hired him. He was a tireless worker.
Promoting a major college football game was right up the start-up man’s alley, combining his childhood background in the game with his fully matured huckster’s instinct. “He was never at a loss for ideas,” says Zalupski. “Some were off the wall; some worked very well. It was not, did he have ideas. It was sorting through all the ideas he had. No one could fault him for lack of enthusiasm or pure diligence. He was the right person for the right time.”
The TSA wanted a show and Don Mains gave it to them for two years. They, in turn, gave him an appropriate nickname.
“Remember the guy who did the Statue of Liberty show, David Wolper?” asks Zalupski. “We called Don, ‘Little Wolper.'”
•••
Fri. 9:10 a.m. Mains’ answering machine is on. Mains is out of town for the weekend.
Meanwhile, at 8:45 p.m. on Friday, Mains’ friend and inaugural cohort, Max Lynn, a certified financial planner in St. Petersburg, is proudly announcing, “He got the job. Don’s going to Washington.”
“I can’t think of anyone who’s gone as far as fast as he has,” says his buddy Cary Stiff. “He’s a political animal. He loves strategy. I told him, Don, you belong in Washington. I knew somebody, somewhere was going to see that talent. I’d like to see him stay, but it doesn’t shock me that he’d go to Washington. I knew he’d be happiest there.”
•••
Even as the second Hall of Fame Bowl was in full swing, the Bush for President bandwagon was keeping tabs on Mains. When it was over — keeping with his tendency to start something, see it through infancy and then move on (“Don has always been interested in being the spark, never the engine,” says a friend) — Mains exited the Fame Bowl for a chance to work on George Bush’s advance team. He had some prior experience in the position; whenever Bush came to Tampa Bay, Mains had entertained the advance teams.
“I introduced them to grouper (and) to young people in Clearwater,” he says. “They appreciated that. Then they invited me to submit my resume to the vice president.”
Mains got his feet wet on vacations from the Bowl, going to campaign stops ahead of the vice president, checking out facilities, photo opportunities, sound bites and local color. Once Bush captured his party’s nomination in New Orleans, Mains became a permanent part of the team.
“In Midland, Tx., at the beginning of October, I was in charge of a rally at the airport. Midland was the first place Bush went when he left the service (after World War II). I went through old newspapers and found these old pictures and headlines — Bush as boss of the year, Bush with the Little League team, Bush named envoy to China. I had them blown up for display at the rally.
“Air Force Two was late,” he continues. “I picked up a microphone and went behind a wall. No one knew who the voice was but everyone heard it. I got the crowd real fired up, channeling their enthusiasm. The reason it was so important was there was a question about whether people thought George Bush was a Texan. I started the crowd — 5,000 people — by whispering, ‘We want George.’ Then I’d say, ‘Let’s get louder, let’s make the windows on Air Force Two rattle!’
“The Vice President came out, threw his arms out and the roar was amazing. He appreciated it because it was his friends and neighbors. It gave him energy.”
Once again, Don Mains had created a niche for himself. From that day on, whether Bush was making an appearance with Arnold Schwarzennegger or in Fresno, Ca. at a Sun Maid Raisin plant, Mains was called on to get crowds excited.
“The day before the election, in St. Louis, I fired up the crowd. Instead of ‘We want Bush,’ I ended it with, ‘We want President Bush.’ He saw me on the mike, slapped me on the back and said, ‘So you’re the one making all the noise!'”
After that, the mike man from Penn State had one more introduction to do.
When all the election returns were in and George Bush was ready to claim victory, someone handed Mains a 3×5 card and pushed him on stage. From the podium, he became the first person to introduce “the next president of the United States and Mrs. Bush.”
•••
Finally, the phone rings. The White House is on the other end and it’s official.
Don Mains, a 34-year-old bachelor from St. Petersburg, is named the first director of advance for First Lady Barbara Bush, becoming the third man from Pinellas County to land a position in the new administration. (Real estate developers Mel Sembler and Joe Zappala were named ambassadors.)
“I head up tomorrow,” says Mains, finally showing signs of excitement after a full month of discussions and mystery about the job. “I’ll travel three or four days a week. Sometimes I’ll travel in advance and return with Mrs. Bush.
“She’s going to make a mark,” he says. “I just get to carry her pencil.”
Mean Business: How I Save Bad Companies and Make Good Companies Great by Albert J. Dunlap with Bob Andelman. Order your copy now by clicking on the book cover above!
(NOTE–We heard the sad news tonight that legendary Tampa businessman, baker, boxing promoter and entrepreneur Phil Alessi died today, Sunday, May 6, 2018. I dug into my archive for this extensive profile I wrote about Phil, published in Tampa Bay Life magazine’s June 1989 issue. There will be a lot of tributes to Alessi–a man I interviewed many times over the years–but few will have quotes from George Steinbrenner and a prescient reference to Donald Trump. Alessi was always available when I called and I will always treasure the time I spent with him.–Bob Andelman)
By Bob Andelman
October 31, 1988
At last, upscale grocer Phil Alessi’s greatest secret can be revealed: His wife shops at Simon Schwartz Supermarket, not the Alessi Farmers Market.
That’s not all. Drew Alessi has even talked to her ever-acquisitive husband about adding the neighborhood supermarket to his own stable of food stores.
“I told him once that Simon Schwartz was having trouble, that he should buy it and I’d run it,” says Mrs. Alessi.
Alessi didn’t bite at that opportunity, but the owners of Simon Schwartz would be wise to occasionally look over their shoulders. Phil Alessi is gaining on everyone.
•••
The latest surge of Phil Alessi’s entrepreneurial activities began in July 1987 with the opening of the Alessi Farmers Market in Carrollwood. Where else could you find — and sample — angel hair pasta, kiwi jam, handmade sausages, unusual cheeses, wines, salad dressings and Phil’s favorite cannolis? Alessi claims to sell more fresh fruit and vegetables than any 20 supermarkets. And he says his seafood manager has saltwater veins.
“This operation would do well in the jungle,” boasts the 45-year-old businessman. “People would still come.”
When Phil Alessi and Mickey Duff had closed circuit rights to the Tyson/Spinks fight, New York Yankees owner George Steinbrenner changed his plans from seeing it ringside with Donald Trump in Atlantic City to hosting a private party for 100 at Malio’s in Tampa. Tampa Tribune Sports Editor Tom McEwen, who watched the short fight sitting between Alessi and Duff, later wrote a column about evening.
So successful and popular has the market become that when the city of St. Petersburg was searching for catalysts to return the glory to its downtown Pier, it turned to Alessi (and to Cesar Gonzmart, owner of the Columbia Restaurants).
Smart move. The Pier in August and drew 500,000 people in its first month and the Alessi Cafe, daiquiri bar, bakery and other food outlets there turned a profit after just five weeks. (The farmers market took more than a year.)
Suddenly, farmers markets are the cure for what ails cities all over the Tampa Bay area. There’s a deal in the works to bring Alessi’s market to downtown Tampa as part of a restaurant/nightclub complex. Brandon, Lakeland and Palm Harbor have extended similar opportunities. Alessi and concert promoter Jack Boyle (of Cellar Door Productions in Fort Lauderdale) want to build an amphitheater at the Florida State Fairgrounds. And he wants a greater presence in downtown St. Petersburg, possibly on the ground floor of the under-construction Barnett Tower.
In the meantime, Alessi plans to re-invent the main Alessi Bakery on Cypress Street in Tampa. It already operates seven days a week, 24 hours a day and has 120 employees who prepare breads, rolls and pastries for 150 wholesale accounts including Holiday Inns and the Specialty Restaurants chain. But Alessi, who owns the block across the street (he used to live there), proposes to build an enormous bakery/deli on the site, something like Wolfie’s in Miami Beach.
•••
Business is booming for Alessi. But personal setbacks have cast a long shadow over his successes.
Particularly painful was the September arrest in Tampa of his eldest son, John, on charges ranging from racketeering to trafficking in cocaine and marijuana.
John, 25, one of four Alessi children, was arrested on evidence gained through a court-authorized wiretap. He was one of 24 people picked up on similar charges, although John was described as “the central figure,” according to a Hillsborough Sheriff’s Department spokesperson. He was recorded on the telephone allegedly discussing drug deals from Miami, St. Petersburg and Ruskin to Chicago, Raleigh, N.C., and Short Hills, N.J.
Bail for John was initially set at $1.3-million, later reduced to $120,000. But Phil Alessi said no. He would not pay “10 cents” to bail out his son until John expressed remorse over his actions.
“Somebody needs to kick his ass, make him wake up,” Alessi sharply tells his lawyer on the phone, several weeks after John’s arrest. “Maybe it’s time he gets acclimated to that environment. Open his eyes.”
So for more than a month, John Alessi sat in jail.
“He’s had trouble with the law in a lot of things,” says Alessi, following his telephone conversation. “Four years ago, I told him that if he ever got in trouble with the law that was drug-related, I would never help him. … My ex-wife said, ‘What are people going to think?’ and ‘How embarrassing.’ I don’t care. It doesn’t matter what it does to our business, it doesn’t matter what they think of us. What matters to me is John. I love him — he’s my son and I’m going to do the best thing for Johnny.”
John has been arrested nine times since 1982 on charges ranging from driving with a suspended license and possession of drug paraphernalia to strongarm robbery, possession of cocaine, aggravated assault with a firearm and resisting arrest with violence. This is his first time behind bars. (In other cases, charges have either not been filed or he has been given probation or community control.)
People who know him call John Alessi “Mr. Personality.” His stepmother, Drew, says that John is “absolutely delightful.”
“But he doesn’t have a whole lot of depth,” she adds. “I used to tell Phil that what terrifies me about Johnny is, he’s not immoral, he’s amoral. We have an 8-year-old. If (John) had ever offered (drugs) to his brother, I’d be on him with all fours. That really frightens me.”
Of Alessi’s other children, Dina, 23, runs the Alessi Bakery on Cypress. Phil Jr., 21, oversees the bakery at the Pier. John, Dina and Phil Jr. are from Alessi’s first marriage. He married Drew 14 years ago and they have one son, Jason, the 8-year-old.
Only John has given the family cause for concern.
“I can sit down with Johnny for four or five hours and he’ll explain things, why he did ’em,” says Alessi. Then his son will insist he’s going to get a frest start, get on the right track. “He’ll say, ‘Yeah, Dad, but I’m not going to start this Monday. I’m going to start next Monday because this week I’m going to a concert in Miami.'”
Father and son had a deal last spring where Alessi would back John in a business to manufacture and sell cannoli shells on the wholesale market. After three months, John lost interest. He worked sporadically in the farmers market, but was frustrated that he was expected to work his way up from the bottom and not receive special treatment as the boss’ son.
“I tell Johnny that I find it ironic that your brother and sister came out of the same environment you did. So let’s stop making excuses. Look in the mirror and say, ‘I, John Alessi, am the reason these things happen.’ When you do that Johnny, then you have a start on being an asset to society. Until that time, son, you’re not ever going to be a success.”
•••
Last summer, Phil Alessi had problems of his own.
The New Jersey Casino Control Commission questioned his familiarity and contacts with the late Santo Trafficante Jr., alleged to be the head of organized crime in Florida until his death. They used Alessi’s visits to Trafficante’s home — despite the baker’s steadfast insistence that he was simply delivering cannolis to a sick friend — as a reason to deny Alessi’s bid to promote boxing in Atlantic City.
“That was bullshit,” says Mickey Duff, a British boxing promoter who also manages John “The Beast” Mugabi and has co-promoted more than 25 bouts with Alessi. “To attach him to crime is ludricrous. He’s not short of money. His income is visible, not invisible.”
Alessi’s first response was to let the issue drop. “It was a very innocent sitution, a situation that I was insensitive to,” he says. “I’d known Santo for 25, 30 years. My impression was that he admired what I did. That was genuine. I never recognized him as the character he was. He was a very kind man, always saying to me, ‘Never get involved with undesirables.'”
It was Duff who convinced Alessi to fight for the New Jersey license.
“I told him, ‘It’s a slam on your character,” says Duff. “He was getting a bum rap. If you walked into an Atlantic City casino and shot off a gun, it’d be even money you’d hit a gangster.”
“It wasn’t a matter of the license anymore,” says Alessi, “it was my integrity that was questioned. You talk about my family, gosh, they’ve all worked hard. I wasn’t going to let them take away from that. They said I’ve dealt with guys in boxing that were associated with the mob. What the hell do I know? A guy might (manage) a boxer, the guy fights for me so I pay the guy. They tried to create a scenario … It’s stupid. They were really pulling at straws. They came down here and scrutinized my whole life. The scrutinized my bankers, they went into my safety deposit boxes, scrutinized every company I have. They tried to associate me with drugs because I’m in the fishing industry and I have my own boats. Now, isn’t that ridiculous? I’m not hiding anything.”
On the strength of depositions from Tampa beer distributor Art Pepin, former FBI special agent Phil McNiff, Santo Trafficante III, nephew of the reputed mafioso and Tampa Tribune Sports Editor Tom McEwen attesting to his good character, Alessi was awarded the license he sought.
“He’s a friend of mine,” says McEwen. “I was surprised that so much was made of it. He works his ass off.”
•••
Alessi got interested in boxing by going to closed- circuit TV bouts with his father. But partner Duff thinks that being a boxing promoter appeals to Alessi on a much different level than making money or simply being a fan of the sport.
“He likes the limelight, as all entrepreneurs do,” says Duff. “You can open 10 stores and nobody will know you’re alive. But you make somebody an offer of $1-million to fight somebody and hold a press conference, you’ll be in all the papers.”
•••
To look at Alessi would not bring thoughts of pro boxing to anyone’s mind. He’s a big man, of course, 6-foot-3 and 235 pounds (down from 300 a few years ago). But there’s no doubting he grew up on a cannoli and Cuban bread diet although he’s no longer the fat, hustling kid with the big mouth a lot of native Tampans remember from his youth.
“I try to watch myself because I do a lot of sampling to get a true taste of something that’s special,” says the admitted foodaholic. “Whether it be any creative formulation — a steak sandwich, brittle — I’ll taste it.”
Dinner with the Alessis is usually found on the road. Since the days when Drew was involved in day-to-day business, before Jason was born, they have rarely supped at their modest Spanish-style home in Palma Ceia.
Drew and Phil met in 1971 when he owned a nightclub called King Arthur’s Lounge in Tampa and she worked there as a cashier. They married 2-1/2 years later and although the honeymoon was hardly romantic, it was pure Phil: “We spent a week in New York looking at bakery equipment,” recalls his bride.
In the early days, Drew played devil’s advocate to her husband, the eternal optimist.
“Everything can’t be that good,” she’d tell him. But usually, things went Alessi’s way. “Now I don’t need to play that role.”
•••
Notes on Phil Alessi:
He is a registered Democrat.
His friends include Tom McEwen, restaurateur Bern Laxer, developer Dick Beard and automobile dealer Frank Morsani.
He often describes himself as “retired.” According to his wife, that means the business day starts at 7 a.m. instead of 5:30. It still ends after 6:30 p.m.
He’s a lousy, nosy restaurant diner, always poking around in the kitchen, looking for new recipes and asking about volume. On the other hand, friends say he picks up checks faster than anyone else they know.
Relaxation comes on a fishing boat off Cortez every Friday afternoon with friends and family. Exercise comes occasionally on a stationary bike at home.
When he wants to get your attention or make a point, he flails his arms, slapping at the intended listener’s arm.
One of four children, he is the only one who doesn’t have a college degree. Two of his sisters — twins — are school principals. The third is a teacher. His brother is a pharmacist. Phil dropped out of Tampa Jesuit High School.
His automobile of choice is the Lincoln Town Car. He drives it about 40,000 miles a year going back and forth between his businesses.
He’d rather watch a good boxing match than eat a Napoleon, but with cannoli, it’s a close call.
•••
Alessi’s taste buds were educated long ago to know good from bad. His grandfather, Nicolo, began baking for the people of west Tampa in 1925. The work later fell to Alessi’s father, John, and his brothers and sisters. The Alessi Bakery business grew over the years, but nothing like it would when Phil bought out the family in 1972 at the age of 29.
Before that happened though, Alessi had a lot of living to do.
As a teen-ager, he spent a summer vacation at Clearwater Beach catching and selling pinfish for bait. (He now owns nine commercial boats and sells 100,000 pounds of grouper and snapper per month). After quitting school, he hit the road with pal Sam Costa, bowling over local yokels.
“We made a lot of money. Sam was the bowler — quiet. I was the big mouth, the promoter, braggish, carrying the big bag of money that everybody wanted to take away,” he says.
(The two now share ownership in a West Palm Beach bowling alley and plan to build one in Tampa. Alessi has a 190 bowling average.)
Returning to Tampa, Alessi and another pal, Rico Urso, promoted concerts by Al Green, the Drifters and others.
“We brought the original Drifters into the old Palladium Ballroom,” he recalls. The ballroom was not far from the site of what is now the Tampa Bay Performing Arts Center. “That was a Saturday and it was the first concert I ever did. Sunday, we went out in the woods, Thonotosassa. Thirty years ago, that was the sticks. We had a joint pack-jammed. All of a sudden there was a raid — they were selling moonshine in the back! So Rico gives me a bag of money and a gun and he says, ‘Anybody comes in that door, shoot ’em!’ ‘My God,’ I said, ‘Anybody comes in that door I’ll probably shoot myself.'”
(Alessi Promotions had a piece of the action when Frank Sinatra, Liza Minnelli and Sammy Davis Jr. played the USF Sun Dome last fall.)
•••
Phil Alessi could never be satisfied with just one business.
At 18, he opened his first bakery independent of the family — Phil’s Bakery. Then came several Cakebox Bakeries and independent sandwich shops. Along the way he developed the interest he and his father shared in boxing into yet another career: boxing manager, promoter and gym owner. (The last Alessi Gym closed in October.)
At 27, he announced his intentions of being a millionaire before he was 30. He was.
When Alessi took over the old family operation, he changed his own stores’ names to Alessi Bakeries. Fire closed the original bakery in west Tampa and Alessi made the Cypress store his main location. He later closed the smaller outlets, a precursor to the development of the Alessi Farmers Market in Carrollwood and Pier shops in St. Petersburg.
In addition to all these businesses, Alessi also manufactures rum balls for a mail-order company in Wisconsin, wheels and deals in real estate, builds boats, has the concessions rights at the USF Sun Dome and Florida State Fairgrounds, promotes tractor pulls and monster truck shows across the country, has exclusive rights to closed-circuit televised boxing in Florida (the Mike Tyson-Michael Spinks bout grossed $2.3-million), sells boxing packages to the USA Cable TV network and represents a growing stable of professional athletes, including local baseball stars and Olympians Ty Griffin and Tino Martinez. He employs nearly 800 people.
New business ideas occur to Phil Alessi faster than Mike Tyson can swing his fists. “Phil works so fast, he may have had two or three meetings on something and he’ll come to me and say, ‘Here we go,'” says Rudy Rodriguez, the man whose job it is to track and organize the ever-growing Alessi empire.
“A lot of times,” says Alessi, “I’m involved in 10 meetings a day and they’re all different. I have to get adjusted to every one of them: the bakery department, the bottom line in the meat department, creativity in the concession business, whether to send our boats to Santo Domingo. The people I deal with in our boat business aren’t interested in the bowling alley. The people in the bowling alley aren’t interested in the festive marketplace and the people in promotions aren’t interested in the farmers market. I have to keep everything in perspective.”
•••
To every successful man, there are limitations and Phil Alessi has a few. He’s nearsighted. He’s a diabetic. And he has learning disabilities that have made reading and writing a tremendous chore.
“I’ve never written a letter in my life. I might mess up my grammar or something. It doesn’t matter. But if you’re trying to be perfecto, you let somebody do it who’s good. I have people who can write some of the finest letters on earth,” he says.
Asked if he reads much, Alessi says he listens to tapes of authors reading their books aloud. That’s where he learned about J.C. Penney, Henry Ford, Harvey Firestone, Bill Lear and Albert Laske.
“I used to read things four or five times to make sure” he understood them, admits Alessi. “Some people can read things one time. Things that are very important to me, I want to make sure I comprehend it right. I’ll read it again. I do what it takes to make sure I understand exactly what I’m reading.”
Rudy Rodriguez, Alessi’s right-hand man, was unaware of his boss’ specific learning disabilities.
“You know, as far as writing business letters, I can’t say. Part of my job is to handle his business correspondence. If he had lunch with George Jenkins (founder of the Publix Supermarket chain and an Alessi hero), he’s not going to write a letter, he’ll pick up the phone and say, ‘George, I had a great time.’ He’s on the phone constantly,” says Rodriguez.Part of Rodriguez’s job is to boil down contracts to the real nitty-gritty.
“He likes to cut through the B.S. of a three-page contract,” says Rodriguez. “He’ll say, ‘Rudy, what does this mean to you?'”
•••
Almost daily tours of the bakery, farmers market, Pier and fairgrounds give the entrepreneur a chance to see and be seen.
Employees — and there isn’t one he doesn’t seem to know by name — get greeted with a “Hiya, Ed, how we doin’?” It’s a cheery Southern familiarity and pleasantry.
On a recent inspection of his operation at the St. Petersburg Pier, Alessi is introduced to Arnold Breman, who is having lunch with his family at the Alessi Cafe. Breman, director of Ruth Eckerd Hall in Clearwater, is ecstatic.
“I shop at your place all the time,” says Breman, referring to the Tampa farmers market. “You have to open a place in North Pinellas.”
Alessi tells Breman that he has talked with developer Charles Rutenberg about doing just that, although nothing is firm. Then Alessi turns the tables, complimenting Breman on his facility and says he’d like to promote some concerts there. The two exchange cards and promise to get together soon.
Later in the day, walking through the farmers market, Alessi talks about creating synergy among his employees and about creating “win/win” opportunities for himself and his business partners.
“Win/win is longevity,” he believes. “When you make money with people and they make money with you, they keep banging at your door. There’s opportunities coming to us every day that, when I was young, I’d give my right arm to have. Today we turn ’em down. We don’t have time.”
He points to the olive salad in the deli and notes that it comes from his aunt’s own recipe. And that he was making deviled crabs when he was 8.
In the bakery, time stops.
“I still love the bakery as much today as when I was 6 years old. It still smells good. … I still create things. I go to my people and I say, ‘This is what we’re going to do.’ They don’t tell me any more that they don’t think it can be done. I’m pretty convincing.
“They know that I know every product,” he says of the people working in this department. “If something is wrong, they know that I know who is responsible. I can look at every product we have and evaluate it immediately.”
Alessi’s advice to newcomers at the market bakery is to try Robert Jorge’s cakes.
“He’s got this flair,” says Alessi. “He’s — I guess — a replacement of me. He comes up with different things every day.”
Jorge says he’s learned a lot from the boss. “I haven’t met anybody who has such respect for quality,” says the master baker. “He knows exactly what he wants, how he wants it.
“When he’s in doubt about certain things, he samples,” adds Jorge. “And when there’s something that looks good, he’s there, believe me.”
•••
George Steinbrenner was introduced to Phil Alessi several years ago by the Tribune’s Tom McEwen. It seems that the owner of the New York Yankees and chairman of the Board of American Shipbuilders in Tampa had the closed circuit television rights to a couple of Muhammad Ali fights late in the champ’s career and McEwen suggested to Steinbrenner that he give this young fella Alessi a shot at co-promoting.
“Pretty soon,” says Steinbrenner, perhaps overstating the case, Alessi “became one of the biggest boxing magnates in the country.”
Last year, when Alessi and Mickey Duff had closed circuit rights to the Tyson/Spinks fight, Steinbrenner changed his plans from seeing it ringside with Donald Trump in Atlantic City to hosting a private party for 100 at Malio’s in Tampa. McEwen, who watched the short fight sitting between Alessi and Duff, later wrote a column about evening.
Put Steinbrenner in Alessi’s corner.
“I’m a great admirer of his,” says the Yankees owner. “I like guys who are doers. He sets his mind to do something and he does it — with quality. He’s in a city of doers and he is certainly right at the top of the list. He’s a fine young man.”
•••
Nicolo Alessi would probably have been surprised to see all his grandson has done in 45 years, making the Alessi name as well known and respected as any Lykes, Ferguson, Thayer or Gonzmart.
He is one of a generation of young businessmen — Trump, Ted Turner and others — who have taken modestly successful family businesses and carried them in directions that previous generations couldn’t have dreamed possible.
“The heritage is something,” says Alessi. “I cherish that. When I was young, I hung around with a lot of kids who did a lot of bad things — drugs, stealing, breaking and entering. A lot of my friends did that. But the one thing that always kept me from doing that was my family. My mom and dad and his father and mom, his brothers and sisters worked so hard that I didn’t think I was entitled to abuse that hard work and reputation that they had.
“Now I feel that I have contributed to that reputation,” he says. “The good Lord has given me a knack. And he’s instilled in me ambition and the ability to do things nobody else has done.
“I love what I do. I’ve turned losers into winners by sheer persistence. I have a philosophy that you never lose until you quit.”
Phil Alessi (Photograph by Chris Coxwell for Tampa Bay Life)
Phil Alessi profile by Bob Andelman for Tampa Bay Life, June 1989
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