Mayoral Candidates Not Polls Apart on Survey

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

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

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

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

Bandstand or Fruitstand: Still A Special Moment

For many Americans Dick Clark is the guy who rocks in the New Year and obsesses over “bloopers.” For many others, he is the former host of Los Angeles-based “American Bandstand,” a Zelig-like survivor adapting to whatever music and fashion the culture can churn out. Still others see a septuagenarian teenager affably pitching “oldies” music.

And then there are those — speaking of “oldies” — for whom Dick Clark will always be a human time capsule. Forever encased with Clearasil, 45-rpm records, letter sweaters, transistor radios and slide rules.

Especially if you grew up in Philly, the birthplace of Bandstand (which relocated to L.A. in 1964). Especially if you actually appeared on Bandstand. And actually danced.

It all came flashing back two Sundays ago when I looked in on “American Dreams,” NBC’s new family drama set in Philadelphia in 1963. The main character, played convincingly and winsomely by Tampa actress Brittany Snow, is a 15 year old who becomes a “regular” on “American Bandstand.”

So there I was, barely an hour removed from watching the Bucs-Bengals blowout, mentally transported back to a cramped studio of Philadelphia’s ABC affiliate, WFIL. I was there with a couple of buddies. We were practically high school freshmen (eighth graders at St. Timothy’s Catholic School) and had one of those teacher-conference days off. We put on dress clothes, caught a bus and took the cross-town elevated train from Northeast to West Philly.

We lined up outside the studio, a nondescript building in a hardscrabble neighborhood, and hoped to look 14 — and make the cut. The regulars didn’t have to suffer such an indignity; they were ushered right in.

We all made it in and were directed to the bleacher seats. Along the way, there were hand-written signs cautioning the uninitiated: proper dress required; ID might be checked; gum-chewing, loud talking and camera hogging prohibited.

Some associate producer sort came out to reinforce the signage for the benefit of rookies and stressed the proper response to flashing applause signs. The regulars talked among themselves.

This guy’s message was clear: “Millions of kids across the country are tuning in — but not to watch you. They want to see Justine Carelli, Bob Clayton, Pat Moliteri, Carmen Jimenez, Kenny Rossi and Arlene Sullivan. If you must dance, stay with the flow and don’t look, let alone wave, at the camera. Try to look cool, even though you aren’t. Central Casting didn’t send you to us, but we still let you in; don’t make us throw you out. And welcome.”

I can still see Dick Clark as a Brillcremed 30-something standing, Oz-like, on a fruit crate behind that iconic Bandstand dais. For some reason I didn’t fathom someone that famous that short.

He seemed polite off camera and smooth on air. Introducing Bobby Freeman, lipsinging “Betty Lou’s Got A New Pair Of Shoes.” Giving the intro for a Clearasil commercial. Announcing a “Ladies’ Choice”: “A Million To One” by Little Jimmy Charles. Segueing into the “rate-a-record” segment where the litmus test of beat and dance-ability awaited new releases. Teasing Kenny and Arlene about their fan mail. Hyping the upcoming dance contest — the last vestiges of jitterbugging — to Chuck Berry’s “Rock ‘n Roll Music.”

For all of our usual hormonal bravado, truth be told, we just sat there — mesmerized by Justine and Arlene and all that you couldn’t see on a 12-inch Philco. How come nobody tripped on all those wires and cables? Didn’t those sets look cheesy in person? Wouldn’t you like to muss up Dick Clark’s hair? How come no one ever started a fight? Happens all the time at dances. Imagine that on live TV! Wow!

Then came the day’s second — and last — “Ladies’ Choice.” An assertive tap on the shoulder.

Who me? The almost ninth-grader with the impressive pompadour who was living a lie? The kid who would be clapping erasers tomorrow for Sister Charles Mary?

But, yo. Of course, me. Why wouldn’t she — and maybe Justine and Arlene as well — think I was quite the catch? Validation at almost 14.

She did most of the talking. She was from out of state and didn’t want to return to wherever that was without having at least danced once on Bandstand. But she was too nervous and plain looking, she felt, to ask a regular. But I looked “nice,” she said, which I interpreted as looking comparably nervous and plain-looking. That dance, to the strains of Tommy Edwards’ “It’s All In The Game,” lasted, it seemed, about an hour. We were each other’s rite-of-passage props. And I had to go to the bathroom.

Once in high school, however, we learned the truth about Bandstand. Pat Moliteri penned a piece in “Teen Magazine” that described how the “regulars” were despised by classmates for being “stuck up.” She said the show was known as “Fruit Stand.”

Soon after, we learned that the really cool DJs were on the radio, where they played Little Caesar and the Romans (“Those Oldies But Goodies”) and the Tuneweavers (“Happy, Happy Birthday, Baby”) — and never Pat Boone or Brenda Lee. Unlike Dick Clark, they could acknowledge that there was such a thing as “make-out” music and that a great place to hear continuous loops of doo-wop was down by the Delaware River, watching the “submarine races.”

Now I think back. There will always be that Bandstand moment. And Tommy Edwards was right. “Many a tear has to fall, but it’s all in the game.”

Fair Game — but Not Fair

For those who still lobby for “Doonesbury” to be anchored on the editorial page, take a look at “The Boondocks” this week. Target this first.

The strip skewers Gov. Jeb Bush in a scathing satire on the incarceration-treatment debate always raging on drug policy. Bush’s law-and-order approach is fair game.

So, fair enough, even if the Sunday comics — right above Arlo and Janis, Hi and Lois and Garfield — still doesn’t seem the most appropriate forum for mordant social commentary.

Less than fair, however, is bringing the governor’s addict daughter, Noelle, into the equation. Cheap shot.

But that’s life in the public arena. That’s also politics. But that’s not the comics.

No Debating This Line

For those gubernatorial-debate watchers who kept waiting for a “You’re no John Kennedy”-type moment or a “he-coon” line, they’re still waiting. Next best thing, however, was the line delivered by Tampa Tribune columnist Joe Brown during WEDU’s post-debate roundtable discussion.

In affixing blame for a disgraced DCF forced to care for 45,000 children, Brown zeroed in as only a non-candidate can. The root cause, noted Brown, was too many women “procreating with losers. Over and over.”

Would that it weren’t so, Joe.

Back-Stabbing In Baghdad

Jingoistic sound bites before an election are nothing new in American politics. We’re now seeing our share, although some Democrats still seemingly yearn for a Vietnam reprise, including a Hanoi Jane moment.

But even nostalgia for bygone Saigon days of protest doesn’t explain — let alone excuse — the unconscionable behavior recently displayed by two Democratic congressmen, former whip David E. Bonior of Michigan and Jim McDermott of Washington. They traveled to Baghdad and allowed themselves to be used as propaganda props by Saddam Hussein.

Seemingly playing Charlie McCarthy to Saddam’s Edgar Bergen, McDermott declaimed that “the president would mislead the American people” in order to get his war. However, “you have to take the Iraqis on their value, at their face value.”

Not even John Walker Lindh would have so spoken. Nor Jane Fonda.

McDermott and Bonior have the right — obligation even — to speak out against what is the Administration’s unilateral, high-handed Iraqi policy. There’s no lack of rationales or domestic forums for such stands.

But you don’t take that stand in Baghdad. Even if you think you can co-opt a wag-the-dog scenario. Even if you’re promised a sleepover at the Presidential Palace of your choice. You don’t do your dissenting in the downtown of a dictator. This isn’t lobbying for peace; it’s aiding and abetting.

And isn’t that Jesse Jackson’s job?

Middleton-Blake: Nostalgia and Challenge

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

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

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

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

Now they’re back. Sort of.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go, Tigers.

Al Austin: “Hey, Bill, You’re a Liberal”

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

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

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

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

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

Blacklash In Broward Over Oliphant

For some time, it’s been manifestly obvious that South Florida isn’t yet ready for prime time, meaningful democracy. Perhaps Haiti should be the model until Broward and Dade-Miami counties are comfortable with the nuances of the home-grown version. Like voting and vote-counting.

But now, long after we’ve sworn we’ve seen it all from that electoral abyss, we’re seeing more absurdity. Black leaders in Broward have been rallying behind Elections Supervisor Miriam Oliphant, the poster pol for incompetence and arrogance. Obviously of more relevance, however, is that she is the only county-wide black elected official.

Black leaders have claimed that calls for her removal are racially motivated. Ironically, Gov. Jeb Bush probably would have removed her had she NOT been black. He knew a blacklash would result. One resulted anyhow.

The publisher of a black-oriented weekly newspaper called the frenzy over Oliphant’s role in the primary debacle a “modern day lynching.”

U.S Rep. Alcee Hastings, D-Miramar, noted that to his knowledge Oliphant hadn’t done “anything illegal, immoral or unethical.” He’s probably right unless you consider paying Oliphant $122,446 a year highway robbery.

But the issue is incompetence. It’s that black and white. You can only blame so much on racism and redistricting.

And for those in the know, none of this was altogether shocking. Her election two years ago was notable for its racial precedent, not electorate savvy. She trashed her predecessor, a 30-year veteran, and lost the loyalty of staffers and volunteers. She fired anyone who knew what they were doing.

She then scrambled to hire the less experienced, less competent and less punctual — some of them cronies. She got what she — but not the voters — deserved. Chaos.

Poorly trained poll workers took too long to start touch-screen machines. They compounded this by keeping polls closed until the machines were ready, neglecting to offer voters a paper ballot. At day’s end, they didn’t properly harvest the votes.

And then there were poll workers who didn’t screw up because they never showed up. Some 300 of them. And a bunch who refused to work late after Bush was forced to extend voting hours.

Then the criticism.

Then calls to the Rev. Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson to help rally support for Oliphant.

As it turns out, however, a last-minute compromise has been reached in which Oliphant signed a contract ceding virtually all control over her office to someone else. To the person, ironically enough, who used to run the office’s day-to-day operations under Oliphant’s predecessor.

The deal leaves Oliphant with another precedent to her credit. She now gets $122,446 for doing virtually nothing.

Suppose anyone would want to rail — or maybe rally — against that? Meanwhile, Sharpton and Jackson can devote more time to inciting political correctness over the movie Barbershop .

But this just in.

Andy Ingraham, president of Sharpton’s National Action Network in Florida, does have a problem with this scenario. “She’s abdicating all of her power,” said Ingraham. “To me, it is a modern-day coup d’etat .”

Perhaps the Haitian model would apply.

Trib To The Left Of The Times ?

The Tampa Tribune may be to the left of the Washington Times , but the St. Petersburg Times ?

In at least one instance, that is, indeed, the case. But, no, it’s not affirmative action, school vouchers or pre-emptive sorties against terrorism. The Trib now accepts same-sex union announcements! Could ads for the ACLU be in the offing?

While it’s hardly alone in accepting such announcements, the Trib can still be considered in the vanguard of a trend that statewide includes the Miami Herald, Orlando Sentinel, Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel, Palm Beach Post and Tallahassee Democrat . The overwhelming majority of this country’s 1,600 newspapers, however, still don’t print such announcements. That includes that citadel of liberalism, the St. Petersburg Times .

The Trib’s rationale is straightforward. “We’re a community newspaper, and when members of our community are celebrating a joyous occasion, our role is to provide them with the opportunity to do so,” explained Tribune Publisher Steve Weaver.

It’s not known if the Trib has plans to extend such a policy. But announcement operators are standing bi.

Go Out A Winner, Joe

This is a prediction. But, more importantly, it’s also a preference.

Circle Saturday, Oct. 19. Penn State hosts Northwestern. It will result in a 330-something victory for Joe Paterno.

After the game, which should be one-sided, Paterno will make a dramatic announcement. He will end all the speculation about his status. He’ll announce that he is stepping down after this season.

The timing will be propitious. And not just because he will be doing the university a recruiting favor by giving them a head start to find a successor — and end all the speculation.

Consider that college football’s all time winningest 1-A coach is coming off of consecutive 5-6 seasons. For a coach who transcends the game and the prevalent win-at-all-costs ethic, it’s sad. It’s not right that his last years are marred by un-Paterno-like records.

He deserves better than the college football counterpart of Willie Mays stumbling after a fly ball as a Met or Hank Aaron not hitting his weight for the Brewers. Ted Williams hitting a home run on his last at-bat is more like it.

Paterno has embodied winner in his three-plus decades as Penn State head coach. His “noble experiment” of succeeding without compromising principles long ago secured his place in the pantheon of American sports icons.

An Ivy League grad, Paterno’s educated far beyond game plans and recruiting strategies. He expects his players to be more than one-dimensional extensions of the football program.

He has been good for — and to — the game, and he will be missed. But the nostalgic emotion of Paterno leaving shouldn’t be undermined by dispiriting days at the end. He must go out a winner. This is that season.

After the Northwestern victory, Penn State will have at least five — maybe more — victories to its credit. The remainder of the post NW schedule includes three more, eminently winnable, home games against Illinois, Virginia and Michigan State. Plus a road game against a relatively weak Indiana squad.

Interestingly enough, after Northwestern is a trip to Columbus to play Ohio State. Why not pump up the players a little more and, in effect, exhort them to win one for “Joepa?”

After its impressive start, Penn State is now a lock for a winning season, maybe a major bowl. Next year and those beyond are all wild cards. More 5-6’s could await. Or the pressures not to lose could impact Paterno’s health.

There are too many variables now associated with college football to guarantee more glory years for Penn State under Paterno.

The gradual decrease in the number of scholarships has resulted in a parity of talent nationally. And those prized blue-chip recruits, many of them black kids from inner cities, increasingly see an old guy who looks more like a shoemaker than a legendary coach who’s now supposed to help prep players for the pros.

Even more challenging, however, is a society that condones — and often encourages — boorish on-field behavior that is the antithesis of teamwork, sportsmanship and class. Paterno remains a notable holdout to such a self-congratulating, tasteless, in-your-face culture. But it gets tougher every year.

Go out the winner that you are, Joe. This is the year. Say it’s so, Joe.

And just do it.