Author: opinionstogo

I knew Jack Wilson. But Jack Wilson wasn’t a friend of mine.

I wasn’t that lucky.

But I was fortunate enough to call the real estate developer an admired acquaintance, a man who transcended business-contact status for a reporter finding his way in the early ’80s with the Tampa Bay Business Journal.

After battling Alzheimer’s, Wilson, 66, died too young last week. His legacy includes such pre-eminent projects as Bayport Plaza at the intersection of Courtney Campbell Causeway and Memorial Highway, Carillon across from Feather Sound in Pinellas County and the New York Yankees’ Legends Field. And he was a leadership godsend to the Greater Tampa Chamber of Commerce and the Tampa Bay Partnership.

Wilson hit town about the time savvy development folks were starting to look seriously at the Tampa – and Tampa Bay – market. But nobody combined vision, bottom-line acumen and a classy style the way Wilson did. He was an original.

Georgia born – and sounding. A Georgia Tech grad with a Harvard MBA cutting deals in Westshore. He made things happen – and he made friends. He was a gentleman.

He made more than a mark. He made a difference.

Until recently, I was among those aware of and curious about Cirque du Soleil, but had never seen it. It was pricey or inconvenient or seemed too Las Vegas-y or smacked of the Ed Sullivan Show on steroids or conflicted with a Lightning game. Or something.

I can no longer say that.

I can also say it – in this case “Varekai” in St. Petersburg — was well worth the wait.

It sounds like promotional hype, I know, but it really is a kaleidoscope of other- worldly sets and costuming complemented by innovative music and choreography that’s equal parts aesthetic and athletic.

And then there’s the acrobatics.

Which is like describing South Bend, IN., with the tagline: “And then there’s Notre Dame.”

Consummate, finely-honed athletes with abilities that seem at odds with natural laws — and body parts that just work, well, differently. From the slinky contortions of “body skaters” to the uncanny timing of trapeze artists and the surreal balance of acrobats.

It’s not like the high-performance athletes of our traditional sports. At some level, we can identify with some aspect of what we see on the court or the field, no matter how superb the play. We’ve done it – or lamely approximated it — on a more modest scale. (And I have the old game films to prove it.) We have, at least, a frame of reference.

I have none for this stuff. The jugglers leave you in disbelief.

One other observation.

These are truly world class athletes. How refreshing it was to see such wondrous performers who simply raise an arm and bow to acknowledge the audience’s enthusiastic appreciation. No Sharpies, no juvenile posturing, no dumb antics. No need for a silly “look-at-me” entreaty. They have real “clowns” for that sort of thing.

Bravo.

In a suburban, multi-plex society, venerable, single-screen Tampa Theatre is a downtown time capsule. One that comes alive, however, with every event in the balconied, 1,446-seat facility.

That’s why the 79-year-old theater, which is on the National Register of Historic Places, was listed earlier this year in a USA Today cover story: “10 Great Places to Revel in Cinematic Grandeur.” And such salutes are not infrequent. Most “grand old dames” have been razed for commercial re-development or converted to performing arts venues.

The exterior, which features a seven-story, vertical blade sign and 1920’s marquee replica, is just a tease. Inside it’s all alcoves, tiles, mirrors, statuary, stairs and ambient light – plus a star-bedecked ceiling. It is the architectural archetype for “Florida Mediterranean”: a pastiche of Italian Renaissance, Byzantine, Spanish, Mediterranean, Greek Revival, Baroque and English Tudor. The house organ is a Wurlitzer, and it’s no museum piece. It’s part of the show.

And shows are a decided challenge for one-screen theaters, no matter how palatial their packaging. As a “specialty film house,” Tampa Theatre’s stock in trade is the independent film — and exclusivity. It must pick and choose – and schedule – judiciously.

“We’re really an anachronism; we have to be careful,” says Tampa Theatre president and CEO John Bell. “I don’t define an independent film as one that loses money.”

Bell’s aim is the “well-crafted film” niche – not a haven for foreign-film buffs. “This isn’t reserved for one market segment; everyone should find something in our programming,” says Bell. “From cutting-edge R to ‘Penguins.'”

In the past year that philosophy has been reflected in an eclectic mix ranging from the evocative “Girl With A Pearl Earring” and the mordant “Goodbye, Lenin” to the quirky, Bill Murray comedy “Broken Flowers” and documentaries such as “Super Size Me,” “The Fog of War” and “March of the Penguins.” Projected attendance for the year is 130,000, an increase of about 20 percent from 2004.

Programming, however, is not limited to first-run indies. There’s also the popular Sunday matinee Summer Classic Movie Series along with various film festivals. Nor are events limited to film. Tampa Theatre also hosts concerts (16 in ’05), weddings, graduations, corporate gatherings, field trips, wine tastings, Oscar night galas and tours. It averages 650 events yearly. Part of its charge is to hustle and leverage the historic facility as much as possible. Infrastructure upgrades are an ongoing scenario.

More than half of the Theatre’s $1.6 million budget is derived from earned revenues: box office, concession sales and rental fees. Other sources range from the City of Tampa ($335,000) and Hillsborough County ($42,000) to fund-raising events ($127,000), individual (1,600) memberships ($115,000) and corporate sponsorships ($61,000).

It has created the Marquee Society to recognize and honor those who make will and trust provisions for the Theatre. It also has introduced the Balcony Club to recruit Tampa’s young professionals for membership.

“This year, the Theatre is running at a significant revenue surplus,” says Charlie Britton, chairman of the Tampa Theatre Foundation board and president of Gold Bank Tampa Bay. “Tampa Theatre is capable of sustaining itself. Virtually every night of the week there’s something going on.”

To anyone who’s ever been to Ybor City other than on weekend nights, it should be apparent that there really is more to do than get a tattoo, court a decibel-induced headache or confront the inebriated.

It’s not the halcyon, nostalgic days of old, but there are restaurants; there is retail; there are art and crafts galleries. There is life after wet-zoning. And people work at jobs other than bouncing and bartending. There are eight architectural firms in Ybor. And there’s an eclectic mix of hotel, advertising, interior design, film and web-site folks.

And there’s history. As Tampa City Council member Linda Saul-Sena recently noted, “We have many Disneyesque things in Florida. But Ybor is the real deal.”

But there is that netherworld underbelly. The occasional shooting or knifing. The ad hoc vomitoriums.

The city has moved on several fronts to clean it up, including the opening of Seventh Avenue to vehicles on weekend nights, enforcing more stringent noise ordinances and implementing a teen curfew.

Now city officials want to make sure that locals – the ones easily deterred by what they know can happen in Ybor – are aware of what else Ybor has to offer besides weekend partying till the wee hours. With money generated by property tax revenues within the historic district, the city wants Tampa-based Roberts Communications to design an ad campaign and make media buys. Some $350,000 will be set aside for the purpose.

“The one strong image sitting in most people’s minds is that Ybor is all about the weekend events crowd,” explains Deanne Roberts, president of Roberts Communications. “As in that’s who is in Ybor.

“We don’t need to criticize that, but to point out that Ybor has an array of people and activities in it,” notes Roberts. “During the day and early evenings. Week-end days. Festivals on Saturdays and Sundays. You could Christmas shop at International Bazaar (at Centro). What the city is trying to accomplish is to make sure there is a more accurate, broader impression.”

And that’s the job of Roberts Communications.

“You just can’t say, ‘Oh, things are great,'” she says. “You also need systemic change. We’re going to be communicating that aggressively.”

Roberts is more than an agency of record. It’s literally a part of any solution. Earlier this year the firm relocated from West Shore to 1715 9th Avenue across from Centennial Park. It built out 6,500 square feet for its 20 employees. Last month it sponsored a promotional Early Shop Hop with The Irish Pub and Spark Branding House.

“We need more business clusters here,” points out Roberts. “We need offices. That supports the daytime businesses. Then retailers can start affording rents on Seventh Avenue. Getting weekday, day time traffic is key.”

To that end, Roberts, a former chairperson of the Greater Tampa Chamber of Commerce, rarely misses an opportunity to tout her new turf. She’s been known to go out of her way to meet people for lunch in Ybor just so she can work her Ybor agenda and include a mini tour.

In addition to lunching with bankers, real estate developers and media sorts, she also enjoys bringing her own parents, Plant High School grads now in their 80s, into Ybor for a first-hand eyeballing. She says they’ve “reconnected.”

She showed them the reincarnated streetcar and took them to a Greek restaurant. “There was a belly dancer and my mother (Bette Dewey) started dancing,” recalls Roberts. “Had I not made the effort, my parents would not have known there was an Acropolis (restaurant).”

That’s really a microcosm of the task at hand: to get people to come and see for themselves that there’s more than just the raucous, late-night club scene.

As for Roberts, she’s observed enough since relocating in March to see a future.

“I’ve been to my landlord and said, ‘We have four years left, and I want to talk now. Before rates go up.'”

Winston Churchill once remarked that “There’s nothing as exhilarating as being shot at without result.”

Tampa police Officer Brian Triak can identify. Triak took a .38-caliber bullet in his ballistic-resistant vest last week from a bar-brawl suspect sitting in a car. Without the body armor he’s dead, not bruised.

The near-murder begs a couple of points.

First, it currently isn’t mandatory that Tampa Police Department (or Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Office deputies or St. Petersburg police) officers wear body armor. It’s the officer’s call. Some forego it because of its bulk and discomfort in Florida heat.

In Officer Triak’s case, it was his wife’s insistence that carried the day. Now there’s no widow Triak and three daughters still have their dad. Perhaps the call to wear the vest should be a more official one.

And not that we needed such a dramatic example, but once again we are reminded what we ask of our police officers. Among other things, to approach a car with a suspect at 2 a.m. Any takers?

So, thanks, TPD and thank you, Officer Triak. And enjoy the holidays.

No, better yet, the Merriest CHRISTMAS yet.