Category: Tampa Bay

Let’s hear it for Sgt. Mike Klingebiel, the University of South Florida’s police spokesman. Somebody finally stepped up and intentionally tried to be absurd — and maybe put things in perspective on the USF campus.

Sgt. Klingebiel did, of course, unhinge some of the perpetually uptight element with a satiric e-mail, but a lot of folks did get a laugh — even President Judy Genshaft, according to her spokesman.

After legitimately thanking USF personnel who gave to a benefit auction, Sgt. Klingebiel morphed into parody saying that unfortunately some stuff was sold by mistake. To wit: USF’s administration building and its contents, as well as the Legislature, the latter, in effect, poking fun at a farce. His e-mail also noted that once again no one wanted to buy the sterile Lifsey House, the official presidential residence that is less homey than the on-campus blood bank.

Actually, USF got off easy. Selling off a branch campus or buying out Seth Greenberg’s contract would have been fair game.

One can only speculate on the reaction, from the president on down, had the e-mail parody referenced the best material. Namely, the theater of the absurd that is the Sami Al-Arian travesty or the plaintiff dragnet that became the racial discrimination suit against the women’s basketball program.

Both incidents were sources of national notoriety, and key reasons why USF is wrapping up such a stressful year — and in need of self-lampooning levity in the first place.

I don’t mean to trivialize the horrific scandals overwhelming and undermining the Catholic Church, but here’s a suggestion. And it has nothing to do with the really heavy issues: criminalization, celibacy, pedophilia, homosexuality and female priests. Another pope, less frail and less conservative, in another time might eventually and meaningfully address some or all of those. Maybe.

But for starters, why don’t we begin moving away from all of this “Father Bill” and “Father Kevin” and “Father Steve” stuff. Such Father-first-name familiarity is arguably symptomatic and symbolic of a priesthood too enamored of being liked — and parishioners liking the more informal comfort zone.

It’s really a double-edged cross.

The “Father Phil” syndrome has helped demystify the priesthood to the laity and tempered the formality between priest and parishioner. But in the good name of humanizing and personalizing God’s own emissaries, has this practice helped make priests too, well, approachable? And approaching? Perhaps arm’s length is an ideally respectable and respectful distance.

Recall that Father Flannagan did a pretty good job with Boys’ Town without being “Father Eddie” to thousands of orphans.

Perhaps the Catholic Diocese of St. Petersburg, which might like to be seen as proactive on something, would want to consider taking this small, symbolic step. Then, again, Bishop Bob (Lynch) is pretty busy.

Like a lot of Hyde Park residents, I dutifully filled out my “Design Guideline Revisions” comment sheet. I like where I live and care about its context. It’s not Cheval by the Bay.

I checked Option 1, which unabashedly mentions the word “historic.” It notes that “new construction would reflect traditional styles currently found in the district.”

That’s a sentence Bill Clinton could parse to death, but it’s serviceable and sensible.

Option 2 says “guidelines that allow for influences from the mid-20th century and early 21st century would permit contemporary structures to be built.”

Sounds like a loophole the size of a McMansion, which is where we came in, isn’t it?

U.S. Congressman Adam Putnam is, at 27, the youngest member of Congress. Were he an intern or a page, the Bartow redhead might still get some doubletakes. He’s that boyish looking.

His early Washington experience includes being ID-carded by political-reception bartenders as well as Capitol security. He’s heard all the age jokes — and retells his share. He’s obviously savvy enough to know that self-deprecating humor usually plays well. Why not use it and defuse it?

He cites, for example, the increasing number of politicians who have had to rationalize, if not lamely explain, embarrassing incidents of their past as “youthful indiscretions.” We the empathetic public tend to cut them some slack because we’ve all been that age and, well, done that.

“You can imagine what that does for a guy like me,” deadpans Putnam.

But the rookie Republican rep knows that the age card is a double-edged one. You can, of course, look too young for a big job, or you can appear surprisingly mature beyond your years — and appearance. It’s a variation on the expectations theme — a scenario that has benefited, among others, President George W. Bush, who also played, lest we forget, the “youthful indiscretion” card.

Putnam, whose 12th district will include a redistricted sliver of Temple Terrace, acquitted himself well in a recent talk to the Tiger Bay Club of Tampa. The fifth generation Floridian may look like Opie, but he communicates more like Ron Howard.

Cut clean and conservative, he’s more Up With People than MTV. He’s hardly a poster pol for the greens.

He doesn’t cringe, for example, at the prospect of drilling in 2,000 acres of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, nor does he think campaign finance reform is such an urgent issue.

To wit:

*”Florida is the only Gulf state that objects to drilling

When Hillsborough Supervisor of Elections Pam Iorio opted out of the mayoral race she was a formidable, de facto candidate in, speculation was rife as to where her support would go. Conventional wisdom said that the lion’s share was likely to be divvied up between City Councilman Bob Buckhorn and business consultant Frank Sanchez.

Word now has it that Sanchez is getting more than his share of Iorions. And that includes more than half the members of Iorio’s erstwhile finance committee as well as key members of an incipient Iorio real estate/development committee.

They are not the Bucs, Rays or Lightning, but they do represent Tampa and surrounding counties — and they are perennial winners.

So, congratulations again to the acclaimed Toast of Tampa Show Chorus. The 93-woman, barbershop-style singing group finished first at the recent Atlantic Gulf Region of Sweet Adelines International competition in Orlando.

TOT topped 14 contenders from around the state to advance to the International Chorus Championship next year in Phoenix.

To some, this might sound, at some point, insensitive. It’s certainly not meant to be. To others, it may seem cruel. It’s assuredly not meant to be that either.

The intent, however, is to put something sad into perspective. The intent is also to lessen the chances of more such sadness.

Barely a fortnight ago, three Tampa teenagers, ages 15, 16 and 17, were killed when the stolen car they were in crashed. The wreck, a particularly horrific one, ended a brief chase by Hillsborough County Sheriff’s deputies. The 15-year-old driver survived, tried to flee and was arrested.

Predictably and understandably enough, media coverage focused on young lives lost and the pursuit policy of the Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Department. Grieving mothers wanted to know why their sons — cruising in a stolen car after 10:00 p.m. on a school night — had to be chased.

Seems to me that asking more immediate and obvious questions — like Where? What for? With whom? Are you kidding? — might have obviated the need to ask one about the Sheriff’s chase policy.

And speaking of said policy, the department apparently followed its guidelines. That included verifying that a felony had been committed and getting the pursuit go-ahead from a supervisor weighing a checklist of criteria. A sheriff’s deputy even set stop-sticks, designed to deflate a car’s tires, but the fleeing vehicle went around them. It eventually careened into a median and struck a concrete overpass support.

The following day grief counselors were at Hillsborough High School, where one of the victims, 17-year-old James Lumpkins, was a student. The resultant talk, according to a school district spokesperson, was “all positive about the student.”

Lumpkins and two buddies, however, were not 9/11 victims, innocent bystanders or “life isn’t fair” poster boys. They were, although teenagers, fleeing felons.

Here’s another approach.

In lieu of grief counselors, send a deputy and crime scene photos to Hillsborough High. Call an assembly and say, in effect: “This is the result of a group of young men, one of them a Hillsborough High student, thumbing their noses at society and stealing someone’s car because — they wanted to. All they cared about was what they wanted. The law? Other people’s property? Anyone who got in their way? Not a concern of theirs. This is sad, and it’s a shame. But we’re not here for eulogies today.

“What they did ended this way because we would not let them get away with it — and they chose to run. Life is about choices.

“Any questions?”

At the risk of sounding like, well, Ronda Storms, wouldn’t it be refreshing if there were a high profile, community-galvanizing, First Amendment issue that had nothing to do with pornography, billboards or political contributions? Just the stuff that, say, Thomas Jefferson and Thomas Paine had in mind.

There’s a certain journalistic episode that reflexively comes to mind when yet another story about “censorship” and high school newspapers hits the mainstream news.

First, start with the premise that if you choose journalism as a career, it will probably happen to you. Most likely sooner than later, but still at a point when you’re somewhat accomplished. You’re going to get something spiked. A story you labored over never sees the light of any day’s press run.

Mine was a piece on former President Ronald Reagan and “The Great Communicator’s” increasingly infrequent press conferences. It was a White House strategy designed to protect the president from his own misstatements. But it was a practice that too often resulted in Reagan being shouted at — seemingly always by Sam Donaldson — when en route somewhere. Such drive-by queries inevitably resulted in the president cupping his good ear, looking avuncularly perplexed and ultimately responding: “What?” It was wincing to watch.

I didn’t think the lines of public communication or the dignity of the office of the presidency were well served by such sideshows. I also gave voice to the people’s right to know, the role of an informed citizenry in a democracy, etc., etc.

I thought it was pretty good, even edgy, stuff.

But my editor, who thought I was a little rough on the president, had qualms. My publisher, however, had a fit.

My column was anchored as the lead editorial on the Opinion Page of a business weekly. Very conservative, very Republican, very brazen of me.

The column was returned to me, not with the usual pro-forma publisher notations about some factoid or a comma splice, but the word: “Inappropriate.” It carried the connotation of “See me” inscribed on a term paper by your high school English teacher.

The editor confirmed that “inappropriate” was short for: “It’s OK to criticize the president but this seemed more derisive than critical. Remember who he is, who we are, who our readership is and, yes, who the publisher voted for. So start over, research another topic, order out and work as late as necessary to make a compressed, unforgiving deadline. Thank you and don’t let it happen again.”

I was steamed, plunged headlong into a foreign trade zone piece and locked up after the cleaning crew that night.

Two days later the editor, the publisher and I reconciled over lunch. The publisher explained that the spiked piece was, indeed, well crafted but incompatible with the institutional voice of a business publication, especially one that he published. He underscored that ultimately he was responsible for everything — our editorial positions, our image, our market niche, our advertising mix, our profitability. We were free press pillars, but were also free to fail in a market economy. He had to balance it all. Writing columns, I inferred, must be so much easier.

Sure, he couldn’t be hands-on everywhere, he acknowledged, but he did want to preview each week’s lead editorial. Deal with it. But, hey, it was the first time he actually bounced one back, which wasn’t tantamount to a trampled First Amendment right.

I defended the barely defensible, owned up to an incipient case of writer’s ego and acknowledged a greater authority — and responsibility.

Now back to Hillsborough County. Recently we’ve seen Plant High administrators delay distribution of its student paper over a column on condom availability at the prom. We’ve also seen the principal of Leto High pull a column that criticized a teacher who sold flag decals for extra credit. The first Amendment will survive both. Some perspective.Principals are, in effect, publishers. They are ultimately accountable. To school boards, to taxpayers, to parents, to students. In fact, it’s an accountability sanctioned in 1988 by the U.S. Supreme Court. Prior review of student newspapers is well within the legal purview of principals. It can be a dicey, sometimes lose-lose proposition, for principals take the heat for what might upset teachers, segments of the student body, parents, politicians, the community at large and junior journalists. Moreover, they really aren’t real world “publishers;” school newspaper faculty sponsors typically aren’t real journalists; and teenaged, amateur reporters in pre-training are just that.But those who work on high school newspapers deserve as meaningful an experience as possible. Journalism in a free society is that important. Mastering layout, doing interviews, getting your facts straight and separating fact from opinion can’t be emphasized enough. Principals, however, need to save their trump cards for the tough calls, not overreacting, say, to an opinion piece on a valid, real-world issue for those in their prom years.

As an educational issue, it doesn’t rank up there with FCAT motivation, school discipline, phonics programs or abstinence instruction. But it is an increasingly polarizing one: what we name our schools.

Case in point: the folks in Lithia who think there are better names for a school in their area than, say, “Joe Newsome.” For viable alternatives, they say, all a school board would have to do is consult them. That’s why about 75 of them, residents of the FishHawk community, protested outside the Hillsborough County School Board meeting earlier this month.

They say they’re protesting the board’s high-handed process that precludes input from the community. Nothing against Newsome, of course.

Hmm.

Let’s admit something. Unlike a rose, a school by any other name wouldn’t be the same. Maybe it shouldn’t, but it matters. Helen Hayes or Gabby Hayes Elementary? Marcus Garvey or Steve Garvey Junior High? Harry or Truman Capote Middle School? Stonewall or Jackson Pollock High School.

While teachers, curriculum and the quality of instruction are obviously more important, reality dictates that connotation and cachet count. Would it matter if your diploma and resume read: “Sharpton,” “Schwarzkopf,” “Shabazz” or “Shakespeare” High School?

The fundamental problem is two-fold when we name schools after people. For openers, we have many more schools than we have dead American icons. And the disparity only widens. No problem with the Washingtons, Jeffersons, Franklins, Lincolns, Edisons, Wilsons, Carvers and Roosevelts. But all too quickly do we run out of first-tier names. How else to explain Buckhorn Elementary?

No offense intended, but it’s like wandering through the Baseball Hall of Fame and noting the plaques of Ruth, Cobb, Young, Foxx, Gehrig, Williams, DiMaggio, Aaron, Mays, Koufax and Yan.

Worse yet, however, are scenarios for naming schools after the living, typically local politicians and prominent members of the business community. Not only are they not necessarily of icon quality, but the unwritten chapters of their lives could prove dicey for posterity. It’s courting the educational counterpart of Enron Elementary.

Joe Kotvas Alternative School would have been awkward. Two years ago Steve LaBrake Vo Tech might have made the cut. Ronda Storms Magnet School could still happen.

Let’s face it. Except for that special American pantheon of heroes and exceptional achievers, we’re better off going geographical. It avoids needless controversy and helps instill some sense of community in schools too often lacking in identity.

FishHawk High. Why not?