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BY JEFFREY ZANKER and PHIL LAVERY
NNB Student Reporters

ST. PETERSBURG – When Louis M. Murphy Sr. became senior pastor at Mt. Zion Progressive Missionary Baptist Church in 1999, he found a congregation in turmoil.

The charismatic minister who had built Mt. Zion into a huge, dynamic church had suddenly resigned. The institution’s finances were in tatters, and most of its 2,500 members had left to join other churches.

“We were in ashes, in shambles, $84,000 behind on our mortgage,” said Murphy. “The church was really, really struggling.”

Murphy, now 56, did not have much formal training as a minister, and he and his wife initially resisted the congregation’s entreaties to become pastor.

But he felt he had received a divine calling, Murphy said, and four years as a Boy Scout executive had made him focus on the needs of the community – a focus that “became a springboard into the ministry for me.”

Now, 16 years later, Mt. Zion is once again a force in St. Petersburg’s predominantly black neighborhoods.

It claims 4,000 members, which makes it the largest African-American congregation in the city. On the sprawling campus around its sanctuary at 955 20th St. S, the church runs an array of education and social programs that touch the lives of hundreds more.

It has paid off its mortgage and embarked on a fund-raising drive – called Vision 300 – to buttress its social service efforts, buy additional property and build a new sanctuary someday.

“It’s been an awesome experience serving” as pastor, Murphy said. “It’s been most gratifying and fulfilling to humbly serve so many great people.”

Murphy never intended to become a minister.

He grew up in DeLand and attended Florida A & M University – where he was drum major for the famous Marching 100 Band – and the University of Central Florida. He eventually earned a bachelor’s degree in business administration from Chaminade University while serving as a Marine in Hawaii.

When he returned to Florida, he also had a wife from Hawaii.

Filomena Murphy was “always the anchor of the family,” the pastor once told the St. Petersburg Times. While she bore and raised their two children, “I was partying with the boys and hitting the nightclubs.”

Over the years, Murphy held jobs with the St. Petersburg Housing Authority, the Times, Florida Power Corp. and the West Central Florida Council of Boy Scouts.

When he was laid off at Florida Power, he began to re-examine his life and started attending church at Mt. Zion, he said. His next job, four years with the Boy Scouts, made him face the needs of the black community. It was an education that served him well when Mt. Zion called him to be senior pastor.

With the hiring of Murphy, the 71-year-old church began a comeback. Building on the programs of their previous, troubled pastor, Murphy and church leaders increased their membership rolls, paid off the mortgage, started a private elementary school, and re-established Mt. Zion’s place in the community with faith, persistence and an array of educational and social programs.

Beyond the walls of the church, Murphy also became a leader in efforts to increase voter registration, confront violence, and spur reinvestment in Midtown.

When cancer claimed his wife in 2008, Murphy said, his faith was shaken.

“Those close to me saw my struggle,” he said. “It’s been a challenge and a struggle that tested my faith, but with the help of the Lord I pulled through and the church stuck with me.”

More than 200 members of the congregation were at the church on May 20 to celebrate Murphy’s 16th anniversary as pastor with a program that included the Mt. Zion Drumline and Color Guard, singing, mime, testimonials and dinner.

Murphy “has been a good spiritual influence on me,” said Dwayne Hamlet, who is a male tenor in the church choir. He said Murphy’s ministry has had a huge impact on his life and given him a goal to be a “blessing to others.”

Murphy “is all over the city of St. Petersburg to do better for us in the community,” said Avis Carter.

Murphy’s son, Louis Murphy Jr., a church member and wide receiver for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, was there to help his father thank the congregation.

The pastor grew tearful when he spoke.

“It has been a humble experience and privilege” to serve, he said.

Information from Mt. Zion Progressive Missionary Baptist Church and the Tampa Bay Times was used in this report.

BY ANDREW CAPLAN
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG – When Louis Murphy Jr. was 6, he told his father he didn’t want to join the Boy Scouts because it was for white kids.

His dad, an executive for the Boy Scouts of America, was startled. But when he saw how bedraggled his black scouts looked with their makeshift uniforms and camping equipment, he took action, tirelessly raising money, recruiting boys to join and cajoling adults to help.

It paid off, said Louis M. Murphy Sr. When he left his scouting job four years later, the region had grown from 15 to 20 black scouts to more than 500.

One of them was his son, now 28, who eventually became an Eagle Scout, scouting’s highest rank. Murphy Jr. also starred in football at Lakewood High School and the University of Florida before moving to the National Football League, where he plays wide receiver for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.

The scouting experience was pivotal for his father, too. Because it forced him to refocus his life and help others, Louis M. Murphy Sr. said, scouting became his “springboard into the ministry” and his job as senior pastor at Mt. Zion Progressive Missionary Baptist Church.

“The Boy Scouts was like a ministry in itself, helping inner-city youths do something positive with their lives, to develop values, morals (and) skills … so they can be productive citizens,” said Murphy, 56.

Mt. Zion, which claims the largest African-American congregation in St. Petersburg, makes children and teenagers a key focus of its ministry.

At its sprawling campus at 955 20th St. S, it offers day care, pre-kindergarten, a school for grades K through five, and free after-school tutoring for grades K though eight. It offers a summer camp, sponsors Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts, and runs a drumline and color guard for ages 7 through 21.

Mt. Zion also counsels unmarried couples during pregnancy, in the hope that fathers-to-be will stay involved in their children’s lives.

Murphy Sr. said he knows what it’s like to grow up without a father. His dad left after his parents divorced when he was 8. He made mistakes early in life, the pastor said, and he was just as hard-headed as some of the children he mentors today.

He said he tried to use his own experiences to help guide his son through college and now in the pros. And he uses the example of his son to show what young people can achieve with the right values and adult leadership.

Murphy Jr. is one of the few professional football players who is an Eagle Scout, a distinction that makes his dad proud.

Louis Jr. “is a devout Christian,” Murphy Sr. said. “Is he a saint or perfect? Nope. (But) he’s a believer, absolutely.”

Murphy Sr. said he remembers coaching youth football and being on the sidelines during his son’s years as a Florida Gator. Most of the players were black, he said, but the percentage of involved fathers was minuscule.

The role of fathers is “critical, man, it’s absolutely critical,” Murphy Sr. said. “And that’s why we try to get the fathers to stay involved. L.J. (Louis Jr.) screwed up sometimes, but I was right there to catch his behind and make him do the right thing.”

Before the 2009 NFL draft, Murphy Sr. said, he bought a Bucs license plate that read “LJ2B” – for “Louis Jr. to be a Buccaneer.”

“When he was a junior in college at the University of Florida, it was my vision that he would be with the Bucs,” Murphy Sr. said.

Instead, the Oakland Raiders selected the UF graduate in the fourth round, 124th overall. But after three seasons, Murphy Jr.’s playing time decreased and he became a free agent.

In 2014, just as his father once predicted, the Bucs signed Murphy Jr., then released him before the season opener.

He had offers to join Cincinnati and Chicago, his father said, but he urged him to wait. He had a feeling the Bucs would re-sign him.

And on Sept. 23, 2014, they did.

On the final drive of his first regular-season game as a Buc, Murphy Jr. caught a 41-yard pass that led to the game-winning touchdown over the Pittsburgh Steelers. He was signed to a three-year extension at the end of the season.

To honor his mother Filomena, who passed away in 2008, Murphy Jr. started an organization, 1st Downs for Life, to help teach children fundamental football and cheerleading skills and life lessons.

“I guess sometimes it’s a test of your faith, and sometimes you have to go through things and it really makes you stronger, makes you better,” Murphy Sr. said.

On May 20, when the Mt. Zion congregation honored him on his 16-year anniversary as pastor, his son was there.

Murphy Sr. is unable to attend Buccaneer home games because of the church’s Sunday services, but he said he records every game and prefers watching at home, where he can follow the games more closely.

He also has a new license plate – “LJIS.” It stands for “Louis Jr. is a Buccaneer.”

BY KRISTIN STIGAARD
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG – Shortly after Cory Allen opened what he calls the “world’s first public relations gallery” at 2121 Second Ave. S last year, he announced plans for a provocative exhibit:

Nude photos of actress Jennifer Lawrence, actress-model Kate Upton and others that had been hacked from the Internet.

The exhibit, titled “No Delete,” was to be the latest edition of the “Fear Google” campaign by one of Allen’s clients, Los Angeles artist XVALA (Jeff Hamilton). The campaign “has helped strengthen the ongoing debate over privacy in the digital era,” Allen said in a news release.

The plans prompted a firestorm of protest against the artist and gallery and a pointed question from Lennie Bennett, art critic of the Tampa Bay Times.

“Is all this just a publicity grab?” she wrote.

Allen denied it, but five days after he announced the exhibit, he changed it. The celebrity nudes were out, replaced with photos of the artist himself.

“I like coming up with ways to get attention,” Allen, 39, said recently. “I don’t do things for shock value, as much as a lot of people think. I don’t really try to spin the controversy aspect of it, but that’s usually what happens when we get creative. But there has to be a strong message behind it or I won’t be involved.”

Allen, who is from Oklahoma, opened his Cory Allen Contemporary Art gallery in the city’s Warehouse Arts District on the northern edge of Midtown after visiting St. Petersburg and seeing its thriving arts community.

Allen said his work in public relations since the early 2000s and his love of art led him to integrate the two.

“I love writing press releases and take joy from being creative behind the pen,” said Allen. His idol is P.T. Barnum, whom he calls “the father of public relations.”

For Allen, CACA is first and foremost a public relations agency that strives to help budding artists in the community.

The front part of his gallery hosts alternating shows and events, primarily featuring fine art from both local and visiting artists as well as music and film events and educational workshops.

The back part of the gallery hosts the work of artists who have received media attention for their pieces. It is designed to mirror the Internet, with iPads hung on the wall so gallery visitors can look up on Goggle what is being said about the pieces they are viewing.

Allen said public relations professionals should be certified, just like doctors and lawyers.

“Today communications and somebody representing your image is just as important as going to the hospital because you can completely destroy a career or business if you don’t do it properly,” he said.

Notable displays in Allen’s showroom include a nude statue of Bill Cosby’s famous TV character, Dr. Cliff Huxtable, looking aged and out of shape. Covering Huxtable’s genitalia is the sad face of Cosby’s Saturday morning cartoon character, Fat Albert.

Titled “Fat Albert Cries for Dr. Huxtable,” it is young artist Rodman Edwards’ commentary on allegations that the once-beloved comedian and actor drugged and sexually assaulted a number of women during his career.

Another provocative display in the showroom is a “treason monument” featuring a bust of U.S. Sen. Tom Cotton, R-Ark. It was sculpted by artist Daniel Edwards as a protest to the “apathy of the American people” toward a letter to Iranian leaders signed by Cotton and 46 other Senate Republicans.

The letter warns that Congress might overturn or modify whatever agreement the Obama administration and several allies reach with Iran to try to rein in growth of Iran’s nuclear program.

Federal law forbids any U.S. citizen acting without authority from affecting disputes with a foreign government, Allen said in a news release. Under that law, he wrote, “these senators committed treason.”

BY ALYSSA MILES
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG— The excitement was palpable when the staff of Gov. Rick Scott phoned Marsha Strickhouser, the public relations manager for Valpak, to arrange a press conference March 26 at the company’s manufacturing center.

The governor needed a place to discuss job creation and local tourism.

Company executives rearranged schedules to accommodate the governor’s request. Walkthroughs of the facility were conducted to run through logistics, and meeting rooms were cleared for the governor’s use.

Five days later, the team was crestfallen when the governor decided to cancel.

The day was not a total loss, however. IndyCar driver Graham Rahal and his father, racing legend Bobby Rahal, arrived at Valpak to meet employees and tour the facility.

Rahal was in town for the Firestone Grand Prix of St. Petersburg, and Valpak had just announced the continuation of its sponsorship of Rahal and his team, RLL Racing.

Michael Vivio, president of Valpak owner Cox Target Media, spent the afternoon with the racers and employees displaying the ins and outs of the robotic manufacturing plant.

“You have to expect the worst and hope for the best,” Strickhouser said afterward with a laugh. “In the end, things fell into place. And it all looked easy.”

It was just another day for Strickhouser, 53, who has been with Valpak – the coupon company responsible for the iconic blue envelope – for seven years.

Public relations “is not just promotions,” she said. “That’s only one thing I do.”

Strickhouser said she is “a sales person for (the) company,” directing partnerships, pitching spots and building relationships with spokespeople, brands and company executives.

In addition to crafting press releases, she must research, collect data and participate in “good old-fashioned communication.”

“Once you’ve written a press release, that’s only half the battle,” Strickhouser said.

“There is a strategy behind every release,” she said. “You can’t just throw stuff out there.”  You have to be targeted with your pitching until someone finds a news angle relevant to them.  “It’s amazing when things come to fruition,” she said.

Inspired by the journalists of the Watergate era, Strickhouser attended the University of Miami, where she received a bachelor’s degree in mass communications/journalism and worked on the school newspaper.

The student journalists “rubbed elbows with the real journalists” at the Miami Herald and the Miami News when they went to the Herald building in downtown Miami to design and print their paper, she said. “Basically that meant we rode the elevator with them and hoped we would run into someone who had a byline.”

When she graduated, Strickhouser landed a public relations job with the Dade County Medical Association, then returned to the university in 1992 to become a media relations specialist for the UM School of Medicine.

During her four years at UM, Hurricane Andrew devastated much of the region. She pitched stories on the psychology and nursing departments and their outreach to the community.

In 1999, Strickhouser became a media relations coordinator for the University of South Florida, where she faced one of the biggest challenges of her career, the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11.

At the time, USF was home to the International Traumatology Institute headed by J. Eric Gentry and Michael Rank. The institute offered counseling and help to those in need at the university following the attacks and hosted a community forum.

“In the days and weeks after 9/11, half of me wanted to stay home and never go to work again,” Strickhouser said. “But the other half was thankful that USF could bring important information to the community and actually help people not only understand, but heal.”

The time of healing was cut short by allegations that USF engineering professor Sami Al-Arian had provided aid and support to the Palestine Islamic Jihad, an organization designated as “terrorist” by the National Counterterrorism Center.

The allegations were a “huge ordeal” for the media relations team, said Strickhouser. The university received bomb threats and dealt with rumors that people on campus had celebrated the destruction of the Twin Towers – rumors that were “never documented,” said Strickhouser.

Al-Arian’s fate “wasn’t up to us,” Strickhouser said. The allegations were being investigated as a matter of national security, forcing the media relations team to remain mum on the subject.

Strickhouser said “it’s important to be passionate about what you do,” whether it’s public relations, TV hosting, overseeing a company, or coupons.

At Valpak, “we aren’t savings lives,” she said, “but we are saving people money and helping them live better lives.”

BY CHELSI KALLIS
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG — It wasn’t a resume that landed the Rev. Doral R. Pulley the pastor position at the Unity of Midtown Church. It wasn’t his years of experience either.

It was YouTube.

The tiny church at 511 Prescott St. S was looking for a pastor when members saw some of his sermons online and reached out to him.

Pulley, 44, had retired as an assistant principal at a private school in Baltimore to pursue his dream of becoming a full-time pastor.

“I’ve had to work through my fears of just totally stepping out on faith and doing what I believe God is calling me to do,” he said.

So when Unity of Midtown invited him to preach on Father’s Day last year and then offered him the job, he moved to Florida for the opportunity.

Since he started last August, the church, which had 38 members, has seen Sunday attendance climb to 183. The once-predominantly black church has also embraced people of other races.

“The biggest reward now is seeing the diversity,” said Pulley. “We now have Asians, blacks, whites, Hispanics – all working together.”

Pulley said he began preaching when he was 7 and became a licensed minister at the age of 12. He had never been a full-time pastor until Unity of Midtown called.

He attended high school in Baltimore, earned a bachelor’s degree from Morgan State University and a master’s in pastoral counseling from Loyola College of Maryland. He has a doctorate in pastoral psychology from Graduate Theological Foundation.

“I felt like as an African-American male to set the highest example for people to know there is no limit to what you can accomplish,” he said.

Pulley, the father of three, lost his first wife 10 days after their twin daughters were born in 1993. He was 22. He put aside his plans to attend theology school at Princeton in order to raise the girls – a challenge he met with the help of his in-laws and his grandmother.

“I didn’t see how I could go learn how to do God’s work (at Princeton) and leave my children with somebody else,” he told the Baltimore Sun in 2006. “I didn’t feel like God would be pleased with me.”

Now, both daughters have graduated from college and Pulley is able to focus on a full-time ministry.

Unity of Midtown helps feed the homeless, donates toilet paper to the St. Petersburg Free Clinic and has a book club. The congregation reads a book a month, then meets for fellowship and discussion.

As church attendance and membership climb, Pulley says Unity of Midtown is outgrowing its small building and parking lot, which holds about 15 cars. The pastor has dreams of a bigger place.

Renet Dennard Cole is one of the church’s new members. Friends invited her to attend a service in August 2014, she said.

“Once I heard him, I never stopped coming back,” said Cole, who now leads the multimedia ministry soundboard.

“He is a visionary. He is a teacher,” said Cole. “His concern is to help raise consciousness to where we can recognize the Christ in us.”

Information from the Baltimore Sun was used in this report.

BY SAMANTHA PUTTERMAN
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG – Clawfoot bathtubs, bamboo vanity sets, hanging baseball bat lanterns and rotary telephones – these items and hundreds more can be found at Brocante Vintage Market at 2200 Second Ave. S.

Brocante (pronounced “broh-cahnt) is the French word for “secondhand market or goods.” Though the difference between flea and vintage markets is arguable, many consider vintage markets to offer higher-quality items.

The 18,000-square-foot building was once home to a piano business. Now the three large connecting rooms draw in thousands of antique-seeking customers for one weekend each month.

Owners Sean and Celesta Carter opened Brocante in August 2013. The couple also run Paper Street Market on 915 Central Ave. and hold full-time jobs. Sean is a pharmaceutical representative and Celesta works at iHeartRadio.

“It’s a little bit of a juggling act,” Celesta, 33, said. “We balance Brocante on nights and weekends.”

The Carters developed the concept over two years. They visited other cities that had flea markets and monthly markets with similar setups and made notes of what they liked and didn’t like.

The couple also tries to incorporate items from different areas to give their collection a broader feel, particularly from the Midwest, where Celesta grew up.

“We fly there and bring back giant trucks,” she said. “Back in the Midwest you find the Industrial Revolution. We regionally extract all those cool things that you can’t find anywhere locally.”

Jennifer and Alec Smith started selling at Brocante in May 2014.

They began buying vintage pieces three years ago after they moved into their 1920s bungalow and quickly found out that modern furniture didn’t fit in the older home.

“When we started shopping for our house, I came across really awesome pieces that we used, but also some cool stuff that didn’t necessarily fit, or wasn’t our style, but things I still loved,” Jennifer, 30, said. “So Brocante gave me a way of owning something that I don’t necessarily need, or want long-term, but can pass on.”

The market has 50 spaces for 50 vendors – called brocanteurs – that are combined to make one cohesive collection.

The mixed styles of the spaces complement each other, so it’s hard to tell which items come from which vendors.

And at Brocante, selling is about as popular as buying.

“There’s a waiting list to sell your stuff at Brocante,” Jennifer said. “Sean and Celesta hand-pick each brocanteur. They look at descriptions and photos of things you would sell.”

“It’s a pretty heavy screening process,” Celesta said. “It’s not only if their merchandise is a fit, but their personality needs to be a fit, too.”

Just because the process is selective doesn’t mean the market isn’t diverse.

“Some people have more of a mid-century style, some are more industrial, some are antique, some are vintage,” said Jennifer. “We try to cover all styles. It’s something for everyone.”

Brocanteurs pay a percentage to the Carters, rent their spaces monthly and have liberty over prices and decorating. Each piece has a tag with a three-letter code that specifies its owner. Part of the commitment of being a brocanteur is working different areas at the market.

For some, Brocante is their sole job. Others balance it with part-time and full-time jobs.

“There are people who have been there from the beginning and some who just started a few months ago, so it varies,” said Jennifer. “But I would say that most people stick around. It’s really fun.”

Brocante is open the first weekend per month, 9 a.m. to 7 p.m. on Saturday and 9 to 5 on Sunday.

The two-day concept relies on the incentive it gives customers who know they have to come or else wait another month.

On top of that, the second-day’s display differs from the first.

“We restock on Saturday night. So what you see Saturday morning will be completely different from what you see on Sunday,” Jennifer said. “We go through so much stuff that we basically have to, so some of our customers will come back and shop both days. You never know what you’re going to find. And if you see something cool, you should probably snatch it up, because there’s no guarantee that it will be there the next day.”

The lengthy process required to assemble each market is another reason for the short hours. It takes a lot of time to hunt down the right items. Then comes repurposing, painting and cleaning.

The Brocante system revolves around the staff’s relationship with one another. Together they acquire, refurbish, decorate and sell.

“It’s like a big family. We all have a lot of fun together and help each other, not only during prepping for the markets but during the markets as well. We try to make it as seamless as possible,” Jennifer said.

“I love it. I never thought I would ever do anything like this. But I can’t imagine not doing it now.”

BY MICHAEL S. BUTLER
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG – It’s hard to find homes for black pets.

Some people think they look scary. Some think they bring bad luck.

This may explain why Diamond, a 4-year-old female black Labrador mix, has lived at Pet Pal Animal Shelter in St. Petersburg for months.

For nearly 10 years the nonprofit, no-kill shelter at 405 22nd Street S has given refuge to dogs, cats and other animals of all breeds and colors. Many come from other shelters where they would have likely been euthanized.

The inability to secure adoption for any animal saddens Darlene Tennell and Lisa Johnson, who volunteer at the shelter. With upbeat personalities, these friends energetically chuckle their way through their responsibilities caring for animals that may leave at any time.

“We pretty much do everything that needs to be done,” said Tennell. “Mainly we walk the dogs, but if laundry needs to be done we take care of that. We clean litter boxes, everything.”

“There are so many unwanted animals out there that are just discarded,” said Johnson. “They don’t have a voice. People say we’re doing the animals a favor but it works both ways. It helps us, too. You know, it’s therapy for us, too.”

Like longtime friends they stay close to each other, finish each other’s sentences and laugh loudly at little comments. Both are retired.

“That’s how we met,” said Tennell. “I started coming here, in addition to another shelter, and when Lisa left the other shelter I dragged her here with me. We’ve been friends for 14 years.”

But their effervescent demeanors briefly dim when they talk about Diamond.

“She’s been here about a year,” said Tennell. “She was adopted out and they chained her in the back yard. So when they returned her to us she’s dog aggressive now and she doesn’t really get along with any other dogs. And a lot of people who come to adopt have another dog. So she’s been really hard to adopt out because now she’s an only-dog situation.”

“Plus she’s a black dog,” said Johnson. “Black dogs get looked over. Black dogs, black cats, they get looked over. It’s a kind of stigma. People think they are aggressive looking. They think black cats are bad luck. I have two black cats and they are the friendliest cats you could ever want to know. So I think it’s just something in people’s minds.”

This afternoon Diamond is enjoying play time with the women, bounding from one end of the fenced backyard to the other. She stops briefly to pick up a green squeak toy and resumes her running.
Dogs like Diamond come to the shelter for a variety of reasons, like financial hardship, abuse or divorce.

The biggest reason? “Moving,” said Tennell. “They are moving to Mars or another planet. Moving. We don’t understand it.”

“We had a dog returned yesterday. The lady’s like, ‘Well, we’re getting a divorce and I can’t take care of her,’” said Johnson. “And she handed her over to us. And of course we took her back because we always take back our own dogs. And you want to just shake them and say, ‘Why did you adopt in the first place?’”

“I would rather them not adopt at all than not make a commitment to their animal,” she said.

Scott Daly has been executive director for the shelter for more than 10 years. He’s proud of the services his no-kill, nonprofit shelter provides the community. But when he thinks about running the shelter without the help of people like Tennell and Johnson he shakes his head.

“Our volunteers are amazing,” said Daly. “They help me with training. They help me with walking the dogs so they are stimulated and not looking at a brick wall. We let the dogs out every 10 to 15 minutes in the backyard so they are not looking at a kennel wall. It makes a healthier animal. And we have volunteers that volunteer their time answering the phones, cleaning is a big thing, a lot of people don’t think about that. Our volunteers are wonderful about that. And they help us raise money like with “Puppy Love” coming up.”

“Puppy Love” is the shelter’s annual fundraiser and includes silent and live auctions. The money raised each spring can sustain the shelter for the entire year.

“It costs a lot of money to treat pets, to spay and neuter pets, to vaccinate them, to treat them for heartworms and do special surgeries on them,” said Daly. “We have to use specialists to do bone surgeries and whatnot and it costs a lot of money. So, yes, we do have a lot of people that do love animals and donate, even every month.”

Donors include Tampa Bay Rays third baseman Evan Longoria. He has pledged to donate $100 for every home run he hits during the 2015 season, as he has in past seasons.

Other types of support are welcome, too.

“Well, we could certainly use more volunteers and we could certainly use more donations of anything,” said Tennell. “I mean we are always using paper towels, laundry detergent, bleach, cleaning supplies,” said Tennell.

“Money,” added Johnson.

“Money is always good,” said Tennell.

Even during the best of financial times at the shelter Johnson says it feels like the need never wanes.

“The minute one dog gets adopted another one comes up for adoption,” said Johnson. “We have lots of animals here and you just want to see them all get a home.”

She strokes Diamond’s head.

“And it’s hard sometimes when they just sit there for months.”

BY SAMANTHA OUIMETTE
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG – For Penny Hess, being a bystander to history was never an option.

Although she was raised in conservative-leaning southern Indiana, Hess drifted increasingly leftward as a teenager and young woman. Then in 1976, she heard a speech by a fiery black activist from St. Petersburg named Omali Yeshitela.

Black people cannot obtain justice without a separate economic and social order, he declared, and white people should show solidarity with his African People’s Socialist Party.

Captivated, Hess signed on. And ever since then she has been a key lieutenant to Yeshitela in speeches and picket lines in St. Petersburg, Oakland, Calif., and countries around the world.

As chairwoman of the African People’s Solidarity Committee, Hess is charged with bringing awareness of black people’s struggles to those who are not directly involved with them.

“There are a lot of white people who are trying to hang onto a past that is just not there anymore,” said Hess, 69. “But I think there is a real, genuine sector of the white community that wants answers, too, and that wants to have a principled relationship with the African community.

“They don’t want to be seen as the oppressor nation,” she said. “They want to change that relationship.”

Hess, a slender, bespectacled woman, was the oldest of four children in a New Albany, Ind., household that she said focused more on art than politics. But growing up during the civil rights era and coming of age during the Vietnam War had an impact.

“Before I was in high school, my family took a vacation to Mississippi, which was a state that was heavily engulfed in the civil rights movement,” she said. “I learned some things about it, and I certainly agreed with what was going on. It didn’t really hit home with me until Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated (in 1968), but those previous experiences fueled my desire to get involved.”

King’s assassination came while Hess was attending Indiana University, where she earned a degree in comparative literature. Although his murder played a role in shaping Hess’ perception of how African-Americans are treated in the United States, she said, it wasn’t until she left the country that her world view dramatically changed.

After graduating from college, Hess moved to Paris for two years of study. It was there when she began to see the United States from the perspective of others, she said, and quickly realized that the country was not as admired as she thought.

While she was in Paris, she got an introduction to what she calls a revolutionary movement. The so-called Paris Peace Accords between the North Vietnamese government and the United States were signed there in January 1973 after five years of negotiations.

Hess said she watched as the negotiations went on, witnessing thousands of people demonstrating in support of what she calls the “Vietnamese revolutionary movement.”

In 1976, she returned to her hometown with a new perspective. Not long after, Yeshitela – then known as Joseph Waller – came to nearby Louisville, Ky., to speak at a YWCA.

Yeshitela had grown up in St. Petersburg and become a prominent activist in the 1960s, ripping down a mural at City Hall that many black people found offensive, protesting with the city’s black garbage workers when they went on a prolonged strike, and demonstrating against the closing of an all-black junior college. He ultimately spent two years in prison for the mural incident.

As the civil rights movement wound down, Yeshitela refused to move toward the mainstream with other activists. Instead, he formed the Africa People’s Socialist Party in 1973 as he called for a separate economic and social order for black people everywhere. Some years later, he formed the National People’s Democratic Uhuru Movement.  “We’re talking about making a revolution, not a war,” he once wrote. “A war is a contest between two armies. A revolution is a contest between two social systems.”

That was the message that Hess heard in Louisville – a message that she said changed her life.

“Yeshitela was speaking to the African community, but he also mentioned during that presentation that there was a way for white people to stand in solidarity with African people,” she said. “He said that he was going to form a solidarity committee of white people within the Uhuru movement, and I went to a meeting for that and have been involved ever since.”

Hess, who was divorced at 22 and never remarried, has followed Yeshitela throughout her career, spending over 20 years in Oakland before moving to St. Petersburg. She lives in the predominantly white, middle-class Magnolia Heights neighborhood 30 blocks north of downtown.

Hess said her family was wary of her career choice at first. But over the years they have come to better understand her involvement in the movement, she said. They see how the world has progressed while minorities still struggle.

Garnering support from the white community has been one of the biggest challenges the Uhuru movement and the African People’s Solidarity Committee have faced.

Hess’ work involves extensive travel, with the goal of spreading awareness throughout the Western Hemisphere. Members of her solidarity committee recently went to Sierra Leone, where, Hess said, they saw the poverty that has stricken Africa due to “imperial colonialism.”

That firsthand exposure has helped the Uhuru movement grow in places like Sweden and Poland that would seem unlikely, she said. This kind of growth leads toward the committee’s goal, which is recognizing the need for “white reparations for African people,” she said.

Hess defines that liberation as African people living under their own rule and receiving reparations for slavery. Liberation achieved through violent means is a product of America’s violent society, she said, and that it is simply a response to issues such as police brutality. She said that people outside the African community are seeing that response and joining the movement.

“I just see this movement exploding,” she said. “It’s really getting bigger and bigger, and I think we’re seeing all the different sectors of this movement growing by leaps and bounds. That gives more consciousness to white people and helps towards our goal of making them see that Africans deserve liberation.”

Photos and story BY SEAN LEROUX
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG – Tucked inside an old, ramshackle building at the end of a bumpy driveway is the studio of an artist with a national reputation and ambitious plans for the city’s growing arts community.

Mark G. Aeling, a sculptor and fabricator from St. Louis, moved to St. Petersburg in 2005. A small sign on a rusting fence directs visitors to his MGA Sculpture Studio at 515 22nd St. S.

For 66 years, the 4,000-square-foot building that houses Aeling’s studio was part of Midtown’s Softwater Laundry, which served the area’s hotels and employed many nearby residents. It closed in 1989.

Now it’s the place where Aeling and his staff produce large-scale commissioned works that can be seen in office buildings, shopping malls and public gathering spots around the country.

* * * * * * * *

Aeling has a master’s in fine arts from Washington University in St. Louis. Before he came to St. Petersburg, he spent three weeks driving around the eastern United States to investigate possible sites. He uses large templates, like this shoe, in his work.

Spherical metal sculptures hang outside the entrance to the studio, which has a client list from Admiral Farragut Academy in St. Petersburg to United Artists in California.

Ryan Michel carefully carves detailed feathers in the wing of an eagle, which is part of a larger sculpture that will be displayed in Discovery Park in Gilbert, Ariz.

A book shelf holds pieces of the studio’s work – relief carvings, molds and two of its signature cast fish.

Nearly 600 cast fish were used in this sculpture of Nevada’s state fish – a Lahontan cutthroat trout – at a shopping center in Reno, Nev.

Courtesy of MGA Sculpture Studio

Natural sunlight and 25-foot ceilings mean the studio can handle huge projects like a Pony Express rider and his horse in Nevada, a bronze panther atop a rock formation in Illinois, and 20-foot-tall horseshoe sculpture in Austin, Texas.

The studio, which handles projects from conception to installation, works with a cornucopia of tools and supplies.

Chris Patto files down a metal pipe for a piece – 20 feet long and 7 feet tall – that will cover the wall of a local company’s break room. The studio has a number of clients in the Tampa Bay area.

Aeling’s metal sculptures are complemented by brightly colored glass spread around the studio. Catherine Woods, the owner of C Glass Studios, shares studio space with Aeling. She specializes in multi-layer glass art created by melting sheets of colored glass together in a kiln.

George Retkes works on a small scale of a 20-foot-high sculpture that will end up in a roundabout in the Washington, D.C., area.

Small molds and carvings sit atop a work table.  The studio creates ornamental pieces for public buildings and private homes.

Retkes and Michel, at work on different projects, take a moment to chat.

A family of life-size dolphins – created by MGA – grace the fountain and mosaic lagoon at the Sundial in downtown St. Petersburg. Security workers there have affectionately named the dolphins.

* * * * * * * *

Aeling is also president of the Warehouse Arts District Association and leader of a push to bring even more artists to the district. In December, the nonprofit organization bought six buildings on 2.7 acres at the corner of 22nd Street S and Fifth Avenue for $975,000. The 50,000 square feet of space – called the ArtsXchange – will become a multipurpose arts complex with studios, galleries and classrooms.

By guaranteeing that rents remain affordable, the nonprofit hopes to prevent what often happens in art meccas: Artists move into a run-down area because the rent is cheap. Over time, the area becomes trendy, attracting restaurants and then housing. Suddenly, the artists can no longer afford the rising rent and have to move.

By holding down costs, Aeling said, artists should be able to remain in the neighborhood.

BY MOLLY HUNSINGER
USFSP Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG – Flashing her contagious smile and spreading cheerful morning greetings, Lane DeGregory buzzes around the newsroom of the Tampa Bay Times like a bee pollinating flowers.

She stops at her photo- and memento-filled cubicle to gather a few folders and pops open the tab of a Diet Coke before heading to her meeting.

DeGregory has been working for six months on a complex feature about hospice care for the Times’ monthly Floridian magazine. Because the enterprise team recently lost its editor, the newspaper’s managing editor, Jennifer Orsi, is filling in and ready to offer feedback on DeGregory’s 7,000-word first draft.

DeGregory says she and Orsi have not found a rhythm and she’s unsure about the story.  Too many characters, too many scenes, and she doesn’t quite know how to fix it.

Orsi begins with compliments.

The draft has all the elements of a signature Lane DeGregory feature.  Hardship, humility, hope.

“I don’t know how you do it, but I felt like I was right there,” Orsi says.  “Every time someone died, I cried.”

“Good!” DeGregory beams. “I Hallmark-ed it!”

Orsi shifts gears.  “Are these people too good?” she challenges. “Too angelic?” Can we “dirty them up a little bit?”

They begin to talk through it.

Orsi says she wonders, where are the anger and frustration?  She suggests that everyone sounds “too good to be true…they can’t all be saints…..Can we hear stories about people pooping (on) themselves and flinging food?”

DeGregory is afraid this story could use the “elephant carver,” her nickname for the editor whose guidance helped shape many of her prize winning pieces.

Orsi continues to push.

“Can we reveal some of the stresses the (hospice) workers have?  Do people need to go to counseling?  Do people quit?”

DeGregory lights up, “Yes!” She describes a bigoted remark a patient made to a gay hospice worker who walks out as a result.

This is a compact way of showing their limits, they decide.

Still Orsi presses, “I think we need a little more bruise on the apple,” she says, using one of DeGregory’s favorite phrases. “We need more tension.”

DeGregory divulges some of the hard stuff later – but not to Orsi or readers of the Times.

* * * * * * * *

Since the Pulitzer board started giving out prizes in 1917, the Tampa Bay Times has won 10 of these prestigious awards. Lane DeGregory won Pulitzer No. 7 for the Times.  She has won dozens of other distinguished national awards.  For the past 15 years, she has written richly detailed human interest and feature stories for the Times.

Her pieces often garner national attention and galvanize support for many of her subjects, whose stories would otherwise be unknown to the world.  She’s written about orphans, drug addicts, people in jail, teen mothers, runaways, buskers and even washed-up circus sideshow freaks.

“Everybody in our community has a story – whether it’s the old lady sitting on a bench or the guy who’s out there feeding the pigeons,” DeGregory says.

She says she likes to reveal the unknown about people who may have been stereotyped by society – the homeless, the drunks, the prostitutes.  “I want you to know the beyond the label.”

Her unconventional means of spotting subjects worthy of her time and talents are as interesting as the stories themselves.  Time and again she’s taken a press release nobody else in the newsroom would touch and turned it into a front-page tear-jerker.

Often she shares her top 20 story mining tips at journalism lectures and conferences.  Little nuggets of wisdom like “Talk to strangers.” “Make freaky friends.” “Look for the bruise on the apple.” She says she can strike up a conversation with just about anyone using ice breaking, relatable topics like dogs, kids or cars.

DeGregory is energetic and gregarious with sympathetic eyes and a raspy voice.  When she smiles, her eyes squint, her cheeks get rosy and she exudes empathy and warmth – her secret weapon.  Her long, wavy hair is blonde with subtle streaks of natural gray.  She wears silver, bohemian jewelry; her bangle bracelets jingle when she gestures with her arms as she speaks.

She loves her dogs – Murphy the pit bull-chocolate lab and Taz the Australian cattle dog.

Her life is busy and full.  A blend of career, friends and family.

* * * * * * * *

DeGregory has been married to her husband Dan for 23 years.  They met in college. He was “a total hippie boy,” she says – 6-2 with long hair and tie dye shirts.  He plays drums in a Grateful Dead cover band, both then and now.

“He’s always my first read,” she says, complimenting the editing skills he refined in college.

He aspired to become a book editor, which lasted “for about a minute,” she says, “but he always played in these bands.  That was his thing.” Two decades later, it still is.

DeGregory expects he will go back on the road one day after their boys leave the nest.  But that life is not for her.

They have two sons in their final years of high school: 18-year-old Ryland, the shy drummer, and 17-year-old Tucker, the outgoing thespian.

“My kids have been really, really involved in my life as a professional,” she says.  “They’ve been exposed to stories for good and for bad.”

She remembers pushing around a stroller with a diaper bag on her shoulder when Ryland was as young as 6 months old while covering a story.

Her youngest, Tucker, says, “She’s been the best mom…always wanting to marry her personal life with her work life without integrating the two completely.”

There have been some perks.

Every year she volunteered to cover the state fair so she could take the kids along.  And they would do travel stories and take vacations on house boats or to Costa Rica.

Tucker says he “loved being her companion on business trips to journalism conferences, too.”  He’d help build and set up her presentations and they’d make a fun weekend out of it.  Tucker even came up with the title of her Pulitzer Prize winning story, “The Girl in the Window.”

The boys have seen the rough parts, too.

They’ve met many of her story subjects, often people down on their luck.  “She’s always been big on preaching against prejudging others, which absolutely dictates how she handles her relationships in her personal life and especially in her professional life with her subjects,” Tucker says.

DeGregory thinks it’s been good for them to see all the different demographics that journalists get to see.

“You get to realize how in the middle of society you are,” she says.  “You get to see the poorest out of the poor, homeless, draggy people.  You get to go to the governor’s mansion and interview the richy, richy people.”

* * * * * * * *

DeGregory was destined to be a writer. She says she knew specifically that she wanted to be a newspaper reporter at the age of 6.

Her father read the newspaper every morning at the breakfast table.

She squeals with delight recalling her fascination with the Watergate scandal, thinking, “These two young guys are bringing down the president of the United States?  I want to do that!”

Being an over-achiever is in her genes.  Her mother went to Duke, her father was a nuclear engineer and her sister is a professor of philosophy at University of Miami.

Young, ambitious Lane grew up in Rockville, a suburb in Maryland.

She created an elementary school paper, which her mom typed.  And she went on to be the editor of her middle school, high school and college papers.

She earned a bachelor’s degree in English and master’s degree in rhetoric and communications studies from University of Virginia.

DeGregory’s passion for newspapers never wavered.  “All the way through, this is my thing, these are my people. It’s always been my identity.”

Every job she had growing up, with the exception of babysitting, was in journalism.

“I set car ads, I sold ads, I type set in high school…Every time I think about what else I’d want to do, I can’t imagine not being in that world,” she says.

She launched her professional career as a reporter at the Daily Progress, the local paper in Charlottesville.

Two years later she was churning out two to three stories a day at the Norfolk Virginian-Pilot.  For seven of her 10 years there, she covered everything from city council meetings to marlin tournaments.

When she was selected for a narrative writing team, she went from writing up to three news stories a day to spending the time it takes to write a human interest story. “I went from being a reporter to a writer,” she says.

An editor helped shape her conversational writing style.  “What’s the story you come home at night and tell your husband while you’re having dinner?” she recalls him saying.  “That’s the story.  You should start writing like that.”

So she did.

* * * * * * * *

The St. Petersburg Times (now the Tampa Bay Times) had a feature writing position open in 2000 – a rarity.

DeGregory sent in some clips and crossed her fingers.

Mike Wilson says when he reviewed her clips he loved the voice and detail of her writing.  He hired her and was her editor for the next 13 years.

She called him her elephant carver – an inside joke.  Something about carving an elephant out of soap.

He left the Times for another editing position in 2013.

* * * * * * * *

Wilson says there are a few qualities that set DeGregory apart from other writers.

“She just loves everybody,” he says.  There is “not a judgmental bone in her body.”  Her empathy and genuine interest in people is what makes them open up and share their personal stories.

She has a “genius for asking the right questions,” he says.  DeGregory always returns from covering a story with volumes of information – never a detail left undiscovered.

If DeGregory sees a child’s rag doll as an important detail in the story, Wilson says, she knows the doll’s name, hair color, the pattern of its dress, where the holes or stains are on the dress and how they got there and if the child sleeps with the doll every night.

“All of us can wish for a partnership like that,” says Leonora LaPeter Anton of Lane’s synergy with Wilson.  Anton is DeGregory’s best friend, enterprise teammate and cubicle neighbor.  They met on DeGregory’s first day at the Times 15 years ago.

Anton says Wilson not only helped hone in and carve out the polished story from DeGregory’s long first drafts, he pushed her outside the comfort zone of her naturally sunny disposition.  He encouraged her to ask those hard questions, or track down an unsavory character of the story.  Time after time, it uncovered hidden pieces of the puzzle that gave the story a whole new twist.

DeGregory says she wasn’t going to interview the birth mother for “The Girl in the Window” but the elephant carver made her do it.

“Everybody said that was the best part of the story,” she acknowledges.

“The Girl in the Window” won the Pulitzer Prize for feature writing in 2009.  DeGregory spent six months following the story of Dani, a child who had been deemed feral and autistic from years of severe neglect, and the remarkable couple who adopted her.  The story was picked up nation-wide, causing a surge in adoptions, and brought Simon and Schuster to DeGregory’s door to buy the rights for a book.

“Then Oprah screwed it over,” she says.  “I am not an Oprah fan.”

Winfrey put the family on TV and made them sign a non-compete clause preventing them from talking to anybody else, including DeGregory, who had broken the story.

“I don’t think she (Dani) has got a very good future,” DeGregory says with a look of caution, sadness and pity.

The lights are on but nobody’s home.

* * * * * * * *

Melissa Lyttle, the photographer who captured the haunting eyes of Dani, is another favorite colleague of DeGregory who, like Wilson, has left the Times.

“To say Lane gets it is an understatement…she is a photographer’s writer,” Lyttle says.

Lyttle’s first encounter with a Lane DeGregory story was getting sucked in to “Saying goodbye to Dakota,”’ DeGregory’s first person account of putting down her 14-year-old dog.

“Damn you, DeGregory, for making me cry into my cereal,” Lyttle says.

A year later, DeGregory requested Lyttle for a story, the first of many collaborations to come.

Lyttle says DeGregory will “never stop a moment in progress.”  She lets things unfold, observes and takes notes, never interrupts a scene.

She’ll gravitate toward a bulletin board, a refrigerator or a desk, jotting down anything and everything that might enrich the story.

She fills stacks and stacks of notebooks with her left-handed scribble, organizing notes in columns – for details about the scene, for quotes, for questions.

Her son Tucker says “her reporting/writing process is INSANE,” and she gets “100 times the information that she ends up using.”

She writes from her home in Gulfport in a cool little nook overlooking her front lawn, sifting through and typing out the massive volumes of notes, immersing herself in the story details with photos from the scene taped around her for inspiration.

Often she’ll write on into the wee hours of the night, emerging only for refills of Diet Coke.

Her primary focus when she writes is the construction of the narrative, the perspectives and voicing.  Statistics are secondary.

* * * * * * * *

Her colleagues marvel at her ability to transform all these bits and pieces of information into life-changing stories that motivate and inspire.

“She writes with such heart and compassion for her subjects,” says Wilson, her longtime editor.  He estimates that easily “half a million-dollars’ worth of love money” has resulted when readers were moved to take action by DeGregory’s stories.

People write hundreds of letters, make thousands of phone calls, write checks, feed, clothe and adopt children because of her stories.

She is persistent and it pays off.

DeGregory wrote several stories about Davion Only, a teenage orphan who took his plea for adoption to a church pulpit.  The first story went viral on social media, was picked up by news media all over the world and generated 10,000 phone calls from people who wanted to adopt him.

“It’s great when people respond like that, I just think, aww, I have the best job in the world,” she says.

After all the attention turned Davion’s world upside-down, he was still stuck in the foster care system.  She wrote again and again until he finally was adopted.

Anton says this compassion and tenacity are present in all areas of DeGregory’s personal and professional life. She says DeGregory has “made me a more thoughtful, kinder person.”

DeGregory brings people thoughtful little tokens out of the blue – a note, a bottle of wine, a jewelry box.  If somebody’s sick she’ll organize everyone to fill their freezer with cannelloni from Mazzaros.

DeGregory loves people and people love DeGregory.  So what’s the bruise on her apple?

Anton says DeGregory can’t say no to anyone, and if you are trying to go anywhere with her it’s tough to leave the building. She talks to everyone along the way – passengers on the elevator, the security desk attendant, people in the lobby.

* * * * * * * *

Covering the lofty walls in the lobby of the Tampa Bay Times building are over-sized, front-page blow-ups.  The headlines showcase the breadth of the acclaimed newspaper’s history:

Titanic Sinks With 1,530 Souls Aboard.

Shocked World Mourns Kennedy Assassination.

St. Petersburg and Tampa United.

Lane DeGregory has made a significant contribution to the past 15 years of this history.

But it’s a strange and uncertain time for journalism.  DeGregory discovered narrative journalism at the beginning of the movement and made it to the top.  She won the Pulitzer and started speaking at national conferences. And then the bottom dropped out.

“The year I won the Pulitzer Prize was the first year that everybody started getting laid off,” she says.

Now there’s a palpable disconnect in the industry.  Multimedia, social media and millennials are taking over.

“I’m 48, Leonora is 50.  All the people in their 60s – the Rob Hookers – are all gone so there’s no one up there to look up to.  And then a lot of the 30something-year-olds left for other jobs, website jobs and such,” DeGregory says. “There’s not anyone with experience.  There’s a hole in the middle.”

What’s the next chapter for DeGregory?

She may have lost a few colleagues and her nest may soon be empty, but she is staying her course.

“This has been a blessing to me.  I don’t think I could have done news another 20 years,” she says.

She’s tried on a few hats that seem to fit other journalists.  She taught at the local university, takes freelance work once in a while and has entertained the idea of writing a book.

But she loves writing for the Times.

“I love living here.  I love this area, I love the beach, I love Florida,” she says.

* * * * * * * *

DeGregory says she misses having someone like the elephant carver around to inspire her. “I just wanted to make him proud of me, you know,” she says.

But ultimately, DeGregory has her own instincts to follow.

She contemplated including some of the hard things she witnessed while covering the hospice story in her first draft.  But they made her wince.

“I probably err on the side of wanting to leave out the warts and the scars more than I should,” she admits.

One of the patients had lost all her muscular control.  She and her husband had been married for 45 years.

“She can’t poop!”  DeGregory says with levity and sincerity at the same time.  “So he’s got to go in there and pull out her poop!  Now that’s love, right?  Can you imagine having to do that for your husband or him having to do that for you?”

It was too humiliating for them for DeGregory to consider including these details.  They had trusted her to tell their story about their real life experience.

“If I was writing a fiction story, oh yeah, I’d be in that butthole!  I’d be like, OK, we’re going in!  But it’s a real person with a daughter and a son who live here and friends from church who are going to read it,” she says.

“To try to share strangers’ souls on the page for 300,000 people to read.  I feel like it’s a burden and a privilege at the same time.”