Category: MIDTOWN NEWS

BY SAMANTHA PUTTERMAN
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG – Roy Peter Clark likes to wear socks.

And not just any socks: Pizza-patterned socks.

During a conference that brought newspaper editors from across the country to the Poynter Institute for Media Studies, Clark, 67, sits at a piano in front of the room. He starts to play and sing Buddy Holly’s “That’ll Be The Day,” serenading the journalists as they return from lunch.

Although it definitely set the mood, it wasn’t his stylish toe-coverage or passionate piano playing that drew the most engagement. It was his teaching.

The New York City native holds a doctorate in medieval literature. He was teaching at Auburn University in Montgomery, Ala., when Eugene Patterson, editor and president of the St. Petersburg Times, hired him as newsroom writing coach in 1977.

After a year, he became the paper’s movie critic. And in 1979 he became the first full-time faculty member at the Modern Media Institute, now the Poynter Institute, where he holds the title of vice president.

He has written and edited 17 books on language and journalism, including The Glamour of Grammar, How to Write Short and Help! For Writers. His books are used in journalism and creative writing courses around the country.

Clark sets up his microphone as everyone settles in, but not without cracking a few jokes.

A few writers are also at the workshop, something Clark believes is essential when coaching editors on new ways to help writers. He asks a reporter from the Cincinnati Enquirer, John Faherty, 49, to join him for a conversation in the front of the room.

Faherty accepts, grabs a microphone and sits down across from Clark.

“Are those Chuck Taylors?” Clark asks, intrigued. The crowd knew this probably wasn’t in his established queue of questions.

Faherty laughs. “They are.”

“Well. They’re great!”

He does have a way with words and – let’s not forget – footwear.

Clark reveals his colorful pizza socks to the room. “This is called establishing rapport,” he says with a wink.

Then he gets to business.

First, Clark wants to know why Faherty feels confident as a writer.

“I’ve been doing it half my life,” he answers. “I’m good at filling a notebook and getting people comfortable when chatting with them.”

Clark moves on, asking what things the reporter chooses to write down.

“I don’t write down a ton of quotes, but I do write down a lot of details,” Faherty says. “I will put stars next to something that surprises me or something that feels like a pivot point for a story.”

“OK. And when it comes to writing a draft, you’re confident you’ve got the goods?”

“Yeah. I will sit and go through my notebook with a red pen, circling the stuff that is telling or good,” Faherty says. “Then I take the circled or starred material, write it down on another piece of paper and number it in the order, the way, that I want to tell the story.”

The reporter describes how he starts to see themes emerge as he narrows down the story, as if they begin to dance off the page.

Clark asks questions and jots down notes as Faherty speaks, seeming thoroughly interested in the process, and for good reason. Faherty’s method gives him another teaching tactic for his toolbox and something new for his own writing.

Then Clark shifts the focus to himself.

“I want to help you be a better writer, a better reporter. But I want you to help me be a better editor, too. What are some of the things I can do for you that will help you fulfill your mission?” he asks.

It’s not the daily stories that concern Faherty but the lengthy, in-depth pieces.

“During a longer story, I will re-type my notes to condense them,” he says, explaining his ideal scenario. “And I will give you a copy, and you will read them. Then the two of us will go sit in a room for an hour and find the story. If you could do that with me on a project, I would be thrilled.”

By the end of that meeting, Faherty says, it wouldn’t matter if the story structure turned out to be his original idea, the editor’s, or neither. It’s the discussion that matters most.

Clark calls it focus. Faherty calls it essence.

“Read as little as possible,” Clark tells the crowd, prompting a few perplexed looks. “The more conversations you can have on the front end, the less fixing will be required. It’s the nature of the talk that generates the best outcomes.”

Find the focus. Find the essence.

Find the pizza socks.

BY MICHAEL BUTLER
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG – Kyle Parks was only five months into his new job as director of corporate communications for Walter Industries Inc. Now TV news cameras from across the country were pointed at him, reporters parsing every word.

Hours before, 13 workers in a Walter Industries coal mine in rural Alabama had died when roof supports in a tunnel more than 2,140 feet underground gave way, triggering two explosions and a ferocious fire. It was Sept. 23, 2001.

With the country still reeling from 9/11, weary reporters descended on the mine. Family members, government officials and reporters demanded answers. And as scores of inspectors and company executives sought cover from the glare of national attention, Parks stepped in front of the cameras and went to work.

“It was just an extraordinarily difficult situation,” said Parks, 58. “Everything from the company being blamed for being lax on safety to just making sure the company was doing the right thing, in terms of the families, the other employees. There were so many different groups of people … that we really had to say, ‘OK, what’s the best way that we can handle this?’ ”

For Parks, it was a crucible by crisis – a crisis unlike anything he had ever faced in 22 years as a newspaper journalist.

But the nation’s worst mining disaster in 17 years became a crucial first step in a new career that led eventually to Parks’ current role as principal and co-owner of B2 Communications, a growing public relations firm in St. Petersburg. He and co-owner Missy MacFarlane founded the firm five years ago.

B2 serves clients ranging from Aliant Bank in Alabama to the Ybor City Development Corp. in Tampa. Its services include news media relations, writing projects, crisis management and what it calls “media and message coaching.”

In the months following the Alabama mining disaster, the federal government cited Parks’ employer for eight major safety violations and ordered it to pay civil fines of $435,000. After the company appealed, six of the major violations were dismissed and the fine was reduced to $5,000.

“We got a lot of really bad publicity,” said Parks. “At the same time I feel like we mitigated it as well as we could have by being really open and just giving the facts and explaining things as best we could. I always feel like that’s the best answer, as opposed to running and hiding and saying nothing. Some people within the company were advocating that.”

Over the next two years, more trouble followed – a major environmental accident with cyanide from a plant leaking into a creek, then a violent employee strike that included the steel workers union firebombing one of the company’s facilities.

In each case, Parks put a company face on situations most preferred to avoid.

“I wouldn’t wish it on anybody, but the experience was unbelievable,” said Parks. “Every single thing I said had to be measured. But practice is everything.”

Parks, who grew up in a Virginia naval family, initially thought he wanted to be a teacher. But during college at Virginia Tech he joined the school newspaper and fell in love with the work.

He was a journalist for 22 years, 18 with the St. Petersburg Times as a copy editor and designer, assistant business editor and reporter. But he began to feel that he had “hit the ceiling” with the newspaper.

Then an executive at a business he was covering contacted him.

“It was one of those calls that changes your life,” said Parks. The executive was leaving corporate communications at Walter Industries and recommended Parks as his replacement.

Parks was intrigued by the idea. “While I loved writing stories every day, it was still the same activity. Whereas in PR every hour of every day is different,” he said. “I was a very good journalist, but PR suited my skills also.”

Nearly 15 years later, Parks has blossomed in the role of representing corporations in crisis. He also handles more mundane tasks, such as adding visibility to a new Atlanta shopping center that wanted more non-traditional retailers in its vacant space.

As principal and co-owner of B2 Communications in downtown St. Petersburg, Parks is in the enviable position of being able to choose the clients he wants.

“That’s a beautiful thing,” he said.

Mary Shedden is the Health News Florida editor with WUSF Public Media and an adjunct journalism professor at the University of South Florida St. Petersburg. She met Parks several years ago through a mutual friend.

“I’m really impressed by how he segued from journalism into public relations,” said Shedden. “He has a clear understanding of both. He knows that they are not the same but they have the same foundational values in terms of the value of communication. And I think that because he has a journalism background, it makes him a stronger public relations professional.”

Parks often speaks to her class about a career in public relations, and Shedden gets to see a side of him others may not.

“Sometimes he is so passionate in support of a topic that he may not see the big picture,” said Shedden. “But that’s his job, so I’m respectful of that.”

Last year B2 Communications led the public relations effort for Greenlight Pinellas, a ballot initiative aiming to bring light rail and expanded bus service to Pinellas County.

“I’m a big believer in mass transit and modern urban development,” said Parks.  “And I was a believer in what the program could do for this county. I was hoping that if we led the way Hillsborough County would come along. We are the largest metro area in the country without a mass transit system. And I think it’s really holding this area back. So, I had a personal passion for it.”

But he was aware that after a certain point control over the outcome was out of his firm’s hands.

“I also knew that we had this solid base of quality reputation in the market,” said Parks. “Which meant that if we lost and got our butts kicked, which is what happened, that it wouldn’t hurt us as an agency.”

Indeed, despite the defeat of GreenLight Pinellas the agency seems to be thriving.

From his office on the fifth floor of the Synovus Bank building Parks tends to clients in his spartan but modern space.

He still handles occasional crisis work, a professional athlete or doctor with image trouble, a real estate deal turned sour. That makes up about 15 percent of his work.

Now his greatest impending disaster is the threat from a looming mountain of email. “I get hundreds of emails a day and if I don’t stay on top of it, it overwhelms me,” said Parks.

But not today.

Parks, MacFarlane and B2 Communications are preparing for their five-year anniversary party. Business has been good and the company is financially sound.

“We want to keep growing. We’ve been growing about 25 percent a year,” said Parks. “I feel like we’re in a pretty good place.”

More than 350 people have received invitations reading, “Looking forward to the years to come.”

The invitations also say the party is scheduled for 5:30 to 8:30 p.m.

“Well, 5:30 to 8:30 on paper,” said Parks with a smile.

Information from the Tuscaloosa News was used in this report.

BY MICHAEL S. BUTLER
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG – It is organized chaos, a noisy and frenetic ant colony of shared purpose.

There are electricians, plumbers, heating and air conditioning specialists, masons and other craftsmen in every direction, high and low.

Their goal is to complete the new Midtown branch of St. Petersburg College at 13th Avenue S and 22nd Street in the historic “Deuces” neighborhood by June.

At the back of the building stands Antwuan Wells, LEMA Construction’s assistant superintendent on the project, an unassuming maestro coordinating labor, schedules, acquisition of materials and many more tasks. On an average day he helps command a crew of 60 to 70 workers.

When complete, the 49,000-square-foot, 3-story facility will be the educational home of countless students and an anchor in an area that is economically adrift and eager for reinvention.

It will be named the Douglas L. Jamerson Jr. Midtown Center in honor of the late state legislator and state education commissioner, a native of St. Petersburg and graduate of the college.

For Wells, this job is personal.

“This means more opportunity, affordable education and economic development,” said Wells.

“I was born here right next to Gibbs High School,” said Wells. “My father has done a lot of work here in this community, as well as my brother, building homes and businesses. I live right behind here off of 19th Street and Melrose. And I also cut hair at the barbershop right here on 11th Avenue.”

He is the son of an architect; his father was in design for over 30 years. Wells learned drafting and planning with him on construction sites. His enthusiasm for this project is evident.

“The architect really threw everything into this design, from the bricks to the windows, to the stucco, the different paint colors,” said Wells.

“From 6 in the morning to 6 in the evening, we had concrete trucks coming in, pouring concrete for the columns,” said Wells. “Overall, we probably had about 30 trucks come in.”

A youthful 39, Wells looks the part of construction superintendent in his dark blue jeans, steel-toed boots, short-sleeve white dress shirt and standard-issue orange safety vest and hard hat.

He’s delighted by the support he’s received from the community on the project. He’s gotten compliments on the progress of the building. And he’s proud of the protective nature of nearby residents who are concerned about the security of the site.

“There have been several occasions where, even myself, I’ve come on site in the evening checking the grounds, and I’ve been run off by some of the residents,” said Wells with a smile.

‘They didn’t know who I was.”

A lot of people also ask Wells for an inside look at the new building.

As he walks through, he winds his way past pallets of sand, brick and endless 5-gallon buckets of sheetrock mud.

To the layman, it might still look like a concrete skeleton. But Wells can already see the result, pointing out the locations of future classrooms, administrative offices, elevators and restrooms.

“I’m really impressed with the windows,” he said. “I love the windows. It gives you a lot of light so you can see in from the outside and see from the inside as well.”

The construction project and his work at the nearby Esquire Barber Shop on nights and weekends would keep most people busy enough. But Wells also mentors at nearby elementary, middle and high schools, helps run the Deuces Live Market on Sunday afternoons, and works as a supervisor with Habitat for Humanity of Pinellas County, a job he will take on full time when this project is done.

“I find something to do that’s positive and productive,” said Wells.

But he doesn’t want to think that far in advance right now.

“I’m more concerned that we maintain what we have here in the neighborhood, as far as the school itself, the homes that are already here, preserving those homes, the history,” said Wells.

And this job has to be completed by the beginning of June so classes there can begin this fall.

Again, he smiles.

“We’ll be ready.”

 

BY MICHAEL BUTLER
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG – Even in the Internet age, most schools are still made up of brick and mortar, books and pencils, classrooms and playgrounds.

Academy Prep Center of St. Petersburg is not that different.

But it is also made from donations, volunteers and the dedication of mostly single-parent households. And students like a boy named Remedy Harris.

Instantly engaging beyond his age, Remedy, a 12-year-old fifth-grader at Academy Prep, is excited about the opening of a new STEM lab on the campus. STEM stands for science, technology, engineering and math, and Remedy’s favorite subject is science.

Whenever he talks about robotics, he breaks into a timid smile.

“I was in robotics last week and we built a robot that was like a submarine and a boat,” said Remedy. It went underwater and would go right back up like a boat. We tested them out at the YMCA and we had a race with everybody else. Our team was best, but we came in third place.”

That kind of positivity and optimism can be hard to come by outside the boundaries of this campus, which serves youngsters in grades five through eight.

The school is at 2301 22nd Ave. S in the Midtown area, where less than 50 percent of the adult residents have a high school diploma and a private school education is out of reach for most families.

Jocelyn Lister, Academy Prep’s development manager, says the average cost per student is about $16,000 per year, including meals, computers and once-a-month field trips.

Jeff and Joan Fortune, who had sold their TradeWinds Islands Resort on St. Pete Beach, founded Academy Prep in 1998 with the help of retired educators Bob and Barbara Anders, who shared the Fortunes’ vision for a school for students in at-risk neighborhoods.

The school is supported entirely by donations from corporations and private individuals who believe in the mission. It was designed for students whose families live below the poverty line.

“We are looking to break the cycle of generational poverty” in the predominantly black neighborhoods around the school, said Lister.

Students attend classes six day a week, 11 hours a day, 11 months of the year.

Parents and families must commit to volunteer service to the school for up to 40 hours each year. They get credit for attending evening workshops on subjects like home ownership, managing finances and raising strong, confident girls.

At first, only boys attended, but a girls’ class followed in 2000. Most classes are still taught by gender. “It just helps the students to focus and there weren’t so many   distractions,” said Lister.

The program is modeled on three pillars: a rigorous college preparatory curriculum, enriching extracurricular activities such as karate or chess, and ongoing support during the eight years – both high school and college — following graduation from eighth grade.

“If one of our students gets accepted to a school in Boston, we make sure that student has a winter coat to wear in Boston,” said Lister.

The classes are small, with a maximum of 15 students per class in core academic subjects. Each student gets the use of a Chromebook computer donated by Tech Data Corp. Each classroom has a Smart Board, a large, interactive multi-media touch screen capable of displaying videos, homework or demonstrations, also donated by Tech Data.

“All of our teachers at the beginning of the school year give their personal cellphone number out to our students, and the students are allowed to call them until 9 o’clock at night, every night, for homework help,” said Lister.

On a recent afternoon, the students were wearing uniforms sporting the school colors of blue and green. Their green fleece pullovers bore the school insignia of an oak tree positioned in front of a rising sun, creating a small star of light piercing the branches.

The school has a current enrollment of 94 students. Between classes they mindfully navigate the walkways, often stopping to introduce themselves, looking visitors squarely in the eyes and shaking hands.

Integrity and character building make up a large part of the day at the school. Each day begins with the students greeting faculty with a handshake and reciting the school pledge:

“Standing in this room
Are the greatest,
Most committed,
Most responsible people
This world has ever known.
If it is to be,
It is up to me.
Yes, I can!
Yes, I will!
Yes, we can!
Yes, we will!
I am,
We are
The greatest! The greatest!
The greatest!”

The students don’t seem to mind the longer hours here. Remedy remembers his days before Academy Prep.

“Here we learn a lot more than the other school I went to. And so it gave me a better opportunity to make my brain get bigger as I got smarter.”

A siren screams outside.

“When I grow up, I want to be an engineer, then a firefighter, because I like to build robots and other different types of stuff. So when I’m a firefighter, as I get older I’m going to use my inventions to help out,” said Remedy.

Without the education provided by the school, he might have had significantly fewer options.

According to school data, less than half of the adults in this community have a high school diploma.  Figures cited by tampabay.com put the high school graduation rate for black students in Pinellas County in 2013 at about 54 percent. For white students that figure was closer to 77 percent.

“For the last seven years, 100 percent of our kids have graduated on time from high school,” said Lister.

One hundred percent provides many more options, like science, engineering or firefighting, for a boy like Remedy.

Information from the Tampa Bay Times was used in this report.

BY MICHAEL BUTLER
NNB Student Reporter

John Martin may be the most ordinary sleuth you will ever meet.

He is not grizzled or hardened. He doesn’t wear a rumpled raincoat or a deerstalker hat. And you won’t find him chain-smoking in his rundown office while a leggy dame of questionable veracity darkens his doorway.

But Martin solves crimes.

From his office at the Tampa Bay Times, Martin relishes his role as a research journalist. He finds the facts, the people and the payments that elude others.

“I’m a librarian, a journalist and an unlicensed private investigator,” Martin said. And with the enthusiasm of a collector searching for rare coins, he dives into public records.

At 50, Martin long ago graduated from college, where he studied psychology and journalism. He received a master’s degree in library sciences from the University of South Florida in 1993. He is married with two daughters, has lived in Florida his entire life, and owns a home.

“All of these things create a mosaic of who you are in the public records system,” said Martin.

In August 2009, he began a routine examination into the public records of Hillsborough County Commissioner Kevin White. White had been on the Times’ radar since it was discovered he exaggerated his record of service in the Navy.

Like all elected officials, White was required to report all campaign contributions. And there, in a long list of contributors, was the United States Navy Veterans Association.

Martin recalls giving his reporting partner Jeff Testerman a puzzled look. “Charities aren’t allowed to make contributions to political campaigns, are they?” he asked.

They are not.

The dig to learn more about the Navy Veterans Association began.

With any research, Martin starts with the data. He knows its limitations. It’s messy, it’s incomplete, and it’s full of misspellings and omissions, but it always provides some clarity.  Next he decides to whom he should talk. That’s where inconsistencies began to emerge.

At first glance, the website for the U. S. States Navy Veterans Association looks normal enough. It contains American flags, naval emblems and gushing rhetoric about military service.

It is also unsophisticated, unfocused and rambling. Red flag.

It touts an impressive list of key officers, including Brian Reagan (general secretary), Wiley Hance (national vice president) and Jack Nimitz (national chairman). But Martin’s best efforts failed to locate any of them or any of the more than 80 other officers and executives whose names appeared on the group’s IRS documents.

Another red flag.

All the phone numbers listed for the organization led to voice mail. All the addresses led to rented mailboxes.
Like a Chinese parade, the red flags continued to appear.

And the fact that so many aspects of the association were dead ends, that so many names led nowhere, began to paint a picture for Martin and Testerman.

Ultimately, all documents led back to one person, the director of development for the association, Bobby Thompson, who lived and worked out of a shabby Ybor City duplex that doubled as the Florida headquarters for the Navy Veterans Association.

In conversations with Testerman, Thompson was obstructive and combative. And like pulling on the exposed threads of a cheap sweater, every lead the newspaper pursued caused Thompson’s story to unravel even more.

Even more amazing, the journalists discovered through tax documents the depth of the association’s donor pool. “It took in more than $100 million in contributions,” said Martin.

Indeed, records showed that, using his position with the association, Thompson was able to get into the White House at least three times under an assumed name.

In fact, when Martin contacted the state of Washington seeking records about Thompson and the Navy Veterans there, the state faxed him a photo of Thompson posing with President George W. Bush at a White House event.

“I nearly lost bladder control when that thing came over the fax,” said Martin.

Later, investigators in Ohio uncovered more photos of Thompson posing with other notable political figures like House Speaker John Boehner, U.S. Sen. John McCain, political strategist Karl Rove and Florida Agriculture Commissioner Adam Putnam.

Martin still seems surprised that the discovery of this massive fraud began with a casual dig into public records.

It turns out that Thompson, whose real name is John Donald Cody, had been a federal fugitive for nearly three decades. He fled Tampa as the Times published its first stories about him and his sham charity and was on the run for two more years.

He was eventually captured by U.S. marshals in Portland, Oregon, and returned to Ohio for trial on multiple charges. He was convicted of racketeering, money laundering and identity theft in November 2013 and is now serving a 28-year sentence in prison.

And Martin, the librarian, journalist and unlicensed private detective, keeps digging.

Information from the Tampa Bay Times was used in this report.

BY MICHAEL BUTLER
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG – Jerry Biss is one of those parents who make you feel like the old nature- versus-nurture debate has ended.

Game over. It’s nurture.

The 49-year-old father sits calmly and contentedly behind his son Zack as he plays guitar and sings for a room full of admirers. There’s a look of love and admiration on his face as he listens. He’s heard these songs hundreds of times, but never seems to tire of a single note.

With the same ease that most kids his age play video games, Zack Biss, now 18, skillfully plays his spruce colored Takamine guitar and sings a song he composed himself. He can also charm a room with effortless conversation.

And it all started with a video game.

In 2009 Zack started becoming noticeably good at the game “Guitar Hero.” By his own admission, he also started to show off a bit. That’s when dad stepped in.

“He kind of challenged me. He’s like, you know, ‘You’ll never be cool with a video game. So why don’t you pick up the real thing’?” said Zack.

Jerry Biss remembers putting it more succinctly: “Dude, you’re pretty good at this. You’re never going to meet girls playing that fake guitar.”

Biss, a geophysicist, now enjoys life as a stay-at-home dad for Zack and daughter KaLeigh, 15. His wife, Dr. Kimberly Biss, is an obstetrician and gynecologist in St. Petersburg.

Biss helped propel his son’s dream every step of the way. He bought him his first guitar – an electric Stevie Ray Vaughan Stratocaster that he claims was “a good deal on eBay.”

He drove Zack to early gigs in places most 13-year-olds don’t go and persuaded the Entertainment Division of the Florida Department of Child Labor to issue a permit for Zack to play in such places.

“He was the only kid in the state with a permit to play in bars,” said Biss with a grin. But Zack, now a senior at Canterbury School, is not allowed to play on too many school nights.

Biss helped Zack find the best vocal instructor he could, Al Koehn, a renowned teacher whose students included Grammy Award winning guitarist Rick Derringer.

Zack’s first paid job was in a now-defunct St. Petersburg dive bar called The Yard. He was 13 and, with his two band mates, made $30 for the night. “I put my $10 in my savings account. I’m very cheap,” said Zack.

With equal maturity, Zack shrugs off the idea of performing on televised talent contests like American Idol out of concern others won’t recognize how hard he worked for his success.

Biss wears his admiration for his son with a gentle smile and the easy comfort of soft shirt. And he quickly dispels any notions that life as a young performer is too much temptation for a boyish and talented teen.

“I’ve had 30-year-old women beg me to let them take him home with them,” he said with a laugh. “But he’s more mature than I am.”

Zack’s dad appears completely at peace watching his son sing.

“I just wanna be the one she’s thinking of,
The one that makes you fall in love,
The one who’ll always be there by your side.
I wanna be the guy she always talks about,
The one she just can’t do without,
The one who takes her out on Friday nights.
I wanna be the one she thinks about at night,
The one that she calls mine.”

College is the next step for Zack. He plans to attend Belmont University in Nashville, the capital of country music, and major in music business.

For now, Zack still takes rides from his father to gigs in smoky bars. Biss admits it’s a little different now. The gigs frequently last up to four hours. So he finds the perfect balance between fatherly and feckless.

“I usually drive him there,” says dad with a smile. “But he usually drives me home.”

BY DUNCAN RODMAN
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG – Tucked away in the once-barren food desert of 22nd Street S is an unlikely food oasis that has withstood the test of time.

Lorene’s Fish and Crab House, a restaurant with only two tables and a kitchen the size of an average living room, is the oldest restaurant in the Deuces, thriving for more than 20 years in one of the most economically disadvantaged neighborhoods in the bay area.

The reason Lorene’s has been so successful is simple – affordability.

“It’s reasonable prices. I think that’s it. Reasonable prices and friendliness. The friendly people that work here have a lot to do with it,” said Lorene Office, 64.

Lorene, the soft-spoken, congenial proprietor of the restaurant, was born in Waynesboro, Ga., but moved to Midtown when she was 3. She grew up helping her mother cook for her 11-member household.

“She’d tell me that that’s how you get a husband. And I said, well, that’s not true.  That’s not really true. But that’s what my mother told me,” said Office.

Lorene’s prosperity has helped pave the way for two new sit-down restaurants in the Deuces culinary scene – Chief’s Creole Café, which opened in November, and Sylvia’s Queen of Soul Food, which opened in November 2013.

Elihu and Carolyn Brayboy, who own the Creole restaurant, also bought the building adjacent to Lorene’s. The building was once home to the Screaming Eagle Lounge, which was owned by Office and her ex-husband.

“The old man who used to live upstairs used to say, ‘Don’t let it pull you from this business,’ ” said Office.

She took his advice and concentrated on her restaurant. The Screaming Eagle closed in 1998.

Office has seen a lot of changes on 22nd Street over the last 21 years. One of the most important was the addition of a Sweetbay to the area in 2005.

But when that Sweetbay pulled out of the Tangerine Plaza shopping center in 2013, concerns about the availability of fresh food resurfaced.  That meant low-income Midtown residents without transportation had to buy their groceries at higher prices from nearby convenience stores.

“This area was a food desert,” said Elihu Brayboy, who shares Office’s concerns about access to healthy foods in their neighborhood.

Wal-Mart eventually moved into the building after it sat vacant for months, harming other businesses in the shopping center. Now Midtown has a Wal-Mart Neighborhood Market, a compact version of the familiar Wal-Mart Supercenters.

Normally the introduction of a Wal-Mart is a death sentence for some neighboring small businesses, but in this case it actually provided some much-needed relief to the struggling plaza. This type of Wal-Mart primarily sells food, so it has less competitive impact on the non-grocery mom-and-pop shops in the area.

The freshest food on 22nd Street S is available every Sunday from 1 to 5 p.m. at the Deuces Live Market.

Office is cautiously optimistic that the opening of St. Petersburg College’s new Midtown Center later this year will bring a fresh new round of customers to try her homemade cuisine.

“If they have a cafeteria, maybe they’ll go there, but if not, hopefully they come down the road to eat here,” she said.

Lorene’s Fish and Crab House remains the go-to establishment for locals, selling fish, burgers, chicken wings and crabs to its loyal and friendly clientele. But Office has bigger plans for the future.

“One thing I want, I want one of my grandchildren to go to college and take up business so I can go all over the nation,” she said. “After I’m gone, I want to live on and on and on, and I believe they can do that. I want my restaurant to be everywhere. I would like that. A Lorene’s chain. I believe we can do that.”

Asked about the mysterious orange sauce on her Big Boy Burger, Office said, “It’s a secret. Everything here is a secret.”

The secrets of Lorene’s kitchen have helped fill the bellies of Midtown residents for the past two decades, leaving an abiding mark on the Deuces’ history. Just don’t try to label her culinary style for her.

“It’s not Southern food,” she said. “It’s just regular cookin’. I don’t call it Southern, I just call it Lorene’s Fish House.”

BY HILLARY TERHUNE
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG – The road to a career in journalism is filled with bumps and ruts – awkward phrasing, butchered grammar, factual errors, misspelled names.

That’s why teacher Tom Zucco begins his journalism class every day with a writing exercise. His students watch a CBS Evening News feature called “Steve Hartman: On the Road” and then write the top of a news story about it.

Zucco, 62, a former reporter and columnist at the Tampa Bay Times, is usually pleased with the results. “You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll be amazed at what these kids can do,” he said.

What’s most amazing is that none of Zucco’s budding journalists are over the age of 14. They are students at John Hopkins Middle School at 701 16th St. S in the heart of Midtown.

As some of the students readily acknowledge, their school has a dubious reputation. In 2012, 77   percent of the students were in the federal government’s free and reduced-price lunch program, and Hopkins’ performance on the Florida Comprehensive Assessment Test makes it one of 11 failing schools in Pinellas County.

Last year Hopkins got a grade of D from the state. This year it got an F.

Inside the journalism classroom, however, remarkable things are happening. Last year the school newspaper, the J. Hop Times, was named the best middle school paper in the country by the National Scholastic Press Association. This year, it finished in the top four.

The school’s journalism classes are part of a program called Journeys in Journalism, which began in 2001 as a partnership of the county school district and the Times. At Melrose Elementary, Hopkins Middle and Lakewood High School, students work with journalists-turned-teachers to produce a school newspaper and website while mastering social media and learning life skills.

The Melrose and Lakewood newspapers have also won national honors.

The J. Hop Times, which is designed and printed by the Times, comes out four times a year. This year’s first edition featured stories about school lunches, a quarterly interview with the school principal, and a column about the school’s reputation.

“We really work hard, and I think our paper is good because it’s mostly students that are contributing,” said photo editor Sophie Ojandic, 13.

The students are quick to praise their teachers – Zucco, who spent a quarter century in newspaper journalism, and photography instructor Cyndi Vickers, 56, who has been a photographer for 10 years and a teacher since 1990.

“They make us better at what we do,” said Sophie. “We were already really talented before we got here, but they brought us up to another level.”

Vickers says the reason for the students’ success is pretty simple.

“We have kids who really want to do this, and if interest is there, that’s half the battle,” she said.

“This school has a horrible reputation,” said Sophie. “Once you tell someone you go (to John Hopkins) you get that look.”

The look she talks about is one that many other students are familiar with.

“I have a friend that was supposed to go to John Hopkins but wasn’t sure about it because she had heard that it was a bad school,” said editor-in-chief Rachel Gadoury, 13.

Rachel said she explained to her friend that the school wasn’t as bad as its reputation.

“That girl goes here now,” she said. “She rides my bus.”

The reputation has done little to stop the journalism program from flourishing. In fact, the students said, it only makes them work harder.

The students who work for the newspaper are all in the school district’s magnet program, which offers “education opportunities with very specialized criteria” like art and dance, according to the district website.

The classes are held in the newsroom on campus, which is the old home economics room, said Zucco.

The student journalists are allowed to come and go as they please when they are reporting; all they need is a press pass, Sophie said.

The class also takes field trips throughout the school year. The trips are mentioned in the paper and are often the focus of a major story, Zucco said.

Their most recent field trips included Tropicana Field, Campbell Park, and the Coney Island Grill, an 88-year-old restaurant at 250 Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. St. N.

“For many of these kids, it’s the first time they’ve ever been to the Trop,” Zucco said.

Most of the students have never had a hands-on learning experience like this. Many are worried that when they go to high school it won’t be the same.

“We’re already pretty advanced here and the high school that connects to this program starts re-teaching sixth-grade things,” Sophie said.

For these kids, that would be a learning shock.

“We have such fun at John Hopkins that when we leave we’re going to be really upset,” said Destiny Ulanoff, 14.

Take a look
The website of the J. Hop Times is at:
http://jhoptimes.pcsb.org/

BY SUSAN GODFREY
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG – Eighteen years ago, an angry black man jumped out of his car at a north St. Petersburg intersection and confronted a dozen white people holding signs.

The man was the brother of 18-year-old TyRon Lewis, who had been shot and killed by a white police officer three weeks earlier – an incident that triggered riots and an estimated $6 million in damages.

The people’s signs offered support for the police, and that outraged Roderick Pringles, 27.

“M—– f—–s, my little brother was killed and y’all are out here with this!” he screamed. “You know what it is like to see your little brother cut open for an autopsy? Do you?”

The next morning, a photo of the confrontation was on the front page of the St. Petersburg Times. It seemed to capture the raw, ragged edges of a city that had been torn asunder by race.

In the years that followed, the city and its elected officials have responded to the riots with studies, action plans and millions of dollars in spending in the city’s poor, predominantly black neighborhoods. Four mayors have made revitalization of those neighborhoods a top priority, and two have appointed black police chiefs.

And Pringles? He is just disappointed and still impassioned.

“Twenty years later, the same thing is still going on,” said Pringles. “Look at Ferguson (Mo.) and New York,” two of the places where unarmed blacks have died recently at the hands of white police.

In St. Petersburg, all the taxpayer money was wasted, he said. The white officer who fired the fatal shot is still a member of the Police Department. People’s attitudes are the same.

“Everything that didn’t burn down (in 1996) should have burned down,” he said. “So many kids are still lost out there.”

The only reminder of his brother’s short life is a gym at 1327 Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. St. S that bears his name, said Pringles.

“He lost his life and that’s all he gets,” said Pringles. “If a hundred people go to that gym, only 15 to 20 even know what the real reason is for the gym.”

Although Pringles was 9 years older than Lewis, he said he and his half-brother were close. Pringles lived with his grandmother and Lewis lived with their mother, but the brothers still saw each other virtually every day.

Pringles lives now in a diverse neighborhood 4 miles from his boyhood home. He works for a company that sells residential and commercial appliances. He never married but dotes on his two teenage sons. He says his passion now is his work. A homebody, he likes to spend down time watching movies.

Pringles, who once considered a career in law enforcement, has had brushes with the law. But since a five-year stint in prison for a 1997 drug conviction, he said, he has turned his life around.

The events of 1996 are never far from his thoughts. He filled three scrapbooks with newspaper clippings about the fatal shooting, the funeral, the riots, the grand jury that cleared the white officer, and some of the changes that those events brought to St. Petersburg.

The half-brother he still grieves for was, by most accounts, a young man aimlessly drifting through life, a minor drug dealer who had an arrest record going back nine years. Lewis had been in foster care for a time, and he once served a year in a juvenile facility north of Ocala.

On Oct. 24, 1996, the day he died, he was driving without a license. There were crack cocaine rocks in his pocket and outstanding warrants for his arrest.

When Lewis and a companion, going east on 18th Avenue S, sped past police at an estimated 70 mph,  two officers – both white – followed him until he pulled up behind another car at a stoplight on 16th Street.

Precisely what happened next is unclear. The accounts offered by Lewis’ companion, the two officers and witnesses were widely divergent.

This much is indisputable: Lewis locked his car doors and refused to get out. One of the officers – James Knight, 35 – pulled out his gun and got in front of the car. When the car started rolling slowly forward, Knight fired three times through the windshield, killing Lewis.

Within minutes, an angry crowd gathered at the intersection. Rocks and bottles began flying, leading to two nights of riots that made St. Petersburg a national story.

Police administrators ruled that Officer Knight had violated policy by getting in front of Lewis’ car, and they suspended him without pay for 60 days. But a grand jury concluded that because Knight “was in reasonable fear of imminent death or great bodily harm,” he was justified in killing Lewis.

When the grand jury’s decision was announced three weeks after Lewis’ death, there were two more nights of rioting.

A year later, a Department of Homeland Security report by the U.S. Fire Administration estimated that more than 60 arson fires and looting caused about $6 million in damages.

It was after the second round of rioting, with feelings running high in both white and black St. Petersburg, that Pringles had the encounter with the white people carrying signs in support of the police.

Still reeling with grief and anger, Pringles screamed at them. One, a 59-year-old retiree, yelled back.

“We must support the police,” said Patricia Barber. “They’re trying to do their job. He (Lewis) was a criminal.”

“My brother is in the ground and y’all are talking about support the police,” yelled Pringles. “They executed my motherf—— brother. My baby brother. I hope they come this way next. I hope they come north.”

Eighteen years later, Officer Knight is still on the police force. His two-month suspension was eventually rescinded after an arbitrator exonerated him, and state and federal investigators cleared him of wrongdoing. For years, he was not allowed to patrol in the district that includes most of the city’s predominantly black neighborhoods.

In April 2013, Knight was arrested on a misdemeanor drunken driving charge. He now is on what police spokesman Mike Puetz calls “inside duty” at the department, which is “common protocol” during an internal investigation. Puetz said Knight did not respond to an email seeking comment for this story.

Sandra Minor, the other officer in the incident, is still on the force, too. Through Puetz, she declined to comment.

Erik Neikens, 48, was one of the white people holding signs in support of the police. He said he was there to defend police and the job that they do.

“Race relations just keep going down and down because that’s how the media portrayed it,” said Neikens, who moved to North Carolina eight years ago. “I lived there for 40 years and I’ve seen it.”

The neighborhoods where Lewis was raised and killed are still marked by unemployment, poverty, crime and distrust of police. But millions of public and private dollars have been invested there.

In the last 15 years, the Midtown area has gotten a public library, a post office, a chain grocery store and a federal credit union. With the help of taxpayer dollars, the iconic Manhattan Casino has reopened, the long-shuttered Mercy Hospital has been expanded into a public health center, an old train station has become an arts facility, and a historic school building has become a Head Start center. The Jordan Park public housing project was renovated, a nine-building Job Corps training facility was built, and St. Petersburg College is quadrupling the size of its campus there.

In 2013, the city staff estimated that major public and private investment in Midtown between 1999 and 2012 totaled $207 million.

Pringles, who scoffs at the impact of those expenditures, said he has two regrets about those days 18 years ago.

He regrets that he screamed at the white woman in the photograph. She was the only one of the sign-carrying people to stand up to him, he said, and he was consumed by anger and grief.

He also regrets ignoring a funny feeling he had while driving south on Interstate 275 about the time his half-brother was killed.

“Something told me to get off I-275 on Ninth Street S, which would have brought me up to 18th Avenue where Ron was, but I second-guessed myself and turned (off) on 28th Street instead,” he said.

“I could have told him to get out of the car or gotten in front of the cop. Either way Ron wouldn’t be dead.”

Tampa Bay Times researcher Caryn Baird contributed to this report, which includes information from Times files.

BY SUSAN GODFREY
NNB Student Reporter

ST. PETERSBURG – She dumps the half dozen newspapers on her desk that she read over the weekend. Joshing friends call her a bag lady, she says, because she is always carrying around a purse, a lunch sack and a work bag with papers spilling out.

She usually works with her back to the door so she can signal – without being impolite – that she doesn’t want to be distracted, and with only a half hour before the important daily meeting she reads another newspaper – the day’s Tampa Bay Times.

Sherri Day, 38, a Times editorial writer, knows what is happening around the area and the country. She has to. She is a voice for a newspaper that is the largest daily in Florida and winner of 10 Pulitzer Prizes. Her job is to influence decision makers and public opinion.

“The bottom line is that we’re trying to influence people, and you have to decide who you’re writing to,” said Day.

At precisely 9:30 a.m. the editorial board members shuffle into a room overlooking the atrium at the Times building at 490 First Ave. S and take seats around a big table.

They are all veterans. Tim Nickens, the editor of editorials, covered state government and politics for the Times and Miami Herald. His deputy, Joni James, another former state capital veteran, once worked for the Herald and Wall Street Journal. Columnist Daniel Ruth came from the Tampa Tribune and Chicago Sun-Times. Jim Verhulst, editor of the Sunday “Perspective” section, has held key jobs at the paper since arriving from the Concord (N.H.) Monitor in 1987.

In 2013, Nickens and Ruth won a Pulitzer Prize for a series of editorials that helped reverse the county’s decision to end fluoridation of drinking water.

During the meeting, the editorial board kicks around the news of the day and week and decides what to editorialize on. Everyone gets a chance to say what they think is significant. Topics range from nuclear power plants to government officials.

The relaxed meeting has lots of reflection, lots of laughter. Later in the day, the board sometimes meets with politicians, government officials and business leaders.

“I expect everyone to be prepared for the (daily) meeting,” said Nickens, “by reading the local morning papers and the national news in the Washington Post and New York Times.”

After the board meeting, Day returns to her office and catches up on emails and phone messages while she waits to find out what Nickens wants her to write about for the day. Day said that she and Nickens discuss the direction of the editorial and what explicitly needs to be conveyed before she begins to write.

“I usually like to have a call to action,” said Nickens.

Day’s call to action on this day was to the Tallahassee Police Department and Florida State University’s new president, John Thrasher, concerning the possible criminal behavior of some FSU football players. She begins by researching what the board has written on the issue in the past to ensure that its voice is consistent.

Within an hour, Day has most of her editorial finished. She makes her job look easy. Nickens will edit the editorial and decide what day it will run.

Unlike most writers at the paper, Day writes her editorial in longhand before she types one word on her computer. “There is something about pushing a pen on paper that helps my brain work in a way that staring at a blank computer screen doesn’t,” she said. “The physical act of writing longhand makes me do the work. It’s old school. But it’s my process, and it works for me.”

She said she loves learning and writing about new things every day and has found her niche in public health, schools in Hillsborough County and the Department of Children and Families.

These are tough times for metropolitan newspapers like the Times. Day has survived several rounds of layoffs at the paper and, like the rest of the newsroom staff, has taken three 5 percent pay cuts.

She acknowledges that the paper is getting smaller and there is more work for everyone, but says it’s a chance to do things differently.

“Sometimes I can’t believe I get paid to do this,” said Day.  “Even when it’s hard, I’m getting paid to learn something new.”

She grew up in Tifton, a small town (population 16,000) in south Georgia where, she once wrote, “black folks lived on one side of town and whites lived on the other.”

She got a bachelor’s degree from Clark Atlanta University and a master’s from the University of California at Berkeley. For a time, she toyed with thoughts of a career in broadcast news. She landed an internship at the New York Times and stayed there nearly four years, working on the breaking news team and later the business news staff.

She was newly married – to a young man who grew up down the street in Tifton – when she found herself in the middle of one of the biggest stories in American history.

On Sept. 11, 2001, Day, a reporter on the Times breaking news staff, was sent to the scene at the World Trade Center.  As she stood there less than a block away, staring and scribbling notes, the first tower came crashing down.

Day ran for her life from a billowing gray cloud hurtling down the street.

In a highly personal account she wrote for the Tampa Bay Times 10 years later, Day described how she dashed into a sporting goods store and sat huddled with “a collection of strangers,”  watching the wounded come in and police and emergency personnel come and go.

Emerging some time later, Day saw first-hand the damage and destruction of the terrorist attacks. It profoundly changed her.

On the subway one day, she wrote, she saw two Middle Eastern men in conversation and found herself wondering “if they were going to ‘get us.’” Then she caught herself.

“I was ashamed,” she wrote. “How could I, a black woman from rural Georgia, who knew well what it was to be stereotyped because of race, gender and cultural background, allow myself to have such thoughts?”

Day wrote that she decided to live with more purpose and become “a little less brave.” And three years later, she and her husband left New York for Tampa Bay, where she could work for the Times and they would be comfortable raising a family a few hours’ drive from their parents in Tifton.

Day and her husband, a physical therapist, built a house in a demographically diverse neighborhood in north Tampa and she worked several posts at the paper – community news reporter, metropolitan religion reporter, Brandon bureau chief, assistant metro editor in Tampa. She moved to the editorial board in 2013.

Now she balances a daunting schedule as a mother of three small children, church member and voice of the Tampa Bay Times.