Perhaps you've not heard, but I am not the most famous among our small writing staff at the Gabber. No. That dubious distinction currently goes to our own Cathy Salustri.
Cathy recently wrote a three-part series for our paper about Barlett Park - a nightmarishly underprivileged neighborhood on the south side of St. Pete, a place she ultimately credited for her "new found" racism.
Several years ago Cathy, for reasons I won't bore you with, found herself looking for a new home. The only neighborhood she decided that she could afford to buy into was Bartlett Park.
We, her friends and colleagues, begged her not to do it. (I will hardly drive through that neighborhood, and I am certain that the majority of St. Petersburg's citizens have never even seen it.) But Cathy - vowing that the neighborhood was simply misunderstood - found a cute, if ailing, bungalow on what we have now learned is one of the neighborhood's most notorious streets. So be it.
Now Cathy, I can attest to you, is probably one of the most open-minded people I know. Or, at least she was.
While some may call them petty crimes, hardly a month has gone by since Cathy's relocation that hasn't seen some sort of theft or otherwise degenerate action perpetrated on her household, culminating in the larceny of her scooter.
No, no one ever tried to get in the house (that we know of). No one assaulted Cathy personally. But plenty of innuendo and outright treats have been made in the two years that she has called Bartlett Park her home.
I say all of this not to defend Cathy's current position as a "racist." Cathy and I have gone round and round on the subject in the past few weeks - me trying to come to terms with her position, she trying to explain hers. But, regardless of its cause, you simply can not defend racism. However, it does seem - since the story first ran in the Gabber - that a whole lot of people have gotten this message wrong.
Had Cathy not said those inflammatory words - had she simply written a piece about the plight of Barlett Park - none of this would be up for discussion. Frankly - and sadly - no one would have cared. But, as it is, Cathy has been the center of a maelstrom of sorts, with attention from Creative Loafing, WMNF, the St. Petersburg Times, and the Tampa Bay Association of Black Journalists.
This latter organization criticized Cathy for even attempting to live in Bartlett Park. They told her that her issues were not race-related, but driven by an aversion to a certain economic class. The Tampa Bay Association of Black Journalists implored Cathy to "find a better class of black people."
But the point is not whether you trust your neighbors. The issue at hand - the issue that Cathy clearly did not succeed in bringing to the surface - is "institutionalized" racism.
We live in a society where "bad things" are not discussed - a society which seems content to believe that hearing no evil is tantamount to godliness. In short, we live in a society that confuses the discussion of ugliness with ugliness itself.
Cathy gets my vote for the best intentioned reporter of the year because she has enough respect for the truth to actually tell it. When she voluntarily publicised the fact that she was "becoming a racist," she was opening the door for a long-needed community dialogue, one that acknowledges the inherent issues of racism and bigotry stewing in us all, regardless of color.
Maybe we don't put it out there - we've learned that it's not to be discussed. But the problems facing minorities in our world - or any race you harbor a negative stereotype for - are not so easy to pinpoint as a burning cross and an epithet. The problem of racism lies in the myriad of responses Cathy has received - from both white and black members of the community - saying, without a hint of irony: Oh, you're not a racist...because I feel that way, too.
My point is simply this: who cares if Cathy Salustri is a racist? This issue was never supposed to be about the conversion of one woman, or even her relatively inconsequential decent into hatred. This story is simply a tell-tale sign that silence, that the era of "political correctness," has actually corrected nothing.
Do I think that proud racists should fly their flags and preach their own brand of cancerous hate? Certainly they've got the right, but no - I don't want to see it. But I do think that a real opportunity has been missed here.
We could have used Cathy's example as a way to open up a discussion about the latent racism which hides in even the most open of hearts. We could have used this experience as starting-point for a focus on what really frightens us - about ourselves and those who are different.
Instead, we told a brave voice to do what we have all learned to do - to make excuses and to simply sweep it under the rug.
I was recently at a birthday party where the issue of Cathy's articles - and the buzz that they have generated - came up for discussion. As a colleague and friend of Cathy's, I was invited to give my perspective. But, I did not get a minute into the background of the issue before a friend of mine rose abruptly and left the party.
Now, I do not know this woman well. I know that she is an artist: a vocalist, and a savvy political poet. But, I have never had the opportunity to talk with her about racism.
I am white - she is black. Some things are not discussed in a cordial society. It seems that I have been taught - commanded, actually - to forget that she is black. As if that's a dirty word.
But the truth is, she is black. And the truth is, I notice. In the same way that she notices that I am white.
The unfortunate thing is, she left the party before we could get down to the details. As uncomfortable as a dialogue about race might be for me, I can not pretend to understand how such a conversation - in a party of mostly white acquaintances - must make her feel.
The point here is that we've really got to stop pretending that being "colorblind" is somehow a virtue. That is simply an absurd notion. We have to start opening up - however uncomfortable it may be - to a conversation, a dialogue, about racism.
Worrying about having the "wrong answers," or being vilified, as Cathy has been, is a slippery slope to a deeper misunderstanding. Perhaps we in the media missed an opportunity, but these opportunities are missed everyday. As regular folks, we ignore - or run from - dialogue with a co-worker, a mail-carrier, a waiter, a boss - wherever you see a different color. We are conditioned to ignore an opportunity to simply offer - or even request - an honest perspective.
What if, instead of keeping a polite silence, we had all been learning to ask questions?
June 17, 2007
It’s Your Turn to Shuffle
Anyone who knows me, knows how much I like games. Board games, video games, word games, card games – you name it, I’ll play it. And, while I may not be an athlete (you’d probably have to blackmail me into playing flag football), my favorite games are of the more active variety. I love badminton, croquet, ping pong, and have even built my own ladder golf set out of PVC.
(To anyone who might be unfamiliar with ladder golf, I command you to stop reading this and go look it up right now. It’s oh so much cooler than horseshoes.)
I tell you all of this not to give you an idea of what my personals ad might look like, but to explain why it’s so very weird that it took me this long to discover St. Pete Shuffle.
Well, “discover” is probably an overly generous verb, here. I’ve actually known about this shuffleboard event for over a year. I have been invited – nay, implored – to try it out half a dozen times. Why did I decline? What took me so long?
I’d never played shuffleboard for the very same reason that many of you are reading this with incredulity: shuffleboard is for old people.
As all Floridians know, shuffleboard is the patron sport of the geriatric set. It is synonymous with buffet specials and leisure suits. It is as obsolete as the foxtrot, just one step away from the Long Shadow Inn.
When I actually turned down a party invitation last Friday to go to the Shuffle, my friends said, “What are you, eighty?”
But you know what? I have never been happier to miss a party.
People, in my wildest dreams, I wouldn’t expect to be saying this, but shuffleboard is the coolest game ever! And the Friday night St. Pete Shuffle is the coolest place to play it.
The Mirror Lake recreation area (559 Mirror Lake Drive, Downtown) is home to some of St. Petersburg’s oldest buildings. Though many of them are a little worse for the wear, the shuffleboard courts are in excellent condition. Stepping into the hexblock courtyard is like stepping back in time – it’s like finding yourself in an old Florida postcard.
The playing starts at 7pm every Friday, weather permitting, and when I showed up around 7:15, Chris Kelly, the current head of the St. Pete Shuffleboard Club, was just patching his iPod into the court’s PA system. Once a month, I’m told, live bands play, but Chris’ music mix was mellow and hip enough to please just about everybody. Otis Reading’s “These Arms of Mine” created a surreal time warp – I felt like I was in the Florida version of Dirty Dancing. Being a big history geek, I was nearly giddy with this retro glimpse of old St. Pete.
When the sun goes down, white Christmas lights illuminate the courts, and play goes on until 11pm. Club members, who pay just $20 annually, can play later, if they like.
The St. Pete Shuffleboard Club was established in 1924, and the first Clubhouse was built in 1927. I’m sure the place has seen its ups and downs, but the Friday night St. Pete Shuffle started about two years ago, and is well on its way to reviving the game. Is it still a senior pastime? You betcha. But the folks at the Shuffle are far from geriatric, and there’s an equal amount of families and college kids – all shuffling happily, side-by-side.
As for the main attraction – the game – it’s easy enough to keep you from getting discouraged and challenging enough to be fun. Friday night Shuffle is free (which is a whole lot cheaper than miniature golf) and open to everyone, so bring friends or even the kids. You can play by yourself, but it’s obviously more fun with an opponent or a group of four. I had the privilege of being heartily defeated by St. Pete Councilmember Jeff Danner, and his teammate - the master himself - Chris Kelly.
But, lest you think I’m some kind of slouch, I should warn you: I annihilated the Gabber’s own Cathy Salustri in my very first attempt at shuffleboard, 87-31.
And, I reserved all bragging rights.
Published in The Gabber Newspaper, Gulfport, FL 6/21/07
(To anyone who might be unfamiliar with ladder golf, I command you to stop reading this and go look it up right now. It’s oh so much cooler than horseshoes.)
I tell you all of this not to give you an idea of what my personals ad might look like, but to explain why it’s so very weird that it took me this long to discover St. Pete Shuffle.
Well, “discover” is probably an overly generous verb, here. I’ve actually known about this shuffleboard event for over a year. I have been invited – nay, implored – to try it out half a dozen times. Why did I decline? What took me so long?
I’d never played shuffleboard for the very same reason that many of you are reading this with incredulity: shuffleboard is for old people.
As all Floridians know, shuffleboard is the patron sport of the geriatric set. It is synonymous with buffet specials and leisure suits. It is as obsolete as the foxtrot, just one step away from the Long Shadow Inn.
When I actually turned down a party invitation last Friday to go to the Shuffle, my friends said, “What are you, eighty?”
But you know what? I have never been happier to miss a party.
People, in my wildest dreams, I wouldn’t expect to be saying this, but shuffleboard is the coolest game ever! And the Friday night St. Pete Shuffle is the coolest place to play it.
The Mirror Lake recreation area (559 Mirror Lake Drive, Downtown) is home to some of St. Petersburg’s oldest buildings. Though many of them are a little worse for the wear, the shuffleboard courts are in excellent condition. Stepping into the hexblock courtyard is like stepping back in time – it’s like finding yourself in an old Florida postcard.
The playing starts at 7pm every Friday, weather permitting, and when I showed up around 7:15, Chris Kelly, the current head of the St. Pete Shuffleboard Club, was just patching his iPod into the court’s PA system. Once a month, I’m told, live bands play, but Chris’ music mix was mellow and hip enough to please just about everybody. Otis Reading’s “These Arms of Mine” created a surreal time warp – I felt like I was in the Florida version of Dirty Dancing. Being a big history geek, I was nearly giddy with this retro glimpse of old St. Pete.
When the sun goes down, white Christmas lights illuminate the courts, and play goes on until 11pm. Club members, who pay just $20 annually, can play later, if they like.
The St. Pete Shuffleboard Club was established in 1924, and the first Clubhouse was built in 1927. I’m sure the place has seen its ups and downs, but the Friday night St. Pete Shuffle started about two years ago, and is well on its way to reviving the game. Is it still a senior pastime? You betcha. But the folks at the Shuffle are far from geriatric, and there’s an equal amount of families and college kids – all shuffling happily, side-by-side.
As for the main attraction – the game – it’s easy enough to keep you from getting discouraged and challenging enough to be fun. Friday night Shuffle is free (which is a whole lot cheaper than miniature golf) and open to everyone, so bring friends or even the kids. You can play by yourself, but it’s obviously more fun with an opponent or a group of four. I had the privilege of being heartily defeated by St. Pete Councilmember Jeff Danner, and his teammate - the master himself - Chris Kelly.
But, lest you think I’m some kind of slouch, I should warn you: I annihilated the Gabber’s own Cathy Salustri in my very first attempt at shuffleboard, 87-31.
And, I reserved all bragging rights.
Published in The Gabber Newspaper, Gulfport, FL 6/21/07
Hot Dogs in Paradise
Well, here I am again, mired in schoolwork. Yes, there are times when even my life is truly uneventful. But, a few hours chained to my computer, or pouring over the surprisingly uninteresting details of witchcraft in early modern Europe, are nothing compared to the soul-crushing boredom that my dog Mango endures while I am attempting to be a student.
In all honesty, sometimes a short walk is the highlight of both of our days. But hey, St. Petersburg was made for walkin’ – at least that’s what Mango tells me.
Now, I know you’re all grumbling right now. A walk? In Florida? In June?! But I can assure you that I am not crazy; I hate the heat as much as anybody, and possibly more than most. But, dogs don’t need less exercise in the summer, and frankly, neither do we, so I am going to share with you my secrets for a happy life with your dog as we enter into the brain-frying months ahead.
Firstly, there are pockets of this town that stay relatively cool. (Of course, by relative, I mean that the alert levels for heatstroke are downgraded from red to orange. But, without a membership to a dog-friendly gym, that’s as good as it gets.)
My old favorite is Crescent Lake. One of the finest parks in St. Petersburg, Crescent Lake offers tennis courts and a playground (for you crazy kids), and over a mile of paved, lakeside foot path. The lake is really more of a pond – okay, a retention pond – but it’s clean enough to fish, apparently, and allows for a righteous breeze to keep you from passing out. Mango’s favorite part, of course, is the dog park, which is a decent size, and attracts a good crowd of mutts in the evening. When you’re pooped from your walk, you can sit in the shade while your dog socializes.
If you’re into this kind of thing, dog owners are fairly sociable creatures themselves. They never tire of relating their puppy’s wacky antics, useful house-training tips, or salacious dog park gossip. A recent trip provided this little gem (and I am actually not making this up): “Yeah, that German Shephard’s always got diarrhea…I don’t know what they feed her, but I wouldn’t let your dog get too close.” Fascinating.
Personally, I like to turn up my iPod and look anti-social, but that’s just me.
The Vinoy Park/ Northshore/ Spa Beach area is probably one of the most beautiful places in St. Pete – it’s certainly, in my opinion, the finest thing about downtown. We like to stroll along the water, admiring the view and contemplating just how lucky we are to live here, and Mango likes to play “tight-rope” with the sea wall. So far, no Coast Guard rescues, but we take a cell phone just in case.
When Mango’s really wound up, though, we take her to the dog park there – which is absolutely enormous. The dogs at the Northshore park seem younger, hipper somehow- a little more cosmopolitan, if you will. I guess that’s city dogs for you. There’s also a fair helping of show-quality Weimaraners and Vizslas from Old Northeast, but they don’t seem to mind rubbing paws with slobs like Mango and me.
Of course, even Mango likes to get out of the city now and then, so my number one secret for staying cool with your dog (and really, if you haven’t heard of it by now, shame on you) is Fort DeSoto’s Dog Park.
Mango actually starts heaving and salivating if I drive even vaguely in the vicinity of this place. All of her training is left on the mainland – all bets are off at the beach. Only a small section of the beach is open to off-leash dogs, but as it turns out, most dogs can’t read. Mango, in particular, has no love for the boundary markers. Non-dog people take note: If you don’t want a big ol’ mess of sandy, wet and stinky slobber spraying onto your family picnic, it is best to avoid this area – by at least a mile or two.
But for dog owners, Fort Desoto is really the saving grace of summer. If you’ve got a “runner,” like Mango, you can actually still enjoy all the glory of the beach breeze and salty air at the adjacent fenced-in park. There’s even a shower, which I’ve found comes in handy, and can save you money on your water bill. Hey, why not get some leverage out of those property taxes?
So, do not despair, Floridians, in the dog days of summer (groan). There’s still plenty of fun to be had. Just drink lots of water, get out to the parks, and move your mutt.
Published in The Gabber Newspaper, Gulfport, FL 6/7/07
In all honesty, sometimes a short walk is the highlight of both of our days. But hey, St. Petersburg was made for walkin’ – at least that’s what Mango tells me.
Now, I know you’re all grumbling right now. A walk? In Florida? In June?! But I can assure you that I am not crazy; I hate the heat as much as anybody, and possibly more than most. But, dogs don’t need less exercise in the summer, and frankly, neither do we, so I am going to share with you my secrets for a happy life with your dog as we enter into the brain-frying months ahead.
Firstly, there are pockets of this town that stay relatively cool. (Of course, by relative, I mean that the alert levels for heatstroke are downgraded from red to orange. But, without a membership to a dog-friendly gym, that’s as good as it gets.)
My old favorite is Crescent Lake. One of the finest parks in St. Petersburg, Crescent Lake offers tennis courts and a playground (for you crazy kids), and over a mile of paved, lakeside foot path. The lake is really more of a pond – okay, a retention pond – but it’s clean enough to fish, apparently, and allows for a righteous breeze to keep you from passing out. Mango’s favorite part, of course, is the dog park, which is a decent size, and attracts a good crowd of mutts in the evening. When you’re pooped from your walk, you can sit in the shade while your dog socializes.
If you’re into this kind of thing, dog owners are fairly sociable creatures themselves. They never tire of relating their puppy’s wacky antics, useful house-training tips, or salacious dog park gossip. A recent trip provided this little gem (and I am actually not making this up): “Yeah, that German Shephard’s always got diarrhea…I don’t know what they feed her, but I wouldn’t let your dog get too close.” Fascinating.
Personally, I like to turn up my iPod and look anti-social, but that’s just me.
The Vinoy Park/ Northshore/ Spa Beach area is probably one of the most beautiful places in St. Pete – it’s certainly, in my opinion, the finest thing about downtown. We like to stroll along the water, admiring the view and contemplating just how lucky we are to live here, and Mango likes to play “tight-rope” with the sea wall. So far, no Coast Guard rescues, but we take a cell phone just in case.
When Mango’s really wound up, though, we take her to the dog park there – which is absolutely enormous. The dogs at the Northshore park seem younger, hipper somehow- a little more cosmopolitan, if you will. I guess that’s city dogs for you. There’s also a fair helping of show-quality Weimaraners and Vizslas from Old Northeast, but they don’t seem to mind rubbing paws with slobs like Mango and me.
Of course, even Mango likes to get out of the city now and then, so my number one secret for staying cool with your dog (and really, if you haven’t heard of it by now, shame on you) is Fort DeSoto’s Dog Park.
Mango actually starts heaving and salivating if I drive even vaguely in the vicinity of this place. All of her training is left on the mainland – all bets are off at the beach. Only a small section of the beach is open to off-leash dogs, but as it turns out, most dogs can’t read. Mango, in particular, has no love for the boundary markers. Non-dog people take note: If you don’t want a big ol’ mess of sandy, wet and stinky slobber spraying onto your family picnic, it is best to avoid this area – by at least a mile or two.
But for dog owners, Fort Desoto is really the saving grace of summer. If you’ve got a “runner,” like Mango, you can actually still enjoy all the glory of the beach breeze and salty air at the adjacent fenced-in park. There’s even a shower, which I’ve found comes in handy, and can save you money on your water bill. Hey, why not get some leverage out of those property taxes?
So, do not despair, Floridians, in the dog days of summer (groan). There’s still plenty of fun to be had. Just drink lots of water, get out to the parks, and move your mutt.
Published in The Gabber Newspaper, Gulfport, FL 6/7/07
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