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Didgeridoo, Part II (Electric Boogaloo)

Posted Aug 12, 2008 by Geoff Fox

Updated Dec 31, 2008 at 01:44 PM

Turns out you don’t need an actual “PVC pipe cutter” to cut PVC pipe.

In a burst of ingenuity that would make MacGyver snort dismissively, I took a small saw meant for cutting small pieces of wood and divided a roughly 15-foot length of three-quarter-inch PVC pipe into four sections.

That small feat, which took less than four minutes, but included the diligent and prideful help of Thing 2, produced, in Ironhead terms, four didgeridoos.

To recap: a didgeridoo is a simple aboriginal wind instrument, and my wife has wanted one for years. Last summer, Iron and the Monkeys saw a demonstration about didgeridoos by Tampa guy Darren Liebman at the library on Cross Creek Boulevard in New Tampa. On July 30, my formerly beloved colleague Ronnie Blair wrote about a Liebman demonstration at Seven Oaks Elementary School. When Iron read the story, her lust for a didgeridoo all her own was reignited.

So, it’s been a couple weeks since I made four sticks out of the pipe left in our yard by the cable company. That’s a picture of them to the left. Impressive, eh?

If Iron has exhaled through each “didgeridoo” more than once, I haven’t heard it.

And I barely heard it the first time.

“Ripsnorting” Ronnie Blair said the instrument “sounded like an electric hum.”

“You know, like a power line when something’s gone bad.”

The instruments produced in my garage sounded like cartoon flatulence.

Iron was dissatisfied.

I asked what will become of the four sticks of plastic.

“Ummm,” she said.

For once, I momentarily stumped her.

“Do you need to use them for something, or because you want to write it in your blog?”

She’s never stumped for long.

“I guess I’ll eventually clean them up and do something,” she said, “unless you had other plans for them.”

I could fill them with concrete and make weapons out of them, I thought.

Since I didn’t actually speak, she was still plotting. She said she might give away all but one.

“I might do some kind of design on the remaining one with the goal of getting a wider pipe so as to produce the correct sound,” she said. “I think the thing’s just too narrow so the sound is too high.”

I don’t know. The more I think of it, the sound of a dyspeptic Daffy Duck honking through the house could be just the way to rouse everybody during a midnight fire drill.

 

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Greg’s Gig Sounds Great

Posted Aug 6, 2008 by Geoff Fox

Updated Dec 31, 2008 at 01:41 PM

Greg Clifton was born 45 minutes before John Lennon was pronounced dead.

For some reason, that didn’t surprise me. When I first met Clifton a couple of years ago, he seemed like a peaceable guy with an encyclopedic knowledge of most musical genres, but a particular penchant for 1960s rock.

At the time, I was doing a story on his boss, Shane French, owner of the Sounds Great CD store in Zephyr Plaza on Gall Boulevard in Zephyrhills. French also is a guitarist in the heavy metal band Jon Oliva’s Pain; a legend among Tampa Bay area metal-heads, Oliva co-founded Savatage, a power metal band that formed in the 1980s. Turns out Clifton, 27, is a musician, too. More specifically, he is a psychedelic Christian musician, perhaps the first of his kind. “I haven’t actually heard any [psychedelic Christian] music yet, except for what I’ve done, honestly,” he said from behind the counter at Sounds Great on a recent weekday. “Most people think it’s crazy to have ‘drug music’ mixed with Christian lyrics.” He recently recorded “The Journey,” a 10-song CD of original songs. On Tuesday, he auditioned to play guitar for an area Christian band led by Talesha Hogan of Brandon. The audition apparently went well. His first gig with the band is Friday at Grace Community United Methodist Church in Lithia. A Florida native and Dade City resident, Clifton said he has been a Christian since about age 12, when he took a tae kwon do class that featured a gospel message at the end. As a child, he said, he endured numerous health issues, including an inability to breathe through his nose and back problems. “Plus, I’m legally deaf,” he said. “I’m totally deaf in my left ear and I have about 45 percent [hearing ability] in my right.” Thanks to his faith, he doesn’t worry about losing more of his hearing, even if performing music eventually becomes a full-time gig. “Even if I go deaf, I can still feel it,” he said. “You can still feel the vibrations of the music. All it is is vibrations.” The store’s telephone rang as Credence Clearwater Revival thumped from indoor and outdoor speakers. “You’re ‘Captain January,’ the Shirley Temple movie, just came in,” Clifton told to the caller. Minutes later, Maine native Brad Johnson entered the store, looking for movies starring Bing Crosby and Mario Lanza. “You’ve probably never even heard of Lanza,” Johnson said. “I’ve heard of him,” Clifton said. “I didn’t know he did movies, but we’ve had a bunch of his CDs.” Lanza, who starred in 1951’s “The Great Caruso,” among other movies, died in 1959. The store didn’t have in stock what Johnson wanted, but Clifton offered to order the items. While Johnson weighed his options, regular customer Rob Dunton picked up some items he had ordered. “The people here are awesome. They treat you great,” he said. “Every other Friday, when I get paid, I’m here.” For a while, customer traffic bustled. People dug through bins of merchandise outside and flipped through rows of CDs and DVDs inside. One guy considered buying a tie-dyed Jerry Garcia T-shirt, while another bought guitar strings. Later, I asked Clifton if he thought the timing of his birth had anything to do with his musical taste. “I don’t think it does,” he said. “I think I just like the Beatles’  music. I don’t know a lot in terms of [Lennon’s] solo career. I was always more into Paul and George.” More into McCartney than Lennon? Just when you think you know a guy. Learn more about Greg here: http://www.myspace.com/thegregclifton

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Former Mayhem Maker Still Creating

Posted Aug 5, 2008 by Geoff Fox

Updated Dec 31, 2008 at 01:23 PM

It isn’t easy to make Jack Nicholson look like Jeff Goldblum.

Dade City artist Mark Hannah unintentionally accomplished that feat recently. Only Hannah wasn’t applying makeup on a Hollywood set. He was brushing paint onto the walls of Lake Jovita home.

“This is the most difficult piece I’ve done,” said Hannah, gesturing toward his rendering of a poster for “Chinatown,” the 1974 Nicholson movie directed by Roman Polanski. “When I started doing Nicholson, I started getting this early Sinatra look. Then Jeff Goldblum came out of nowhere.

“I was like, ‘Wait, what’s going on here?’ It’s been a real challenge for me.”

Hannah is used to pushing himself creatively.

He enjoys it, which is good, because he does it for a living.

In November 2006, he made an elaborate 12-foot-high horse out of papier-mache and metal pipe.

The horse, which has since appeared in Dade City’s Christmas parade and Little Everglades Steeplechase, as well as Tampa’s Gasparilla parade, has legs with rippling muscles and a tail that streams behind it, as if it were streaking down the stretch at the Kentucky Derby. Atop the horse is a jockey in a two-point stance.

The project took months to complete.

Hannah also is a muralist and sign painter, and his drawings have been used as templates for tattoos. He has does some sculpting, too.

Becky Taylor, who owns Dade City Animal Clinic with her veterinarian husband, Chet, said Hannah recently painted old-time Dade City scenes and other pictures in the clinic’s kennel. Taylor, who has known Hannah since childhood, said it took him parts of six months to complete.

“He’s always been really creative,” she said. “I didn’t have classes with him in high school, but I know a lot of people who did, and they always said he was always sketching something. He would draw cartoons. You give Mark anything and he can draw it.

“In the dog kennels, he opened up a dog encyclopedia and just went to town.”

He’s Been Everywhere, Man

Hannah also is known locally – and internationally – as a guitarist with the once-thriving rockabilly band Skinny McGee and his Mayhem Makers, which featured Shawn Gravitt as singer-bassist Skinny McGee and harmonica player Chris Bell.

Until an amicable, self-imposed hiatus a couple of years ago, the band often played around the Tampa Bay area, from The Osceola Tavern in Dade City to Skipper’s Smokehouse in Tampa to venues on upscale Davis Islands.

In February 2004, the band recorded at legendary Sun Studios in Memphis, Tenn., made famous in the 1950s by Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis and Carl Perkins, as well as Johnny Cash, whom Gravitt often was said to sound like.

“We played in Orlando and did a couple shows in Vegas and L.A.,” Hannah said. “We went to Amsterdam a couple times, Barcelona and did a European tour through Belgium, Germany, Switzerland and Italy.”

Hannah said he sometimes misses playing in the band, although he is still good friends with Bell and Gravitt.

“I’m just glad I was able to do [all that stuff] when we did,” Hannah said. “I don’t even know if we could afford to go over there now. Those were some great times, man – a good way to spend my 30s.”

Now in his early-40s, Hannah has been married seven years to Jenny, once Skinny McGee’s self-proclaimed biggest fan. A massage therapist and yoga enthusiast, she now runs Hannah’s Healing Hands in Dade City.

Mark said he needed his wife’s muscle-soothing powers after completing a Sistine Chapel-style mural. That was on a ceiling above an outdoor walkway at the Lake Jovita home where he painted the movie posters. The project involved scaffolding and bending his head at odd angles for long hours.

“It was the first time I ever painted cherubs before,” he said. “If I have to learn to do some kind of ancient brush stroke from a painting from before Christ, I’ll do my homework and figure it out. 

The Hollywood homage also required ample research.

A poster of “High Noon,” starring Gary Cooper, was just to the left of “Chinatown,” which was next to a “Jaws” reproduction.

King Kong’s Bong?

A bottle of IBC root beer in his hand, Hannah said he was painting it all free-hand.

“You basically just look at a better picture, get it under a good light and look at the color breakdown,” he said. “I have to break it all down like a jigsaw puzzle.”

On the other side of the small home theater were completed renditions of posters for “Gone With the Wind,” “The Godfather,” “The Seven-Year Itch,” “Vertigo” and “Casablanca.”

Other than Nicholson, Hannah said Humphrey Bogart’s face was the most difficult to reproduce.

“Looked like Boris Karloff was in there,” he said.

Other posters included “Rocky,” “Citizen Cane,” “Dr. No” and “Annie Hall.”

As a child, Hannah said he drew artistic inspiration from Mad magazine.

No longer a Mayhem Maker, Hannah continues to make music, often jamming with a band that changes names as often as Keith Richards was rumored to have had blood transfusions.

Recently, they’ve been The Bastard Sons of Phyllis Diller and King Kong’s Bong.

Hannah said he is working on a song titled “Skunk Ape” about the elusive Bigfoot-like creature said to roam Florida’s swamps.

“I love that stuff,” he said.

For information about Hannah’s work, call (352) 467-0664 or e-mail him at .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address).

 

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It’s Flint. F-L-I-N-T. Flint.

Posted Aug 5, 2008 by Geoff Fox

Updated Dec 31, 2008 at 01:24 PM

Whenever you do a story about a recently retired English professor, it’s best to keep certain things correct, such as grammar and punctuation, and having at least one noun and one verb in each sentence. Oh, and spelling. Spelling should be accurate, especially if the hometown of the recently retired professor has a really complicated, one-syllable name. So, “Tiger” Edmonds was on the horn the other day. “Got a pop quiz for ya,” he said. Oh. “How do you spell Flint?” Shoulda called Ironhead before I filed. Or at least gone to college.

 

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Thanks, Ripsnorting. I Owe You

Posted Jul 31, 2008 by Geoff Fox

Updated Dec 31, 2008 at 01:26 PM

For five and a half years, I sat next to Ronnie Blair at the Tribune’s office in Land O’ Lakes. In that time, and by Ronnie’s own admission, I irritated him only twice.

And I’m the kind of guy who can annoy children.

Through the years, I poured more than 2,200 cups of coffee for Ronnie, much of which I also made. Beyond that, I gave him the enduring moniker “Ripsnorting,” because I liked the contrast with his personality: Ronnie is so dry, he makes Bob Newhart look like Jerry Lewis.

Despite, or because of, our glaring differences – he always wears a tie and is unfailingly polite; I wear string-less shoes and burp aloud in public – we had a unique rapport. At one time, in fact, I would’ve taken a nonlethal bullet in his defense.

The goodwill ended Wednesday, when Blair’s story on Darren Liebman, a Tampa guy who runs a company called Didgeridoo Down Under, rekindled my wife’s motivation to make aboriginal instruments of her own.

Ironhead’s inspiration was stoked several months ago, when the cable company left a roughly 15-foot piece of three-quarter-inch PVC pipe in my yard. Recognizing value when she spies it, Iron scooped it into her tiny hands and horded it away in the garage – a formerly happy place I called my own.

In fact, it was the only part of the house that was truly mine. There was dirt in there, flammable stuff and various objects capable of inducing blunt-force trauma.

By the time I noticed the long white pipe, the garage was no longer mine. Pool toys, lawn chairs, yard implements and dozens of boxes of [stuff] that would have fit in an attic—if I had one—had taken over my space like malignant growths.

I vaguely knew what a didgeridoo was when I asked Iron about the pipe.

Five minutes later, of course, I knew about its origins and cultural significance Down Under, and was given a demonstration of what one might sound like.

“I’m going to make my own,” she said.

You should have seen the smile.

While looking online Wednesday evening, she yelped.

Apparently, Liebman started all this last summer when Iron and the Monkeys saw his demonstration at a library in New Tampa.

“You can buy a hand-held PVC pipe cutter,” Iron said. “I could cut the pipe into 3- and 4-foot lengths and make a didgeridoo for each of us,” meaning herself, the Monkeys and I.

Don’t you have to drill holes or something, I asked.

“No!” she said. “It’s just a hollow stick. You can paint it or carve it any way you want. Using PVC, it won’t sound exactly like it would if it was made from eucalyptus or some other wood. But, anyway, it’s good use for a leftover thing in our yard.”

I wasn’t in the best mood when I called Blair this afternoon.

“I have absolutely nothing to say other than this was assigned by an editor,” he said.

What a surprise.

“It came from somebody in Hillsborough,” he said, “so there are lots of people to blame.”

Blair, who wasn’t displaying the proper amount of sympathy, said the instrument “sounded like an electric hum.”

“You know, like a power line when something’s gone bad.”

Although Iron has never before held a didgeridoo, she is confident she’ll be able to master the instrument quickly.

“The technique is in the lips,” she said, “and circular breathing, of course.”

Of course.

“It’s just like with the trumpet,” she said.

No, she’s never played a trumpet, either.

“But I know how it’s done.”

What a surprise.

 

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Arthur’s Work Shown In Lakeland

Posted Jul 31, 2008 by Geoff Fox

Updated Jul 31, 2008 at 12:33 PM

Two word sculptures produced by recently profiled Land O’ Lakes artist Bradley Arthur will be featured during a nearly monthlong art exhibit in Lakeland. A three-hour opening reception begins 6 p.m. Friday at Munn Park on North Kentucky Avenue.

Featuring light and shadows, Arhtur’s works will be part of Platform Art’s “Retrospective Exhibition” during its annual Arts on the Park event.

“We’ll have 25 artists in the show, all of whom have shown with us in the past,” said Ann Wilson, executive director of Platform Art, a non-profit organization based in Lakeland.

Besides sculptures, the show will feature paintings, mixed-media works, folk art, short films and other art forms.

Wilson said one of Arthur’s works features the word “GOD” with a shadow beneath it that reads “EGO”; the other utilizes the word “VOTE” above a shadow spelling “KNOW.”

“We choose the artists” represented in the exhibit, Wilson said. “Bradley Arthur’s stuff provokes thought, and that’s what we want.”

For information about the event, visit http://www.platformflorida.com, or call (863) 688-1546 or (863) 224-1310.

Information about Arthur’s work can be found at http://www.co2sos.com, http://www.st2p.com and http://www.bradarthur.com, or by scrolling a little farther down this page.

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Craggy Curmudgeon Chronicles Life

Posted Jul 30, 2008 by Geoff Fox

Updated Dec 31, 2008 at 01:27 PM

Judging by his attire— bathrobe worn over a pair of jeans and a T-shirt—it seemed as though Mark “Tiger” Edmonds had embraced retirement.

Formerly Saint Leo University’s answer to Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash, the English professor had disabused himself of a four-decade career in higher education May 10.

I first wrote about Edmonds in February, after the publication of his third book, “Hard Scrabble” – a moving narrative about his lifelong friendship with Nancy Pacey, whose brave battle against cancer ended in 2002.

Throughout their decades-long friendship, and even as Pacey was dying, the pair passed time playing Scrabble – and exploring the complexities of life.

A month after that story was published, Edmonds’ elderly father, Gail, moved from their native Flynt, Mich., to rural Pasco County to be with his son. A few days later, Gail died.

During an unofficial visit with Mark a few weeks ago, he uncorked the news that he and Juanita the Tall Girl would be exchanging wedding vows in August. The three of us then enjoyed an uncommonly satisfying lunch at the La Pequena restaurant in the heart of Tommytown.

Tiger cautioned me not to tell many people about the tiny eatery. As he knows too well, once somebody finds out about somebody else’s utopia, you may as well send a detailed map to everyone you never wanted to meet.

While he has been rolling with the punches, and savoring the blessings life has thrown him in recent months, he also has been hard at work. Besides his three published books, there are a number of manuscripts that would be finished, if only he would stop rewriting them. Among his work is a pile of scathing social commentary, appropriately titled “The Curmudgeon Chronicles.” Every week, he reads one of these essays on an Orlando radio station, the call letters of which he doesn’t recall.

That’s not surprising.

Except for his beloved BMW motorcycles, which he has ridden about a million miles across North America, a brand-new computer on which he can reluctantly access the “Interweb,” a refrigerator to keep his Coke cold, and any radio that will play “outlaw country,” Edmonds is practically Amish.

Living along a rural stretch between Zephyrhills and Dade City, his comfortable abode is surrounded by date palms, a large mulberry tree, live oaks, choke cherry trees, “monkey ear” trees that produce falling fruit/leaf-like things that resemble, you guessed it, monkey ears, and a camphor tree.

Besides Julio, the official donkey in a past Dade City Christmas parade, he has a mare and several dogs. Four of his past dogs – Rebel, Emma, Amtrak and Coca – are buried in his backyard, not far from the above-ground pool from which he once removed a coral snake.

“I used to hear panthers scream out here at night,” he said, his rustling mustache and beard suggesting that he was smiling.

The roar of a nearby lawnmower snapped him from the pleasant memory.

“That was 20 years ago.”

“The Curmudgeon Chronicles” offer Tiger – a nickname he garnered around age 8, “just because I’m so pleasant and charming” – a vehicle to riff against most things modern.

Atop a page that introduces the essays, he explains:

“These social comments and analyses are intended as an admittedly slanted insight into portions of American culture that seldom get looked at carefully, much less critically or negatively. Most of these things have just sort of slipped up on us. Many came in the guise of convenience or the pretense of making things better somehow. Most have failed.”

Many words are dedicated to discrediting the advent of the modern computer, rich people who have nature destroyed so their “McMansions” can be built, the proliferation of the “Mart Mart Store empire,” his progressively ostracized status as a cigarette smoker and suit-wearing corporate administrators at institutes of higher learning.

It probably isn’t a shock, then, that some of his most pointed comments are directed at the young people whose parents pay for them to attend such schools, as well as the children who will someday fill their seats in the classroom.

In one page-long missive, Edmonds offers a solution that will ultimately help children “improve their personal hygiene, and make them more humble, more polite, less accommodated, less special, and more able.”

Ultimately, Tiger reasons, his idea will result in a “better America,” replete with a polite and prideful citizenry that will restore the country to a position of “world respect and admiration.”

“The answer is semi-trucks, specifically the trailers thereof,” he writes. “We put a semi-trailer in the yard of every single kid in America. In the early preschool morning, someone of authority, ideally someone named Mom or Dad, tells the kid, ‘Load that trailer, boy (or girl).’

“They will be allowed to frolic, or watch TV, or play mindless video games, or play with even more mindless computers, or go to the mall or anywhere else, or buy anything, or eat, only after the trailer task is completed to the authority’s satisfaction. I am confident this system will work. This was much of my childhood, and I came home from it so beat-down, knee-walking tired that I was unable to even think up ways to get in trouble. Sometimes I was too tired to eat.

“Years later, I asked my dad about this. He just smiled at me. Turns out he was lots smarter than I used to give him credit for.”

My kids are going to meet Tiger someday.

I might ask if they can stay the night.

 

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Silent Opposition

Posted Jul 29, 2008 by Geoff Fox

Updated Dec 31, 2008 at 01:30 PM

I was on vacation, scribbling on a notepad while leaning on a first-floor railing above an odorless Dumpster.

It was after 2 a.m.

Yes, I was bored.

Equally bored was the security guard who apparently had been watching me, from behind the Dumpster, as I scrawled and smoked a cheap stogie.

“Having trouble sleeping?” he said, suddenly.

I was startled by his presence and irritated by his tone, which, I figured, was meant to startle.

Besides, the question was rhetorical and what’s more annoying than that?

I asked if I was writing too loudly or if the smoke was offensive.

He said no.

I asked if his job was boring.

“I like boring,” he said.

What do you say to that?

Not knowing, I blinked at him.

He soon returned to his camping chair in the parking garage. It was between an SUV with Ohio plates and double doors leading to the elevators.

I know, because I later spied on him out of spite.

Again: bored.

Last week’s vacation wasn’t all boring, though. My mom, who is in PR and makes more money than I ever will, had rented a condo on Indian Rocks Beach. It was surrounded by lush trees bearing large coconuts, the kind that could result in a concussion, or at least a large knot, if one fell on your head.

There was the sound of consistently crashing waves on a nearby beach and the emotionally stabilizing smell of salty Gulf air. Out front, an occasional motorcycle roared by on a road otherwise populated by tourist-mobiles.

Rhymes With Pain

Like most kids, Thing 1 and Thing 2 dug the “Pirates of the Caribbean” movies, and there just happened to be a two-hour pirate-ship-type tour nearby.

On board, young women wore Hollywood-style sea-wench attire, poured free booze for the adults, put cardboard pirate hats on the kids and engaged them in stories and squirt-gun fights.

No, the wenches weren’t wearing white.

Most of the kids good-naturedly battled with their squirt guns. By good-naturedly, I mean Things 1 and 2 stood toe to toe and emptied their pistols into each other’s face and head. Then they reloaded and did the same thing to kids they didn’t know.

It was good to see them making friends.

Some of the adults, like Ironhead, were knee-deep in the kid-fun, which eventually involved a limbo contest. I migrated toward the top deck, where a “captain” in pirate garb steered the vessel.

Except to tell people not to obstruct his view, the captain wasn’t talkative.

The guy next to him was, though.

The man had apparently taken advantage of not only the free drinks on board, but also his ability to imbibe beforehand. His name rhymed with “Pain,” which I was able to discern only after realizing that his adhesive name tag had been applied upside down.

At one point, our drunken hero, who had authentic-looking pirate-like facial hair, was plainly irritated that he wasn’t allowed to smoke a cigar on board, but mostly he was oddly entertaining – in a keep-the-kids-away-from-him kinda way.

He asked the captain if he was a black belt.

“No,” the captain said. “This is just a costume.”

Dumbstruck, our hero frowned.

Finally, he said, “I’m not, either.”

When two hours was up, I regretted not instigating my own conversation with Rhymes-With-Pain, who might have been just as comfortable as a character in a Steinbeck novel, perhaps living among Mack and the boys in “Cannery Row.”

125 mph

At some point during the week, Ironhead, who took the photo below, reiterated her theory that not enough oxygen gets to my brain.

Frankly, I forget the latest context, but it might as well go here: a brief discussion of the Suncoast Seabird Sanctuary, which treats birds usually injured in some way by humans. Located in Indian Shores, the sanctuary, which accepts donations, is home to hundreds of pelicans, spoonbills, owls, blue jays, an indigo bunting, herons, wood storks, egrets and ducks, among others.

Not surprisingly, Iron, wise as she is, liked the owls best.

Thing 2 marveled at the blue jays.

Thing 1, who “helps” squirrels by breaking acorns for them, smashed ants throughout.

My mom seemed to enjoy watching the kids enjoy everything.

I was drawn to the red-tailed hawks.

For starters, they look bad, as in tough, and according to the information attached to their cage, they are. Most impressive to me is that they can reach speeds of 125 mph as they dive toward their prey, often insects, rabbits, rodents, fish, snakes and other birds.

Plus, you’ve never seen a red-tailed hawk wearing glasses.

Fashion Maven

While on vacation – or anywhere, really – it’s almost impossible not to notice what other people are wearing.

As the worst-dressed reporter in the Tampa Bay area, I really can’t speak critically of anyone else’s sartorial sensibilities.

I’ll say this, though: If you, or anyone you know, ever sees me wearing plaid shorts – of any color combination – please take a swing at my face.

I’m not saying I’ll just let you hit me, or that I won’t try to hit you back.

But use a blunt instrument if you wish, or attack silently from behind.

I’ll deserve it.

 

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Land O’ Lakes Sculptor Works with “Found Objects”

Posted Jul 22, 2008 by Geoff Fox

Updated Dec 31, 2008 at 01:33 PM

Bradley Arthur was sweaty enough to enter a wet T-shirt contest. That’ll happen when you spend hours under the sun, forging metal with power tools.

The Land O’ Lakes sculptor, known for making works out of “found objects”—some might say “junk”—was removing rust from a large, abstract piece in the yard of his Land O’ Lakes studio.

Wielding a 25-year-old angle grinder, he eliminated streaks of rust from an otherwise polished portion of “Family Ladder,” a towering work that gleamed in the Florida heat.

The streaks, he said, represented tears over environmental issues.

“I’ve always been concerned about the environment,” said Arthur, 54. “The climate change is evidence that it’s significant to not just talk about using our materials, but reusing and transforming some forms of waste into art. I’ve been doing that 35 years and it’s satisfying to see it entering the mainstream.” In 2001, he was chosen by the Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Office to build a pair of six-ton, roughly 10-foot-high star sculptures that were placed at the sheriff’s offices in Ybor City and Citrus Park. The works were made from melted guns collected in Hillsborough’s Cease Fire program. He explained the stars to me in 2003. “Every little thing or individual or aspect of the environment, when looked at alone, may not appear to have any significant meaning in relationship to the whole,” he said. “But when it’s combined – like community, people working together, like relationships – it really makes something special. “There’s a star and a circle; those are like primal forms that relate to the beginning of time.” And I thought the stars had something to do with a sheriff’s badge. Duh. Around the Tampa Bay area, his work, including his WORDZWORKX sculpture series, has been shown at the Brad Cooper Gallery and John F. Germany Public Library in Tampa and St. Petersburg’s Salt Creek Galleries, as well as at various Democratic fundraisers. He also has spoken about artists’ rights on WMNF, 88.5 FM. His sculpture, “ChairMuse,” has been in front of New City Hall Plaza in downtown Tampa since 1982; another, “Generations,” was bought by the Miami Jewish Home & Hospital for the Aged. Both are listed in the Smithsonian Institution’s Inventory of American Painting and Sculpture. A Tampa native, Arthur was raised in Miami and graduated from the University of South Florida in 1975. He later studied under master stone carvers, marble workers and welders at universities and studios in France, Italy and New York. For 17 years, he owned a studio in New York City. Resting in the shade of a crepe myrtle, he said he is in negotiations with a children’s hospital in New York, where officials are interested in “Family Ladder,” or a piece like it, for the courtyard. He lives in Land O’ Lakes with Jane, his wife, and college-age offspring, Ethan and Emily, simply because he loves it. Behind his studio, a sandhill crane ambled near a lake. Although the sun beat down relentlessly, there was thunder in the distance. Emblazoned across the front of a fresh shirt was: “CO2SOS,” a call to humans to save the eco-system. “The young people need to step up to the plate now,” he said. “The ball’s in their court to develop the courage and awareness to treat human beings and the environment as precious.” In Bradley Arthur’s world, inspiration is no farther than a hubcap on the side of the road, dialogue is as important as air and the glass isn’t half full, it’s overflowing. A dented muffler and blow torch to him is like a guitar and harmonica to Bob Dylan. Sometimes, though, you wonder if he’s ever driven during rush hour. “There’s a lot of beauty, harmony and unity in the world,” he’ll say. “Most people are considerate and fair.” Information about his work can be found at http://www.co2sos.com, http://www.st2p.com and http://www.bradarthur.com.

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The Sewer Guy Came Out

Posted Jul 16, 2008 by Geoff Fox

Updated Dec 31, 2008 at 01:35 PM

Turns out the damp amphibian whose face Ironhead sat on recently wasn’t a pig frog.

One alert reader passed along pictures of a pair of Cuban tree frogs that had made themselves comfortable on her outdoor furniture. Practically white, they looked just like the stunned squatter I had tossed out the front door days before.

Turns out Cuban tree frogs are an invasive species known for cannibalism, among other pleasant characteristics (Their skin secretions can irritate the human eye), according allaboutfrogs.org.

Anyway, the county sewer people came out today to determine if the frog could possibly have maneuvered its way through our system and up through the toilet bowl, as Iron suggested. “The guy said he’s been doing this a long time and he’s never heard of that happening,” she said. “But, he felt it was possible. He felt like if there had been a sewer problem, then we would have seen evidence in the yard, like a little sinkhole, or our toilets would have been backed up, or we’d have had issues with the water. “His best guess was that since it was tree frog, it got up on the roof and maybe got spooked by a bird, or that it was going after bugs or something and got into our vents and into our pipes somehow. To come through the street to the sewer would have been a very long journey. He said it was possible but not likely.” In other words, she said: “I’m accepting that he’s saying it’s possible it came up through the toilet, but not as far as the sewer.” In other words, the guy doesn’t know how the frog got in anymore than Iron does. Of course, Iron wasn’t real happy to be talking about the frog. As happens from time to time, a reporter quotes a person who later says she was misquoted. Iron says that happened in my previous post, when she was quoted as saying, “A third of the people keep their [toilet] lids closed.” “That was out of context,” she said. “How?” “I got that anecdotally from looking online.” Did she tell me at the time that that nugget of information came from the Internet? No. Does it matter that it did? I don’t see how. Regardless, the frog episode has exhausted her patience. “I don’t like being fodder for your blog,” she said. “Does the person you’re writing about not have any say in whether or not she shows up online? Apparently, not.” See? She’s almost always right.

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All About Eve

Posted Jul 15, 2008 by Geoff Fox

Updated Jul 16, 2008 at 01:14 PM

Eve Ferber was sincerely shocked that her joke – involving a specific part of the female anatomy and a golf ball – couldn’t be printed in The Tampa Tribune.

“You’re kidding me!” she said, standing topless in the middle of her street.

She crossed her arms and thought for a moment.

“OK, how about this one?“

Suffice to say that many of the jokes in Ferber’s book, “Bare Naked Humor,” which she published last year, would result in exasperated letters to the editor if printed in your morning paper.

And while the illustrations probably wouldn’t make Larry Flynt blush, they might make Hugh Hefner uncomfortable.

Among the many quotable characters I’ve interviewed over the years, Eve, now 88, is one I won’t forget until I die, develop Alzheimer’s disease, suffer a catastrophic injury or move to Amsterdam.

At an age many people don’t reach, the longtime resident at Lake Como Family Nudist Resort, off U.S. 41, is more active than most school children on summer break. She exercises for 30 minutes twice a day, either by walking, riding her customized orange Schwinn bike, playing tennis or swimming.

“Every now and then, I have a cigarette,” she said. “My main motto is: everything in moderation. Food, sex, exercise – everything in moderation works really well.”

A native of Breslau, Germany, she has never lost her thick accent. She has two children, four grandchildren, three great-grandchildren and scores of loyal friends.

For 30 years, she was married to Tim Ferber, until his death about 30 years ago. While she described the marriage as “very happy,” she said it took her 20 years to talk him into a swingers’ lifestyle.

I asked her what she did until he warmed to the notion.

With a smile, she said, “I freelanced.”

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Ironhead Sits On A Frog

Posted Jul 10, 2008 by Geoff Fox

Updated Dec 31, 2008 at 01:38 PM

Her tone was disgusted and insistent.

We’ve been married 13 years, so that was nothing new.

But it was 4:15 a.m. Saturday night/Sunday morning and Ironhead’s sudden, exasperated appearance set my senses atwitter.

Yes, I call my wife Ironhead. Yes, she answers to it. No, it isn’t disrespectful: just my way of celebrating the hard-headed woman Cat Stevens was looking for.

Anyway, she’s not the squeamish type. If a snake bumbles its way onto our back porch, she shoos it away. She catches toads just to “beep” their noses. Whenever a roach appears on the linoleum, she flattens it with a primal shriek that women tennis players could appreciate. This was different. “I need your help,” she said. I was led through the dark to the bathroom door, mostly closed and outlined by an unholy light. She pushed it open and I was temporarily blinded. Iron was motionless as a cardboard cutout, her finger extended toward the toilet. There he was, equally motionless and possibly confused, sitting on the toilet seat. Later identified by Ironhead as a pig frog, he had just gotten a view of my wife that I could have charged him for. “Don’t kill him,” she said, as she wiped moisture from her leg that had come from his back. Happily, the little guy wasn’t fast. I got him in a paper towel and tossed him out the front door. Following a chorus of other amphibians, he hopped toward the conservation area. Iron reasoned that he had not gotten into the house when one door or another was left open by kids who couldn’t shut a door if you paid them, but had successfully navigated the sewer system until his little Peter Lorre eyes popped out of our toilet bowl water. Unfortunately for me, Iron’s theory doesn’t hold water, according to Gary Morse, spokesman with the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission. “From time to time you have these reports of people claiming that frogs and whatnot come up through the toilet, but they don’t. They come through the house,” he said. “They come through the house and find the coolest spot they can find and it’s the toilet.” So, it couldn’t have somehow gotten into the toilet through the sewer system? No,” Morse said. “That whole system is closed. They’d have to get underground and travel through that system and come through the toilet, and that’s virtually impossible. Usually, it’s a tree frog and they come in unbeknownst to you and they seek out the coolest, wettest spots, and that’s usually your toilet bowl.” Meet Ironhead: “Oh, come on,” she began, when I told her what Morse said. Her tone was disgusted and insistent. “There’s plenty of anecdotal evidence online,” she said. “If you look online, you find people who have had rats [in the toilet], and they say they keep the [toilet] lids closed. How are [frogs and other amphibians and reptiles] going to get in there? They can’t flatten themselves that much. “The sewer people are going to come out and check the sewer line. That’s what we pay utilities for.” In Iron’s head, there is no way the frog could have snuck into the house, noiselessly hopped across the carpet, eased his way under our bedroom and bathroom doors, and gotten into the toilet. “I think I would have heard him splash.” The conversation was taking a familiar turn. I tried to backpedal, saying it wasn’t me she was disagreeing with, but Gary Morse, the fish and wildlife guy. You know, the guy who gets paid to know this stuff. She snorted. “He’s one guy; give me a plumbing and sewage expert. What does he know? He doesn’t know. I’d say a third of the people keep their lids closed. They can’t get under there. This happens in India all the time.” A third of the people … what? And, we don’t live in India. “Yeah, whatever,” she said. “We’ll see when the sewer people come out.”

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Music Is Rob Beaumont’s Language

Posted Jul 7, 2008 by Geoff Fox

Updated Dec 31, 2008 at 01:39 PM

Put a camera in front of him and Rob Beaumont is as comfortable as a cat at the end of a diving board.

Sit him behind a piano, though, and Beaumont isn’t just the life of the party, he is the party.

As he has for years, Beaumont, a former traveling musician, regularly plays at San Ann Liquors & Lounge on State Road 52, just west of Curley Road, where he leads a group called Bugtussle, named after The Beverly Hillbillies’ hometown in the Ozarks. On an outdoor stage behind the popular eatery and watering hole, Beaumont, who works fulltime at San Antonio Building Supply, and his band – including bassist Don Cox, guitarist Leon Hayes and drummer David Simmons – entertained a faithful group of regulars with a mix of standards from almost every period and genre. “Our motto is play one, drink one,” Beaumont said on a recent Friday evening, after completing a practiced rendition of “Georgia On My Mind.” With that, he grabbed a Miller High Life from behind the piano and took a healthy pull. Born into a family of musicians in Dade City, Beaumont has been a professional musician since graduating from Pasco High School in 1972. By 1980, he was traveling with a country band, mostly through Texas, Georgia and the Midwest. After several years, though, life on the road got old. Between sets at San Ann Liquors & Lounge in 2003, Beaumont told me he was content playing good-time music in front of appreciative local crowds. “I’m not really looking for the big time,” he said. “I just love music in general. I just like to play and do my thing.” His outlook hasn’t changed. As the sun went down, the crowd at San Ann grew. “What’s our motto again? I forget,” Beaumont called out. Two women at the bar raised their glasses and shouted, “Play one, drink one!” Everybody joined in.

 

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Everyday People: The Ones That Make Pasco What it Is

Posted Jul 1, 2008 by Geoff Fox

Updated Jul 1, 2008 at 03:45 PM

It was a sunny – if not breezy – day in horizontal Zephyrhills,  and the sounds were bouncing through my skull like echoes through a vast, empty canyon: the laughter of a carefree naturist,  the howl of a blues harmonica,  the gravelly voice of a man who has ridden his motorcycle a million miles across North America.

Then, the faces – smiling, concentrated, bemused – flashed through my memory in a kaleidoscopic swirl: a proud, happy man in a wheelchair,  a gregarious woodcarver,  a teenager bent on earning his living by inflicting and absorbing pain.

These were the voices and faces of the people I have covered since joining the Tribune in 2002.

As my ink-stained flashback ended, I wondered if that was really powdered cream I’d stirred into my coffee. Then I asked myself what prevented me from calling these people back and updating their stories.

Significant time has passed since I ‘ve spoken to many of them. Their lives have changed, and so has my profession. Once merely print journalists, my colleagues and I now often see our articles on the Internet well before the paper hits your driveway. And we’re telling stories through video, too.

That’s basically what this blog is about: reconnecting with old subjects and revisiting their tales with an assist from modern technology. As with any blog, your comments, suggestions and criticisms are welcome.

Maybe you know somebody I should talk to.

Maybe you think I should talk to you.

After all, everybody’s head is full of anecdotes, alibis and vignettes of days gone by.

And some think they can see the future.

In the coming weeks, you might find stories about nudists, activists or musicians,  bikers, artists or pro wrestlers. Perhaps you’ll find them odd, talented or reckless,  unyielding, creative or dramatic.

To me, though, they’re just everyday people.

Aren’t we all?

 

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