For the first time in months people seem pumped up over this marathon campaign. It’s easy to suggest they are just glad it’s over and there will be no more TV commercials and sleazy pitches, but I think it’s more.
Maybe it’s because finally we are having our say, even if our options might not have been what we had wanted.
Even at our house where our youngest son gets to vote for the first time, listening to him ask questions and get excited is something special. You feel like that maybe things are going to be all right in the long run; that the process is going to continue.
I felt it down at te Elks Club where we vote. You could see it in the eyes of voters coming out the door with those stickers on their shirts, wonder if it is the first time in years they have bothered and now they too realize that there is something special in our election process. I’d be interested in hearing how it was for you out there. 

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It was another morning of wading thorough the bad news as the economy continues to tank and the gnawing fear that nobody knows what to do about it permeated the Sunday paper.
But the story that got to me was back in one of the middle sections of the Trib. It talked about the global decline of the firefly, from southeast Asia to the southern forests of the United States.
It was last October when we were staying at one of those bed and breakfast homes in western North Carolina. It was their last weekend as they were about to close up until the following spring.
I sat out on the a rocker on the old deck that looked out over a rolling pasture where I watched the cows, as if by some silent signal, began to meander off to some unseen barn.
It was then that the first fire flies began to flash. At first there were only one or two but within minutes the entire lawn in front of me was alive as thousands of lights spread out down the hill.
In my mind I could remember summer nights as a boy in Tampa, chasing “lighting bugs’’ across the backyards of our neighborhood.
But that was a long time ago and for the generation growing up today in Tampa, one of those simple pleasures they will not know.

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This ought to be interesting. School starts Monday in Hillsborough County with nobody quite sure how the bus schedule is going to work out. Tropical storm Fay is making her way toward Cuban and if you look at the computer models, could be blowing up the west coast of Florida by Tuesday.
I’m thinking Wednesday ought to be some kind of convergence of confusion and indecision. Let’s hope not.

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Tampa Bay - Home of Champions - has done it again.
They had a parade when the Bucs won the Super Bowl and another for the Lightning when they captured the Stanley Cup.
I can only imagine that plans are already underway to welcome home Gus, just named “World’s Ugliest Dog.’’
Gus, a one-eyed, three-legged hairless Chinese Crested took top honors yesterday at the Sonoma Marin Fair in Petaluma, California. Gus is already wining his way to New York for an appearance on the CBS TV show “Sunday Morning.’’ tomorrow.
Gus is owned by by Jeanene Teed of St. Petersburg, who works in Tampa as the finance officer of the non-profit Healthy Start organization.
If you can’t wait until tomorrow morning, Google up “Ugliest Dog’’ and you will see our own Gus in all his weird glory. 

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How is it that we can treat an innocent victim like this? Someone needs to tell me the answer to this one.

Every day now – every day – the woman with the clipboard – a social worker – comes into the room and tells the mother that her daughter needs to go. The mother, who has not left her daughter’s side for six weeks, is exhausted and afraid for her daughter. She is not about to give up and not about to leave.

The daughter does not argue. She cannot.

You already know part of the story. In a season of violence, hers was the most horrific of them all.

It happened April 24, two days after the young woman turned 18. Earlier in the day everything had been going so well in her life. She had been shopping for shoes with her friends. They were going over to the beach to celebrate a birthday and graduation and the beginning of the next stage of her life.

She had been accepted into the University of Florida with a full scholarship; her family was so proud of a daughter who was overflowing with life.

But then, much later that evening, she decided to stop by the Bloomingdale Regional Public Library to drop off some books in the drop. As she drove up, she told a friend she was talking to on her cell phone that a suspicious person seemed to be hanging around. Her friend advised her to stay in the car. A moment later, her friend heard the screams.

Law enforcement officers think they know what happened next in a violent, brutal attack on the young woman. It was a rape so vicious the young woman was slammed against a wall and beaten and left half-naked in some nearby bushes.

Sheriff’s deputies soon arrested 16-year-old Kendrick Morris. He faces charges of kidnapping, aggravated battery with great bodily harm and sexual battery with injury. After he was arrested, investigators found evidence they say links him to the rape of another woman. He is in the Orient Road Jail.

The woman was briefly conscious when the sheriff’s deputies arrived at the library. She has been in an induced coma for weeks as doctors deal with a swelling brain and other severe injuries.

The mother says that it was only this week that her daughter had a seizure and is too unstable to be moved to some facility where there are no specialists and no rehabilitation.

Old News

The attack was six weeks ago. The story disappeared from the news, and we all moved on.

Not the young woman. She was in the intensive-care unit for weeks. All the while, her mother stayed at her side and slept in a chair at night. Her father slept in the family van parked in the emergency room lot.

Doctors have told the mother they do not know the extent of the damage and may not for months.

“She reacts when her friends come in,” her mother says. “She smiles or cries when they are gone. She still cannot speak, but I know she hears them.”

Remember that this is a mother speaking, a mother who may understandably see things that others do not.

What frightens the mother is that everyone is forgetting her daughter, including the caregivers. She says the hospital wants her to move her daughter to another facility, a nursing home where, the mother thinks, she will vegetate and be forgotten.

This is a difficult story on many levels. I’m writing this on an emotional level, about a life and death issue that in our brave new world of technology seems more and more common.

Tampa General is not even the decision-maker here. In fact, the hospital cannot even acknowledge that the young woman is in its facility.

John Dunn, a TGH spokesman, could only talk generally about hospital policies. “Generally speaking,” he said, “the decision to discharge patients is made by a physician who is following a medical treatment plan. Patients are usually discharged when they have completed that medical plan or the doctor concludes there is nothing more medically that can be done. Only then are arrangements made to put the patient in a more appropriate setting.”

Waiting

The young woman lies quietly in the hospital bed. Her wounds and injuries are covered by blankets and a few soft stuffed animals left by friends. One eye socket, cracked in the beating, appears normal as she sleeps.

Over by the window, the mother has a cot she has been sleeping on since her daughter was moved to a solitary room. Above the cot on the sill are pictures of better times. She only leaves the room when a relative comes to give her a break. “I don’t want her waking up and not having me there,’’ the mother says.

The family business that she works at is suffering. Everything in the family’s life has come to a standstill as they wait for a sign, maybe even a miracle.

I walked into the hospital’s gift shop and found a couple of workers from the state attorney’s office. They deal with sex crimes and aid to the families of victims. They were buying a small stuffed animal for the girl. When I asked them about the situation, one of the women had tears in her eyes.

There aren’t any easy answers. But I can give you a couple of thoughts. The young woman is a victim of a horrid crime. She was among the most promising of our youths. Now the only answer seems to be to send her off to be warehoused until—if ever—something happens.

And maybe medically and rationally that is the appropriate answer.

I just can’t buy it. I think we are better than that, even to the point of giving her every opportunity when there may be no opportunities to give. She deserves everything we can provide, and she needs more than a social worker coming into the room once a day and harassing a distraught mother – wondering why she hasn’t left.

If Tampa General doesn’t have a bed for this woman, she needs to go to a facility that is beyond warehousing, a place where she is seen and treated by our very best.

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Kim Bailey is the owner of Bailey’s great restaurant on Rome Ave. in Hyde Park. He was also one of the judges in my chili contest back in March.
Apparently he has recovered and not only that, says he will be serving the championship recipe Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights, which are the only nights the restaurant is open to the public. He is making his version of the one won by the Krewe of Zingaro.
To that end Bailey says 100 percent of all chili sales will go to the Krewe of Zingaro’s fund for the St, Joseph’s Children Cancer Group. I’m getting my spoon and heading over. 

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It’s Sunday, the humidity is down, heat is up and the Scratch My Back benefit concert is about the best place to be this afternoon, starting around 5 p.m. and going on until the last band is tossed out.
The venue is the legendary SkipperDome out behind Skippers Smokehouse where the Quivering Rhythm Hounds will open the concert, followed by Sharon (of WFLA AM fame) and the Boys and then the great Johnny G. Lyon band.
It’s all for the Humane Society of Tampa Bay and also as a reminder not to lock your pets in enclosed cars or anything else, especially this summer.
I’ll be giving away raffle prizes along with Party Marti Ryan all night. Get your shades, flip-flops and straw hat (even after dark you will be so cool) and come on out.

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We went out to a seafood restaurant last night. This one was in Westshore Plaza where they have almost a village of new restaurants. Like the others, I guess you would describe this one as “upscale chain.’’ And it was pretty good. The service was attentive, the fish was fresh and I even had something called a “key lime martini’’ that was like key lime pie with a kick.
Where they lost me was when I said I wanted a dozen oysters. This place has four different kinds of oysters to choose from, except that each order is for four oysters at $7.50 an order. I mean geez, it’s like that pound of coffee you buy in the grocery these days that is less than a pound.
“You mean,’’ I said a little too loudly for my wife to the waiter, “that if I ordered a dozen oysters that would be thirty bucks?’’
The waiter only nodded, certainly wondering what cheap local yahoo he had been stuck with.
I don’t care. This is Florida, and it’s not even resort Florida or one of those Disney jobs and thirty bucks for a dozen oysters is way over any body’s top.
I mean isn’t it enough you risk your health eating raw shell fish without getting a raw deal at the same time?

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The most interesting story in Mother Trib today is the discovery of a sunken vessel in the Hillsborough River, somewhere near Lowry Park. A team of archeaologists from the Florida Aquarium made the find and say the ship appears to be etween 80 and a 100 feet long. Records indicate it could be a Confederate blockade runner from the Civil War.
Maybe. I do recall going across the river on Hillsborough Ave. to church with my grandfather. We would always see the wreckage of the originial Gasparilla ship stuck in the muck where it had been beached and later burned.
I suppose it’s not too likely, but if those archaeologists come up with some beads on that blockade runner they might have to re-evaluate their discovery. One can only dream.

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So it is no secret things are bad. How bad was the news this week contained in a report of Tampa’s economic ranking with six Southern cities. The semi-annual report was released this week by the Tampa Bay Partnership and it ranked the Tampa Bay area dead last against five other metro areas: Atlanta, Dallas, Jacksonville, Charlotte and Raleigh\Durham.
The numbers are based on a number of indicators including employment, home affordability and housing permit growth.
Not included in the numbers are a lack of political leadership and continued low salaries and a floundering public school system.

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Democratic Party Chairman Howard Dean is going to be in town Monday. Political reporter Wendy March quotes local party leaders as saying the purpose of the visit is reconciliation. And while he’s here they will hold a $1,000 a plate dinner, which is a pretty steep price for crow.
But the party faithful have no shame. They cheated Florida voters this year, denied them the opportunity of picking a candidate and now here they are asking for money. They’ll get it too because power is more important to party leaders than being fair to voters.
They don’t care that they are more than a little responsible for a field so weak on both sides you almost wish nobody would win.

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It was just another assignment when I went down to the old Trailer Park gym on Rome Ave. to do a story on the Florida Wheels. This was back in the dark ages of the ‘70s and even being sportswriter I couldn’t work up a whole lot of enthusiasm for wheelchair basketball.
It was Chuck Porter, a member of the Wheels squad, who had lured me onto the court, loaning me his chair so I could experience a little bit of the game.
It took about five minutes to realize that this was a different game requiring different skills. While the two teams raced up and down the court I made one trip and was out of gas. Not only that my hands were getting raw from trying to twist the chair around. And I was getting banged around by other players in chairs. In short I was getting mugged on the court.
But the experience also allowed me to feel a little of the bonding of the players, men who had decided to take on their special challenges to the fullest. I did my story and then found myself coming back to the gym and even borrowing a chair now and then to worked with the team, even if I was no match for their skill level.
After a couple of hours in the unairconditioned gym they would roll over to Leos bar for a couple of beers. It became a weekly ritual. The Wheels played in a national league and traveled around the South playing in their division.
The Wheels disbanded years ago but Porter, who has worked as chairman of the Mayor’s Alliance on Disabilities, called to tell me they will have a reunion next Wednesday, May 14th at 1 p.m. at the Embassy Suites out on Fowler Ave.  by the USF campus. He’s looking for former players, coaches, refs, anybody who was a part of that special time. If you want some more information, you can call Chuck Porter at (813) 886-4163.

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Sorry I’ve been a little slow with the blog this week. I want to blame it on the crash. My youngest was driving back from FSU at the end of the semester last weekend when he was slammed into by an 18-wheeler. He climbed out of the little Mazda with only a couple of bruises and a sore neck. The car looked like what happens when you’re through with a sheet of aluminum foil and crush it up into a ball. I haven’t been able to shake the image all week.
Your emails have been very kind although the dozens of you who have shared similar experiences is almost scary.
Here is a sampling of some of your notes:
My old friend and former Tampa Times’ colleague Mike Sherard wrote, “...Know the phone call all too well. Judy and I still dread the phone even ringing at night...Our son rolled his car getting on the interstate in October and I swear we went through everything you did. I was so grateful he was alive, I was giving money to the trash guys, paid a guy’s bill at the grocery store and on and on. So hang in there; there’s a bunch of us that know how you feel...damn kids.’’
From John Swann: “First let me say I am very glad your son is OK. I am a father with a daughter in college in Arkansas and have spent many a night worry about that same call. Your article could not have come at a better time for me. I was having a really bad day and very worried about things going on right now (lack of money) and your article shook me to the core. How dare I be concerned about things like that when I have so many things to be grateful for in my life. P.S. I think I’d be looking at a bigger used care this time.’’
Mark Tenney knew our feelings well: “Steve,...Your experience and the feelings evoked hit really close to home for Kathy and me. About three and a half years ago we had an eerily similar experience. Our oldest son John was driving home from school for Christmas break. He was involved in a serious car accident on I-75 at Payne’s Prairie (just north of the Citra exit) and his car was totaled very similar to your son’s car.
“Once we arrived in Gainesville and saw the extent of the damage to his car we wondered how he escaped unharmed. As we rummaged through all of his so-called valuables, we quickly realized how unimportant ‘stuff’ is and just how precious your children are. As we prepare to drive to Gainesville this weekend to watch John graduate from UF, your column reminded us that this blessing came very close to never being realized. Thanks again for the reminder of what is truly important in life and how quickly it can be lost.’’
Jay Botsch, who is General manager of WestShore Plaza, wrote, “Hi Steve, “This past Monday afternoon my cell phone rang with a very upset 18-year-old high school senior girl on the other end...sitting in her car moments after being struck by a vehicle that failed to stop at a traffic signal on East Lake Road. As you’ve guessed, the 18-year-old is my daughter Jennifer. I soon learned that parental helplessness is not a familiar, comfortable or welcome state for me.
“The good news is that my daughter seems to be okay. And we’re happy the other drive is okay as well...though that’s a tougher lesson to learn for an 18 year old that just lost her car/freedom. We’re also grateful to the numerous passersby that assisted my daughter from the car leading her to safety. I actually spoke with one person, a parent as well, assuring me that Jennifer was okay (never learned her name which I’m sorry about). Our thanks and praise are also extended to the Sheriff’s Dept., East Lake Fire and Rescue and Mease Countryside Emergency personnel. Simply terrific professional service at a time when you really need it.
“So I find that my wife and I are in the same reflective state about life and priorities...just as you are. I understand fully. So now that we’re bonded, let me in on any good used car leads you hear about through this story. Ha! Enjoy your son this summer.’’

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You know, we had those rascals for about four innings. I’m talking about us - The Media All Stars - and how we had that team from the Lighthouse for the Blind on the ropes in 20th annual Beepball Classic at the New York Yankees Community Field this afternoon.
I think they were a tad overconfident. Maybe it was winning the first 19 years in a row. Beepball is a variation of baseball - a pretty strange variation at that . The idea is to hit a beeping ball while you are blindfolded and then to try and find the beeping base before the outfield finds the beeping ball. There’s more but you get the picture.
I knew it was going to be a close game when their big hitter Lee Kimbrell slashed a hit up the middle That
s traditionally been the beginning of the end, but this time our own Alicia Roberts, WFLA’s morning traffic person deluxe, sacrificed her body, diving to the ground to scoop it up.
After New York Yankee’s Phil McNiff scored our first run, Tampa City Councilman Charlie Miranda whacked one down the first base line and for the first time in a dozen or so years we were leading.
I think we might have pushed our luck later on when our Pinetop Peterson set his mystical Mojo Hand, which comes in a giant jar, behind home plate.
The mojo worked against us and the Lighthouse team, led by Kimbrell, scored five runs, finally winning for the 20th consecutive time 7-3.
Hey it was a beautiful day, the hot dogs were great, the Coleman Middle School Orchstra was super and there is always next year.

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It wasn’t exactly breaking news, but the source was a little surprising when Tampa City Councilman Charlie Miranda announced that the council is “dysfunctional.’’ For several reasons Charlie is my favorite councilman and one of them is his ability to cut to the chase.  On Thusday they managed to drag out a discussion on limiiting their own campaign contributions for what seemed hours.
It finally got to that point where Charlie lost it and declared the whole crowd dysfunctional and announced he was goign to run for county commssion. Should all that happen and he gets a seat on the county board, you have to wonder how long it’s going to take for him to realize he has fallen into the Black Hole of dysfunction.
- Actually my personal concern is that Charlie and Councilwoman Mary Mulhern are in my starting lineup in tomorrow’s Beepball game against the Lighthouse for the Blind (10 a.m. at the New York Yankees Community Field right next to Legends Fieldy. The last thing I need is a dysfuntional infield as we try to snap or 19-year string of losses to the Lighthouse.

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