In his studio, Ferdie Pacheco stares at the canvas and picks up his brush. Another friend from his youth has passed away. Time to summon a memory.
WESLEY CHAPEL — In a big, bright classroom at Discovery Point, more than a dozen 4-year-olds focused on their teacher — until Mike Keeney walked in. He smiled when he heard their whispers: "Mr. Mike!"
One of the problems of growing older is that each year increases the number of know-it-all iterations of myself that I'm obligated to reassess. In January, in this space, I tried to make sense of the shocking suicide of Gretchen Molannen, the subject of the cover story in the first issue of Floridian last December.
I had floated for hours in a warm mineral spring in Florida, interviewing Eastern Europeans in Speedos and floppy hats. For a reporter, it was an idyllic kind of day.
Back in the early 1970s when University of South Florida St. Petersburg professor Jay Sokolovsky began his career as an anthropologist, nobody bothered with elderly Americans.
The first note about the closing went up in September.
Then the handwritten revisions began.
Miss Martha wills her hands to do the work, which is shucking one oyster after another, a hundred oysters, five hundred oysters, a thousand oysters, day after day and year after year.
Many of us, when we get busy, which is always of course, are tempted to keep the blinders on. No distractions, please. Not so Tampa resident Stephen L. Goodman, left. Even on the job, he's eyes-open and awake. As a writer, Goodman says, "I have three main inspirations: as it is happening, memory and …
There was bound to be a Florida connection: You just knew it.