The Agony of Defeat

21 04 2011

Well, another campaign is in the books. Defeated again.

I had high hopes this time around. We had a quality candidate, adequate resources and energized volunteers. In the end, we just didn’t have enough absentee ballots.

So Panama City has a new Mayor and there is much work to be done. If the Old Guard is to claim victory here then it is incumbent upon those ‘powers that be’ to follow through with the campaign rhetoric and lift this City out of despair.

Panama City needs jobs. Skilled jobs in high tech industry that provide a living wage. We are in danger of losing a generation of talent because of lack of opportunity. This must be addressed.

It is interesting to watch the evolution of a community. Many themes from my campaign were carried on. Issues such as poverty relating to the homeless, revitalization of Downtown and environmental procedures were debated. Hopefully, solutions are on the way.

For all the anti-government rhetoric that seems to dominate any debate in Panama City, the fact still remains that the government is the No. 1 employer here. If the private sector is the job creator, as we are led to believe, it would be nice to see some tangible evidence.

Perhaps this is sour grapes speaking. I have been unemployed going on three years now and this journey has taught me many lessons. I now know how to produce more with less. I understand value in relation to price and, most importantly, I believe in shared sacrifice.

So now the task is to fight off bitterness and the sting of another election loss. There is temptation to fold and look for opportunities elsewhere in a climate more conducive to my thinking.

I tried that before, in New York, and it didn’t work out too well.

Deep down inside, I hold faith in these losing battles as preparation for greater things to come. Perhaps, God is testing me and City leaders are watching to see if I will break.

I won’t.

I’ll find that happy place one day and, trust me, you will know it.


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Meeting needs through Action

11 04 2011

“I can throw a major fit when my latte aint how I like it.”

That’s a line from a country song about celebrity status. It can also be used as a shot at the ruling class.

The campaign for Panama City enters its final week now and a new establishment is rising. Endorsements are being made, inside information exchanged and heavy negotiating taking place.

Southern politics at its finest.

Like the line from that country crooner eludes to, entitlements are — at play. The latte is just the beginning. You see, there are those among us that insist ‘Life’ be served to them on silver platters. They’ll interact with you, just as long as it’s on their terms.

It’s often eluded to — although rarely proven — that City elections can be fixed. One might come to the conclusion that City grandfathers and prominent families meet way before the next election cycle to decide the winners. Then they go search for the losers.

And in the process, reality gets in the way. That’s where things don’t always go according to plan.

The Chosen One may find the chores difficult. Lose patience with the questions. Get tired of listening.

It is not easy campaigning. In fact, it is down right hard work. Nobody should be expected to take the Mayor’s office without a fight.

Yes, without a doubt, it is during the process that an electorate sees who really wants the job. Who is capable of understanding needs of a civic-minded society and willing to meet those needs through action.

Legacy is important and so too is progress. The Future starts now.

 


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Spring Broken

31 03 2011

The throngs of students is thinning along Florida’s Gulf Coast. I have just returned from a pleasant drive through Panama City Beach. There are still some young bucks and pretty fillies roaming the resorts, but for the most part, the college crowd has returned to their respective campuses. In their wake, is what, my partner David refers to as the “spring broken.”

These are the people who flock to the Beach to cash in on the partying with no intent on furthering their higher education. They usually go the way of the homeless.

Sitting outside of McDonald’s the other day, enjoying my smoothie drink and soaking up the sunshine, I was confronted by one of the Broken. My mistake was making eye contact, which gave him the green light to proceed.

“Hey Brother, can you spare a few dollars so I can get something to eat,” said the Broken man.

It always begins with “Brother.”

During my campaign, I encountered many homeless people. Such was the state of affairs in area crippled by a disastrous oil spill and weak economy. I made it a priority to shine the light on their struggles and to visit organizations dedicated to lending a helping hand.

Sadly, I also found that not every “Broken” person wants a way out of their situation.

“My wife and I are on the street,” the man continued, although their was no sign of this ‘wife’ and he didn’t appear to be starving.

I looked at the man again in the eyes — without uttering a word.

He read my mind and moved along, mumbling to himself all the way. I felt uncompassionate at first, but knowing the street life, I realized he had the ability to find shelter and provisions for his family, if they did exist, and my two cents would have little affect. There are those who are truly in dire circumstances and this man was not one of them. Broken maybe, but still capable of pulling up his boot straps.

Balancing compassion with security has become a major theme of Panama City’s municipal election. What voters need to hear now, more than anything, is a success story. We know the causes of homelessness — mental illness, substance abuse and poverty just to name a few. And we have seen the Broken walking the streets, gathering at the Mission and sleeping on park benches.

What we, as a community, need to see now is the ones who made it out alive. The ones who pulled themselves up by their boot straps and with a little help from Uncle Sam, the Almighty or an unsung guardian angel, graduated to a productive life.

My walk through humility forever changed how I view society. It gave me a unique perspective on the plight of the less fortunate. I can voice my observations and opinions confidently because I have walked in their shoes.

To me, the bottom line to getting out of the bottom of the pit is recognizing where you are.

There is help out there. The first step is seeking it.

 

 


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Adopting a New View of Parenting

15 03 2011

We’re in the midst of ‘Spring Break.’ An American rite of passage. And I’m staying as far away from the action as I can.

Been there. Done that.

As a college prepster at Troy, my fraternity brothers and I made the annual trek to PCB to engage in the festive atmosphere. We would hit the beach during the day, chug a lot of beer, talk about sports and gaze at the girls before getting cleaned up for a night at the clubs.

Places like the Boardwalk and the Summit are still etched in my mind. I was such a dork back then. I wasn’t much into physical fitness in college, not like I am now. I was more concerned with equations and hypothesis, particularly when it came to sports teams.

So, I kept my shirt on at the beach. No need to let — as some of my fraternity brothers dubbed it — “the bird chest” out of its cage.

They say college is all about self discovery. I discovered, thanks to my fraternity, the differences and similarities that bring young men together. Beer also breaks down a lot of barriers.

These days, most of my fraternity brothers are married with children. I wonder what it’s like.

Tonight, I attended a presentation on adoption in the State of Florida. The attorney, a Harvard educated Jewish woman from New York, explained the situation for same-sex couples and for the first time, I thought long and hard about fatherhood.

There are so many children in the State’s system in need of loving and caring homes. Crime and poverty have left innocent children yearning for a positive parental environment. This being another discovery from the campaign trial.

The fact that I am no longer drawn to the beach parties or long nights clubbing is a sign that I am ready to begin a new chapter in my life. My relationship with David has truly made me wiser and healthier and I would like nothing more than to continue on that path through mentorship.

Through the course of the campaign, as I visited community after community hit hard by the recession, I came to realize how privileged my childhood was. My parents made many sacrifices in order for my brother and I to live comfortably. This I now see clearly. By the same token, thanks to my travels and adventures as a journalist, I am keenly aware of the dangers out there and influences that can lead to broken homes.

So, in conclusion, if I can make a difference — for the better — in the life of a disadvantaged child, then I feel it is my duty as a humble public servant to volunteer.

And with this I have graduated from ‘Spring Break’ as we have known it.

 

 

 


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The Fight for Panama City

2 03 2011

Back from Tallahassee. It was a very productive and encouraging weekend. I’m starting to realize my role here.

“You have to make them play defense,” the State Committeeman from the Keys told me. “The more money they have to spend there, the less than can spend in Orlando, Tampa or Miami.”

So here I go again. Back in Panama City, inside the belly of the beast, representing the litte guy and fighting for a piece of the pie.

We’re in the midst of a Mayoral campaign now. Alvin is my candidate and to any keen observer, he is the clear choice this City so desperately needs. Alvin’s strength’s are obvious: Intelligence, Leadership, Compassion, and Understanding. These are all traits one would expect coming out of City Hall. He also epitomizes the Modern Family Man, recognizing the qualities of a diverse and changing world and embracing all walks of life.

Alvin swears us in

It will be interesting to see how this City responds. You could say it’s an IQ test.

On the other side, you have entrenched business interests. The old guard, still clinging to power. But what have they done with that power?

Job losses, low wages, increased poverty, I could go on and on. Meanwhile, neighboring cities such as Lynn Haven, Destin and Panama City Beach are growing — at the expense of Panama City.

The election is a little more than a month away. It will be a hard fight for change, however, unlike my recent crusade, this one is certainly winnable.

So today I hit the streets again. Making them play defense.


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Categories : Panama City, Politics

Feet First

23 02 2011

Getting prepared for my return to Tallahassee. First since the election. It will be interesting to gauge the political climate there. A newly elected Governor, unhappy State workers and a feverish Tea Party spirit lingers across the Sunshine State.

The Republicans hold their greatest majority in the State Legislature since the days of Reconstruction. The also claim the Governor’s Mansion and all of the elected cabinet positions. Simply put, the GOP’s power in Florida has never been stronger.

What’s a Dem to do?

“You need to write a book,” the Foot Doctor told me.

Ah yes, the Foot Doctor. Yet another of Panama City’s colorful characters. I met the Doc early in my run. He was a short, round man and a classic New Yorker — full of pomp, ego and stories of his service as a State Committee Man for the Dems and he dismissed me right away.

“I wouldn’t want to be running right now,” he said.

Roseanne, my dear motherly campaign manager, said to forget about him.

“He’s not going to support you,” she said.

And she was right. Although my research turned up checks the Doc had written to other Democratic candidates, he like most of the Party establishment, were going to sit my race out — and watch. For their own amusement no less.

Such is the case with a newcomer. Throw in the fact, I was running against a recent party switcher, who still had friends amongst the local Dems, it made it hard for any person of good standing to back my cause.

So when I ran across the Foot Doctor, tanning on the Beach, on a beautiful Autumn afternoon, his suggestion to me was to do what I do best — write.

He already had the title picked out for me, “How I ran against the establishment, in the Reddest of Red America, during the rise of the Tea Party, as a Democrat, with little-to-no money.” The Doc got a good chuckle at this title as he soaked up the sun in his Jersey-styled beach chair.

We chatted some about the campaign that day. Ramil, one of my housemates, had accompanied me to the Beach and for fear of boring him with politics, I made my conversation with the Doc short. Before we parted ways, the Doc asked to see Ramil’s feet.

“They look good,” he said, leaned back in his beach chair. “Strong bone structure.”

Ramil seemed slightly embarrassed. He was very modest about his appearance. We related in this way. Part of my struggle during the campaign was with the constant remarks about my figure. Not knowing for sure if people were being complementary or cruel. This is something I’m sure all politicians have to overcome.

As I embark on an important weekend in Tallahassee, I am now more confident about my stature. I have recovered well from the stress of the campaign and feel stronger than ever.

Meeting influential people is a priority this weekend. I realize, if I am to be successful in this new political career, I must expand my base of support beyond the Beach.

And I will follow the Foot Doctor’s advice. I will continue to write.


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My Valentine

14 02 2011

Breaking out of my lil’ depression now. Listening to the brilliant Pandora app on my I-phone. When I think about my life, it is silly to wallow in self defeat.

Yes, I’ve experienced Ammmmazing things through the course of three decades. Been to exotic places and met incredible people. It’s high time to be grateful.

I am most grateful for David. He has seen me at my worst, heard all the stories, rumors and half-truths and still manages to see through it all. I know it hasn’t been easy for him, these last two years.

We met when my world was falling apart. And he still let me drive his BMW.

David is truly a gentle soul. A believer in overcoming obstacles and moving mountains. He rebuilt that sporty ’89 BMW and restored it to classic condition. It was a blast to take out on the campaign trail.

There was a moment, during the sultry summer, at the Fourth of July parade in Lynn Haven, that sticks out in my mind. David had suggested I stand in the BMW — through the sunroof — and wave at the crowds. This idea, at the time, seemed foolish. My confidence was weak then. Instead, I donned a T-shirt for the Governor candidate and marched with the party faithful.

Looking back, that was a mistake. The Beemer would have probably got me noticed more. It’s a cool car and I especially love zooming through traffic in it. David enjoys talking about the work he’s spent restoring this ‘ultimate driving machine’ to tip-top performance.

He’s done the same with me.

When I came back to Panama City, after failing in New York, David was there to pick up the pieces — shattered ego, bruised body and all. I know it hasn’t been easy for him. He has made many sacrifices.

And no matter how hard I fought to remain independent, he kept loving me. All those times, I railed against the system, complained about my plight or sinned for the sake of sinning, David stood by me.

The campaign was, for all intents and purposes, a very public trial. I learned a great deal about my community and found true friends. There were days when I didn’t feel like getting out of bed yet David always managed to motivate me to be better.

I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve him. I’m just happy he chose me.

Happy Valentine’s Day Lover!


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Depressed

8 02 2011

Dallas seems like so long ago now. I’m blogging on an early Tuesday morning from the snug confines of my home in Panama City Beach. Isolated. Such fun.

I still haven’t found meaningful employment, which is taking its toll on my male bravado. I’m trying to stay active in the local political scene, but the powers that be are doing their very best to freeze me out.

David, my dear confidant, continues to preach the Gospels to me in an effort to snap my grip on depression. But even he is losing patience.

I figured, at the very least, I would get one job offer out of my run for State Representative. But so far nothing, notta, zippo. I continue to attend government meetings and my Twitter followers are rising, but still no paycheck.

Back in Dallas, where the economy is strong, I encountered many professional gay men my age who were enjoying life and their surroundings. They were empowered and had strong support groups.

I truly feel Panama City takes delight in my misfortune and struggles. If this is living out loud then so Be it.

I guess I’ll go down to the Soup Kitchen and Volunteer.


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Like A Machine

3 01 2011

In the beginning, the campaign was tough. Very tough.

I was a political novice, taking on the establishment. In those early days, I would often remark than I was, ‘going against the machine.’ It was a nice play at words and a poke at Florida’s machine vote-counting method.

Yes, I was opposing the very political machinery running Panama City. A true underdog in every sense. My opponent was a popular incumbent, whose family had a rich tradition in the restaurant business.

He was elected by a 40 percent margin and no one dared throw their hat in when re-election time came. Four years later, with the economy in shambles and having been chewed up and spit out by some of New York’s finest, I figured, quite simply, I had nothing to lose.

“Some of the best politicians are never elected, John,” Jim noted as we motored out of Monroe on a warm Thanksgiving morning.

Like the year before, we stopped at a Holiday Inn in Shreveport for the Turkey Day buffet. It was a blue haired crowd — the average age had to be hovering around 80. Some had canes, others walkers and this made navigating the buffet somewhat challenging.

Jim didn’t care too much for his peers. Most of his associates were younger. He preferred it that way. I was probably the oldest chap to make his vacation cut, for a second time no less.

And I was much wiser this go around. Knowing what to expect helps. Ever the engineer, Jim was resistant to change. We stopped in Dallas again on the second night, at the same high-rise hotel on the westside of Downtown, near Love Field. The Cowboys were playing in Arlington that day and as we checked in, the last shuttle from the hotel was departing with eager fans dressed in their best blue and white gear.

It had been a rough year for the Dallas Cowboys. Mounting losses had led to the head coach’s dismissal at midseason. There would be no playoffs this year for America’s Team. We watched the game in the room and I listened closely to Troy Aikman’s commentary. He was trying to be fair, despite his strong ties to Dallas. I admired that.

The Cowboys played well before eventually bowing to the defending Super Bowl Champion New Orleans Saints. I’m often asked about my sports writing days and I usually remark about how those were the best days and nights of my life, little did I know it at the time.

I was a young ambitious reporter then. Not content with making 20 grand a year in a small Alabama town. The bright lights and ‘live and let live’ allure of the big city was too distracting. In Texas, it would eventually consume me.

Back in the Lone Star State, eight years later, I was ready to confront those bright lights again. So Jim and I headed down the Cedar Springs highway for a visit to the “Gayborhood.” Naturally, Jim had our evening itinerary already planned out, from the parking to dining and drinking.

Like a machine, that Jim.

And I was just a cog.

 


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Monroe Management

20 12 2010

Monroe, Louisiana the night before Thanksgiving. Not even the gay bar is open. We did manage to find a local, independent restaurant by the river, built on warehouse site with beautiful cedar interior walls and a reputation for friendly service.

Jim went straight for the bar, passing by a pretty young waitress with no tables to serve. The place was empty, sans a few of the help.  When we pulled up the stools, the waitress, ever persistent, followed, but seeing three guys behind the bar, Jim didn’t give her the time of day. He put his order in with the bartender who turned to cook, who spoke to the manager, who approved and the waitress went home. Such a pro, that Jim.

We spent dinner mostly catching up on the past year’s events in local politics. Being a Republican, Jim kept his distance from my campaign. He did, however, attend our kickoff party on the Beach, which, as luck would have it, came on one of the most rainy and nasty days of summer. I recall my points on solar power getting a few chuckles that day.

After dinner we went back to the hotel, where a friend of Jim’s was working in the lounge. He was a native of Monroe and had seen Jim make this trip many times before. We chatted briefly about the economy, the oil spill, mutual connections in New Orleans, that kind of stuff. Nothing too probing.

The lounge was full with members of a wedding party. There were a lot of guys dipping smokeless tobacco and drinking out of bottles. Some made croonin’ attempts on the karaoke machine. It was rather amusing.

Jim and I retired back to the room after just one drink. As is customary, Jim sleeps with the television on, turned up loud — Fox News still his choice for information. We talked a little bit about Monroe. Jim told me how he did a lot of business with the paper mill here and the emergence of natural gas as a major industry for the region. Then he drifted off to sleep.

I settled into my bed and did a little social networking on my I-phone. The drive to Monroe didn’t seem near as boring as last year. I think my new glasses helped. This year, I was noticing different things, seeing people through different eyes and, there was no doubt, I was a different man.

Tomorrow we would give thanks — and we both had much to be thankful for.

 


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