Wednesday, November 26, 2003
You know what the coolest thing about Napster was?
It finally made a computer a thing worth having.
As media hype and internet service finally spread to those of us outside the major cities, it suddenly became tres' chic for everyone and their grandma to take home a PC. Shoot, grandma used it more than I did.
Most folk I know fucked around on theirs a couple weeks before its table became something of a magnet for other gadgets and garbage in the house: VHS camcorders, boombox cassettes. Cell phones the size of a Bible.
Then along came Napster. Woohee. Suddenly every Tom, Ben & Jerry had his own box set of '80s death metal and Nick Drake's Greatest Hits.
You mean that pieceashit HP has a purpose beyond bad jokes, chain letters, cheap sentiment and penile enlargement? No foolin'? Wow. Get the hell offa my porch.
Now we're being sued. Big whoop. Compared to Iraqis, we've got it easy.
I figure, how much are a couple hundred Uncle Heck Buford recordings worth, anywho? Forty bucks and change? If I could find them at the fucking Mal-Wart I wouldn't be waiting an hour and a half for each of the sons of bitches to download.
Ripping off music is why there's anything as rock & roll, anyhow. Where would the Beach Boys be without Chuck Berry, George Harrison without the Shirelles, Ghost Busters without Huey Lewis?
I admit it. I done wrong. I've shipped burnt bootlegs via through the US Postal Service, distributed them as Christmas presents, tortured unsuspecting visitors during latenights on the linai. I am guilty as sin.
That said, bootlegs were where I first heard Frank Zappa. Miles Davis. David Alan Coe. Okay, just because it's a bootleg doesn't mean it's any good.
Same thing with this file sharing business. If I was hawking my handiwork at the local flea market I could see where Metallica might stand to get a little peeved. As it is, since I detest their stuff anyway, it's all a moot point.
It finally made a computer a thing worth having.
As media hype and internet service finally spread to those of us outside the major cities, it suddenly became tres' chic for everyone and their grandma to take home a PC. Shoot, grandma used it more than I did.
Most folk I know fucked around on theirs a couple weeks before its table became something of a magnet for other gadgets and garbage in the house: VHS camcorders, boombox cassettes. Cell phones the size of a Bible.
Then along came Napster. Woohee. Suddenly every Tom, Ben & Jerry had his own box set of '80s death metal and Nick Drake's Greatest Hits.
You mean that pieceashit HP has a purpose beyond bad jokes, chain letters, cheap sentiment and penile enlargement? No foolin'? Wow. Get the hell offa my porch.
Now we're being sued. Big whoop. Compared to Iraqis, we've got it easy.
I figure, how much are a couple hundred Uncle Heck Buford recordings worth, anywho? Forty bucks and change? If I could find them at the fucking Mal-Wart I wouldn't be waiting an hour and a half for each of the sons of bitches to download.
Ripping off music is why there's anything as rock & roll, anyhow. Where would the Beach Boys be without Chuck Berry, George Harrison without the Shirelles, Ghost Busters without Huey Lewis?
I admit it. I done wrong. I've shipped burnt bootlegs via through the US Postal Service, distributed them as Christmas presents, tortured unsuspecting visitors during latenights on the linai. I am guilty as sin.
That said, bootlegs were where I first heard Frank Zappa. Miles Davis. David Alan Coe. Okay, just because it's a bootleg doesn't mean it's any good.
Same thing with this file sharing business. If I was hawking my handiwork at the local flea market I could see where Metallica might stand to get a little peeved. As it is, since I detest their stuff anyway, it's all a moot point.
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
BROADCASTER BROKE AREA'S RADIO SILENCE
JEFF JETER
THE TAMPA TRIBUNE
AUGUST 1995
Long before Ron & Ron, the Power Pig or Cleveland Wheeler ever fought for the skies over Tampa Bay, legions of listeners were tuning in to pioneer radio station WDAE for the latest in news, gossip and entertainment.
On September 22, 1927, the Tampa station transmitted the area's first live network sports coverage, a heavyweight bout between champion Gene Tunney and challenger Jack Dempsey, live from Soldier Field in Chicago. The response was tremendous.
"Eardrums of 40,000 to 50,000 Tampans will be tuned in tonight on the biggest sporting event in modern history," the Tampa Daily Times speculated that day.
"Interest in the bout has the fever pitch attendant to a national election. And everyone who can but borrow or build a radio is preparing to shut himself away from business and domestic cares with a set of ear phones or a loudspeaker and drink in the details of the encounter."
That night 1,000 guests attended an invitation-only affair sponsored by the Studebaker Gulf Sales Co.
There were "hundreds of private parties" about town, and more than 10,000 fans jammed the streets adjacent to the Tampa Times building to hear sportscaster Graham McNamee call the fight over loudspeakers.
The resulting chaos forced traffic to be rerouted and streetcars halted.
By that winter, WDAE had moved from Bay Isles to a bungalow on the Marjorie Park Yacht Basin and was broadcasting moonlight concerts by Harold Bachman's Million Dollar Band, direct from the Plant Park band shell.
Bachman would go on to lead the University of Florida's Gator Marching Band in later years.
Longtime air personality "Salty" Sol Fleischman was broadcasting from the Moulin Rouge Night Club on 22nd Street one Saturday night when the place was raided on suspicions of illegal gambling. Claude Harris' Band was the evening's featured entertainment, and the show went on as usual, without any on-air mention of the incident.
One of the medium's darker moments took place in November of that year, when the station conducted another remote broadcast, this one from Raiford State Prison to cover the execution of convicted ax murderer Benjamin Franklin Levins.
Levins had been the subject of an attempted lynching while in custody at the Hillsborough County Jail on Pierce Street the previous May, and by the time the National Guard dispersed the crowd, five people were dead and nearly 40 had been wounded.
JEFF JETER
THE TAMPA TRIBUNE
AUGUST 1995
Long before Ron & Ron, the Power Pig or Cleveland Wheeler ever fought for the skies over Tampa Bay, legions of listeners were tuning in to pioneer radio station WDAE for the latest in news, gossip and entertainment.
On September 22, 1927, the Tampa station transmitted the area's first live network sports coverage, a heavyweight bout between champion Gene Tunney and challenger Jack Dempsey, live from Soldier Field in Chicago. The response was tremendous.
"Eardrums of 40,000 to 50,000 Tampans will be tuned in tonight on the biggest sporting event in modern history," the Tampa Daily Times speculated that day.
"Interest in the bout has the fever pitch attendant to a national election. And everyone who can but borrow or build a radio is preparing to shut himself away from business and domestic cares with a set of ear phones or a loudspeaker and drink in the details of the encounter."
That night 1,000 guests attended an invitation-only affair sponsored by the Studebaker Gulf Sales Co.
There were "hundreds of private parties" about town, and more than 10,000 fans jammed the streets adjacent to the Tampa Times building to hear sportscaster Graham McNamee call the fight over loudspeakers.
The resulting chaos forced traffic to be rerouted and streetcars halted.
By that winter, WDAE had moved from Bay Isles to a bungalow on the Marjorie Park Yacht Basin and was broadcasting moonlight concerts by Harold Bachman's Million Dollar Band, direct from the Plant Park band shell.
Bachman would go on to lead the University of Florida's Gator Marching Band in later years.
Longtime air personality "Salty" Sol Fleischman was broadcasting from the Moulin Rouge Night Club on 22nd Street one Saturday night when the place was raided on suspicions of illegal gambling. Claude Harris' Band was the evening's featured entertainment, and the show went on as usual, without any on-air mention of the incident.
One of the medium's darker moments took place in November of that year, when the station conducted another remote broadcast, this one from Raiford State Prison to cover the execution of convicted ax murderer Benjamin Franklin Levins.
Levins had been the subject of an attempted lynching while in custody at the Hillsborough County Jail on Pierce Street the previous May, and by the time the National Guard dispersed the crowd, five people were dead and nearly 40 had been wounded.
ENTREPRENEUR TAKES PRIDE IN DETAILS
JEFF JETER
THE TAMPA TRIBUNE
1991
How does one itinerant farm worker climb from the constraints of migrant labor to the lofty rungs of successful entrepreneurship?
Easy. It took a lot of hard work, determination, and a little help from his friends, says Chuck Florez.
In little more than four years, Florez has succeeded in breaking free from financial dependency on seasonal crops by starting his own business - Florez Auto Detailing and Stereo Sounds, at 107 N. Seventh Street in Dade City.
"I always knew what I had in my head," Florez says between countless interruptions from his three full-time employees and numerous clients on a busy Friday afternoon. "I had a nursery, a carpet-cleaning business... and this is what it all led up to."
He founded the business on high hopes and small change - less than $3,000.
"One day I told my wife, 'You know, I'm going to open me up a detail shop," he says. "I told her, 'If you don't let me, I'm just not going to work anymore. I'm going to let you work the rest of your life, I ain't working for nothing."
Florez's business is similar to others in Pasco County. Small businesses - that is, those with less than 500 employees under the federal government's definition - are the backbone of the county's economy. There are an estimated 4,200 small businesses in Pasco.
A native of Grandfield, Oklahoma, a small Texas border town nestled some 45 miles southwest of Oklahoma City, Florez and his 12-member family had been following fruit and vegetable harvests cross-country for several years when they first set foot in Pasco County in 1969.
"We harvested beets in Montana, went to Michigan and did some cherries, went to Ohio and did tomatoes, and then back to Michigan for apples," he says. "We were migrants. We came here to pick oranges."
Returning to the Dade City area season after season, it was not until 1977 that Florez, his wife, Tammy, and daughter Anna finally decided to stay put and raise a family.
"We found that it was a nice place to live. There were people here from all over Texas, Puerto Rico, Venezuela and South America. The atmosphere was great."
Despite the area's well-founded reputation as a booming agricultural community, Florez was disheartened to find there was not always enough crop work to go around. He eventually was forced to begin working odd jobs.
"I worked at a store setting stock. I helped ranchers put up fences, pruned trees, picked strawberries, drove a truck - anything. I worked for Lykes Pasco off and on for four years. [When] there was an overflow of tar at the Tampa shipyards, we had to cut it with an ax and move it out. I had a bad time for a while there."
Unable to makes ends meet, Florez turned in desperation to the local Farmworker's Self-Help organization and its director, Margarita Romo, for assistance.
"Margarita helped me out to pay an electric bill," Florez recalls. "She doesn't even have a place of her own to live, yet she's helped people to buy their own homes. I never have forgotten that. I've been paying back to the community ever since."
Such efforts have included the donation of his carpet-cleaning skills for the beautification of St. Rita's Catholic Church, of which he is a member, assisting athletes and coaches of the local Police Athletic League's acclaimed boxing program, and providing financial assistance to Farmworker's Self-Help for the transport of relief supplies to the south Florida victims of Hurricane Andrew.
Having experienced firsthand the many obstacles his fellow laborers regularly face, Florez remains determined to help the area's poor, unskilled and disenfranchised in their fight for economic and social stability.
JEFF JETER
THE TAMPA TRIBUNE
1991
How does one itinerant farm worker climb from the constraints of migrant labor to the lofty rungs of successful entrepreneurship?
Easy. It took a lot of hard work, determination, and a little help from his friends, says Chuck Florez.
In little more than four years, Florez has succeeded in breaking free from financial dependency on seasonal crops by starting his own business - Florez Auto Detailing and Stereo Sounds, at 107 N. Seventh Street in Dade City.
"I always knew what I had in my head," Florez says between countless interruptions from his three full-time employees and numerous clients on a busy Friday afternoon. "I had a nursery, a carpet-cleaning business... and this is what it all led up to."
He founded the business on high hopes and small change - less than $3,000.
"One day I told my wife, 'You know, I'm going to open me up a detail shop," he says. "I told her, 'If you don't let me, I'm just not going to work anymore. I'm going to let you work the rest of your life, I ain't working for nothing."
Florez's business is similar to others in Pasco County. Small businesses - that is, those with less than 500 employees under the federal government's definition - are the backbone of the county's economy. There are an estimated 4,200 small businesses in Pasco.
A native of Grandfield, Oklahoma, a small Texas border town nestled some 45 miles southwest of Oklahoma City, Florez and his 12-member family had been following fruit and vegetable harvests cross-country for several years when they first set foot in Pasco County in 1969.
"We harvested beets in Montana, went to Michigan and did some cherries, went to Ohio and did tomatoes, and then back to Michigan for apples," he says. "We were migrants. We came here to pick oranges."
Returning to the Dade City area season after season, it was not until 1977 that Florez, his wife, Tammy, and daughter Anna finally decided to stay put and raise a family.
"We found that it was a nice place to live. There were people here from all over Texas, Puerto Rico, Venezuela and South America. The atmosphere was great."
Despite the area's well-founded reputation as a booming agricultural community, Florez was disheartened to find there was not always enough crop work to go around. He eventually was forced to begin working odd jobs.
"I worked at a store setting stock. I helped ranchers put up fences, pruned trees, picked strawberries, drove a truck - anything. I worked for Lykes Pasco off and on for four years. [When] there was an overflow of tar at the Tampa shipyards, we had to cut it with an ax and move it out. I had a bad time for a while there."
Unable to makes ends meet, Florez turned in desperation to the local Farmworker's Self-Help organization and its director, Margarita Romo, for assistance.
"Margarita helped me out to pay an electric bill," Florez recalls. "She doesn't even have a place of her own to live, yet she's helped people to buy their own homes. I never have forgotten that. I've been paying back to the community ever since."
Such efforts have included the donation of his carpet-cleaning skills for the beautification of St. Rita's Catholic Church, of which he is a member, assisting athletes and coaches of the local Police Athletic League's acclaimed boxing program, and providing financial assistance to Farmworker's Self-Help for the transport of relief supplies to the south Florida victims of Hurricane Andrew.
Having experienced firsthand the many obstacles his fellow laborers regularly face, Florez remains determined to help the area's poor, unskilled and disenfranchised in their fight for economic and social stability.
