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City manager's death stuns all
By ANNE LINDBERG, Times Staff Writer
PINELLAS PARK -- As news of Jerry Mudd's apparent suicide spread across the city Tuesday, residents and officials united in grief and shock. They also remembered a family man, a history buff and a leader who spent the last years of his life working to make Pinellas Park the showplace of the county. "I'm in total shock. It's the last thing I expected," council member Patricia Bailey-Snook said. She had talked Saturday with Mudd at home, where he was recuperating from gall bladder surgery. She said he was "very upbeat" and spoke of his expected return to work on Feb. 17. "I never dreamed anything like this would happen," Bailey-Snook said. "I just can't believe it. It's almost sickening. His family, I'm sure they're shattered." City resident Marshall Cook was equally stunned. He heard the news after attending a PSTA meeting at City Hall. "I am so sad. I don't even know how to put in words how sad I feel. I'm sitting at City Hall with tears in my eyes," Cook said. "I think he was the most conscientious and the best city manager we had. I liked the man. He always had character. "I'm sorry he was that unhappy. . . . To be so unhappy that you end your life . . . that's some godawful misery. I hate to see anybody in that much misery. Especially when they're hiding it." Pinellas Park's business community was equally stunned. "I'm devastated. Totally, totally devastated," said a weeping Housh Ghovaee, owner of Northside Engineering and former president of the Pinellas Park/Mid-County Chamber of Commerce. Ghovaee said he heard the news during a meeting with a client who wanted to build in Pinellas Park. "It hit me, I swear. I was standing there strong and happy. I had to leave the meeting," he said. Ghovaee said he knew people would be asking "Why?" But "there is never an answer," he said. "There is nothing that is that important, for God's sake." Pinellas Park Mayor Bill Mischler said he heard the news about 8:30 a.m. when he sat in on a meeting that Assistant City Manager Mike Gustafson held with high-level administrators to tell them the news. "My heart goes out to Ethel (his wife) and the kids at this time," Mischler said. "It's got to be such a terrible, terrible hardship on them." Tuesday's council workshop was canceled because of the news. Mischler said this Thursday's council meeting will continue as planned. Gustafson, who was in charge while Mudd was on sick leave, will continue as interim city manager until the council decides whether to do a job search, he said. "We're going to continue. We have to continue," Mischler said. "The grief is here, no question about it, but we're running a business. We have to continue." Details concerning Mudd's death were sketchy early Tuesday afternoon. The city offered a tersely worded press release: "At approximately 8 a.m. this morning, Tuesday, Feb. 11, 2003, Pinellas Park police received a call of a deceased person at 10773 56th St. N, the residence of City Manager Jerry Mudd. Upon arrival, they found Mr. Mudd, dead of an apparent suicide." The release also gave some biographical data: He was 56, about two weeks short of his Feb. 27 birthday. An engineer, he was appointed city manager in 1997, first to take the place of Jim Madden, whom the council abruptly fired. Several months later, the council appointed him the permanent city manager. But the information did not convey an adequate picture of Mudd, the man. A slender 6 feet tall, he could appear nervous, his hands shaking at times during interviews. He fretted over details, trying to get everything perfect. Mudd was precise to a fault, sometimes painstakingly writing and rewriting documents until he got them just right. That precision translated into long work hours on city business. In 1997, just after becoming permanent city manager, he talked about his workday: Up at 5 a.m., Mass at Sacred Heart Catholic Church at 7, in the office at 7:30 or shortly thereafter. On nights after council meetings and workshops, he slept in and arrived at the office about 9 a.m. His office reflected his interest in American history, including memorabilia of Chuck Yeager, the first man to break the sound barrier. Talk to him and the listener was liable to hear a protracted history lesson before getting the answer to a question. He carried that into council meetings and workshops, often introducing new proposals with a lengthy rendition of some historical fact he found pertinent to the situation. Mudd was equally eager to talk about his son, John Jr., of whom he was especially proud. Other than talking of the city, history or his family, Mudd tended to be a quiet, rather private man. But he displayed a playful side on occasion -- dancing the night away with his wife at a party thrown by city resident Bonnie Lewis. And more recently, cruising to the Bahamas with his wife on a Kiwanis-chartered ship. The day they left -- Jan. 16 -- was the last time chamber president Alena Opyd saw him. "He was just so happy about going on the cruise," Opyd said. "The conversation was very lighthearted, talking about going away and not having any phones or pagers to bother you." Council member Rick Butler, who was on the cruise, agreed that Mudd was in good spirits: "It was the happiest I'd ever seen him." Certainly, Butler said, there was nothing to foreshadow Tuesday's tragedy. That was also the case last week, when Butler last spoke with Mudd. He was still hurting from the surgery, Butler said, but eager to get back to work. "It was typical Jerry. He just lived this city. He loved this city."
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