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Homes

In the lap of pirate luxury

By ELIZABETH BETTENDORF
Published January 28, 2005

The jolly wooden pirate ship sits in the back yard of a house on Davis Islands. It measures 20 feet long, 10 feet wide and faces a sleepy canal that meanders into Tampa Bay.

When finished, it will feature details you might expect of a personal luxury pirate ship: a suspension bridge to a fort, PVC pipe water cannons powered by the garden hose, a couple of real slides, and two antique red and green boat lights, port and starboard.

In theory it's a playhouse for the three Spicola children, Garrett, 6, Austin, 4, and Amelia, 2.

In truth, it's all about a grownup's long-held love for Gasparilla.

"Grown men climb right in and have a ball," says Andy Spicola, 35, a criminal defense and real estate attorney in Tampa.

No doubt, grown women are crazy for it, too.

Spicola, who is building the two-masted ship in his spare time from 4-by-4 pressure-treated lumber, learned carpentry skills from his grandfather, William Greeson, a well-known Merchant-Marine-turned-builder who helped develop Davis Islands in the 1920s.

Late in life, Greeson, who owned apartment buildings in Tampa, frequently took his grandson along on summer jobs teaching him the ropes of roofing and carpentry and construction.

"He was something else. He was real handy, so I guess it just rubbed off on me," Spicola recalls.

Spicola has always celebrated Gasparilla with spirit. He grew up on Davis Islands and, as a child, began tossing pirate beads in the boat parade with his family. He attended the main parade with aunts, uncles and grandparents, a gathering so large and organized it called for ticketed seats.

The family's ardor for the historic parade ended when a passing drunk started a fight. Now, Spicola, his wife, Laura, and their children confine their revelry to the boat parade, throwing beads and squirting water from their 22-foot restored 1974 Aquasport.

"The parade is so out of control now I wouldn't dream of taking my kids to it," Spicola says. "But I still think the tradition is wonderful; I'm glad they still do it. It's part of what Tampa was built on."

The Spicolas celebrate with a brunch at their waterfront house, usually a blissful morning with friends, neighbors and kids.

He built his first pirate ship at the couple's previous home in Beach Park, an idea he got after seeing the big pirate ship at a Bucs game.

"I was going to build a swing set, but then thought, hey, I can do better and build a ship that's really a playhouse."

Homemade play equipment trumps the store-bought kind any day, because it's a hands-on building activity to be shared with kids, Spicola says.

He estimates the pirate ship will take him a week to build, a total of 20 hours of labor. It will be finished by Gasparilla morning, he says.

Miss Amelia, he plans to call it, after his little daughter.

On a fine January afternoon, the sun hazy, the air cool, Spicola and Garrett bounded around on what eventually will be the inside of the main cabin "playhouse." A pirate flag flapped in the breeze.

Spicola surveyed the scene, satisfied.

His ship will have sails, crafted to look like they've been tattered by cannon ball attacks. He's building a separate fort for hiding out from fierce play battles. Lights will illuminate the back of the boat for those long nighttime cruises to nowhere.

A good-looking pirate ship that will never float.

But it will remain seaworthy in the imaginations of the Spicola children.

And a few Gasparilla-loving grownups.

"It's just a big play fort," Spicola said. "The kind that will probably last forever."

[Last modified January 27, 2005, 09:33:08]