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One Friday night

By Times staff writers
Published February 23, 2005

[Times photos: Lara Cerri]

6:25 p.m.: Just after the sun goes down, BayWalk visitors head on their merry way.

	8:32 p.m.: Clacci Harmon, 13, talks on her cell phone in front of the box office. She came with friend Jasmine Henderson, 14.
	8:47 p.m.: Allen Clark, girlfriend Jessica Ostrovskis, and Jessica's father, Rolf, browse at Shapiro's, which carries artistic items. Jessica welcomed her parents' company on her date to the movies, saying her parents are "cool."
	9:26 p.m.: Dayna Adams, 14, sitting in a booth at Johnny Rockets with friends, welcomes another.
	11:37 p.m.: Mandy Bragg of Richmond, Va., left, takes to the dance floor at the Martini Bar shortly before midnight.
	11:47 p.m.: Jose Malave, 3, breaks out in dance in the courtyard after his family took a quick tour of BayWalk. Malave's friends and family recently moved to St. Petersburg from Venezuela.

BayWalk, the downtown entertainment complex, has been in the news a lot lately. But what's a Friday night there really like? Three Neighborhood Times reporters - Jon Wilson, Jade Jackson Lloyd and Robert Samuels - spent Friday night there, taking notes from before 5 until midnight to give you a sense of the ebb and flow of the evening. Here is their account:

4:51 p.m. - Musician Patrick Fowle sets up in the walkway between BayWalk and the parking garage. In the first sign of evening entertainment, Fowle strikes a C chord on his guitar, later switching to the key of D for a rendition of Amy. He says the crowds will start picking up around 7 p.m.

4:58 p.m. - Two police officers step out of their cruiser and stroll through the BayWalk courtyard, checking things out. About a dozen people are passing through or sitting on benches.

5:47 p.m. - Two teenage boys and a girl buy tickets to Constantine, but otherwise the movie box office line is empty.

6:17 p.m. - Two girls of apparent high school age are let off curbside. They head straight for Dish, the concoct-it-yourself restaurant. By now the courtyard is filling up, mostly with adults and a few families. The crowd of about 75 is roughly half white, half black. They are waiting for postal officials to unveil a postage stamp in honor of Marian Anderson.

6:30 p.m. - Sembler Corp. executive Craig Sher welcomes people to BayWalk's evening multicultural event. Mayor Rick Baker delivers short remarks, and a few minutes later, Sistas With a Vision performs Lift Every Voice and Sing, the black anthem.

7-7:05 p.m. - The crowd starts to pick up, heading for the early evening movies. In a five-minute period, 77 people cross Second Avenue N, using the main crosswalk to the courtyard. It is a diverse stream, nearly 20 percent African-American, that flows in singles, younger couples obviously on dates, older ones heading for dinner and possibly a movie, families, parents pushing strollers, two or three guys walking together, the same number of girls arriving with each other. Three cars let out four youngsters: two boys and a girl of high school age and a boy who looks to be of middle school age.

7:08 p.m. - Alex Ford, 16, sits leaning against the BayWalk wall facing Second Avenue. The Boca Ciega High School student says he likes to come every Friday. "Everybody's down here," he says. What does everybody do? They hang out and talk, Ford says. Sometimes kids walk two blocks to North Straub Park, where they gather in the dark under trees. What do they do? Hang out and talk. Mostly.

7:13 p.m. - A knot of five or six high school girls stand on the sidewalk out front. They are just waiting, chatting in desultory fashion. "Does he have blond hair?" An Audi GT5 rolls past. "That's the kind of car my dad's gonna get." A passing guy is assessed: "That's so stupid with that black jacket on."

7:18 p.m. - The courtyard fills slowly, beginning to take on a younger look. Kids who look to be of middle school age stand in groups of four or five or six. They are near the box office but not in line. The lines, in fact, are short right now. Some African-American adults sit on benches or stand around them and listen to the gospel singers on the second-floor stage. There is scattered applause when each song ends.

7:24 p.m. - Hands of Praise, a 20th Street Church of Christ group, begins a dance number in the courtyard. Thirty or 40 people, mostly black, watch. The middle school kids, who are almost all white, go on chatting, occasionally shooting a glance toward the dancers.

7:28 p.m. - At North Straub Park, there already are 15 to 20 young people standing around. A police cruiser drives slowly past on Second Avenue. Four high school girls are walking south on First Street bordering the park. They melt into the shadow on the sidewalk, then cut east into the park.

7:30 p.m. - Clad in a black cape, Eileen Reeser places a candle-lit lantern on the sidewalk at First Street N and Second Avenue. In 30 minutes, the St. Petersburg ghost walk will start, she says.

7:55-8 p.m. - It's chillier and the crowd has dwindled in the courtyard, even though gospel music continues. A high school girl is dropped in front; 64 people cross from the parking garage.

8:18 p.m. The four women in royal purple robes with golden accents and matching African head wraps look as if they've just come from some exotic church gathering. Not quite, but close. This is the second year that their gospel group, Sistas With a Vision, has taken part in a gospel concert in honor of Black History Month. They offer their voices to the milling teenagers and after-dinner couples that convene at BayWalk.

Crossing Second Avenue NE, David Rodgers and his wife, Darlene - a SWAV member - clasp hands as the group walks to the parking garage, headed for dinner and refuge from the chill night air. Both 28, they have been married one year and rarely venture to the shopping and entertainment complex. When they do, they enjoy themselves, David said.

"You hear the guy playing violin, and some people have never heard violin played before," he said. "You get that. You get gospel singing. It's culture, just coming out here."

8:24 p.m. Tall and thin, the fiddler perches on a black stool, his chin resting on the petite wooden instrument, his frame bending away from the wind. His positioning screams of strategy. The tunnel leading up to the parking garage and out to First Avenue N - where Starbucks and Jannus Landing foot traffic abounds - is just south of him. The courtyard that people must cut through to BayWalk's center is just north.

Couples, mothers and sons, people talking on cell phones all acknowledge him and his earnest play with their eyes and if they're really generous, their money.

8:48 p.m. Their real names are easy. There's a Tracy and a Meagan and a Carrie, two Katies and a Kat. Their screen names brought them together here, many meeting for the first time.

A group of nearly 50 high schoolers who communicated mainly via online journals chose tonight to put real faces to their online personas. They picked downtown St. Petersburg as a central location, as it has a few of the places they love, like Jannus Landing and the State Theatre, the Globe Coffee Lounge and Straub Park.

BayWalk happened completely by accident.

"She had to use the bathroom," says Katie Slote, 16, pointing to 15-year-old Belinda Wagner. Nearly a dozen of them huddle in a loose, chattering group, clogging the tunnel housing the restrooms with their giggly, girly energy.

The meet-and-greet was the brainchild of Wagner, a.k.a. "bezibella."

They all live in the city, she said. They all blog. Why not meet?

For some, BayWalk seems almost an affront to their emerging ska and punk sensibilities.

To 16-year-old Kat DeNomme, it seems geared more to younger kids now.

"The scene has turned more toward the movies and away from the culture it used to have," said the smallest girl in the group. She sported a sweat shirt, a backpack and a handful of fliers touting an upcoming gig of her band, Can't Do It. "I just think they need to liven it up."

Slote yearns for the old days - just three years ago, but still - when coming here was, quite simply, The Thing To Do.

"It did used to be "the hangout,' too," says Slote, her voice tinged with regret.

Her friends nodded. The talk turned to other things.

9:27 p.m. Jessica Jones and Terrence Jones sit on stools sipping their slushy drinks, their legs nearly grazing under the table. Her Call a Cab and his Suicide are almost gone. The remnants of her Marlboros and his Newports share space in the black ashtray between them.

Divorced for seven years, they share three children, 5, 8 and 10, and a tendency to lie to their friends and families about wanting to reunite.

"They think I'm here with my girlfriends," the white zaftig brunette says with a laugh, covering her face with one hand and smoking a Marlboro Light 100 with the other. "We're together, but our families don't know we're together. We're talking. We're going to move back in together."

Terrence, a black man with large glasses, just grins.

The kind-of couple are among about 15 people sitting at the cocktail tables on Wet Willie's covered, outdoor deck.

Known for its machine-generated frozen daiquiris with names like Shock Treatment and Chocolate Thunder, the popular bar draws some of the city's young hip-hop community, especially on Saturdays, and people just looking for a quick drink.

Jessica, 27, has frequented the bar before, as well as a couple of restaurants here. Terrence, 33, came for his first visit. She wanted to go to a movie and he wanted to go to Tyrone Square Mall. They compromised by coming here.

She has had a good night so far with her ex- and possible future man, mainly because she feels accepted.

"It's a melting pot of all of us," she said. "They don't look at you like, "Oh, you're a mixed couple.' "

After dark, Jessica sees this place as for adults only. She wouldn't dare bring their three boys here.

"It's for people to hang out who are grown," she said. "It's social time. When people come to a movie at night, they don't want kids hollering. They don't want babies around."

9:49 p.m. Across the aisle and two tables away, Reggie Johnson and his friends Larry Stevens and Don Parrish catch up over a few drinks.

Johnson, who's engaged to a woman named Azalea, comes here for different reasons than his buddies do. The 43-year-old watches sports on the bar's wide-screen TVs while his three daughters catch a movie downstairs.

Stevens, 40, and Parrish, 31, come for more worldly pursuits.

"We were hoping to find some women," Parrish says, a smile creeping across his reddening face.

Johnson says he brings daughters Jasmine, 13, Raven, 13, and Trina, 17, nearly every weekend.

"They're doing great in school," says the plumbing supplies employee. "It's appreciation, a reward."

9:48 p.m. Hiding out in the alley between the Adobo Grill and the White House Black Market clothing shop, Cam Cotteill and his three friends start their "top-secret mission." Adam Abel, 14, peers outside the corner and notices their target.

"There she goes," he says.

His hair flopping as he runs to Second Avenue N, Cam doesn't make it soon enough.

"Dude, she's going to Straub Park," Abel says. "She got away." They aren't allowed to leave the property.

All Cam wanted to do was give her a weed - a flower, that is. His hands are full of them. His group plans to give them out to promote Cam's heavy metal concert with his band, Two Goats and a Guitar. Maybe one of them will even think he's cute.

A blond in short shorts about 3 inches taller than Cam walks past the troop. Cam sticks out his hands, and the weeds push out and slump like his shoulders in the muddy green sweat shirt he's wearing.

"No, thanks," she says.

A red compact car, with two women, stops at a light. Cam walks up to them. He comes back on the sidewalk, with one weed less than he started with.

"That's right, guys," Cam says, smirking. "I'm a player."

10:06 p.m. Four St. Petersburg police officers stand in a semicircle near the entrance of the movie theater.

Roy Olsen, 46, is 155 days from retirement after spending 241/2 years on the force. He said pulling BayWalk duty is cake, most nights. Tonight, he is one of six on duty to patrol the complex.

"They assign a few officers here so there's a presence of police officers and it keeps problems from arising," he said.

He said the most common problem they face is fights stemming from school rivalries or "something as simple as a boyfriend or girlfriend thing."

"But the majority of the weekend, there's a crowd like tonight and there are no problems," he says.

His boss, Lt. D. Carron, agrees.

"It's been great lately," she said. "We've seen a lot of families come out. It's just been a good time for people."

10:10 p.m. Will it be Are We There Yet? or Boogeyman?

If Dee Byrd chooses the family-friendly movie starring rapper Ice Cube, she could go upstairs to have a drink at Wet Willie's while the six children with her watch the film. But they'd really prefer to see the horror film, rated PG-13, which means a parent or guardian has to go.

The choice becomes clear.

"It's nice to come here with the family," said Byrd, who is escorting her children, as well as a niece and a nephew. "You can watch them, and spend some time together."

10:14 p.m. The main courtyard is crowded with huddles of circles, some from middle school and others from high school. The ticket lines for the theater aren't long; most people are waiting to see the romantic comedy Hitch or the spiritual thriller Constantine. Hip-hop beats from the popular song Goodies by Ciara come down to the yard as people shuffle along with the music.

Cam is still walking around with flowers in his hand.

10:27 p.m. Teenagers line Second Avenue N as they wait for their parents to pick them up. Christina Whitchard, 14, sits on a light post and waits with her cousin, Je'Rae Dukes. Whitchard had a good night. She got two phone numbers from guys.

They came to talk to boys and watch scary movies.

"And laugh at people looking a mess," Je'Rae, 13, says as a man wearing 4-inch heels passes by.

Also at 10:27 p.m. Phyllis and Matt Collar and her parents stand near the center of the courtyard watching 3-year-old Darius and 18-month-old Sadie run themselves in circles. Isabella, the Tampa couple's 3-month-old daughter, rests in her carrier looking up at the world.

Phyllis, 32, says their family comes a few times a year here. Tonight, three generations ate at Dish to celebrate her 28-year-old husband's completion of a difficult computer lab exam.

They find that BayWalk offers something for people of all ages.

Nearly 20 minutes later. Just inside the doors of the Buzz, a novelty clothing and housewares store on BayWalk's lower level, a man and a couple exchange blows and insults. A shoving match breaks out near the silver serving trays and security sensor.

This is a spat between adults, who look to be in their late 20s and early 30s.

"Keep your mouth shut, n---!" the petite Hispanic woman screams as her male companion pulls her out of the store.

"Don't disrespect my woman, n---!" the small-framed Hispanic man says.

"Don't disrespect me!" the portly black man bellows back, his body lunging against the arms of the three people holding him back. "Get control of your b--!"

"F-- you, fat a-!" the woman responds, clutching her small shopping bag and straightening her black leather jacket. Her stiletto-heeled black boots clack on the pavement as the couple stride away.

They walk south, almost reaching Second Avenue NE when the man bursts from the doors of the store and runs up behind them.

Seconds later, one of his companions runs after him, shouting for him to stop.

10:39 p.m. The crowd in the courtyard gets smaller and older. The teenagers gulping down milkshakes in Johnny Rockets are gone. The buzz of conversation that mellowed out to the lyrics to the Ciara song has now disappeared and Prince's falsetto words in Kiss are clear throughout the entire courtyard.

Aaron Kerm, Flo Davis and Chris Jessop stand watching the NBA's rookie-sophomore game while sipping a Call A Cab. All three work for a mortgage company in Tampa.

"We just had a really stressful week," said Kerm, 27. "We needed to relax."

10:52 p.m. Police officers have separated the man and the couple into their respective areas. Ten feet away from each other, they answer questions about what happened and how it started.

Their faces share the same look of embarrassment and fear. As the questions continue, a 20-something black man stands near a balcony in the southwestern corner of Wet Willie's upstairs.

His shouted words seem like a message meant for one group alone: the police officers.

"We can see you," he says, his hands wrapped around a cup. "Make sure you don't hit anybody."

Two of the seven cops gathered focus their attention on him.

"He's trying to instigate things," says Olsen, the imminent retiree, looking at the man.

Minutes later, police tell the man to leave the property. Angry, he does as he's told, but he never stops talking. The police follow him, even after he's across the street.

He accuses police of trying to keep all the black people off the property and invites one to "bring his a- on the south side."

"All right, disorderly conduct," says Olsen, rushing with four other officers across the street. "There are children here." They handcuff him and lead him away.

Afterward, both the couple and the man involved in the fight keep mum. None of them are arrested.

10:53 p.m. Drew Bratspis and his friends stand in front of Ben & Jerry's as he recounted a different tussle, a shoving match between men at Wet Willie's.

"And one guy then threw coffee at him!" he says, pointing to a spilled liquid on the floor. "That was exciting!"

Neither Bratspis nor his friends seemed too worried about the event.

"That's life at BayWalk," said 20-year-old Alison Garvey.

11:20 p.m. It's a slow Friday night at the Martini Bar. About 150 people are there, dancing and chatting. Usually there are about 200, Jamie McCormick, general manager, says.

Andrea Arican came to celebrate her 32nd birthday. She said she was having a wonderful time, except for a little incident that happened earlier in the night.

"They sang me Happy Birthday and a guy wanted to know if I wanted to see his birthday suit," Arican said.

The man then took off all his clothes, she said. He was escorted off the property.

"He didn't look so good," she said.

11:45 p.m. A woman dressed in red and smelling of alcohol sleeps on a bench outside TooJay's Gourmet Deli. Another sits with her head sunk in her knees at the top of a staircase by the restaurant. The end of the night is showing.

Four more people walk into the outdoor dining area at Gratzzi's Ristorante to smoke cigarettes and drink coffee from the Globe.

They are waiting for the late showing of Constantine. They come to BayWalk often, but only for the movies. And they always come late to avoid the crowds.

"We're not the usual BayWalk type, I guess," said Jen Van Brunt, 21. "We don't come here to get drunk and shake it."

[Last modified February 23, 2005, 00:34:19]