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Council fixture also a favorite
Strong opinions and regular attendance make Moses Knott Jr. a familiar figure at City Hall.
By JANET ZINK
Published May 27, 2005
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[Times photo: Joseph Garnett Jr.]
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Moses Knott Jr. is sworn in to speak at a recent City Council meeting. Knott, 68, has attended almost every City Council meeting for more than 25 years. “(Politicians) are all crooks,” Knott says. “I tell them all the time. I love them, but they’re all crooks.”
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TAMPA - Moses Knott Jr. doesn't like politicians.
"They're all crooks," he says. "I tell them all the time. I love them, but they're all crooks."
Maybe that's why he keeps such a close eye on them.
Knott attends nearly every Tampa City Council meeting and has done so for more than 25 years. He's a favorite of council members, despite his frequent jabs that he doesn't trust them.
Nearly every Thursday morning, Knott, 68, drives his van from his home in Belmont Heights to an Ybor Heights grocery store where he catches a bus downtown.
On a recent morning, he had to run from the bus to City Hall to get to the meeting in time for the invocation.
"I'm a student of the Bible," he said.
He sits in the back so he can see who's there, who's talking to whom. He does the same thing at church, he said.
"I'm nosy," he said.
Knott is among a handful of gadflies who make regular appearances before the City Council.
But he's probably the most beloved.
"When he misses, I worry about him. I'm so used to seeing him there," council chairwoman Gwen Miller said. "He is a guy who cares about the city, he cares about people."
People often tell her they enjoy watching Knott on public access Channel 15, which airs the council meetings.
She commended Knott for being well-informed and following council rules. He speaks only for his allotted three minutes and limits his remarks to items on the agenda.
"What he says is sometimes very amusing, sometimes completely in the stratosphere and sometimes amazingly on point," said Linda Saul-Sena, who has served on the council for 15 years. "I've never been able to predict where he falls on an issue, but he's extremely forthright."
Two years ago, Knott received a plaque from the City Council in honor of his dedication to local government.
He represents poor people no matter their race, Knott said.
He always precedes his comments with, "I thank God for his grace and his mercy." Then he rails against code enforcement, lobbies for money for poor neighborhoods, comments on the day's opening prayer or addresses whatever agenda item has caught his eye.
* * *
The Belmont Heights home where Knott has lived since 1963 is filled from floor to ceiling with old record albums, bicycles, vintage signs and other items Knott has deemed collectible. Much of it he came across through his former hauling and salvage business.
The house is so crammed with stuff that it's difficult to move from room to room. But Knott carved out a space in the clutter for an easy chair and a television where he watches cable news networks nonstop. He recently got satellite radio, so he can get even more news.
Knott said he knows what's going on all over the world, but his focus is on Tampa.
He praises council member Rose Ferlita for working hard to solve problems for constituents and says Charlie Miranda was his favorite council member because he was so honest.
He's also a fan of Dick Greco.
"He's the only mayor that ever had anything to do with me," Knott said. "I shook his hand."
Knott said he supported Greco's community investment tax to fund Raymond James Stadium, even though people in his neighborhood accused him of selling out. But Knott said the tax helped pay for new schools, including Middleton High School in his neighborhood.
Recently, he told the council that Mayor Pam Iorio was elected because "she's good-hearted. She didn't ask for nothing. All she said was, "I'm going to build some apartments downtown."'
And he believes in county Commissioner Thomas Scott, a black man and minister.
Still, Knott points out, even Scott ended up being accused of accepting money for his church from a company trying to get a contract with Tampa General Hospital. A grand jury investigation ended with no charges against Scott.
Knott has had his own run-ins with the law. He has been hauled to jail several times for code violations, assault and larceny, he said. But he has never been convicted, according to state and county records.
"The Bible says all of us have sin," he said. "None of us is perfect."
Knott pays his bills with a Social Security check and with money he earns working part time unloading and loading produce on ships at Port Manatee.
"I ain't supposed to be working at all," he said.
He was injured in a few car accidents, has a pacemaker and battled prostate cancer four years ago, he said. But he continues to work, he said, because he needs the money.
And because he can.
* * *
Knott was born in 1936 in a tiny Mississippi town. His mother was only 16. His father was her next-door neighbor, a 64-year-old man with a wife and family.
He used to take Knott's mother fishing with his own children, bought her candy and called her "little girl." One day by the lake, while the other children were gone, the two got romantic, Knott said.
"I said, "Mama did this man rape you?' She said, "No, I loved that old man,"' Knott said.
Knott decided to leave Mississippi when he was 17 after hearing on the radio that he could make money picking oranges in Florida.
"I came here looking for the end of the rainbow," Knott said. "I wanted to go to the big city."
He and more than 20 men rode in the back of a "hobo truck" for four days and four nights.
"I about starved to death," he said.
When they got to Haines City, the driver said five men had to get out. Knott was hungry. He got out.
He stayed in a hut in a camp with dozens of field hands, mostly Jamaicans. They "rolled the red carpet out for me," he said. "They said, "This is my friend, mon."'
Treatment from the supervisors was not so friendly, Knott said. A guard monitored the camp with a shotgun, and the workers weren't paid or fed as they had been promised.
"That's why I don't trust people," Knott said. "The Bible says don't put your trust in men because they will fail you at every step."
Knott wanted out.
He and a friend named Bobo left and came across a man hauling a fishing boat on a trailer with a flat tire. The man didn't have a jack so Knott and his friend, (who was "big and strong" and "looked like King Kong,") lifted the boat for him. In exchange, they asked for a ride toward Tampa.
"We were free," he said.
In the middle of the night, the driver dropped them off on Adamo Drive, and the two walked into Tampa.
"I came into this town with the clothes on my back and shoes I'd walked the soles out of," he said.
The two found Bobo's cousin, who got them jobs working on Tampa's docks.
Once Knott established himself, he sent for Annie Mae, a young Mississippi girl, whom he married. They had eight children together before divorcing in 1979.
When Knott moved to East Tampa, it was farmland. A "Garden of Eden," he said. Now it's a rundown urban neighborhood that Mayor Pam Iorio has made a priority for renewal.
Knott vows to watch closely what happens, keep talking to the City Council and ask God for help.
"I'm a praying man," Knott told council members last month. "I pray all day. Thank God for my supporters. And I also thank God for my enemies. They are the ones that keep me on my knees, praying all the time."
Times researcher Cathy Wos contributed to this report. Janet Zink can be reached at 226-3401 or jzink@sptimes.com
[Last modified May 26, 2005, 08:26:10]
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