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How dicey can a gym name be?

In 2001, quite. But then as now, the business is a point of community pride.

By CASEY CORA
Published October 22, 2006

TyRon Lewis was not the first choice of names for a federally funded community gym built in 2001.

The International People's Democratic Uhuru Movement, looking to move the gym from its headquarters, wanted to keep its name "Uhuru Black Gym of Our Own."

But city leaders thought the name sounded too exclusive for what was meant to be a community gathering place.

The threat of litigation from the African People's Education and Defense Fund, the nonprofit that received $177,155 to renovate the new gym in an abandoned building at 1327 Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. St. S, forced the city to compromise.

"All People's" would replace "Black Gym." "Community" would replace "Our Own."

"TyRon Lewis" was added later.

"To our chagrin, we didn't anticipate the name," said council member Earnest Williams. "We decided to go ahead and work with them."

On June 31, 2001, the All People's TyRon Lewis Community Gym opened to the public.

Police were outraged.

"Why are we honoring that person?" asked William LauBach, then the executive director of the local police union, in a June 2001 St. Petersburg Times story. "I mean, have you all looked at the criminal history of that young man? ... Weren't there warrants out for his arrest? He tried to kill a cop."

Fast forward five years.

Free weights and cardiovascular equipment line the walls. Beads of sweat drop on the rubber flooring. Hip-hop blares through the stereo.

The name of the gym is of varying significance.

To some, it's everything.

"I could have been TyRon Lewis," said 24-year-old Uhuru member Omavi Bailey. The name "represents all African males, targets by the police and state."

"TyRon was just 18 years old," said Uhuru leader Omali Yeshitela, who frequently exercises at the gym. "He had baby fat still on his face and his death meant a tremendous lot to this community, as was made manifest by uprisings and the fact that we're still having this discussion about it today."

Uhuru members see the facility as a self-supporting African-American business, one that keeps community dollars in the community.

"The reason TyRon was murdered was lack of economic development," said Tamara Wilcox-Dzimbahwe, the gym's wellness coordinator. "Our mission is economic development."

To others, it's just a good place to work out. The gym's size, under 3,000 square feet, provides a forum for making friends and staying motivated, said Mariamma Braxton, 30, a Boston transplant who resides in Coquina Key. "Other places, you have to pay so much."

Memberships are offered for fixed prices, but a sliding scale for low-income residents is always available. No one has to sign a contract. "Nobody gets turned down because of income," said membership coordinator Vanessa Swangles. "We'll find a way to get them in the gym."

Still, for every down the gym has experienced - the failure of a contractually required health food store, wavering membership numbers - there have been ups.

Boosted by an open house in September, gym organizers estimate that more than 350 people have signed up in the past year.

A new smoothie bar serving protein shakes and fresh fruit debuted last month. Plans to add a room for yoga, Pilates, martial arts and African dance instruction are in the works. "Ironically," said Doug Tuthill, 51, one of the gym's approximately 10 white members, "of all things to come from the disturbances, this was one of the best examples of economic success."

Times staff writer Waveney Ann Moore contributed to this report. Casey Cora can be reached at 727 580-1542 or at ccora@sptimes.com

[Last modified October 21, 2006, 17:57:36]