Club rules

Exclusive dining clubs have been a place to do business for years. But just as Tampa's power structure has changed over the years, the city's clubs are changing to woo new, more diverse members.

By KYLE PARKS

© St. Petersburg Times, published June 26, 2000

TAMPA -- When John Germany walked into the University Club in the 1960s, "I could tell what was going to happen in Tampa that day by who was meeting for lunch."

Exchange National Bank chairman Fred Woods would be playing gin rummy with Chester Ferguson, head of the Lykes Bros. Inc. empire. Around the corner, Tampa Electric Co. president Bill MacInnes would be talking about a deal.

"If you didn't get there early, you weren't going to get a seat," says Germany, 77, a partner in the Holland & Knight law firm. "All the business in the city was done there."

And all that power was wielded by men: The only women allowed inside the private dining club for lunch were the waitresses.

A hallway in the swank club atop Tampa City Center is testimony to that history: It has rows of pictures of University Club presidents -- all white men.

Soon that will change. Next year, Tampa lawyer Rhea Law will become the first woman president in the 54-year history of the club, which started admitting women in 1988.

While the move reflects greater diversity in Tampa's power structure, it's also a concession to reality. Eight years ago, there were six "city clubs" in the Tampa Bay area, dining clubs aimed at business executives that don't offer extras such as golf or boating. Today, there are just three, all in Tampa.

The University Club, Tampa Club and Centre Club have stable membership rolls ranging from 850 to 1,225 members, but with the comings and goings of executives, each has to replace as many as 100 members a year. They have to scramble to find new members in a community that no longer sees lunching at "The Club" as a requirement for success.

So the clubs have relaxed their dress codes. They've hired membership recruiters. And the Tampa Club and Centre Club are offering functions ranging from book-signing get-togethers to pizza parties for members' kids.

Even the stodgy University Club is talking about being more aggressive.

"The changes have nothing to do with a blossoming of sensitivity," said former University of South Florida president Betty Castor, who was booted from the University Club because of her gender in a well-publicized 1974 incident. "This is economic reality."

Exclusive dining clubs have been part of big city business for decades. Chicago has more than 15; Manhattan has about 25.

At the Tampa clubs, members pay an initiation fee of about $1,000, then pay from $50 to $120 a month in dues. That doesn't cover the cost of meals.

Each of the Tampa clubs has a panoramic view of the city. Inside, the decor is heavy on hardwoods, marble and antiques. The University Club's walls have stately drawings of buildings at Princeton, Harvard and other schools. The Tampa Club's entrance is dominated by a 24-foot-tall staircase adorned with a chandelier and mahogany handrails. And while the Centre Club is a bit less traditional, it has the feel of an executive's home: Designers visited the homes of the founding board members, such as developer Al Austin and banker Lee Bentley, to get ideas.

The University Club and Tampa Club are owned by members and run as not-for-profits. The Centre Club is part of giant ClubCorp, which owns 220 country clubs and resorts around the world, including the renowned Pinehurst, N.C., golf resort and the Homestead in Hot Springs, Va.

Nationally, the number of city clubs has shrunk dramatically since 1987, when tax changes restricted how businesses could deduct dues. Companies often cover their executives' dues, figuring the clubs are a good place for schmoozing with decisionmakers.

In the Tampa Bay area, four city clubs closed in the early 1990s: the Presidents Club in downtown St. Petersburg in 1992; downtown Tampa's Tower Club in 1993; and the Clearwater Club, which opened after the nearby Harborview Club closed, in 1995.

Around the country, city clubs have about 650,000 members, about half the membership of country clubs, according to the Club Managers Association of America.

Tax laws aren't the only reason city clubs have been in decline. Executives are busier now. The two-martini lunch is a thing of the past. Business leaders travel more, and some skip lunch or use the noontime hour to work out.

To survive, clubs are coming up with more services and perks. Three weeks ago, the Tampa Club hosted a reception with Jeffery Deaver, author of the thriller The Bone Collector. The club offers a dinner called "The Chef's Table," where the club's chef personally delivers the meal to a private dining area. There also are cooking classes, singles get-togethers and foreign-language lessons for members.

The Centre Club is adding a business center with Internet connections. It has wine-tasting parties, a concierge who gets event tickets for members and monthly pizza parties for members' children.

"People are busier now, and we have to be part of their entire lives, not just a place where they come for lunch," Centre Club manager Nancy Doremus said.

Across the country, clubs are working to broaden their appeal. Many are adding fitness facilities. The Union League Club in downtown Chicago even hosted a petting zoo for members' families.

But as they try to modernize themselves, the clubs have to fight long-standing perceptions that they are old-fashioned or even biased in how they recruit members and run their businesses.

When Betty Castor showed up for a meeting at the University Club in 1974 with Tampa Mayor Dick Greco and state Department of Labor officials, she didn't know if she'd get in because of her gender.

"The mayor's assistant had told me, "Oh, it'll be okay because you'll be in a back room. No one will see you,' " said Castor, a Hillsborough County commissioner at the time.

But five minutes after she sat down, the University Club's hostess kicked her out. So Castor went downstairs, bought a hot dog and called the media. Later, the story was recounted in New Yorker magazine.

When the Tampa Club and Centre Club were formed in the 1980s, part of their mission was to be more inclusive. Castor, who is president of the National Board for Professional Teaching Standards in Arlington, Va., was a founding member of the Centre Club.

And even though the University Club has since opened its doors to women, "many older women in this town still won't go in there, because of what the club did for all those years," said Germany, who is a member of the University Club and a founder of the Tampa Club.

Of the three Tampa clubs, the Centre Club has the most diverse membership: Almost half of its members are women. The Tampa Club is clearly the second most diverse, with 30 percent women. Both clubs have substantial minority representation as well.

University Club officials said they couldn't provide figures on their club's diversity, although they said new members reflect a broader mix than in the past.

The University Club hasn't been alone in getting bad publicity for a lack of diversity, though. The Tampa Club got its own dose in 1993. Grady C. Irvin Jr., a black lawyer, was at the entrance when he noticed that the hostess' ledger referred to him and his guest as "two blacks."

Outraged, Irvin quit the club. After a promise by the club to run multicultural awareness seminars, he rejoined for a time. He's no longer a member.

"You just don't see a lot of black people in an eating club," Irvin said. "They're in the kitchen."

Irvin, a well-known lawyer who defended the Rev. Henry Lyons, says he feels more comfortable at the Lakewood Country Club in St. Petersburg, which has a high percentage of minority members. He said he makes plenty of business contacts there.

"In some ways, the business networks haven't changed in 100 years," he said. "I don't know if the thinking will ever change."

Still, there are signs of change. The clubs' leaders say they are working to diversify their membership, and Rhea Law's election as president-elect of the University Club makes a statement.

"I can remember days when the men in the office would go to the University Club but I couldn't go," said Law, a partner at the Fowler, White law firm. "You can't have awkwardness like that in a business community. It has no place."

University Club leaders recently held a retreat to brainstorm ideas for attracting members. The city clubs require new members to have a sponsor, but clubs will rustle up a sponsor if they find a good prospect.

Part of the goal is recruiting a broader range of businesspeople, such as consultants and executives of smaller companies and Internet outfits. The three Tampa clubs are dominated by lawyers, bankers and accountants.

And no matter who they're recruiting, the clubs have one enduring pitch: Come eat where you'll be pampered.

Members want service that's speedy, attentive and discreet. That's the message from Ken Smith, a daytime manager at the Tampa Club.

Smith and club manager Barry Shields are running what they call the "lineup" on a Monday morning. It's a rundown of the lunch menu and a preview of who's coming in.

"At Table 19 is Mr. Mandt, who's bringing some people in," Smith tells the seven waiters and waitresses. "Pay special attention to that table.

"Mr. Ward needs a seven-person table. Ms. Lopresti needs square-back chairs for her meeting. . . . She freaks out if she doesn't get them."

Smith ends the session with a primer on "silent service," reminding the servers that Tampa Club members want to talk without being rudely interrupted.

"If you're banging stuff around, it detracts from the meal," Smith says. "Shake the plate, don't scrape it. Make sure the member can hear his conversation. That separates us from the restaurants."

Personal service is the most powerful weapon in these clubs' bid for survival. The clubs know where each member likes to sit, and special meal requests are taken in stride.

Each Centre Club member gets a menu with a personalized greeting. At the Tampa and University clubs, some menu items even carry the names of members who love them. A George B. Howell III breakfast at the University Club is a Cuban breakfast sandwich named for a Tampa lawyer; "Steve's" Garden Salad at the Tampa Club was inspired by Tampa lawyer Steve Burton.

Knowing that the clubs are private, discreet gathering places, executives have viewed them as a place to do deals.

When Rick Scott, then head of Columbia/HCA Healthcare Corp., was talking to Tampa General Hospital officials about the possibility of buying the facility six years ago, they had lunch at the Tampa Club.

And when Trammell Crow Co. executives talked to a dozen top Marriott International Inc. officials several years ago about putting a hotel on the waterfront, they had breakfast at the University Club.

With big name members such as former Gov. Bob Martinez, former TECO Energy Inc. chief executive H.L. Culbreath and car dealer Frank Morsani, the University Club offers the most status. Consider that Ye Mystic Krewe, the most prestigious group involved in Gasparilla, heads to the University Club after the parade. A button worn by hard-partying members that day says "If Lost, Return to the U-Club."

Jill Collins, 29, knows the value of seeing and being seen. As business development manager for Universal Engineering Sciences Inc. in Tampa, her job is to get new business for the company. That means meeting the right people, so she's a member of both the University Club and Centre Club.

"Where else can I go for a happy hour and be next to a John Twomey?" she said, referring to the vice president of development for the Hogan Group real estate company.

When Collins sits down for lunch at the University Club, she's greeted by name, and there's no waiting for service whenever she needs something.

She knows the club's history, but instead of dwelling on it, Collins wants to help write a different script for the future.

"This city is changing," she said. "It's more inclusive, and the changes here are a part of that."

- Times researchers Kitty Bennett and Caryn Baird contributed to this report.

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