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Saturday evenings in lonely downtownBy SANDRA THOMPSON © St. Petersburg Times, published September 16, 2000 The last time we went to the Tampa Theatre a few weeks ago to see the terrific actor Billy Crudup in Jesus' Son, we were panhandled. It was a Saturday night, and, as usual, we were too late to get the really prime on-street parking on Zack, so we had to swing around the theater to Polk and park there between Florida and Franklin. On that block, one side of the street is the side of the Tampa Theatre; the other is the side of another building -- a brick wall, no entrance. In other words, there is no earthly reason to be on the block unless you are parked there. We were probably among the last ones out of the theater, watching the endless credits for the name of some obscure song or the shooting location. As we turned onto Polk, the last car parked on that block pulled out. We were diagonally crossing the street, approaching our car. A man walking toward us in the opposite direction began to cross the street. My city radar immediately kicked in. My response would have been to get into the car as fast as possible, but I was not holding the keys. My husband, ever the gentleman, first opened the door on the passenger side, on the side of the street next to the sidewalk, at which place the young man approached us between the car and the brick wall. He was fairly attractive -- late 20s, early 30s, carrying a white plastic bag as if he'd just picked up something from the drugstore, but in a split second I realized there is no drugstore downtown, there is nothing downtown. He said in a manner that I found not at all threatening, "Can you spare some change? I just got in from California -" My novelist's mind wandered. Oh? By bus? Why? What had happened to him in California? Why did he come here to Tampa? Why would he come with no money? What was in the plastic bag? It was dark, and it was only the three of us. My husband growled an unfriendly "no," and the man backed off. Actually, he seemed surprised. Had he come from a place in California where panhandlers are more easily rewarded -- even in the dark, on an empty street? This isn't a big deal, and it won't keep us from going to the Tampa Theatre almost every weekend. The problem is not the panhandler; the problem is there is nobody downtown at night, and because there is nobody downtown, many people won't come downtown. And Centro Ybor and Channelside won't change that. On a weekend night in downtown Tampa -- and because of the Tampa Theatre, we're there more often than not -- except for the theatergoers, the north end of downtown is empty. Even the restaurant next door to the theater is now closed. People will probably blame the location, but I think the location was the best thing it had going. Still, it was nice to have someplace -- anyplace -- open. What's left in that part of town is the Hub, a retro -- really retro, not faux retro -- bar that, while beloved by some hip young people, is not really, um, pleasant. We say we want a 24-hour downtown with entertainment and restaurants and shops. All those things are being built in Ybor and at what is now called Channelside. Neither of these places is downtown. You can't even walk there from downtown. Downtown is where the big buildings are -- some great old ones, like the Kress building and the Hotel Floridan. They're empty. I've often said I would have to leave Tampa if the Tampa Theatre ever closed. I depend on good films along with books to give me the sensibility of people in other places, in other kinds of lives. Buying the theater, a rococo fairyland of a building, is one of the smartest things the city has ever done. It has consistently brought people downtown on weekend nights. And it's sitting there, all alone. - Sandra Thompson is a writer who lives in Tampa. City Life appears on Saturday.
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