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A couple finds a new way to salute notable Bucs game moments: three cannons. Their next-door neighbors want to lower the boom.
By DAVE SCHEIBER
© St. Petersburg Times, published November 26, 2001
LARGO -- On a quiet Sunday evening in this pleasant, tree-lined neighborhood, a trusty old Zenith is broadcasting bad news on the front porch of Carl and Joanne Biamonte.
Across the small screen, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers are stumbling and bumbling against the Chicago Bears at Raymond James Stadium. The pirate-ship cannons, which rattle the rafters for Buc touchdowns and exploits, have hardly had a chance to go boom.
This is a particular bummer at the Biamonte house, where friends and neighbors have been waiting to have a blast of their own.
Everyone here knows the deal. No home team TDs, no fun with the party's main attraction. It towers on the side of the front lawn: an ornately painted, 13-foot plywood Bucs pirate ship that can be seen up and down this suburban block.
And to get a real bang for their Bucs, the Biamontes have equipped it with three small cannons. These are no popguns. They fire off bone-jarring 10-gauge shotgun blanks, complete with flash and smoke. And for the past two months, the Biamontes have let them rip whenever Tampa Bay reaches the end zone or emerges victorious.
The cannons have been armed for hours, the strings that set off the blasts stretched across the lawn, ready to be pulled. Yet after three quarters, the Bucs have managed only three field goals and are looking as if they may keep the cannons quiet in Largo.
That's an excellent development for Daisy the Australian shepherd, who lives across the street and cowers at all loud noises. But it is especially pleasing to the Biamontes' 78-year-old next-door neighbors, Preston and Hazel Nall.
On the edge of their garage, out of view of the Biamontes' weekly football festivities, the Nalls have their own trick play in motion. After weeks of calling the Sheriff's Office and environmental officials, they have set up a camcorder on a tripod to record any cannon blasts as evidence for the authorities.
Finally, at 6:44 p.m., Mike Alstott barrels over the goal line for Tampa Bay's first touchdown of the game. Whoops erupt on the Biamonte porch. Then, BAM. The cannon shot jolts the night air.
Inside their house, the Nalls wince at a sound they now know well.
"It's deafening," Preston Nall says. "When I first heard it, it about blew us out of our house. He has those cannons sticking out of that damn box, and when it went off, we were like, "What the devil was that!' "
So goes the latest strategic move in the other Bucs showdown -- powered by the Nalls' vaunted "fence defense," the Biamontes' innovative "picnic table offense" and recent officiating measured not in yards but decibels.
It's the fourth quarter in a conflict that's still anybody's to win.
Carl and Joanne Biamonte consider themselves friendly, hard-working people with good senses of humor.
"We just wanted to do something fun for the neighborhood," he says.
They were never big football fans growing up in the Utica area of New York. But when they moved to Florida in 1977, five years into their marriage, they became attached to the 1-year-old Tampa Bay Bucs.
While building up their own accounting company, they started going to games and owned four season tickets through much of the '80s, two on the sunny side of old Tampa Stadium, two on the shady one. They eventually grew tired of tailgating and crowds and started watching Buc games at home on TV. They always sat outside on their porch to mirror the feel of being at a game. Watching football like this became their passion.
"We don't go out to the movies or for big nights on the town," says Carl. "For five or six months a year, this is our main hobby in life."
About a year and a half ago, two big things happened for Carl, 64, and Joanne, 51. They moved from Seminole to their new home on 137th Lane in Largo. And their Realtor introduced them to an artist named Karen Calabrese.
When Joanne Biamonte wanted to create a wooden mascot holding a big Bucs flag -- to outdo her brother's Buffalo Bills mascot -- Calabrese designed and painted it.
But the Biamontes wanted to show their team spirit in a bigger way. So this year, they searched the Internet and found a place to buy three 15-inch cannons. They turned to Calabrese again. Working from photos Joanne took during a tour of the stadium, Calabrese finished a one-sided plywood ship, a replica of the big one that graces the north end zone bleachers at Raymond James Stadium and fires full-size cannons.
One night, the Biamontes loaded their ship into their pickup truck and later carried it wrapped in canvas into their house. "We wanted this to be a surprise," says Carl, "because we thought everyone would get involved."
The grand unveiling was set for the season opener Sept. 9, but it rained. Then came the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, which forced the next week of games to be canceled. The following week the Bucs were off. Finally, on Sept. 30, the ship made its debut.
To maximize the impact, Carl decided to point the vessel and its armaments toward the busier end of the block to face passing cars and the streets off 102nd Avenue. To do this, he set the ship up on the far side of his yard, about a first and 10 from the Nalls' property line. That placed the path of the cannon blasts across the Nalls' driveway and front yard.
Before kickoff, curious neighbors peeked out windows and came over to view the ship up close. Everyone seemed excited at the prospect of hearing the cannons. Then, about 12:30 p.m., the Nalls arrived home from church.
Joanne Biamonte says she went right over to talk.
"I said it's just a means to have fun, and that we plan to shoot the cannons when the Bucs score touchdowns and if they win, and we hope it's not too much of an inconvenience," she says.
There had already been a preview for the Nalls that admittedly did not indicate smooth sailing, she says. Preston Nall had heard them fire a test cannon before game day and had come out of his garage. "He was like, "Whoa, what are you idiots doing?' " she recalls.
But now, with the ship's cannons ready to roll, she says both the Nalls seemed okay with the idea: "They said, "Well, we don't think it'll be too much of a problem, we can live with that.' "
The Nalls, however, have a different recollection and a much different take on the festering feud.
Preston and Hazel Nall can barely contain their anger over the Biamontes and their cannons.
Yes, Mrs. Biamonte did come over that first day, but, says Preston Nall: "We didn't say "Go ahead.' I just shrugged, like, "What can I do about it?' "
Hazel Nall holds a manila folder filled with detailed notes. One page notes that cannon blasts occurred Nov. 11 at 2:15 p.m., 3 p.m., 3:38 p.m., each at the expense of the Detroit Lions. These were followed by three shots at the end of the game around 4.
"It's just not right," she says. "We've been married 58 years, and we're not troublemakers. We're just old people who want to live in decent neighborhood, and we want respect. You can't even take a nap in the afternoon anymore."
Her husband, she says, is a veteran of World War II who served under Gen. Patton, and a 20-year veteran of the St. Petersburg fire department. He suffers from hypertension, and the loud noises unnerve him.
"It has a real concussion," says Preston Nall. "And it really brings me bad memories from my time in the Army. We haven't talked to them since that first time.'
An older woman around the corner actually lodged the first complaint Sept. 30. She heard a big boom and was concerned it could be related to terrorist activity, so she phoned the Pinellas County Sheriff's Office. The deputy arrived when the game was over. Carl Biamonte says he showed the officer the ship and cannons. The deputy seemed satisfied and, according to the Sheriff's Office, filed no report.
Days later, the Biamontes visited the woman. "She told us as long as she knew what it was, she had no problem," Mrs. Biamonte says. The Nalls, meanwhile, made a point of being gone during the next Bucs game. But a week later, on Oct. 14, they called the Sheriff's Office. Two deputies came during the game, and a third showed up after. The Biamontes say all the officers liked the ship and its cannons. None of them filed reports.
The Nalls got the same impression from the Sheriff's Office. So Preston Nall decided to act. Two weeks ago, he hired a company to build a fence -- a 6-foot-high section along the side of his house and a 3-foot-high section beside his driveway. The lower portion was still tall enough to block much of the view of the ship for anyone looking up the street.
"I put the fence up to help block the noise," says Preston. "And it cost me $800 to do this."
Next door, Carl Biamonte was not happy. He viewed the fence as both an eyesore and an attempt to undercut the neighborhood's enjoyment of the ship. So the next week, the Biamontes carried their green picnic table into the yard, gathered some pieces of wood for extra height, and assembled their ship on top of its new platform -- overlooking the 3-foot fence.
The Nalls were beaten. Or were they?
The next week, they had a visitor park a van so it partly obscured the raised ship.
But the Biamontes weren't throwing in the towel, either. "I am prepared to raise that ship as high as I have to, to get it over anything he's got," says Carl Biamonte. "I don't think he should deter us from having the little bit of fun we have out of life."
Several weeks ago, Preston Nall tried a different tactic. He called the Department of Environmental Management. An inspector parked his Jeep near the ship and measured the dbA (the "A" referring to the decibel weight) of a cannon blast.
The Biamontes received his report in the mail early last week. It read, in part: "Creating amplified cannon noise within a residential zone, measured at 74 dbA, (and) exceeding the allowable (55) dbA between the hours of 6 p.m. to 7 a.m., and 72 dbA between the hours of 7 a.m. to 6 p.m."
The Biamontes were told to reduce their decibel level or cease their cannon blasting. Failure to do so would result in a fine of up to $500 for every violation.
The letter gave them until Nov. 14 to correct the matter -- four days before the Bears game -- but a similar letter sent to the Nalls indicated the Biamontes had until Nov. 24.
The Biamontes say they have no intention of firing the cannons tonight during Tampa Bay's contest in St. Louis, because of the game's late start.
That means the next cannon firing might not take place until Dec. 2, when the Bucs play during the day in Cincinnati. The Biamontes say they are dumbfounded by the decibel notice: Normal conversation generates 55 decibels, so what's the big deal? They say they would gladly pay for the Nalls to go to a movie and meal during Bucs games. And furthermore, they don't see how they can get a thumbs up from deputies and a thumbs down from the environmental office.
"The Sheriff's Office would have told us if we were wrong," Carl Biamonte says. "We asked them if it was illegal, and they said no. Otherwise, we would never have gotten involved."
The Department of Environmental Management, however, had another take.
"The Sheriff's Office doesn't enforce the noise ordinance," says Bob Mortoro, code enforcement administrator. "They enforce disorderly conduct or disturbing the peace kind of issues. We enforce the noise ordinance."
Carl Biamonte believes the cannon shots aren't what really bother Preston Nall.
He says that the Nalls were close friends with the previous owners of the Biamonte house and that Preston Nall resents not having the freedom and influence he once enjoyed at the house.
Preston Nall says the only problem was over the lawn. He mowed it for his old friends and continued for the Biamontes. "But (Carl Biamonte) was a control freak about it, so I said, "That's it; I'm not mowing your yard anymore,' " he says.
He insists his beef has to do with the cannons, nothing else. Meanwhile, the Biamontes press on. Last week, Joanne Biamonte collected 18 signatures from neighbors, all indicating they had no objection to the cannons.
A handful of those neighbors have arrived for the Bucs-Bears game and the anticipated cannon shots. There was Mike Creedon, 35, who first heard the bang from his home two blocks away. "We always look forward to it," he says. "I have an airhorn I blast when I hear their cannons."
Darin Oakes, 36, has brought his 11-year-old son, Jake. Bill and Nancy Vollman, and Joe and Jane Turner -- couples who live directly across the street -- wander over. "We like it, but I will put in a word for the next-door neighbor," says Joe Turner, 60. "He's not a Buc fan. I don't hear it nearly as loud as he does, since he's next door. They have the right to protest, and to be honest, if I was in their shoes, I probably would, too."
"I love Preston and Hazel," says Jane Turner, 47. "I just don't want to get in the middle of all this."
For the record, all neighbors across the street say they would not mind if the Biamontes pointed the cannons at their houses. And Carl Biamonte says he might just do it, if Preston Nall will ask him.
In fact, Preston Nall says he might be okay with the cannons pointed elsewhere, but he has no intention of speaking to the Biamontes about it.
So the battle continues. Late in the fourth quarter, the Bucs score another touchdown to close within 27-24. A wave of elation sweeps over the Biamontes' porch as another cannon is fired. The Nalls are nowhere to be seen, but their camcorder is running.
Minutes later, kicker Martin Grammatica's errant 48-yard field goal fails to tie the score at the gun. But at the cannon ship in Largo, the game appears to be heading for overtime.