Life In Seminole Heights

Article In St. PeteTimes/TampaBay.com
http://www.tampabay.com/living/story.cfm?storyid=119776
TampaBay.com > Living & Style

Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Mangos, ganja and a guy named Animal
By Shannon Breen

When I bought my house in Old Seminole Heights a year ago, my Realtor told me I was moving into an "up-and-coming" neighborhood.

Since then, I've learned to broaden my definition of "up-and-coming."

On the first night in my house, some friends and I were painting the living room when the doorbell chimed. It was a shirtless, hunched-over fellow, holding a plastic cup filled with Jack Daniels. He introduced himself as Animal, noting I was too young to know why he was given such a moniker..

Pointing to his house, which had a cardboard yard sign that read Junk Man, he invited me to stop by if I needed anything. I extended the same hospitality, suggesting he might need some milk or sugar. His response: "Don't tempt me, honey."

I didn't sleep very well that first night. I kept peering through the window at Animal's place. A few times, I heard him silence his neighbor's barking dog by screaming expletives about the dog's mother. He didn't seem to be a pet lover, even with a name like Animal.

The next day another neighbor, accompanied by her friend and the friend's young daughter, came by. They told me they saw "the troll" make his way over to my house the night before.

They warned he must fancy me if he left his home beneath the bridge.

After that visit, I implored my altruistic brother to install a peephole in the front door.

Next up: the husband and wife neighbors from Jamaica. They noticed I had an in-season mango tree in my yard, hinting they loved mangos. Supplying them with a plastic bag, I told them to take as many as they liked.

Shortly after, another neighbor stopped by with her son, in his 40s. When I tried to shake his hand, he reacted as if that was the first time he'd seen such a custom. I was taken aback by his striking resemblance to Billy Bob Thornton in the movie Sling Blade .

His mom asked if she could take some mangos. Sure, I bought this house just to supply the neighborhood with tropical fruit.

Ding dong.

It was the Jamaican couple again. They supplied the plastic bag this time. They supplied plastic bags every time for the next few weeks.

I implored my brother to hang garlic and vials of holy water around the house.

Knock, knock.

It was a friendly looking family of four. They brought me a bottle of red wine. They seemed so normal. So welcoming. So uninterested in mangos.

We exchanged numbers. I eventually exchanged numbers with the mango paupers, too, who subsequently asked if I'd like to smoke some ganja with them. Oh, I get it. Quid pro quo. I supply them with mangos, they barter pot.

Sitting on my front porch a few weeks ago, an old friend and I were catching up. As I was explaining how I felt more at home here than in some cookie cutter, suburban area, a seemingly intoxicated woman stumbled on the street in front of my house.

My dog barked at her as she twitched her head around, mumbling. The woman leaned against my chain-link fence and began barking at my dog.

There's a sense of neighborhood camaraderie.

I wave at my neighbors. I talk to my neighbors. Even Animal.

It's starting to feel more like a family. Perhaps the Addams Family , but, nonetheless, family.

-- Shannon Breen is a staff writer for the St. Petersburg Times .