Celebrating the Seminole Heights Blogger

The Seminole Heights Blogger turns 48 this month and in his honor I'm sharing what I know of him with his readers.

David "Scott" Banghart was born into a traveling family. His father and grandfather were metallurgical engineers and wandered the globe from mine to mine. Scott was the only one of four siblings born in the U.S. He toddled through the weaning years in Germany where a brother and sister were born. His elementary education began in Chile where his youngest brother was added. It was there, in South America that the seeds of his future were planted. One day while touring Bolivia, he wandered off from his family. At the ripe old age of six, he located the nearest policeman, asked for directions to his hotel in fluent Spanish, and found his way back alone. He was a self sufficient child, tending his brothers and sister and helping his mother navigate when they were on the road.

Scott spent his pre adolescent years roaming the hills of San Francisco, California. Then, it was on to Florida, where his mother's family had a home on Clearwater Beach. He attended high school there and made lasting friends. While involved in a local church youth group, he became interested in social work. Volunteering with the couple who published the local beach newspaper sparked the flame of activism.

Next he traveled to the Philippines where his father was helping to develope a new copper smelting plant. The country was under martial law, ruled by Ferdinand Marcos. Scott spent six years in the university there, earning a BA in psychology, with minors in History, Theology, and English, along with 36 hours towards his master's degree. As part of the school's social immersion program, he visited the homes of poor rural farmers and poverty stricken areas in the cities. He left the Phillipines before the change of rule. Later his economics professor, Gloria Arroyo Macapagal became president.

He returned to the U.S. looking for work. His first job was as a cook at a Pizza Hut. He moved on to a position as Behavior Specialist at a program for mentally handicapped and mentally ill adults. While working there, he discovered that his bosses were siphoning money to pay their debts. He played the role of "deep throat", reporting the story to a newspaper reporter. The story was published and the program shut down, which of course meant, Scott was out of a job.
This didn't faze him. He simply moved on to what was next.

When we met in 1988, he was supervising a transitional program for drug and alcohol addicted newly released convicts. I was teaching at a horse farm and his sister was one of my students. We had a barn clean up day and Scott attended with his father, Dave, who was dying of lung cancer at the time. I will never forget that day, when in the heat of the summer his father worked alongside us, despite his illness. He was a remarkable man, admired by many. He put in hundreds of volunteer hours at the VA hospital while undergoing treatment, and died without complaint.

It took me two weeks to realize that Scott was my future husband. We married nine months later. For seventeen years I have been priviliged to know this man. He's introduced me to an entirely different world. Wherever we are, he finds the bits and pieces that make that place fascinating. He is comfortable with every type of person, accepting and adapting to cultural and behavioral differences. He's taught me a whole new level of compassion. Once we loaded a whole station wagon full of dairy family into our little economy car when we found them broke down on a country road. Another time, we found an old woman sitting by the side of the road in her pink quilted robe. She was in the final stages of alzheimer's. We drove her to the nearest police station. When she refused to go with the officer who came to get her, Scott stepped in. He held out his hands and the woman put both her hands in his and let him lead her inside. Last week he stood in the pouring rain as a large loose dog ran gleeful circles around him. His feet were in six inches of water. We had been on our way to pick up a nice hot pizza,when we saw the dog wandering on Hanna and Central. He finally opened the door to the truck and all 50 lbs or so of sopping wet dog jumped in and smiled at me.

Now, I will let you know some of his quirks. He loves most kinds of music, but can't carry a tune or remember the words to any song. He's competitive and tough to beat in most categories of Trivial Pursuit, but don't ask him a single sports question, because he doesn't have a clue. He can take photos of gruesome burns on victims as part of his job, but he can't handle seeing one of our dogs in pain. He laughs at his own jokes. He sometimes forgets where he's going by the time we pull out of the driveway. He's passionate about this neighborhood and the people in it.

Happy Birthday Mr. B.