Tampa Calling

On the morning of November 5th, 2008, the day after the historic election of Barack Obama as President of the United States, I was performing in a highschool in Palatka, Florida. The students, approximately 1/3 of whom in this particular district were African American, were palpably stoked. Many of them wore bootleg Obama t-shirts featuring images not just of the President Elect, but of his whole beautiful family. I started out my program by asking, “Does anyone know who won yesterday’s presidential election?” The students erupted into a chant of “O-bam-a! O-bam-a!” that made the aging media center feel more like a football stadium.

One would think that spending a day surrounded by so much pride and exuberance would be the ultimate spiritual jumpstart; that I packed up my gear that afternoon and floated back to St. Petersburg on a cloud of contentment knowing that the platitudes I’ve spent my life singing are true, that ”the times they are a’changin.’” Unfortunately, that was not the case. That day, which was such an unblemished triumph of justice and hope over prejudice and fear to all those young people, to me was a painful reminder that a well funded and well organized segment of my state’s and country’s body politic does not think me or other gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender people like me their equal. November 5, 2008 taught me that in America a black man can (finally) take the Presidential Oath of Office, but a gay man or woman can’t even exchange a marriage vow. 

As I drove back home that afternoon, I scribbled a line on a Dunkin’ Doughnuts napkin: “I’m gonna love you, no matter what they say.” Months later, I found the napkin and decided to finish the song.

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Bob Greene is a traumatologist. This somewhat morbid designation means precisely what you think it means: Bob is a certified expert in psychic pain. The Florida State University Traumatology Institute conferred this title upon him, but his years of practice as a licensed clinical social worker are the true source of his expertise. In this capacity he has counseled thousands of people, including survivors of some of the greatest collective traumas of our time.

The day after the September 11 terrorist attacks he drove to New York City to counsel people in the financial district who had watched helplessly as planes crashed into buildings, emergency rescue vehicles unknowingly drove over top of human remains and fire, smoke and ash consumed everything comforting and familiar. In the wake of Hurricane Katrina, Bob provided counseling for the Tampa Bay 2-1-1 volunteers who spent two weeks in Monroe, LA fielding 2,000 calls a day from storm survivors in desperate need of rescue, shelter, psychiatric medication or even food after going without for three days.

Here’s how Bob, a man as unassuming and unpretentious as his name, describes his work: “I talk to folks just like me: bozos on the bus just trying to make it through this crazy world. I listen. There’s something about saying it out loud.” Here’s how I, a lifelong songwriter and singer, describe Bob’s work: He’s a pad of paper, a journal or a napkin and a bartender’s pen. He’s the multitrack Tascam I used to record my fist song when I was a sophomore in high school. He’s an open mic night or a house concert with a particularly gracious and responsive audience. He’s an opportunity to let the inside out, to let thought hit air.

I met Bob in my capacity as the director of Impact-Florida, a GLBT rights organization formed in response to the passage of Amendment 2. One of my members caught wind that Bob was starting a support group for people struggling to come to terms with their sexuality or with that of a friend or loved one and urged me to meet with him to find out what Impact-Florida could do to help. He was obviously impressed with Bob’s credentials and experience, but what resonated with him (and eventually with me) the most was Bob’s story. Read the rest of this entry »