It was high noon on what passes for a riverwalk along the Hillsborough River in downtown Tampa. Two men jogged by. A couple sat on a bench, talking softly. A kid with tattoos across his back was poised on a wall as he studied a ring-binder of notes.
The only other signs of life came from a crowd of squalling gulls. If a breeze hadn't been blowing along the walk that covers the blocks from Tyler Street to near the Kennedy Boulevard bridge, I would have had to put up with no less than sun-baked torture. There's not so much as a stick of shade to make the walk even vaguely pleasant.
Nor is there a coffee shop, a boutique, a bookstore or a place to hear music.
All you see are the backsides of a parking garage, the city's art museum and the strangest office high-rise on the skyline, that round building downtown types know as the Beer Can, and then, across the river, the University of Tampa.
I hadn't been back to the riverwalk in years. There was no reason to visit. I returned Tuesday to reflect on the most celebrated failure in downtown's history - the failure to build a riverwalk that works.
Nobody can accuse us of not trying. There is a testimonial to the first attempt, made almost 30 years ago, in the concrete wall on the east side of the walk. Eight large squares list the names of hundreds of enthusiasts who, at the urging of then-mayor Bill Poe, plunked down money to contribute to the creation of a riverwalk.
Evidence of a later attempt is contained in a report released in 1988, according to Joe Voskerichian, a retired bank executive who took part in putting it together. The report promised not just a riverwalk but a cultural arts district built around the museum.
This riverwalk was more ambitious. It continued under the Kennedy Boulevard bridge and headed toward the corner where the river meets the bay - where the Convention Center, like other buildings along the route, blocks anybody but the gulls' view of the waterfront.
The report, and the renewed calls for the riverwalk, grew out of criticism of the construction of the Beer Can, which opened as the headquarters of what was then NCNB Bank, now called Bank of America.
Seen in a certain context, the Beer Can was an improvement. It replaced a city parking garage, which it turn had replaced a packing plant. But when the Beer Can went up, there were protests - identical to protests now - over construction that allowed developers to monopolize water views.
Voskerichian, retired senior vice president and director of community relations in Tampa Bay for Bank of America, remembers how the report's good intentions went ignored, as mayors changed - there have been four more since Poe - and money and attention went elsewhere.
Still, the riverwalk refuses to die.
Mayor Pam Iorio has made the creation of a cultural arts district, and the riverwalk, such a priority that she created a new position, arts and cultural affairs director. Wendy Ceccherelli, from arts-conscious Seattle, started her job Monday. On her desk are separate reports from 2001, 2002 and 2003, on how to make the cultural arts district and riverwalk succeed. Have we studied this thing enough?
Ceccherelli has her work cut out for her. Only last week, developers announced plans for a condo high rise south of the Beer Can, another building that may block the waterfront for anybody too poor to buy a view. It could make a riverwalk even harder to complete, if the open space around the building isn't open to the public.
"We're destroying what we have, something we'll never get back," Voskerichian told me.
I want to believe that he's wrong, that a new mayor and new energy can get things on track and repair past mistakes. I found some optimism in the turnout last week for the Tampa Downtown Partnership's annual forum. At least 200 people packed a hotel ballroom to hear new ideas and consider the future.
The criticism once voiced over the Beer Can - the desire for open space embodied in the riverwalk - now constitutes received wisdom. All that's left to do is make the dreams real.
