Music Man Under A Straw Hat

Scotty Lee Rexroat has never met me, and probably never will.  Nevertheless, I know him quite well.  This, despite the fact, that if I saw him without a straw hat on his head or a guitar in his hands, I probably would not even recognize him, unless, of course, he was singing.

Musicians, like writers, connect very successfully to others without actually having to meet them.  Musicians do it through music and lyrics, and writers do it through the written word.  In either case, powerful messages can be sent and received even though the sender and receiver have never met.  Artists send messages as well.  Through their carvings, statues, paintings, and, drawings, they communicate to succeeding generations.  Architects, too, send messages through time.  The wonder of the Great Pyraimids of Egypt resonates with all of us thousands of years after they were first designed, just as clearly as the more recent buildings of Frank Lloyd Wright.

Scotty Lee Rexroat is a son of Pinellas County, Florida.  I really don’t have a clue how old he is, although I would guess that he is in his 50’s.  His age wouldn’t actually matter much if it weren’t for what he remembers about things lost.  Scotty Lee Rexroat remembers a Florida that doesn’t exist anymore, and sings about what he remembers through several of his musical styles, including, folk, country, blues, and rock.


Scotty Lee Rexroat



During his performances, through both his music and commentary, he reminds his audience of the numerous negative impacts the citizens of the "Sunshine State" have had upon the natural environment of Florida.  He jokes about how he  now refers to Pinellas County as “Pineless County,” given the widespread destruction of the once prevalent pine forests which covered the peninsula.  Through his songs like, “The Last Florida Waltz,” “Sweet Cracker Girl,” “Pineless County,” and, “She’s A Weeki Wachee Mermaid,” he challenges us to think about the past, and in some cases, the damage done to Florida’s once pristine and pure Gulf Coast.  Unfortunately, what has happened in Florida is neither new, nor unique.

Traditionally, Americans, in their zeal to always move forward, tend to forget about the importance of the past.  As a result, we have trampled upon and destroyed many of  our country's natural and historic treasures. Over time, virgin forests, life-sustaining wetlands, historic buildings, clean water, family-owned orange groves, and Civil War battlefields have all been destroyed under the banner of development and progress.  Sad to say, but progress once gained, is usually final. Scotty Lee’s musical gift to us is important because it causes us to slow down, however briefly, and take stock of what we’ve already lost, and what we continue to lose with each passing day.

In a day and age where it must be extremely difficult for the average person to appreciate a minstrel with a straw hat covered with silly fishing lures collecting tips in a plastic bait bucket; please take this one seriously, because he has an important message about the “price” of so-called “progress.”

The Magic Of Gulfport Beach Pavilion # 6

Gulfport, Florida, is a relatively small, artsy, and eclectic city, right next to St. Petersburg, and sits on the south end of the Pinellas County peninsula. At the south end of Gulfport, is a small beach, and on the beach itself sits Gulfport Beach Pavilion #6.

Something quite magical goes on most Sunday afternoons under the roof of the small pavilion. And, while the magic in the pavilion involves music, don’t expect to observe youth, rock and roll, rappers, or any Hip-Hop. You won’t find it. Instead, you’ll find something much more interesting, and perhaps, much more touching and meaningful.

Pinellas County, Florida, and St. Petersburg in particular, has long been known as “God’s Waiting Room,” given the traditionally large number of seniors who have retired in the area. But, the seniors spending their afternoons in Gulfport Beach’s Pavilion #6 aren’t “waiting” for anything; they’re dancing the afternoon away. And, they’re dancing to some great old tunes.

Quite often I head down to Gulfport on Sunday afternoons, because it’s a relaxing time, and because it best fits my schedule. I really don’t know what goes on in Gulfport, its beach, or Pavilion #6, during the week, but, at least on Sunday afternoons, I know exactly what’s happening.

Around half-past noon, a musician usually arrives, sometimes with an electric piano, sometimes with an accordion, or, sometimes with something else. While getting set up, and while the testing of the sound equipment is underway, senior citizens begin to trickle into the pavilion one or two at a time, and sit down at the picnic tables that ring the small open air pavilion. As they arrive, even though the music hasn’t even started, most place a dollar bill in the tip jar which is set up on one of the tables. Shortly thereafter, with little or no fanfare, the music starts, and, that’s when the magic begins.

I arrived on Gulfport Beach yesterday at my usual time. Given that the temperatures were only in the mid-60’s, there were only a few people at the beach, and those who were there, were dressed for winter. Beachgoers greeted the cooler temperatures with hats and jackets, and some were wearing scarves and gloves. The only living things at the water’s edge were the gulls. Just like every Sunday, on benches up and down the beach, elderly men sat alone looking out toward the water. I always wonder what these men are thinking about so intently. Maybe they miss their children and grandchildren who live far away, or, perhaps, miss a departed loved one. Whatever they are thinking about commands their attention utterly and completely, and not even the music causes them to avert their gaze.

Once the music began in the pavilion yesterday, the magic started to happen, as it does every Sunday afternoon. As the musician sang and played, appropriately enough, “Baby It’s Cold Outside,” the Sunday faithful inside the pavilion, never more than a handful or so and bundled up in jackets on this unusually cool day, began to dance. One lady invited her partner to give her the “first dance of the new year,” and he quickly accepted. As more upbeat tunes were played, things got a little livelier, and when one elderly woman said, “Let’s kick up our heels,” she went ahead and actually did so. You have to appreciate it, and when I write about the magic inside the pavilion, this is exactly what I mean.

As the music inside the pavilion played on, those men on the beach benches continued to stare out into the sea. An old man from New Hampshire, inside his recreational vehicle, sat in front of those big front windows, watching the magic happening inside the pavilion, but never stepped outside. Other seniors pulled up into the parking lot in front of the pavilion, and watched silently as the music, and the magic, played itself out. They never got out of their cars to dance, and probably never will. But they, like the men sitting on the benches, and the man inside the RV, will be missing the sudden “magic” which transforms ordinary senior citizens inside Pavilion #6 on Gulfport Beach, into energetic, fun-loving, dancing youngsters, once again, if only for a couple hours, on any given Sunday afternoon.