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The Lake Worth Tribune
Friday, April 10, 2015
OPINION House Editorial
Betrayal at the Beach City Manager Michael Bornstein’s contract was just extended for five years and he was given a $10,000 raise. This on the heels of revelations that he concealed plans to expand our Casino building from Commissioner Christopher McVoy and the public and slid an ITN process through the Commission under the guise of needing to find someone to manage the Casino ballroom, find a renter for the empty upstairs space and maybe manage the pool. Listening to the tapes of the ITN Committee meetings, I can only feel a deep sense of betrayal to hear people, at least half of whom don’t even live in Lake Worth, discuss a convention center and private beach club and the destruction of our Olympic pool. Considering the very serious business about our beach, and the complete disrespect shown to the community of people who treasure it, I would think Bornstein’s contract should have been extended for just one year, at the most, and a great many questions asked of him. I would like to know why he isn’t familiar with the overall financial picture for the Casino complex – why he didn’t know, for exam-
ple, that in three years the beach fund will have a very healthy balance if all goes well. And according to reports, all is going well at the beach, with the city bringing in about $1.5 million a year just for parking. I would like to know why he is refusing to market the municipal pool, and then advocating for its closure, complaining that it loses a lot of money. It doesn’t lose that much money. In the fiscal year that ended on Sept. 30, it lost just $123,000. I would also like to know why the city refuses to organize swimming lessons at the pool. Jane DeCoursey, who was a lifeguard and swim instructor at the pool, said she had 200 kids on the pool deck every day during the summer from 2005 to 2010 for the Guppie Rescue Squad. It was a huge success. And a great opportunity for the children in our community to become strong swimmers. No matters what orders he is being given by the Commission majority, Bornstein is still sworn to uphold the laws of the state of Florida, and our Sunshine laws say that the business of the people must be done in the open. Why isn’t it? — Margaret Menge, Editor and Publisher
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Send resume and cover letter to: mmenge@lakeworthtribune.com.
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Letters should be no more than 250 words* and should pertain to something that has been published in the paper. Letters should include the name, address and phone number of the letter writer. (Addresses and phone numbers are for verification purposes only, not for publication.) Letters may be edited for space.
Letters should be sent to: mmenge@lakeworthtribune.com or mailed to The Lake Worth Tribune, P.O. Box 85, Lake Worth, FL 33460 * Those wishing to write a longer piece for the paper on a particular topic related to Lake Worth may call the newspaper offices at (561) 586-6643 to inquire about writing an Op-Ed.
Remembering Jimmie Efantis “Ten four. Over and out.” He used to end his phone conversations that way -conversations that sometimes extended longer in time than his friends wanted them to. He wasn't a man to be hurried. He almost made it to his 100th birthday. Jimmie Efantis died peacefully, after a very short illness, on Valentine’s Day. He was a well-known personality in the Lake Worth area. If you lived for some time in Lake Worth during the past 30 years, you likely ran into him. At one time or another he was surprise minstrel at barbeques and picnics at John Prince Park, at the Farmer Girl restaurant on Dixie Highway, and the Pegasus (now Don Victor’s) restaurant. He and a guitar occasionally appeared, unannounced, in the lobby of the Lake Worth Towers. The Presbyterians on North Federal Highway enjoyed his appearances, sometimes invited, sometimes spontaneous, at their potluck suppers. He busked for his own pleasure, not for money, on Lake Avenue. When he could round up transportation he’d be at open mike in downtown Lake Worth, wowing the folkies and rockers. He played his acoustic guitar and sang at Medicana Rehab, by the high school, and then he returned without fee to play in the lobby there, and to individual residents. He did the same thing at the old Eason’s Nursing Home on 6th Avenue south. He wasn’t shy. If you were shopping, if you were dining, you might hear a strong voice singing from the next aisle over, or from the nearby booth, and it would be Jimmie, at age 80 or 85 or 95, going it a cappella. Aloha Cafe, on Thursday evenings, at 800 Lake Avenue, was the location and opportunity to play his Hawaiian repertoire, the Hawaiian songs he loved, on his steel guitar. Lying on his back in bed at Hidden Gardens Assisted Living facility Jimmie was, incredibly, on the last day of his life, still singing. He sang the same songs he played and sang for most of his 97 years and 11 months. “It Had to Be You”; “Be Careful, It’s My Heart”; “You'll Never Know (just how much I love you. You'll never know just how much I care.”) He made clear in his circles just how much he cared about some things: patriotism, his country, his God, his music. And, sadly, when he died folks were left who could do no more than wonder just what he felt and exactly how much he cared. Jimmie spent just three days at Hidden Gardens – coincidentally not far from the Polo Grounds Publix supermarket where he bagged groceries until he was well into
Editor and Publisher / Margaret Menge mmenge@lakeworthtribune.com
Creative Director / Nancy Pobiak Account Executive / PJ Stevens P.O. Box 85 • Lake Worth, FL 33460 Published in Lake Worth, Florida at the offices of The Lake Worth Tribune. 129 North Federal Highway • Suite 200A • Lake Worth, FL 33460 • Phone: (561) 586-6643
Jimmie Efantis makes friends with two girls at a Lake Worth barber shop, in a photo taken not long before his death. (photo contributed)
his 80's. That was on Military Trail, not far from the mobile home park where he lived for many years until he eventually moved to “independent living” at Villa Madonna on Lake Worth Road. Everybody in the vicinity of his mobile home knew him: Scores of customers at Publix knew him. Wherever he went in greater Lake Worth and eastern central Palm Beach County, somebody would know him. Waiters and waitresses and cashiers and customers dining at Perkins and I-Hop and Denny’s and the Deli Inn, and, some years back, at TooJays, were treated to impromptu concerts. Church pastors knew him. He worshipped in a dozen or more churches. He’d find an excuse to sing “There's Something About That Name” and declare his religious faith to anybody he met. He was a barber and a musician. His instrument was the steel guitar, but he also played rhythm and sing-along guitar, and he sang in a pleasing voice whenever he was invited to do so, or whenever he could attract an audience. His was a pop singer’s voice, on key, with reserves of strength that lasted almost to his last breath. He loved an audience. James Constantine Efantis was an unforgettable personality, with some rough edges born of an anxiety disorder dating back to his army days in London during the blitz, and difficult days in the first of three marriages. He declined tranquilizers. For many years he led a musician’s life in the District of Columbia, but he never smoked tobacco or marijuana. His drugs of choice were his guitars, and the songs he loved were his tranquilizers: “Coquette,” “Remember Me, I’m the One Who Loved You,” “Tea for Two,” “Somebody Stole My Gal.” He played country and western music, too, never forfeiting an opportunity to denounce “open chord” music, and railing against musicians who eschewed diminished and augmented chords. He played “Anytime” and “I’m Walking the Floor Over You” and “I’m Sending You a Big Bouquet of Roses” at Moose halls and juke joints and dance venues. He played in nursing homes, and he never failed to brighten the residents’ days. He never bombed. He didn’t play rap or rock, or even Beatles or Bacharach or Bossa Nova. He played the stuff that his generation remembered and liked: “I Want a Girl Just Like the Girl That Married Dear Old Dad,” “Too-ra-Loo-ra-Loo-ral”; “Melancholy Baby”; “Put On Your Old Grey Bonnet.”
He played sweet chords. He preached “chord structure” to strangers who listened patiently, not really knowing what he was talking about, but reluctant to declare their indifference. He was a familiar sight at all kinds of venues, often sporting a scarf that he might have worn for effect as much as for warmth. He made friends on the spot. “Come visit me. I live at Villa Madonna.” After almost 98 years of life he had crossed a lot of names out of his address book, but he was always adding new names to it. “How much longer do you think I’ve got?” he’d ask. “Jimmie, you’ll probably bury me. Did anybody in your family live to 100?” “Well, I had a great uncle or some relative who lived to 103.” “What did he die of?” “He fell off his horse riding in the mountains in Greece.” In earlier years he played Hawaiian and Polynesian music with the Hawaiian State Society in the Washington and Baltimore area. He played radio broadcasts. He played tough venues, and honky tonks, and places with dubiously evocative names. He played the Bucket of Blood. He played steel guitar with Jimmy Dean and with Buck Owens. He never became a studio musician: He turned down a chance to go to Nashville. He worked union scale at smaller jobs at the big Washington hotels. “Jimmie, what was it like? Seeing famous politicians and public figures?” “I’d see them at their hideouts.” “What do you mean?” “The places they’d go with their secretaries. Down by the Potomac. The saloons.” “They’d have musicians there?” “Oh, yeah. Bands. And they’d drink and have all the women there and it was all private.” Seeing Jimmie do his thing would bring to mind another Jim – Jimmy Durante. In his sunny moods Jimmie Efantis was … loveable. He flirted with just about every female he met, of any age. At his age he wasn’t threatening, he was just an avuncular kind of cute, and he knew it. And he charmed children. He’d croon, “You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby” and charm the parents. He’d quickly have any young child’s attention with “Old MacDonald Had a Farm.” He sometimes sang mildly saucy parodies, but you’d never hear him use filthy language. He had favorite lines he liked to employ, of mysterious origin, such as “Take it away, Rosedale.” Like Durante he’d mangle his
By Bob Horrell
syntax and vocabulary, and he'd coin his own words and phrases: “Speculational illusions,” “You think I’m some sort of character – there’s a frustrational extravation,” “Thunderize.” He was a poor judge of character and motivation, and, at the same time, sometimes, somehow, a shrewd analyst of people. Here’s what he was: giving, spontaneous, calculating, vengeful, loving, forgiving, unforgiving, narcissistic, realistic about his shortcomings, studious, intellectually curious, intellectually unsophisticated, funny, hostile, charming, creative, belligerent, dapper, inventive, impulsively generous, anxious, naïve, fun-loving, vital. He compulsively wrote out long lists: song titles, chord progressions, biblical passages, favorite quotes. Books on his bookshelf were usually extensively highlighted or underlined. He read heavily in Biblical archaeology and Biblical studies. He collected Social Security, accepted subsidized housing and VA disability benefits, praised Franklin Roosevelt, and contributed from his limited resources to the John Birch Society and right-wing causes whose newsletters purported to tell him inside stories about death panels and threats to freedom. He decorated his steel guitars and his living quarters and his belongings with collages composed of political stickers, flower images, flags, epigrams, and photographs. He had an ear for a good tune and a meaningful lyric. He had a few signature songs. He’d dedicate “Fools Rush In” to “M____.” He’d sing an old Irving Berlin song, “When I Lost You,” so nicely that it would melt your heart. He’d close most of his engagements with “Aloha ‘Oe” (Farewell to Thee) from his Hawaiian repertoire. And he’d do his own arrangement of “Crazy,” giving credit to Willie Nelson or Patsy Cline, knowing that the Efantis version was sure to be a hit. You can see and hear him doing his songs in family videos uploaded by his grandson to YouTube. Go to https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=oepMKCKu0u8. Thank you, Anthony, for preserving that music and that personality for us. It was a treat to be out with him when he had his guitar. To listen to his “Jimmietalk.” To watch him flirt with complete strangers. To see how he could almost always grab an audience and lift their spirits with music. A particular favorite of Jimmie’s, one that he sang with especial feeling, was “The Street of Regret.” When you’re alone on the street of regret, And your eyes are dim, and your cheeks are wet, You know you’ve been wrong, too late to mend, You wander along, wondering where it will end. And you’re alone with the dreams of the past, And you realize what love means, at last...
Aloha, Jimmie. Aloha ’oe. James “Jimmie” Efantis of Greenacres died on Feb. 14, 2015 at the age of 97.