I’m struggling to imagine a world without my friend Aaron Fodiman in it.
Aaron was 100 percent larger than life.
First off, he was a physically towering figure. He commanded attention just by walking in the door. It was not just his size but his fashion sense that drew attention. His wardrobe was, how should I say it?, never subtle. Aaron’s extra-large shirts could have been designed by Jackson Pollock. And it helped that he usually entered the room with the beautiful Margaret Word Burnside.
He was a lawyer, a restaurant owner, a businessman, a mensch, a jokester, and more than anything, he was editor and publisher of the glossy Tampa Bay Magazine.
Aaron left us on April 19. He was 87.
For decades Aaron and Margaret chronicled almost every major charity gala on both sides of Tampa Bay. They seldom had a weekend night without two events. Sometimes they did three or four. They didn’t just attend, they documented each event with pictures of board members, event organizers and key donors. And they seemed to thrive on that demanding routine.
When I was hired as executive director of the Palladium in the summer of 2007, Aaron was one of the people I called for advice. He was generous with more than just advice. Aaron offered us a full-page of free advertising in Tampa Bay Magazine. At the time, The Palladium was costing St. Petersburg College a lot of money as we struggled to build the business. Carl Kuttler, SPC’s legendary president, called demanding to know how much we were spending on that slick magazine ad. I was able to tell him the ad was free. It probably helped me keep my job in those early days.
Our budget eventually grew to almost $2 million and the Palladium became self-sufficient, but Aaron never changed his “free advertising” policy. And this year, as in past years, the theater was named “Best Community Performing Arts Center” in the magazine’s “best of” edition.
Talk to other artists and performers and you’ll hear a similar story. Glass artist Duncan McClellan and painter Christopher Still will tell you how pivotal Aaron’s support was to their careers.
He was a generous friend. If you tried to flash your credit card when the dinner bill came, Aaron was quick to remind you that when he invited you out, you didn’t pay. He did a lot of trade with restaurants and other businesses, so when he invited you out, it was almost always to a restaurant that advertised in the magazine.
As I was thinking about this homage to my friend, I tried to recall all the parties, lunches, dinners, and social events that Aaron and Margaret invited us to attend in the last 20 plus years. It’s a very long list.
My favorite events happened at their Victorian waterfront home in Dunedin. The party was usually out on the lawn, under the towering oaks, with a view of the bay at sunset.
We had lots of mutual friends, and some of my favorite nights with Aaron and Margaret were the ones when we gathered around a dinner table in someone’s home.
There was one gauntlet you had to run to hang with Aaron. You had to sit still for his jokes. They were usually groaners, in questionable taste, and you could see a punchline coming for days. He didn’t require you to laugh. He told bad jokes because he loved telling them. He always flashed a devilish grin, and Margaret always begged “don’t tell that one…” but she knew there was no stopping him.
My first memory of Aaron is carved in my brain. I wish I could forget it but I can’t. It was the late 1980s or early 1990s, and Paul Wilborn and the Pop Tarts were playing a party at the Plant Hall in Tampa called “Come As Thou Art.” For Aaron, that meant some kind of Robin Hood outfit, with a blousy white shirt over a pair of red tights. Yes, tights! Yes, red! He and Margaret danced number after number in front of the band. I tried, but I couldn’t look away from the big guy in the red tights. It was impossible.
One way Aaron and Margaret were able to hit so many parties was by keeping several houses around Tampa Bay. The big Victorian in Dunedin and a townhouse nearby, plus a condo in downtown St. Pete. There were probably others I didn’t know about. I liked to joke that if you could track their schedule, and snag some keys, you could live very well in whatever houses Aaron and Margaret weren’t sleeping in on a particular night.
To the end, he remained an analog guy in the digital world. He liked phone calls. He reluctantly used email. And he resisted giving Tampa Bay Magazine an online presence. Why, he wondered more than once, would you give away something that you worked so hard to put in print?
As I said at the beginning, I can’t imagine a world without Aaron in it. But I guess I’ll have to try.
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