The Mailer Review/Volume 2, 2008/Tributes to Norman Mailer/1972: Norman Mailer Parties with Offbeat Tampans

It was a chilly February evening in Tampa and the perfume of the citrus trees was almost oppressive. The numbers of cars parked on both sides of the house stretched down the block and beyond the house. There was one helluva party going on at the corner residence.
The guests were mostly faculty members from the University of South Florida’s humanities departments, including Philosophy, Music, Humanities, History, American Studies, and Art. The majority of the English department was there, as anticipated. A guest of honor of the stature of Norman Mailer was a rare event.
The party house was a strange scene, indeed. There was not a stick of furniture in any room and the floors supported nothing else. The kitchen housed only a keg of beer, potato chips, pretzels, and cups. The smell of the Sun State’s citrus blossoms was overpowered by the stench of discarded cigarettes and beer on the floor. The air was heavy with smoke and noise from a myriad of cacophonous, simultaneous conversations. The scene was smoky and roaring.
Willie Reader, poet and English professor, furiously paced the room.
Norman Mailer suddenly entered the foggy scene. Mailer arrived with a horde of 1960s enthusiasts and activists. As he entered, Mailer’s eyes appeared to slowly scan the room, like a military scout trying to make sense of what he saw in this surreal, raucous setting.
Mailer was introduced to attentive academics, who were scattered throughout the room: Jim Parrish, chair of English, speaking southern drawl, remarked how pleased he was to meet the author of The Naked and the Dead and An American Dream. Professors Fabry, Iorio, Spillane, and Moore eagerly shook hands with the celebrated author and public intellectual. The restless crowd was standing in a sea of beer and cigarette butts, and it appeared that the house was being trashed by a gang of renegade party crashers. Mailer asked Moore about the seemingly unusual scene.
“No, no, no,” said Moore. “Quite the opposite. This is a celebration of a party that occurred two and a half months ago, appropriately named J. Newman’s Party. Let me tell you about that gathering. It was not like this one. We were all dressed up. Even had a bartender. It was a formal occasion.”
Mailer listened attentively as Moore told him the story of the previous event and its connection to this evening’s festivities.
Mailer’s reaction to Moore’s somewhat offbeat explanation was utterly non-quizzical. Mailer, clearly relaxed, gave the impression that he was quite familiar with this kind of academic scene, disjointed chronology, and pugilism. Mailer calmly listened to the detailed story with a look of admiration when the Iorio scene was replayed, as if Iorio reminded Mailer — perhaps — of himself. Mailer’s reputation as a savvy, skilled boxer, who did not suffer fools gladly, was well known in that house.
Mailer now knew the history of this unorthodox scene. He seemed to be amused that this evening — Mailer’s night — was also the celebration of a bigot’s departure from the neighborhood.
Once Mailer knew the narrative behind the setting, he walked over to me — beer in hand and wearing a big smile — grabbed my shoulder and said “good show.” It might be said that a cold night in 1972 was the beginning of a long, warm relationship between Norman Mailer and the University of South Florida.