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 Their spiffy bayside home with a dock over the water seemed more
 “his” than “hers.” Beverly called it a “part-time hotel,” but I saw it as “fulltime party pad,” but this weekend a partial exception. On my last Ptown night in a bedroom on that dock over the water, I reviewed a weekend’s appraisal of “Mailer’s “character” that also examined his literary canon. The body of his work, indeed, was wide and deep. What about Mailer as a good family man?
+===IV. TAMPA (FEBRUARY 1972)===
+The caption of this trip might well read: the Norman Mailer meltdown that
+never was. Norman had exemplary existential timing. The local media were
+primed and there was a scheduled one-day Mailer stopover at the University of South Florida. It was at his time that I met a new Norman, the media’s “Prisoner of Sex.” This controversial topic and book rocked the feminist movement, and marked Mailer. Gender warfare was stormy and blistery in 1972.
+Once again, I found myself at center stage. I taught at the University, and
+had played a role in bringing Norman to Tampa to give a podium lecture. I
+also volunteered to organize and finance the twenty-four hour agenda,
+which included hosting a big party for our embattled visitor. I was excited. The local media and campus police were on alert.Why? Mailer was about to meet his gender-slayer. Kathy Freeperson and her militants were out to bloody this advertised chauvinist. I wondered how Mailer’s character would hold up. Would it turn good or bad?
+The Mailer agenda began, tastefully, with an early four o’clock dinner in
+Tampa’s historic Ybor City at a renowned Cuban restaurant. I suspected that Mailer would be enthralled with its classic interior of early Spanish tiles and mosaics and so he was. Among the twenty or more dinner guests, some came from Miami and Orlando and some were Norman’s personal friends, seldom seen. His mood soared and the cuisine outdid expectations. For a festive two hours we dined. Norman, charmingly blended with the setting, its cuisine, multiple conversations, and companionship. Norman sat content, obviously very comfortable with himself. I sat and squinted and imagined the atoms of all those tiles and mosaics reassembling into an original Castilian Court, with Norman at the head table.
+At four o’clock the following day, I took Mailer to his motel for a rest
+period before his eight p.m. podium appearance. I told him I could not be
+there for his speech speech. I also warned him about hecklers. He shruggedand said, “What do you want me to do tonight?”“Do what you want to do,”I replied, and we both smiled.
+I missed the podium fireworks. Only later when the evening’s party was
+in full swing did I hear about how Mailer stunned everyone by turning
+“trickster.” This February night had turned frigid, but over a thousand people filled the auditorium, including the panting media and Kathy Freeperson and her shock militia. The stage was set for gender warfare and cultural mayhem. Mailer’s speech, whatever its merit, was greeted by bedlam. Kathy was leading the audience in jeers, boos and catcalls. Mailer and his speech were being snuffed out.
+What to do? Mailer calls on Kathy and two lieutenants to come up and
+share the spotlight. Instantly, a college junket speech became a 1960s “happening.” Kathy was ecstatic. She was now an instant celebrity, as were her  militia. For over an hour, Mailer alternated between mock opponent and stage jester. The audience roared and roared. Many from the audience stayed with Mailer and crashed my party.
+I had invited a select group, about one hundred University people, but I
+did not expect a horde. The party house, borrowed from a friend for the evening, was spacious yet had only minimal furniture. I was told that on stage both Norman and Kathy alluded to the late-night party and several hundred people took those words to constitute an invitation. And they came, like locusts, through doors and windows. I did not dare call the police: that would generate a media report and possible “Riotous Mailer Party” headlines.
+He entered, the vanguard of the horde, and rushed up to me. Norman
+pointed at the center of the room and said: “I’m going to stand over there and every twenty minutes you come and see if I need a whiskey refill.” I kept my eye on the guest of honor. He stationed himself at the center of the room, but this time he didn’t work the room. It worked him.
+For over two hours Norman stood his ground, sipping whiskey, and
+allowing his public to invade not only his public space but also his body, his personal space. His ''modus operandi'' was that of a many-handed Heraclitus doing simultaneous multiple good deeds: a frantic go-round of book signings, hip small talk, verbal nuggets, and other celebrity mannerisms. But most telling was how he allowed his body to be violated by mostly women, both lovers and haters, stroking or pawing or worse, here and there, even erogenous zones. At times, Norman looked like a piece of meat. Why such acquiescence? Only Norman knew.
+As for the host, I was trying to survive the plague of the locusts. Besides those Mailer refills, I squeezed out a path here and there and talked to everyone and no one. As long as Norman remained, so did his admirers. He finally quit after two long hours. I had counted seven whiskey refills, and some were doubles. On the way to his motel we spoke little. He was dead-tired. At the motel door I said, “Norman, tonight, you surprised me.”“Sometimes I surprise myself,” he replied.
+Ah, Norman. He had conned Kathy and Company into switching a stump
+speech into a hit show. Moreover, he earned a five-figure speaker’s fee while Kathy’s group worked for free. Mailer also outdid a common media
+prophecy—that he could never ever resist violence. In fact, he stamped it
+out. His Tampa visit did not create headlines, only modest coverage. Everybody won, and that included Kathy, Norman, and his Legacy Quotient.