Above: an original Shoofly deck in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi Gulf Coast, circa 1900.
EAM's popular Shoofly Magazine is named after the shoofly that's a beloved Bay St. Louis landmark.
EAM's popular Shoofly Magazine is named after the shoofly that's a beloved Bay St. Louis landmark.
Nutshell Version
Fascinated by the exploding communications field, for more than two decades I've experimented with video, blogging, print, photography and social media as a means to help build healthier communities. One of my early blogs, "Katrina Patina," became the basis for a book manuscript, Under Surge, Under Siege, the Odyssey of Bay St. Louis and Katrina, published by University of Mississippi Press in 2010. While it covers the storm and three years of aftermath, Under Surge documents how a community under incredible duress can support the individual.
Currently, I'm the publisher of The Shoofly Magazine, an online monthly focusing on life in Bay St. Louis and Waveland, Mississippi Gulf Coast. Later in 2019, look for the launch of French Quarter Journal, an online publication that dives right into the heart of New Orleans.
Currently, I'm the publisher of The Shoofly Magazine, an online monthly focusing on life in Bay St. Louis and Waveland, Mississippi Gulf Coast. Later in 2019, look for the launch of French Quarter Journal, an online publication that dives right into the heart of New Orleans.
The Long Form
I'd never even heard of the term "hyperlocal" when I first witnessed its power in the mid-90s, during a small-town city council meeting.
I'd only recently moved to Bay St. Louis but joined a loose coalition of citizens attending that night. We were objecting to a "done-deal" proposal. Before the meeting, council members had expressed full support for a measure that would change every address in the city. Three and four digit numbers would be replaced with a new, completely random, five-digit number. The federal representative who addressed the council that night claimed the change was needed to improve 911 response.
But before the council voted, citizens had a chance to speak. A NASA scientist who lived in town completely debunked the assertion that the change was necessary to utilize GPS technology. Businesspeople pointed out that every company in town would need new brochures, business cards and stationery - an expensive and time-consuming process. Other people argued that the old-fashioned numbers in most cases provided accurate locations. While everyone understood that 214 Main Street was on the second block from the beach, the new longer numbers would offer no geographic clues.
The council voted against the proposal.
A heady sense of empowerment ran through me that night. I'd never lived in a small town before or seen citizens actually influencing an official decision. In bigger cities, I'd become resigned to an individual's role as powerless bystander. Signing petitions and writing letters to officials seemed pathetic efforts to effect change. And in my experience, even established organizations with many members could only marginally raise public awareness or influence policy. A school of slender minnows trying to nudge a battleship into changing course might have better luck.
That night in the meeting, I had watched minnows in a pond push a rowboat back to the dock.
The experience profoundly shifted my own life's course. Instead of fretting and fuming over national issues where a single voice was powerless, I decided to focus my civic energies on issues that affected my community most, in places where participation made a real difference. Once my eyes had been opened, I recognized neighbors and friends who'd been working on that principle for years. I'd been surrounded by amazing role models all along. Now I began to learn from watching them.
That experiment has lasted 25 years. In 2011, I started a little volunteer newsletter for our Fourth Ward neighborhood in Bay St. Louis. Most of the crew were older and had grown up watching "Leave it to Beaver" reruns, so we jokingly named our online publication "The Fourth Ward Cleaver." The little online publication grew in popularity and readership over the next three years. It turned out people were hungering for in-depth lifestyle coverage of their town. They devoured stories packed with information and inspiration.
"The Cleaver" launched as a full-scale online magazine in 2014. By then, our readership had expanded to include a few thousand readers each month. Since a sizable percentage of them lived far outside the Fourth Ward and Bay St. Louis, two years later we changed the magazine's name, using the Bay's most unique architectural symbol as a namesake. It became The Shoofly Magazine.
Shooflies are historic structures, raised decks built around the trunks of ancient oaks on the Gulf Coast. There are only a few remaining on the Mississippi coast and Bay St. Louis is home to one of them. It offers a cool and shaded spot, perfect for community conversations. With a team of 12 professional writers and 20,000+ readers each month now, the magazine's mission is to provide the same sort of digital deck for our readers.
Later in 2019, look for the launch of French Quarter Journal.
Shooflies are historic structures, raised decks built around the trunks of ancient oaks on the Gulf Coast. There are only a few remaining on the Mississippi coast and Bay St. Louis is home to one of them. It offers a cool and shaded spot, perfect for community conversations. With a team of 12 professional writers and 20,000+ readers each month now, the magazine's mission is to provide the same sort of digital deck for our readers.
Later in 2019, look for the launch of French Quarter Journal.
Shoofly in Bay St. Louis, circa 1900.