In East Tampa, new neighbors clash with church over redevelopment plans

Nebraska Avenue in East Tampa was once a thriving hub of Black business. But economic downturn and urban flight have left the street a shell of its former self.Where a trolley once passed flower shops and pharmacies, people with nowhere to go now wander the main drag searching for shade between tire shops, gas stations and mini-marts. The city even considered changing the name of the street in 2013 because of its bad reputation.Now, a novice developer is teaming up with a local church with a checkered past on an ambitious plan to add housing, shops, doctors’ offices and more to the blighted area. They’re seeking about $50 million in city funds to get it done.Neighbors agree that more investment is needed to turn the neighborhood around. But some say the church isn’t the trusted partner to pave the way forward.Deeper Life Christian Church, a pillar of East Tampa’s Black community in the ’90s and early 2000s, gained notoriety after members were convicted on criminal fraud and drug charges. Deeper Life has kept a lower profile in recent years. But the church’s founding family, the Jeffersons, still owns dozens of vacant, run-down properties in East Tampa.“When people see boards on the window, it feels really eerie,” said one neighbor, Monet Izquierdo. “It is an attraction spot for homeless people.”In other once-neglected enclaves like Tampa Heights and Ybor City, change has come from the top down. Wealthy investors bought up generational homes and businesses, bulldozing them to make way for upmarket housing.Kella McCaskill, the developer working with the Jeffersons, envisions a more grassroots approach for the neighborhood — one where longtime property owners remain in control.Regardless of what people think of them, McCaskill said she and the Jeffersons are the only ones putting forth a plan to revitalize the area without gentrifying it.The century-old church at the corner of Nebraska Avenue and East Plymouth Street has withstood the test of time. The brick facade stands tall, but the stained glass windows are broken or boarded up. A “Deeper Life Ministries” sign planted out front advertises weekly services, though none have been held there for years.Multicolored bungalows are interspersed with vacant lots. Homes with white picket fences and inviting porches stand beside ones with chipped paint, plywood over the windows and notices taped to the doors.When Izquierdo and her husband, Matt Wolmer, bought a home just a few blocks from the historic church in 2021, they knew they were moving to an “up-and-coming neighborhood.” Still, the couple said they’ve been shocked by all that’s been allowed to fester.Last year, a then-pregnant Izquierdo was repeatedly harassed by a homeless woman who she said threatened to kill her and hurt her baby. Calls to the police made no difference, Izquierdo said. The woman always ended up back on the street.Izquierdo said her harasser and several other homeless people have taken shelter at a nearby vacant property owned by the Jeffersons.The Tampa Bay Times identified 34 properties in the Ybor Heights and V.M. Ybor neighborhoods that are either owned by Deeper Life or were bought by the church and transferred to companies controlled by the Jeffersons. The combined market value is about $8.75 million, according to Hillsborough County Property Appraiser’s data.Since 2019, there have been about 94 code violation cases at those properties, according to records provided by the city. They range from overgrown landscaping to structural issues. Ten cases are still open, and most have been pending for more than a year. Tampa’s Neighborhood Enhancement Division is tasked with handling these quality-of-life issues. But Izquierdo said its system is fundamentally flawed. As soon as one violation is corrected, a new one pops up. The repercussions for breaking the rules are slim to none.A Tampa official told the Times that the city is aware of the problem properties but that options for cracking down on bad landlords are limited.Property owners are generally given three weeks to comply once a citation is handed out. If violators don’t comply, their case could go before a special magistrate.Properties accrue fines if violations are not remedied. But those fines aren’t paid until the buildings come into compliance. It’s unclear how much the Jeffersons had been fined.The city cannot force an owner to sell a property. It can tell owners to tear down dangerous buildings, but those judgments are rare.The Jeffersons were ordered to demolish an empty commercial building at 3703 N. Nebraska Ave. in 2019 after code enforcement found the roof had collapsed and the walls were deteriorated. Five years on, the structure still stands.That property is now part of McCaskill’s master plan for the neighborhood. The Jeffersons want to turn it into affordable housing, with retail on the ground floor.For Shaun Dickey, who lives across the street, change can’t come soon enough.He built his home in Ybor Heights three years ago because he thought it would be a good investment. A lot has improved since he first moved in. Police have made efforts to clean up the streets, he said. But he feels like East Tampa is not evolving at the same rate as other parts of the city.The Jeffersons bear some responsibility and shouldn’t be rewarded with city funding, he said.“Proof is in the pudding. You have multiple properties that aren’t maintained. There’s no excuse for it. You expect others to pick up the pieces?”For a time, hundreds of people filled the pews each week to see Deeper Life’s founder, Melvin B. Jefferson.The family’s patriarch started preaching out of a Hillsborough Avenue storefront in 1986. He was 37 at the time.He and his wife, Brenda, have since established more than 70 churches across the U.S., Africa, Europe and the Caribbean, according to their website.“When you give money, if you are sowing a seed you’re going to get your money back 100-fold,” Jefferson told churchgoers at a 2003 service, according to a story from the Tampa Tribune/WFLA News. A joint investigation from those news outlets scrutinized the church and raised questions about the Jeffersons’ wealth.Deeper Life recruited congregants grappling with homelessness, addiction and criminal charges. Hundreds underwent a rigorous 30-day rehabilitation where they memorized Bible verses and were pressured to give what little they had to earn salvation. They lived in church-owned homes riddled with safety issues and were paid $10 a day to solicit donations from drivers at busy intersections.Jefferson, meanwhile, arrived to services in luxury cars wearing custom-tailored suits. He flew in a private jet and amassed an impressive real estate portfolio, including a 10,000-square-foot walled estate in Brandon and a 9,500-square-foot bayfront mansion in a gated community in Apollo Beach.“Christ was not poor,” Jefferson told the Tampa Tribune in a 1997 interview. “He rode an ass — that was equivalent to (a Cadillac) Eldorado these days.”Deeper Life’s first scandal came in the 1990s when federal investigators discovered the church was laundering food stamps from its poor congregants for thousands of dollars each month. Jefferson and his wife avoided jail time, but the church was fined and several church officials, including his stepson Calvin, served probation as part of a plea deal.This kicked off a yearslong series of mishaps. Three people died in car crashes while on church-sanctioned fundraising trips. The church was cited by the city for subpar living conditions at its makeshift halfway houses. Three of Jefferson’s children were convicted of running a cocaine trafficking ring from 2002 to 2013.The Nebraska Avenue church eventually closed in 2018. Though Deeper Life has not been as active recently, Calvin Jefferson said it still conducts regular feedings for the homeless in East Tampa and clothing distribution for people in need.Melvin, Brenda and Calvin now host events and preach under a different ministry established in 2013 called Living In Victory Christian Church. They operate out of Valrico but hold services online.Deeper Life no longer receives religious tax exemptions on any of its properties in East Tampa. But for years, dozens of its parcels were tax-exempt — 10 as recently as 2023. Last year, the Jeffersons were taxed more than $140,000 for their East Tampa holdings.Calvin Jefferson maintains that his family’s mission is to help others. He disagrees with how the church’s criminal history has been portrayed.“If that defined us, or if that was our intention at the time, we would have closed our doors,” he said.On Wednesdays, dozens of people flock to the church to pick out a new outfit, toiletries and snacks from Deeper Life volunteers.“If it wasn’t for them, we wouldn’t have clothes,” said Nancy Black, who has received resources from the church since 2014.One of the church volunteers, Elder Annie, has worked with the ministry for more than 20 years. She knows regulars’ names and struggles: Tom is deaf and needs diabetic socks. Irving is a size 12 in sneakers.Years ago, after she fled an abusive relationship, “this ministry took me in, no questions asked,” she said.Last year, the church provided resources and meals to more than 3,000 people.“I think that time has proven that our heart and our vision is helping people,” Jefferson said. “In every field, there’s always going to be something good and something negative.”Jefferson said he doesn’t want to focus on the past. As a new generation of church leadership, he said he wants to actively work on bettering his community and building affordable housing.His family has lived in Tampa for 30 years. He knows the problems East Tampa faces — he had a tenant decide not to renew their lease because of homelessness in the neighborhood.His sister recently led the effort to create the Nebraska Avenue Business Association, Jefferson said, which held its inaugural meeting Monday evening.The group is aiming to revitalize the corridor with the help of local businesses, community members and elected officials.McCaskill met the Jeffersons through a community cleanup in East Tampa, which she hosted through her nonprofit.She said while some newcomers complain about blight and homelessness, the Jeffersons are trying to come up with solutions.Last year, they approached the Tampa police with an idea to turn one of their properties into a resource hub for the homeless, but it still hasn’t come to fruition.Jefferson said he wants to revitalize his family’s properties, but it’s been difficult to find the funds.“One day turns into a week, and a week turns into a month,” Jefferson said. “We’ve just been trying to follow all of the necessary steps to see what’s available.”On her visits to East Tampa, McCaskill often sees seniors congregating at the local McDonald’s because they have nowhere to go.She aspires to restore Nebraska Avenue to its former glory, bringing the shops, restaurants and community gathering places residents have long asked for.Historically, sweeping development like this has forced out Black residents. McCaskill said those who have remained in the neighborhood through difficult times deserve to reap the benefits of revitalization.She is seeking the $50 million in city funds to overhaul eight East Tampa properties owned by local families and businesses. Two of those belong to the Jeffersons — the church and the dilapidated commercial building.Some of the projects would be built from scratch, while others hinge on rehabbing existing buildings.If McCaskill and the Jeffersons succeed with those first two properties, it could kickstart future growth. Eventually, the goal is for the Jeffersons to transform their vast portfolio of residential homes into affordable housing. Some of the homes have already been listed for sale, McCaskill said.“They did a great job acquiring,” McCaskill said of Jefferson’s parents. “The children can do the better job of maintaining and growing the vision.”Getting the master plan off the ground will be an uphill battle.McCaskill met with the city and is preparing to submit an application for one of the sites. But the funds, which would come from the East Tampa Community Redevelopment Agency, are not guaranteed.Even if the city gives her the green light, she would only be reimbursed once the project is completed. That could take years.The city created a program that gives applicants some money to cover the upfront costs.McCaskill and the Jeffersons have been waiting on pre-development funds for the past few years.Since the city’s program started, McCaskill said there have been consistent delays — the city at one point asked her to stop sending in applications, and staff turnover in 2024 nearly brought her back to square one. McCaskill has teamed up with a developer, general contractor and architect to help her work through the bureaucracy. But she doesn’t come from a development background.As a Black woman in a predominantly white, male field, she knows she faces challenges and stereotypes that other developers applying for city funds don’t.She’s vocal at public meetings and carries a binder full of her project proposals in case she needs to give an impromptu presentation.Some neighbors have described her as confrontational. Any time Deeper Life is mentioned in Facebook comments or a public meeting, McCaskill comes rushing to its defense, said Ybor Heights homeowner, Alissa Bezuyen.She and other neighbors who belong to the Ybor Heights Neighborhood Association hold community cleanups and attend city meetings to advocate for improvements. They say McCaskill and the church haven’t tried to build trust or repair their reputation with newer residents.“It’s very unproductive with her,” Bezuyen said.Since moving to Ybor Heights in 2018, Bezuyen said she and her husband have witnessed drug deals and overdoses on their street. They’ve heard gunshots and even had the police search their home for stray bullets.Some newer homebuyers have talked about leaving. But Bezuyen loves her neighborhood. She doesn’t want to move; she just wants to sit out on the porch at night without fear.“I’m dying in this house,” she said. “I have high hopes for the area. I really feel like with the community that we’ve built to try and fix some of the issues, the area will soon come together.”McCaskill isn’t giving up either — despite pushback from some of the very neighbors who she said her plan will benefit.She describes her vision as one where Black property owners don’t have to sell out to see their neighborhood advance. One where seniors have a better place to meet for coffee than McDonald’s.“Not allowing us to support redevelopment in the area hurts the community,” McCaskill said. “Hence, people are saying they moved in, they want it to look better, and granted, we all do it. But it’s just a slow process.”

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