The St. Pete Pier's not an albatross for everyone

My first vision of Florida was of the St. Petersburg Pier.
I was three years old, flanked on either side by family, and stood amazed at this huge upside-down building that seemed to be floating right on the water! Pelicans came and ate out of my hand, and people milled around the beautiful atrium. I ate something I'd never had before - grouper - and our restaurant table looked right out onto the turquoise water. It was so close I could touch it.
And that was it, I was in love. But being bound by the confines of a family vacation, the whole lot of us meandering up and down the state, I never got to see the Pier that trip again. (I did get to see the Everglades, which scared me to death, and see my Aunt Minnie get left behind at a truck stop, which tickled me to death.)
But the Pier has always meant "Florida" to me, whether on a postcard or in person. The sign of its angular cut from the airplane window instantly tells me I'm home. And apparently, I'm not alone in that feeling, since the St. Petersburg Pier has become a landmark of sorts for Tampa Bay, iconic in its image the way the Skyway Bridge is.
They hold at least 300 events a year, house many local independent retailers, and boast a view that few places can match.
Now, with the recession looming, the Pier is standing on shaky ground financially. The same saltwater breeze that draws a crowd on hot days has weakened the Pier's approach making costly repairs and ongoing maintenance necessary.
St. Petersburg is facing the reality of a $20 million budget shortfall this year alone. Shoring up the Pier's infrastructure will cost $50 million.
Shutting it down, say city officials, will save taxpayers $1 million right off the bat. An attractive cut, considering that schools and emergency services also have to take a hit.
But the Pier?! Come on, can't we have something? I know visitors dropped off by half this year, and retailers are feeling the pinch. Subsequently, the city lowered rents for failing businesses in a goodwill gesture to keep them open. But still. It's the Pier, for God's sake. Picture the observation deck, and the open-air ballroom. The terrazzo floors.
What on earth would we put on the postcards? Foreclosure signs? Pictures of brush fires? How about the Cone of Uncertainty?
All of these things certainly say Florida, but not like my Pier. As the city banters back and forth about candidates for budget slashing, the Pier is looking better and better to them. Shame we can't just think of a way to draw more business in to bring it back to its once-lucrative stature. We are too quick to axe things.