Purpose has no expiration date

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St. Petersburg prides itself on reinvention. We also tend to celebrate it when it looks young, fast, or disruptive. But one of the city’s most instructive examples of reinvention doesn’t fit that narrative, and that may be exactly the point.

At 81, Bill Edwards still works daily. Not out of necessity, and not for recognition, but because he believes civic responsibility doesn’t end when a career technically should. His story challenges a quiet assumption many communities make: that relevance has an age limit.

A Purple Heart–decorated Vietnam veteran, Edwards built a varied career after returning home, owning recording studios, developing real estate, operating shopping centers and even owning a professional soccer team. But the experience that most reshaped his outlook came in his early 40s, when he was diagnosed with Guillain-Barré Syndrome and left temporarily paralyzed.

That moment forced a reckoning. Recovery was long and uncertain, but clarifying. Edwards didn’t retreat from ambition; he refined it. What followed was not a slowdown, but a deeper commitment to building things that endure.

Fifteen years ago, that commitment came to light in a very public way.

When Edwards took over management of the city-owned Duke Energy Center for the Arts – Mahaffey Theater, the venue was struggling. The building was outdated, the finances were strained, and its role in the city’s future was uncertain. At a time when public assets are often managed with caution rather than vision, Edwards chose to lead differently.

He personally invested more than $4 million to renovate and modernize the Mahaffey, committing private resources to a public institution without a guaranteed return. Today, the theater is financially stable and thriving, drawing international performers, anchoring the downtown waterfront, and contributing meaningfully to the city’s cultural and economic life.

But the most telling moment of Edwards’ civic leadership may have happened offstage.

The City of St. Petersburg was preparing to discontinue the Class Acts program, a long-running initiative that brought live theater performances and field trips to students across the Tampa Bay area. Thousands of children faced losing their primary exposure to the performing arts. Rather than allow the program to quietly disappear, Edwards stepped in.

Through the Bill Edwards Foundation for the Arts, he not only continued Class Acts for the past 14 years but also expanded it to make it free for all participating students.

That decision reframed what arts access could look like. It sent a clear message: when public funding falls short, community leadership can, and should, step forward. Tens of thousands of students have since experienced live theater through the program, many for the first time. In a state where arts education is often underfunded or eliminated, this was not a symbolic gesture. It was a decisive intervention.

This is where Edwards’ story becomes more than personal. It becomes instructive.

The Mahaffey’s success underscores a broader civic truth: arts institutions are not amenities to be tolerated; they are infrastructure. They support education, fuel local economies, and help define a city’s identity. When managed with vision and accountability, they return value far beyond ticket sales.

Edwards’ approach also challenges another assumption: that civic leadership must come from elected office or large institutions. His work demonstrates the impact of individuals who are willing to think long-term, invest personally, and treat stewardship as a responsibility rather than a title.

St. Petersburg is growing, and with growth comes difficult questions about priorities and permanence. What do we protect? What do we fund? What do we allow to fade?

Edwards’ example suggests an answer: progress doesn’t always look new. Sometimes it looks like recommitment, with year after year of experience, discipline, and resolve.

At an age when many are encouraged to step aside, Bill Edwards has leaned in, not to control the future, but to strengthen it.

Purpose does not expire. And cities that recognize that are better for it.

Terri Hall is President, Doubletake Marketing and PR.