Depends on whom you ask.

Kenneth W. Mulder, the author of several books that chronicle this area's history, wrote that there was never any such person. In fact, Mulder said that the Tampa Bay area never saw any pirate activity at all.

"There were no pirate colonies here," Mulder said. "There was no booze here, there were no women, so why would the pirates have bothered coming here?"

Pirate treasure has washed up on Florida's shores from time to time, Mulder said, but it comes from pirate vessels that were destroyed by Caribbean storms.

Mulder said the story of Jose Gaspar --- also known as Gasparilla, or "Little Gaspar" --- actually has its roots in a 19th-century real estate promotion contrived by a railroad that hauled phosphate from the Tampa Bay area to Boca Grande.

Mulder writes that the Boca Grande area has two islands -- Gasparilla and Little Gasparilla --- named for a Spanish missionary, Friar Gaspar. The railroad people invented the saga of a marauding pirate.

Other regional historians disagree.

In "The 'Gasparilla' Story," published in 1952, author Jack Beater discounts the theory put forth by Mulder and other Gaspar skeptics.

"There have been claims that the entire Gasparilla story was the invention of a railroad press agent in 1912 -- or thereabouts -- but these are easily disproven," Beater wrote.

The most obvious refutation, Beater wrote, is that Tampa's Gasparilla celebration predates 1912. (Mulder, it should be noted, never cited that 1912 date for the legend's origin. He maintains it has its roots in the 1800s.)

Beater also pointed to verbal histories, only a few generations removed when he wrote his book, that recount Gaspar's Florida exploits. He also said that Edwin Dart Lambright, who was The Tampa Tribune's city editor in the early part of the 20th century, told him of an actual diary of Gaspar discovered by an attack of the American Embassy in Madrid.

"The diary, complete only to the year 1795, listed 36 ships that Gasparilla captured or looted, but there is no authentic account of the number he captured in the remaining years of his life," Beater wrote. Beater and Lambright -- who penned his own Gaspar biography, "The Life and Exploits of Gasparilla" -- contended that Jose Gaspar was born in 1756, served in the Spanish Navy, and turned pirate in 1783.

Beater (in another book, "Pirates and Buried Treasure") maintained that Gaspar is responsible for the names not only of Gasparilla and Little Gasparilla islands, but Captiva Island as well.

"In times past, the name was well taken," Beater wrote, "for on this verdant isle Gasparilla is said to have quartered certain of his valuable female captives for safe keeping until their ransom money could be paid." Beater allows that his only source of that information is "word of mouth," but adds that the theory "seems plausible -- even reasonable -- in the light of what we do know about pirate methods back in the 1800s."

The history of the Gasparilla celebration is much more certain, and well-documented. It dates back to March of 1904. Louise Frances Dodge, the Tribune's society editor, was planning a May festival. A friend named George W. Hardee, who had grown up in New Orleans, suggested making the festival a Mardi Gras-style affair, and building it around the story of Jose Gaspar.

Hardee, a Tampa resident who worked for the federal government, formed Ye Mystic Krewe of Gasparilla. The Krewe's plans were kept secret until the end of April that same year, when Lambright received the following announcement at his Tribune office:

"After a century of obscurity and retirement in this His Royal Majesty's dominion, it has been deemed expedient and desirable by His Royal Majesty that the Royal Court of Gasparilla shall visit the fair and prosperous city," read the announcement, written by Hardee. "It has been so decreed, and our royal party will appear in your midst at some hour during your coming May festival. If our entrance be opposed and your reception hostile, the consequences be upon your own heads!"

Thus, on May 2, 1904, was born the tradition of costumed warriors making an annual visit to Tampa.

The next year, the celebration was moved to November, to coincide with the fledgling Florida State Fair. For the next three years, there was no celebration at all -- and the Krewe either had disbanded or remained inactive. In 1910, the Krewe was back. The invasion returned to February, and was part of the local Panama Canal Celebration. In 1911, the Krewe arrived by ship for the first time. That year, the Krewe's invasion was part of Tampa's Census Celebration that noted, over the past 10 years, Tampa had been the fastest-growing city east of the Mississippi.

The next year, the Gasparilla invasion was part of the city's festivities of Washington's birthday. In 1913, the invasion was an event unto itself and by 1915, it had expanded into the five-day Gasparilla Carnival.

Other Krewes were formed and joined in the festivities. But as late as the 1970s, only four Krewes were involved. Today, the Krewe count is 23.

In the past couple of decades, more and more events bearing the Gasparilla name have been added, including a road race that draws runners from all over the world, a nationally recognized art show and a slew of public and private parties.

But is all this hoopla for someone who never existed or does it celebrate an actual pirate who enslaved women, murdered sea captains and lived off of ill-gotten booty? Perhaps the definitive answer comes from Mulder: It doesn't really matter.

"It's a myth," Mulder said in an interview. "But it's a good myth. It's true in a lot of people's minds. It's like Santa Claus."