THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, March 12, 1995 TAG: 9503090024
SECTION: REAL LIFE PAGE: K1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY ELIZABETH SIMPSON, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 117 lines
GARY COOPER - now there's a man who knew how to use his lunch hour.
He didn't waste his time wolfing down PBJs in the movie ``High Noon.'' He slapped on his marshal badge, rid his town of desperados and saved his marriage in one fast-paced lunch hour.
OK, that was the movies. This is real life. But people are still packing that precious hour in the middle of the day with chores that have nothing to do with brown bags or fast-food burgers.
Kurt Gunn doesn't gun down bad guys, but he does sing spirituals in Chesapeake. Sheila Pitman sweats out an hour of aerobics in Portsmouth. Sarah Adams grabs some Z's in her car in a Norfolk parking lot.
To today's time-starved and schedule-stretched workers, the lunch hour is a time to catch up on errands, slide in some personal time, or do volunteer work.
``It's the one hour of the day that's mine,'' said Portsmouth City Clerk Sheila Pitman.
Here are a few examples of some no-food lunch hours.
If the walls are vibrating with the rousing sound of a spiritual, it must be lunch time at the U.S. Coast Guard Finance Center.
``No one told me,'' sings Cmdr. Kurt Gunn, shaking his bald head, and swaying his body back and forth, ``The road would be easy. But I don't feel no ways tired, Lord. Come too far, from where I started from.''
He and 20 other enlistees and civilian employees from the center in Chesapeake use their 30-minute lunch period to fire up their vocal cords.
It is not a low-key affair. Or one that lacks passion. The singers clap their hands, step side to side and belt out the songs that give the electric guitarist and organist a run for their money. By the end of the session, the soul-searching messages and swell of voices move people to tears.
``We're lifted, and spirit-filled,'' says Sheryl Smalls, who directs the group.
The choir has been meeting for five years, three lunch hours a week, five months out of the year. They perform each year at a Black History Month breakfast.
When they first started their lunch-time practices, they figured it was a one-time deal. But everyone enjoyed it so much, and got so many invitations to sing other places, they kept on substituting song for food.
``I feel great,'' says Gunn after the session. ``I feel `no ways tired.' '' A TIME THAT'S MINE
The YMCA on Effingham Street in Portsmouth was deserted an hour ago, but now it's noon, and the place resonates with grunting and groaning.
The gym is a whirl of legs and arms. The weight machines slam up and down. ``I'm pretending this is my supervisor,'' says one iron-pumper as he hoists a weight. And Sheila Pitman is charging up her heart rate in a step aerobics class.
``Step up, and down,'' the instructor bellows.
Pitman started coming here six years ago after her son went through a life-threatening illness. ``The fact that he was so healthy is the only reason he's alive today,'' Pitman says. ``That gave me a wake-up call.''
Pitman figured exercise was the best way to get in shape. But as Portsmouth city clerk, her days start early and often end late. So she began skipping lunch to make way for exercise.
``Lunch time is the only time that's mine. That's the only time I don't share with someone else.''
Her use of the day's noon hour to clear out a corner of personal time is popular among the working set.
Julie Goodrich, who works for Commonwealth Construction in Virginia Beach, uses her lunch hour to read books.
``I'm in my own little world,'' said Goodrich, who admits that John Grisham's books are hard to put down at the end of the hour.
And Sarah Adams, an ODU student, takes a break between classes to grab a nap in her car. She works at night, takes classes during the day so the 40 winks help her make it through the day. THE NO-GUILT LUNCH
It's not that a good sandwich and some French fries don't sound good to Eileen May.
They do.
But there are so many other things to do. Bills to pay. Prescriptions to fill. Supper to fix. Letters to mail. Doctor's appointments.
When the list gets particularly long, one word pops into May's mind: lunch hour.
She makes the most of it. She knows exactly how long it takes to get from her office at Harris Publishing in Norfolk to her home - 12 minutes - and can fit supper preparations into the remaining 36.
Then she lets her daughters take over when they get home from school, and by the time she walks in the door spaghetti is cooking.
``I always feel guilty when I eat lunch,'' May says. ``I always think about all the other things I could have gotten done.''
Even those who are eating lunch are making the most of it.
They're meeting with old college friends. Or networking with colleagues. Or visiting day-care centers to have lunch with their children.
Sixty-year-old Milliard Collins of Portsmouth doesn't eat lunch with any old person. He comes home from his job as a manager at Pet Dairy a couple of times a week to eat lunch with his 2-year-old granddaughter, Brittney Holland.
``He's been spending that hour with her since she was a baby,'' said his wife, Mary Collins.
Even a tough guy like Gary Cooper would call that an hour well spent. ILLUSTRATION: Color photos
LAWRENCE JACKSON/Staff
For some Chesapeake workers on lunch break, noontime is tune time.
Sonya Russell feels the spirit as she and about 20 other employees
of the U.S. Coast Guard Finance Center rehearse with their gospel
choir.
JIM WALKER/Staff
Sheila Pitman, Portsmouth city clerk, uses her lunch hour for
aerobics at the Effingham YMCA.
by CNB