Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: FRIDAY, March 2, 1990                   TAG: 9003022890
SECTION: VIRGINIA                    PAGE: B1   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: Ed Shamy
DATELINE: HUDDLESTON                                 LENGTH: Medium

EXPECT WORK AS YOU PLAY AT BEACH

Think of curling your toes into the coarse beach sand at Smith Mountain Lake State Park; of the warmth on your face; of the splashing, shouting children; of the smell of suntan lotion.

Now come to your senses. Life is not a videocassette.

Think of diesel fumes; of heavy truck traffic; of grating circular saws; of worrying about whether the kids are going to be run over by a bulldozer; of hammer shots crackling through your solitude.

Welcome to the beach, 1990 style.

Last swimming season - the beach's maiden voyage, as it were - the park provided a shelter with a soda machine and restrooms. There also was a shack for a modest concessions business.

But there is this plaque, cheering visitors with an artist's rendition of a new bath house. Coming in 1990, the sign says, and it would include showers, lockers and restrooms so that visitors wouldn't have to drive several hours home - everyplace is several hours from this beach - in wet swimsuits, fending off bladder problems.

The new bath house would even have a bigger concession stand and a boardwalk.

Coming in 1990 probably means it will be ready for the opening of the season on Memorial Day. That's what you think, right? Shows what a wretched state bureaucrat you would make.

No. Around about the time the beach opens in May, the construction workers will show up. Around about the time the beach closes in September, the new bath house will be completed.

Coming in 1990 is technically accurate. It will come in 1990, though you won't be able to use it until 1991.

Blame state fiscal woes, always a good scapegoat. Fiscal, translated to its original Latin, means little. Woes, in Greek, means money.

Fiscal woes, then, mean the state government is almost broke, much like you and I are.

The low bid on the bath house project was $491,500, says Paige Tucker of the Virginia Division of Parks and Recreation. It would be a reasonable price if the money were available, which it is not. The bath house is supposed to be paid for by the suckers who buy lottery tickets, but the state is hugging greedily to its lottery money to see if it can be used to pay trivial things like bills.

Tucker says the cash should be available after mid-April when this fiscal (little) crisis (bankruptcy) is resolved.

A month or so later, the beach opens. About that time, the contractor should be ready to start work.

So you will show up with your lawn chair and your zinc oxide and your kids. At the same time, a battalion of hairy men driving machines as big as apartment complexes will show up.

As you curl your toes in sand, they'll dig their earth graders in soil. As you listen for gulls, they'll open the throttle and blot the sun with black exhaust.

As you leave the beach with sand in your bathing suit for your nine-hour drive home, they will be gathered around a pickup truck, ogling your wife.

Coming in 1990. Can you wait?