THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, September 11, 1994 TAG: 9409090283
SECTION: VIRGINIA BEACH BEACON PAGE: 03 EDITION: FINAL
LENGTH: Long : 153 lines
Wednesday, Aug. 31
7:35 p.m. - Crocs, 19th Street and Cypress Avenue.
Businessman J.D. Crowe, replete with beard, leather vest and tattooed arms, carefully rolls his shiny red motorcycle from a display area near the bar.
``That's a `47 Harley Knucklehead,'' a young waiter tells customers at a nearby booth as the motorcycle is moved silently out the front door. ``It's a classic.''
Minutes later, Crowe re-enters with another motorcycle. This one is blue and also gleams.
``That one's a `63 FLH,'' the waiter says. ``He (Crowe) has 12 of them that he displays here. All Harleys.''
Once the motorcycle is in place, Crowe and two admirers, beers in hand, stand around the machine with unconcealed admiration.
Occasionally, Crowe or a waiter, leans over and lovingly wipes away a smudge from the metallic blue finish with a rag, then stands back to continue admiring the chrome and steel creation.
- Bill Reed
Thursday, Sept. 1
6:30 p.m. - Record Bar, Lynnhaven Mall.
A woman waits in line with her two children, who are sharing a double-wide stroller.
While the woman digs in the bottom of her brown leather purse for her checkbook, the youngest of the children, who is barely 2 years old, tugs at her dress and whines.
After a few seconds, the screaming and crying gets louder. The woman apologizes to the young lady behind the counter and plops the country tapes in front of her.
She takes a breath, picks up her blond son and says, ``It's so hard, you know, when they're pulling on your dress and yelling at you all the time. I can never seem to do anything right.''
The girl behind the counter laughs and says, ``I know what you mean. That's why he's my ex.''
- Holly Wester
10:05 p.m. - Montgomery Ward, Lynnhaven Mall.
Two female employees run around the front of the dark store, chasing and swinging sweatshirts at an after-hours visitor.
But the ``intruder'' is not a late night shoplifter or cat burglar. It is simply a lone pigeon, flapping above the merchandise.
- Holly Wester
Friday, Sept. 2
7 p.m. - North End.
The ice cream man is coming down Atlantic Avenue. His bouncy tune, ``Pop Goes the Weasel,'' is tinkling across the neighborhood.
Two little girls are sitting on the driveway in front of their house, right where the pavement meets the feeder road. They each have a tray and are munching away on their supper, but this is no picnic.
``We don't want to miss the ice cream man,'' says one, her anxious eyes cast north toward the oncoming music.
- Mary Reid Barrow
Sunday, Sept. 4
4:30 p.m. - Fifth Street stage on the beach.
The Four Tops are on stage before a rapt audience when Effie Day, of Norfolk, comes into view.
She is undoubtedly the only person at the concert reading the Terry McMillan novel ``Mama.''
Everyone around her is laughing and drinking beer under a bright blue sky while the surf rolls and the music swells, but Day sits hunched over, reading.
``They kinda turned down the rhythm and blues and started with this softer stuff so I thought, `Hey, I could read by this,' '' says Day, as the Tops are singing a Frank Sinatra song.
``And it's a good novel, too. Tell everyone how good this is.''
Just then, the venerable pop masters from Motown switch to their classic ``Bernadette,'' and the crowd surges with excitement and Day jumps to her feet, hands clapping, her smile as wide as the stage before her.
``That Frank Sinatra stuff puts me to sleep,'' she says.
- Tom Holden
7:02 p.m. - Caravans, Laskin Road.
Tiffany McCune, 20, shoves her key in the dead bolt of the bright yellow front door and gives it a swift turn to the right, closing out yet another Labor Day weekend.
While the word ``sale'' is painted in bright red letters down the door's picture window, McCune says this weekend's discounts were nowhere near the 50 percent off sales offered the past three Labor Day weekends.
But according to McCune, the smaller discounts didn't hurt business at all. ``We had a good weekend,'' she says, leaning against the store's salmon-colored brick wall. ``A lot of customers from Friday and Saturday came back yesterday and today. It was great.''
Although the number of customers was comparable to the past few years, McCune says the attitudes differed greatly.
``Every year you could feel the tension in the air,'' she says in between drags of her Marlboro Light cigarette.
``But this year it was like any other holiday weekend. Everybody was totally cool.''
- Holly Wester
7:35 p.m. - The Edge, near 20th Street and Atlantic.
One of the bar's regulars walks up with two companions and orders a beer from a familiar bartender.
However, ``Tex'' doesn't recognize her at first, because of her boyish outfit and her braided pigtails.
After a second - to her relief - he flashes a smile of recognition.
Then, he points to her braided red hair and says with a giggle, ``Hey, I know you. I'll take a single with cheese and a biggie fry to go!''
- Holly Wester
10:15 p.m. - A restaurant on Atlantic Avenue.
An apparently desperate young man, dressed in a white T-shirt and jean shorts, enters the near empty restaurant and approaches a male employees.
``Can I use the bathroom?'' he asks, skipping past the huge signs that state: Restrooms are for customers only.
``Can't you read?'' inquires the mustachioed man with a noticeable Southern drawl. ``The sign says customers only.''
``Please man,'' the youth begs.
``I said, `No','' the employee responds, showing no remorse. ``Don't give me any lip, boy.''
``Boy? Who you callin' boy?'' the youth shouts.
The employee moves in on the young man with a host of other burly employees, who force the youth out the double doors.
Still grunting about the name calling, the young man finds himself in a sea of uniformed officers who tell him to move on.
- Holly Wester
Wednesday, Sept. 7
8:30 a.m. - A bus stop in Thalia.
A small dark-haired boy, wearing new blue jeans and a multicolored shirt, stands in the middle of Thalia Trace Drive. With his arms crossed and feet spread, he wails, ``No! No! No!.''
His mother walks over to him, gently puts her arms around him and tries to prompt the boy to walk the few feet to the bus stop.
``No! No! No!'' he wails.
Seconds later, the school bus rolls to a stop and the children begin boarding. When it's the youngster's turn to board, he turns to look at Mom. She gives him a gentle pat on the rear and then helps push him up the big steps of the bus.
The doors close and he begins the first of 12 years of schooling.
- Lori A. Denney ILLUSTRATION: Not the usual high-flying message
Staff photo by DAVID B. HOLLINGSWORTH
Normally Oceanfront sunbathers are treated to high-flying banners
touting the best deal on crab legs or pizza or which nightclub has
the best music. But Labor Day weekend, the Virginia State Police
advertised a reward offer that they say usually gets a good
response.
by CNB