THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, July 22, 1995 TAG: 9507210068
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SERIES: Fighting the Air: occasional series of Alexis Brion...
SOURCE: By DIANE TENNANT, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 155 lines
THE PATH TO New Orleans winds between the smoke-ringed tables at City Hall Bingo in Virginia Beach.
So does the road to gymnastics glory in Colombia, Orlando and, ultimately, the 2000 Olympics in Australia.
Laura Brion treads the aisles of the bingo hall, hawking ``Quickie'' game cards to raise travel money for the coaches of her gymnast daughter, Alexis.
For 12-year-old gymnasts - even world-class ones like Alexis - parents' supporting role is all-important. Parents pay the travel expenses for their children to attend gymnastic competitions around the country. They pay for the coaches' time, travel expenses, rental cars and meals. They buy leotards and warm-up suits, pay meet registration fees. They hire choreographers to design gymnastic routines, pay their travel and lodging. They buy training equipment and rack up mileage on their cars traveling to and from daily practice.
Brion and the other parents of competitors who train at Gymstrada, a Virginia Beach gym, used to sell cookies door-to-door. Then they discovered that bingo was more lucrative. And that's why Brion put on her athletic shoes, tied on a vendor's apron, took one last breath of fresh air and walked into the bingo hall one Sunday afternoon in July.
A large, a medium and two convenience packs,'' said the woman at the sales window, choosing her bingo card packs for the afternoon's play.
``A large, a medium and two convenience packs,'' Brion echoed. ``Everything's $5 today.''
The cellular phone in her purse chirped. Brion pulled out the antenna and cradled the phone on her shoulder.
``I'm at bingo, Alexis. . . No kidding?. . . Really?. . . Is it hot?. . . Well, don't get sunburned.'' She turned back to the window. ``Hi. One large and one small? Everything's $5.''
Three customers came and went, cradling packs of bingo cards and fat markers, purple and red and green. The phone rang again.
``Hey, Alexis, honey, call me back in a few minutes,'' Brion said into the receiver. ``I'm working the window. I can't talk right now. . . What?. . . Well, call me back later and we'll talk about it. Love you. 'Bye. . . . A medium pack?''
Brion rolled her eyes at another parent. While we, she said, are spending a beautiful Sunday afternoon peddling bingo to raise money, our daughters are relaxing at the beach, ordering pizza and checking in on cellular phones.
The other parent shook his head in mock disbelief and turned back to the line of customers at the window. They held out $15, $50, $20 and reached for the bingo cards he handed back. ``Good luck,'' he said to each one.
Luck is not what gymnasts like to rely on. Which is why the Gymstrada elites - elite being the highest level gymnasts can achieve in this country - practice about 40 hours a week on floor routine, uneven parallel bars, vaults, balance beam. Fight the air, the coaches tell them as their bodies hurtle through space. Fight the air.
During the summer, Sunday is their day off. The girls take advantage of it, with sleepovers at each others' houses, beach trips, jet skiing. Sunday - and Saturday nights - mean bingo for their parents.
Laura Brion works bingo at least twice a month, about six or seven hours at a stretch. If she didn't, she would have to pay $2,000 a year of her family's money into the kitty for coaches' travel expenses, on top of her daughter's $3,600 annual tuition and her travel expenses. And that is in addition to the $50-a-pair hand grips for working on the uneven parallel bars, warm-up suits that can run $150 apiece, gas for the car. . .
Brion keeps track of gymnastic expenses on the home computer, but she seldom looks at the total. It's just easier not to.
Some of the Gymstrada parents, mostly those whose children compete at lower levels, would rather pay travel fees than work bingo, because the fees are prorated. The higher a gymnast's competition level, the higher the fee. Alexis competes on a world level, so her mother works bingo.
``Three, 42, 23, two, 25.'' Ninety minutes after Brion started selling cards, the bingo caller began the first game. Brion left the sales window to walk up and down the aisles between tables, where bingo players intently scanned rows of game cards.
``Fifteen, 64, 69, 22, 10, 18.''
``Bingo!'' a player called. Laura jogged to the player's table and took the winning card, shouting numbers to the caller for verification.
``OK, that's a good one,'' the caller confirmed. ``Pay the winner $150.''
``Yessss!!!!'' shouted the winner, and Brion ran to the sales window to pick up a prize voucher, then began to run it back to the winner. She was stopped by another player, waving a dollar in the air and calling, ``Quickie!''
Brion sold game cards down the row of players on her way back to the first winner. Cigarette smoke curled in the air around her. The caller began a different game.
``G-55.''
Brion held a handful of game cards in the air for people to see, kept her eyes and feet roving.
``O-70.''
``Better than selling cookies door-to-door,'' she whispered.
The caller paused between games to point out Brion. Her daughter has been written up in the local newspaper, the caller told his audience. ``We just want you to realize if you're out here supporting Gymstrada this is one of the good things your money's going toward, and her daughter will be in the 2000 Olympics.''
A player reached out toward Brion. ``You're a good mother,'' the player said.
Another player flagged her down. ``When we see your daughter in the Olympics, we'll know we helped get her there.''
``G-49.''
Time for a break. Brion approached the counter where parent Jill Marolla was selling instant bingo cards and writing prize vouchers. Marolla had just watched one player spend nearly $400 on the dollar-a-card instant game, shoving the losing tickets off the counter to pile up in the floor. Brion stepped around the pile.
So how's your daughter? she asked Marolla.
Just broke her foot - again, Marolla replied. But she's happier now that she's switched from the gymnastics team to the tumbling team. And so am I.
``It's a very nerve-racking thing, being a parent and watching,'' Marolla remarked. ``When they go diving backwards toward the balance beam and I'm thinking: one little miscalculation. . . it scared me a lot.''
I don't watch very often, Brion said. But I'm going to New Orleans.
Brion had decided to break her self-imposed rules and travel to watch Alexis defend her national second place ranking among junior women at the 1995 National Championships in mid-August.
That ranking has landed Alexis on international and senior teams this year, representing the United States against other nations at the Pacific Ocean Games in Colombia. The ranking is one reason she's competing next week in the U.S. Olympic Festival in Denver.
Intermission, another parent called to Brion. They need you to hand out prize money.
The Gymstrada parents work hard at bingo to sell more in game cards than they hand out in prizes. Sometimes they lose money. But the prizes are essential to keep players coming in.
On this Sunday, Brion handed out 10- and 20-dollar bills. The thousand-dollar winners got checks.
The caller got ready to start the games again.
``Am I done here?'' Brion asked. ``Now what do you want me to do?''
``Sell till you drop,'' advised another parent.
For a while, Alexis was the only elite at Gymstrada, and the Brions alone paid for coaches, travel, fees, rental cars, meals for elite events. Now that three international elites and one national elite train at the Virginia Beach gym, expenses are more often shared.
But within the Brion family, bingo usually falls to Mom. Alexis' dad is a navigator on a Navy submarine. When he's not at sea, his contributions to the sport of gymnastics have included talking his way out of military transfers, so his 62-pound daughter won't have to interrupt her training.
By 6 p.m., Brion was wrapping up bingo duty, where she was fighting the air herself, which was hazy with cigarette smoke.
Tomorrow - Monday - she would begin her weekly chauffeur duty, shuttling Alexis back and forth to the gym. The split training schedule would mean eight trips to the gym a day, a total of 72 miles, except on Saturdays, when Brion would only make four trips.
And then would come Sunday, Alexis' day off. And another bingo game. ILLUSTRATION: Photos by Tamara Voninski, Staff
Laura Brion...greets her daughter, Alexis...
Laura ...and Alexis...
by CNB