THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Thursday, October 5, 1995 TAG: 9510050398
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: CHARLISE LYLES
LENGTH: Medium: 68 lines
The minute I returned from a recent trip to Cleveland, I telephoned sister-girlfriend LaKisha to tell her about my visit to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum.
``It was a Thursday afternoon and the place was packed, even though admission is $10.90,'' I told LaKisha. ``I could barely get a glimpse of Aretha Franklin's pink, sequined gown or Tina Turner's golden lame minidress.
``I wish I had that problem when I visited Nauticus in downtown Norfolk,'' LaKisha replied flatly. ``That place is virtually yawning with space. Can you believe $52 million for interactive Sominex?''
``To tell you the truth,'' I said, ``I've only gone to Nauticus once. That big gray building tends to depress me. It's downright aesthetically uninviting.''
And, said LaKisha, ``that newspaper you work for'' had a story about the residents who told the City Council on Tuesday that they weren't too happy about Nauticus either.
``And what did the council do?'' she said. ``They went right ahead and approved more funding so the good folk of Norfolk can shell out $1 million annually for the next 20 years to pay off $35 million in Nauticus bonds.''
Now, don't be too hard on the city, I told LaKisha.
Norfolk and Cleveland have a lot in common. Both are cities fighting hard to ward off urban decay. Norfolk's Nauticus and Cleveland's $92 million Hall of Fame were bank-rolled on hopes of ultimately luring businesses, industry and a steady stream of tourists to town.
Who knows, I said, the Hall has only been open for a month. Maybe in a year, Cleveland will be wondering where everybody went.
I didn't really believe that.
Truth is, Cleveland, once ``the mistake on the lake,'' has done something marvelously correct in winning and building the Hall of Fame.
Designed by 78-year-old architect I.M. Pei, the Hall is an architectural marvel, a windowed triangular roof that rises in the sky with a Starship Enterprise effect. Enshrined underneath are the relics of rock and roll.
From Elvis's red-grilled Fender guitar to Grandmaster of Funk George Clinton's 4-inch platform boots, the displays offer anthropological insight into the past four decades of this century: Into culture; issues of race; women's rights; the drug subculture; violence; and the American Dream, lost and found.
It's true, rock and roll has soul and marine life, well. . . . But the something that Cleveland did right has more to do with imagination than anything.
I didn't want to hurt LaKisha by saying that her hometown lacks imagination. Coming from Cleveland, I can always sympathize with a civic inferiority complex.
``It wouldn't hurt if they sought a little more help from everyday people like me on these matters,''
said LaKisha, interrupting my thoughts. ``If you think about it, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame could've been here. Maybe Norfolk ought to go after more imaginative projects.''
Thank goodness. I wouldn't have to rattle LaKisha's hometown sensitivities to make my point.
``Or apply more imagination to Nauticus - we're stuck with it now - and other high-priced projects, like that new MacArthur shopping center,'' I said.
``You're right, sister-girl,'' sighed LaKisha. ``No amount of millions can make up for a lack of imagination.'' by CNB