THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, June 9, 1996 TAG: 9606090045
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B3 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY STEPHEN HARRIMAN, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: PORTSMOUTH LENGTH: 67 lines
Here it is, midafternoon Saturday. I am hot and sweaty and contemplating still another iced lemonade. I have again cruised our twin festivals on the banks of the Elizabeth River under a broiling sun in search of fun and frivolity and . . .
All at once, I am caught under Tom Blake's spell.
He is standing outside something called the Rain Room on the edge of the Seawall Festival grounds, shouting words that speak to me.
``You want to be cold? This is to be cold,'' he cries, pointing to the three-walled tent behind him. ``Everybody wants to be cold. Everybody CAN be cold.
``Just keep walking,'' he says with a laugh to a family of four that slows and looks but keeps right on walking.
Blake's arms are waving. His hands are clapping. ``Everybody comes back.''
I want to be cold.
I do not keep walking. Make me cold. At least make me less hot. What do I do?
Blake shows me inside the 10-by-10-foot tent. In the ceiling are five nozzles sending out a fine, almost fog-like mist. It's like Scotland. It's for people who do have sense enough to get IN the rain when it's hot. This is smart.
It's another one of those unbelievably simple things that I wish I had invented.
Blake is a Ports-Events worker. He says they rent this attraction to earn money for various projects. It was here last year. Why didn't someone say so?
They rent it from Main Stage Productions of Midlothian. Phil Rios, who is with the company, tells me that they are going to be doing some things with them in Atlanta - Hotlanta - during the Olympics.
More important, as far as I'm concerned, Rios points out that ``it's cheaper and lasts longer than lemonade.''
For $1, you can come and go as often as you want all weekend (lemonade is $2 for a 16-ounce cup). Blake and his helpers are taking in dollars hand over fist.
``I knew you'd come back,'' Blake chants. ``Everybody comes back. You want to be cold? This is to be cold. Everybody wants to be cold. Everybody can be cold.''
I pay my buck and get a wrist band that will be my readmission pass for the rest of the festival.
It IS cool. I think I have experienced one of the great mist-eries of life.
Little kids are in here with me, dancing and prancing and squealing and shrieking. They are the ones doing all that. I am just standing here getting misty wet . . . and cool. One kids just stands there grinning at me like I'm about the silliest old man he's ever seen.
Shirtless guys with beer guts hanging over their belts come in to cool down. There, kid, they're sillier than I am. Whole families come in.
Other kids stand under the nozzles, heads twisted up, mouths open, tongues out as if they are trying to catch snowflakes.
The kids never want to get out.
``I don't WANT to come out,'' cries a tiny little girl in a purple bathing suit. ``Mom-MAH! Aaawh!''
When I come out, the hair on my arms sparkles as if covered by the morning dew. My clothes are damp, but not really soaked. The breeze outside the tent continues the cooling effect.
The American Red Cross has said the misting system is ``impressive'' and that it ``prevented heat casualties.''
Even more impressive are these endorsements:
From Lollapalooza: ``Star of the show.''
From Meatloaf: ``Love your rain room!''
Is that great or what? by CNB