100 Years Of Playing It Cool

The time is 10:13 p.m., the temperature is 93 degrees, and the humidity is somewhere between rain forest and gumbo. But step out of the sultry Texas night and into the Circle K, and suddenly it's not summer.

The beer is cold, but so are the Twinkies. You can almost see your breath, though the young convenience-store clerk seems not to notice.

"Is it just me," she asks, "or is it warm in here?"

Of course, it's not just her. It's all of us who dart from our air-conditioned cars to air-conditioned malls or offices or homes, who pull up blankets on July nights or enjoy the summer game in domed stadiums where no one ever breaks a sweat.

For all that, we thank YOU, Will