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Thirty Years Ago This is not a mañana neighborhood. Its people are tillers of the soil, hard workers even unto the ripening of years. Grandpa Cruz worked in the fields until he was well into his 80s, and only a broken leg, occasioned by a fall from a tree he was trimming, stopped him. Do not call them Chicanos; they dislike the word. They are Mexican Americans: the first, because their roots lie to the south; the second, because their sons and fathers have lived and died here. -- "THE LAST HARVEST," Karl Keating, November 3, 1977

Twenty-Five Years Ago I was extremely disappointed and angry with Judith Moore's article "Captives of a Strange, Secret Obsession" (November 4). For all the factual research and personal interviews Ms. Moore did, she seems unable to empathize with our addiction, nor to refrain from capitalizing on the sensationalism of the disturbing daily routine bulimics lead. I am bulimic. I've binged/purged throughout eight years, and they were hell! It is a living nightmare, and I want others to understand by anguish and self-loathing.

Ms. Moore made several relevant points, yet totally missed others. For example, she questions bulimia as an addiction. Bulimia totally controlled me.

My story was typical. I'd begun purging to lose weight, and I quickly lost control over eating. -- LETTERS: "THE PRICE OF BULIMIA," Name Withheld by Request, November 4, 1982

Twenty Years Ago As homes go, well, there are really only three types of middle-class homes, households, in America: squares, hipsters, and yuppies. My sis and her hubby are squaresville incarnate; benign squares but what can ya do? "Lenny, it's time to prune the azaleas" (but they don't vote for Reagan) -- that sort of biz. -- "TOWN & COUNTRY," Richard Meltzer, November 5, 1987

Fifteen Years Ago I have to wear glasses to read the Prompter; not exactly what management originally had in mind. But now that Bryant Gumbel, Bob Costas, Harry Smith, Sally Jessey Raphael, Phil Donahue, and a host of other TV hosts all sport specs, the look has been validated in a modern context. Besides, the thinking goes, a lot of late-afternoon viewers themselves probably wear glasses. I further minimize the issue by taking the glasses off during my ABWA ("Anchor By Walking Around") jaunts around the newsroom. -- CITY LIGHTS: "THE MAKING OF A TALKING HEAD," Gene Cubbison, October 29, 1992

Ten Years Ago I asked how Mr. Shawn was, for Kincaid, as an editor. "I can just tell you little stories. This is how our conversation among writers in the office [at the New Yorker ] would go. 'Did you finish your piece?' 'Yes.' 'What did Shawn say? What did Shawn think?' And then it was, 'Well, he said it was okay. He said it was good.' But then there were things he would say that you would just know he really liked it. Including the fact that you would get paid some astronomical amount of money that was out of the ordinary, and sometimes you'd think it was a mistake. You'd go say, 'You know, Mr. Shawn, I've already been paid.' And he would say, 'Oh, well.' As if it was a mistake that was all right. And it happened enough times that you knew he really meant to pay you more money." -- READING: "MY BROTHER," Judith Moore, November 6, 1997

Five Years Ago North County record collector Ivan Torres founded and played guitar with one of the area's earliest dark metal groups, Bloodbat, from 1987 through the band's breakup in 1994. "We used to play the old downtown Soma building," says Torres, "and we'd project black-and-white horror movies on the walls around us while we played. Like 8mm loops of giant spiders and Night of the Living Dead stuff, way before Rob Zombie or Marilyn Manson came along. We weren't playing for laughs...we were seriously into serial killers and building replicas of torture devices to use onstage." -- "HUMAN LUNCHMEAT," Jay Allen Sanford, October 31, 2002

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