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Thirty Years Ago "These guys complaining ought to get down on their hands and knees and thank God that they have a job that pays them so good. Because if it wasn't for NASSCO, they'd all be selling dope or taking taxpayers' money on welfare." -- "SHIPYARD BLUES," Steve Esmedina, May 19, 1977

Twenty-Five Years Ago I am also [a government] observer. I have been with the program since November of 1979 and my last trip was coincidentally aboard the same vessel the author made his first trip on. The main problem is that the tone makes the American fisherman appear ruthless. The majority of skippers and crew I have found to be concerned about the welfare of the dolphins in their nets. And it goes beyond the fact that it is good business sense (i.e., no porpoise, no tuna). I have witnessed occasions where crewmen have risked drowning, shark attack, or other injury in order to save individual dolphins in trouble. -- LETTERS: "FISH STICKLER," Joseph Raffetto, La Mesa,

May 20, 1982 Twenty Years Ago There would be two arguments against taking any notice of Judith Moore's amazingly detached story, "The Bible Tells Me So" (May 14). The first is what some might regard as the snob argument that for a civilized individual who takes Christianity seriously to come down to the level of the fundamentalists is what my mother used to call "infra dig"; the second that there is an unwritten law in this country that no matter what, you just don't knock the other guy's "faith." -- LETTERS: "A STACK OF BIBLE LETTERS," John Theobold, El Cajon, May 21, 1987

Fifteen Years Ago In the late 1940s there was a California showgirl named Marjorie King. Marjorie was trying to buy a hotel in Ensenada and traveled between there and San Diego. She often stopped at Danny Herrera's inn, Rancho La Gloria, near Tijuana. She complained to Danny that she was allergic to alcoholic beverages except tequila, but she didn't care to drink it straight. Danny experimented with concoctions until he found one -- tequila, lime juice, Cointreau -- that Marjorie liked. In her honor, Danny named the cocktail the "Margarita -- Spanish for Marjorie." A darn good story, and it seems churlish to blow holes in it. But here we go. First, the medical angle... -- CITY LIGHTS: "MYTHS AND MARGARITAS: ANATOMY OF A MEDIA HOAX," Margot Sheehan, May 21, 1992

Ten Years Ago There are about 30,000 beehives in San Diego County, and Alan Mikolich and I are standing amid 140 of them. Mikolich is a commercial beekeeper, one of the dozen or so in San Diego County. Mikolich has worked with bees -- six or seven days a week, 10 to 12 hours a day, year-round -- moving beehives, fixing beehives, taking the honey out of beehives. We're on a slope west of the San Miguel Mountains, and the bees are within flying distance of a housing development a mile or two away. They have to cross the Sweetwater Reservoir to get there, and the flight is probably a pleasant one. Throughout that housing development between Bonita and La Presa are eucalyptus trees -- fully in bloom, offering nectar to any insect willing to stick its head into the flowers. -- "THE CUMULATIVE HISS OF THOUSANDS OF WINGS," Douglas Whynott, May 15, 1997

Five Years Ago "Don't be such a girl," I hear the boys taunt each other at the playground near my house. "Don't be such a girl." Nothing could be worse. Most men agree. Sitting on the couch with the remote in one hand and a bag of chips in the other, my husband stares at some effeminate reporter. "Give me a break," my husband sneers. "He's such a girl." -- "IF I'D BEEN BORN A WOMAN," Leslie Ryland, May 16, 2002

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