Photo by Jim Coit

The necklaces are a cheap imitation of the American Indian, silver-and-turquoise style that sells well among Americans.

Life of a Tijuana street urchin

Isabel sells her bouquets for two dollars each, and she gives half of what she makes to her mother. With the rest, “I buy myself something to eat, ” she says. She is coming from a food stand, a paper bag with tacos in one hand, a bouquet of flowers in the other. She peddles her flowers on her way to the stand and back. She does take time to say she’s not going to school this year. “They didn’t let me in.”

By Maria Schnabel, Oct. 9, 1980 Read full article

"In eighth grade we moved to Poway, and I started hanging out with stoners, with people doing crystal. I started hanging out at tweak houses. They were always down at the end of some dirt road."

Larry Ashton

Poway teen tweaker busted in mom's gourmet kitchen

With her Wusthof Dreizack knives she’d carved pot-roasted leg of lamb with black olives (“Gigot en Cocotte Aux Olives Moires"), sauteed chicken with apples and Calvados (“Poulet aux Pommes de Reinette Flambe au Calvados”). While Tracey was in her beautiful kitchen making elaborate Happy Meals, Elizabeth was in her bedroom snorting fat lines of crank.

By Abe Opincar July 16, 1998 Read full article

“At the Hitching Post, there are 31 rooms, at least a hundred people, eight in a single two-bedroom apartment alone."

Photo by Sandy Huffaker, Jr.

God's love for El Cajon Blvd dirtbag motels

Sam would’ve graduated from Mount Miguel High School except at age 16 he crashed a motorcycle on Highway 94 near his family’s Dulzura home. Recuperation took the place of schooL A few years later, he met Louise in a coffee shop near the Hollywood Theatre. She was a slinky Texan with an educated twang, plush tasty lips, and hypnotic eyes. Sam took her home and married her.

By Ken Kuhlken, Sept. 17, 1998 Read full article

For the first time in his memory, Derek experienced raw hatred; he longed to kill the man.

Photo by Jim Coit

Stick-up on Clairemont Mesa Boulevard

Fear rolled in and swept away his jumble of thoughts. Derek forced calm upon himself. “He’s not going to hurt us if we cooperate. He only wants the money. He’ll take the money and leave and we’ll be all right.“ The thought played like a mechanical tape in his head. Slowly, he wheeled around to look at Harrison in back of him, and panic rose in his throat.

By Jeannette DeWyze, Aug. 2, 1979 Read full story

Barbara Dunne. Phil would put his arms around Barbara and hug her. He’d blow her good-bye kisses. He would even try to say her name — not Barbara, but Bar-Bar-Bar.

Vittorio Comisso

A Rancho Bernardo story of love, murder, and suicide

Dorie felt more trapped than ever. After spending half a lifetime trying to make things better for her son, it had come to this — a thirty-year-old baby who followed her from room to room, standing a foot from her face, screaming, “School! School! School! School! School! School! School! School! School!” Phil wanted to go back to the home, to his old three-hour-a-day special class.

By R.W. Dellinger, July 26, 1979 Read full story

Georgy, Otto, Peter, Andy. After the Nazis pulled out of Hungary, "the job of collecting and disposing of the bodies went to the children.‘‘

Photo by Jim Coit

Maestro Peter Erös takes His last bow

Though Eros admits to having withdrawn from active and vigorous involvement with the symphony — outside of making music — and he stresses that he has no beefs with the present management, he’s still irked at the meager turnout. The maestro pulls the writer to the side of the room and in a low voice vents his frustrations, but he doesn’t allow them to be written down or printed.

By Neal Matthews, Dec. 6, 1979 Read full article