Letters to the Editor

From the week of August 26, 2004

By the way, Michael Roberts, if you examine statistics involving automobile accidents where one driver is driving erratically, you will discover the persons in that car usually walk away from the accident scene. It's the "substantial families in the minivan" who pay the price.

Deborah H. Albert

The End of the Line

Making sense of suicide: Thank you so much, Eric Dexheimer, for writing such an honest and insightful article about Tony Dispense ("An Athlete Dying Young," August 19). As a friend of his sister's, I, too, thought that his suicide didn't make any sense. It seemed more like he was trying to rid himself of an alter ego that had emerged from his car accident.

It is hard to talk honestly about suicide. Thank you for commemorating such a wonderful man, with a wonderful family. Thank you for helping me to remember the beauty of Tony's life.

Andrea Weeks


High hopes: What a wonderful article on my grandson. Tony and I spent many wonderful hours together as he was growing up. I told him many times not to worry about being small, because lots of great athletes were not large men. We fished and golfed together in Montana when he was so small that he used his mother's clubs.

I was very close to Tony.

Vic Chambers
Anniston, Alabama

Trial by Ire

Blood on the tracks: Wow! I can't believe Patricia Calhoun managed to find something about Kobe that hadn't already been covered! Granted, she wrote about an old railroad stop in Colorado named Kobe ("Kobe or Not Kobe," August 12), but by the time Kobe Bryant is done suing everyone who's screwed up this case, he could own the entire state, and it might as well be named after him.

Thanks for a welcome break from all the sensational coverage of this case.

Ricky Valdez

Who, what, when, where, why: Several years ago, my journalism instructor at Metro, the late Greg Pearson, told us that the most essential thing for an investigative reporter was skepticism: Question everything.

So I've waited for an article answering my questions about the Kobe Bryant case. Is there a Bryant fan in the court leaking the anti-defendant stuff? Did Mackey, et al., pay someone off? Are the leaks the prosecution's way of getting out of an over-their-head situation? Why did the judge let Mackey get away with repeatedly using the accuser's name in open court? Is he Bryant-biased? Is the Eagle County District Court really just that incompetent, and, if so, why?

I don't expect much from the Post and the News -- the Post suing to get into the (details of the) accuser's pants and the News publisher saying that was "newsworthy" were what I expected. But where is Westword?

Bob Smith

On the Road Again

Segway or the highway: I just read Laura Bond's "Slow Ride," in the August 5 issue. I loved it. I live in Dayton, Washington. Our town has a population of about 2,500. I have the only Segway in town. I have owned mine just over a year, and one Segway on Main Street has caused quite a stir.

I had the opportunity to meet these wonderful people. When they arrived, the town went wild. Dayton is on the Lewis and Clark Trail, so quite a few different people have been through town in the past year. Dayton made them welcome. As they left going east, I rode with them until my batteries went dead. The support team brought me back to town. About two and a half hours after they left here, I drove their route and found them about where I thought they might be. Soon after I caught up to them, it was battery-changing time. About a mile down the road after that, it was gas-up time for the support/flag car. I stayed with them until the next battery change, then turned around and headed home.

Bill Burke
Dayton, Washington

War of the Words

F marks the spot: I agree with Keith Hughes's letter in the August 12 issue. These days, the word "fuck" is used more as an adjective than a cuss word. Years ago, I remember my dad, a church-going man, whilst under the hood of his car shouting "Fuck!" as he dropped a wrench somewhere into the bowels of the engine. I pretended not to hear. On joining the RAF in WWII, I heard "fucking" used as an adjective many times but never with such panache as when a drill sergeant once admonished an airman on church parade with the unforgettable command: "Take yer fucking hat off in the house of God."

Unfortunately, the Anglo-Saxon word is now used by comedians of both sexes to the extent that it overwhelms their wit. Movie scripts are drenched with the word, and I, for one, am bored to tears with rappers whose command of our national tongue is so limited that "fuck" seems to be their only utterance.

Let's have a "Don't Say Fuck" day.

Bill Evans

Boulder Field

No mall at all: Westword's letter writers are sure an embittered, sarcastic bunch. Especially interesting has been the fallout over Jason Sheehan's July 15 review of the Kitchen, "Boulder Blahs." Maybe that's because the review was padded with so much opining about Boulder. Boulder seems to hold a peculiar fascination for people who don't live here, so many of whom seem to get all stirred up and lathery in curious ways and babble foolishly at the merest mention of the Enchanted Kingdom.

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