Ruth Ryon's story on concierges (Sept. 13) was of special interest to me, for I've long been aware of their services.
My first encounter with a concierge was in pre-World War II Europe where I, as a young student was visiting relatives and doing research.
The concierges I met were invariably women of a certain age, dowdy but with an inherent dignity that belied their roles as caretakers of apartments with some responsibilities similar to a janitor's. They were on call night and day, and you had to buzz a buzzer in various apartments to be let in by another buzzer from the concierge's apartment. It was a sort of security system for which you tipped the concierge upon departing.
The concierges I encountered throughout England in a recent trip were absolutely marvelous and extended the TLC seldom found in impersonal hotels. They were modern, up-to-the-latest in looks and were both men and women. I would have been lost without them.