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Jerry Cicconi

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NEWS
September 29, 1991 | ROBERT A. JONES
On the Avalon dock, everything seems the same. Jerry Cicconi walks down the dock, toward the harbor taxi, and the old crowd says hello. The old crowd does not acknowledge mainlanders, or German tourists just off the ferry, or 21-year-olds in G-strings sucking Slurpies. The old crowd acknowledges its own. "Ehhhhh. . . . Jerry," someone says. "Ehh. . . . Guadalupe." Thirty years Cicconi has been walking down this dock.
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NEWS
August 10, 1997 | JANET WISCOMBE, SPECIAL TO THE TIMES
The determined captain stands erect, looking straight beyond the pitching plank of his 10-ton fishing boat. From under gray hair, Jerry Cicconi's eyes fix on the vast, heartless sea. His mad purpose is to harpoon big fish. Earlier in the day, he had talked about the feeling of closing in for the kill, of aiming the 12-foot tool and thrusting the deadly dart into the creature's flesh.
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NEWS
August 10, 1997 | JANET WISCOMBE, SPECIAL TO THE TIMES
The determined captain stands erect, looking straight beyond the pitching plank of his 10-ton fishing boat. From under gray hair, Jerry Cicconi's eyes fix on the vast, heartless sea. His mad purpose is to harpoon big fish. Earlier in the day, he had talked about the feeling of closing in for the kill, of aiming the 12-foot tool and thrusting the deadly dart into the creature's flesh.
NEWS
September 29, 1991 | ROBERT A. JONES
On the Avalon dock, everything seems the same. Jerry Cicconi walks down the dock, toward the harbor taxi, and the old crowd says hello. The old crowd does not acknowledge mainlanders, or German tourists just off the ferry, or 21-year-olds in G-strings sucking Slurpies. The old crowd acknowledges its own. "Ehhhhh. . . . Jerry," someone says. "Ehh. . . . Guadalupe." Thirty years Cicconi has been walking down this dock.
NEWS
August 10, 1997 | JANET WISCOMBE
For centuries, fishermen have killed big fish with harpoons. Today, the practice often begins not in the sea, but in the sky with a fish-spotter plane. After the pilot spots the fish, he radios the information to the captain of the harpoon boat. The pilot directs the skipper to the fish by circling above.
SPORTS
May 1, 1998 | PETE THOMAS
The next time your waiter sets a plate of mouth-watering swordfish on your table, consider this as you sink your fork into your first bite: For every pound of swordfish brought to market by the California drift gill-net fleet in 1996, an equivalent weight of dolphin or whale was killed. Moreover, for every swordfish hauled in, nine other fish were caught and most were discarded, dead or dying, for having little or no commercial value.
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