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CALIFORNIA | LOCAL
June 16, 1991
Re the editorial "Grand Jury Sniffs Out a Rat" (June 8) on the Laguna Niguel parkland: We purchased our house with the knowledge that our children would have a park within walking distance from home. The reality is that that park now has a housing tract smack-dab in the middle of it. It sickens me to the core to think that this $80-million to $100-million tract of parkland was just "mistakenly" signed away to Taylor-Woodrow. And although Taylor-Woodrow continues to enjoy the benefits of this "free" acreage, the likelihood of it ever compensating our city in the form of replacement parkland is next to nil. The grand jury's "sniffing out a rat" and not poisoning that rat leads me to believe that that rat knows other rats in very high places.
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CALIFORNIA | LOCAL
May 2, 1987
Carlsen's article, suggesting that animals and humans must be treated equally, indicates to me that a new religion has been created. If a human chooses to worship animals, as in India, he has that freedom. However, as with all of our diversified religions, do not try to impose your religion on others. I do not choose to believe that a laboratory-bred rat is Carlsen's equal. If the rat has to be sacrificed to save Carlsen's life, I am all for it. However if he chooses not to avail himself of all the great medical achievements brought about by the sacrifice of laboratory-bred animals, that is his prerogative.
CALIFORNIA | LOCAL
September 5, 1985
It is a sad, sad state of affairs when we learn that both the President of the United States, Ronald Reagan, while head of the Screen Actors Guild, and Jackie Presser, head of the Teamsters Union, were informers for the FBI. It dismays me that persons in positions of trust can betray their fellow workers in the name of self-interest and "patriotism." I recall attending a New York subway workers' rally during those years when Mike Quill, head of that union, said, "I'd rather be called a Red by a rat, than be called a rat by a Red."
CALIFORNIA | LOCAL
December 21, 1997 | ROBERT A. JONES
These days, you never know when the world will turn on you, without warning, and make you a pariah. With Casey and me, it all began with the rat. Casey is my son. He's 6. About two weeks ago we were walking through a park. The sun was shining, the breeze blowing. Everything seemed chipper. Then Casey made an announcement. He had decided what he wanted for Christmas. "A rat," he said. I corrected him. "You mean a mouse." I pictured a tiny white thing with pink eyes. A cute little fella.
BOOKS
December 7, 1986 | James Ragan, Ragan, poet and author of "In the Talking Hours," performed last year with Yevtushenko at the Moscow International Poetry Festival. He directs USC's Professional Writing Program. and
It used to be said that poets could move the minds of kings who in turn moved the minds of society. Today, sadly, it appears there are no kings (world leaders) with minds to be moved--or, perhaps, artists seem no longer inspired by that intention. No one who has followed Yevgeny Yevtushenko's recent condemnation of Soviet censorship could accuse the Soviet Union's foremost poet of failing to press for an open literature for his beloved citizenry.
OPINION
May 5, 2002
Besides vampires and Hells Angels, rats may be the most public relations-challenged species of all time. Think about it. What are these pointy-nosed, pointy-tailed creatures good for? Chewing walls and wires, gnawing attic treasures, housing fleas and spreading the plague. So, how surprising to learn the other day that doctors in New York (not the surprising part) have wired rats to obey human commands. No, not to walk into rat traps. The doctors stuck three little wires into rat brains.
MAGAZINE
February 11, 2001
So John Johnson claims he's a former desert rat and then confesses to being raised in Colton ("Confessions of a Former Desert Rat," Jan. 14). Colton? I was raised in Indio and the Coachella Valley, when swamp coolers were all there was and you didn't move on the highway without a prayer and a canvas water bag hanging from the bumper of your '49 Studebaker. So I know. Johnson's no desert rat; he's a big-city boy. Well, no matter. He writes like a dream and brought back many memories. Ann Calhoun Los Osos Johnson's work is sophomoric, supercilious, defamatory and inaccurate.
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