No News Is Now News
I've long been convinced that the Arizona Republic is blatantly biased and skews its coverage of the news to suit its own agenda a la the old Communist newspaper Pravda ("Scenes From a Slaughter," Amy Silverman, January 23). Now, with the demise of the Phoenix Gazette, we have come to the final straw: the purging of reporters who stubbornly persist in doing what they're supposed to do--report the truth.
Just imagine the board-room conversation: "Now's our chance to eliminate any of those annoying reporters who insist on trying to get the truth out to the public. Especially Kim Sue Lia Perkes--aren't you sick of her writing factual articles about the citizens' fight against Sumitomo-Sitix?
"We can't have that. We know how important it is to bury anything negative about Sumitomo while printing positive propaganda on the front page of the Sunday edition.
"Geez, we're already doing all we can to hide anti-Sumitomo articles and letters in that Northeast Community section so we can pretend to be covering both sides while still keeping the issue from a majority of the public. Can you believe Perkes keeps bugging us about actually informing everybody about Sumitomo? Now's our chance to dump her. We'll call it 'downsizing' and unload her once and for all."
Goodbye to Kim Sue Lia Perkes; those of us who value honest reporting will miss her writing.
To the Pointe
I rented a condo to Gail Passey-Reed about six years ago, a condo which I previously purchased from Dick Van Dyke right after he finished his TV series ("Last Dance," Michael Kiefer, January 16).
I'll have to say that Passey-Reed was one of the favored tenants! She and her friends were some of the nicest people I have encountered in Phoenix! They were also some of the best-looking, all cheekbones and toned bodies!
I'm sorry to hear she's hanging up her toe shoes at such an early age. I wish the local newspapers could focus on stories like Gail Passey-Reed's; it would be far more interesting reading!
Thanks, New Times, for the good story. I only wish this feature article could be an illuminating performance review instead of about her "last dance."
When I read letters from people who support Sheriff Joe Arpaio, I wonder if I am living in the right place in the late 1990s (Letters, January 16 and 23).
Our sheriff is a throwback to the Deep South of the 1950s or the European serf owners of the 16th century. (I was going to call him a Neanderthal, but I did not want to insult that race/species.)
The sheriff's supporters appear to have never read a book involving basic human kindness or visited any church, since all the major religions seek to inspire compassion, love, understanding and concern for the rest of humanity. I will leave it to someone else to quote the Bible ad infinitum, but it is no secret that Jesus Christ loved the bad guys as much or more than the good guys.
I just feel sorry for people like Kenny Acuff in Letters of January 16. He must be living a miserable life if he is so full of hate. Perhaps it is just ignorance when he states: "They get three hots and a cot." In addition to being a very poor sentence, the facts are wrong.
If Acuff means three hot meals a day, I thought everyone knew that a bologna sandwich is not a hot meal. Moreover, such meals lack adequate nutritional value. I hope a prior inmate of Tent City will sue Sheriff Joe, perhaps even a class-action suit, for malnutrition and put big fat Arpaio in his own jail. As for cots, not everyone has a cot in that jail.
Now Arpaio and his supporters will be prone to call me a sissy, but they would be afraid to say it to my face since I once had a body-building title (not this state). So while I could squash our sheriff like a bug with one hand, I have learned that mistreating people and animals such as Arpaio accomplishes nothing.
Maybe, someday, Sheriff Joe Arpaio and his boys will learn that just because one has power does not mean that one has to use it against one's fellow human beings; I believe that something like this concept is called the golden rule in Christian religions.
First, Oscar Fuchslocher comes to the U.S. as an exchange student, then came back as a visitor on a six-month visa ("Closed Door Policy," Amy Silverman, January 9). The six-month visa was renewed, then allowed to expire. Then Fuchslocher decides to go for "political asylum," which is denied. Just before getting deported, he gets married and assumes he's an American citizen. Now we're all in tears because he's a good guy and he's in the Big House awaiting deportation.
He probably is a decent guy, and I'm sure most nonxenophobic, law-abiding citizens of Arizona would love to have him, but when does Fuchslocher "step up to the bar" and apply for citizenship? Amy Silverman refers to the mind-blowing Byzantine structure of the Immigration and Naturalization Service as a perfectly understandable excuse. When Fuchslocher got married, did he just go to the church and say his vows in front of a minister and the family then assume he was married, or did he remember to get a marriage license? That can be Byzantine, too, and let's not forget the Motor Vehicle Division. God forbid he should need a driver's license.
The bottom line here is that it's not asking too much for people who want to become citizens to make the effort to become citizens. In this case, all we get is visas being renewed and expiring, pleas for political asylum (with no reason given) and the assumption of citizenship upon marriage. If Oscar Fuchslocher had tried to apply for citizenship then encountered an onslaught of bureaucracy, I could have some sympathy. When the Internal Revenue Service comes to pick me up for not filing taxes, can I claim foul because its forms and organizational structure are too confusing and "Byzantine"? I think not. Sorry, Oscar, but things only get tougher after INS.
How is it that New Times can erect a tombstone for the lounge scene when it hasn't even found its way to the Valley yet (Coda, January 2)? In the meantime, I expect that in 1997, New Times readers will be treated to half a dozen articles about that ever-cutting-edge rave scene, as if it were 1992.
The names of promoter and club owner Rob Denewith and his company, Rob Denewith Presents, were misspelled in a January 16 article about Boogie Knights.
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