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Hey Joe

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To the editors:

My summer camp with the bucks ended with a cut; a broken malt liquor outside my bedroom window. While proper citizens debate "whether Rogers Park . . ." DUH CROWES gather on the nearby corners or doorways driving YUPPIES inside to cringe behind Levolored windows while LIBERALS offer up their children to hero worship and peer domination [Neighborhood News, August 20]. We witness DA CHUMPS turn out to turn over the parks and the streets--to cheer their final sacrifice. Hey Joe, you got kids? Where are they?

One GANGSTA body bagged on Sheridan Road serves as a reminder of what the cop says is the last summer of civilization . . . and Alderman Joe Moore says it's not so bad . . . maybe for you Joe!

Six or nine or fifteen shots in the boy in the back seat . . . want a handkerchief Joe? Maybe Ms. Benson [Letters, August 20] will counsel the young mother whose baby carriage was all there was between them and the runaway GANGSTA'S getaway car until the cops shot him in the ass.

"White guys can't jump" he mumbled as he shuffled down the sidewalk. . . . The old Jewish guy wants the Guardian Angels to walk him to the Jewel; well he doesn't have to worry anymore, they closed the store. There are more apartment-rental offices than video stores or bars . . . and you don't think something's up, Joe?

A generation of worthwhile Equal Opportunity programs and justified avenues of civil redress are being flushed by ill-conceived and ill-considered responses to a desperate situation. The friendly cop telling us how to give it up and maybe survive a crime is a piss-poor substitute for the old bastard who busted the crooks, when he wasn't beating them up for kicks.

Hey Joe! Can you hear them screaming? Whatcha gonna do, Joe? Maybe you can ask Mr. Merel for a ride. Does the Reader really think that Merel is OK just because you can reach him? Whatcha gonna do Joe? We're tired, we're scared, and we're stuck.

Tony Cruze

Chicago

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