If you would like to get some signs for your yard, please call John and Diane Shear at 355-4776. Chances are good that your call will go to message, so be sure to leave your name, address, and a phone number in case there are any questions. And if your neighbors should express some interest in these brightly colored and artfully designed signs, be sure to pass this information on to them. Our hardworking sign handlers will be by your place as soon as they can get there.
Sign theft has been a distinct problem in past elections. Unfortunately there are individuals out there who can be so moved by the sight of these things that they turn to crime as a way of bringing balance to their out of control emotions. If you are a victim of such theft please call the Shears at the number cited above and we will have your purloined posters replaced. And if by some chance you were to get a picture of the culprits in the act, we would be glad to post it here on the Tattler. Anonymity, as always, is guaranteed.
And yes, we do not charge money for our signs, replacement or otherwise. Your kind support is payment enough.
While you are waiting for your signs, you might want to read an article a reader sent to me a week or so back. It is a look at our town more than 20 years ago, a time that doesn't seem all that far in the past. But what took me by surprise when I first read this piece is how simple and peaceful our city seemed back then. Through the eyes of a Los Angeles Times reporter two decades ago we see a place that seems similar to what we have today, but is somehow different as well. I can only hope that we'll be able to bring that feeling back.
In Sierra Madre, Serenity Isn't Just Taken For Granted, August 06, 1989, Jesse Katz, Times Staff Writer.
The call for help crackled over the police radio at 5:13 p.m. John Cordischi, a burly officer with a shotgun at his side, stomped on the gas of his patrol car and sped toward the action. But this was not one of the gang raids, or crack busts,or shoot-outs with Uzi-toting punks that have become daily routines for many Los Angeles-area police departments. This was Sierra Madre -- Los Angeles County's safest city -- and high atop Oak Crest Drive, Lani Ridley had locked herself out of her house.
Without missing a beat, Cordischi grabbed a ladder from Ridley's garage,climbed through a second-story window and emerged, perspiring a few seconds later to open the door. "Ta-da," sang the 10-year veteran, triumphantly slapping the dirt from his palms. Ridley, a stylishly dressed woman in her early 40s, handed Cordischi a glass of ice water, then gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. "You're my hero," she said.
This it turned out, was the start of an unusually busy night in the tiny San Gabriel foothill town.
For the rest of this article, click here.