On Warm Memories of the Fuzzy Lint Trap

Re: “Meet the Masters of a New Universe” (Nov. 18). It was heartening to discover I was not a lone soldier in the world of soiled garments. I, too, love the lint trap. The secure feeling of an arm full of warm terry-cloth towels is beyond words.

I was an electrician for 22 years when I missed a step and fell 25 feet to a concrete floor. As I recovered, I missed doing something that was constructive.

While I was still on crutches, and my wife and kids were working or at school, I started gathering up and sorting the clothes. Once I got started I couldn’t stop. It sure beats laying conduit in a wet ditch on a cold morning in February.

A warning should be issued to all men thinking about participating in this wonderful activity. If you’re doing the laundry for anyone but yourself, make absolutely sure you check the pockets. There is no more horrifying sight in the world than opening your dryer to discover everything stained with ink, lip balm or gum. If anyone out there knows how to get ink out of a pair of chinos after going through the dryer, let me know.

RICHARD BURNS

Van Nuys