Letters on Claudia, Linda Make One Feel Like Sally

A man whom I’ll call Michael writes:

Just wanted to drop you a note thanking you for the update on Claudia. Never before had I been as moved as I was by the mystery of what had happened to this total stranger. . . .

Yes, once again the letters, faxes and e-mail have achieved a critical mass--though not all the correspondence, obviously, is critical at all.

No, every once in a while a reporter is fortunate enough to find a story that finds a place in a stranger’s heart, and then the stranger sends a letter that makes the storyteller feel like Sally Field at the Oscars. This seldom makes good column fodder; my personal gun lobby and other ornery readers are usually better for that. But Michael’s letter is an exception. So are a few others that have arrived lately.

The mystery of Claudia, certainly, was one of those stories that touched people. She is the young woman I at first knew only by the photo album my sister discovered and bought for $1 at a swap meet. The scrapbook seemed to record a teenager’s descent from the innocence of a sweet 15 quinceanera to the dangerous Latino gang life, also known as la vida loca.

After my initial attempts to find Claudia failed, I wrote a story in hopes that she would find me. In time, Claudia did, and assured me she had put the crazy life behind her.

Several readers commented on Claudia’s story, but Michael, especially, had much to say:

Had la vida loca swallowed up Pebbles just as it had Danger and Lonely? Was she alone, lost in the world; even worse, was she gone?

I guess the real reason why I had felt such torment over Claudia’s future is that, like too many other Angelenos, I too know of a Claudia. . . .

My Claudia is my only sister, Julia. While my family grew up in the Ramona Gardens housing project, a residential blight every bit as violent and threatening as [Claudia’s], most of us survived while avoiding the temptation of falling for the trappings of la vida loca.

My five brothers and I have all made an easy transition to the good life: marriage, family, good jobs and tranquil homes in the suburbs. So too has Julia but only after some scary years when I would stay up nights wondering what the hell was going through her mind.

Why was she so wantonly throwing her life away? I remember returning for summer break from college and seeing her placas written all over her possessions and I would feel the anguish of failure. Somehow, somewhere along life’s journey we had all failed her.

The truth, however, is likely that all our Claudias are attracted to la vida local not because we have failed them but because they have decided to quit. A low self-esteem compels them to stop trying to win . . . instead they allow themselves to slip down the low road. . . .

I pray some of your readers can find some hope from Claudia’s turnaround. But more important, I pray some youngsters can learn her lesson without having to experience her pain.

There is no future in la vida loca. There is no sense in something Claudia would now freely call la vida estupida. God bless you, Claudia, and all others like you. Don’t ever give up hope, because each of you are very much loved and wanted and needed.

And here Michael added a postscript, asking me not to use his last name because Julia “has indeed turned her life around and would be mortified to have her past revealed.” Given the details he provided, I went further: Both Michael and Julia are pseudonyms.

There are two other letters I wish to share from people I don’t consider strangers. Both were written in response to a story about “Lovable Blonde Seeking,” an original play by Pat Sawyer that was inspired by the true experience of the late Linda Luschei Hunio. The play, now running at the Third Stage in Burbank, describes the tumultuous and ultimately uplifting story of a woman who placed a personal ad frankly stating that she is HIV positive.

One came from Edi and Bob Hunio of Woodland Hills, parents of the late Stephen Hunio, Linda’s second husband, who died of AIDS less than two years after her. From their message:

As you know, we saw the play that evening and it was an exceptionally emotional experience for us and Linda’s father and stepmother. We didn’t know Linda at that time in her life and only learned about her personal ad after she met Steve. We were very touched by Aurora Cravens’ portrayal, which we felt captured so much of Linda’s inner beauty, sense of humor and strength of character.

And Linda’s father, Martin Luschei, wrote to say he appreciated that I had explained a key difference between Linda’s saga and the fictional Anna’s. Linda was infected by her first husband, Michael Ruggere, who had received transfusions contaminated by HIV. The fictional Anna, however, grows to believe her late husband Mark was bisexual--a more common experience among women with HIV.

He wrote:

Knowing the play’s based on “a true story,” many would miss that distinction. . . . It’s very dramatic when Anna hurls ‘Murderer!’ at his ghost, and I understand the need to express that anger so as to be able to move on. But I also knew Michael Ruggere. . . .

So the part I had difficulty with was the inference that many people would draw that Mark was Michael. He was not, though that may be the bitter experience of many women about their dead husbands.

I have another reason for quoting these letters. Because Linda was a friend and her spirit deserves celebration, I wish for “Lovable Blonde Seeking” to find as large an audience as possible. It’s a poignant play, well-told and well-acted, with performances at 8 p.m. every Friday and Saturday through March at Third Stage, 2811 W. Magnolia Blvd. Tickets, priced at $12, may be bought at the door or reserved by calling (818) 842-4755.

Finally, two other readers wrote to express dismay that my recent foray at the time-honored “three dot” column form--you know, sundry facts and observations connected by ellipses--never used the word ellipsis or the plural ellipses. A reader who just signed himself as Ray even requested “the history” of the ellipsis.

I don’t know the history and, Ray, I’m not going to try to find out. I can tell you, however, that in the news racket these kind of columns are referred to as a three-dot column or just a dots column.

Nancy Anne Nieman seemed especially offended:

What, pray tell, do you have against using the word ellipsis in your column? Do you think we Vals wouldn’t understand such a word? . . . Today was quite an interesting day in Scott Harris land. I’m unsure as to your point. . . Perhaps you mean disjointed column for the disjointed valley? Seems like you need to get out more . . .

P.S.: I usually enjoy your column, don’t think that I hate it. It’s just that today’s was as if you were schizophrenic or were suffering from bipolar disorder. Quite strange.

See what I mean?

You like me! You really like me!

Readers may write to Scott Harris at The Times’ Valley Edition, 20000 Prairie St. , Chatsworth 91311, or via e-mail at scott.harris@latimes.com Please include a phone number.

‘I don’t know the history and . . . I’m not going to try to find out. I can tell you, however, that in the news racket these kind of columns are referred to as a three-dot column . . . ‘