Two years ago, Peggy and Cynthia marked their eleventh year as a couple. They asked San Diego’s gay weekly, the Gayzette, to publish their photograph and a statement. The gist of the statement: same-sex couple …
October 17, 1985
Back to profile
Stories by Judith Moore (RIP)
< Newer stories
Older stories >
College area lesbians want to show stability
The end of North Park's Palisade Gardens
“At the end of the disco period, skating suddenly became the in thing for blacks to do. They packed the place, turned me completely around from white to black. There for a while it was almost a hundred percent black."music
September 5, 1985
Fly Guy, Ozz and Camelot, members of Ominus Jam Patrol
“The harder gangs, like ESP — East Side Pirue — the Lincoln Park Bloods, if you was to walk through Lincoln Park,” says Camelot, pointing at Fly, “they’d kill him. They’d probably kill me, too.”
June 27, 1985
Judith Moore dumped with grandmother in Arkansas
Grammy gazes at her Mason jars packed with whole pickled peaches stuck with cloves, bread-and-butter pickle, lye-soaked pale green and paler pink watermelon rind pickle, golf-ball-size pickled beets, pickled okra pods with frills of dill head.
June 20, 1985
The late-night lunacy of KUSI's Uncle Ed Muscare
Eleven o’clock. Dark. Quiet. Mr. Coffee set for morning. Neighborhood lawn sprinklers turned off. Dogs inside. Air dry and barkless, only crickets. Down to bare feet, worn-out jeans. Not awake enough to read, not wound …
May 30, 1985
The heart of San Diego country at Wrangler's Roost
Wrangler’s Roost was country in “the pre-Urban Cowboy dog days of country music.” Wrangler’s Roost has run a country format for eight years. Only Country Bumpkin in Imperial Beach has been around longer.
March 14, 1985
The mystery of Timken Gallery's Putnam Sisters
The decorator who installed the Fortuny drapes came and went. His son remembers the mansion as dark, crepuscular, and gloomy. He recalls the ladies as plain women, wearing Victorian lace collars high at the throat.erry
January 31, 1985
San Diego black mortuaries
Since Hartwell Ragsdale opened Anderson-Ragsdale Mortuary in 1956, he has prepared an average of 300 San Diegans for burial each year, 8400 bodies, almost all of them black. “Some streets I drive down, I see …
November 21, 1984
When the war ended in 1945, the American Sunday would never be the same
“Once dinner was over,” the Kansas-bred woman says, “you could at least get out of your Sunday clothes.” Children played quietly in the neighborhood. In less strict families, the children might go to the movies.
October 25, 1984
Cindy the dangerous elephant comes from Tacoma to San Diego
“In the wild,” Roocroft says, “an elephant will be moving at least eighteen hours each day. The feet, then, will take care of themselves.” But in a zoo, elephants develop overgrown toenails and overthickened foot pads.
September 6, 1984
Judith Moore: Paris "sights" are hackneyed, banal, flat
We have seen the sights before we got here: movies, TV, the neighbors' slides, these postcards that carry the treacherous lies. The sights have been sold at Toys R Us in the form of 1000-piece jigsaws.
August 23, 1984
Judith Moore: you never need to apologize for crossword puzzles
I have been given three letters for “small dog” and entered “pup” instead of “pug,” or when given four letters for “walk heavily,” I have disastrously chosen “plod” rather than “slog.” And then “Pindar” rather than “Sappho” for a six-letter Greek poet.
May 31, 1984
The Greyhound bus station at 1st and Broadway has so many stories
On weekends, he said, when ships are in and the military has leaves, “lines for the L.A. bus — which leaves hourly — stretch out from the ticket counter onto the sidewalk on Broadway.
April 26, 1984
Birth control's influence on men not committing
The most obvious and the simplest answer to the apparently sudden change in the courtship and marriage — and nonmarriage — habits of the affluent, educated young was wrought by the birth-control pill.
April 5, 1984
The garden – where paradise could be briefly regained
The cat ran away. The fish, overfed, died. A drunken friend, gone outside in the dark to be sick, stepped on and killed a baby duck. The dog turned out to be a thief, rummaging in neighbors’ yards.
March 8, 1984
Virginia Woolf's life and diary and essays nurtured my hopes
My attempts to make "it" happen had failed. A friend said, "You wear me out." A psychiatrist told me, "You had an overstimulated childhood. You expect too much." A man's wife warned, "Quit flirting with my husband."
January 19, 1984
What hurt my daughters hurt me.
Even I, who grew up cold and alone in dark apartments with a frowning mama and an absent father, began to glow. I, who for years looked sallow and hugged mechanically, grew apple-cheeked and comfortable with embraces.
December 1, 1983
Judith Moore returns to Ellensburg, Washington
The first night’s sleep in my old bed I lay there, gripping my favorite pillow, trying to go back to the unhappiness of two years earlier. I tried to reconstitute, whole, my wakefulness, my terror and anguish.
October 13, 1983
American Lutheran Church’s Third World Mini Tour stops at Tijuana jail
The wriggling finger stub stuck out again between the bars. It wiggled insinuatingly. The voice continued, “More, lady, more,” I was afraid to look up into the eyes. I felt giddy and dizzy, completely turned around, lost.
June 9, 1983
The Azure Seas sails to Ensenada and back
The S.S. Azure Seas looks like a Love Boat story on this recent Monday afternoon. A bride and groom have just stepped from a black limo. White veiling shades her cheeks and blows out in …
April 28, 1983
At the San Diego Zoo there is more than the beast you see
Go look at King Tut, the San Diego Zoo’s white salmon-crested cockatoo that is brought out each morning sitting on a keeper’s finger and set on a perch at the zoo’s front gate. Look hard.
January 27, 1983