Dear CREEM:

On this warm San Francisco night, jobless and going down slow, I wandered into a late-night book shop. Going over countless racks of periodicals, I spied this big fat newspaper-print magazine titled CREEM.

“Hmmm ... ” thought I, "must be some awful teeny-bop scandal sheet.”

Feeling that I must know my enemy, I b e g a n t o s c a n the p-ages and --OOOOWWEEEE!

I ran to the cashier, plopped down 50 cents (quite a statement considering my. financial situation), and hurried home to. devour every tiny morsel in the privacy of my own bathroom.

If I may boldly presume to speak for all of we folks who are not getting much from Rolling Stone these days, but have been consistently disappointed by journalistic attempts made by neanderthal minds: We thank you.

And out of Detroit yet! I can hardly believe it.

Now if you can just maintain this high level... ?

Michael Cholewa

San Francisco, CA.

(also of Toronto)

Dear CREEM: