Along with many Baltimoreans, I was both amused and amazed by Mark Kram's article (A Wink at a Homely Girl, Oct. 10). It was well done, but I just cannot take his deft almost-truths about our town lying down, particularly in view of recent events here. I was lucky to be right in the middle of our great Series activities, and I can report that Baltimore was just great! In no conceivable way was it "embarrassed by the presence of a World Series."

I suspect Mr. Kram believed, as the odds-makers did, that Baltimore would be as he portrayed it—a loser. But we who were there will always remember the positive things that helped make Baltimore a proud winner.

Despite Mr. Kram's cleverly contrived "cries of offended passion," he has done Baltimore a disservice by creating an inaccurate image of his former home town for the world to see. For my money, he is just another articulate knocker, even though there may be a sympathetic heart beating behind the darts.

Some Baltimoreans resented Kram's article because they felt it was insulting. I, for one, feel otherwise. This is the real Baltimore—not just a city but a way of life. It is the only city in the world like it.

No doubt you have heard what happened the night the Orioles won the Series. The city came completely unglued. As a result it has been criticized as "bush." But let me relate an incident I witnessed during the celebration. A man well past the point of intoxication decided to take a swing at two policemen. The trouble was that he swung from behind and with a bottle. Both policemen went down, more stunned than hurt. Before the officers could get to their feet, the crowd—yes, the crowd—grabbed the drunk and held him until the officers could take charge. How about that, New York, Chicago and Los Angeles?

Baltimore may be a "homely girl." If it is, then I am in love with a homely girl.

The opinion of one occasional visitor to that Maryland city is that the restaurants are far from bad, and the natives are friendly, hospitable and, appropriately, reasonably proud of their two fine teams. If they want to call it "Balamer," what's that to you? No one, pal, with any accent, is about to make "a New Yorker, by comparison, sound like Laurence Olivier."

While I do not desire to submerge Mark Kram in Chesapeake Bay, I find it very difficult to see his point of view. Perhaps this is because I do not visit the side-street bars or live in a block of red-brick, trimmed row houses on Eastern Avenue. Since this is where he seems to have drawn his conclusions, I suggest he look again and maybe he'll see us as we are today and not 20 years ago. Baltimore is a World Champion town. We deserve it, and we're not embarrassed by it. So, Mr. Kram, please hitch up your wagon and save your winks for someplace else, because we don't need them.

As an ex-Baltimorean, I agree wholeheartedly with Mr. Kram's fine article. Baltimore is a great town to be from.

Now that the American League has so thoroughly humiliated the National League champs in the abbreviated 1966 World Series, let it spell an end to the hard-sell promotion of National League play at the expense of the AL. I have read several articles pointing to the success of Frank Robinson in the AL as an indicator of AL inferiority. This reasoning overlooks the fact that Frank was a star in the NL for 10 years before the trade that sent him to the Orioles. Completely forgotten is the fact that several not-so-stellar players from the AL have recently found stardom in the "other" league. Phil Regan (ERA and won-lost leader in NL for 1966), Deron Johnson (1965 RBI champ), Jim Bunning (perfect game, three 19-win seasons), John Callison and Lou Johnson are only a few who come to mind.
Long Beach, N.Y.

Either the Orioles are the greatest team in the history of baseball or the National League simply is not as good as some people would have us believe.

Great! As a member of RPI's Class of 1964, which was the only one to go completely winless all four years, I found Herman Weiskopf's article on RPI football (Supermice of Another Troy, Oct. 3) most welcome. Certainly last year's victory left a lot of people in a state of disbelief, including me. I'm glad, too, that Mr. Weiskopf rioted that Rensselaer has the best undergraduate engineering around. Too often this fact is pushed into the background.

I must correct one wrong impression, however. I can't remember finding many people studying hard on weekends at RPI.
Urbana, Ill.

Your article on Rensselaer could have been written 50 years ago. I was a member of the 1915 team, which nearly spoiled the record by winning one game 9-0 over Worcester Tech. But we made up for that slight lapse by losing to Colgate 107-0 and Rutgers 96-0.

We played football, not to win—obviously, we hadn't a chance—but because we liked the game, and there was the spirit of Rensselaer. In practice scrimmage we never had two full teams. Bumps and batterings received and delivered in games were joyful releases from books, labs and drawing boards. I still can feel the happy crash of throwing a block or making a tackle. By the way, I weighed 145 and I was not the lightest man on the team.
Sierra Madre, Calif.

As co-captains of the 1966 RPI football team, we honestly feel that the addition of one word, i.e., "challenge," and the deletion of just one word, "indifferent," could have made the article more reflective of our feelings concerning football at Rensselaer. Certainly Coach Riendeau is not a defeatist. When he took the job after being told that there was no chance the team would ever play .500 ball, he accepted the challenge of molding a better-than-.500 ball club—which we feel he has done in less than four years. We play football because there is a challenge and because, no matter what happens on any one Saturday afternoon, a new challenge will be there the following week.
Troy, N.Y.

Although the engineering talents of RPI football players have not yet been successfully applied on the gridiron, the RPI cheering section has been successful in adapting classroom techniques to the sidelines. Witness the E[x] (pronounced e to the x) cheer structurally designed to impel the Engineers to victory:

Cosine, secant, tangent, sine
Square root, cube root
Log of pi
Disintegrate 'em
Troy, N.Y.

I read your October 3 article. Two Hulls Make Twice as Much Wreckage, about the first world multihull championship, with rising indignation. If one would believe what your man has written. Little Neck Bay resembled Pearl Harbor at noon, December 7, 1941. The multihull boat has a hard enough time to gain acceptance without such ridicule as you printed. True, the turnout was low and the winds were high, but what would have been wrong with giving Victor Tchetchet, Bob Harris and the rest of the race committee some credit? These people went out of their way to stage a multihull event when not many others would.

You also ignored the handicap and the fact that Wildwind was third in the corrected-time standings. What about the fellow who won the regatta, Walt Hall in a Shearwater? From your description of the races I think my wife and I must have been lucky to finish fourth without just disintegrating.

With friends like you multihull enthusiasts don't need enemies.
Rochester, N.Y.

Thank you for an excellent article on the world multihull sailboat championships, held on western Long Island Sound. Hugh Whall's expression of the general tempo of the event showed great insight. His account of Wildwind's unique performance, speed and design is most appreciated.

However, he failed to mention my partner and Wildwind's Co-owner-Skipper Norman Riise (expert in epoxy plastics, without whom Wildwind could not be maintained in championship condition) and crew members Jay Johnson and Chuck Gardener. Without these three, nothing!

Incidentally, we sincerely expect there will be a second world multihull championship next year, despite the drubbing from the weather everyone took this year.
Balboa Island, Calif.