What a down-to-earth and strong-willed person Kristy McNichol is (PEOPLE, April 3). In the face of an emotional breakdown, most people would have turned to drugs, alcohol or other bad habits. Kristy, however, called out for help and brought herself back to the top. She was smart enough to work as a hairdresser and real-estate appraiser during the rough times when it seemed no one believed in her.
By and large you produce a consistently good magazine. Lately I have grown weary of being bombarded on a weekly basis with the latest “To Hell and Back” story. Although Kristy McNichol’s story was an exception, it has become almost a fad for celebrities to come forth with a tale of their personal struggle with booze, drugs or both. I do commend them for making an effort to change, but do they have to tell us all about it? What about the message it sends to children? Famous people can abuse drugs, become addicted, ruin their lives, then spend a fortune at a designer rehab clinic, and everything is okay. What about the millions of us who work, live, raise families and fight life’s battles without wild binges? What about the vast majority of people with substance-abuse problems who cannot afford designer clinics and magazines telling them how wonderful they are?
Hayden M. McKaskle
I read with interest your cover story on Kristy McNichol. However, I noticed that you failed to name one of the beautiful dogs pictured with Kristy. There were three dogs and two doggie names. I am confused. Who is Beanie? Who is Rocky? Who is the mystery dog?
From left to right, the dogs are Cecil, Beanie and Rocky. Except in the pages of this magazine, Cecil is not considered mysterious.
Give us a break. If Chrysler has the time to harass Jeep Molnar of Alpine, Wyo., about his name, then it’s time they reevaluated their priorities. His name belonged to him long before it was theirs.
Get off it, Chrysler! Are you paying royalties to the Cherokee Nation every time your vehicles roll off the line? Trademark registration is meant to protect against blatant counterfeiting that would allow someone to benefit financially from your idea and create public confusion. It doesn’t mean that a man can’t name a bar after himself. Jeepers.
Kathy L. Schulz
Good for Smokey. The whole world thought he was Mr. Clean. It took a lot of courage to be honest about his mistakes; maybe his honesty will help others. Talent like his is too special to waste on drugs. As for his ex-wife, Claudette, she must be a rare person indeed. And good for her for not letting her disillusionment with Smokey ruin the relationship between father and children.
Since when does cheating on a wife or girlfriend mean you have love and respect for women? Womanizing is insult and injury. And Smokey Robinson’s fantasies of several women and children is more proof that he simply hasn’t a clue to what love and respect really are.
Joan E. Iadevaia
Hooray for Patti D’Arbanville, a classy lady who has made it the hard way and kept her sense of humor. She didn’t end up with the huge diamond and the maid-stocked houses, but you just know she’ll come out ahead—without compromising.
I find it particularly galling that Sandra Jennings is suing William Hurt because she finds she cannot live rent-free and survive on $2,000 a month, plus having all her Visa charges paid. She is so obviously a gold-digging, jealous loser that it jumps off your pages. Tell her to get a job and maybe her son won’t think he needs to steal money for her—he’ll see her earn it on her own.
Sandra Jennings should be ashamed of herself. If she’s so concerned about her son being hurt, why does she resort to one of the most damaging things a parent can do to a child—using him as a weapon against the other parent. Why doesn’t she don her leotard and dance her way out of this pit of self-pity she seems to have fallen into?
Excuse me, Sandra Jennings, while I get my tissue. Mr. Hurt, on his own no less, provides more for your child’s welfare than most of us single moms would ever dare dream about. Bravo, Mr. Hurt, for caring. I’d take a deal like that in a heartbeat and never say “More.”