The letter below came to TIME recently from one of you and may prove as interesting to the rest of you as it was to us:

"Dear Mr. Linen:

"In your letter on the average TiME-reader in the Aug. 9 issue of TIME I feel that you overshot a multitude of TIME-readers who I believe are the real readers of your worthy magazine. As one who can boast of reading each copy from kiver to kiver, I think I am in a position to question your idea of TiME-readers as you portrayed 'em. "To begin, I couldn't afford a subscription to TIME. Liv ing on an income which has shrunk to infinitesimal value since this inflation hit the dollar (Mr. B is an ex-Ma rine Gunnery Sergeant on retirement pay), we have all we can do to exist -- let alone spend money for magazines. But we have some friends who know how much good read ing means to us and who send us their mag azines as they finish with them. They ar rive at our home in strange sequence: a 1936 copy of Reader's Digest, for instance, hug ging a current issue of TIME. But it matters little to us; we cherish each copy with the same joy we'd have in receiving a crisp new $100 bill. And how we share our treasures with our neighbors! That's a tale in itself.

"We live in a tiny, weatherbeaten shack back of the sand dunes, and we can peek at the ocean by stretching our necks a bit. Our neighbors are a motley crew: mostly men who seek only escape from their pasts, their responsibilities, or their sins. Whatever the reason, they've found some sort of peace here on the beach. Until we began -L-o circulate among them with our books and magazines, there was an undeclared war constantly going on. One had built a 10 ft. fence to keep out prying passersby; one was a grouchy old codger who'd scare you with his growl; another read only the most violent detective magazines. Some of the women in the camp were groveling in True Confessions, living in a misty world of make-believe and dreaming of the day they'd be able to go back to civilization. We each lived our life oblivious of the one living next to us.

"One day my magazines had stacked up on 'me and I told the Old Sarge, T'm going to bring some of these over to the old duffers.' Sarge shook his head and said 'Do you want to start a riot?' But I persisted and at first I wasn't too welcome ('Damn old hen come asnoopin''). I let the insults slide over me and kept bringing the magazines. Now, believe it or not, I have the old devils talking to each other and we even have sessions of discussion on topics of interest. Some of the old rascals have scrimped and saved enough to get battery radios and now keep up with current events and national issues with as much interest as you do. The discussions sometimes get a bit gusty, but I'd rather listen in on some of these sessions than sit in on The Pursuit of Happiness round table which LIFE ran. These people are really pursuing happiness. They are trying to get the last drop of pleasure out of life. Yet they have changed their outlook considerably since they have good books and magazines to read.

"Now don't get me wrong; I'm not a reformer. But I do feel that people like these, who really read your magazine, are worthy of a place as readers. They take a copy of TIME and read it from kiver to kiver.

Then when we meet, there's a discussion worthy of the name. We don't keep magazines for atmosphere around our shacks; we read 'em.

"Our lives might seem empty to you--perhaps they are--but if we can get good books, the magazines that bring the world to our doors, and have the radio in working order--who could ask for more? The Old Sarge and I have found deep contentment and peace here in our little shack among our new friends. And if anyone of your friends has a reference book, it might prevent a murder in these parts. When the discussions get too hot, we all yell 'Look it up in the book.' But our best encyclopedia is one which cost me $5 and isn't worth a tinker's damn. It merely teases us to more and healthier arguments.

"If I could more aptly portray the lives of these people --and our own, to boot -- I'd have plenty of material for a book. There are happenings here which would make The Egg and I look like a First Grade Reader. The transient workers flock here after the fruit harvests are over and await the clamdigging season. They live in shacks and spend their time reading, fighting and drinking homebrew. But don't think they're all morons; they are not! There are college grads and Okies, atheists and religious fanatics, world travelers and beach folk who've never seen a train. You see, in our little world there's variety, too.

"This wasn't meant for a book. I merely wanted to show you that TIME is read by others than those with $30.50 in their pockets. If our gang had that much dough in their jeans at one time, we'd own a whole set of Encyclopaedia Britannica and then how we'd argue !

"Norah Berg "The Beachcomber, "Ocean City, Washington."

Cordially yours,

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