The Evening Sun from Baltimore, Maryland • 41

too THE EVENING SUN THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 1986 OBITUARIESCLASSIFIED CI of? I OlfS Turning the tables on trouble cme the fereto if god muirdleir troea I I 111 jgw" 1 Woman died after being locked in closet By Anthony Pipitone Evening Sun Staff Two compelling "what-ifs" have surfaced in the opening day of the murder trial of two West Baltimore brothers accused of burglarizing the Woodmoor home of a 79-year-old former Johns Hopkins University professor and locking her in a closet, where she died of starvation. If Sarah Elizabeth Freeman had not gotten a Bouvier des Flandres puppy just before last Christmas, she may have already moved near her niece in Connecticut before burglars attacked her last February, Susan Freeman Domizi, the relative, testified in Baltimore County Circuit Court But Freeman did not want to travel with the pup until it had received vaccinations slated for when it turned 3 months old, so she delayed the trip, Domizi said. And if Freeman's letter carrier of 12 i By Irving H. Phillips Jr. Evening Sun Staff At 74, Leon Hornstein, the Record Changer Doctor, is "down to three or four calls a day, working every other day." Xs- 4' it: i Jv 4- i ITiloy A.

I Han 3rd later, now, here. Well, you're right. A man's sound system is his life. A man's sound system is his honey.) The Record Changer Doctor's real name is Leon Hornstein and he's 74. He's been working with electronics since he was 18.

He started as a radio and television repair man for local department stores. Eventually, he and a partner opened a hi-fi shop on Howard Street. "Then they told me 'hi-fi' was passe, so I changed the name to Stereoland." Hornstein and his partner operated Stereoland for a couple of decades, until about 12 years ago, when Hornstein retired. "I looked at my wife for about a year, and then this came to me," says Hornstein. By "this" he means the idea for the Record Changer Doctor.

This is how the Record Changer Doctor works: Your stereo system develops a mysterious ailment, influenza or something. So, you call the Record Changer Doctor at his workshop. His number is listed in the Yellow Pages, and he often places a small ad in this very newspaper. Chances are, when you call, you'll get a recording. At the beep, you leave a message he always calls you back.

Then, he'll set up an appointment, and yes, the doctor makes house calls. If he can, he'll fix the problem in your 1 Towmisend A home. If not, he'll take it to his workshop. "I find people really appreciate this kind of service," Hornstein says modestly. For my part, that is something of an understatement.

"When I first started, I worked everyday, six, seven calls a day. Now, I'm down to three or four calls a day, working every other day and I get more calls than I can handle. "I'm getting old, now and my wife and I have other hobbies." What other hobbies? "We're what you call 'rock he says, and for a long while he's off explaining all about how he and his wife hunt all over the country and the world for rocks, how they slice them in two, and polish the hearts to a fine and lustrous sheen to create jewelry and, well, a thing of beauty. I drag him back to record i hangers. We talk about all of the changes he has seen in his lifetime, how electronics has grown from clumsy radio receivers with pregnant-looking tubes, to transistors, to micro-electronics.

"Most of the young men, these days are specialists," he says. "They have to be, because the field is so complex. I've been lucky, I fiess, because I've been able to watch electronics develop. I'm more of a generalist." I note, "You don't talk about stereos with the same enthusiasm you show for rocks." He shrugs, "It was always my business. It sort of became my hobby, only after I retired." So, there you have it: the last doctor to make house calls.

I know I appreciate it. And I believe, sincerely believe, that my turntable, now humming merrily as it spins around and around, appreciates it, too. years had not taken a vacation beginning the day she allegedly was locked in the closet, he would have summoned police to the house when he saw the accumulating mail, Cornell Taylor, the now-retired mailman testified. Freeman, an internationally known archaeologist, photographer, coin expert and former curator of fine arts at Hopkins, may have lived for several days before starving, police have said. The circumstances that led to Freeman's death have now brought Vincent K.

and Jeffrey R. Cole, ages 23 and 22, respectively, before a jury. The Coles are charged with first-degree murder, burglary, theft and assault. In her opening statement yesterday, As-, sistant State's Attorney Alexandra Williams outlined the prosecution's theory that the Coles broke into the frame and stone farmhouse last February after removing a pane of fiberglass from an adjoining greenhouse and severing the house's telephone line. Williams said Freeman was locked in the small closet beneath a staircase in the center of the first floor, where she clawed vainly on the thick wooden door before succumbing to thirst and hunger.

See TRIAL, Cll, Col. 1 looks of defeat ELECTION '86 Schaef er ready to make imprint. C6 "History" must wait in Worcester C7 Some doors open to Rasmussen C8 Sweet dreams turn to nightmare. C9 broad range of issues and we had a great group here and didn't stoop to personal attacks on her," said Townsend. Bentley attacked Townsend during the campaign for being a carpetbagger and a political opportunist using her Kennedy name.

The incumbent also charged that Town-, send had lied about her record in Congress. While Townsend had the backing of most of the Democratic elected officials in Baltimore County, she had only tepid support of William Donald Schaefer, whose immense popularity might have helped her. Schaefer refused to make a television ad with Townsend so the Townsend campaign made its own Schaefer-Townsend ad. He appeared in public with Townsend only in the final days of the campaign, when most voters had made up their minds. At a rally in Reisterstown last Friday Schaefer told the crowd of Townsend supporters, "When I saw her the first time I said I don't want to be your friend.

Stay away See SECOND, C9, Col. 1 Jacques Icily af causes By Joan Jacobson Evening Sun Staff Maybe it was her short residency in Maryland that hurt Kathleen Kennedy Townsend's attempt to unseat Republican incumbent Helen Delich Bentley. Maybe her status as a relative newcomer to the congressional 2nd District was aggra-' vated by the voters comparing Townsend to Linda Chavez, the Republican who failed miserably in her race for the U.S. Senate. Townsend said voters may have identified her with the negative campaign tactics that Chavez used against her opponent, Barbara A.

Mikulski, but which backfired. Chavez, like Townsend, has lived in Maryland for two years. Townsend spent yesterday picking up the pieces of her well-organized, but unsuccessful campaign, in which she lost to Bentley by 18 percentage points. She had hoped to win 4-1 in Dundalk, in which Democrats outnumber Republicans 6-1. But Bentley surprised her and took Dundalk.

"I think I was running against a strong incumbent. I'm going to be talking to people in Dundalk to ask them what was going on," said Townsend. She plans to talk to Democratic Party leaders in Baltimore County to analyze the results. Townsend said she is proud that she ran a campaign that criticized Bentley only on the issues. "We raised issues and talked about a The Record Changer Doctor arrives at my front door carrying a small black bag.

He is an elderly man of about medium height, medium build. He seems hearty enough, despite his age, but not hearty to the point of sprightliness; and he's wearing a heavy woolen jacket and one of those floppy, woolen all-weather hats. Frankly, though, I didn't spend much time studying him. Without ado, my lips compressed with silent grief, I usher the Record Changer Doctor into my home and over to the small shrine where the ailing family stereo system small children may look and listen, but may not touch; guests must leave their driver's license and a small deposit before using dwells. The Record Changer Doctor looks mildly perplexed.

"Didn't you used to have a Garrard turntable?" he asks. I find myself grinning: over, around, and through my concern. It has been three, maybe four years, since the Record Changer Doctor last visited. Maybe he looked me up in his files before arriving. Maybe he remembered my turntable from way back then.

Maybe he's just bluffing. Either way, I'm impressed. Quickly, we well, he narrowed the problem down to the turntable. With deft fingers and a knowing look, the Record Changer Doctor puts the machine through its paces. At one point, he mutters almost as if to himself, "This is a pretty good turntable." Hovering at his elbow, wringing my hands, I beamed again.

(Y ou may think I took special note of that remark, just so that Ixan boast Pigtown arsonists stay one step ahead Fires may speed redevelopment Fire mars 150 years of city industrial history in yr 1 -r 'ft- fj "fry (, I 1 The nine-alarm fire that raced through the old Southwest Baltimore foundry Tuesday night was a finale to 150 years of smoky industrial history at Scott and Ramsay streets. The old Bartlett-Hayward division of the Koppers Co. once was a beehive of labor and industry, where thousands of Baltimoreans turned out Latrobe stoves and steam locomotives, cast-iron radiators and World War I mortar shells. The valves and gates of the entire Tennessee Valley Authority dam system were manufactured at these forges; the spider web-like iron interior of the George Peabody Library on Mount Vernon Place was born here. It all began in 1832, when a smart Yankee named George M.

Hayward moved to Baltimore from New Hampshire. He established an iron heating and cooking stove business, with a furnace near Jarrettsville, adjacent to an iron ore bank and forest. The trees provided the wood for charcoal. In 1846, the Haywards began making Latrobe stoves, an iron heating device that fit into a fireplace opening. It is regarded as the predecessor of the hot-air Fire victim Dariene Treger feeds her son, Walter, By Bo Rader Evening Sun Staff at Red Cross shelter at Dorguth Methodist Church.

By Kaye Thompson Evening Sun Staff Abandoned steel and brick buildings crouch next to rowhouses and corner stores in Pigtown. Once, these old buildings were the hub of the community, providing jobs to its residents. Now they are both a threat and a promise in a largely blue-collar community that is quickly changing. Community leaders want to redevelop the sites and turn the abandoned buildings into new commercial ventures, but arsonists seem always to be one step ahead, leaving residents wondering where the next fire will strike. Nine times since October 1985 four times in the last six months suspicious fires have erupted in old industrial buildings and warehouses in this southwest Baltimore neigh- furnace.

The foundry eventually issued 300,000 of these "Baltimore heaters," which became the standard for heating many 19th century homes. The stove was invented by John H.B. Latrobe, then counsel of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, as a "comforting surprise to Mrs. Latrobe upon her return from her family's home in Natchez, to which she regularly retreated from the rigors of Baltimore's winters," re- ported a company history published in 1941. About 1860, the firm decided to purchase inventor Ross Winans' locomotive works at Pratt, Parkin and Scott streets, then in the city's far western suburbs and next door to the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad's See KELLY, C10, Col.

1 4 I Victims count Overpak Corp. Colleen Brinn, Overpak's office manager, said the firm employed 20 people and crates export cargo. It will relocate to 1601 Highland she said. Contrary to earlier reports that Overpak shared the warehouse with Harbor Iron Works, Brinn said her company was the sole occupant. The damage from the fire is esti- mated at several million dollars, said Capt.

Patrick Flynn, Fire Department spokesman. About 100 families were evacuated from their homes this time. Rowhouses and businesses on Pop-pleton Street and in the 800 and 900 blocks of Washington separated from the warehouse only by a narrow alley, were most affected. See FIRE, C2, Col. 3 I borhood, sending residents scurrying for cover.

Unlike the previous fires, which hit abandoned buildings, Tuesday night's blaze destroyed a two-block-long former warehouse that housed a working company, the Maryland.