Chicago Tribune from Chicago, Illinois • 213

(ThirafiO (Tribune Sunday, January 23, 1983, Section 12 -Bob Greens Turntable broken, and so is old habit I jr '1 U.S. Reccromendud Yfi Allowances 'It I V.tamin A 300 jT''''- V-iaminD. .....75 P-' Ihva 19.9SS I 11.7C0 k- iiir i pantothenic acid. vv 18.5C2 i v-H- yr M3-1 13CC3 1 r-' 4 f. i-i FOMC oCid 100 s- r- Vtomin Cj.v.

2.CG0 I ico i 1 i phosphate unh'stod Lr' it 71 i' liini'tinmiomiiiwin mm 1111111 in inn i r-iiii(iiifiiriit-'iMiii'. i 1 i-mr -iiiw-irir niMmi Vimr w- HADN'T SEEN a copy of Rolling Stone magazine in a while. I picked up an issue and flipped through it. Near the back was a compilation of the top-selling record albums in the country. 1 looked at the top 100 albums.

1 didn't own any of them. This struck me as odd. There was a time, not too long ago, when I almost certainly would have owned the majority of the top 10 albums and a goodly number of the other 90 in the top 100. Like many people my age, buying record albums was an ingrained habit with me; I bought them the way people buy loaves of bread. Now 1 don't.

In fact, my stereo turntable broke just over a year ago, and I haven't gotten around to getting it repaired. 1 know exactly what's wrong with it: It has one of those direct-drive mechanisms, and the direct-drive is broken, and now the turntable whirls around at about 800 revolutions per minute. If you put a record on there, the record will fly off like a Frisbee. Ten years ago 1 probably would have lugged the turntable to a stereo store to get it fixed. Now, though, it doesn't seem worth it.

I suppose if stereo stores were willing to come to your home to repair record players, 1 would have the thing fixed; but if making it work means picking it up and carrying it somewhere, I can do without. I DON'T KNOW how many albums 1 own; I would say 500, but that estimate may be high. All I am sure of is that for years, anytime I liked a song I would buy the album. We all did. Do you remember in the early '70s, when record stores began to stay open all night long? Buying albums had become such an impulse purchase that the store owners knew they were smart to hire clerks to be there at 2 a.m., 4 a.m., 6 a.m.--anytime someone might get the nagging urge to get a new-album.

So I was looking through Rolling Stone, and there was the top 100 list, and none of those records were on my shelves. I went to those shelves and began to flip through the albums. There is some great stuff there: from Jethro Tull's "Aqualung" to "The Beatles Live at Photo by Karen Kasmauski, Virgiman-PilolLedger-Slar Ruth Harrell relaxes at home with her dog: "A lot of people have tried to crucify her with little understanding of what she is trying to do," says a colleague. Pioneer or pariah her food for thought stirs controversy By Jim Spencer I bought records the way people buy loaves of bread. Now I don't.

HE from to ORFOLK, Va. The calls come at all hours Denmark and Italy, Venezuela and Brazil, California and Hawaii. People in Hong Kong used phone at 3 a.m.. and Ruth Harrell would hoist her a false prophet in a land in which, as a doctor of psychology, he had no business in the first place. RUTH HARRELL is pioneer or pariah, depending on the point of view.

Norfolk-area pediatricians claim her study of retarded children was faulty. She can find no local neurologist who will affiliate himself with her epilepsy study, a proposal that the human tion subcommittee at Eastern Virginia Medical School dismissed as lackinR scientific merit. Yet her daughter, Ruth Harrell Capp, a psychiatrist ahd research partner, recently returned from Japan, where a group of doctors paid handsomely to learn about Harrell work and a crowd of 500, many with retarded children, packed a meeting looking for a miracle. Still the calls come, all seeking information about GTC tablets, what Harrell calls "the formula." She is strong-willed, bright and opinionated, a person not easily ignored. She numbers among her friends and supporters the leading names in biochemistry and nutrition, such as Linus Pauling, a two-time Nobel Prize winner, and Roger J.

Williams, a biochemist who discovered one of the vitamins. In the 1930s and 1940s, she worked at Johns Hopkins University Dandy, a prominent neurosurgeon, and Elmer V. McCol-lum, the man who discovered vitamin A. NOW. AS A RESULT of her findings, at least eight hospitals and institutions are exploring the effects of nutritional supplements on retarded children.

Said Pauling, president of the Foundation for Nutritional Advancement: "1 think our foundation would give serious consideration to anything Dr. Harrell proposed. It's nonsense to say that her epilepsy study has no scientific merit. I expect she's a better judge than the doctors at the medical school on that." His organization provided funds for the retardation study and will pay for her work with epileptics. Despite Harrell problems with the medical community, she has found 30 people to participate in her latest research, which, like her study of retardation, will be conducted under the auspices of Old Dominion University IODU.

THE SWIRL of attention and controversy has Altered into the small, sparsely furnished brick bungalow she Continued on page 4 herself out of bed to answer. She is not enamored of this new-found celebrity and its concomitant demands on her time. After all, there is more research to be done and, as her 83d birthday approaches, not much time in which to do it. She would prefer to be with patients testing her theories that large doses of vitamins and minerals can stop or at least control epileptic seizures or that those same nutrients might allow stammerers to speak fluid-)y. But she continues to be saddled with the sound and fury of her last revelation: that a certain combination of 12 vitamins and 8 minerals taken in specified dosages can raise the intelligence quotient of mentally retarded children.

For parents of retarded children around the world it was a godsend, a life raft in a sea of hopelessness. To many pediatricians, it bordered on blasphemy, making Straight from the heart For Tony Bennett, the joy's in singing Rubin's 'radical' route to wealth at Studio 54 By Cheryl Lavin By Michael Coakley Iribuno EW YORK It was the summer of 1960 and, in Chicago, the newspa pers were full of stories prophesying the debacle-to-be at the Democratic YOU TELL the hotel operator you'd like to speak with Tony Bennett and in a minute the phone is ringing and in another minute there is that golden, gravelly voice at the other end. Tony Bennett answers his own phone, says he is coming right And in another minute or so he walks into the cavernous ballroom of the Hyatt Regency where workmen are setting up the stage and the band is rehearsing. He is alone. A small man: 5-feet-9, thin, 165 pounds.

Built like a boy from the waist down with the Hollywood Bowl" to Johnny Rivers' "Rewind" to "Fifty Million Elvis Fans Can't Be Wrong" to Sinatra's "A Man and His Music" to "The Beach Boys Today" to the Faces' "A Nod Is as Good as a Wink" to the Byrds' "Mr. Tambourine Man." And now I let my stereo stay broken, and I go a' year without buying an album. FROM A CURSORY examination of that list of records two paragraphs up, you might assume that the answer to this puzzle is obvious: I'm getting old, and the music I liked is no longer in fashion. 1 Not precisely true. If you turn on almost any rock radio station, you will find that a great chunk of the music that is played consists of album cuts from the years 1967 to 1974.

1 may indeed be getting old, but 1 am part of a generation that is getting old, and it is this generation that boasted the most manic purchasers of albums. We still love the music; I play the radio all the time. There are five rock stations in Chicago that are in sequence on the dial, and I constantly switch back and forth between them, just as if I were back in a '65 Ford pushing the radio buttons instead of in the kitchen fooling with the dial of a console model that sits next to the stove. When I'm on the road the very first thing 1 do when 1 get to my hotel room is search for the town's best radio station; when I've found a good one I often don't turn the television on for my whole stay. So I don't think it's a case of me or my contemporariesloosing touch with the music.

I think it's as simple as the fact that record-buying turned out to be an easy habit to break. The sales Figures from the recording industry certainly back up that point of view; the record business is in awful shape. Its executives used to think it was recession-proof, but it clearly is not; those of us who used to Buy an album or two or three a week don't do it anymore, and the separation has been relatively painless. The radio's free, and fairly satisfying. WILL WE EVER pick up the record-buying habit again? Will new generations pick up the slack of those of us who have stopped buying, and return the recording industry to its former boom times? I don't know.

But remember that issue of Rolling Stone I was referring to? In the magazine's early days which, of course, coincided with the headiest days of the record-buying boom Rolling Stone was virtually kept alive by record ads. Full-page advertisements taken out by the record companies were what made Rolling Stone the business phenomenon that it was; you could flip through an early issue of Rolling Stone, and just by looking at the record ads you could know everything worth knowing in the world of music. In the issue of Rolling Stone I just read, 1 went through and counted the number of record ads. There was one. No kidding.

Don't mean to leave you on a down note, though. If your stereo, unlike mine, is working, here's a tip for you. Bob Seger. "The Distance." Even if you buy only one album a year these days, that's the one for this year. How do I know? People invite me over.

High profile National Convention. It was reported that young radicals, turned violent in their frustration over ending the Vietnam War, were massing in the city, bent on any lactic to slop the. nomination of Ihc hated Hubert Humphrey for President. While there was ample cause for concern about the upcoming convention, there was also news media overkill that only served to excite further the paranoid city officials and the Chicago police, making the ultimate confrontation and disaster all but inevitable. Those shabby demonstrators conspicuously practicing guerrilla combat in Lincoln Park, however, had barks far more sinister than their bites.

When it came to barking, none could out-how) Jerry Rubin, the leader of an especially outrageous collection known as the Yippics. MOST OK THE other prominent antiwar activists in Chicago that summer held some distinction beyond their soapbox. An aging David Dellinger was the New left's intellectual tic to the radicalism of the 1930s; Tom llaydcn had founded the Students for a Democratic Society; Abbic Hoffman was, and is, a gifted comedian. As for Jerry Rubin, he was only a rab- Continued on page 4 Tribune pholo by tail Gusl'e Tony Bennett: "I enjoy swimming around in all that nice music." narrow hips, small feet. Broad through the shoulders.

Dressed impeccably in a dark blue white cotton shirt, red polka-dot tie. No rings, no chains, no fancy watch. Suntanned, lined, with a nose like a cigar-store Indian's, hazel eyes above neavy pouches, neat, small teeth behind thin lips, dimples.j The band Isn't ready for him, and he hasn't had much time to eat; so he heads for a restaurant, nodding hellos, acknowledging smiles, shaking hands as he walks through the hotel lobby. Everything is low-key, quiet, subdued. There is no entourage with him anymore, no secretary, publicist, companion, gofer.

Long ago, back in the '50s, alter his first Dig hits "Because of You," "Cold, Cold Heart," "Rags to Riches" made him a star, he traveled with the usual retinue. "Takers," he called them. But over the years he has learned what works for him and what doesn't. "I was actually getting tired with so many people around. There were always petty jealousies.

1 had to -learn to save all that energy for the To strip it down to simplicity. All 1 need now is a drum roll and someone to announce my name and just go Continued on page Inside Monday in Tempo The place is in the Black Hills of South Dakota, and it's called Yellow Thunder. It's the old story of red man versus white, and it involves corporate mineral claims, acrimonious tivism, legal indecision and a forthcoming murder trial. Smile College-bred: A four-year loaf made from the flavor of youth and the old man's dough. -Grin tnd Shirt II Something new in the calorie counting department: News for, You has found a food scale that counts calories and nutrients based pn -weight.

Should you shovel your sidewalks to prevent personal liability suits? Yes and no, depending on where you live. As a Matter of Fact has the scoop. Page 3. "1 i 1 BumpuoM A I iiiiiii ii rage d..