What a nice bit of nostalgia to read your article on Chicago's brick bungalows ["Chicago's Bungalows Making a Comeback," news story, May 30]. I grew up in one of those houses in Galewood, on the far northwest side of Chicago, and they were great homes: light-filled from those huge bay windows, and with many fine details in woodwork and stained glass. They were close together, with entry on the side along a narrow strip of what we called "gangway."

Even the basements had large windows, and my father built us a playroom there, closed off from the laundry and heating areas. I disagree that they were originally home to "working-class immigrants." When my father built ours in 1927, he was a first-generation American and a white-collar manager. As I recall, our neighbors also worked "downtown" and I never heard a foreign language being spoken. I'm so glad these houses are being restored, and I wish I could have one! Thanks for a lovely glimpse down memory lane.

-- Muriel N. Heichler



There it is, prominently displayed above the fold on Page A3 of your May 30 edition: all the reasons why hundreds of us are trying to save a historic Sears home in the Palisades. Only your story is about Chicago!

The description of why bungalows are so important to Chicagoans -- "a sense of community," "unpretentious but comfortable," "a manageable slice of city life," "prime examples of the Arts and Crafts and Prairie schools of architecture," "pleasant, spacious places to raise a family" -- says perfectly why hundreds of us have signed petitions and written letters to save the edifice called Jesse Baltimore House, an effort The Post might cover with more investigative rigor.

As I gather from your article, cities such as Chicago, Denver and Milwaukee encourage efforts to save these homes. Our city would prefer chateaus. Maybe that's because our drinking water is fit only for moats.

-- Char Mollison