May 15, 1996

The Valujet DC-9 that crashed in the Everglades on Saturday was carrying as cargo in its forward hold 50 or 60 bottles of chemicals used to make oxygen for emergency masks, the National Transportation Safety Board said tonight, raising the possibility that they caused a fire or explosion. When the bottles make oxygen, by mixing two chemicals, the reaction also produces heat. The board also said that the flight-data recorder, recovered on Monday and deciphered overnight by its technicians, recorded the plane's instruments as indicating a very sudden drop in altitude and speed, while the plane did not actually slow or drop. Experts said the instruments could have been thrown off in that fashion by an explosion inside the plane.

For more than a decade, doctors have complained, to little avail, as employers, managed-care companies and, later, hospitals came together in competing organizations dedicated to squeezing down health care costs -- and, in the process, limiting physicians' incomes and independence. But recently many doctors have been fighting back, trying to negotiate a better deal for themselves and regain their autonomy. One way has been to sell their practices to a new breed of companies that manage the doctors' business affairs and strengthen their bargaining power as they negotiate with health maintenance organizations and other cost-cutting purchasers of health services.

Four years ago, frost on May 21 destroyed almost half of New Jersey's blueberry crop. This year, farmers are not taking any chances. At the Atlantic Blueberry Corporation in Hammonton, growers irrigated for 12 hours Monday night in an effort to raise temperatures, The Associated Press reported. Other growers covered seedlings with baskets. Several growers in Gloucester County reported minor damage yesterday to pepper and tomato crops, said Jerry Frecon, an agricultural agent for the county.

DR. MEHMET OZ doesn't always share the newly found sense of elation and security felt by those who take half-empty subways late at night or walk home through sometimes daunting neighborhoods. The 25 percent drop in the city's murder rate last year isn't necessarily good for his profession. No, he's not a gun runner or undertaker. He transplants hearts.

At Grabstein's Delicatessen in the Canarsie section of Brooklyn, the pastrami is as moist and peppery as ever and the waiter Harvey Wyler still needles the notoriously demanding customers. But the hustle-bustle days when several waiters pirouetted among the teeming Formica tables and takeout lines would snake along the steamy glass display case are gone. Even if the 36-year-old Grabstein's still does a good trade in catered platters, the destination of these platters says much about the fading delicatessen business.