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LAWRENCEBURG, Ind. -- Part of the popular RiverWatch restaurant on the Ohio River has vanished, and nobody seems quite sure where it went.The floating restaurant had a tiki bar attached on a separate barge. Authorities don't know if it sank or floated away. A boat normally docked at the restaurant was located downriver, but the tiki bar remained missing Sunday.The Ohio River did reach flood stage over the weekend."They can go back and reel back time and maybe figure out if anything hit, anything happened to force this to happen, because this tiki bar's been intact, I'm told, for 12 years," Lawrenceburg Mayor Kelly Mollaun said.The RiverWatch is a seasonal business, usually operating between April and October. The mayor said the owner still plans on opening as usual. 784

Like most teachers nearing the end of the school year, Kelsea Hindley’s days are spent grading online tests and making sure her students have completed all of their assignments for the year.But for this 28-year-old high school French teacher, the end of this school year also marks the beginning of her first summer vacation as a survivor of COVID-19.Hindley was only the second person in the state of Massachusetts, where she lives, to be diagnosed with the virus earlier this year. It was a harrowing experience, not just because of the symptoms she was dealing with, but because of the stalking she said she received from local news media.In the early stages of the outbreak, her case brought with it a wave of fear and uncertainty she had never experienced before in her life. Some people, who she had never met, took to social media, saying she should leave town because they thought she might spread the novel coronavirus, even though she was quarantined at home.“My anxiety level has never been that high in my life,” she recalled. “I felt so bad. I felt like I had done something to people.”Hindley believes she more than likely contracted the virus while on a school trip to Europe with her students back in February. They had left the country weeks before top health officials had even begun to discuss the possibility of stay-at-home orders.Hesitant to tell her story at first, she is now speaking out in hopes of connecting with other COVID-19 survivors, who might be experiencing the same kind of survivors guilt as her.“Unless you’ve been sick, you don’t understand how it feels. It just feels extremely isolating,” she said about having the virus. “Don’t hold this against people just because they get sick.”Months after first getting sick, the social media attacks have all but died down. She hopes other Americans see her case and have empathy for the thousands of others who are dealing with the virus.“I want people to look at people like me and see that we do get better,” she said. “Just because I got sick doesn’t mean you have to treat me any differently than anyone else.” 2104

LAKESIDE, Calif. (KGTV) - The family of an 11-year-old boy who was killed in the Easter bombings in Sri Lanka held a celebration of life ceremony in Lakeside Wednesday night.They gathered on a trail in Oak Oasis County Park to remember Kieran Shafritz de Zoysa, on what would have been his 12th birthday.About a mile down the trail, they unveiled a new bench with a plaque in his memory, telling future hikers to “Be like Kieran.”“Kieran’s mindset was always about helping others,” said Alex Arrow, his father who lives in Lakeside.“He was the greatest ray of light that my life has ever seen,” said Dhulsini de Zoysa, Kieran’s mother.Both parents described him as curious, intelligent and empathetic.“He was just a sponge. He took in everything regardless of the topic,” said his mother.Arrow said his son had dreams of becoming a neuroscientist, with the goal of finding a cure for Alzheimer's disease. “I also grieve for what the world lost,” said Arrow. “That piece of shrapnel from the suicide bomber struck down a future champion against the unknowns of the brain.”In total, 259 people were killed in a series of coordinated bombings on April 21 in the Sri Lankan capital of Colombo. 1202

LA MESA, Calif. (KGTV) -- Protesters gathered at the La Mesa Police Department Tuesday evening, once again calling for more transparency and accountability from the department. The protest came just a few days after the department announced that former LMPD officer Matt Dages was no longer employed with the department. Dages was the officer caught on video during the arrest of Amaurie Johnson in May. The charges against Johnson were later dropped. Activists say the department's statement about Dages' employment was vague. They want the former officer charged and arrested.In a press conference hours before the protest, Johnson said he wants equality and will keep fighting for change until it happens. The protest remained peaceful; officers did detain a counter-protester but later told ABC 10News he was released after determining no crime had been committed. 877

LANCASTER, Ohio (AP) — When bread delivery men opened the door to a telephone booth one cold, January morning in 1954 and discovered a cooing baby, they had no idea how he got there.It would take 64 years and a DNA test for the mystery of "Little Boy Blue-eyes" to be solved.His once blue eyes have darkened to brown, but 64-year-old Phoenix resident Steve Dennis knows he was the approximately 2-month-old baby with no birth date, birth place or birth parents to be found.Instead, his birth certificate lists the place he was found that morning: a telephone booth outside Yielky's Drive-In on U.S. 22, a former restaurant just outside Lancaster's city limits. He was found wrapped in a blanket and tucked in a cardboard box for at least three or four hours before the bread delivery men saw something moving in the booth.For years Dennis didn't think the story was true. It was too far-fetched. He also never expected to learn the identity of his biological mother or the story leading up to being left in an Ohio phone booth. But he did, and he's meeting his biological mother later this month for the first time.Since Dennis was about three years old, he remembers his adoptive parents, Stanley and Vivian Dennis, telling him he was adopted."Luckily my parents told me early on that I was adopted, probably from the time I was three," he said. "Most of that really had no impact on me. You hear it so much, it doesn't faze you anymore."It wasn't until he was 15 or 16 when he heard the outlandish story about being discovered in a phone booth.At first police weren't sure if he was a kidnapping victim or if a passing motorist had left him there. Police settled on the latter when there were no subsequent reports of any child abductions. Still, they never found the baby's parents. The Eagle-Gazette published several articles describing the event, the first one stating "... the baby was lively, but very cold, and a full milk bottle was found beside the infant. The bottle was also cold. The baby's physical condition appeared to be good."After the first story published, dozens of people had expressed interest in either fostering or adopting the baby. Dennis was placed in a foster home and later adopted by the Dennis family in February 1955. They moved to Arizona where Dennis has resided ever since."When I was 18 or 19 I went to Lancaster to kind of get a look at it," Dennis said, adding that at the time, there wasn't much to find.He had let it go for years until his two daughters, ages 18 and 14 got him an Ancestry.com DNA test that determines ethnicity and can find genetic relatives. The results were returned in January, followed by a message from a man also using Ancestry.com, who was a genetic match to Dennis. This man, he learned, was his first cousin."He said 'I think I know who your mother is. We've heard throughout our lives that there's a baby that we're related to that was left in a telephone booth,'" Dennis recalled. "It was this like this hidden secret."Dennis' cousin connected him to Dennis' half-sister, who lives in Baltimore, Maryland. Growing up, his sister said had also heard the story."This deep dark secret of my biological mother, the kids had heard about this, but they weren't sure if it's true or not," he said. To check the story his sister got her own DNA test, confirming the match.From there, Dennis' sister contacted their mother, who also lives in Baltimore."The mother has finally said she wants to meet with me," Dennis said. "Slowly week by week, she said 'I kind of remember.'"He was told his mother was 18 and coerced to give him up by his father, saying he'd marry her if they left the baby. The couple was traveling through Ohio from Kentucky, where he was born in a hospital. They were on their way back to Maryland when the father took the baby and left him in a phone booth. After that, the father disappeared.He has no further history of his father. His mother, now in her 80s, married someone else and has two daughters.With or without further details about his unstable beginning, Dennis said he's had a good life. He was in the Peace Corps, traveled extensively and married Maria, his wife of 22 years. They had two children and Dennis recently retired from his profession as a chiropractor.Later this month, Dennis is traveling to Maryland to meet his mother and half-sister for the first time."It's interesting. It's not like earth shattering or anything like that," Dennis said. "My true parents, of course, were my adoptive parents. It would be almost impossible for me to think otherwise."Dennis isn't sure what the meeting with his mother or sister will bring, but he hopes to connect with them.While Dennis would like to know more information about his early life, he said he won't press his mother for details."I'd like to know my actual birth date but, according to my sister, the mother said she doesn't remember," he said. "I'm not going to make a real big deal about this. I'll just take whatever she gives me and leave it at that. I mean you can't hassle an 85-year-old woman . So whatever she feels comfortable saying to me, I'll take. It's more than I had before." 5157