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When the pandemic hit, a Southern California man made it his mission to make sure under-represented communities and minority-owned businesses didn't fail. What started as a small online movement grew into the thousands.It has one goal: to help one another.Keven Seo is the self-titled "super connector."“As an extroverted extrovert, the No. 1 way to kill an extrovert is to put them in quarantine,” Seo said.The quarantine wasn't his style.“I love connecting people, I love communities, I like connecting pieces so when I hear people talk about a business or what they need or who they need, I love introducing them to each other and watching that relationship happen,” Seo said.But, that's not really possible during a complete lockdown -- so one would think."I noticed there was a lot of hardship and they did vocalize ‘hey, our business isn’t doing so well,’” Seo said. “[When] I started seeing this, I realized our community didn’t have a place to see each other, talk, meet, not just discuss problems but see how we can help each other with our connections.”He created a small space on the internet called "Network with Kevin" for Asian-Americans.“Asking for help is hard, too, like as an Asian-American, I was taught to put my head on the ground, work hard and that’s it,” Seo said. “But (for) a lot of us, community is so important, we have to do it together so I really try to create a community of genuine connection.”They meet weekly on Zoom and talk about hardships and how to reach out. New partnerships have formed such as new tech companies and restaurants amid the COVID-19 shutdown.These partnerships formed because of Seo’s work.“I’m Asian-American and an immigrant and if I go up to another Asian-American, they’re going to trust what I say we’re growing up in the same background," Seo said. “That way we can connect faster and help each other faster and right now is a critical time for that."He says, it sounds silly, but one of the first things he did was go to small Asian-owned restaurants and highlight their food to help drive business.One of those businesses is Modern Filipino Kitchen in Anaheim, California.“We serve Filipino food; we do Filipino culture with a modern look but we also keep the traditional flavors that you’d find in the Philippines,” Henry Pineda, the restaurant’s owner and chef.Pineda says opening a restaurant was a childhood dream of his.“My family in the Philippines, they have a restaurant,” Pineda said. “They’ve been open 30 years. Every time we go back, I found myself in their restaurant causing havoc over there.”When the shutdown happened, he lost more than 80% of his business and he was scared. Enter Seo and his "Network with Kevin" community.“A lot of people didn’t know who we were,” Pineda said. “They were able to see us and come support through his network and we’re a small mom and pop. We don’t have a budget for marketing or a PR person so that video and him putting us out there really helped us out and drive people to us.”In turn, Pineda says, he's helped others who are out of work, by holding popup restaurant events to give people a job. And they've all found common ground in a common group of friends, helping one another.“What I was taught growing up was this symbol for human being was another human leaning on a human being that’s what I was taught at a young age to always rely on the community and that’s why it’s important to me today," Seo said.For the extroverted extrovert, he says, at the very least, he has a ton of friends and they have a bond that only they will recognize. “It brings familiarity," Seo said. "It's very similar cultures so there’s more understanding what someone else has gone through or what family background they have with their upbringing." 3760

Whether kids learn at school or at home this fall, Nick Rose wants them to learn and practice music. That's Rose’s goal behind his Band In A Box program.Rose has been distributing hundreds of plain brown boxes with the gift of music inside. It's a spinoff from his Band In A Bus program.“We believe it’s like giving away a box of joy,” said Rose.With more and more questions about what classes and extracurriculars will look like as the coronavirus pandemic continues, Band In A Bus is changing its approach to hand out recorders and drum sticks to as many kids as possible.“The least we can do in these trying times is help kids feel some type of happiness and excitement every day,” Rose said. "That’s kind of why we’re trying to pilot this program.”Band In A Bus says budget cuts due to the coronavirus are forcing some schools to cut back music programs even more, which makes these free boxes even more important for kids.“The worst thing that we can do to a kid is strip them of this creative outlet,” Rose said. “As a growing young person, the most valuable thing is learning who you are and your tone of voice.”The Band in a Box program has enough money to help about 500 kids, but it is raising more money to try to impact as many families as possible.“That’s the experience that every kid can kind of relate to – that excitement, that fun,” Rose said. “You could see their smiles as they were drumming. It’s such a powerful emotion.”You can donate to Band In A Box at GoFundMe.com.WCPO's Josh Bazan first reported this story. 1543

WEST PALM BEACH, Fla. — While the demand for guns is cooling off, sellers say there is still a nationwide shortage of ammunition, and it's unclear when inventory will return to normal.The owner of Guns and Range Training Center in West Palm Beach said most gun sales during the COVID-19 pandemic have been to first-time buyers, making up 80% of sales.Gun owner Rita Gonzalez is no beginner, and this year she has helped many of her friends become first-time gun owners."Just with everything going on and stuff, they just feel safer having them," Gonzalez said. "It's like my happy place. I go. I shoot. I release stress. I like it." 640

With no new stimulus bill, many Americans are approaching a financial cliff. Their unemployment benef

When you step inside a restaurant in eastern Idaho, it’s no secret which menu item is a favorite one."I don’t know what other kind of potatoes we would have if we didn’t have Idaho potatoes," said FaDale Fisher, who works at Big Jud's in Ashton, Idaho.The restaurant is feeling life again in a state that produces more potatoes than any other.“Now, we’re almost back to full force, even though we are still limited on tables, business is still really well," she said.Idaho potatoes are also an important ingredient at Grandpa's Southern BBQ in Idaho Falls.Owner Lloyd Westbrook says take-out orders have helped his restaurant thrive this year. He's been in business since 1995.“You will find hospitality in restaurants out West, but it’s just not quite southern hospitality," he said.While the sight of spirited kitchens could give hope the food industry is beginning to rebound, for some of the potato farmers who work close by in this state, that hope feels very far away.“It’s unclear if we’re even going to be able to stay in business," said Doug Hess.Hess' family has farmed his land since the 1800s.“When you look around, you realize you’re actually farming with not your equity but your grandfather's, your father's equity," Hess said.Hess’ specialty is seed potatoes. They are grown free of virus and genetic defects.He sells to commercial farmers, who use the seed potatoes to grow the ones you eventually eat.Hess says the pandemic caused a food-chain reaction that hurt his business. When restaurants closed, the distributors that deliver potatoes to kitchens pulled back on buying from commercial growers, and those growers bought less of his already grown crop."We were anticipating a bag of a potatoes," Hess said. "Click of a switch if you could get rid of it for ."He was left with a pile of potatoes, and he donated about a quarter of his crop.He's now planted significantly less as COVID-19 cases rise.The federal government has stepped in to help the potato industry, but Hess says the struggles of he and his fellow farmers could last long after the pandemic."It could be three or four years out before this thing stabilizes," he said.For this lifelong farmer, it's a generational pressure.“Every time I sit at the table and I look at my sons thinking, ‘Will I be able to pass this on as my father passed on to me?’” Hess said. 2361

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