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It is only 9 in the morning, but the sun in Little Rock, Arkansas is beating down on the pavement as it does this time of the year.It is uncomfortably muggy, so 78-year-old Elizabeth Eckford elects to walk in the shadows of the trees that line Central High School.It is a place she’s grown comfortable with over the course of the last 50 years as she’s remained mostly silent about her experiences as a student at the school.“Talking about the past is a walk through pain,” she said. “It was very, very difficult. I had felt so terribly, terribly, terribly, alone,”Elizabeth was one of the nine black students sent to attend the all-white school on the first day of desegregation in 1957, the resulting reaction of the town has become known as the Little Rock Crisis.Many might recognize Elizabeth’s picture taken by a news photographer that day."At one point [the mob of white students] said get a rope, as I was walking, let’s lynch her,” Eckford recalls. "It was a very frightening, a very threatening time.”Elizabeth endured the harassment until she reached the doors of the high school, but was turned away by National Guardsmen. Alone, she remembers wondering what to do next as she walked over to a bus bench a block from the school.“I remember that bus bench meant safety to me,” Eckford recalls. "There was a pack of reporters and photographers in front of me walking backwards and asking me questions. I didn’t say anything because I was afraid if I opened my mouth I would cry in public.”Over the course of the next 50 years the words that berated Elizabeth manifested into PTSD. The school, that picture, crowded hallways; they would all elicit panic and anxiety. It wasn’t until 1997, when Elizabeth began sharing her story with students at Central High School that she started to heal.“They were very patient with me,” she said. "When I would cry they waited and gave me a chance to resume. It meant that to them I was a human being.”Today, Elizabeth Eckford speaks at national conventions and remembrance events of that first day of desegregation. She says walks by the school and crowded hallways no longer elicit anxiety.She also remains modest in her triumph and dedicated in her pursuit to help others."I point out that [students] can just reach out to support someone who is being harassed,” she said. "Just treat that person in a way that you would want to be treated. That can be very powerful. It was very powerful for me." 2454
In many rural communities, entire cities often rely on one business to support the economy, and when those businesses leave, it leaves the community devastated.For the town of Luke, Maryland, its paper mill went out of business last summer, and the deep financial impact is being felt by families and businesses throughout the region.“I could hear that mill day and night, sitting right here. You knew everything was alright. Listen up there now,” said former mill worker Paul Coleman, while looking out the window towards what used to be the noisy mill. “Pretty quiet, isn’t it? Pretty quiet. That’s eerie."Yet, it’s the silence that now haunts Coleman every day. “I had no sights, no goals on retiring. I would’ve kept on working as long as I could,” said the father of four daughters.For nearly 30 years, he worked alongside hundreds of people inside the Luke Paper Mill. He did several jobs over the years, but much of his time was spent as an electrician.“All my family has worked in there,” said Coleman. “The mill was the lifeblood of the community."The mill is nestled into the hills on the Maryland-West Virginia border. For the small towns around it, this big business was really the only business.“Everything was centered around that paper mill,” said Coleman.But last summer, this electrician got the news he couldn’t believe.“He said, ‘The mill’s closing.’ I thought he was kidding,” Coleman recalled. The closure was real, and almost immediately, his unemployment benefits fell short, and eventually, they stopped.“I thank God I had my 401K, which I had to dip into, so we’ve had to live off of that,” he said.Still, the bills piled up, especially the health insurance bills. “Reality is what it is. I know no one is going to want to hire a 62-year-old electrician,” said Coleman.On his fridge are several magnets from the Caribbean islands the family vacationed to over the years. We asked him about those trips, to which he replied, “Anything like that—it’s out of the question. You have to live within your means."The most painful adjustment to Coleman is not having what he needs for his daughter, who is disabled.The family was just able to fix their handicapped van, so they could bring his 21-year-old daughter home from weeks in the hospital. But now, more problems for this dedicated father.“My chairlift is broken down,” said Coleman. "That’s the chair lift we use to get her up and down the steps. I called the guy today and it’ll be ,000 to put a new one in. Where am I gonna get that?”So, each day, he gets to work, fixing what he can.“I don’t claim to be the best of anything,” said Coleman. “I’m not the best electrician, but you don’t have to be, you just have to keep moving regardless of what you’re dealt.”At the height of its operation, the mill employed more than 2,000 people. As technology increased and production decreased, fewer people were needed inside the mill, but even still, when the mill shut its doors, 700 people were left without jobs. That loss extended far past the mill—the entire community felt the pain of this closure.“It went from seven days a week to not really knowing what you’re doing tomorrow,” said Richard Moran, a man born and raised in Allegany County and who supplied coal to the mill for decades. “Lucky to get a 40 hour week now."Moran was forced to lay off dozens of workers when the mill shut down. Months later, his family’s legacy is hanging on by a thread.“Right now, we’re doing odd jobs basically, whatever we can pick up on the side,” he said.He’s not only lost income, he’s lost the future he dreamed of. “I know my kids won’t stick around here," he said. "There’s nothing for them here.”Coleman is worried for the future, too. “I think there’s just an attitude of hopelessness and helplessness that’s here,” he said.Both men agree that attitude is easily fueled by no new jobs and no way to relocate for most living in this rural community.“That’s not an option for me. This is my home, my entire family’s here,” said Coleman, as his granddaughter and two of his daughters all sat in the next room over.The United Steel Workers Local Union President Gregory Harvey said these struggles are only the beginning.“Unemployment ran out, insurance ran out, so now it impacts the area," he said. "Now, there’s people not spending money like they were spending money before."He’s working to get as many of his members and neighbors employed as he can, but the jobs in town are low-paying.“These guys were used to making ,000 a year, and now they’re making ,000. That’s a hit,” said Harvey, a third-generation paper maker himself.Still, the community holds onto hope that this closure isn’t the end. “My hope is that somebody buys this mill and reopens it back up, and if I get the opportunity to go back and work in a heartbeat, do I have to be an electrician? No. I’d go back and shovel a ditch or anything, whatever it took,” said Coleman about wanting to continue providing for his family.His plea like so many of his neighbors: a call to someone—to anyone—to rescue this town and these families.“You’re not investing in concrete. You’re not investing in these buildings. You’re investing in a workforce like no other,” said Harvey. 5223

It's a black and white portrait photograph of John F. Kennedy. Underneath it, a handwritten message:"To Ambassador Estes -- With esteem and very warm regards, John F Kennedy."The document is believed to be the last thing President Kennedy signed in the Oval Office before he left on his fateful trip to Dallas.The photograph is now for sale at ,000, according to the Raab Collection, which is hosting the sale.The photo was signed on November 21, 1963 and was intended for Thomas Estes, the ambassador to Burkina Faso, who attended the final meeting President Kennedy held in the Oval Office.Estes recalled arriving at the White House on the morning of November 21 and playing with the President's son, John-John, while he awaited the meeting with the President.Estes entered the Oval Office and received the signed photograph. He then briefed the President on affairs in Burkina Faso.After the meeting ended, Kennedy left the Oval Office at 10:50 a.m. to helicopter over to Andrews Air Force Base.He would then fly to San Antonio, Texas.The next morning, in Dallas, he was assassinated. 1118
In updated guidance, the CDC said that those who have recovered from the coronavirus do not need to be re-tested for the virus for three months after their infection barring they’re asymptotic.The refreshed guidance suggests that the CDC expects those with previous coronavirus infections are unable to spread the virus for three months.“People who have tested positive for COVID-19 do not need to quarantine or get tested again for up to 3 months as long as they do not develop symptoms again,” the guidance says. “People who develop symptoms again within 3 months of their first bout of COVID-19 may need to be tested again if there is no other cause identified for their symptoms.”In a statement to CNN, the CDC clarified that does not automatically mean someone is immune for three months. The updated guidance comes after much discussion and speculation on the possibility of becoming infected for a second time with the virus.The guidance is “based on the latest science about COVID-19 showing that people can continue to test positive for up to 3 months after diagnosis and not be infectious to others,” the statement read. 1138
INDIANAPOLIS -- The principal of Roncalli High School in Indianapolis issued an apology Friday afternoon after he said he used a derogatory word during a school assembly.In an audio message sent to all parents of Roncalli High School students, Principal Chuck Weisenbach said he was explaining to students a list of words and phrases they should not tolerate and he unintentionally used the word instead of just referencing it. Read his full message to parents below. 490
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