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How to observe Juneteenth in NWA

How to observe Juneteenth in NWA

Axios23-06-2025

Juneteenth is on Thursday. It became a federal holiday in 2021 and commemorates the day in 1865 when enslaved people in Galveston, Texas, learned President Abraham Lincoln had signed the Emancipation Proclamation two years earlier. Here's how to learn more about the holiday and celebrate in NWA.
Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art the Phi Alpha Omega Chapter of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority is celebrating with kid-friendly activities and gallery talks throughout the permanent collection focusing on Black history. 11am-4pm Thursday. Free.
Freedom Festival, hosted by Music Moves and The Community Cohesion Project Foundation, includes a market and live music starting at 2pm Saturday at Luther George Park in Springdale throughout the night. Free.

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Black kids are more likely to drown. Access to swimming lessons is a necessity.
Black kids are more likely to drown. Access to swimming lessons is a necessity.

USA Today

time3 hours ago

  • USA Today

Black kids are more likely to drown. Access to swimming lessons is a necessity.

During the civil rights era, as courts ruled public facilities could no longer be segregated, Whites formed and flocked to private swimming clubs, or built backyard pools. A little over two years ago, in a fit of what I now see was post-retirement mania, I did something that had been kicking around my head for a while: I got my Red Cross lifeguard certification, followed by a job doing just that. I was paid $16 an hour, and embodied a verifiable trend amid a national shortage: the elderly lifeguard. (Motto: It's not just our whistles that are silver!) I worked at Chandler Park Aquatic Center, in a red swimsuit and a T-shirt with my job title in big letters on the back. It was an interesting summer, spent watching over the patrons of the Wayne County waterpark in Michigan. Most interesting was that no one really asked what this weirdo, old enough to be grandmother to her teenage colleagues, was doing there in the first place. If anyone had, I had an answer ready – that I'd been waiting through a career in journalism to take the coolest job my teenage self could have ever wanted – but also one connected to both jobs: I was interested in swimming as a social justice issue. Who learns to swim, and who doesn't As a reporter for many years, I've covered drownings. There are few assignments more wrenching than watching firefighters drag a pond for a child whose only mistake was stepping past an unseen, underwater drop-off. Another double tragedy, which I only read about, still haunts me, and prompted me to write a check to a learn-to-swim nonprofit. And I've seen the data: The National Drowning Prevention Alliance reports that children of color, especially Black children, are far more likely to drown than White children. They're more likely to never learn to swim, to never master the skills necessary to save themselves if they fall into deep water. Not that White kids are doing much better. Drowning is the leading cause of accidental death for all children under 4, and the second-leading cause for those up to age 14. The reasons are many and varied, and not all connected to societal racism, although some are. During the civil rights era, as courts ruled public facilities could no longer be segregated or off-limits to Black Americans, Whites formed and flocked to private swimming clubs or built backyard pools. Some cities closed their public pools rather than allow everyone to use them. Even in cities less affected by this scourge, facts don't favor swimmers. Even now, pools are expensive to build and maintain. And lifeguards and instructors are in short supply. This pool shortage in urban areas has a knock-on effect: People in urban centers are less likely to learn to swim. Their children don't learn. And so on. Where I live, in Grosse Pointe, pools are plentiful. Our parks have splendid, well-kept pools. Our high schools have pools. Our middle schools have pools. Enough kids swim in summer to have a competitive league comprising the five Pointes and St. Clair Shores. Bottom line: Everyone swims, or has the opportunity to learn. But in our training at Chandler, we were told to assume most of our guests couldn't, and we saw it every day. We didn't have any drownings that summer, but we had a lot of saves. Take a few lessons before diving in the pool this summer Here in Detroit, there are several worthy nonprofits trying to get more kids and adults safer in the water. Detroit Swims, a program of the YMCA of Metropolitan Detroit, is one of them, offering barrier-free instruction to young people, with the goal of reducing youth drownings. Barrier-free, in this case, means they provide not just instruction, but also transportation, swimsuits, goggles, even a towel, all free of charge for participants. For Cydney Taylor, who runs the program, it's about extending to others what the adults in her young life offered her – a life skill that offers not just safety around water, but exercise and fun as well. "My grandmother was adamant that I learn," said Taylor, who went on to swim competitively for the team at the Adams Butzel Complex on the west side. Her skills led to certification to lifeguard and teach swimming, and today she's overseeing an effort to vastly increase water skills in Detroit's children. She's not alone, either. The Huron-Clinton Metroparks' Everyone in the Pool program teaches thousands of basic swimming and water skills lessons. It's summer now, when water becomes tempting. If you can swim a little, take some lessons to improve your competence. If you swim well, consider becoming a lifeguard or swim instructor, now that shortages are so pronounced some pools are offering signing bonuses. And if you want to help but prefer to stay dry, donate to a program like Detroit Swims or another in your community. A $100 gift to Detroit Swims covers all costs for one child. Learning to swim doesn't have to be a hassle I consider swimming a life skill, but I don't want to make learning it sound like some grim duty, like CPR or changing a tire. Swimming is also a profound pleasure, and I count time spent in oceans, rivers, lakes, ponds and pools, from surfing in the Pacific to midnight skinny dips in Lake Huron, as some of the best moments of my life. Those great memories curdle every time someone seeking the same pleasure is pulled, unconscious, from a body of water. It is said that in Michigan, we're all no farther than 6 miles from a natural water source. There's enough for everyone to enjoy. Let's enjoy it safely. Nancy Derringer is a mostly retired journalist living in Grosse Pointe Woods, Michigan. This column originally appeared in the Detroit Free Press.

Buffalo Soldiers in Utah finally getting their due
Buffalo Soldiers in Utah finally getting their due

Yahoo

time3 hours ago

  • Yahoo

Buffalo Soldiers in Utah finally getting their due

'There's a mountain of history about these guys that had never been really tapped into, and we realized it was much broader than we thought — kind of like an iceberg.' That's Ian Wright talking. Ian's the manager of Utah Cultural Site Stewardship, a state program tasked with 'protecting and safeguarding Utah's archaeological and cultural heritage.' In simpler terms, they're in charge of preserving Utah's history. The office has been operational for a little over four years, during which time Ian and his second-in-command, Lexi Little, have discovered an interesting pattern that repeats itself: When they start researching one bit of history, they often discover another bit that's even more interesting. Such is the case with the Buffalo Soldiers — two U.S. Army all-African American regiments that were stationed in Utah between 1878 and 1901. Thanks to Utah Cultural Site Stewardship, these men who played an important role in Utah history are getting a chance to take a bow more than a century later. For our interview with Ian and Lexi, we're sitting in the Fort Douglas Military Museum on the University of Utah campus. Today, the museum's buildings house an impressive array of military artifacts and information dating from the current day all the way back to 1862, when Fort Douglas was first created as a federal military garrison. But back in the late 1800s, these were the barracks where the Buffalo Soldiers lived. The story of the Buffalo Soldiers — so nicknamed by Native Americans because their coarse hair reminded them of a buffalo's — is one of those cringe-worthy parts of American history, hearkening back to a time when even the Union triumph in the Civil War failed to put the brakes on racial bigotry. In 1866, a year after the end of the war, the federal government decreed that the U.S. Army would be segregated (and would remain so for nearly 100 years), designating that four regiments (out of 60) were to be composed of all-Black troops. Two of these regiments, the 9th Cavalry and the 24th Infantry, would be posted to Utah between 1878 and 1901, sent to keep the peace, guard the mail, protect the telegraph lines and keep the Native Americans in check. The 9th Cavalry helped establish Fort Duchesne in Uintah County, while the 24th Infantry was billeted, as mentioned above, in the barracks at Fort Douglas on the east side of Salt Lake City. The ironies and incongruities of this arrangement were not a few: Black troops, already marginalized, sent to help protect and live in peace in a place populated primarily by members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — a people who A) had their own issues about being marginalized after being forced out of their homes in Illinois without much federal support and being invaded by the U.S. Army not long after they fled to Utah, and B) whose church restricted some of its membership rights from Black people. Not to mention the fact that Fort Douglas, home of the 24th, was named after Stephen A. Douglas, Abraham Lincoln's debate rival who had been a slave owner himself. But here's the part that brings a light to the eyes of Ian Wright and Lexi Little as they talk about the Buffalo Soldiers era in Utah history: The interaction seems to have worked out just fine. There were no race riots, no protests of any historical consequence. The role the Buffalo Soldiers played was, by all accounts, a positive one. The 9th Cavalry not only helped calm tensions with the Ute Tribe in northeastern Utah, but also (although this hasn't been entirely substantiated) helped guard the train depot in Price from a rumored heist by Butch Cassidy and the Robbers Roost gang. The 24th Infantry gained fame by answering the government's call to briefly leave Fort Douglas and fight in the Spanish-American War in Cuba in 1898 — charging up San Juan Hill with Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders. When the troops returned to Salt Lake City, they marched up Main Street in a parade in their honor. 'Not a lot of people know the Buffalo Soldiers were here,' says Ian, 'but they were everywhere. Every time we did research, they popped up.' Adds Lexi, 'It is a vital story that needs to be told.' The Utah Cultural Site Stewardship program has established a Heritage Trail that maps all the areas in Utah where the Buffalo Soldiers made their mark (it's 475 miles in length), and a website — — that details the history in great depth. There is also an audiobook available at narrated by former KSL Radio talk show host Doug Wright (Ian's dad). In short, if any of those Buffalo Soldiers were still around, they would no doubt be gobsmacked by all the attention. 'Our job is to safeguard all 13,000 years of Utah history,' says Ian. 'This was a gap, and we filled it.'

Route 66: The last (or first) 300 miles in Illinois
Route 66: The last (or first) 300 miles in Illinois

Chicago Tribune

timea day ago

  • Chicago Tribune

Route 66: The last (or first) 300 miles in Illinois

Our Route 66 road trip ended at the beginning, at East Jackson Boulevard and South Michigan Avenue in Chicago, where a brown sign hanging 12 feet high on a light post tells people they've reached the venerable road's threshold. On a hot and windy Saturday evening in June a large group of well-dressed people stood on the steps at the nearby Art Institute of Chicago, between the museum's famed bronze lions and below a sign advertising an exhibit on Frida Kahlo's time in Paris. Members of a mariachi band weaved through the crowd of pedestrians walking along Michigan. Few people stopped at the Route 66 sign. Those that did, did not linger long. They pointed, noted its existence, and continued on their way. While the route often conjures images of quaint small towns, its foundation, said historian and author Jim Hinckley, has always been rooted in Chicago. The existing roads and trails that would eventually become Route 66 nearly 100 years ago largely followed the railroad, with Chicago as its hub. 'Chicago's part of Route 66 is a huge part of the Route 66 story,' Hinckley said. 'It is a cornerstone.' About 300 miles southwest of Chicago, different alignments of the route leave St. Louis and cross the Mississippi at three different bridges. The northernmost iteration once spanned the river at the milelong Chain of Rock Bridge. Constructed three years after the route was commissioned, the bridge makes a 30-degree turn at its midpoint between St. Louis and Madison, Illinois. The bridge closed in 1968, replaced by a new one 2,000 feet upstream. Today, the original structure carries pedestrians, cyclists and, on a Thursday in June, one dog. The road climbs north toward Springfield, where a former Texaco gas station from 1946 a block from the route now houses the Route History Museum, which documents the Black experience on Route 66. Public health researchers by trade, museum founders Gina Lathan and Stacy Grundy spent more than a year collecting stories of Black homeowners and business owners — some found in The Negro Motorist Green Book — who provided safe havens along the route at a time when vast stretches of the highway passed through sundown towns. Museum visitors are given virtual reality headsets to help bring those stories to life. 'They want to be a part of the story of Route 66,' Lathan said of the families she and Grundy interviewed, 'and be recognized for not only what their family and the community brought to that whole travel experience, but what they as a people did to not only persevere but make these phenomenal economic engines in these communities that were oftentimes forgotten.' Continuing north, stretches of the route lie nestled between Interstate 55 and farmlands. In Atlanta, population 1,637, a group of international journalists and media buyers from at least a dozen countries snapped photos of towering 'muffler man' fiberglass statues — once used to advertise businesses along the route — collected at the town's American Giants museum. The group trip, organized by the state's tourism office, followed the International Pow Wow (IPW) travel trade show in Chicago. Illinois has invested millions over the last few years on Route 66 redevelopment and promotion, said Eric Wagner with the state tourism office. 'Route 66 is huge for us,' he said. 'People want to see America.' Follow our road trip: Route 66, 'The Main Street of America,' turns 100 About 50 miles north, Pontiac also appears to have capitalized on its position along the route. Among its attractions is the Route 66 Association Hall of Fame & Museum. There, visitors can find a school bus-turned-land yacht and a Volkswagen van belonging to Bob Waldmire, whose family opened the Springfield, Illinois, institution Cozy Dog on Route 66 and claims to have invented the corn dog. Waldmire became a legendary figure of the route's lore with his hand-drawn postcards, maps and murals. Both he and the van he took on his frequent route trips served as the inspiration for the character Fillmore in the Disney Pixar film 'Cars.' Waldmire died in 2009 of cancer, before he could finish painting a map of the Route 66 stretch through Illinois on a wall of the museum. 'He was very friendly, that's why he never got the mural done,' said Rose Geralds, 87, who has worked at the museum for the last 18 years. 'He stopped and talked to everybody. He didn't care. He just wanted to talk to the people. Just such a nice man.' Forty miles north, artist Robert Ryan, 61, stopped to inspect a detail in the mural he's painting on a storage building along Route 66 in Wilmington's South Island Park, next to the town's famed Gemini Giant, a 30-foot-tall fiberglass 'muffler man' recently relocated to the park after once facing destruction. Ryan's design, picked out of 20 or so entries, covers three walls of the building. One side shows a large Route 66 shield behind a yellow convertible driven by the original owners of the Launching Pad restaurant where the Gemini Giant once stood. Nearby, the town's football team waves to viewers. A mural on another wall has the giant standing in front of an American flag and behind the town name painted in block letters. A third wall mural depicts motorcyclists on the route. 'The best part has been talking to people who stop to ask about it,' Ryan said. Leaving Wilmington, the route heads past farmlands now broken up by massive logistic centers amassed on the outskirts of Joliet, where the country's largest inland port is located. It cuts through Joliet's downtown, past Stateville Correctional Center and into Romeoville and Bolingbrook. It's briefly absorbed by I-55 before returning as Joliet Road. Near Hodgkins, the route is forced to detour around a quarry where a stretch of the road has been closed for decades. It links up with Ogden Avenue in Berwyn and takes motorists through Cicero and into Chicago, through North Lawndale, Douglass Park and across the Eisenhower Expressway, named for the president who commissioned the interstate highway system that led to its demise. Route 66 then hits Jackson Boulevard and runs to its eastbound end. A block north of Jackson, a similar brown sign on a light post at Adams Street and Michigan marks the start of Route 66 for those heading west. At 8 a.m. on Sunday in June a family of three stopped to pose for pictures in front of the sign. This was not the start of their journey but, rather, a seemingly good photo opportunity. But a mile west at the unofficial start of the route, the 102-year-old Lou Mitchell's diner, Eleonora Tomassetti and Chiara Voceri took the last bites of a pancake before heading to pick up their rental car. Originally from Rome, the pair, both 27, first got the idea for a Route 66 road trip in high school. Earlier this year, they decided to turn that idea into a reality. They planned a two-week trip: Stops in Joliet, Atlanta and Springfield. An overnight stay in St. Louis. Another in Tulsa, Oklahoma and in Tucumcari, New Mexico. Two nights in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Stops in Winslow and Flagstaff, both in Arizona. Detours to the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas. Said Tomassetti: 'I think it's the perfect example of the American adventure.'

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