Williamson Health to host a blood drive for Heart Health Month
In 1964, then-President Lyndon B. Johnson designated February as American Heart Month in order to bring more awareness to heart disease, one of the leading causes of deaths in the U.S.
'We are still experiencing winter shortages and are in critical need for donations,' said Brooke Katz, spokesperson for Blood Assurance. 'Please consider spreading the love this National Heart Month by donating blood to save lives.'
On Feb. 18 from 11a.m.-5 p.m., at 3000 Edward Curd Lane, participants can help increase the life-saving supply that helps those who are suffering from illnesses that often require blood transfusions.
Blood donors who give between Feb. 15-28 will be automatically entered to win a $500 e-gift card for spring break. One winner will be randomly selected and contacted March 5. Additionally, O-negative whole blood and AB plasma donors will receive a $25 e-gift card. Winners can choose from over 90 retailers, and e-gift cards will be sent to the email address listed on the donor's profile.
Walk-ins are welcome but donors are encouraged to sign up a head of time. Those interested in donating must be at least 17 years old (16 years old with parental consent), weigh 110 pounds or more and be in good health. Donors are asked to drink plenty of fluids — avoiding caffeine — and eat a meal that is rich in iron prior to donating.
This article originally appeared on Nashville Tennessean: Williamson Health hosting Heart Health Month blood drive
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The Hill
01-07-2025
- The Hill
The power of the ‘Influencer General'
The Office of the Surgeon General isn't often in the news these days, for the simple reason that it isn't much of an office any more. It certainly was once. Until the mid-'60s the Surgeon General's budget was in the billions. He (always a he, back then) had charge of the entire public health apparatus, including the Food and Drug Administration, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the National Institutes of Health. Then, suddenly, with Lyndon B. Johnson's approval, every one of these responsibilities was stripped away, handed to an assistant secretary in the department of Health, Education and Welfare (which later became Health and Human Services). Why? For ease of political control, in an era of burgeoning health and research budgets. But, like the smile of the Cheshire Cat, the office of the Surgeon General remained, with the dignity of Senate confirmation, ceremonial command of the 'commissioned corps' of public health officers and — should the incumbent be so inclined — a splendid uniform befitting a vice-admiral. Beyond that, the Surgeon General was, as one writer put it, a 'glorified health educator,' though not actually all that glorified. The main thing he had to do was give Congress an annual report on smoking. Yet he did not write the report. He just signed it. He did not even supervise the staff who wrote it. All of this was painfully learned by our one memorable modern Surgeon General, Charles Everett Koop. The New York Times denounced him in an editorial headed 'Dr. Unqualified;' a nimbler commentator christened him 'Dr. Kook.' He had no public health experience and unpopular abortion views. As controversy raged in inverse proportion to the actual importance of the office (Bill Clinton managed one whole administration without appointing anybody), Koop was thinking through what could actually be accomplished from his modest but high-profile perch. And he decided to be an influencer. Long before 'influencing' became a profession, Dr. Koop, retired pediatric surgeon and anti-abortion combatant, demonstrated genius at wielding a combination of medical authority, moral conviction and media savvy, to shape public opinion and national health policy. From his 'merely health educator' perch, Koop emerged in the 1980s as one of the most recognizable and trusted figures in American public life. He harnessed his visibility to effect sweeping cultural and behavioral changes, particularly around smoking, HIV/AIDS and a range of preventive health issues, setting a potent precedent for his successors. Koop understood the power of his persona. The instantly recognizable look — a patriarchal beard, the navy-type uniform, and an often gruff demeanor — lent him a visual authority that matched his vocal clarity. He never sought to cultivate charm, and it was his credibility that granted him instant access to media gatekeepers and undercut partisan resistance. He leaned on scientific consensus, communicating it in direct, digestible terms — a technique today's influencers use (whether or not science is backing them up!). Koop's most influential, and controversial, moment came with the AIDS epidemic. At a time when many public officials refused even to speak the word, Koop insisted on candor. In 1986, tasked by the Reagan White House with writing the first government report on AIDS, he advocated not merely abstinence (as many had expected) but also comprehensive sex education and condom use. His conscious choices about audience, tone and accessibility all reflect how social media influencers communicate today. Then, in 1988, Congress enabled him to follow up with an unprecedented eight-page AIDS mailer to all 107 million U.S. households. At the core of Koop's influence lay his reputation for refusing to be silenced or co-opted. An evangelical Christian, with initial support from the religious right, he disappointed many ideological allies by resisting their push for anti-abortion messaging, though others understood his argument — that anti-abortion speech-making would undercut his credibility in anything else. In today's influencer ecosystem, authenticity is the core currency. Koop's brand of unwavering integrity gave him a moral authority that transcended partisanship. Koop was an influencer before Instagram, before YouTube, almost before the internet itself. He built his influence through scientific credibility, and a gravitas that carefully cultivated public trust. He redefined the potential of his anachronistic office as a bully pulpit for national transformation. His legacy offers a blueprint for public health communication in the 21st century. I've never met Dr. Casey Means, the president's choice for Surgeon General, and I'm not here to take sides on her nomination. I understand that many feel she has some strange views and limited experience. Yet if she retains the president's confidence, she will shortly find herself a vice admiral with a navy-style uniform (if she chooses to suit up), and become our influencer-in-chief of public health. Nigel M. de S. Cameron recently published 'Dr. Koop: The Many Lives of the Surgeon General' (University of Massachusetts Press, 2025).
Yahoo
27-05-2025
- Yahoo
Could a bold anti-poverty experiment from the 1960s inspire a new era in housing justice?
In cities across the U.S., the housing crisis has reached a breaking point. Rents are skyrocketing, homelessness is rising and working-class neighborhoods are threatened by displacement. These challenges might feel unprecedented. But they echo a moment more than half a century ago. In the 1950s and 1960s, housing and urban inequality were at the center of national politics. American cities were grappling with rapid urban decline, segregated and substandard housing, and the fallout of highway construction and urban renewal projects that displaced hundreds of thousands of disproportionately low-income and Black residents. The federal government decided to try to do something about it. President Lyndon B. Johnson launched one of the most ambitious experiments in urban policy: the Model Cities Program. As a scholar of housing justice and urban planning, I've studied how this short-lived initiative aimed to move beyond patchwork fixes to poverty and instead tackle its structural causes by empowering communities to shape their own futures. The Model Cities Program emerged in 1966 as part of Johnson's Great Society agenda, a sweeping effort to eliminate poverty, reduce racial injustice and expand social welfare programs in the United States. Earlier urban renewal programs had been roundly criticized for displacing communities of color. Much of this displacement occurred through federally funded highway and slum clearance projects that demolished entire neighborhoods and often left residents without decent options for new housing. So the Johnson administration sought a more holistic approach. The Demonstration Cities and Metropolitan Development Act established a federal framework for cities to coordinate housing, education, employment, health care and social services at the neighborhood level. To qualify for the program, cities had to apply for planning grants by submitting a detailed proposal that included an analysis of neighborhood conditions, long-term goals and strategies for addressing problems. Federal funds went directly to city governments, which then distributed them to local agencies and community organizations through contracts. These funds were relatively flexible but had to be tied to locally tailored plans. For example, Kansas City, Missouri, used Model Cities funding to support a loan program that expanded access to capital for local small businesses, helping them secure financing that might otherwise have been out of reach. Unlike previous programs, Model Cities emphasized what Johnson described as 'comprehensive' and 'concentrated' efforts. It wasn't just about rebuilding streets or erecting public housing. It was about creating new ways for government to work in partnership with the people most affected by poverty and racism. What made Model Cities unique wasn't just its scale but its philosophy. At the heart of the program was an insistence on 'widespread citizen participation,' which required cities that received funding to include residents in the planning and oversight of local programs. The program also drew inspiration from civil rights leaders. One of its early architects, Whitney M. Young Jr., had called for a 'Domestic Marshall Plan' – a reference to the federal government's efforts to rebuild Europe after World War II – to redress centuries of racial inequality. Young's vision helped shape the Model Cities framework, which proposed targeted systemic investments in housing, health, education, employment and civic leadership in minority communities. In Atlanta, for example, the Model Cities Program helped fund neighborhood health clinics and job training programs. But the program also funded leadership councils that for the first time gave local low-income residents a direct voice in how city funds were spent. In other words, neighborhood residents weren't just beneficiaries. They were planners, advisers and, in some cases, staffers. This commitment to community participation gave rise to a new kind of public servant – what sociologists Martin and Carolyn Needleman famously called 'guerrillas in the bureaucracy.' These were radical planners – often young, idealistic and deeply embedded in the neighborhoods they served. Many were recruited and hired through new Model Cities funding that allowed local governments to expand their staff with community workers aligned with the program's goals. Working from within city agencies, these new planners used their positions to challenge top-down decision-making and push for community-driven planning. Their work was revolutionary not because they dismantled institutions but because they reimagined how institutions could function, prioritizing the voices of residents long excluded from power. In cities across the country, planners fought to redirect public resources toward locally defined priorities. In some cities, such as Tucson, the program funded education initiatives such as bilingual cultural programming and college scholarships for local students. In Baltimore, it funded mobile health services and youth sports programs. In New York City, the program supported new kinds of housing projects called vest-pocket developments, which got their name from their smaller scale: midsize buildings or complexes built on vacant lots or underutilized land. New housing such as the Betances Houses in the South Bronx were designed to add density without major redevelopment taking place – a direct response to midcentury urban renewal projects, which had destroyed and displaced entire neighborhoods populated by the city's poorest residents. Meanwhile, cities such as Seattle used the funds to renovate older apartment buildings instead of tearing them down, which helped preserve the character of local neighborhoods. The goal was to create affordable housing while keeping communities intact. Despite its ambitious vision, Model Cities faced resistance almost from the start. The program was underfunded and politically fragile. While some officials had hoped for US$2 billion in annual funding, the actual allocation was closer to $500 million to $600 million, spread across more than 60 cities. Then the political winds shifted. Though designed during the optimism of the mid-1960s, the program started being implemented under President Richard Nixon in 1969. His administration pivoted away from 'people programs' and toward capital investment and physical development. Requirements for resident participation were weakened, and local officials often maintained control over the process, effectively marginalizing the everyday citizens the program was meant to empower. In cities such as San Francisco and Chicago, residents clashed with bureaucrats over control, transparency and decision-making. In some places, participation was reduced to token advisory roles. In others, internal conflict and political pressure made sustained community governance nearly impossible. Critics, including Black community workers and civil rights activists, warned that the program risked becoming a new form of 'neocolonialism,' one that used the language of empowerment while concentrating control in the hands of white elected officials and federal administrators. Although the program was phased out by 1974, its legacy lived on. In cities across the country, Model Cities trained a generation of Black and brown civic leaders in what community development leaders and policy advocates John A. Sasso and Priscilla Foley called 'a little noticed revolution.' In their book of the same name, they describe how those involved in the program went on to serve in local government, start nonprofits and advocate for community development. It also left an imprint on later policies. Efforts such as participatory budgeting, community land trusts and neighborhood planning initiatives owe a debt to Model Cities' insistence that residents should help shape the future of their communities. And even as some criticized the program for failing to meet its lofty goals, others saw its value in creating space for democratic experimentation. Today's housing crisis demands structural solutions to structural problems. The affordable housing crisis is deeply connected to other intersecting crises, such as climate change, environmental injustice and health disparities, creating compounding risks for the most vulnerable communities. Addressing these issues through a fragmented social safety net – whether through housing vouchers or narrowly targeted benefit programs – has proven ineffective. Today, as policymakers once again debate how to respond to deepening inequality and a lack of affordable housing, the lost promise of Model Cities offers vital lessons. Model Cities was far from perfect. But it offered a vision of how democratic, local planning could promote health, security and community. This article is republished from The Conversation, a nonprofit, independent news organization bringing you facts and trustworthy analysis to help you make sense of our complex world. It was written by: Deyanira Nevárez Martínez, Michigan State University Read more: Detroit's next mayor can do these 3 things to support neighborhoods beyond downtown How building more backyard homes, granny flats and in-law suites can help alleviate the housing crisis Should architecturally significant low-income housing be preserved? Deyanira Nevárez Martínez is a trustee of the Lansing School District Board of Education and is currently a candidate for the Lansing City Council Ward 2.


Health Line
23-05-2025
- Health Line
Letter from the Editor: Habits for a Healthy Heart
February is American Heart Health Month, but caring for your heart is important any time of year. That's why, in addition to maintaining our existing heart health articles with updates to include new research, we're also bringing new content your way to share accessible tips for things you can do today or any day to show your heart some love. Small changes for big impact Preventive care can help reduce long-term healthcare costs. And maintaining health in midlife can have long-term positive effects on health status later in life, too. While there's always the possibility that you may develop conditions you can't prevent, like cancer or Alzheimer's disease, and genetics also play a role in overall health, there are steps you can take to improve your general well-being. Many small or micro lifestyle changes have the potential to have a big impact on your heart health. You may be familiar with some, like increased exercise or increased vegetable intake. Even improvements to oral hygiene may make a difference. A year of heart-healthy habits I've been fortunate to have mostly good health, but as I get older, I'm more aware of my own mortality, especially after losing several family members over the past 3 years. Developing healthy habits, including ones that support heart health, is one action I can take to help increase the chances that I'll be here long enough to witness important moments in my children's lives. This year, I'm focusing on small changes that I can manage on top of my busy life as a working mom to two young, energetic boys. I don't have a lot of time in my day for long workouts, and by the time I get home, I'm too tired to make involved dinners. Stress is a regular part of my life, and sleep is something that has eluded me since I was pregnant with my first child. He's 9 years old and counting. Instead of taking an all-or-nothing approach, I'm embracing the idea that any positive change is better than no change. If you're also looking for ways to adopt healthier habits but have found big changes hard to make or maintain, I encourage you to join me and take a similar approach, assuming you have the OK from your doctor.