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Little Boy, 3, Unconscious After Falling 24 Feet into Zoo Enclosure. Seconds Later, Female Gorilla Picked Him Up

Little Boy, 3, Unconscious After Falling 24 Feet into Zoo Enclosure. Seconds Later, Female Gorilla Picked Him Up

Yahoo2 days ago

Binti Jua became a hero when she rescued a 3-year-old boy who fell into her gorilla enclosure at the Brookfield Zoo outside of Chicago
She safely scooped the boy up and delivered him to zookeepers, who were waiting at the door to her habitat
Binti Jua is still alive today, greeting visitors at the Brookfield ZooIt's been nearly three decades since the world's hairiest hero burst into public consciousness.
In 1996, a 3-year-old boy tumbled 24 feet into a gorilla enclosure after sliding through a barrier at a Chicago-area zoo. What happened next was as surprising as it was endearing.
Video from the Brookfield Zoo's Western Lowland Gorilla Pit showed a then-8-year-old gorilla named Binti Jua making her way to the unconscious tot. Onlookers feared the worst, wondering what the 160-lb. great ape would do to the tiny intruder. Binti Jua, who had her own 17-month-old baby clinging to her back, stunned everyone as she carefully picked the lifeless boy up around his waist, cradled him in her arms and carried him to a service door where zoo officials awaited. Upon gingerly putting the child down, she scurried away, Sondra Catzen, a zoo spokeswoman, told the Chicago Tribune in 1996.
At the time of the incident, six other gorillas were in the exhibit, and zookeepers used a hose to keep them at bay.
The incident garnered international headlines and has been discussed ever since, particularly 20 years later at a Cincinnati Zoo, when another child fell into a gorilla enclosure — that time, though, things took a much darker turn, as zoo officials shot and killed the 450-lb. gorilla named Harambe, who was seen dragging the child.
Whereas Harambe was male, Binti Jua was female, which could have factored into the differing results. In the year that followed, many attributed Binti Jua's actions to her 'motherly instinct.'
"She was somewhat protective, too. Part of the video, she takes the child and sort of turns a shoulder to the other gorillas," zoo worker Jay Peterson told CBS News in 2011.
In addition, zookeepers noted that Binti Jua, whose name means "daughter of sunshine' in Swahili, was born in captivity and raised by humans, so seeing the person in her midst wasn't completely foreign.
The boy, who's never been publicly named, spent four days in the hospital, but only suffered a broken hand and facial cuts.
In the wake of the five-minute incident, Binti Jua became an ever greater attraction at the zoo and was showered with gifts and letters from around the world. The Chicago Tribune reported that several people offered money to adopt Binti Jua, and an Illinois grocer gifted her 25 lbs. of bananas as a means of thanks.
Never miss a story — sign up for to stay up-to-date on the best of what PEOPLE has to offer​​, from celebrity news to compelling human interest stories.
Binti Jua, who arrived at the Brookfield Zoo in 1991 on a breeding loan from the San Francisco Zoo, still lives in Brookfield's gorilla exhibit. In March, she celebrated her 37th birthday.
According to National Geographic, Western Lowland gorillas typically live to 35 years old in the wild, but usually live longer under human care. They are listed as a 'critically endangered species.' The World Wildlife Fund reports that the gorilla's numbers have declined by more than 60% over the last 20 to 25 years due to poaching and disease.
Read the original article on People

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Funeral Director and Former Mortician Reveals the 5 Things She'd Never Do After Years of Dealing with the Dead (Exclusive)
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Funeral Director and Former Mortician Reveals the 5 Things She'd Never Do After Years of Dealing with the Dead (Exclusive)

Annie Owen is a funeral director and former mortician She talks with PEOPLE about what inspired her to share her mortician series on TikTok Owen says it's an "honor to learn the stories of the dead"Annie Owen has a morbid job - literally. When Owen was in high school, she was interested in pursuing a career in funeral service. Her dad initially told her that it wasn't a job for women, but that didn't deter her. After studying to get her bachelor's degree in funeral science, she took a job as an apprentice in her hometown, later becoming a mortician and funeral director. "It was difficult because a lot of the cases or the families that I worked with, I knew since it's such a small town," she tells PEOPLE exclusively. "You don't know what to expect when you get a call. I focused on the thought of helping families and people, but you have to be prepared to see a lot of things that you're not prepared to see." "One night, my best friend's father had a heart attack in front of me, and he died," she continues. "I was on call, and that was one of the first times ever I realized how difficult this job was, but it turned out to be a good lesson for me. I was glad that I could be there for my best friend, and I was able to walk through that journey with her." Being there for others in their time of need is fulfilling, but can also be emotionally draining. Owen shares that you "learn very quickly how to suppress your emotions so you can take care of other people." "It's not about us, it's about their feelings," Owen shares. "Whatever we can do for the family to make things easier for them. But, over time, it got to be a lot for me. The older I get as a funeral director, I feel like I take it home a lot more than I did in the beginning." While working in funeral service, Owen has "braced herself for solemn moments," and there have admittedly "been a lot" of them. 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Amid the AIDS crisis, this photographer documented a sunlit haven for gay men
Amid the AIDS crisis, this photographer documented a sunlit haven for gay men

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Amid the AIDS crisis, this photographer documented a sunlit haven for gay men

In a grassy outcrop along Lake Michigan's deep blue waters, two young men pictured in a color slide photograph relax on towels, shirtless and curled against each other. Along the rocky ledges, other men chat and sunbathe, bicycles and shoes abandoned on the ground. A vintage Cherry Coke can — one of the image's only markers of time — gives the intimate scene a subtle feeling of an idyllic advertisement, and a sense of nostalgia. Decades later, that feeling is more acute: the gay beach in Chicago where it was taken no longer exists, memorialized today by a 2.5-acre garden in memory of those who lost their lives to AIDS. The image, shot by then-aspiring photographer Doug Ischar, is part of his series 'Marginal Waters,' capturing the summer of 1985 as gay Chicagoans gathered at the Belmont Rocks, which became both a site for pleasure and solace as the AIDS epidemic devastated LGBTQ+ life. The lakefront stretch was a haven until the early 2000s, when it was demolished and refortified to prevent coastal flooding. '(The photos) document a way of life that I thought was very particular and also feared was, in a sense, doomed,' Ischar said in a video call with CNN. Pockets where gay men could be open and relaxed in the US were rare, and the disease, ignored by the government for years, only stigmatized the community further during a time of peril. 'I feared the life of gay men would be forced back underground and hidden away, as it was for centuries,' he added. At the time, Ischar, who made the series during his graduate studies at California Institute of the Arts, found there was little interest in his work. But, decades later, encouraged by gallerists, he began bringing them out of the archives. Now, some of those images, including of the unnamed couple, are included in the exhibition 'City in a Garden: Queer Art and Activism in Chicago' at the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago. The expansive group show, which opens in July, positions the city as an underrecognized hub for LGBTQ+ art and social action. According to the show's curator, Jack Schneider, US cities beyond New York City and San Francisco are often overlooked in their contributions to queer history; 'City in a Garden' aims to broaden that scope. '('Marginal Waters') were some of the first artworks I thought of when I started to think of this exhibition,' Schneider said. 'I find them profoundly melancholic. They're bright, leisurely and romantic at times. But beneath this surface-level serenity, the AIDS crisis (had) ravaged this community.' In 1985, and four years into his presidency, Ronald Reagan had only just publicly acknowledged the epidemic for the first time, and effective treatments were still years away. As Ischar recounted, people within the community were dying every day. 'It was a really dark time, and yet, what Doug so beautifully captures in his images is how people at the Belmont Rocks still found time to just live their lives and to do so enthusiastically,' Schneider explained. What made the Belmont Rocks unique among gay beaches was its visibility, Ischar noted. He had traveled to others around the country and abroad and found that none were as centrally located and overt. In Chicago, a mix of sand, grass and concrete beaches stretch up and down the densely populated eastern side of the city, near an expressway that serves as a major artery. 'It was unmistakable. People drove past the place on Lake Shore Drive hundreds of times a day,' he recalled. 'Chicago's version was uniquely frank and open and in your face.' Though Ischar is a gay man, he was still an outlier there, documenting as a fly-on-the-wall rather than a participant in the scene — a 'resident nuisance,' as he described himself. He didn't know the couple relaxing with the Cherry Coke, nor had he ever seen them before. He was struck, however, by the 'lovely juxtaposition' of the position of their bodies and their skin tones, and the sweet nature of their young love. 'They're so tender with each other,' he said. Looking at the image, Schneider notes how their coiling form feels symbolic. 'It's a nice visual metaphor for what homosexuality is — not a meeting of opposites, a meeting of likeness,' he said. In other instances, Ischar captured similar moments of romance and desire: closed eyes, tilted heads, encircled arms, narrow gaps of space for low murmurs to travel. (Despite the sexual freedom the Rocks fostered, he never photographed any blatant sex acts, he noted). But other forms of intimacy were abound, too, in the casual ease of people sunbathing together, and the closeness of Ischar with his subjects as he moved in to snap each scene — intimacy that transfers to the viewer. Many of the days that passed that summer were unremarkable, Ischar said. But, visually, that was the point. Ischar set out to photograph images of gay men he had 'never seen,' he said — that is, out in the real world, going on about their lives. It was a departure from the staged, often dramatic studio portraits of artists like Robert Mapplethorpe and Peter Hujar, or earlier, George Platt Lynes and James Bidgood. In the 2010s and '20s, other queer archives of the 1970s and '80s have been discovered, rediscovered, or published anew, from Tom Bianchi's Polaroids of gay men summering at Fire Island, to Donna Gottschalk's images of a lesbian-separatist commune in California, to Patric McCoy's portraits of Black gay men in Chicago — the last of which is also featured in 'City in a Garden.' Ischar's own images languished for many years, he noted, but he hopes that is continuing to change. 'I really wanted to leave a hopefully beautiful and penetrating portrait of this time and these people,' he said.

Amid the AIDS crisis, this photographer documented a sunlit haven for gay men
Amid the AIDS crisis, this photographer documented a sunlit haven for gay men

CNN

timean hour ago

  • CNN

Amid the AIDS crisis, this photographer documented a sunlit haven for gay men

In a grassy outcrop along Lake Michigan's deep blue waters, two young men pictured in a color slide photograph relax on towels, shirtless and curled against each other. Along the rocky ledges, other men chat and sunbathe, bicycles and shoes abandoned on the ground. A vintage Cherry Coke can — one of the image's only markers of time — gives the intimate scene a subtle feeling of an idyllic advertisement, and a sense of nostalgia. Decades later, that feeling is more acute: the gay beach in Chicago where it was taken no longer exists, memorialized today by a 2.5-acre garden in memory of those who lost their lives to AIDS. The image, shot by then-aspiring photographer Doug Ischar, is part of his series 'Marginal Waters,' capturing the summer of 1985 as gay Chicagoans gathered at the Belmont Rocks, which became both a site for pleasure and solace as the AIDS epidemic devastated LGBTQ+ life. The lakefront stretch was a haven until the early 2000s, when it was demolished and refortified to prevent coastal flooding. '(The photos) document a way of life that I thought was very particular and also feared was, in a sense, doomed,' Ischar said in a video call with CNN. Pockets where gay men could be open and relaxed in the US were rare, and the disease, ignored by the government for years, only stigmatized the community further during a time of peril. 'I feared the life of gay men would be forced back underground and hidden away, as it was for centuries,' he added. At the time, Ischar, who made the series during his graduate studies at California Institute of the Arts, found there was little interest in his work. But, decades later, encouraged by gallerists, he began bringing them out of the archives. Now, some of those images, including of the unnamed couple, are included in the exhibition 'City in a Garden: Queer Art and Activism in Chicago' at the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago. The expansive group show, which opens in July, positions the city as an underrecognized hub for LGBTQ+ art and social action. According to the show's curator, Jack Schneider, US cities beyond New York City and San Francisco are often overlooked in their contributions to queer history; 'City in a Garden' aims to broaden that scope. '('Marginal Waters') were some of the first artworks I thought of when I started to think of this exhibition,' Schneider said. 'I find them profoundly melancholic. They're bright, leisurely and romantic at times. But beneath this surface-level serenity, the AIDS crisis (had) ravaged this community.' In 1985, and four years into his presidency, Ronald Reagan had only just publicly acknowledged the epidemic for the first time, and effective treatments were still years away. As Ischar recounted, people within the community were dying every day. 'It was a really dark time, and yet, what Doug so beautifully captures in his images is how people at the Belmont Rocks still found time to just live their lives and to do so enthusiastically,' Schneider explained. What made the Belmont Rocks unique among gay beaches was its visibility, Ischar noted. He had traveled to others around the country and abroad and found that none were as centrally located and overt. In Chicago, a mix of sand, grass and concrete beaches stretch up and down the densely populated eastern side of the city, near an expressway that serves as a major artery. 'It was unmistakable. People drove past the place on Lake Shore Drive hundreds of times a day,' he recalled. 'Chicago's version was uniquely frank and open and in your face.' Though Ischar is a gay man, he was still an outlier there, documenting as a fly-on-the-wall rather than a participant in the scene — a 'resident nuisance,' as he described himself. He didn't know the couple relaxing with the Cherry Coke, nor had he ever seen them before. He was struck, however, by the 'lovely juxtaposition' of the position of their bodies and their skin tones, and the sweet nature of their young love. 'They're so tender with each other,' he said. Looking at the image, Schneider notes how their coiling form feels symbolic. 'It's a nice visual metaphor for what homosexuality is — not a meeting of opposites, a meeting of likeness,' he said. In other instances, Ischar captured similar moments of romance and desire: closed eyes, tilted heads, encircled arms, narrow gaps of space for low murmurs to travel. (Despite the sexual freedom the Rocks fostered, he never photographed any blatant sex acts, he noted). But other forms of intimacy were abound, too, in the casual ease of people sunbathing together, and the closeness of Ischar with his subjects as he moved in to snap each scene — intimacy that transfers to the viewer. Many of the days that passed that summer were unremarkable, Ischar said. But, visually, that was the point. Ischar set out to photograph images of gay men he had 'never seen,' he said — that is, out in the real world, going on about their lives. It was a departure from the staged, often dramatic studio portraits of artists like Robert Mapplethorpe and Peter Hujar, or earlier, George Platt Lynes and James Bidgood. In the 2010s and '20s, other queer archives of the 1970s and '80s have been discovered, rediscovered, or published anew, from Tom Bianchi's Polaroids of gay men summering at Fire Island, to Donna Gottschalk's images of a lesbian-separatist commune in California, to Patric McCoy's portraits of Black gay men in Chicago — the last of which is also featured in 'City in a Garden.' Ischar's own images languished for many years, he noted, but he hopes that is continuing to change. 'I really wanted to leave a hopefully beautiful and penetrating portrait of this time and these people,' he said.

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