Semi-truck hauling turkeys rolls over near Gunnison
Just after 5 a.m., crews responded to a semi-truck hauling turkeys that was traveling northbound on US-89. Police say the semi was traveling too fast while making a right turn onto SR-28 in Gunnison.
The truck was on its side and blocking all lanes when crews arrived. No one was injured during the incident; however, police say a number of turkeys were affected.
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Cameron Roden with Utah Highway Patrol confirmed a number of turkeys were spilled onto the roadway. Officials have been on scene cleaning the area and expect the road to be reopened soon.
and poultry industry in Utah. Following WWII, thanks to a business co-operative, poultry farms near Gunnison quickly transformed Utah into an exporter of turkeys, chicken, and eggs.
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Semi-truck hauling turkeys rolls over near Gunnison
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13 hours ago
David Muir shares emotional reunion between WWII veteran and fighter plane
"World News Tonight" anchor David Muir reported on a remarkable moment as a 100-year-old World War II fighter pilot returned to the skies over McKinleyville, California, taking the controls of the same type of aircraft he flew during combat missions more than seven decades ago. Retired U.S. Air Force Col. Joe Peterburs, who enlisted in 1942 at the age of 18, took to the air in a P-51 Mustang, the legendary fighter aircraft in which he flew 49 combat missions during World War II. The historic flight was made possible by the nonprofit organization "Rumble Over the Redwoods," dedicated to preserving aviation heritage and inspiring future generations. Peterburs' incredible military service spanned decades. After earning his pilot wings and becoming a second lieutenant, he faced numerous challenges during WWII, including being captured by German forces after an ejection and subsequently escaping. His service continued through the Korean War, where he flew 76 combat missions, and extended into the Vietnam era. He ultimately retired as a colonel in 1969. During the commemorative flight, Peterburs demonstrated that his adventurous spirit hadn't dimmed with age. Observers watched in amazement as the aircraft performed a roll, with the centenarian veteran and his pilot briefly flying upside down, waving from high in the sky. After landing, Peterburs was visibly moved by the experience. "It was a really exhilarating experience and brought back a lot of memories," he told ABC News. The veteran pilot also shared a powerful message for future generations: "To maintain what we have today, you got to do your best. Do your best in whatever you endeavor. And I wish you a lot of luck." The flight served as both a personal milestone for Peterburs and a powerful reminder of what World War II veterans did for our country.
Los Angeles Times
3 days ago
- Los Angeles Times
When the going gets tough for L.A., our city rallies like no other
Los Angeles has portals to its future sprinkled across the city: Silicon Beach. Hollywood. Public schools. The ruins of Pacific Palisades. What goes on inside at City Hall and the Hall of Administration. But why go to those obvious choices when trying to figure out which way L.A. is going when the best answer is right in front of Platinum Showgirls LA? I parked next to the downtown gentleman's club on a recent weekday morning to do just that. A hulking security guard stood outside the entrance, the 101 Freeway buzzing nearby. So were the street vendors setting up for another day of business, damn the migra agents driving in and out of the Metropolitan Detention Center just up Commercial Street. But I wasn't there for the sights or sounds — or what was going on inside Platinum Showgirls. I was there to scour the sidewalk for a plaque dedicated to a tree. For centuries, a six-story-tall sycamore stood near this slice of land and saw empires come and go. Indigenous people from across Southern California and beyond gathered under its shade for special councils and to meet with its caretakers, the residents of the village of Yaanga. It was an awe-inspiring sight for the pobladores who came from Mexico in 1789 and set up El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles in the name of the Spanish crown. The sycamore — now bearing the name El Aliso — appears as a towering black splotch in the first known photo of Los Angeles, shot in the early 1860s when the city was in the process of turning from a Mexican village into an American town. When El Aliso was finally chopped down in 1895, felled by brewery owners who inadvertently killed the giant after cutting off too many limbs and paving over its roots, residents took chips from it as a memento mori of sorts. But El Aliso never truly died. It lived on in the history books but especially in the memory of the descendants of the people who had seen the sycamore grow from a seed to a giant. In 2019, members of the Kizh-Gabrieleño Band of Mission Indians were present as representatives from the city of Los Angeles laid a bronze plaque on the sidewalk at the northeast corner of Commercial and Vignes streets — in the shadow of what was then a different strip club — to commemorate El Aliso. 'While its physical presence is gone,' the plaque stated, 'the oral history handed down through the generations has kept its beauty and story alive in the Kizh people.' I was looking to read those words for myself, to touch them and the etching of El Aliso that hovered above the dedication. To take inspiration from this fundamental part of L.A.'s past in hopes of divining its future. But when I finally figured out where the plaque was supposed to be, I found a shallow slot strewn with trash and the remnants of the adhesive that once kept the plaque in its place. Leave it to 2025 for thieves to make off with a memorial to L.A.'s mother tree. The fires. The raids. Housing inequality. Homelessness. Cost of living. Trump's never-ending war against L.A. anything. Is the Big One around the corner? Probably. Nothing seems to be going right in Lost Angeles right now. Trump says it. Too many residents feel it. Too many former Angelenos scream it. How can one possibly even think about a better future when the present is so bad? How can one even think about any future when the current outlook seems so bleak? But as I walked back to my car, an answer occurred to me that I wasn't expecting to be so hopeful. Before I joined The Times in 2019, I never had any real interest or investment in L.A. Oh, I visited family and friends and paid some attention to the political scene from my native Anaheim. Went to UCLA for graduate school, haunted the Sunset Strip and Thai Town for rock en español shows in my cub reporter days. But L.A. was just … L.A. Huge. Cool. Really diverse. But special? No more so than any other great world city. I never felt the metropolis up the 5 to be a den of grossness like too many of my fellow Orange Countians still think it is. It also never called to me as a promised land like it did to my creative O.C. friends, either. I generally rooted for L.A., but its future meant nothing to me. My opinion obviously changed as I began to cover it as a columnist starting in 2020 and tried to commit the layout and vibe of the city to my mind. One of the first things that struck me in a way I never anticipated was how precarious everyone felt their lives to be. Oh, I had read enough Joan Didion, Mike Davis, Nathaneal West and other writers to not be too surprised by this. But seeing it manifested was something else, and it made a lot of things about the city finally click. From the Westside to the Eastside, from Wilmington through South L.A. and all the way to the San Fernando Valley, I met person after person who acted and lived as if what they had scraped for themselves was at risk of disappearing in an instant, in the most disastrous fashion imaginable. I initially thought this betrayed an insecurity in the Angeleno soul, but then I realized it was something worse. If anyone's L.A. dream could crumble at any moment, that meant you had to defend it at any cost — and especially at the expense of everyone else. The more I talked to people and studied L.A. history, the more this outsider felt that the idea of fighting for the dream was what created a famously segregated city that too often erupts, whether electorally or otherwise. In an era where stratification is worse than ever and the federal government has declared war on various fronts — legal, psychological, financial — the L.A. of the past can't be the guiding light for the L.A. of the future. The city might have grown and operated as 19 suburbs in search of a metropolis — as Aldous Huxley infamously wrote — through most of the 20th century, but it's time to act like a united front if we're going to successfully navigate the rest of the 21st. And the rallying cry should be what we're going through right now, what L.A. has weathered again and again: Disaster. Because when the going gets tough for L.A., the city rallies like only it can. Americans should see this resilience and the subsequent spur of creativity and hope as a blueprint on how to fight back and not just survive, but thrive better than ever. Nothing has proved this more than our current year, with two catastrophes that would have buckled, if not outright destroyed, other cities. The Palisades and Eaton fires in January were infernos of biblical dimensions. People died, houses were incinerated, neighborhoods were eradicated. The suffering will continue for years, if not decades. Residents know their past can never be recaptured — and yet they continue to rebuild for whatever's next. Angelenos could've stayed to themselves in the aftermath, but they chose not to. They choose not to. The rest of L.A. has stood up to help survivors through financial donations and clothing and food drives and benefits that continue and whatever folks in the Palisades and Altadena need. At one of the city's darkest hours, Los Angeles shone brighter than ever. I write this columna during a long deportation summer unleashed on L.A. and beyond by a native son of Santa Monica in what amounts to a racist revanchist snit. Even a generation ago, large swaths of L.A. would have been cheering on the raids. But today's L.A. isn't having it. As with the fires, fundraisers and mutual aid societies and neighborhood watch groups have sprouted. The city, from Mayor Karen Bass to street vendors, knows that it's up against an Orwellian apparatus that wants us to collapse — and that L.A. will win. Because L.A. always wins. We might not know how the victory will look, but we know it'll happen. See how I use 'we'? Because while I plan to forever live in Orange County, I want to be a part of this future L.A. — an area, a people that teaches the rest of the United States how we'll triumph as calamities of all types seem to crash down on this country with increasing regularity. All of the stories and columns in this package are about that, from housing to fires, disasters to palm trees, transportation to climate change and beyond. No one thinks it's going to be easy — if anything, it's probably going to be harder than ever. But everyone expects victory. The miracle of L.A. has gone too far for it to fail. Which takes me back to El Aliso. I haven't read anything about the theft of its plaque, so I'm not sure when it happened. But people will read this and be upset. People will do something to mark El Aliso's existence in front of a gentleman's club near the 101 Freeway once more. That means El Aliso will continue to live — maybe as a plaque, maybe as a hologram, maybe as something even grander. It can't die, because that means we will. It must live, because that means so will the rest of us. L.A. is frequently seen as a place of destruction, where the past is bulldozed and forgotten and then trivialized and romanticized. But the Native American tribes that the Spaniards tried to eradicate are still here. The Latinos that Manifest Destiny tried to vanquish are now nearly half of the population of this most American of cities. L.A. will survive whatever happens next. We will figure it out. We always do. There's no other way. There's no other option.
Yahoo
3 days ago
- Yahoo
‘Children like me had to carry bodies': Japan A-bomb survivors urge world not to forget 80 years on
She was only eight when she saw people with their skin peeling off, faces swollen beyond recognition, stumbling through a city in flames. For Keiko Ogura, a survivor of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, the morning of 6 August 1945 was the day her childhood ended. She remembers the moment the bomb fell: Hiroshima flattened in an instant, as if a giant had stomped the city into the ground. 'Buildings were crushed, and fires broke out everywhere. That night, Hiroshima burned. The entire city kept burning through the night.' Ogura's family had moved a year earlier to the far side of a small hill just outside the city centre – a decision, made by her father to avoid air raids, that ultimately saved their lives. The hill stood between their home and the bomb's hypocentre, shielding them from the full force of the blast. Scenes of horror surrounded Ogura in the days after the bombing. Survivors had leapt into Hiroshima's seven rivers to escape the fires, but many drowned or died from their injuries. She remembers the waterways choked with bodies – some drifting downstream, others washing back with the tide, missing limbs and swarmed by flies. Mass cremations became part of daily life. In front of her home alone, her father cremated around 700 people. 'Even children like me had to help carry bodies on straw mats,' she recalled in a video published by the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum. Nearly eight decades later, those memories remain vivid – etched with scenes of unbearable pain and incalculable loss. For Ogura, they are more than personal recollections. They are warnings. Warnings, she says, that the world must never allow itself to forget. Hiroshima Day, observed each year on 6 August, commemorates one of the most devastating moments in human history – the atomic bombing of Hiroshima by the United States in 1945, during the final days of the Second World War. That morning, a US B-29 bomber named Enola Gay dropped a uranium-based atomic bomb, nicknamed 'Little Boy', which detonated about 600 metres above the city. The explosion unleashed a ferocious blast, scorching heat, and lethal radiation, instantly killing 70,000 to 80,000 people. In the days and months that followed, tens of thousands more died from injuries and radiation sickness. The city was flattened, and survivors – known as hibakusha – endured long-term health effects and unimaginable psychological trauma. Three days later, on 9 August, the US dropped a second bomb, 'Fat Man,' over Nagasaki. These bombings marked the first and only use of nuclear weapons in war and led to Japan's surrender on 15 August 1945, bringing the Second World War to an end. The atomic bombings killed more than 210,000 people. Hiroshima and Nagasaki stand as lasting reminders not only of the immense human tragedy that unfolded, but of the profound danger nuclear weapons pose to humanity in today's fractured world. In the years since 1945, survivors, activists, and global leaders have repeatedly invoked the devastation as a stark plea for disarmament and a cautionary lesson for generations to come. Last year, survivors of the bombings said that receiving the Nobel Peace Prize had renewed their determination to campaign for nuclear disarmament. 'I felt like I needed to work even harder on what I had done so far,' Terumi Tanaka, who survived the atomic attack on Nagasaki, told the Associated Press at the time. Tanaka, 93, spoke at a press conference in Tokyo last year following his return from Oslo, where he accepted the Nobel Peace Prize on behalf of Nihon Hidankyo, the organisation of Japanese atomic bomb survivors. 'I believe it is important to focus on the next 10 years and strengthen the movement moving forward,' he added. 'I would like to lead a big movement of testimonials.' On Monday, Tanaka told the press: 'I believe a nuclear war could happen in the near future. Most young people today may not know how many nuclear weapons exist. There are 12,000 nuclear warheads.' He added: 'One warhead is 2,000 times more powerful than the bombs 80 years ago.' This year marks the 80th anniversary of the atomic bombings – a poignant milestone for survivors and campaigners alike. Last year, Michiko Kodama, who survived the Hiroshima bombing, said: 'We hibakusha who saw the hell ... within a decade won't be around to tell the reality of the atomic bombing. I want to keep telling our stories as long as we live.' Kodama was seven years old in August 1945. 'I saw an extremely strong light coming in from the window. It was white, or shall I say yellow? So strong that I couldn't keep my eyes open,' another survivor, Fumi Takeshita, 80, remembered. 'It was the day after the bomb dropped. [My father] walked through the hypocenter, the Urakami area, and heard many people calling for help. There were heaps of bodies, too. Buildings were crashed to the ground and there was nothing left, apparently. I heard that from my grandmother. She said, 'Fumi-chan, remember the light you saw the other day? Because of that, there is nothing left in Urakami, and many people died'.' While Takeshita painfully recalls the devastation in the aftermath of the atomic bombing, other survivors have also borne the weight of their memories for decades. Despite battling numerous health issues, 83-year-old survivor Kunihiko Iida has dedicated his retirement to sharing his story in the hope of advancing the cause of nuclear disarmament. Iida now volunteers as a guide at Hiroshima's Peace Memorial Park, determined to raise awareness among foreign visitors, who he believes often lack a full understanding of the bombings. Iida tried to scream, 'Mummy, help!' on that day in August 1945, but no sound came out, he recalled. He was eventually rescued by his grandfather. Within a month, his 25-year-old mother and four-year-old sister died after suffering nosebleeds, skin problems, and extreme fatigue – symptoms of radiation exposure. Iida experienced similar effects throughout elementary school but slowly recovered. It wasn't until he was nearly 60 that he returned to the peace park at the bombing site. His elderly aunt asked him to go with her, and he finally agreed. It was his first visit since that day. 'The only path to peace is nuclear weapons' abolishment. There is no other way,' Iida says. With each passing year, as the hibakusha grow older, their warnings also feel more urgent. As of 31 March 2025, Japan's Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare reported that there were only 99,130 people officially recognised as hibakusha. Their calls for a nuclear-free world have yet to be realised. Instead, rising global tensions have brought back fears of a nuclear war. Just recently, US president Donald Trump said he ordered the deployment of nuclear submarines near Russia in response to what he described as threatening remarks from Moscow. In 2024, nearly all nine nuclear-armed states – the United States, Russia, the United Kingdom, France, China, India, Pakistan, North Korea, and Israel – continued to pursue extensive nuclear modernisation programmes, upgrading existing arsenals and developing newer, more advanced weapons, according to a report by the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI). 'As of January 2025, an estimated 12,241 nuclear warheads existed worldwide, with approximately 9,614 held in military stockpiles and available for potential use,' the report said. In March 2023, Russia announced plans to deploy tactical nuclear weapons to Belarus – marking the first time it has stationed such arms outside its borders since the Soviet Union's collapse. While not an outright breach of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT), critics contended that, much like Nato's nuclear sharing arrangements, the move undermines the treaty's spirit. Then, in November 2024, Russian president Vladimir Putin approved revisions to Russia's nuclear doctrine – changes that, according to many analysts, appeared to lower the threshold for potential nuclear use. Last year in November, North Korea's UN envoy said that the country has vowed to accelerate its nuclear weapons programme after testing an intercontinental ballistic missile, citing threats from the US. Kim Song, North Korea's ambassador to the UN, said during a security council meeting that Pyongyang would accelerate the programme to 'counter any threat presented by hostile nuclear weapons states'. Last month, it was reported that China is expanding its nuclear arsenal faster than any other country, with at least 600 warheads now in its stockpile and about 100 being added annually since 2023, according to SIPRI. The SIPRI report also mentioned that Israel, though it does not officially acknowledge having nuclear weapons, is believed to be modernising its arsenal. In 2024, the report said it tested a missile propulsion system likely linked to its nuclear-capable Jericho ballistic missiles, and satellite imagery suggested ongoing upgrades at its Dimona plutonium production facility. The report noted: 'Russia and the USA together possess around 90 per cent of all nuclear weapons. The sizes of their respective military stockpiles (ie useable warheads) seem to have stayed relatively stable in 2024, but both states are implementing extensive modernisation programmes that could increase the size and diversity of their arsenals in the future.' 'The era of reductions in the number of nuclear weapons in the world, which had lasted since the end of the Cold War, is coming to an end,' said Hans M Kristensen, associate senior fellow with SIPRI's Weapons of Mass Destruction Programme and director of the Nuclear Information Project at the Federation of American Scientists (FAS). 'Instead, we see a clear trend of growing nuclear arsenals, sharpened nuclear rhetoric and the abandonment of arms control agreements.' Tanaka of Nihon Hidankyo told the media on Monday: 'There are 3,000 to 4,000 ready-to-use nuclear warheads that leaders can launch instantly. Accidental launches can also happen. That's the world we all live in. If that happens, young people will lose their future. I want to tell young people to think about this.' So this August, when the world holds events and talks of nuclear disarmament and a future free of atomic weapons, the question still looms: have the powers that be deliberately made nuclear disarmament a distant dream in today's world? Is the dream of a nuclear-free world further out of reach? And in the process, are we beginning to forget the horrors that hibakusha like Keiko Ogura endured? On Monday, Norwegian Nobel Committee chair Jorgen Frydnes said: 'I don't think fear [of nuclear weapons] is the solution to our problems. The hibakusha clearly show that it is possible, even though in a situation of pain, sorrow, [and] grief, to choose peace, and that's the message we want the world to listen to.' Frydnes visited Hiroshima and Nagasaki last week, ahead of the 80th anniversaries of the atomic bombings. 'Their story is also a story of memory becoming a force for change,' he said.
