Latest news with #Chapin
Yahoo
14-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Prehistoric fun: T-rex races highlight Bay County Chamber of Commerce Block Party
BAY COUNTY, Fla. (WMBB) – Bay County residents came together Thursday night for an evening of fun. The annual Bay County Chamber of Commerce block party brought out people of all ages. Chamber members say the event celebrates growth in the community. 'It's really to give back into our community here in Bay County is so supportive of our businesses. So we want to give back. And we are chamber of commerce, but we're also chamber of community,' Bay County Chamber of Commerce President Patrick Chapin said. Completed Econfina Creek improvements promote safety and efficiency Crowds lined the streets, stopping to listen to live music by arcade sounds. Dozens of local businesses joined in, handing out free food, drinks, and ice cream. Kids burned off energy with hula hoops and the bounce house. The bounce house is one of the many things here for kids to enjoy. But the main event of the night is the t-rex relay race. 20 teams competed against each other in three engaging mini-games that participants must complete before reaching the finish led the t-rexes through each challenge. 'They each have a handler. Now, the handlers are really the heroes of all of it because these things are mean animals,' Chapin said. Short arms proved to be a challenge for the T-rexes. Safety before shamrocks; local authorities warn about DUIs ahead of the St. Patrick's day weekend 'The claws did not work very well with the water balloons, but other than that, it was super fun,' Dinosaur Beth Klein said. Even Captain America and Black Widow showed up to get in on all of the fun. In May, the Bay County Chamber of Commerce will be celebrating tourism appreciation month. One of those events will be 'Punch on the Porch' at the Mexico Beach Welcome Center on May 3rd. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Chicago Tribune
10-03-2025
- General
- Chicago Tribune
Which chemical sprayer is best for gardens?
Best chemical sprayer for gardens We're getting into that beautiful time of year when the sun shines, the birds sing and the flowers and produce grow. Whether you're a casual or avid gardener, you will inevitably be dealing with weeds and bugs. To handle these pesky deterrents, you're going to need a solid garden chemical sprayer to quickly and effectively apply herbicides and pesticides. The good news is this is a cost-effective and straightforward way to protect your garden and make it as beautiful as you've envisioned all winter long. You'll be glad to know chemical sprayers for your garden are multipurpose for washing, landscaping and painting. Garden chemical sprayer features You'll want to consider various features when it comes to the best chemical sprayer for your garden, including: How well they saturate your lawn or garden The power source (battery, gas, manual pump) Ease of cleaning and maintaining Portability Operation (handheld, backpack, on wheels) Comfort Weight Materials (common ones are plastic and stainless or galvanized steel) Gas sprayers are easy to use but expensive to buy. Battery-powered units are similar but come with the added cost and environmental impact of replacing those batteries. Pump or manual sprayers require the most elbow grease but are also the cheapest. When considering materials, keep in mind that plastic is cheaper but less durable than stainless or galvanized steel. If you're someone with carpal tunnel syndrome or other ergonomic issues, know that many chemical sprayers are ergonomically designed with locking switches that you don't need to hold in place. Overall and most importantly, your sprayer should do a great job of keeping your garden pest and weed-free, allowing your beautiful flowers and tasty produce to thrive. Here are our top picks for the best garden chemical sprayers, no matter what your needs may be. Best garden chemical sprayers Chapin 61900 4-Gallon Tree and Turf Pro Commercial Backpack Sprayer Gardeners love this durable, user-friendly sprayer with its comfortable backpack. Easy to assemble, use and clean up, it comes with several filters that prevent clogging. Field King 190515 Professionals Battery Powered Backpack Sprayer This battery-powered sprayer lasts up to four hours and comes with multiple nozzle types. Durable and comfortable, it won't clog and requires no pumping. Chapin 20000 Garden Sprayer This solid, portable sprayer does an excellent all-around job for most gardeners without too big of a lawn. It features an ergonomic handle for comfort, easily adjustable stream functionality and consistent pressure. SuperHandy Fogger Machine Corded Backpack Mist Duster ULV Sprayer If you need to disinfect your garden, consider ULV fogging. This sprayer is of professional quality and quickly distributes and diffuses the product. Smith 190285 1-Gallon Bleach & Chemical Sprayer This heavy-duty sprayer has a hefty stream and is suitable for some commercial use. Simple to use and fill, it accommodates more corrosive substances like bleach. ITISLL Manual Garden Sprayer Hand Lawn Pressure Pump Sprayer This simple and small sprayer is convenient to use and features a locking switch for your comfort. SOLO HDPE Handheld Sprayer With just one-liter capacity, this anticorrosive sprayer is convenient to handle for small jobs and can also switch to mist mode. It features a locking trigger to give your hand a rest. VIVOSUN 0.8 Gallon Lawn and Garden Pump Pressure Sprayer With an easy-to-fill translucent bottle, so you can monitor liquid level, this garden sprayer features a long watering wand to access hard-to-reach spots. It comes with a thick shoulder strap and a comfort grip handle. Smith 190216 2-Gallon Max Contractor Sprayer This is a powerful, commercial-grade sprayer that is easy to pump and clean. It features an adjustable nozzle and a big paddle grip. Chapin International 26021XP Compression Sprayer This anti-clog sprayer is easy to fill and clean, and it works with most pesticides and fertilizers. The clear container allows you to check the fluid level at a glance. The unit features a cushion grip and ergonomic handle, perfect for lengthy applications. Field King 190328 Backpack Sprayer This durable Field King sprayer won't leak. It comes with adjustable, flat and foaming nozzles for various applications and a lockable shut-off. Prices listed reflect time and date of publication and are subject to change. BestReviews spends thousands of hours researching, analyzing and testing products to recommend the best picks for most consumers. BestReviews and its newspaper partners may earn a commission if you purchase a product through one of our links.
Yahoo
06-03-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Commentary: Why this Puritan sculpture may revolutionize your thinking about the rise of Christian nationalism
The tyrannical doctrine of Christian nationalism, which falsely claims that the United States is a country founded by and for Christians, comes and goes — a recessive trait in the body politic that has reared its ugly head throughout American history. Today, however, the scourge is on the dangerous brink of being fully institutionalized in Washington, D.C., courtesy of the Trump administration. We've been there, done that once before — and it was a flop. For details, check out this extraordinary sculpture, which looks back to a fiasco from 375 years ago. The great American Beaux-Arts sculptor Augustus Saint-Gaudens was commissioned in the 1880s to create a memorial statue to Deacon Samuel Chapin, a pious mover and shaker (not that kind of Shaker) in the original Massachusetts Bay Colony. An ordained Puritan minister, Chapin was my ninth great-grandfather — a colonial transplant, born in England in 1598, who arrived in Boston as a 20-something, then headed west. Since no pictures of him exist, the artist hired a professional model to pose for the commemorative statue. Saint-Gaudens' square-jawed fellow is dressed as the sartorial epitome of colonial sobriety. He wears a fashionable doublet, breeches, stockings, chunky strapped shoes and a tall felt hat with a buckle in the hatband. Striding forward, his sturdy right hand clutches a knobby wooden walking stick, cut from a tree branch and stripped. The stick, a likely nod to a biblical shepherd's staff, yields an image of stern authority. Anchoring the figure to the base, it also has a practical function: The cane helps support and stabilize one side of the weighty bronze. Most dramatically, Chapin is enveloped by the voluminous folds of a massive cloak. He looks like some intrepid 17th century Batman. This caped crusader effortlessly cradles a colossal Bible in the crook of his left arm. Hefty latches lock shut the big book's pages, the final word on matters spiritual having been recorded for eternity. A powerful, idealized man of God casts his eyes down toward the ground beneath his feet, rather than heavenward. It's as if he's claiming nature's untrampled territory with his reverential gaze — a distinctly political act for a colonizer. Saint-Gaudens' imposing, full-length bronze figure, soon nicknamed 'The Puritan,' was an immediate sensation. Today it ranks with his 'Robert Gould Shaw Memorial' on Boston Common, an elaborate bronze relief that commemorates African American soldiers serving in the Civil War, including two of Frederick Douglass' sons. His other premier work is a classic man-on-a-horse — the gilded equestrian statue of William Tecumseh Sherman, victorious Union Army general, standing in front of the Plaza Hotel at an entrance to New York's Central Park. But it was 'The Puritan' that caught the popular imagination like no other, embedding the icon in the national consciousness. At his Paris studio, Saint-Gaudens began pumping out scaled-down versions, each about 2½ feet tall and in a choice of different bronze patinas — black, green, golden brown — to meet customer demand. Today, among the more than three dozen that he and his widow, Augusta, sold, examples are in the collections of major museums across America. They include Boston's Museum of Fine Arts, New York's Metropolitan, Pittsburgh's Carnegie Museum, the Art Institute of Chicago and the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. Puritans were religious fanatics — the Christian nationalists of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Most know they came by the boatload from England in the early 1600s, searching for their religious freedom. Few know why they disappeared less than a century later. The answer: political failure. Puritans said religion and government don't mix, based on the repression their combative sect experienced in Europe. But they couldn't help themselves. In New England, they meddled, manipulated and even murdered. (Fanaticism is like that. It's hard to back off when you've decided you're speaking for God.) Not until the whole thing collapsed a hundred years on did space open for a fledgling radical experiment in democratic government, which became the United States. Religious freedom got protected by law, but the Puritans missed out. Chapin — with lawyer and future colonial governor John Winthrop, savvy business entrepreneur William Pynchon and other British-born Puritans — left England in the 1620s as part of the Great Migration. In 1636, a small band traveled deep into the Connecticut River Valley, north of Hartford, and established rural towns through a covenant with the Pocumtuck Indians. Pynchon named one town Springfield, after his Essex birthplace, east of London. Further up the river, Chapin named Chicopee, a Nipmuc word for evergreen red cedar. Trouble followed. Religious trouble. On Oct. 16, 1650, a 158-page volume written by Pynchon, 'The Meritorious Price of Our Redemption,' had the dubious distinction of being the first book in American history ordered to be burned by a local government. Pynchon was a devout Puritan, but his sober dismantling of a foundational element of the faith, with which he disagreed, caused an uproar. The arcane theological dispute concerned the precise meaning of Jesus' suffering during crucifixion, which Pynchon wrote was not the true source of sinners' redemption — the larger example of the prophet's life was. The book was banned in Boston — a phrase for suppressive moral outrage that survives to this day. The city's General Court went further. Noting condemnation by the colony's leading government officials, the judges ruled that all the books should be torched on Boston Common for everyone to see. Just four copies of the reviled heresy survived the flames. Weaponizing religion, the Puritan government unleashed social chaos. The book-burning spectacle caused a split between Pynchon, who fled back to England, fearing for his safety, and Deacon Chapin, who stayed. For the 250th anniversary of Springfield's founding, Saint-Gaudens was commissioned to create a monument — not to Pynchon, but to Chapin. Out with the 'bad' Christian, in with the 'good' one. I saw 'The Puritan' many times as a kid, growing up a couple towns away from Springfield. It has stood since 1899 in a pocket park between the city's Central Library and Christ Church Cathedral. I never gave it much notice — I didn't know then that he was my ancestor — but now the impressive statue seems like evidence that Pynchon, Springfield's actual founder, was quietly being canceled. (Historian Daniel Crown has called him "the forgotten founding father of colonial New England.") Not until 1927 was a memorial building to Pynchon constructed as a local history museum. Canceling is today an official government practice. Trump has issued fervent anti-free-expression diktats forbidding anything but neoclassical style for new federal buildings, and disqualifying art institutions with antidiscrimination programs (DEI) from receiving National Endowment for the Arts grants. He blasted the "terrible" programs at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, while telling a reporter he'd never been there, and installed himself as its chairman. He appointed Ric Grenell, a far-right political operative with zero arts experience but a degree from Evangel University, a fundamentalist college, to run the place. Advocates of Christian nationalism now permeate Trump's government. Pete Hegseth, the Cabinet secretary with control of the U.S. military, has a big tattoo across his right bicep in a Gothic font spelling Deus Vult — the Latin term for 'God wills it' — a holy-war motto of Europe's 11th century Christian Crusades. On his chest he tattooed the Crusader's cross, born as a heraldic symbol of the recaptured Kingdom of Jerusalem. Trump's rambling, often incoherent remarks at the recent National Prayer Breakfast, a supposedly interfaith annual event in Washington, boasted his administration's Christian nationalist commitments. Followers of that corrosive doctrine had been instrumental in organizing the violent 2021 attack on the United States Capitol to keep him in power. Announcing a presidential commission on religious liberty, he cited 'anti-Christian violence and vandalism in our society' in ordering newly appointed Atty. Gen. Pam Bondi to 'eradicate anti-Christian bias' from inside the federal government. No extensive examples of said violence and vandalism were forthcoming, but Bondi has ties to the America First Policy Institute, a bizarre political think tank espousing a Christian dominion philosophy called '10 Pillars for Restoring a Nation Under God.' She co-authored a so-called religious liberty editorial with the daft head of a new White House Faith Office — far-right megachurch televangelist Paula White, who often speaks in tongues. Both are supporters of Russell Vought, an avowed Christian nationalist and principal architect of wildly unpopular Project 2025, now given the reins of the powerful Office of Management and Budget. Read more: At the Getty Villa, the marvelous exhibition rescued from the Palisades fire In a recently released hidden-camera video, Vought is seen asking, 'Can we, if we're going to have legal immigration, can we get people that actually believe in Christianity?' In an emailed response to a reporter's subsequent request for clarification, an OMB spokesperson simply replied, 'There they going [sic] again, attacking Christians in politics.' Christians, of course, really were persecuted by the Roman Empire beginning in the 1st century. Two millenniums later, when nearly 2 out of 3 U.S. adults and 87% of Congress identify as Christian, the absurd persecution claim is just culture war shtick. The America First Policy Institute has partnered with Lance Wallnau, a venomous Christian nationalist evangelical leader who publicly accused Vice President Kamala Harris of using witchcraft to win the 2024 presidential debates. Forty years after William Pynchon's books were burned in Boston, the nearby Salem witch trials exploded, with the state murdering 14 women and five men and tormenting nearly 200 others for demonic sorcery. By then, Deacon Chapin was dead, although Puritanism wasn't yet. But it was on its way out. The death knell was the wretched failure of Christian nationalism as a governing style. Government submitting to the coercion of weaponized religion in the Colony was as disastrous as faith submitting to government coercion in England. Puritanism shattered into multiple feuding sects and collapsed, and 18th century Enlightenment values of cosmopolitan secular government were ushered in. Secularism permeates the nation's liberal founding documents — the Declaration of Independence, Constitution and Bill of Rights — even as the history of Saint-Gaudens' statue of my pious ancestor demonstrates the idealistic tenacity of religious faith. Unlike the Christian faithful, Christian fanatics have been a recurrent danger throughout American history. They have driven the modern culture wars that have roiled the nation at least since 1979, when televangelist Jerry Falwell organized fundamentalists into a political movement, the preposterous Moral Majority, to protect Jim Crow segregation in schools. While I doubt that any Trump appointees identify as neo-Puritans, twice as many Republicans (67%) as Democrats (32%) think U.S. laws should be influenced by the giant locked book Saint-Gaudens tucked under his statue's arm, according to a March 2024 Pew Research Center study. As religious affiliation in America continues its steady 21st century decline, the politics behind those White House appointments get reactionary: To retain power, the small Christian nationalist MAGA sect must be served. Still, Pew also found that a slim majority of U.S. adults say they have heard or read 'nothing at all' about fanatical Christian nationalism. As the Trump administration gets into high gear, expect that to change pretty fast. When it does, 'banned in Mar-a-Lago' may well become the new standard for authoritarian moral outrage. Holy caped crusader! What would Deacon Chapin think? Get notified when the biggest stories in Hollywood, culture and entertainment go live. Sign up for L.A. Times entertainment alerts. This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
Los Angeles Times
06-03-2025
- Politics
- Los Angeles Times
Why this Puritan sculpture may revolutionize your thinking about the rise of Christian nationalism
The tyrannical doctrine of Christian nationalism, which falsely claims that the United States is a country founded by and for Christians, comes and goes — a recessive trait in the body politic that has reared its ugly head throughout American history. Today, however, the scourge is on the dangerous brink of being fully institutionalized in Washington, D.C., courtesy of the Trump administration. We've been there, done that once before — and it was a flop. For details, check out this extraordinary sculpture, which looks back to a fiasco from 375 years ago. The great American Beaux-Arts sculptor Augustus Saint-Gaudens was commissioned in the 1880s to create a memorial statue to Deacon Samuel Chapin, a pious mover and shaker (not that kind of Shaker) in the original Massachusetts Bay Colony. An ordained Puritan minister, Chapin was my ninth great-grandfather — a colonial transplant, born in England in 1598, who arrived in Boston as a 20-something, then headed west. Since no pictures of him exist, the artist hired a professional model to pose for the commemorative statue. Saint-Gaudens' square-jawed fellow is dressed as the sartorial epitome of colonial sobriety. He wears a fashionable doublet, breeches, stockings, chunky strapped shoes and a tall felt hat with a buckle in the hatband. Striding forward, his sturdy right hand clutches a knobby wooden walking stick, cut from a tree branch and stripped. The stick, a likely nod to a biblical shepherd's staff, yields an image of stern authority. Anchoring the figure to the base, it also has a practical function: The cane helps support and stabilize one side of the weighty bronze. Most dramatically, Chapin is enveloped by the voluminous folds of a massive cloak. He looks like some intrepid 17th century Batman. This caped crusader effortlessly cradles a colossal Bible in the crook of his left arm. Hefty latches lock shut the big book's pages, the final word on matters spiritual having been recorded for eternity. A powerful, idealized man of God casts his eyes down toward the ground beneath his feet, rather than heavenward. It's as if he's claiming nature's untrampled territory with his reverential gaze — a distinctly political act for a colonizer. Saint-Gaudens' imposing, full-length bronze figure, soon nicknamed 'The Puritan,' was an immediate sensation. Today it ranks with his 'Robert Gould Shaw Memorial' on Boston Common, an elaborate bronze relief that commemorates African American soldiers serving in the Civil War, including two of Frederick Douglass' sons. His other premier work is a classic man-on-a-horse — the gilded equestrian statue of William Tecumseh Sherman, victorious Union Army general, standing in front of the Plaza Hotel at an entrance to New York's Central Park. But it was 'The Puritan' that caught the popular imagination like no other, embedding the icon in the national consciousness. At his Paris studio, Saint-Gaudens began pumping out scaled-down versions, each about 2½ feet tall and in a choice of different bronze patinas — black, green, golden brown — to meet customer demand. Today, among the more than three dozen that he and his widow, Augusta, sold, examples are in the collections of major museums across America. They include Boston's Museum of Fine Arts, New York's Metropolitan, Pittsburgh's Carnegie Museum, the Art Institute of Chicago and the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. Puritans were religious fanatics — the Christian nationalists of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Most know they came by the boatload from England in the early 1600s, searching for their religious freedom. Few know why they disappeared less than a century later. The answer: political failure. Puritans said religion and government don't mix, based on the repression their combative sect experienced in Europe. But they couldn't help themselves. In New England, they meddled, manipulated and even murdered. (Fanaticism is like that. It's hard to back off when you've decided you're speaking for God.) Not until the whole thing collapsed a hundred years on did space open for a fledgling radical experiment in democratic government, which became the United States. Religious freedom got protected by law, but the Puritans missed out. Chapin — with lawyer and future colonial governor John Winthrop, savvy business entrepreneur William Pynchon and other British-born Puritans — left England in the 1620s as part of the Great Migration. In 1636, a small band traveled deep into the Connecticut River Valley, north of Hartford, and established rural towns through a covenant with the Pocumtuck Indians. Pynchon named one town Springfield, after his Essex birthplace, east of London. Further up the river, Chapin named Chicopee, a Nipmuc word for evergreen red cedar. Trouble followed. Religious trouble. On Oct. 16, 1650, a 158-page volume written by Pynchon, 'The Meritorious Price of Our Redemption,' had the dubious distinction of being the first book in American history ordered to be burned by a local government. Pynchon was a devout Puritan, but his sober dismantling of a foundational element of the faith, with which he disagreed, caused an uproar. The arcane theological dispute concerned the precise meaning of Jesus' suffering during crucifixion, which Pynchon wrote was not the true source of sinners' redemption — the larger example of the prophet's life was. The book was banned in Boston — a phrase for suppressive moral outrage that survives to this day. The city's General Court went further. Noting condemnation by the colony's leading government officials, the judges ruled that all the books should be torched on Boston Common for everyone to see. Just four copies of the reviled heresy survived the flames. Weaponizing religion, the Puritan government unleashed social chaos. The book-burning spectacle caused a split between Pynchon, who fled back to England, fearing for his safety, and Deacon Chapin, who stayed. For the 250th anniversary of Springfield's founding, Saint-Gaudens was commissioned to create a monument — not to Pynchon, but to Chapin. Out with the 'bad' Christian, in with the 'good' one. I saw 'The Puritan' many times as a kid, growing up a couple towns away from Springfield. It has stood since 1899 in a pocket park between the city's Central Library and Christ Church Cathedral. I never gave it much notice — I didn't know then that he was my ancestor — but now the impressive statue seems like evidence that Pynchon, Springfield's actual founder, was quietly being canceled. (Historian Daniel Crown has called him 'the forgotten founding father of colonial New England.') Not until 1927 was a memorial building to Pynchon constructed as a local history museum. Canceling is today an official government practice. Trump has issued fervent anti-free-expression diktats forbidding anything but neoclassical style for new federal buildings, and disqualifying art institutions with antidiscrimination programs (DEI) from receiving National Endowment for the Arts grants. He blasted the 'terrible' programs at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, while telling a reporter he'd never been there, and installed himself as its chairman. He appointed Ric Grenell, a far-right political operative with zero arts experience but a degree from Evangel University, a fundamentalist college, to run the place. Advocates of Christian nationalism now permeate Trump's government. Pete Hegseth, the Cabinet secretary with control of the U.S. military, has a big tattoo across his right bicep in a Gothic font spelling Deus Vult — the Latin term for 'God wills it' — a holy-war motto of Europe's 11th century Christian Crusades. On his chest he tattooed the Crusader's cross, born as a heraldic symbol of the recaptured Kingdom of Jerusalem. Trump's rambling, often incoherent remarks at the recent National Prayer Breakfast, a supposedly interfaith annual event in Washington, boasted his administration's Christian nationalist commitments. Followers of that corrosive doctrine had been instrumental in organizing the violent 2021 attack on the United States Capitol to keep him in power. Announcing a presidential commission on religious liberty, he cited 'anti-Christian violence and vandalism in our society' in ordering newly appointed Atty. Gen. Pam Bondi to 'eradicate anti-Christian bias' from inside the federal government. No extensive examples of said violence and vandalism were forthcoming, but Bondi has ties to the America First Policy Institute, a bizarre political think tank espousing a Christian dominion philosophy called '10 Pillars for Restoring a Nation Under God.' She co-authored a so-called religious liberty editorial with the daft head of a new White House Faith Office — far-right megachurch televangelist Paula White, who often speaks in tongues. Both are supporters of Russell Vought, an avowed Christian nationalist and principal architect of wildly unpopular Project 2025, now given the reins of the powerful Office of Management and Budget. In a recently released hidden-camera video, Vought is seen asking, 'Can we, if we're going to have legal immigration, can we get people that actually believe in Christianity?' In an emailed response to a reporter's subsequent request for clarification, an OMB spokesperson simply replied, 'There they going [sic] again, attacking Christians in politics.' Christians, of course, really were persecuted by the Roman Empire beginning in the 1st century. Two millenniums later, when nearly 2 out of 3 U.S. adults and 87% of Congress identify as Christian, the absurd persecution claim is just culture war shtick. The America First Policy Institute has partnered with Lance Wallnau, a venomous Christian nationalist evangelical leader who publicly accused Vice President Kamala Harris of using witchcraft to win the 2024 presidential debates. Forty years after William Pynchon's books were burned in Boston, the nearby Salem witch trials exploded, with the state murdering 14 women and five men and tormenting nearly 200 others for demonic sorcery. By then, Deacon Chapin was dead, although Puritanism wasn't yet. But it was on its way out. The death knell was the wretched failure of Christian nationalism as a governing style. Government submitting to the coercion of weaponized religion in the Colony was as disastrous as faith submitting to government coercion in England. Puritanism shattered into multiple feuding sects and collapsed, and 18th century Enlightenment values of cosmopolitan secular government were ushered in. Secularism permeates the nation's liberal founding documents — the Declaration of Independence, Constitution and Bill of Rights — even as the history of Saint-Gaudens' statue of my pious ancestor demonstrates the idealistic tenacity of religious faith. Unlike the Christian faithful, Christian fanatics have been a recurrent danger throughout American history. They have driven the modern culture wars that have roiled the nation at least since 1979, when televangelist Jerry Falwell organized fundamentalists into a political movement, the preposterous Moral Majority, to protect Jim Crow segregation in schools. While I doubt that any Trump appointees identify as neo-Puritans, twice as many Republicans (67%) as Democrats (32%) think U.S. laws should be influenced by the giant locked book Saint-Gaudens tucked under his statue's arm, according to a March 2024 Pew Research Center study. As religious affiliation in America continues its steady 21st century decline, the politics behind those White House appointments get reactionary: To retain power, the small Christian nationalist MAGA sect must be served. Still, Pew also found that a slim majority of U.S. adults say they have heard or read 'nothing at all' about fanatical Christian nationalism. As the Trump administration gets into high gear, expect that to change pretty fast. When it does, 'banned in Mar-a-Lago' may well become the new standard for authoritarian moral outrage. Holy caped crusader! What would Deacon Chapin think?
Los Angeles Times
27-02-2025
- Business
- Los Angeles Times
How Ülëw Coffee and Juice was inspired by Guatemala, bus treks and hustling in L.A. kitchens
In a Boyle Heights mini mall, just a few blocks from the iconic Sears building, Ülëw Coffee and Juice offers drinks and food in a space that has been carefully put together to feel like a small bit of Guatemala. Its walls and tables are adorned with Indigenous art and huipil textiles and fabrics and the cafe serves as a cultural hub, run by community leaders who are eager to make an impact on the Chapin community in Los Angeles. 'We're here to create a space for Guate food, people, music and art,' said co-owner Jefri Lindo. 'We never imagined that we would have this. We came here with nothing. We knew no one, but this community has embraced us with open arms.' Before he became co-owner of Ülëw, Lindo spent years traversing the city on buses, working in restaurants in hopes of surviving and thriving in a new country. He was 14 years old and only spoke K'iche' and Spanish when he came to L.A. from Chichicastenango, Guatemala. He enrolled at Roosevelt High School in Boyle Heights, eager to study but also needing to work to sustain himself. As a freshman, he hopped on a bus at Whittier Boulevard and Soto Street for a two-hour ride to Westwood, where he applied for work and found a dishwasher position at a Persian restaurant, he said. The days were long and he got very little sleep, studying and commuting to work on the Westside. But he felt bolstered by educators who saw his potential. 'My teachers played a huge role in shaping me and pushing me to be great,' Lindo said. 'They knew I worked late, others extended my deadlines for assignments.' Eventually, he was hired at another eatery where he worked his way up from dishwasher to prep cook, then a line cook. In 2019, Lindo found work at Bestia, the trendy downtown restaurant. He knew little about it until he walked through the doors. 'The name Bestia stood out to me on Google Maps and so I went to see what it was about,' he said. He flourished there, working his way up to house expeditor, acting as the key liaison between the kitchen and dining room. (Think the character Cousin in the FX series 'The Bear.') Later he also worked at its sister restaurant Bavel and credits the restaurants for giving him a chance to gain skills and success. 'The way they run hospitality and their attention to detail, it's a whole new world,' he said. At Saffy's, a Middle Eastern Restaurant on the corner of Fountain Avenue and North Catalina Street, Lindo continued to work as a front of the house expeditor. He also met Michaela Zholovnik, a former accountant who became a line cook and would later become his romantic and business partner. In the summer of 2023, Lindo and Zholovnik, along with Lindo's mother, Rosa Gonzalez, and uncle Elvis Gonzalez, got together and started looking for new business opportunities. They each shared a strong background working in coffee shops and kitchens and wanted to provide the community with healthy alternatives. 'Fast food was everywhere,' Rosa Gonzalez said. 'We thought about what we could offer.' Like her son, Rosa Gonzalez had worked for years in restaurants — including at Urth Caffé in the Arts District as a prep cook. Elvis Gonzalez also worked at Urth Caffé in Melrose as a dishwasher before being promoted to barista — a position that reminded him of earlier years of his life in Guatemala. 'I grew up being fond of coffee,' he said. 'I understood how to make it with love.' After they settled on the idea of selling natural fruit and vegetable juices, they set up shop with a secondhand generator, a Breville juicer, a canopy, table and their daily produce near the Sears building on the busy intersection of Olympic Boulevard and Soto Street. They called the pop-up Nature's Nectar. It had a 'no-frills' approach but came from a deep desire to nourish the community. 'We chose the intersection because of its heavy traffic,' Lindo said. 'We wanted to help people heading to work early or graveyard shift workers heading home.' Two customers were particularly special: Elisa Hoyos and Leo Abularach of Picaresca Barra de Cafe in Boyle Heights, which was on the same block as the juice stand. Lindo remembers meeting the couple and trying their delicious coffee with his family after long days. 'Buying coffee from Picaresca always felt like the last win of the day, our reward for our hard work,' Lindo said. Similarly, Abularach and Hoyos visited the stand to pick up juices, a gesture of community support. One slow afternoon in October 2023, as Rosa Gonzalez helmed the juicing stand alone, Abularach shared Picaresca's plans to relocate by year's end and offered their location at a mini-mall on Soto Street. 'Each day I'd ask from the heart that the universe give us a place,' she said. She believed Abularach's proposition was part of that manifestation and a blessing and shared the news with her son. Picaresca moved to a new Boyle Heights location at the end of 2023 and Nature's Nectar halted street operations and opened their new coffee and juice bar in January 2024. 'The special thing is that we got what we wished for,' Rosa Gonzalez said. 'I am happy because I have Jefri alongside me, he is the one who has been at the forefront of making this happen, giving us ideas to grow more, representing our culture and Guatemala.' 'I want people who speak K'iche' to feel at home,' said Lindo, adding that the business honors Indigenous values instilled by his mother. 'She's been a huge influence in the way we've maintained connection to our roots,' said Lindo. In October, they expanded by adding dining tables and bar seating adorned with colorful upholstery and a sacred altar dedicated to Mother Earth in gratitude for their success. They also work closely with ceramist Bianca Elena Ramirez, who custom-makes their coffee mugs, intentionally painting them with symbols that represent sacred elements. As for the coffee menu, Gonzalez is especially proud of the Ülëw latte made with homemade ginger root syrup, cinnamon and oat milk. The first sip invokes warmth and his hope is for customers to be taken back to a specific time of ease and comfort, he said. 'Here we serve coffee with a touch of memories that allow us to feel at home,' Gonzalez said. On Chapin Sundays, an event curated to toast the Guatemalan community, Lindo's tía, Deborah Xon, provides her culinary expertise. Meats are fired over an Argentinian-style grill and served with a Guateño feast of shucos, chuchitos, tamales and, of course, coffee. Lindo tears up when asked about the shop's success, but he also smiles. 'This is great pride and privilege,' he said. 'This is what we came to do, make our own rules and represent Guatemala.' Tejeda is a freelance writer based in East Los Angeles who frequently writes about businesses owned by people of color.
