Latest news with #Sister
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Race Across the World 's Sam Gardiner Dead at 24 After Car Crash
Originally appeared on E! Online Race Across the World has lost a beloved former contestant. Sam Gardiner—who competed in the BBC reality series' second season alongside his mother Jo in 2019—has died in a car accident, Greater Manchester Police confirmed. He was 24. According to a statement shared by police, Sam was traveling alone in a white Volkswagen in Manchester, England, in the evening of May 26 when his car veered off the road, rolling over. Police confirmed the victim was taken to the hospital with life-threatening injuries and shared in a later statement, which also identified Sam as the victim, that he had died in the hospital. 'His family have been informed and are being supported by specially trained officers,' the statement noted. 'They have asked for privacy at this terrible time.' The Greater Manchester Police also shared a statement from Sam's parents, Jo and Andrew, in which they wrote their son was 'adored by his family.' More from E! Online Why Sister Wives' Robyn Brown Says Husband Kody Brown's Exes Should "Focus on Their Own Relationships" Why Sister Wives' Janelle Brown Says Ex Kody Brown Is "A Failure" Taylor Swift Gives Sweet Nod to Travis Kelce on Girls' Night With Selena Gomez 'Sam left us far too soon, and whilst words will never fully capture the light, joy and energy he brought into our lives, we hold on to the memories that made him so special,' they wrote. 'As a son, brother and nephew, he was loyal, funny and fiercely protective.' Jo and Andrew also spoke to the experience their son—who worked as a gardener in Scotland but was visiting family in Manchester at the time of his accident—enjoyed on Race Across the World, writing it 'opened his eyes to the wonder of adventure and travel' and that he 'touched everyone he met on the road.' 'Sam brought warmth, laughter and a smattering of chaos wherever he went,' his parents concluded. 'He leaves behind a huge hole in our hearts. We will miss him endlessly, but we'll also remember him with smiles, tall tales, and a depth of love that will never fade.' A spokesperson for Race Across the World confirmed, in a statement shared by the BBC, there will be a private funeral for friends and family. "We are all deeply saddened to hear the tragic news about Sam,' the spokesperson continued. 'Everyone who worked with him, and indeed everyone who watched Sam, could see just how precious and transformative the trip was for both him and his mum Jo." In addition to sharing Sam had become an integral part of the Race Across the World family in the years since his filming, the spokesperson added, 'Sam embraced the seven-week trip with an energy, love and a determination that saw the pair enjoy adventures across Mexico to Argentina making audiences fall in love with them and their special bond as a result.' Following the news of Sam's passing, Race Across the World season two winner Emon Choudhury shared a tribute to his friend and former cast mate. 'Sam was pure sunshine in human form,' Emon wrote in his June 1 post. 'His kindness was a beacon for anyone lucky enough to cross his path. He made us feel seen, supported, and braver than we ever thought possible.' He added, 'With every warm smile and encouraging word, he reminded us that life's greatest treasures are the connections we make and the love we share." For the latest breaking news updates, click here to download the E! News App
The Citizen
4 days ago
- Health
- The Citizen
Bertha Gxowa Hospital launches Child Protection Week with awareness walk
The Bertha Gxowa Hospital Care Centre launched Child Protection Week with a 5km and 10km walk through Germiston, raising awareness about child safety and the rights of minors. Stakeholders, including government departments and community organisations, addressed the public before heading into nearby communities to educate and engage with them. The event marks the start of a week-long campaign running from May 28 to June 4, focused on child protection, as outlined in the Children's Act of 2005. ALSO READ: Bertha Gxowa Hospital honours staff for excellence Sister Hazel Moagi, operational manager at Ekurhuleni Clinical Forensic Medical Services and lead organiser, highlighted the importance of early reporting and awareness. 'Lack of information delays reporting. Our goal is to ensure victims understand what constitutes abuse and where to seek help,' she said. Moagi noted that many children are unaware they are being abused, especially when the perpetrator is someone they trust. 'Some children witness domestic violence, which normalises abuse. This can result in behavioural issues and, eventually, more harm to others.' The centre plans to eliminate child neglect and abuse through community education and by encouraging open communication between parents and children. Moagi also warned against informal agreements between families in cases of abuse and stressed the need for strict enforcement of protective legislation. MMC for Developmental Planning and Real Estate, Ald Nomadlozi Nkosi, joined the march and called on parents and educators to play an active role. ALSO READ: Bertha Gxowa Hospital spreads awareness on TB 'Recent cases, like that of Joslin Smith, show the need for vigilance. Our city will be hosting an awareness programme with crèche owners to reinforce child safety,' she said. Germiston SAPS station commander Nonhlanhla Shezi confirmed that the station is equipped to handle child abuse cases through its specialised Family Violence, Child Protection, and Sexual Offences (FCS) unit. 'We urge parents to be aware of what is happening in their homes. Abuse can happen anywhere, regardless of status,' said Shezi. About National Child Protection Week First observed in 1997, National Child Protection Week aims to mobilise society to uphold the rights of children as guaranteed by the Children's Act, the Constitution, and international conventions. While the Department of Social Development spearheads the campaign, every citizen is urged to take responsibility for child protection. Support services available Department of Social Development (24-hour helpline): 0800 428 428 (0800 GBV GBV) Childline South Africa: 0800 055 555 Child Welfare South Africa: 0861 4 CHILD (24453) / 011 452 4110 Email: info@ These platforms offer free support and counselling to victims of abuse. At Caxton, we employ humans to generate daily fresh news, not AI intervention. Happy reading!
Black America Web
24-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Black America Web
Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor Tapped For Rosetta Tharpe Biopic
Source: Mirrorpix / Getty Rosetta Tharpe was a trailblazing Black musician who found fame early on as a gospel artist before shifting to rock and roll and inspiring several future legends. Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor has been tapped to pen a script for a biopic about Sister Rosetta Tharpe, with legendary rocker Mick Jagger serving as a producer. Deadline reports that the Sister Rosetta Tharpe biopic was set in motion after Live Nation Productions reached out to Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor to piece together the script. Along with Jagger's Jagged Films, the film is also being produced by Tribeca Studios and Inaudible Productions. Sister Rosetta Tharpe emerged on the music scene first in the world of gospel, releasing her first recordings at the age of 23 in 1938. One of the singles, 'Rock Me,' would become a hit and influenced the likes of Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Little Richard, among others. Tharpe would mix gospel lyrics with secular music, which angered some. She went on to perform her mix of gospel and rhythm and blues, all accented by her guitar playing. The image of a Black woman singing gospel music inside secular establishments, along with her chosen instrument, caused many to not support her musical endeavors despite her quietly influencing future musical superstars along the way. In interviews, Thapre essentially framed rock and roll as rhythm and blues at a faster pace. Sister Rosetta Tharpe passed away in 1973, but was acknowledged by her peers as a pioneering voice for rock and roll. Along with the biopic, there will be a documentary about Tharpe centering on her contributions to music and her lasting influence, most especially in the world of guitars. The film will also pull from author Gayle Wald's Shout, Sister, Shout!: The Untold Story of Rock-and-Roll Trailblazer Sister Rosetta Tharpe biography. — Photo: Getty SEE ALSO Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor Tapped For Rosetta Tharpe Biopic was originally published on Black America Web Featured Video CLOSE
Yahoo
12-05-2025
- Yahoo
An Eerily Familiar 20th-Century Hoax
When the influencer Katie Sorensen posted on Instagram about the less than 'clean cut' Latino couple who she said tried to kidnap her children outside a Bay Area Michaels in 2020, she credited her kids' safety to 'the absolute grace of God.' The video, viewed more than 4 million times, was eventually found to be a hoax: The accused couple had not interacted with Sorensen's children at all. The Sorensen scandal seems, on the surface, to be a uniquely contemporary event—involving social media, child-trafficking panic, and even essential oils (Sorensen was an 'independent wellness advocate' who sold products through the multi-level marketing company doTERRA)—but a similar incident occurred almost 100 years earlier. In May 1926, the world-famous evangelist Aimee Semple McPherson vanished; she was last seen ducking into the ocean near Santa Monica for a swim. Weeks later, she turned up in Mexico with a sordid tale of abduction. Like Sorensen, McPherson was a white woman living in California who'd built a career on her openness and accessibility. She also blamed the kidnapping on a Latino couple, in this case invented characters named Felipe and Mexicali Rose, who, along with a white man named Steve, she said kept her locked in a shack in Mexico for more than a month. After her return, McPherson claimed that the devil had arranged her kidnapping to thwart her good works, but God had intervened. Sorensen's story ended tidily: She was given a short jail sentence for making a false report of a crime. But obscurity wasn't an option for McPherson. She was too famous—and too good at being famous—to fade. Claire Hoffman begins Sister, Sinner, her new biography of McPherson, with a play-by-play description of the day the evangelist went missing. The hoax was probably the most significant event in McPherson's action-packed life, and the intricacies of the ensuing legal proceedings (a grand jury investigated the incident, and McPherson faced three charges, including conspiracy to 'pervert or obstruct justice') make up the bulk of Hoffman's fascinating, frustrating book. More than the eerie parallels of their hoaxes kept me thinking about Sorensen as I read Sister, Sinner. In some ways, McPherson's whole life seemed to me like the tale of a proto-influencer: As a multihyphenate (mega-church founder, writer, radio star), she was keenly ambitious, technologically adventurous, aware of her brand but studiously authentic. She showed enough vulnerability to make her followers feel connected to her, to feel that with her guidance they might be able to shed illness, sinful habits, and psychic malaise. A better world was possible for those who liked and subscribed. [Read: Beware the weepy influencers] McPherson was born Aimee Elizabeth Kennedy in rural Ontario, Canada, in 1890 to a mother who was deeply involved in the fledgling Salvation Army, the temperance-focused British missionary movement that had recently arrived in North America. When she was 17, she married a Pentecostal missionary from Ireland named Robert Semple and traveled with him to evangelize in China, where they both contracted malaria. McPherson, who was at that point eight months pregnant, survived, but Semple died, leaving her a widow and new mother stranded halfway around the world from anyone she knew. McPherson raised money preaching and used it to travel to New York, where her mother, by then separated from McPherson's father and working full-time for the Salvation Army, lived. While her mother stayed home with baby Roberta, McPherson rang the organization's brass bell in the lobbies of Broadway theaters, asking members of the crowds 'Are you saved?' One day, a man named Harold McPherson stopped to answer her, and not long after, the two married. As Hoffman writes, Harold believed that once they had a child together, McPherson would put the energy that once went to sidewalk preaching into domestic life. Their son, Rolf, was born in 1913. And Harold was wrong. Experiencing what might today be diagnosed as postpartum depression, McPherson was hospitalized and given a hysterectomy. As she fought to regain strength, Hoffman writes that McPherson heard a divine voice telling her 'GO! Do the work of an evangelist: Preach the Word.' McPherson waited until Harold was out of the house one night, grabbed her children, and left. For the next five years, she toured the country as a tent revivalist, sharing the good news. In McPherson's age, preaching—not unlike the work of an influencer today—was a way for people, especially women, to gain social power and financial success without working a conventional job. McPherson also had the smarts to control the means of production. For instance, while canvassing the American South in her 'Gospel Car,' she published and sold her sermons in her proprietary magazine rather than letting other companies print them. As Hoffman writes of the rise of the steam-powered printing press: 'The creation of a mass media opened up the public sphere—suddenly anyone could be famous.' But just because anyone could be famous didn't mean anyone would be. McPherson distinguished herself by creating her own feminine, even romantic, brand of proselytizing. 'Her tone was often girlish and innocent,' Hoffman writes about McPherson's magazine, The Bridal Call. 'Her prose was amorous, adjective-laden, and woozily swooning.' McPherson 'emphasized her fallibility, always—she was prideful and prone to make foolish mistakes, but all of this made her more adorable and magnetic.' As a mother, she was relatable to many women, and her habitual white nurse's costume conveyed both a purity and a medical training that she did not possess. Over the top yet self-aware, giddy, and relatable, McPherson was what today's TikTok user might call a 'Gospel Girly.' As McPherson's fame grew, she eventually decided to settle down in a city that she could tell was on the rise: Los Angeles. Although McPherson often encouraged a return to a simpler, more traditional way of life—she spoke in her sermons about her wholesome upbringing on a farm—she wanted to be in the middle of the cultural and technological revolution sweeping Southern California. In L.A., McPherson became one of the first women to hold a radio license in the United States. Using giant radio towers perched above the Angelus Temple, the megachurch she founded, she gave sermons, administered faith healing over the air, and invited powerful political figures to join her in bemoaning the degeneracy of modern life. Broadcasting content about how good things used to be on a thoroughly modern communication platform represents a paradox readers might find familiar—consider the rise of the social-media tradwife. [Read: MomTok is the apotheosis of 21st-century womanhood] The centerpiece of Hoffman's book is the kidnapping scandal itself, and the frenzied grand-jury hearing that resulted. As holes appeared in McPherson's story, the prosecution discovered her close relationship with her married audio engineer, and found witnesses who reported seeing them in a secluded beachside cabin. Hoffman's recounting of the hearing is meticulous, but the deeper the book delved into the proceedings, the more I noticed something surprising about her approach—a notable reluctance to offer an opinion of McPherson's conduct or character. Despite the plethora of detail, the book has a curious and, to me, unnerving lack of perspective. A certain amount of empathy for one's subject might be of value in a biographer, and Hoffman conveys a sense of the difficulties that McPherson faced leading up to her disappearance. Her revival services were attended by enormous crowds, all hungry for her personal touch. She would stay onstage for hours, exhausting herself to minister to all. At times, Hoffman blames the pressures McPherson experienced on the uniquely difficult position of being a woman in the public eye—the book has, with good reason, a certain 'Leave Aimee Alone' energy—but it refuses to pass any judgment on her actions. McPherson's stunt, whatever its motives, had real human costs. During the search for her body in the Pacific, a diver died of hypothermia; another woman, a disciple of McPherson's, drowned in the ocean, hoping to meet her spiritual leader in death. McPherson also weaponized anti-Latino racism, calling to mind the actions of Katie Sorensen and Sherri Papini, another Californian who claimed in 2016 to have been kidnapped by two Latina women while actually visiting an ex-boyfriend. (Papini pleaded guilty to mail fraud and making false statements, and was sentenced to 18 months in prison.) After she returned to Los Angeles, McPherson gave an interview to the Los Angeles Times, in which she described the way she had been treated by the press with regard to the hoax: 'Either I am a good woman, or I am the most terrible, unspeakable person in the whole world. There is no half-way ground in a situation like that.' The idea that famous women tend to be either lionized or vilified certainly hasn't grown less accurate over the past century. But because Hoffman refuses to condemn McPherson, her book sometimes implies, whether intentionally or not, that she is too fragile to withstand scrutiny. There is indeed a halfway ground in a situation like this, and I wish Hoffman had pushed harder to find it. The charges against McPherson were ultimately dropped. In the years following the scandal, McPherson continued to preach, while also building a career as a celebrity who appeared at events and on the radio. She tried to work in the movie business but had to settle for something closer to being a reality star. In an interview with Mockingbird magazine, Hoffman said that she 'thought a lot about grace' while writing her book. Grace, in contemporary internet parlance, often means forgiveness. Influencers ask to be 'given grace' when they screw up in the ways that are perhaps inevitable when you are sharing your emotions around the clock for money. But in Christian theology, grace isn't something you receive as a result of your contrition or your sincerity. It is free and undeserved, impossible to earn. Grace can't be given by people online, or by authors to the people they write about. It is God's job alone. The rest of us can stand to be more opinionated. Article originally published at The Atlantic
Atlantic
12-05-2025
- Atlantic
When a World-Famous Evangelist Vanished
When the influencer Katie Sorensen posted on Instagram about the less than 'clean cut' Latino couple who she said tried to kidnap her children outside a Bay Area Michaels in 2020, she credited her kids' safety to 'the absolute grace of God.' The video, viewed more than 4 million times, was eventually found to be a hoax: The accused couple had not interacted with Sorensen's children at all. The Sorensen scandal seems, on the surface, to be a uniquely contemporary event—involving social media, child-trafficking panic, and even essential oils (Sorensen was an 'independent wellness advocate' who sold products through the multi-level marketing company doTERRA)—but a similar incident occurred almost 100 years earlier. In May 1926, the world-famous evangelist Aimee Semple McPherson vanished; she was last seen ducking into the ocean near Santa Monica for a swim. Weeks later, she turned up in Mexico with a sordid tale of abduction. Like Sorensen, McPherson was a white woman living in California who'd built a career on her openness and accessibility. She also blamed the kidnapping on a Latino couple, in this case invented characters named Felipe and Mexicali Rose, who, along with a white man named Steve, she said kept her locked in a shack in Mexico for more than a month. After her return, McPherson claimed that the devil had arranged her kidnapping to thwart her good works, but God had intervened. Sorensen's story ended tidily: She was given a short jail sentence for making a false report of a crime. But obscurity wasn't an option for McPherson. She was too famous—and too good at being famous—to fade. Claire Hoffman begins Sister, Sinner, her new biography of McPherson, with a play-by-play description of the day the evangelist went missing. The hoax was probably the most significant event in McPherson's action-packed life, and the intricacies of the ensuing legal proceedings (a grand jury investigated the incident, and McPherson faced three charges, including conspiracy to 'pervert or obstruct justice') make up the bulk of Hoffman's fascinating, frustrating book. More than the eerie parallels of their hoaxes kept me thinking about Sorensen as I read Sister, Sinner. In some ways, McPherson's whole life seemed to me like the tale of a proto-influencer: As a multihyphenate (mega-church founder, writer, radio star), she was keenly ambitious, technologically adventurous, aware of her brand but studiously authentic. She showed enough vulnerability to make her followers feel connected to her, to feel that with her guidance they might be able to shed illness, sinful habits, and psychic malaise. A better world was possible for those who liked and subscribed. McPherson was born Aimee Elizabeth Kennedy in rural Ontario, Canada, in 1890 to a mother who was deeply involved in the fledgling Salvation Army, the temperance-focused British missionary movement that had recently arrived in North America. When she was 17, she married a Pentecostal missionary from Ireland named Robert Semple and traveled with him to evangelize in China, where they both contracted malaria. McPherson, who was at that point eight months pregnant, survived, but Semple died, leaving her a widow and new mother stranded halfway around the world from anyone she knew. McPherson raised money preaching and used it to travel to New York, where her mother, by then separated from McPherson's father and working full-time for the Salvation Army, lived. While her mother stayed home with baby Roberta, McPherson rang the organization's brass bell in the lobbies of Broadway theaters, asking members of the crowds 'Are you saved?' One day, a man named Harold McPherson stopped to answer her, and not long after, the two married. As Hoffman writes, Harold believed that once they had a child together, McPherson would put the energy that once went to sidewalk preaching into domestic life. Their son, Rolf, was born in 1913. And Harold was wrong. Experiencing what might today be diagnosed as postpartum depression, McPherson was hospitalized and given a hysterectomy. As she fought to regain strength, Hoffman writes that McPherson heard a divine voice telling her 'GO! Do the work of an evangelist: Preach the Word.' McPherson waited until Harold was out of the house one night, grabbed her children, and left. For the next five years, she toured the country as a tent revivalist, sharing the good news. In McPherson's age, preaching—not unlike the work of an influencer today—was a way for people, especially women, to gain social power and financial success without working a conventional job. McPherson also had the smarts to control the means of production. For instance, while canvassing the American South in her 'Gospel Car,' she published and sold her sermons in her proprietary magazine rather than letting other companies print them. As Hoffman writes of the rise of the steam-powered printing press: 'The creation of a mass media opened up the public sphere—suddenly anyone could be famous.' But just because anyone could be famous didn't mean anyone would be. McPherson distinguished herself by creating her own feminine, even romantic, brand of proselytizing. 'Her tone was often girlish and innocent,' Hoffman writes about McPherson's magazine, The Bridal Call. 'Her prose was amorous, adjective-laden, and woozily swooning.' McPherson 'emphasized her fallibility, always—she was prideful and prone to make foolish mistakes, but all of this made her more adorable and magnetic.' As a mother, she was relatable to many women, and her habitual white nurse's costume conveyed both a purity and a medical training that she did not possess. Over the top yet self-aware, giddy, and relatable, McPherson was what today's TikTok user might call a 'Gospel Girly.' As McPherson's fame grew, she eventually decided to settle down in a city that she could tell was on the rise: Los Angeles. Although McPherson often encouraged a return to a simpler, more traditional way of life—she spoke in her sermons about her wholesome upbringing on a farm—she wanted to be in the middle of the cultural and technological revolution sweeping Southern California. In L.A., McPherson became one of the first women to hold a radio license in the United States. Using giant radio towers perched above the Angelus Temple, the megachurch she founded, she gave sermons, administered faith healing over the air, and invited powerful political figures to join her in bemoaning the degeneracy of modern life. Broadcasting content about how good things used to be on a thoroughly modern communication platform represents a paradox readers might find familiar—consider the rise of the social-media tradwife. The centerpiece of Hoffman's book is the kidnapping scandal itself, and the frenzied grand-jury hearing that resulted. As holes appeared in McPherson's story, the prosecution discovered her close relationship with her married audio engineer, and found witnesses who reported seeing them in a secluded beachside cabin. Hoffman's recounting of the hearing is meticulous, but the deeper the book delved into the proceedings, the more I noticed something surprising about her approach—a notable reluctance to offer an opinion of McPherson's conduct or character. Despite the plethora of detail, the book has a curious and, to me, unnerving lack of perspective. A certain amount of empathy for one's subject might be of value in a biographer, and Hoffman conveys a sense of the difficulties that McPherson faced leading up to her disappearance. Her revival services were attended by enormous crowds, all hungry for her personal touch. She would stay onstage for hours, exhausting herself to minister to all. At times, Hoffman blames the pressures McPherson experienced on the uniquely difficult position of being a woman in the public eye—the book has, with good reason, a certain ' Leave Aimee Alone ' energy—but it refuses to pass any judgment on her actions. McPherson's stunt, whatever its motives, had real human costs. During the search for her body in the Pacific, a diver died of hypothermia; another woman, a disciple of McPherson's, drowned in the ocean, hoping to meet her spiritual leader in death. McPherson also weaponized anti-Latino racism, calling to mind the actions of Katie Sorensen and Sherri Papini, another Californian who claimed in 2016 to have been kidnapped by two Latina women while actually visiting an ex-boyfriend. (Papini pleaded guilty to mail fraud and making false statements, and was sentenced to 18 months in prison.) After she returned to Los Angeles, McPherson gave an interview to the Los Angeles Times, in which she described the way she had been treated by the press with regard to the hoax: 'Either I am a good woman, or I am the most terrible, unspeakable person in the whole world. There is no half-way ground in a situation like that.' The idea that famous women tend to be either lionized or vilified certainly hasn't grown less accurate over the past century. But because Hoffman refuses to condemn McPherson, her book sometimes implies, whether intentionally or not, that she is too fragile to withstand scrutiny. There is indeed a halfway ground in a situation like this, and I wish Hoffman had pushed harder to find it. The charges against McPherson were ultimately dropped. In the years following the scandal, McPherson continued to preach, while also building a career as a celebrity who appeared at events and on the radio. She tried to work in the movie business but had to settle for something closer to being a reality star. In an interview with Mockingbird magazine, Hoffman said that she 'thought a lot about grace' while writing her book. Grace, in contemporary internet parlance, often means forgiveness. Influencers ask to be 'given grace' when they screw up in the ways that are perhaps inevitable when you are sharing your emotions around the clock for money. But in Christian theology, grace isn't something you receive as a result of your contrition or your sincerity. It is free and undeserved, impossible to earn. Grace can't be given by people online, or by authors to the people they write about. It is God's job alone. The rest of us can stand to be more opinionated.
