For several nights this month, searchlights have been illuminating the sky on the U.S.-Mexico border between El Paso, Texas, and Ciudad Juárez, Mexico. They don’t have anything to do with stepped-up border enforcement. Instead, they’re part of a binational art installation that aims to connect people on both sides of the Rio Grande. The large-scale interactive installation is called Border Tuner. Here’s how it works: You step up to a microphone and turn a small wheel that controls a set of searchlights. Someone at another station just across the border does the same. When your lights intersect in the sky, it opens a two-way channel of communication. You can’t see each other’s faces, but you can hear each other’s voices, booming from a loudspeaker. And you can start a conversation. On a chilly night this week, Edna Leon leaned into a microphone at one of the stations outside Bowie High School, where there are three tuner stations. On the other side of the border in Juárez, Chamizal Park
Ever since they were kids growing up on Staten Island, N.Y., David Carles and his younger brother Mark Carles have been inseparable. But in October last year, they were dealt a huge blow: Mark, now 25, was diagnosed with a rare form of liver cancer called fibrolamellar hepatocellular carcinoma. The brothers, just a year apart in age, still don’t know how much time they’ll have together; they only know they want to spend as much of it as they can side by side. “When we first found out, the doctor said, ‘He has two to three months left,’ and ‘I know you love your brother, but there’s nothing we can do,’ ” 26-year-old David said on the brothers’ visit to StoryCorps this month. “I just remember, the whole room went black.” After being diagnosed with a life-threatening disease, Mark had a life-threatening surgery. “Sixteen hours, 17 pints of blood,” he said. “We didn’t know I was going to live.” After the surgery, Mark had a breathing tube, so he communicated with David using sign language,
Until Ambassador Gordon Sondland’s public testimony on Wednesday, Vice President Mike Pence had managed to keep out of the center of the impeachment inquiry. For the first time during the public phase of the impeachment hearings, a witness connected Pence to a possible quid pro quo. Sondland said that just ahead of a Sept. 1 meeting with the Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskiy, he conferred with Pence about a link between U.S. military aid for Ukraine and the investigation that President Trump sought into former Vice President Joe Biden and his son, Hunter. “I mentioned to Vice President Pence before the meetings with the Ukrainians that I had concerns that the delay in aid had become tied to the issue of investigations,” Sondland testified. Pence responded later that day. “I made no comments in my meeting with President Zelenskiy concerning any investigations or tying investigations to U.S. aid to Ukraine, and I have no recollection of any discussion with Ambassador Sondland
For decades, I’ve managed to sneak my family’s controversial, Pepto Bismol-pink, cranberry relish recipe onto the air and 2019 will be no exception. This year, I went straight to the source: Bobby J. Chacko, President and CEO of Ocean Spray. To start off, I want to know: Has he ever stood in a bog? “Absolutely,” he answers. “It’s one of the most exciting feelings when you’re in waders and in water and all you have around are cranberries.” Standing in a sea of crimson, up to his hips in berries and cold water, Chacko says he feels like a kid again. Chacko has been at Ocean Spray since 2017 — long enough to learn the answer to my next burning cranberry question: What’s up with the name Ocean Spray? Not all cranberries grow near oceans, right? Mr. Chacko says it goes back to a company founder. “Every time he stood near the beach, the spray of the ocean always triggered emotions of refreshment,” Chacko explains. Now, nearly 90 years later, the farmer-owned cooperative has 2,000 employees.
State oil and gas regulators adopted new safety rules on Thursday requiring the locations of thousands of underground oil and gas pipelines across Colorado to be published online for the public to see. The move, regulators say, will help inform residents of industrial operations near their homes and prevent future accidents involving oil and gas equipment.
Herman Ware sits at a small, wobbly table inside a large van that’s been converted into a mobile health clinic. The van is parked on a trash-strewn, dead-end street in downtown Atlanta where homeless residents congregate. Ware is here for a seasonal flu shot. “It might sting,” he says, thinking back on past shots. Ware grimaces slightly as the nurse injects his upper arm. After filling out some paperwork, he climbs down the van’s steps and walks back to a nearby homeless encampment where he’s been living. The small cluster of tents sits below an interstate overpass, next to a busy rail line. Ware hasn’t paid much attention to his medical needs lately, which is pretty common among people living on the street. For those trying to find a hot meal or a place to sleep, health care can take a backseat. “Street medicine” programs, like the outfit giving Ware his flu shot, aim to change that. Mercy Care , a health care nonprofit in Atlanta, operates a number of clinics throughout the city that
The messages covering Haystack Rock’s graffiti-stained surface are not for the faint of heart. Take the mustard-yellow words spray-painted on its southwest side: “F.U. CSU.” Move a few steps to the left and you’ll get an entirely different picture: A carefully planned mural for a lost loved one.
Ublester Rodriguez could not have anticipated that his life would be profoundly changed by kitchen and bathroom countertops. He says that he grew up poor, in a small Mexican town, and came to the United States when he was 14. He spoke no English, but he immediately got a job. “In the beginning I was working in a Chinese restaurant, from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. It was all day, so I never had time to go to school,” he recalls. “I was a dishwasher.” He labored in restaurant kitchens for about eight years. But he wanted Sundays off to go to church and play soccer. So when his brother-in-law offered to help him get a new job, he jumped at the chance. That’s how he ended up in a workshop that cuts and polishes slabs of an artificial stone to make kitchen and bathroom countertops. “It was something totally different for me,” says Rodriguez. Back then, in 2000, the material he was cutting was also something totally different for the American countertop industry. The stuff looked a lot like natural
Cameron Simmons is far more familiar with dengue than he’d like to be. “I’ve had dengue. My family’s had dengue. It’s a miserable, miserable experience,” he says. “It’s not one I’d ever want to repeat or have anyone else experience.” Unfortunately, last year nearly 400 million people experienced the viral disease that’s so painful it’s often called break-bone fever. There’s no specific drug to treat the viral infection; medication is given only for the fever and other symptoms. Severe cases, although rare, can be fatal. And the only licensed vaccine has run into concerns about its safety. In tropical places where dengue is rampant, annual outbreaks are a huge burden on health clinics. Simmons is the director of the impact assessment team for the World Mosquito Program . He and his colleagues are trying to make a dent in this persistent disease. “Throughout South East Asia, dengue is a guarantee every rainy season,” he says. “And so communities know — and indeed our public health
Today on Colorado Edition: we’ll talk with a professor who is bringing the impeachment inquiry into the classroom. Plus, we’ll look at the tradition of painting Haystack Rock in Fort Collins. And, a discussion about what the sale of New Belgium means to our area.