EAST PALESTINE, Ohio — One day in mid-October of last year, Lonnie Miller sat at a small table in her kitchen and thought about the issues that had come to dominate her life: the nightmares about fires and rats, the unusual health problems, the meetings with counselors and physicians, the hateful comments she’d read on social media.

She’d lost her business and was in the process of saying goodbye to her house of nearly 30 years. So much of what Lonnie cherished had been shattered. The village she loved no longer felt like home. At least her small family remained intact and, she hoped, healthy. 

The blare of a train horn interrupted her thoughts.

Norfolk Southern tracks run 200 feet from Lonnie’s house on East Clark Street. In her neighborhood, the cadence of life conforms to rail traffic. Passing trains stop conversations as well as traffic. Families watching movies on TV hit the pause button until the rumbling and blaring stops. As a toddler, Lonnie’s son, Austin, pressed his face against a front window to catch glimpses of the passing cars, and they called to him. Gondolas, hoppers, tankers — he learned all the names. Thomas the Tank Engine smiled at him from the pages of children’s books. It was a way of embracing the seemingly benign, inescapable and even friendly presence of trains.

No longer. Lonnie now shivers at the shrieking of rail horns.

“I hate being here and hearing the trains,” she said. “I hate it. For eight months of my life, nothing has been normal.”

Change — fiery, loud and abrupt — arrived on a frigid Friday evening one year ago. In the following days, people who’d never heard of East Palestine viewed their first images of the village. Here’s what they saw: colossal towers of smoke, roiling flames and blackened rail cars — the things that came to symbolize a place once known for its production of rubber and pottery and where Bob Hope earned his first paycheck as an entertainer. 

The world fixated on the unfolding environmental disaster for a few days, then moved on. East Palestine’s 4,700 residents were left to figure out how to live in a transformed village. Some residents yearned for normalcy and returned to daily routines. Some decided the health risks were too great and moved out. A few feared their homes were contaminated and wanted to leave but couldn’t afford to do so.

Their stories of fear, frustration, resolve, determination and anger unite them with a growing list of communities whose names are now synonymous with contamination — Flint, Love Canal, Three Mile Island, Times Beach. What separates the East Palestine stories is the way they begin: with a singular, terrifying event.

Calm, then chaos

By 8 p.m. on Friday, Feb. 3, 2023, Lonnie Miller had covered herself in a blanket and settled into a living room chair. Her husband, Dave, leaned back in a recliner beside her. The glow of a TV filled the room. Son Austin, 21, listened to music in his bedroom downstairs.

For Lonnie, 47, this was an ideal way to end the week — curling up at home with those she loved nearby, watching something on Netflix and sending occasional texts. She likes to stay in touch. On this night, she texted two people — her sister, Connie, and a friend. The three discussed a village proposal to change food truck licensing fees while Dave, 53, nodded off. He had risen before 3 a.m. to begin his day as a crew leader at a metal stamping company in Columbiana. By now he was running out of gas. 

Twenty-six miles west of the Miller home, an eastbound Norfolk Southern train designated as 32N barreled through the Ohio town of Salem. Security cameras focused on frigid parking lots captured images of the train as it passed in the distant darkness. Video showed the orange glow of a fire under the wheels of the 23rd car in the train.

A massive collection of 150 rail cars and three locomotives, train 32N extended 9,300 feet and weighed 18,000 tons. Twenty of its tank cars contained hazardous materials — flammable and combustible liquids and gasses. 

The train began its journey two days earlier in Madison, Illinois, just outside of St. Louis. Its path arched into northern Indiana and Ohio before veering southeast toward the Pennsylvania border. Twice the train developed mechanical issues, once at Bement, Illinois, and again near Williamsport, Indiana. In both instances, crews made repairs, and the train was cleared to continue on its route.

Approximately 20 minutes after leaving Salem, train 32N entered Columbiana. One witness heard the train emit a “loud metal screeching sound.” In New Waterford, 6 miles from East Palestine, sparks flew from the burning wheel of the 23rd car. Investigators would later issue a preliminary report revealing that the fire was the result of an overheated wheel bearing.

Traveling at 47 mph, train 32N screeched through East Palestine with the 23rd car trailing flames and sparks that extended the length of the car. At the Market Street intersection, the burning car passed within feet of a Marathon gas station.

Train 32N’s journey came to its disastrous end at 8:54 p.m. on the east side of town, just past the North Pleasant Drive intersection and 1,800 feet from the Miller home. Thirty-eight of the train’s cars toppled off the track and piled into an accordion-shaped tangle of dented and twisted steel. Some of those cars burst into flames.

The thundering sound of metal thumping against metal jolted Lonnie from her Friday night serenity. Lonnie was accustomed to train noises. This one was different. Unusually loud, it rattled windows and hinted at something calamitous. Alarmed, she turned to Dave. “I think a train derailed,” she said.

Half asleep, Dave shrugged it off. It’s just slack in the train, he said. They heard it all the time.

Lonnie didn’t think so. She texted Connie: Had she heard the noise? Yes, Connie replied. She lived farther north on North Pleasant Drive, more than a mile from the tracks. 

Lonnie nudged Dave. Something big has happened, she insisted. Dave rose from his chair, put on his shoes and walked outside to see for himself. The night was exceptionally cold, about 10 degrees, but otherwise quiet and normal. Then Dave looked east and saw an orange glow on the horizon. Smoke rose into the sky.

While Dave was outside, Lonnie rushed downstairs to alert Austin. At first, he thought his mother was joking, but he followed her upstairs. Dave came in from the cold and told Lonnie she was probably right, a train had derailed. He told them about the flames. They could see for themselves from the front porch.

Dave wanted to get closer to see what was happening. Lonnie didn’t think that was a good idea. 

“We know people who live in that area,” Dave said. Maybe they’d need help. Dave backed his pickup truck out of the driveway and headed east, down nearby Martin Street.

Nathan Velez learned about the crash from his brother-in-law, Steven, who had called and left several messages. Nathan, 32, had returned home after working all day in his small engine repair shop on East Taggart Street and was busy fixing dinner for his family. He wasn’t paying attention to his phone. When he finally returned the call, Steven was excited. “Dude, somebody got hit on the tracks,” he said.

Steven lives on East Taggart Street, near the crash site. The impact had shaken him out of bed. He originally thought a train had collided with a vehicle at an intersection. “I can’t believe you didn’t hear it,” he said to Nathan. With two kids and two dogs, the Velez household could be a noisy place. Outside sounds often go unnoticed. Besides, the Velez house was located more than four blocks from the railroad tracks.

Nathan hung up the phone, turned to his son, Troy, 9, and said, “Hey, bud, hop in the truck. Let’s go.” The two headed east, to the end of East Clark Street. There, Nathan could see a jumble of burning and overturned cars that extended at least a few hundred feet. The scope of the fire stunned him. A number of tanker cars were fully engulfed, and the flames were spreading. He could see them jumping from car to car along connecting hydraulic lines. 

Nathan pulled out his phone and took a picture, then sent it to a Youngstown TV station with a simple note: “Train derailment in East Palestine.”

Nathan lowered a window. He and Troy could feel the heat of the fire. A moment later, something exploded with enough force to shake Nathan’s truck. He put the vehicle in gear and drove quickly back to his home. He had no idea what was in those tanker cars, but he knew the danger of applying extreme heat to pressurized containers. An acetylene tank had once ignited in his shop — It shot upward with enough force to put a hole in the roof. And as a kid, he’d throw empty spray paint cans in campfires and wait for the “boom,” a game country boys played. Nathan looked at those rail cars and saw potential bombs.

‘I think we should leave’

Bob Figley was relaxing in the basement of his home on South Pleasant Drive when one of his employees called to tell him something big had happened in front of Figley’s store, Brushville Supply on East Taggart Street.

Figley and his wife, Marilyn, live on 30 acres of property about a half-mile from the Norfolk Southern railroad tracks. He got dressed, then drove north. At East Taggart Street, he saw before him a wall of flames rising at least 100 feet into the air. It looked like something out of a dream — or a nightmare.

He turned right onto East Taggart and pulled into the parking lot of his hardware store, which sits on a hill and offered a view of the disaster unfolding below. For a while, he and a few others — neighbors and an employee — watched in awe as firefighters poured water on the derailed cars. One person mentioned some of the cars contained chlorine or maybe chloride. It was just a rumor (several cars, in fact, contained vinyl chloride), but the possibility that the cars held dangerous chemicals alarmed Figley.

“I think we should leave,” he said.

From the Millers’ home, the fire looked menacing — a looming mass of raging flames and smoke just beyond homes down the street. But that perspective of the blaze, from its western end, proved deceiving. It was in truth much larger. Dave, like Nathan, had driven to Martin Street and seen the fire’s terrible breadth. When he returned home, he told Lonnie, “It’s big.”

By now, sirens screamed all over town. About 300 firefighters from 50 different departments would eventually respond to the disaster. Lonnie grew concerned about her neighbor, an elderly woman who lived alone. So she stepped outside, crossed the lawn and walked up a series of steps to the neighbor’s door.

Eastbound emergency vehicles roared and honked down nearby streets. The sky directly above was clear — Lonnie could see the moon and stars. However, the eastern sky was completely obscured by a rising column of smoke that reflected the growing fire. This is crazy, she thought.

Lonnie pounded on her neighbor’s front door. After several minutes the neighbor answered, stunned and confused. She’d slept through the event. What’s going on? she asked. 

While the two women talked, a man approached from the sidewalk and said everyone had to leave the area. Local police had begun evacuating nearby residents.

“Where do I go?” the neighbor asked. “I don’t have any place to go.”

The man offered no advice. “You just need to leave,” he said.

“Just get in your car and go,” Lonnie said. The neighbor indicated she’d head to a relative’s house in nearby Salem.

Back at her home a few minutes later, Lonnie told Dave they needed to go someplace safer, but Dave demurred. If everyone left, he wondered, who would protect the neighborhood? What if looters came?

Standing in the living room, Lonnie and Dave’s conversation was interrupted by the wail of a train horn and the screeching sound of train brakes. Lonnie froze.

“Oh, my God!” she said. “There’s a second train!” She braced herself for the impact of a locomotive crashing into the derailed cars. It didn’t happen; the train stopped in time. But the incident added to the stress. Everything seemed to be spinning out of control. 

The family made a quick decision: Lonnie and Austin would go to Connie’s house on North Pleasant Drive. It’s certainly safer there. Dave would stay on East Clark Street with the family’s two English shepherds, Chevy and Lincoln.

Austin was the first to leave, heading out in his Honda Civic. Lonnie stuffed a few items into a bag, gave Dave a hug and said, “I love you.” She then climbed into her small SUV and began the journey to Connie’s place.                                        

She immediately ran into a problem: Traffic clogged all routes to North Pleasant. It seemed everyone was trying to flee town or get into town to see what was happening. Plus, there were all those emergency vehicles.

Alone in her car and stuck in traffic, with sirens blaring all around her and a fire blazing out of control less than a half-mile away, Lonnie began to panic. She worried about Austin — certainly he was caught up in this mess of traffic. She called Connie, who said Austin had not yet arrived. “He should have been there by now,” Lonnie thought. Where was he?

Nathan Velez returned to his East North Street home and told his wife, Nicole, what he’d seen. “Babe, we’ve got to get out,” he said. Nicole held the couple’s 1-year-old daughter, Cambria. It was nearing the child’s bedtime.

“What are you talking about?” Nicole said. “It’s nine at night.”

“It’s not good,” Nathan said. “Everyone is going to have to leave.”

Nathan’s serious tone alarmed Nicole. She began gathering supplies she’d need to care for the baby — diapers, clothes, food. It was now past 10 p.m. TV news played in the background while family members packed. A news anchor mentioned the train derailment, and a photograph of the fire flashed across the screen. “Hey, Dad,” Troy called out. “That’s your picture.”

Nathan grew concerned about his mother-in-law, who lived on East Clark Street. So he drove to her home and brought her back to his family’s East North Street house. Steven, his wife, Haley, and their dog joined the Velez family, and they all secured rooms at a Beaver Falls hotel.

Nathan, Nicole and the children piled into Nicole’s Toyota SUV and headed to a downtown gas station to fill the tank. Market Street was packed with emergency vehicles. The entire town, it seemed, was alight with flashing red and blue lights. The situation was even more dire than Nathan thought.

He told Nicole they needed to return home to get a small safe and the guns the couple owned. Once there, Nathan checked to make certain he’d locked his pickup truck. He noticed a thin layer of what he thought was snow on the vehicle. He rubbed his finger across the metal and discovered the snow was actually ash.

This can’t be healthy

Feeling trapped on East North Street, Lonnie made an abrupt U-turn — later, she was certain she’d driven into a resident’s yard — then took a long, looping route to Connie’s house. As she descended a hill overlooking town, Lonnie was stunned by what she saw. A massive conflagration now dominated what was normally a bucolic view. She stopped, rolled down her window and took a single photograph.

A few minutes later, Lonnie was relieved to see her son, Austin, sitting in Connie’s living room. She plopped down on a couch, then she and Connie called their mother, Dorothy Davis, who lived a few miles away in Pennsylvania.

The sisters spent the next several hours texting friends and checking Facebook for updates. Residents all over East Palestine were posting reports on what they’d seen and heard. People speculated about what was in those burning tanker cars. At one point, someone suggested it was malt liquor. It was difficult to determine what was truthful.

Meantime, back on East Clark Street, Dave remained in the house until around 11:30, when he detected a strong chemical odor. It smelled like burning plastic or paint. This can’t be healthy, he thought, so he loaded the dogs, Chevy and Lincoln, into the cab of his pickup truck and drove off. He headed west to the Market Street business district, where he noticed something odd: Although Market was farther from the derailment, the odor there was more pungent than on East Clark.

For a while, Dave cruised around town, stopping on occasion to take a few pictures. Exhausted, he pulled into the parking lot of a Dollar General Store on state Route 14 so he could get some sleep. The two dogs curled up in the back seat of his extended cab while Dave reclined in the driver’s seat. Dave closed his eyes. More than 2 miles from the derailment, he could still smell a chemical odor.

Nathan and Nicole and their two children checked into a hotel room around 1 a.m. Saturday morning. Cambria and Troy were by now terrified but soon settled down and fell asleep. Nathan and Nicole, shocked by what had occurred in the past few hours, spent the next several hours checking social media and news reports for updates on the derailment. They soon determined they needed to stay out of town, at least for a while.

Nicole found an Airbnb in Canfield, Ohio, about 20 miles north of East Palestine. “How long should we book it?” Nicole asked. “Book it for two weeks,” Nathan said. The couple weren’t rich — they live on income from Nathan’s small engine repair shop and Nicole’s salary as a nurse — but they saw no alternative to spending the money. Nathan had seen the fire double in size in an hour. He knew the explosive potential of those tanker cars. At 6 a.m. Saturday, after spending five hours at the Beaver Falls hotel, the family departed for Canfield.

Having been up all night texting friends and checking for updates, Lonnie returned to her home around noon Saturday, hoping to persuade her husband to leave. She found him folding laundry in the dining room. Daylight streamed in through a window, illuminating a very fine glitter suspended in the air. It looked metallic. Officials had yet to release information about the materials burning in those derailed cars, but Lonnie suspected the glitter wasn’t good. She pinched the air with her fingers. “Can’t you see what’s in the air?” she asked Dave. “Why are you here? We need to get out of here!”

Dave didn’t see the urgency. After a tumultuous Friday night, Saturday seemed normal. He could still smell chemicals, but the Ohio Environmental Protection Agency issued a statement saying the air was safe. Dave had seen men in hardhats walking along the railroad tracks across the street. They weren’t wearing gas masks, so how bad could it be?

Lonnie wanted to leave but wouldn’t do so without her husband. The couple remained at East Clark Street as the derailed cars continued to smolder and burn throughout the day. Austin returned home that evening. Meanwhile, friends who’d decided to leave East Palestine and stay in hotels texted Lonnie, urging her to get out.

‘Risk of catastrophic failure’

On Sunday morning, a deputy from the Columbiana County sheriff’s department arrived on East Clark Street and asked Dave how many people were in the house. Officials were getting a head count, the deputy explained. Lonnie asked the man about chemicals on the train, and he suggested she go to the community center at a local park. She could get answers there.

By then, officials had announced that some of the burning cars contained vinyl chloride, a combustible material known to cause cancer. Lonnie drove to the information center but got few answers there. People wearing Norfolk Southern shirts seemed more interested in collecting residents’ information — phone contacts and Social Security numbers, for example — than in helping people and answering questions about chemical exposure, she said later. Lonnie left angry and appalled at the lack of urgency.

At home, Dave kept thinking about the odd smells. It didn’t make sense. Why were the chemical odors more pronounced downtown, farther from the derailment? At one point on Sunday afternoon, Lonnie showed Dave social media posts of dead fish in Sulfur Run, a creek that runs past the derailment site and through the village’s downtown.

It was then that the danger became real for Dave. He threw his hands in the air. “Oh, my God, it’s already in the water,” he said. “That’s why there’s dead fish. That’s why it smells so bad downtown.” He figured chemicals leaking from the derailed cars had contaminated the area’s creeks and waterways.

Still, Lonnie and Dave decided they could stay in East Palestine for at least a while. That changed Sunday evening, as the couple watched a news conference held by local officials and carried live on Facebook. After a delay of several minutes, East Palestine fire Chief Keith Drabick sat down at a microphone to announce a “drastic change” in the vinyl chloride in one of the derailed cars.

“We are at risk now of a catastrophic failure of that container,” he said. “Measures are being taken to try to control that and prevent that from happening,” but he offered no details about those measures.

Everyone within a 1-mile radius of the derailment must evacuate immediately, he said. Those who defied the order and stayed in their homes could be arrested. The catastrophic failure, if it occurred, would produce hydrogen chloride and phosgene gas, Drabick said.

And then, less than 90 seconds after Drabick had begun talking, the news conference ended. Officials announced they would take no questions.

Moments later, each of the Millers’ cellphones emitted the high-pitched beep of an emergency alert. For Lonnie, the moment seemed filled with dread. How long did they have before the “catastrophic failure”? Ohio Gov. Mike DeWine issued a statement that went further, saying that the tanker could explode “with the potential of deadly shrapnel traveling more than a mile.” The Miller home was less than half that distance from the smoldering pile of cars. Could the explosion wreck the entire neighborhood? What about those chemicals? What would happen to them if the rail cars blew up?

Lonnie rushed through the house, grabbing family photos and stuffing clothes into duffel bags. Dave began filling zip-close bags with dog food. Lonnie screamed at him, “Just take the whole container! Put the whole container in your truck right now!”

The plan was to meet other family members at the Pennsylvania home of Lonnie’s mother, Dorothy Davis, and figure out what to do. Lonnie’s sister, Connie, and her husband, John, would be there, too.

Lonnie, Dave and Austin each drove separate vehicles. The family’s two dogs climbed into Dave’s truck. In the rush to leave, Lonnie backed her vehicle into Austin’s Civic. She simply misjudged where her son’s car was positioned. This evening, like Friday, was devolving into chaos, Lonnie thought. The derailment menaced everything she cared about — her family, her home, her neighborhood. As she drove out of East Palestine, Lonnie wept and prayed.

Once everyone had arrived at Dorothy’s house, Austin confronted his mother about the crash on East Clark Street. “What the hell, Mom?” he screamed at her. Then he saw the look on her face, realized how upset she was, and the two embraced. “I’m sorry,” Austin said.

Dave called hotels, searching for a place that would accept dogs because they could not stay at Dorothy’s small mobile home. Dave found an available room in Beaver Falls, but Dorothy wanted Austin to stay with her. Lonnie relented. She and Dave and the dogs headed to Beaver Falls. At least for now, it seemed, everyone was safe.

At the hotel later that night, Lonnie had trouble calming her dog Chevy. Voices in the hallway and the sound of other people with animals moving into rooms added to Chevy’s anxiety. The dog shook uncontrollably. Around 1 a.m., Lonnie decided to take her for a walk. 

Passing through the hotel lobby, Lonnie saw a group of workers waiting for room assignments. The workers were covered in black dust, like coal miners. She figured these were men who’d been trying to put out the fire in East Palestine, so she walked up to one of the older workers and thanked him for helping the town. “Ma’am,” the man said in a thick Southern accent, “this is what we do. We go from town to town and clean things up like this. After this, there will probably be another one.”

His words shocked Lonnie. Another one? How often does this happen? 

The past few days had been emotionally overwhelming. The derailment destroyed normal life on Friday night. Then, on Saturday, things seemed to settle down. Now Lonnie wasn’t sure she’d ever see her home again. Stressed and physically exhausted, Lonnie returned Chevy to the hotel room, then walked into the bathroom, shut the door, sat on the floor and cried.

A black cloud

Five of the tanker cars containing vinyl chloride remained intact after the derailment, but Norfolk Southern officials and their contractors felt at least one of them was unsafe because a relief valve had malfunctioned. The car’s contents were heating up, officials said.

To prevent an explosion, they proposed using small charges to create holes in the five cars, allowing the hazardous material to flow into a trench where it would be ignited by flares. They called this process “vent and burn.”

Fire Chief Drabick, acting as “incident commander,” said Norfolk Southern officials and their contractors told him the situation was urgent and gave him just 13 minutes to make a decision whether to approve the vent and burn process. Drabick heard no objections from the first responders, railroad officials and hazardous materials experts that made up the “unified command.” So around noon on Monday he gave the OK.

Lonnie researched the dangers of vinyl chloride and phosgene gas, which, she learned, was used as a chemical weapon in World War I. She felt guilty about leaving her mother, Dorothy, and son Austin in an area she felt was unsafe. 

On Monday morning, she called her mother and sister, and everyone agreed they needed to leave the area immediately. A hotel room wasn’t the answer. Family members decided to drive separately and meet at a shopping center parking lot near the town of East Liverpool, Ohio, about 20 miles north. There, Dave sat in his truck and again used his phone to search for an available house or an Airbnb. Lonnie posted a plea on Facebook. Hours passed, with no luck. Everything was booked as people from East Palestine scrambled to leave town. For 4½ hours family members sat in their separate vehicles in the cold. Dave grew increasingly frustrated. At one point Lonnie, sitting in her small SUV, looked over and saw him weeping in his truck.

Finally, Dave secured rental rooms at an East Liverpool house that could accommodate everyone except Lonnie’s sister, Connie, and her husband, John, who found a separate place to stay. 

Hours passed on Monday afternoon while East Palestine residents, many now scattered about the region in hotels and Airbnbs and at the homes of friends and relatives, waited to see what would happen when officials ignited the vinyl chloride.

Nathan Velez and his family, including his mother-in-law and brother-in-law, gathered in a room at the Canfield Airbnb they’d rented. The TV was tuned to a local news station covering the story live. An iPad and cellphones streamed live feeds. Everyone was talking. When Nathan noticed the burn-off was beginning, he hollered out, “Everyone shut up. You all need to watch this. All of us in the room might lose everything right now.”

The room grew quiet. On the TV, a small fireball rising from the derailment site morphed into a massive roiling black plume. Weather conditions at the time were less than ideal. Over East Palestine, a layer of warm air lay atop colder air hovering near the earth’s surface, creating a temperature inversion. The problem with inversions is that the warm air acts like a hard ceiling, trapping smoke and pollutants.

As a result, that thick plume of smoke from the “controlled burn” rose to a height of about 3,000 feet, then spread in an ever-widening circle that soon filled the sky and darkened East Palestine. 

Nicole was the first to respond to live video of the burn. “Are you kidding me?” she said.

Nathan looked closely at drone shots and could see the family’s East North Street house below the plume. What was in that black cloud? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be safe — and it was coming down in his village. Nathan and Nicole decided to extend the Airbnb lease as long as possible. They knew they could never again live in East Palestine.

The Millers watched the same images in their East Liverpool rental. The black cloud appalled Lonnie. She imagined East Palestine as ground zero in Manhattan after the 9/11 terrorist attacks, with everything and everyone covered in a choking dust.

Bob Figley, the hardware store owner, looked at the black cloud and wondered, “Who thought it was a good idea to blow up a toxic bomb?”

He and his wife, Marilyn, had stayed with relatives on the west side of town in the days immediately following the derailment but made brief visits to their home and business over the next few days. They wanted to move several pregnant goats they were raising to a safer location and feed their chickens. Police called and told Bob they wanted him to shut down his business temporarily. He wondered about the future. Would he be able to reopen? Would customers return to a store so close to an environmental disaster?

The rising plume reminded Deane Cope of mushroom clouds rising over American deserts during atomic bomb tests in the years after World War II. As a child, Deane had seen films of those tests. “My God, this is really something,” he thought as the cloud rose over East Palestine.

Deane, 79, watched the burn-off from the yard of a friend’s house in Unity Township, where he and his wife, Debbie, 67, had been staying since the night of the derailment. Debbie saw the cloud from inside the house. She and Deane were anxious to return to their normal lives and thought the burn-off would be a step in that direction.

The Copes live on East Clark Street, across from the Miller house. Norfolk Southern’s tracks run just beyond the couple’s backyard. Deane grew up on East Clark. Trains had always been a comfort to him. He remembered his grandmother feeding hobos who rode the rails decades ago.

Debbie felt differently. Those rumbling trains, passing so close to her house and rattling the walls, could be a hassle. On occasion, the couple had to straighten pictures knocked askew. In warm weather, Debbie liked to sit on the back porch and enjoy moments of peace and quiet, but she found it hard to do when trains rolled through every 30 minutes or so.

After the burn-off, Deane thought he and Debbie would soon be able to return home. But his wife wasn’t so certain. She’d struggled with blood cancer for more than a decade. All those chemicals worried her. “Is everything contaminated?” she wondered. “What’s inside the house? What are we going to be breathing?”

‘We have to figure things out’

Lonnie, Dave and Austin remained in East Liverpool until Tuesday, Feb. 21. Lonnie wanted to stay longer. The family paid for lodging with a credit card, and she was willing to do so for another few months if needed. She felt the environmental damage caused by the derailment had rendered East Palestine unsafe. But Dave insisted. 

“We have to try to figure things out,” he said. Besides, Dave added, Lonnie needed to prepare her testimony for a Feb. 23 hearing into the derailment. The hearing had been scheduled in Beaver County by Pennsylvania state Sen. Doug Mastriano. Lonnie had reached out to his office because Mastriano chaired a committee responsible for overseeing fire and emergency management, and as a result she was one of several people invited to testify. It felt good to be heard by someone with authority, she said.

Once back on East Clark Street, however, the house did not feel the same. Odors lingered, and there were health concerns. Some of Lonnie’s friends had reported rashes, chemical bronchitis, swollen faces and a burning sensation around the mouth. Lonnie herself had experienced nosebleeds and crushing headaches. “Much worse than a migraine,” she said. 

She tried to blame these on other factors — lack of sleep, stress. But she remembered the Flint, Michigan, water crisis, so mishandled at the local, state and federal level that several officials resigned and a number of others were criminally charged. (A state court found even the prosecution was mishandled, and the charges were either dismissed or dropped.) She thought of the 9/11 emergency responders in New York who experienced an increased risk of cancer due to their exposure to toxic dust, and the water contamination issue at Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. She begged Dave to put their belongings in a rental truck and just leave.

“We can’t just walk away from everything,” Dave said. He got so upset at one point that he stormed out of the house, got in his pickup truck and drove away. Distressed, Lonnie turned to Austin and said, “I don’t know what Dad’s going to do.”

Her husband was “so angry and upset that he couldn’t save us, and he wanted to. He came back home within five minutes. He was just devastated.”

The couple spent that night lying in bed and listening to the trains running along tracks 200 feet away. Norfolk Southern had reopened the track a few days after the burn-off; now the rail traffic seemed never-ending. “They just kept going like we didn’t exist,” Lonnie said.

Soon, Lonnie began experiencing nightmares. In one, a house across the street became engulfed in flames, and Lonnie could do nothing to save her neighbor. In another, she and Austin sat in an automobile while a train derailed in front of them. Lonnie would wake up screaming, with Dave trying to console her. Another time, she dreamed of rats attacking in the bedroom. Lonnie’s dogs tried to fight off the rodents but were overwhelmed. A friend later told Lonnie that, in dreams, rats signify contamination.

Lonnie began sleeping in a living room chair, with a duffel bag of clothes beside her, in case another train derailed and she needed to leave quickly. Eventually, Dave, too, slept in the living room so he could be near his wife.

One night in March, Lonnie awoke long before sunup. She saw Dave awake in the recliner beside her. He’d been thinking about chemical contamination. In those days after the derailment, he wondered, what did they breathe into their lungs? He regretted driving around town and taking pictures in the hours after the railroad cars had run off the tracks. He was concerned the chemicals could already be wreaking havoc inside his body. Would he become ill with cancer or some other disease in one year? Five years? Ten years? Dave feared he wouldn’t be around when Lonnie and Austin needed him.

Lonnie and Dave wept, then embraced and prayed that God would heal and protect them. “You have to stay strong,” Lonnie said. After a while, both Lonnie and Dave calmed themselves. Lonnie then walked into the kitchen and vomited in the sink.

“We both knew there was nothing about our home and our town that would ever be the same again,” she said. They had to get out.

Nathan Velez and his brother-in-law, Steven, returned to East Palestine on Feb. 8. The chemical smell hit Nathan “like a fist,” burning his eyes and, within seconds, giving him a headache. He visited his shop on East Taggart Street, closer to the derailment. It was even worse there — “like stepping inside a can of paint thinner,” he said.

He visited a Norfolk Southern assistance center and got into an argument with a company representative who Nathan felt was demeaning and insulting. Security escorted Nathan out of the building. Nathan was stressed and exhausted. He and Nicole were spending thousands of dollars each month, bouncing from one Airbnb to another. From the night of the derailment until June, they spent more than $12,000 in lodging; Norfolk Southern eventually reimbursed them $8,500.

Nathan was outspoken and a good storyteller, so reporters sought him out. He was interviewed a number of times on local and national news programs. For a while, he kept track of the interviews but stopped counting after a few dozen.

One day, he finished an interview with Fox News then headed to an Airbnb that was then serving as a home. He was scheduled to do another interview that evening on CNN. During the trip home, Nathan’s heart began racing. Sweat poured down his face. His hands wouldn’t work.

“Holy shit, I’m having a heart attack,” he thought. He pulled into the Airbnb driveway and called Nicole. “I think I’m dying,” he said.

Nicole rushed outside, and her training as a nurse kicked in. “Babe, you’re having a panic attack,” she said. She calmed him down. He texted CNN staffers and let them know what was happening. “I’m running on fumes,” he wrote. He ended up doing the interview, believing the world needed to see what people in East Palestine were dealing with.

The most terrifying event to strike the Velez family occurred one day in March. Nathan was at the shop doing yet another interview when son Troy called. “Cam ate something,” he said. Nathan could hear Nicole screaming in the background. “You need to get here now!” she said.

It took Nathan 20 minutes to drive to the family’s Airbnb in Poland, on the outskirts of Youngstown. He ran inside. Nicole held Cambria, who was beet red and convulsing. Cam had ingested medicine not intended for children. It all happened so quickly. Nathan called 911, and within minutes an ambulance arrived and took Cam to a local hospital. Doctors tried to calm her heart rate with medication, but it didn’t work. So she was transferred to Akron Children’s Hospital.

Nathan and Nicole spent that night in a hospital waiting room while doctors stabilized their daughter. Cambria remained in the hospital for a week.

“This almost completely wrecked us,” Nathan later said. ​​The stress and chaos of moving from one rental place to another was becoming too much. All the packing and unpacking. At their East Palestine home, everything had its place. Now, nothing had a place. “This only happened because we weren’t in our own home,” Nathan said.

Losing more than a home

The Millers’ home on East Clark is a narrow two-story wood structure with an American flag flying from a pole on the front porch. East Clark is lined with similar homes, modest aging structures that have been carefully maintained.

Inside, the house is cozy, the rooms decorated with antiques and collectibles: old muffin trays and rolling pins in the kitchen, vintage tins for baking soda and other cooking staples, Coca-Cola crates, classic print ads for Lionel model trains. The Millers raised their son, Austin, here and had planned on passing the house to him when they retired and possibly moved south, perhaps to the Carolinas or Florida. That won’t happen.

In the months after the derailment, Lonnie and Dave put the house on the market. They’d taken out another mortgage to purchase a house in Leetonia, a small Ohio town about 15 miles west. 

Losing the house broke Lonnie’s heart. After nearly 30 years, the place was filled with memories and markers of life, such as the pencil lines on a wall that tracked Austin’s growth. He was 5 months old when Dave built a garage — Austin’s footprints are imprinted in the concrete floor.

But Lonnie and Dave felt they had no choice. They could no longer trust East Clark Street to be safe.

For Lonnie the decision was especially difficult because the house represented a special connection to her father, Larry Davis.

On Sunday afternoon, Oct. 8, 2006, Lonnie’s parents were traveling along Route 551 in Lawrence County, Pennsylvania, east of New Castle, when their pickup was struck by a vehicle that had run a stop sign. Three teenagers in the vehicle died, and Lonnie’s father received serious injuries. A medical helicopter transported him to a hospital in Youngstown, where he spent much of the next several weeks in a coma.

Larry Davis regained consciousness a few times and always asked about his grandson Austin, then 4. “They were best of friends,” Lonnie said. “I made my dad a promise in the hospital to do everything I can to make his grandson safe.”

Larry Davis died of his injuries in late January 2007. As a result of a settlement, Lonnie and Dave were able to pay off their home. Lonnie felt that was her father’s final gift to her. A home was something he was never able to provide for his wife. Larry Davis worked as head of maintenance at a local factory. He could fix anything, and he was a hard worker. Lonnie has pictures of him, exhausted after his shift and asleep on a couch. But he never made much money.

“I watched Dad struggle for years and years, trying to provide for my mom and my sister and I,” Lonnie said. “We lived in a trailer, a mobile home, and he regretted that. He wished he could have built my mom a beautiful house.”

In death, he was able to provide a house for his daughter. Now, Lonnie had to part with that gift. “I feel like I’m losing my dad all over again,” she said.

‘We couldn’t make it’

The Millers’ new place in Leetonia needed a lot of work. Interior walls were punctured by holes; junk filled the rooms. Lonnie knows antiques and collectibles, and the only thing of value she found was a lamp worth about $50. Mice infested the place. Racoon droppings littered the floor.

Outside, the yard was littered with trash — everything from toothpaste tubes to pantyhose. While cleaning up the property, the Millers filled two dumpsters with debris. The house needed a roof and electrical work. But at least it was safe, and it was nowhere near a railroad track.

By October, the family had moved out of the East Clark Street home and were staying at the Leetonia house. Lonnie enjoyed watching Dave and Austin work together to fix it up. Lonnie emptied out her Market Street antiques store, Mama’s Attic. She’d decided long before to close the business, although owning the shop had been a dream of hers. So much had changed in the town. It wasn’t just the chemicals. The derailment had created divisions in the community, in many cases turning friends and neighbors against each other. To Lonnie, it was unbearable.

Lonnie cleaned up the East Palestine house and put it on the market, something that would have been inconceivable a year ago. All of those things that made the house special had been poisoned. “If I had the money, I would tear it down myself,” Lonnie said. “I wouldn’t even ask for a permit.”

Deane and Debbie Cope moved back into their East Clark Street house after staying 11 days with their friend in Unity Township. Debbie still worried that air inside the house could be hazardous, so the couple requested testing. A few men stopped by and used hand-held devices to sample the air in several places. Results revealed no hazards. Months later, though, the Copes saw news reports that indicated the testing devices were faulty. Now they don’t know what to believe.

The house has been a thread connecting Deane to his family’s past. His great-aunt lived there decades ago. As a child, Deane cut the grass in the summer and in the winter shoveled snow off the sidewalk. In 1984, he and Debbie were married in the living room. It’s the only place the couple ever owned.

“We’re not living like kings, but our needs are met here,” Deane said. He would like to stay in the house, but he’s concerned for Debbie’s health. She’d like to leave, but the couple can’t afford to move. They live on Social Security benefits and Deane’s small pension. The 2008 financial crisis wiped out their 401(k). 

“If we had to go someplace and pay rent or a house payment, we couldn’t make it,” Deane said. The couple found a place in nearby New Waterford that would suit their needs — it was a ranch home with a garage. The price: approximately $170,000, much more than the Copes can afford.

“We’ll never get that out of this place,” Deane said while sitting in his living room in January. Who wants to buy a house a hundred feet from a railroad track, especially one in a town now known for a toxic derailment? “We’re stuck.”

Frustrations and feathers

In the weeks after the derailment, Bob Figley grew increasingly frustrated with the response by government agencies and by Norfolk Southern.

After the burn-off, some residents grew concerned about dioxin, a highly toxic pollutant created by burning vinyl chloride. Dioxin is known to cause cancer. But the EPA didn’t test East Palestine soil for dioxin until weeks after the burn-off. Those tests found the levels to be normal, or what would be expected in any community, but independent tests discovered much higher levels. Who was right? 

Bob wondered whose side the EPA was on. “Are they the Environmental Protection Agency or the Empire Protection Agency?” he asked. It bothered him that after the derailment Norfolk Southern “took over” a portion of the town without consulting the business owners whose property was directly affected by the disaster. It felt like big businesses and institutions were pushing people around.

What’s the future for him and Marilyn, and for his business? Bob grew up in East Palestine; he’s not going anywhere. His store, Brushville Supply, has been at its current location on East Taggart for 20 years.

“Where am I going to go?” Bob asked. “Everything’s here. We’ve got 30 acres, a house, barns, maple trees. That’s our retirement home. Do I want to start my life over somewhere? If there was something here that was going to kill us in a year, then, yeah, I’d leave. But we just don’t know.”

In the months after the derailment, he and Marilyn lived in a number of rental places. They were concerned about toxins in their home. “We lived out of suitcases for five months,” Bob said. Eventually, the railroad paid to have their home cleaned and the interior rooms painted, something the couple felt they needed to do in order to make the place safe.

Bob was told by the EPA his business needed to be cleaned, a monumental task in a place packed with thousands of tools, fittings, hoses, connectors and other items. He spent a lot of time getting estimates, coming up with a plan. Then he was told the cleaning was voluntary and would have to be done by a separate company. Such interactions leave people confused — is there a hazard that needs to be removed or not?

Bob wants the railroad company as well as government agencies to “come in and be straightforward and tell us the truth. Come in here and be responsible and take care of the mess you made.”

Like the Miller family, Nathan and Nicole Velez decided to look for a new place to live. By April, their home on East North Street had been vacant for nearly three months after being exposed to whatever chemicals had been released into the air during and after the derailment. 

Nathan spent months traveling to the East Palestine house, packing the family’s belongings into plastic bins and then renovating the place — finishing a bathroom project he’d started before the derailment, repairing floors, replacing a ceiling, painting the interior walls. He and Nicole found a house they liked in New Waterford, and their offer was accepted. All of this proved costly. Nathan sold his beloved El Camino and drained money from his business, which remained closed to regular business until summer.

By November, Nathan and Nicole had sold their place at 327 East North St. One of the last items remaining in the house was a calendar that had hung for years in the family’s kitchen. It was Nicole’s habit to draw a line through the current day before she went to bed at night. The first and second days of February 2023 are marked off — those turned out to be the last days the family would spend in the house.

“So long, 327,” Nathan wrote in a Facebook post. “You were a great first house.”

Once his family’s move from East Palestine was complete, Nathan contemplated the future of his shop, located in a one-story shed packed with tools, engines, motorcycles and ATVs. Should the business remain on East Taggart Street? The chemical odors had dissipated, but what about other forms of contamination? Sulfur Run, which some residents feared was still polluted, flowed past the back door. Nathan had much to figure out.

After the derailment, as he and his family navigated various crises, Nathan began writing about his experiences. His entries were at times achingly personal and often reflective. In the fall of 2023, he wrote about the lessons he’d learned since returning Steven’s phone call on the frigid Friday evening of Feb. 3. 

“No one is coming to save you,” he wrote. “The government, the railroad, the lawyers, no one. Whatever it is you wish would happen probably won’t. Not unless you shut up and do it yourself.”

In the early spring, Lonnie found feathers on the ground while taking her dogs for walks around her East Palestine neighborhood. She’s a spiritual person and considered these signs from angels telling her she and her family would be safe. Then a friend in nearby West Virginia told her she’d found dead birds in her yard after the burn-off. Now Lonnie thinks those feathers may have been from birds who’d flown through airborne chemicals.

Other things Lonnie once considered real turned out to be illusions. Friendships she thought were resilient fell apart over disagreements about the derailment and its aftermath. She looked at the home that once protected her and wondered if it harbored invisible hazards. Even the signs posted around the village — “EP Strong” — seemed to tell a lie. Neighbors and friends had turned on each other.

Eleven months after the derailment, Lonnie’s nightmares remained, but she no longer woke up screaming. Counseling proved a big help. The East Clark Street house had been on the market for weeks, but no potential buyers had emerged. Still, Lonnie and Dave were relieved to be in Leetonia. “We’re getting away from the threat, and this is the best we can do,” Lonnie said.

The place came with more than 2 acres, so the dogs had room to run. And perhaps its most important amenity: no nearby railroad traffic to rattle the house or nerves. Quiet dominates the landscape. Still, if Lonnie walks to the edge of the property and listens carefully, she can hear it in the distance, perhaps carried by the wind: the sound of a train, blaring its warning.

This story is part of collaborative coverage of East Palestine between the Pittsburgh Union Progress and the New Castle News, funded in part by a grant from the Pittsburgh Media Partnership.

The post On a frigid and fiery night one year ago, a train upended lives in East Palestine appeared first on PublicSource. PublicSource is a nonprofit news organization serving the Pittsburgh region. Visit www.publicsource.org to read more.

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Pittsburgh’s Downtown will soon see an expanded space dedicated to starting and accelerating Black businesses through mentorship and networking.

The Greenwood Plan, a Black-founded and Black-led nonprofit committed to advancing economic justice for Black communities through education, networking and resources, recently acquired the Pitt Building on the corner of Smithfield Street and Boulevard of the Allies through Greenwood Smithfield LLC, its subsidiary company. 

Founded in 2021 by Khamil Bailey and Samantha Black, the Greenwood Plan developed from a one-week Black entrepreneurial conference called Greenwood Week. That program began in 2018 and brought local entrepreneurs together to share experiences and resources.

“People believed that, ‘If someone comes from the same place as me and had similar hurdles, I could also do that thing,’” says Bailey, the executive director. “From that, we decided to expand into year-round programming, and that’s how the nonprofit came to be.”

The Black Business Conference, Greenwood Week, occurs each October. The conference includes networking, performances and classes that fall under five pillars of health: environmental, physical, mental, financial and spiritual. 

“It’s almost our pep rally for the year,” Bailey adds. “Everybody gets riled up about starting a business, running a business and exploring business.”

The Greenwood Plan focuses on intentional resource redirection, economic justice, business growth and sustainment and socioeconomic guidance. The aim is to eliminate barriers for Black entrepreneurs.

In addition to its Greenwood Week conference, the Greenwood Plan hosts industry-specific summits and recently added an arts organizing program for creative entrepreneurs. It also provides $500 mini-grants to Black businesses to alleviate business costs.

It works with the state’s Department of General Services to help Black businesses win state contracts. It also collaborates with the Urban Redevelopment Authority and Bridgeway Capital.

Shannel Lamere first attended a Greenwood Week conference in 2019 and began doing film and photography for Greenwood. She now owns and operates Shannel Lamere Films.

“She has grown with us over the past four years,” Bailey says. “People will give their talent, their treasure and come to us when they need things that we can provide, which a lot of the time is audience.”

Permanent space for Black business acceleration

Bailey received a LinkedIn message shortly after founding the Greenwood Plan in 2021 from the manager of the America’s Club co-working space, formerly in the Pitt Building. The club was looking to bring in more diverse entrepreneurs. After a tour, the Greenwood Plan became a member.

“We found ourselves making coffee, straightening up and tidying the space, and just greeting people when they came in the door,” Bailey says. “So we took a bit of ownership in it.”

In November 2021, the Greenwood Plan took out a lease on the space, renaming it Emerald City Pittsburgh. The 12,000-foot co-working space is dedicated to boosting Black entrepreneurship and wealth. That is when Bailey learned of other vacancies in the building. 

“We thought if we’re going to fill up the vacancy, we probably should just own the building,” she adds.

The effort received $1 million from the state’s Redevelopment Assistance Capital Program. The space will become an incubation and accelerator space with commercial storefronts, mentorship programs and networking opportunities for Black business owners. 

Russell General Contracting, a Black-owned family business, is leading the consulting for renovating the building.

In addition to Emerald City, the three-story building has a Cricket Wireless store and a mutual aid nonprofit. The third floor, which is currently a gym, is slated to become an event and assembly space.

“It has vaulted ceilings and breathtaking skylights,” Bailey adds. “We always knew this would be the next space for the building because people need to get their eyes on it.”

Third-floor renovations are scheduled to begin in February. 

Pittsburgh has a rich history of Black entrepreneurship. Bailey says that is at the forefront of creating the new space and ensuring that business leaders get the support they need.

“We want to remind people of the history that has already existed here,” Bailey says. “Black entrepreneurship is not new. Out of necessity, Black entrepreneurship has thrived.

“We’re at a point now where it is necessary again for Black entrepreneurship to grow to be able to take care of the communities that exist here.”

Ethan Woodfill is a freelance journalist interested in telling the stories of people doing great things to build community and sustainability.

The post Greenwood Plan to bring business accelerator Downtown to aid Black enterprises appeared first on PublicSource. PublicSource is a nonprofit news organization serving the Pittsburgh region. Visit www.publicsource.org to read more.

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At Belle Vernon Area School District, students in Daneen Watson’s Spanish 1 class use the words and phrases they’re learning to correct paragraphs written in the language they’re trying to master. Working in groups, they comb through Spanish sentences and find errors, discussing what they find and how best to rewrite it.

Students have used this method to learn a foreign language for generations. But something decidedly 21st-century is happening in Watson’s classroom: These paragraphs were written not by a human, but by the artificial intelligence system ChatGPT.

At New Kensington-Arnold School District, administrators and teachers observed a second grade lesson in reading comprehension in which teachers helped the class input their own text and artwork using ChatGPT and starryai. The ideas they developed, channeled through the quickly evolving tools of AI, allowed the students to produce a book they titled, “Miss Fabulous Loves Her Coffee,” about the day in the life of their teacher.

As OpenAI’s ChatGPT (which stands for Chat Generative Pretrained Transformer), Google’s Bard and other educational AI platforms become mainstream student tools, local educators navigate the waters of rapidly changing technologies each day.

Are there worries about students outsourcing their thinking and creating to a synthetic brain? Or does AI open new doors to student-driven creativity? How do school districts and individual teachers decide which tools to use and how their students are allowed to use them?

“It’s huge, and it’s very hard to wrap the mind around how many different ways this finds a place within our school environment,” says Tim Hammill, director of curriculum services for the Westmoreland County Intermediate Unit [WIU].

Through shared information and seminars from local experts, district leaders in Hammill’s network are working to understand and learn more about the pros, cons and appropriateness of educational AI.

Staying a step ahead – AI teacher training

Schools can’t simply opt out of interaction with AI, because the kids they teach have already begun accessing it. For example, Hammill says, students have figured out that they can use AI to do the standard homework assignment.

“That’s what drives the need for teachers to understand how their instruction needs to change and their assignments need to change,” he says. “We don’t have the option to turn it off and make it go away.”

At WIU training sessions, teachers and administrators learn how to create assignments that leverage AI’s capabilities in ways that teach. This might mean checking the accuracy of a ChatGPT-produced essay on Abraham Lincoln based on what a student has already learned about his life. Or it might mean giving a prewritten passage about Lincoln to students and asking them to rewrite it in the first person, as though they were Lincoln.

“We still need to put those critical skills and concepts that the kids need to learn in front of them; the system is only a part of the equation,” said Rebecca Henderson, curriculum services supervisor of the WIU.

At a recent district training event at New Kensington-Arnold School District, approximately 100 teachers were introduced to lesson-producing generative AI tools. They learned to use ChatGPT to create assessments. And using text-to-voice generating platform Uberduck and other history-focused programs, they discovered how to apply the sound of famous voices to quotes and even hold conversations — complete with AI-emulated responses — with virtual versions of historical leaders.

New Ken-Arnold’s superintendent Dr. Chris Sefcheck knows there are those who may feel students should only learn by taking pen to paper or using computers in the ways that we have for a generation. But he sees opportunity for students to build critical thinking and problem solving skills through these new tools.

“The biggest piece is that artificial intelligence has to be paired with human intellect,” Sefcheck says. “You have to be able to not only know how to use AI, but know how to use your brain for the critical thinking and problem solving that AI doesn’t do for you.”

At Burrell School District, middle school learning coach Courtney Barbiaux enthusiastically pursues AI training — then passes her knowledge on to teachers. She recently gave a presentation on educational platforms including MagicSchool, a free resource that creates lessons, generates questions, produces classroom stations and more on just about any topic.

Supporting classroom lessons in creative ways 

Although AI isn’t written into daily lessons, there are teachers in the WIU using AI to help with tutoring or offer guidance to improve students’ writing and math skills — all under teacher supervision.

In Burrell’s eighth grade classrooms, Barbiaux has introduced the concept of machine learning and how to appropriately use AI in ways similar to how students already use Google to do research.

“We talked about how you could use ChatGPT to search more information, but you’re not copying and pasting,” she says.

Meanwhile, in Burrell’s sixth grade reading classes, students summarize passages generated by ChatGPT at various skill levels. And though it’s not part of daily instruction, Burrell’s technology integration coach Melinda Kulick says the district is exploring AI as a personalized learning tool to increase student engagement.

One possible example, she says: “Taking things that are of interest to students, putting them into ChatGPT and asking for a lesson on fractions for a student who loves soccer.”

Watson, of Belle Vernon, learned about ChatGPT at a conference last summer and continues to increase her proficiency in other platforms like MagicSchool and Canva Magic Design. Once other teachers in her department are on board, she hopes to introduce her students to AI concepts in addition to the AI-generated lessons she currently uses.

“I have seen an increase in scores, and the students do love using AI,” she says, “even though I haven’t explicitly told them what it is.”

At Franklin Regional, students use the math platform ALEKS, which now includes an AI component that assigns assessments and evaluates next levels of instruction by tracking student learning and performance patterns.

Superintendent Gennaro Piraino says he’s mindful of kids – including his own, who are in the district – spending “hours in front of the computer.” But he sees value of programs like ALEKS.

“It has individual prescriptive instruction or remediation when you need it,” Piraino says. “It gets as challenging as the student can handle based upon the response.”

Groundbreaking tool or temptation to cheat?

Rules and policies regarding AI fall under the umbrella of academic integrity. But this is all so new and rapidly evolving. So, Piraino says, “I think people have different perspectives on it.”

He believes educators have the responsibility to understand their students’ needs while teaching ethical uses of AI. At Franklin Regional, some teachers are putting assignments through GPT Zero, a detector that can tell the likelihood or the percentage of a document produced through AI.

Teachers need to be in the business of verifying information, Henderson says. And if a student’s response is broader than what the assignment asks, that has to trigger a warning bell: Did the student really go above and beyond because they are that passionate about this topic? Or because the system went above and beyond?

Cheating is always a risk. But students need to understand the tools of the era in which they live and will one day work.

Students are “going to go out into the world and compete against people who are using it effectively and using it well — and sometimes, using it unethically,” Piraino says. “If we don’t utilize this opportunity in an environment where we know it’s safe, then we put them at a disadvantage.”

The post AI in Pittsburgh-area schools: How are districts handling this powerful new tool? appeared first on PublicSource. PublicSource is a nonprofit news organization serving the Pittsburgh region. Visit www.publicsource.org to read more.

A few months prior to my 20th birthday, as I was waiting and hoping that my younger brother would wake up from his cancer-induced coma, I found out I had been accepted at Wheeling Jesuit University in West Virginia.

Since age 16, I had been working at a Giant Eagle to help support my family. Neither of my parents had bachelor’s degrees and there were zero expectations in my house that I’d go to college. I figured that if I didn’t go to college soon, I’d never get the hell out of that stock room and away from the chronic back pain it inflicted. I had applied to the only two colleges I knew anything about, WJU (now Wheeling University) and the later-discredited Art Institute of Pittsburgh, intending to enroll at whichever accepted me first, if either of them did.

I had missed nearly 115 days in high school, some of which were due to an emergency medical condition greatly worsened by doctors’ refusal to listen to my mum or me, resulting in an amputation. Other times I skipped because of how I was treated at school. I’d been tardy nearly 95 times, had countless detentions, and graduated with a 2.07 GPA and a 470 on my SAT.

A school staff member used to tell me that my “kind of people don’t go to college” and most of my peers at my suburban, Catholic high school either ignored me completely, called me and my family “poor white trash,” or mocked my appearance and heavy Pittsburgh accent. All throughout high-school, I was called lazy, stupid and ignorant by other students and even by several teachers. When I showed up for school, I’d sometimes deal with it by sneaking a swig of booze or popping Valiums that my mum gave me.

Fifteen years after that acceptance letter from WJU came through, I’m a data analyst, dedicated to understanding and addressing poverty, segregation, affordable housing and community violence.

On the way, I’ve developed a clear understanding that white poverty tends not to come with the additional, deep racism-based challenges that often come with Black poverty – though white poverty can be similarly grinding in places like rural Appalachia, the deep rural South and parts of the Rust Belt. But that understanding didn’t happen overnight. I’ve learned that while racial disparities are stark on their own, they’re often intertwined with class and other identities. 

Given this, when policymakers work to address challenges like poverty, they must be aware of the ways race, class, gender and other identities intersect so that they can tailor solutions to address the different challenges that tend to be experienced by different groups — including low-income white people.

A poor kid’s response to ‘white privilege’

My parents moved us from Carrick to Brookline when I was little, in hopes of keeping us away from gun violence. They sacrificed what little money they had, “robbed Peter to pay Paul,” and had us kids write letters pleading for financial aid to the Catholic bishop of Pittsburgh to attend Seton La Salle High School in Mount Lebanon. They wanted us to be safe and get a Catholic education, and had concerns about us going to Brashear High, which was Brookline’s Pittsburgh Public Schools feeder school.

Still, I didn’t always feel very safe at Seton or in my own home during much of high school. My parents did, and do, many loving things for me but also repeated the cycles of abuse they themselves were exposed to. Outside of the bullying and isolation at school, I was exposed to significant trauma in my home. As a result, our house was frequently visited by police. 

Police also had a tendency for following me around stores and harassing me. Once, an officer even kicked in a stall door that bashed into my head when someone falsely accused me of doing drugs in a carnival bathroom.

When the time came to start at WJU, my Pell Grant and other financial aid left a few thousand in tuition to pay. Around the same time, my dad lost his job and never regained full-time employment. We only hung on to the house because of Obama’s unemployment extension, my mum’s disability and my younger brother’s Supplemental Security Income from having cancer. But they didn’t have anything to help me, so I asked the priest who baptized me at the now-closed Saint Canice in Knoxville to lend me the money, and he did. My dad and brother dropped me off at WJU with a single pillow, my guitar and one backpack full of clothes.

Adapting to being a college student was hard at first. I spent the first few weeks trying to collect unemployment from the just-closed Giant Eagle where I had worked, and hearing about the problems at home on my flip phone. Academically, I didn’t know what paragraph breaks were, so my first submitted essay was a single wall of text. I went through college without a computer. 

But I made lifelong friends immediately. The son of an unemployed electrician, I felt included among classmates who were the sons and daughters of coal miners and tradesmen. Many of the professors were from Appalachia and cared deeply about first-generation college students. I had a bed again (my mattress at home got maggots, so I’d been sleeping on the floor) and a meal plan, which meant I didn’t have to worry about food stamps running out or having to steal food from Giant Eagle to eat lunch.

Given my life experiences and how hard (and lucky) my road to college was, when a middle-class white student in my psychology class said something like, “white people don’t experience real poverty,” I pushed back. And when they then told me to “check my white privilege,” I could barely keep from blurting out: “What the fuck did you just say?” Comments like that initially made me allergic to conversations about privilege.

Blaming poor people for poverty

I was slightly above, at or below the poverty line from birth until age 29, so my understanding of the advantages of being white came slowly and through meaningful exposure to people with different perspectives and life experiences.

It came through self-reflection on what I’d seen in my own life, a growing understanding of what many of my poor Black peers faced, and, importantly, an intersectional and non-shame-based approach to conversations about privilege and the history of discrimination in the United States. 

This all culminated in a major belief change in 2014, when I read Ta-Nehisi Coates’ “The Case for Reparations,” which affected me because it was coming from a Black man who grew up poor and reflected data, plus experiences, that connected with mine. 

Building off much of the existing research cited in Coates’ essay, Opportunity Insights of Harvard released a landmark study on race and income mobility. It found that when accounting for race, class and gender, poor Black and Indigenous Americans had significantly lower average incomes in adulthood when compared to their poor white and Asian peers, and poor Latinos fell somewhere in the middle.

While the study shows that lower-income people of all races tend to do worse than their peers of the same race who did not grow up in poverty, it also makes clear that class alone doesn’t explain gaps between the outcomes of poor children of different races. The study proposed two primary factors: racial bias against Black people and the neighborhood context in which low-income Black children tend to grow up. 

Here in Allegheny County, 73% of poor Black families reside in our higher need census tracts, along with 22% of poor white families and 14% of poor Asian families. Poor white and Asian families mostly reside in lower-need working-class and middle-class neighborhoods, unlike their poor Black peers.

As I wrote in a previous essay for PublicSource, our neighborhoods look the way they do because of the causes (structural racism) and consequences of persistent racial and economic segregation, in addition to the massive impact of deindustrialization. While I grew up poor, I did so primarily in a low-poverty, working-class, relatively safe neighborhood. Most of my poor Black peers are disproportionately exposed to concentrated poverty and gun violence and I strongly argue we cannot ignore them. Exposure to gun violence may be one of the most important factors that explain why neighborhoods matter in affecting life outcomes.

Despite being low-income, and after moving us from rental to rental, my parents were able to get a mortgage for our house in Brookline, an easier lift because they are white. Government programs kept the family afloat. Additionally, attending a college like WJU and meeting mentors there who held me to high expectations and supported me undeniably helped me eventually rise out of poverty. While the classism I faced throughout middle and high school was challenging (and would have been even harder if I was poor and Black), getting to attend a low-poverty school was still of huge benefit to my social mobility. 

While it took tremendous efforts to go from lifelong poverty to middle-class researcher, I rose out of poverty not because I worked any harder or was any smarter than poor peers, but because I was exposed to enough protective factors and got lucky at various points in my life.

With all this context in mind, I still think it’s important to talk about and understand white poverty in its own right and in a way that doesn’t invalidate and dismiss its challenges, especially in the current political reality. 

In my experience, politicians on the political right — from former poor people like Ohio Sen. J.D. Vance to generationally wealthy people like Donald Trump — tend to exploit poor white people when they are politically useful, but otherwise demonize them and do little to address poverty. And people on the political left tend to acknowledge the systemic drivers of poverty for every marginalized group except poor white people, but at least they tend to support the social safety net more broadly. 

Recent research published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology found that social liberals, when prompted to reflect on white privilege, had reduced sympathy for poor white people and were more likely to blame them over external causes for their challenges. Liberals showed higher levels of sympathy for other poor groups. On the other hand, conservatives expressed low levels of sympathy for all low-income people. My experience is that neither political conservatives nor liberals tend to look at the very real external causes of white poverty. They blame poor white people for supposed personal failures.

Addressing learned biases and better understanding privilege, call for an intersectional approach that acknowledges how different, intersecting identities shape our experiences and outcomes. If a conversation or research study doesn’t minimally include the intersecting realities of race, class and gender, then that conversation or research is insufficient and incomplete. Just as poor Black people tend to experience additional hardships to those experienced by upper-income Black people, being poor and white is incredibly distinct from being upper income and white, so looking at race alone is not enough.

There also is a lack of understanding of the volume of white people who experience poverty. Here in Allegheny County, according to the Census Bureau’s American Community Survey, the white poverty rate in 2022 was 8% and the Black poverty rate was 31%, which reflects the realities of structural racism. At the same time, there are more poor white people in the county than any other group: more than 73,000 poor white people and around 43,000 poor Black people. Nationally, most poor people are white, with over 17 million white, non-Hispanic people living in poverty. 

Policymakers have to understand the full scope of poverty and how it intersects with race to properly address disparities across groups and serve all those in need. 

Closely intertwined with the enduring reality of racism in America is the enduring reality of classism, reflected in the slur “white trash.” As documented in Nancy Isenberg’s book “White Trash,” people coming to the New World from England during the colonial era weren’t primarily escaping religious persecution and the monarchy, but rather shipped over because British elites saw America as a trash bin for England’s poor when starvation, incarceration or war didn’t dispose of them.

Surrounded by populations of white people brought over as indentured servants and Black people transported into slavery, wealthy whites, terrified of a united rebellion, have exploited the construct of race to divide and control poor people since the colonial era. According to Isenberg, the general landlessness of America’s white rural poor, meanwhile, led to a series of slurs that are still openly used to this day: waste people, redneck, hillbilly, white trash, clay eater, cracker and trailer trash, as just some common examples. Given how often I still hear them used, they seem to be considered acceptable, even on the political left. 

Throughout America’s history, poverty has been wrongly viewed as hereditary, not the result of structural barriers. As part of the eugenics movement of the early 1900s, forced sterilization was used to control “undesirable” populations, which included women of color and poor white women. And while discriminatory voting, housing, lending and land use laws throughout U.S history took clear aims at disenfranchising Black people, they also impact poor people of any race, though not equally.

Such thinking has seeped into political discourse on all sides, with poor white people viewed as part of a group of deplorables. Even today, most of the discourse on the 2016 election results blames poor and working class white people for the election of Donald Trump, even though exit polls show he was mostly elected by middle- and upper-income white people.

Statistical truths, individual experiences

In 2022, West Virginia — where my classmate had denied white poverty — was 90% white and the third-poorest state. Its second-poorest county, McDowell, is 90% white and has the state’s highest suicide rate, America’s highest opioid overdose rate among counties according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and the nation’s lowest county life expectancy, the latter statistic on par with Iraq. 

Here in Allegheny County, most Black people live in our higher-need neighborhoods, which is not true of any other racial or ethnic group. At the same time, there are nearly as many white people in our higher-need neighborhoods as Black people — around 76,000 white people and around 82,000 Black people. While need is most concentrated in our Black neighborhoods,  there is also high need in mixed-but-majority-white neighborhoods in Pittsburgh’s South Hilltop, McKees Rocks and steel towns throughout the Mon Valley. These are neighborhoods where low-to-moderate-income people of different races are exposed to challenges like gun violence,  pollution, economic isolation, food deserts, transportation barriers and more, a fact that may get overlooked. 

I was poor or near poor from birth until about six years ago, when I landed my career as a researcher after graduating from Carnegie Mellon’s Heinz College (an aggressive culture shock for me given that two-thirds of students come from the top fifth of the income distribution). Despite my own economic mobility, the consequences of poverty and trauma still impact me to this day. I also have had to deal with years of people invalidating my experiences or demonstrating a lack of empathy toward poor white people. 

This approach didn’t work in teaching me about the reality of racism, and it doesn’t help build coalitions across race and class to abolish structural racism, classism and other forms of discrimination. But exposure to intersectionality and approaches that combine empathetic listening with highlighting our shared humanity did and do work, and as a result, I’ve dedicated my adult life to addressing the causes and consequences of persistent racial and economic segregation.

We need to recognize and separate statistical truths from individual ones. One should never assume what someone’s life experience is without getting to know them. Individual experiences can and do stray from statistical averages. If someone has a bias or a lack of understanding about how intersecting identities tend to shape outcomes, we should educate in a way that acknowledges these identities and expose people to these ideas in ways that are effective, not confrontational.

We should care about eradicating poverty for people of all races, with an understanding that individuals from different groups tend to require different levels of support, given the reality of structural discrimination. To do that, we need diverse anti-poverty coalitions across race and class, not silos. 

Nick Cotter is a researcher with Allegheny County and the creator of the Pittsburgh Neighborhood Project. He can be reached at pittsburghneighborhoodproject@gmail.com. The views expressed in this piece are those of the author alone. This piece does not reflect official views of the Allegheny County Department of Human Services. You can follow the Pittsburgh Neighborhood Project here.

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A year after its director was plucked into the service of the state, the Allegheny County Health Department remains without a long-term leader. 

The Board of Health and new County Executive Sara Innamorato have just begun an effort to fill what a spokesperson called “a vital position for the administration.”

“The director and the [board] have broad responsibilities that range from infant mortality and the opioid epidemic to air pollution and food safety,” wrote Abigail Gardner, the county’s communications director, in an email to PublicSource. “Leading the Health Department is highly technical and process-oriented work,” requiring understanding of law and regulations and “a massive amount of genuine public engagement.”

Unclear at this point is the public’s role in the selection process. Gardner wrote that “it is likely that there is some kind of piece of the process that will involve public input.”

At its Jan. 17 quarterly meeting, the Board of Health did not discuss plans to choose a director, and Acting Director Patrick Dowd declined comment.

Some advocacy organizations are setting out their expectations up front. 

On Dec. 7, a coalition of 35 organizations and 37 individuals under the banner of the Equitable and Just Greater Pittsburgh Network petitioned the county to prioritize health disparities and social determinants of well-being in its choice of a new director.

“The Health Director’s role and the Health Department affect so many aspects of people’s lives,” said Jason Beery, director of the network, convened by UrbanKind Institute, a Pittsburgh-based “think-and-do tank.” A new director would likely want to be involved in issues including air quality, housing health and the county’s development of a climate action plan, he said, so it’s important to hire someone “with certain qualities that we think would best address some of the complex health challenges and health outcomes that affect all of our communities and municipalities.”

Important department, leadership vacuum

Debra Bogen served as the county’s health director from early March 2020, as the pandemic shutdown loomed, until January 2023, when Gov. Josh Shapiro announced her nomination as state secretary of health. Bogen serves as the acting secretary because Republican lawmakers’ concerns have prevented state Senate confirmation. Dowd, the acting director, is a former Pittsburgh City Council member with a doctorate in history.

The 300-person department’s responsibilities include:

• Monitoring air quality, enforcing emissions regulations and allocating the Clean Air Fund
• Inspecting restaurants and otherwise enforcing food safety measures
• Enforcing housing health rules
• Striving to curb violence, overdoses and other causes of death
• Preparing the public for health emergencies like the pandemic.

The director is technically chosen by the nine-member Board of Health. Eight members continue to serve despite expired terms. The slots are some of many that Innamorato can use to shape the county bureaucracy after 12 years of former Executive Rich Fitzgerald making appointments. Gardner did not provide a timeline for reappointing or replacing members, or for hiring a director.

“We look forward to continuing to dig in with them and understand the expertise the board could use going forward to meet the moment or urgent public health needs,” Gardner wrote.

At its meeting, the board reelected as its chair Lee Harrison, a physician and epidemiology professor at the University of Pittsburgh. He has served on the board since 2001, was last reappointed in 2017 and has continued though his term expired in 2020.

‘Hard to get information’

Innamorato’s transition team has posted the health director position on its job opportunities website, indicating that it wants candidates for the $270,000-a-year position who:

• Will focus on racial and economic health disparities
• Has experience making “a measurable impact” on community health
• Is ready to support marginalized communities
• Can craft “an inclusive strategy” to fill vacancies in the department
• Will partner with governmental organizations, nonprofits and businesses to address health challenges.

A medical doctorate is “highly desirable,” according to the posting, though a candidate with a doctorate in public health may be considered.

In its letter to the Board of Health, the Equitable and Just Greater Pittsburgh Network called for a health director conversant in the social determinants of health — the effects that economic, environmental, political, social and cultural factors have on well-being.

The letter also noted the longstanding disparities in health care in the county, some of which improved in recent decades but many of which remain stark. 

The local health system’s failure to bring Black residents’ life expectancy and chronic disease rates in line with those of white residents was magnified by the COVID-19 pandemic. The department pledged to work on closing gaps in care driven by racism and the lack of culturally appropriate health access in announcing a five-year plan a year ago.

A new director should also have experience in policy implementation and commit to transparency, openness, accountability, accessibility, cultural humility, collaboration and public participation in budgeting, according to the letter.

“It’s been hard to get information out from [the Health Department] in the past, and considering it is a department focused on public health, it feels like a lot of that information needs to be made public, and there needs to be clarity on why the department is making certain decisions,” said Beery in an interview with PublicSource. He also outlined the network’s views during the public comment portion of the board meeting.

The four-year-old network has never weighed in on a personnel decision before, according to Beery. Member groups would like to see some kind of public input process, potentially including representatives of underrepresented communities, areas burdened by pollution or other health threats and groups directly affected by health policy.

The network has not yet received a response to its letter, which was sent to the department, the Board of Health members and several Innamorato transition team chairs.

Beery said that a thorough and prompt process would be ideal, but added that the network is not trying to be antagonistic. “There is an amount of grace that we would show any new person in this kind of executive role,” he said.

Less patient was Clairton resident Kim Meachem, speaking at the board meeting as the department moves toward issuing a new operating permit for U.S. Steel’s Clairton Coke Works.

“We are sick and tired of coming before this panel to tell you the same story over and over and over again,” she said, “and not seeing any results.”

Charlie Wolfson is PublicSource’s local government reporter and a Report for America corps member. He can be reached at charlie@publicsource.org or on Twitter @chwolfson.

Rich Lord is the managing editor at PublicSource and can be reached at rich@publicsource.org.

The Jewish Healthcare Foundation has contributed funding to PublicSource’s healthcare reporting.

The post County’s top health post, vacant for a year, ‘vital’ to Innamorato administration appeared first on PublicSource. PublicSource is a nonprofit news organization serving the Pittsburgh region. Visit www.publicsource.org to read more.

This story was originally published by Technical.ly, a news partner of PublicSource. You can sign up for their newsletters at technical.ly/subscribe.

In the final weeks of 2023 and first weeks of 2024, Technical.ly asked Pittsburgh founders and execs what trends they were anticipating for the local tech space.

Some leaders expect regulatory bodies to emphasize cybersecurity, while others anticipate more students considering their sector as a career possibility. Now, two weeks into this new year, here’s some of what Pittsburgh founders are thinking (or hoping) will happen next.

Cybersecurity will be prioritized across industries

In 2023, cybersecurity experts told Technical.ly that even when the worst happens and companies have to downsize, they usually don’t cut corners in the area that keeps company secrets safe.

For Vigilant Ops CEO Ken Zalevsky’s part, he anticipates that regulatory agencies such as the Food and Drug Administration would take an increased interest in cybersecurity. Having worked in the field himself, Zalevsky said being vulnerable to attacks can be costly in any industry — and when it comes to healthcare, a lack of cybersecurity can compromise patient safety. The FDA requires cybersecurity measures to be built into medical devices; Zalevsky expects other industries will follow suit.

“We’re already seeing that energy and others who are trying to look at legislation and ways to make their products within their industries more secure, requiring security documentation, like the software bill of materials and others,” Zalevsky said. (Vigilant Ops makes an automation platform for the generation, maintenance and authenticated sharing of certified software bill of materials.) “I think we’ll just kind of see that trend continue as the year [progresses].”

The commercial space industry will expand

Away from healthcare and into galaxies far away, Astrobotic CEO John Thornton told Technical.ly in December that 2024 could bring the commercial space industry more NASA collaborations. He cited NASA’s Commercial Lunar Payload Services initiative as one indicator — especially because it’s a program the North Side space tech company is participating in via its Peregrine Mission One, which launched on Jan. 8. The team’s efforts to gather payload data have been fruitful, but due to a propellant leak on Jan. 9, the spacecraft is now expected to burn up in Earth’s atmosphere.

Additionally, Thornton imagined that companies might be willing to take more risks — but if the payoffs weren’t worth it, this could lead to fewer successful missions.

“One risk I see to this model’s success is that companies may be willing to bet everything on an opportunity to participate in the burgeoning space industry,” Thornton said. “If companies do this by underbidding future commercial contracts without having a strong financial footing, we may see a decline in mission success that could affect the industry as a whole.”

Robots will aid the manufacturing workforce, in more ways than one

Even when the world is in turmoil, things still need to be made. Advanced Robotics for Manufacturing Institute Senior Outreach Manager Livia Rice said she believes the need for manufacturers will remain — yet robotics will be increasingly incorporated into the sector to fill workforce gaps. In addition to the ARM Institute’s outreach efforts, Rice expects robotics will be used to do the more dangerous parts of a given job, which will further incentivize young people to consider manufacturing as a viable career.

“I think that’s going to be a huge trend in really trying to influence the next generation of people to consider careers in manufacturing,” Rice said. “I’m sure when we were kids, no one was talking to us about manufacturing … but it really is a very vibrant career. So focusing on that, and then the integration of AI into robotics and manufacturing, I think that’s going to continue to be a very important trend.”

Autonomous ground vehicles will be used in government defense efforts

For Neya Systems Division Manager Kurt Bruck, the theme of 2024 is speed. The Warrendale-based company develops advanced autonomous solutions for unmanned systems and was recently selected for part of a $14.8 million U.S. Army contract along with Carnegie Robotics and Robotic Research Autonomous Industries. The Department of Defense, Bruck said, often needs its vehicles to go 80 miles per hour to effectively navigate jungles or forests.

Additionally, he thinks navigating with cameras as opposed to LIDAR-based navigation will become a trend due to the expense and the fragility of night vision cameras. He also imagines that drones and autonomy will become a priority in the name of speed and creating fewer risks for soldiers.

“The Department of Defense has been fielding drones for a decade, but ground vehicles have never been fielded. I’ve never seen autonomous ground vehicles actually working with soldiers, because it’s just more of a difficult, different challenge,” Bruck said. “But fielding these systems for the first time [will be] a key trend and overarching trend. I think in the next three years, we’re going to start to see many, many more autonomous brand vehicles working with soldiers and various missions being kind of like a tool in the toolbox that they use daily.”

Atiya Irvin-Mitchell is a 2022-2023 corps member for Report for America, an initiative of The Groundtruth Project that pairs young journalists with local newsrooms. This position is supported by the Heinz Endowments.

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HARRISBURG — Pennsylvania will need to spend at least $5.4 billion to close the gap between rich and poor school districts, according to a long-awaited report approved by a divided panel of policymakers Thursday.

The report was backed by Gov. Josh Shapiro’s administration and won near-unanimous support from legislative Democrats who served on the Basic Education Funding Commission.

It recommended changing the formula Pennsylvania uses to fund public schools to reduce year-over-year fluctuations in poorer districts’ state funding, while also calling for increased investments in school construction and an expansion of the education workforce.

It passed the commission 8-7.

“I think we’ve at least laid out a blueprint now, where within five years … we’ll be able to say we have or have not made progress, and here’s what we need to continue to do,” said state Rep. Mike Sturla, D-Lancaster, who co-chaired the commission.

The Basic Education Funding Commission — which consisted of six Democratic legislators, six Republican legislators, and three members of the Shapiro administration — was reconvened last spring to address a landmark state court ruling that found Pennsylvania is unconstitutionally underfunding poor school districts.

Any change to the way the commonwealth funds education will need to win support from the Democrat-controlled state House, Republican-controlled state Senate, and Shapiro, a Democrat.

Alongside the Democratic-authored report that passed the commission, Republicans authored their own. It failed to pass in a 6-6-3 vote, with Shapiro’s representatives abstaining.

Common ground exists. Both major parties agree the state must rewrite its education formula to stabilize poorer districts’ annual funding. Policymakers in both parties also agreed that all 500 districts should receive at least as much state funding as they did in the 2023-24 fiscal year, which would prevent deep funding cuts in districts currently losing population.

Both reports also highlight school construction, teacher recruitment, and reforms to charter school payments as areas of agreement.

But in a divided General Assembly, the increased spending favored by Democrats who control the state House will likely require policy concessions to appease the state Senate. The Republicans who control that chamber support alternatives to public schools, including a taxpayer-funded voucher program.

Threading the needle between the two stances will require compromise, which has been elusive in the past year.

Adequate funding, or student choice?

In the Democratic-authored report that ultimately passed, lawmakers based their $5.4 billion goal for new spending on “adequacy targets” — the bar at which they believe districts are serving students at an acceptable level.

This measure sets a baseline amount of per-student spending, then adds in additional spending based on a district’s student body and factors like poverty and level of English proficiency. If a district spends less than the resulting number, it is missing its adequacy target, the report said.

Commission members wrote in the Democratic report that this measure was drafted in response to feedback during hearings across the commonwealth.

“Many criticisms of the current formula centered around the idea that it allocates what is available instead of determining what is needed to meet the needs of districts,” the authors wrote.

They added, “Out of PA’s 500 school districts, 387, or 77%, have an adequacy gap.”

In addition to the proposed $5.4 billion infusion — which would be doled out to districts over seven years — the report says the state should implement a mandatory, annual $200 million increase in school funding to account for cost increases. While education funding has routinely increased in recent budget deals, the exact number has been the subject of backroom haggling between top policymakers, which creates more uncertainty for districts.

Where to find the money to fund increased state spending remains an open question — and a top GOP concern.

Some public education advocates, including leaders of a major state union, want to tap the state’s now-flush rainy day fund, sitting at about $6 billion.

“We have the means and responsibility to give our students and educators the world class education system they deserve right now,” Arthur Steinberg, president of the Pennsylvania chapter of the American Federation of Teachers, said in a statement Thursday. The union represents educators and other support staff in urban districts.

Dan Urevick-Ackelsberg — an attorney with the Public Interest Law Center, which represented plaintiffs in the initial school funding case — said the fact that the Democratic proposal includes a concrete funding target is a big deal.

“The timeline is very long and the number is lower than we proposed,” he said. “We’ll try to convince the governor to get that number up, but we also know this is a really serious, meaningful first step.”

Republicans’ plan mirrored Democrats’ in that it adjusted the funding formula to protect shrinking and poor districts from big funding shifts.

However, legislative Republicans said they did not want to suggest a dollar amount, arguing instead that the number should be decided during budget negotiations later this year.

“Never have you seen this commission — or for that fact, really any other commission — offer that specific dollar recommendation,” said state Sen. Kristin Phillips-Hill, R-York, the Republican co-chair of the commission, after Thursday’s meeting. “We respect the General Assembly, the governor, and the process and believe that we will see this come to fruition in the next budget process.”

The Republican-introduced report that failed to pass the commission called for lowering pension costs, consolidating districts to reduce duplicative costs, and creating a taxpayer-funded voucher program to cover private school tuition for students in public districts with low test scores.

“Comprehensive solutions, not funding alone, are required to ensure all school districts have the resources necessary to supply students with comprehensive learning opportunities that meet 21st century academic, civic, and social demands,” the GOP report stated.

The more GOP recommendations that are adopted in a final deal, “the easier some of the other conversations around the dollars will become,” said state Rep. Jesse Topper, R-Bedford, the ranking Republican on the state House Education Committee.

The next steps are in the hands of Shapiro, who will deliver his annual budget address in a little less than a month.

Members of the administration are “the ones that are going to be making a budget proposal here soon,” Sturla said. “They’re the ones who are going to be pushing part of this. They’re one of the biggest seats at the table.”

In a statement Thursday, Shapiro said he looked forward to his speech as a starting point, noting the report included a number of his priorities, such as increased spending on mental health and school construction.

“We must approach this responsibility with hope and ambition — because this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for us to do right by our kids, to fund our schools, and to empower parents to put their kids in the best position for them to succeed,” he said.

‘Thorough and efficient’

The Pennsylvania Constitution requires the General Assembly to “provide for the maintenance and support of a thorough and efficient system of public education to serve the needs of the Commonwealth.”

In a lawsuit filed by the Philadelphia-based Education Law Center and Public Interest Law Center almost a decade ago, six districts argued the state’s formula for funding schools failed to meet that standard and discriminated against students based on their location.

Pennsylvania uses two formulas to decide how much state money to send to each school district, one of which is generally seen as outdated and inequitable. The other, which accounts for poverty and the number of students learning English, was designed in 2016 in light of the lawsuit.

Only new money appropriated by the legislature moves through the so-called “fair funding formula.” At the moment, that represents roughly a quarter of the $7.8 billion the state sends directly to school districts to support K-12 education.

After receiving state funding, districts are left to pad out much of their budgets through property taxes, which vary widely and tend to disproportionately burden poor areas.

Lawyers for the General Assembly, which until last year was completely controlled by Republicans, spent years trying to have the case thrown out, arguing that the issue was not within the court’s jurisdiction and that the new funding formula had rendered the case moot.

That effort failed, and Commonwealth Court heard oral arguments in the case for 13 weeks between November 2021 and February 2022. Judge Renee Cohn Jubilier, who was elected as a Republican, delivered an 800-page decision a year later siding with the schools.

She stopped short of identifying any one solution, instead writing that changes do not need to be “entirely financial. The options for reform are virtually limitless.”

“All witnesses agree that every child can learn,” wrote Jubelirer. “It is now the obligation of the Legislature, Executive Branch, and educators, to make the constitutional promise a reality in this Commonwealth.”

Last fall, the commission held 11 hearings across the commonwealth, from Pittsburgh to Hazleton to Hanover, collecting testimony on Pennsylvania’s education system. But as policymakers listened in to craft the final report, debates over education policy drove the Capitol’s contentious year.

Legislative Republicans, who control the state Senate, have focused on structural changes to public education, such as expanding vocational education, while offering alternatives through private schools. For instance, the state Senate passed a budget bill last June that included $100 million in public money for private school vouchers.

Shapiro has shown support both for public and private education.

As attorney general, his office filed a 2022 brief in favor of the districts’ arguments for more state funding. His first budget spent more than $10 billion on K-12 education, a new record, and included funding for special education, school meals, student-teacher stipends and vocational education.

But Shapiro, to the consternation of public school advocates, has also repeatedly said he backs using tax dollars to fund private school vouchers.

Should the legislature and Shapiro fail to find common ground, the state could end up back in court.

At a news conference in early January, PA School Works, a coalition that includes the Education Law Center and other public education advocates, argued that addressing the ruling will cost at least $6.2 billion.

They called for a $2 billion down payment within the coming fiscal year, with the rest spent over the following four years. That number, advocates noted, doesn’t include needed spending on school building repairs or pre-K.

“We are prepared to go back to court to defend the rights of those families,” Deborah Gordan Klehr, executive director of the Education Law Center, said at the news conference.

Spotlight PA’s Katie Meyer contributed reporting.

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Advocates for reform at the Allegheny County Jail received new hope at Thursday’s Jail Oversight Board meeting. New County Executive Sara Innamorato attended along with two other new board members, continuing her shakeup of county government.

Innamorato’s mere attendance of the board’s meeting was notable after her predecessor, Rich Fitzgerald, was criticized for sending a proxy to its meetings for almost his entire 12-year tenure. That criticism grew especially loud in recent years as a string of deaths in the county jail drew attention to the Fitzgerald administration’s management of the lockup. 

“This is going to be a place where there is productive dialogue,” Innamorato told reporters after the meeting. “It doesn’t mean that everything that the community demands of us is going to happen instantaneously, but there is going to be an honest answer.”

She was mostly quiet Thursday as residents made comments to the board, but longtime advocates made note of her presence.

“I am actually heartened to see our county executive here,” said Tanisha Long, an organizer with the Abolitionist Law Center. “We haven’t had one here in years.”

After public speakers repeatedly aired concerns about a lack of medical staff in the jail, Innamorato asked jail officials how they are trying to speed hiring of nurses and other staff. One responded that they hope to boost hiring incentives for medical staff. 

Judge Susan Evashavik DiLucente, who sits on the board as the newly-elected president judge of the Court of Common Pleas, tried to reset the board’s tenor after 2023 was marked by internal debates between members and anger from community members. 

After one advocate, Marion Damick, criticized the board for its performance last year, DiLucente responded, “We’re off to a new start, with a lot of new members, and it’s going to be a new day.”

Another board member, County Controller Corey O’Connor, welcomed the board’s new members, saying their approach to questioning jail officials “is different than what we had in the past, and having the county executive here as well, we’re able to get a lot more information.”

Poor jail conditions and deaths of incarcerated people were a major issue in the campaign for county executive last year. Innamorato, a progressive Democrat, pledged as a candidate to take a more active role in the oversight board and jail management.

Innamorato was not the board’s only newcomer. DiLucente, elected president by her fellow Common Pleas judges late last year, and Judge Eileen Bigley replaced Judge Elliot Howsie and Judge Beth Lazzara, respectively. 

The board’s three citizen-member seats were empty Thursday. Innamorato’s spokesperson told PublicSource the executive will nominate new members this month. They will need County Council approval to serve.

Several speakers said Thursday that their hopes for a more productive board are mixed with deep-seated frustration with slow progress.

“If we are not your partners, we will be your adversaries.  And we do not want to do that,” said Dave Swanson, a Mennonite pastor and member of the Pennsylvania Interfaith Impact Network. “We want to work together.”

Another resident gave a solemn reading of the names of people who died in the jail as public attendees and board members stood. 

“This is an ongoing and persistent problem where our loved ones are going into the jail and they are not leaving,” Long said. “My hope is that with this newer board that these are problems we can begin to solve.”

O’Connor and Sheriff Kevin Kraus are holdovers from the last two years. So is County Councilor Bethany Hallam, a political ally of Innamorato who harshly criticized Fitzgerald’s jail management practices and often quarreled during meetings with Howsie, the board’s former chair.

While the board and the jail have fresh leadership, many problems will persist. A staffing shortage continues, stretching correctional officers thin and often requiring overtime. The jail’s medical staff has dozens of vacancies, raising more safety concerns. And some major aspects of the jail’s operation, like the arresting practices of local police departments and the judges’ choices of which defendants to confine in the jail, are entirely out of Innamorato’s control.

The jail is without a permanent leader after Warden Orlando Harper retired in September. The state appointed an interim leader to serve while Innamorato and council decide on a permanent replacement.

“I think a lot of people in this room are in general hopeful about what we can do as a new board, [with] a new warden,” resident Jodi Lincoln said during the public comment period. “The possibilities to improve the jail feel more real than ever before.”

Charlie Wolfson is PublicSource’s local government reporter and a Report for America corps member. He can be reached at charlie@publicsource.org.

The post Innamorato brings ‘new day’ to Jail Oversight Board, but deep issues remain at lockup appeared first on PublicSource. PublicSource is a nonprofit news organization serving the Pittsburgh region. Visit www.publicsource.org to read more.

Spotlight PA is an independent, nonpartisan, and nonprofit newsroom producing investigative and public-service journalism that holds power to account and drives positive change in Pennsylvania. Sign up for our free newsletters.

HARRISBURG — As the 2024 presidential election approaches, the people who run voting in Pennsylvania say the commonwealth must prepare to be at the center of national scrutiny.

These officials, who administer elections on the county level, argue the state should update its century-old Election Code, make long-sought adjustments to mail voting processes, and strengthen the system against bogus fraud claims.

Former President Donald Trump propagated baseless theories about widespread election fraud in Pennsylvania and other key swing states after his 2020 loss, efforts that resulted in a large number of lawsuits in the commonwealth and subjected election workers to intense scrutiny and harassment.

In conversations with Spotlight PA, four election directors said there are a few concrete changes that would shore up Pennsylvania’s system against frivolous fraud allegations as the 2024 election — which could again feature Trump as a candidate — approaches.

Most of them are measures that election officials have pushed for consistently since 2020, but which polarized state lawmakers have not delivered. They include clarifying the state’s mail voting rules, allowing poll workers to count ballots before Election Day, and raising the bar for challenging results.

Administrative changes

Many of the policy changes that election directors want center around giving poll workers more time to do their jobs. Namely, they say the deadline for requesting a mail ballot should be earlier and that poll workers should be allowed to start counting mail ballots before 7 a.m. on Election Day, a process commonly known as pre-canvassing.

Currently, Pennsylvania voters can request a mail ballot up to a week before Election Day, which officials said leaves too little time to get ballots back to voters in time.

“Seven days is not very much time to receive an application, process the application, print and mail the mail ballots, for the voter to receive that ballot, to vote, and return it,” said Seth Bluestein, a Philadelphia commissioner who is one of three people charged with overseeing the city’s elections.

Election workers also don’t have much time to open and process mail ballots at the moment.

Since 2020, the first major election in which Pennsylvania used no-excuse mail voting, election workers have said the current rules make it very difficult to quickly release unofficial results. Pennsylvania’s slow pace in releasing vote counts during that election was a major factor in Trump’s ability to foment conspiracy theories about fraud.

Since then, pre-canvassing has been used as a bargaining chip during election law debates in the state Capitol. A 2021 omnibus bill passed by the Republican-led state legislature offered former Democratic Gov. Tom Wolf pre-canvassing in return for expanded voter ID requirements — a GOP priority. Wolf vetoed the bill because of that provision.

For election directors, pre-canvassing is more practical than political.

“We’re already working 14- to 16-hour days,” said Tonia Fernandez, who has served for four years as Erie County’s election director. “We’re constantly putting out fires, dealing with issues, and overseeing the process of canvassing.”

Fernadez says pre-canvassing would spread out the work that election workers have to do and create a more manageable schedule.

Ballot counting has gotten easier since 2020, partly because county workers now have more experience under their belts and because the state has allocated money for hiring more poll workers and purchasing equipment.

There is a catch: Counties that accept grant money from the state for elections must process and count their mail ballots without stopping until finished.

Erie County received over $900,000 in state funding from Act 88, and Fernandez said she’s not sure how the counting provision will affect her process in the upcoming presidential election. She already oversaw a midterm that featured nonstop counting, but 2024 will be even bigger.

“Before the election integrity grants were offered we would spend two or three days pre-canvassing and canvassing,” Fernandez said, noting that this approach gave “everyone the chance to sleep.”

Updating the code

Forrest Lehman, an election director in Lycoming County, said his priorities have shifted since the 2020 election.

“If you had asked me this a few years ago, I think my list would have largely aligned with other directors,” Lehman said, referring to expanded pre-canvassing and other measures designed to give workers more time to process ballots.

But now, he’s more concerned with strengthening the system against misinformation.

“It’s not pre-canvassing anymore, it’s not tinkering around with deadlines or even with mail ballot requirements,” he said. “It’s protecting our post-election processes and our certification processes from people who want to prevent democracy from functioning.”

In the aftermath of the 2020 election, Lehman said he saw requests for recounts that he felt were based on “dubious” evidence and that were resulting in expensive litigation.

Lehman wants the state legislature to update the cost to file recount petitions to account for inflation. The state Election Code set the price at $50 in 1937, which is equivalent to over $1,000 in 2023. Both Lehman and Fernandez, the Erie County election official, said that amount would better reflect the cost to counties when they have to administer recounts.

Lehman also argued there should be a penalty for counties that fail to certify elections. Currently, the main recourse the state has against a county that holds up certification is a lawsuit. Lehman pointed to the federal Electoral Count Reform Act as a possible model; the bipartisan federal law raised the threshold for Congress to object to a slate of electors during presidential elections.

Lehman also suggested criminal penalties for anyone who harasses or tries to intimidate county election officials and poll workers, and he said he supports creating a process whereby counties could defend themselves in court if recount petitions were filed.

“I think all of us have a suspicion that [2020]’s all just a dress rehearsal for next year,” said Lehman. “And the expectation is that it’s all going to happen next year if we’re not prepared.”

Some election directors also say holistic updates to Pennsylvania’s Election Code would create a well-oiled election process and head off false claims of fraud.

The code is outdated. The bulk of its language was written more than 80 years ago, and some of its provisions are even older.

Because of this, counties’ actual administration practices sometimes must diverge from what is written in state law. Election directors rely on guidance from the state and their county legal counsel to navigate these gray areas in the law, but the situation can lead to misunderstandings and lawsuits from people confused about the law. It also leaves the door open for bad faith efforts to sow mistrust.

Thad Hall, election director in Mercer County, said one area that he thinks is particularly ripe for an update is language about technology, which is broadly inapplicable in the 21st century.

“The whole problem with the code is it’s written for paper, but we have an electronic process,” Hall said.

For example, the state Election Code currently requires each polling district to have two different workers keep lists of the voters who check-in. But Hall said that would not be necessary when using electronic pollbooks, which would record voters as they checked in.

“It makes it easier for everybody,” Hall said. “Right now, I have to have two people go around and their whole job all day is just to write [voters’] names in a book. A lot easier if the system gave us leeway as to how we handle these check-ins.”

Hall added that electronic pollbooks also streamline communication between precincts and election directors, as they provide up-to-date information on the number of votes cast in each precinct, allowing him to instantly check if the right number of ballots is being uploaded for every precinct. If he saw a pollbook was offline, he would know there was an issue in that precinct.

The chance for change

All of the election directors who spoke with Spotlight PA questioned whether the state legislature would be able to pass any of the changes they’re asking for.

Fernandez was the most optimistic, saying she hopes that after the 2022 general election, Republicans would begin to support mail ballots and find areas of compromise with Democrats in the state legislature.

To some extent, her hopes came true — GOP rhetoric against mail voting has shifted slightly. That change could be seen shortly after state Sen. Doug Mastriano (R., Franklin), who badly lost his gubernatorial bid to Democratic Gov. Josh Shapiro, said in a post-concession radio interview that he didn’t see how Republicans could win elections without “embracing” mail voting.

But that change in attitude hasn’t translated to legislative progress on election issues.

As recently as October, the state legislature has been unable to pass an election reform bill. As part of an effort to move the date of the upcoming primary so it would not conflict with Passover, state House leaders tried to pass a proposal that also rolled in pre-canvassing along with a more contentious provision that would expand voter ID requirements. The bill overwhelmingly failed to pass the state House.

“They just literally can’t pass a bill that is nondescript, it’s like it’s not in their DNA. And I do not understand why,” Hall said of lawmakers repeatedly adding politically divisive elements to bills that could otherwise get bipartisan support. “Is there any political advantage to passing the bill? Absolutely not. Will it make elections work better? Absolutely, yes.”

Both Lehman and Bluestein echoed Hall’s sentiments, saying they doubt any election law would change in time for next year’s races.

“The state-level actors, the courts, the legislature will have no one to blame but themselves. We’ve been very clear about what we need. They all refused to provide it,” said Lehman. “The can just keeps getting kicked down the road. And as long as that keeps being the case, the counties are going to have to be the adults in the room.”

BEFORE YOU GO… If you learned something from this article, pay it forward and contribute to Spotlight PA at spotlightpa.org/donate. Spotlight PA is funded by foundations and readers like you who are committed to accountability journalism that gets results.

The post As 2024 election approaches, voting officials worry Pa. isn’t prepared for misinformation appeared first on PublicSource. PublicSource is a nonprofit news organization serving the Pittsburgh region. Visit www.publicsource.org to read more.

SparkleDragon’s Magical Emporium es un lugar en Beechview donde las brujas, los idólatras, los paganos y los locales se pueden reunir para encontrar inciensos, libros, y otros objetos de lo oculto. 

Beechview Puntos de Orgullo
FuentePública (PublicSource) mapea y relata las fortalezas de comunidades diversas.

Joyce Crock, autodenominada bruja, visualizaba su negocio en la Avenida Broadway como un lugar de reunión donde las personas que sienten que no pertenecen a los lugares denominados “normales” puedan construir una comunidad, cuando lo abrió en el 2015. 

“Siento que mi lugar es muy importante para la comunidad pagana,” Crock dijo. “Tenemos a mucha gente LGBTQ+ en la comunidad pagana y no siempre se sienten cómodos en todas partes. Hay personas de color que han venido a decirme cuán bienvenidos se sienten porque yo no los juzgo. Eso fue cómo una bofetada para despertar.”

Crock dijo que muchos negocios a su alrededor han visto disminuir su clientela . Y mientras ella da la bienvenida a cualquiera en su tienda, últimamente también se le ha hecho difícil atraer clientes. 

“He tenido mi negocio por mucho tiempo y nunca he generado ganancia,” agregó Crock, quien también vende obras de artistas locales, por consignación. “No sé cómo todavía sigo abierta, en realidad no lo sé. Algunas personas dan mucho apoyo a la tienda. Hay varias personas que entran solo para platicar. Casi tengo una pequeña clínica de salud mental.” 

El distrito de negocios de Beechview no se ha recuperado completamente de un escándalo de fraude masivo a principios de la década del dos mil, incluso cuando es impulsado ahora por la afluencia de nuevos residentes, muchos de ellos Latinos. Los dueños de negocios tienen la esperanza de que la accesibilidad del vecindario y la creciente población de inmigrantes van a solidificar la transformación.

“El distrito de negocios quedó diezmado. La afluencia de los Latinos ha ayudado a revivir la comunidad después de todo lo que paso con Bernardo Katz,” dijo Charlene Saner, una residente de Beechview, refiriéndose a un desarrollador que compró numerosas propiedades, prometiendo invertir en el área con ayuda de la fundación de la Autoridad de Renovación Urbana (Urban Redevelopment Authority).

En lugar de eso, Katz huyó del país, con cargos federales de fraude electrónico, fraude bancario y conspiración, y dejó una deuda atada a muchas propiedades comerciales que compró en Beechview. De acuerdo con informes, Katz poseía el 80% del distrito de negocios de Beechview y prometió una revitalización de $2.6 millones.   

Los negocios que atienden a la población Latina han ayudado a llenar el vacío. 

El área es hogar de numerosos restaurantes de dueños Latinos, así como un supermercado y una peluquería. La Corporación de Desarrollo Hispano de Pittsburgh (Pittsburgh Hispanic Development Corporation), con sede en Broadway, alberga un programa de incubación de empresas que promueve emprendedores Latinos en South Hills y en toda la región. 

Guillermo Velazquez, director ejecutivo del grupo de desarrollo, dijo que su organización trabaja con todos, pero se especializa en ayudar a personas Latinas que quieren empezar negocios. 

“Es bueno para Beechview porque se están incubando aquí y tienen una dirección postal de la empresa con nosotros durante el periodo de incubación,” Velazquez dijo. “Hay actividad, y las personas vienen aquí para reuniones. Incrementamos el tráfico en una manera positiva en Beechview.” 

Velazquez dijo que desde que la organización empezó en el 2018, han ayudado a abrir más de 126 negocios en la región, y al menos uno de estos está en Beechview. 

Él dijo que espera que la oferta de negocios continúe creciendo y que traigan con ellos una variedad de industrias, como de tecnología y de investigación. Piensa que con el tiempo el vecindario se beneficiaría de un festival anual en Broadway.

Quien sabe cómo se hubiera visto sin esa afluencia [Latina],” dijo Saner, quien también trabaja para el Concejal de la Ciudad Anthony Coghill. Algunos inmigrantes pioneros de Broadway tuvieron dificultades. “Los negocios que encabezaban todo eso ya no están allí. Pero dejaron un legado muy poderoso. Ellos animaron a otros Latinos a venir al área.” 

Huddle cerrado, participación prometida

El restaurante The Huddle en Broadway operó por 47 años, dirigido por la familia Wagner, políticamente influyente, antes de cerrar este verano. 

El vecindario es “completamente diferente ahora y también es un mundo completamente diferente,” dijo Peter Wagner, de 78 años, quien manejaba el negocio. “Tenemos que seguir adelante.”

El dijo que el vecindario se ha “ido todo al infierno por la aplicación de los códigos… Los funcionarios encargados de hacer cumplir los códigos se niegan a aplicar las reglas de códigos que están escritas. Hay muchos propietarios absentistas en esta área.” 

Cómo consecuencia, se han deteriorado las acciones  de las viviendas que una vez fueron sólidas, él dijo. 

“Ahora se ven lotes descuidados y ventanas clausuradas con tablas, y ves que la gente simplemente no cuida sus propiedades y en muchos casos son propietarios absentistas y si no los buscas y les presionas no puedes ganar en una comunidad,” Wagner dijo.  

Pittsburgh tiene tres funcionarios que velan por el  medioambiente, cada uno es responsable de 30 vecindarios, de acuerdo con la vocera de la ciudad Olga George. Desde septiembre, el inspector que atiende a Beechview ha reunido 191 denuncias, de las cuales 24 fueron a la corte del distrito.

“La filosofía del equipo es educar, investigar y [cómo un] último recurso litigar,” dijo George. Los funcionarios “hablan con los residentes directamente o por carta cuando ocurre una infracción. A veces, cuando van a una inspección ya se ha resuelto la infracción.” 

Wagner dijo que ha tratado de encontrar un comprador para su restaurante, pero hasta ahora no ha encontrado a alguien con el que esté satisfecho, aun cuando se lo ha mostrado a posibles compradores de Maryland y New Jersey. 

Algunas propiedades del distrito de negocios no han encontrado compradores. 

Una propiedad que fue de Katz en la Avenida Broadway fue demolida recientemente por la ciudad.

“Es agridulce porque hay un vacío enorme en el distrito de negocios. Y ahora va a haber un plan metódico de lo que irá allí,” dijo Saner. “No queremos más monopolios. No más de que una persona sea dueña de múltiples propiedades. Con participación comunitaria ahora, todos van a tener una voz fuerte.” 

Saner dijo que la participación comunitaria es más fuerte por el historial del vecindario con malos inversionistas como Katz. 

“Por [Katz], emergieron más grupos comunitarios cómo una manera de prevenir que ese tipo de cosa pase de nuevo,” dijo. “Y ahora somos más fuertes por eso.”

Señales prometedoras

Una propiedad que antes fue de Katz, en la esquina donde la Avenida Beechview se une con la Avenida Broadway, ahora es un Dollar Eagle.

En el otro lado del distrito de negocios está Slice on Broadway, una pizzería que se ha expandido a 6 locales en toda la ciudad. El dueño Rico Lunardi dijo que abrió el negocio en el 2010, después de regresar de Filadelfia con un título en administración de empresas. 

“La pizza es una gran cosa aquí,” dijo Lunardi, destacando que el área presume de pizzerías legendarias cómo Fiori’s Pizzaria y Badamos. “Hay mucha competencia.”

A pesar de la competencia sabrosa, Lunardi dijo que le ha ido bien en su negocio y “despegó” después de ganar algunos premios locales. Él atribuyó su éxito comercial a ingredientes de alta calidad y a la novedad regional de vender rebanadas de pizza.

“Hay un estilo Pittsburgh de hacer pizzas y nosotros no somos eso,” él dijo. “La pizza de Pittsburgh tiene una masa más gruesa, salsa más dulce y mucho más queso. Nosotros somos un poco diferentes y no había muchas opciones de conseguir rebanadas de pizza cuando empezamos.”

Lunardi dijo que espera poder franquiciar su negocio.

“Este vecindario es genial, pero ha tenido altibajos,” dijo, refiriéndose al fracaso de Katz. “Nosotros pensábamos que íbamos a tener más desarrollo aquí, pero eso no es el caso.”   

Él dijo que el tren de superficie, conocido cómo el T, trae la posibilidad de que el área atraiga a más personas que buscan trasladarse a diario hacia dentro y fuera de la ciudad. 

Crock también dijo que el acceso al transporte público puede ayudar a revitalizar el vecindario. 

“Quiero ver a Beechview crecer y hacerse más vibrante, como debe de ser. Tenemos la ventaja de la línea T aquí mismo,” dijo ella. “Espero ver a Beechview convertirse en una ciudad [vecindario] cómo Lawrenceville o Bloomfield, sin la gentrificación.”

Guillermo Velazquez, quien fue entrevistado para esta historia, forma parte de la junta de directores de FuentePública (PublicSource). 

Eric Jankiewicz es un reportero de desarrollo económico de FuentePública (PublicSource), y puede ser contactado en ericj@publicsource.org o por Twitter  @ericjankiewicz.

Los hechos de esta historia fueron revisados por Ladimir Garcia. 

Traducción de Zulma Michaca, profesional bilingüe experta viviendo en el Condado de Riverside, Calif., con familia en Pittsburgh. Para contactarla: z.michaca123@gmail.com.

The post Los comerciantes de Beechview esperan que la inmigración, el tránsito – ¿y quizás hasta la brujería? – demostrarán ser la fórmula mágica para la Avenida Broadway appeared first on PublicSource. PublicSource is a nonprofit news organization serving the Pittsburgh region. Visit www.publicsource.org to read more.