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Whoever said “quitters never win,” never met Olympic figure skater Alysa Liu. Liu’s figure skating comeback has been remarkable: The 20-year-old is a two-time Olympic gold medalist in the Milan Cortina Games and a 2025 world figure skating champ.Her free skate on Olympic ice on Thursday clinched the 20-year-old the gold, marking the first time a U.S. woman won an individual figure skating gold since 2002.”My family is out there. My friends are out there. I had to put on a show for them,” Liu told the Associated Press afterward. “When I see other people out there smiling, because I see them in the audience, then I have to smile, too. I have no poker face.”She sat in third place after the short program and is the top American in those standings. The approach she took was one with no pressure on herself.”I’m OK if I do a fail program. I’m totally OK if I do a great program,” she said after the short program, according to the Associated Press. “No matter what the outcome is, it’s still my story.”Looking at her career and why she leftLiu became the youngest U.S. figure skating champ at 13. She’s the first female figure skater to land a quadruple jump in international competition.But at age 16, she announced her retirement from figure skating. Liu said she hated skating by that point and had been planning her exit for a year before she did it. Liu had skated since the age of 5. Skating can be a solitary and controlled sport. She craved teen normalcy, time with friends and freedom. She put her skates in the closet and said she didn’t miss the ice at all. “I left the sport completely,” Liu said. “Like I wouldn’t step in the rink. Honestly, I was low-key traumatized.”Liu spent the next two years making up for lost time. She spent time with her siblings in Oakland, California. She’s the oldest of five kids. She hung out with high school friends, graduated and traveled the world, including hiking in the Himalayas. She enrolled at UCLA and picked up a new sport: skiing. Skiing reminded her of skating because of the sensation of the cold air on her skin. One day, she ventured into a rink with a friend. And, she didn’t hate it. In fact, she enjoyed it. Making a comeback She started skating again for fun and then floated the idea of coming out of retirement to her longtime coach, Phillip DiGuglielmo. “I said, ‘Please don’t.’ I really did. I said, ‘Please don’t. Respect your legacy as an Olympic bronze medalist,’” DiGuglielmo said.DiGuglielmo had coached Liu since she was 5. “We had a Zoom call for two hours,” DiGuglielmo said. “The story is, I had a lot of glasses of wine over those two hours. And she talked me into a comeback.”Liu and DiGuglielmo resumed training for just seven months, and she won the 2025 World Figure Skating Championships. DiGuglielmo said no one has taken a two-year break from skating and pulled off such a feat. “It makes me think if I was one of those athletes, I’d be like, ‘Why did I just skate for the last year? I could have taken a vacation for two years. But that’s Alysa. She’s different,” DiGuglielmo said. Liu pointed out that she left her sport while still in puberty. At 20, she’s physically and mentally stronger. And, she’s competing on her own terms, taking an active role in choreography, competition and training. “I have a perspective not many of the athletes in the sport have,” Liu said. “So many people, their goal is the Olympics, and when they get there, and it’s over, they don’t know what to do. I’m really just doing this for fun.”PHNjcmlwdCB0eXBlPSJ0ZXh0L2phdmFzY3JpcHQiPiFmdW5jdGlvbigpeyJ1c2Ugc3RyaWN0Ijt3aW5kb3cuYWRkRXZlbnRMaXN0ZW5lcigibWVzc2FnZSIsKGZ1bmN0aW9uKGUpe2lmKHZvaWQgMCE9PWUuZGF0YVsiZGF0YXdyYXBwZXItaGVpZ2h0Il0pe3ZhciB0PWRvY3VtZW50LnF1ZXJ5U2VsZWN0b3JBbGwoImlmcmFtZSIpO2Zvcih2YXIgYSBpbiBlLmRhdGFbImRhdGF3cmFwcGVyLWhlaWdodCJdKWZvcih2YXIgcj0wO3I8dC5sZW5ndGg7cisrKXtpZih0W3JdLmNvbnRlbnRXaW5kb3c9PT1lLnNvdXJjZSl0W3JdLnN0eWxlLmhlaWdodD1lLmRhdGFbImRhdGF3cmFwcGVyLWhlaWdodCJdW2FdKyJweCJ9fX0pKX0oKTs8L3NjcmlwdD4=
Whoever said “quitters never win,” never met Olympic figure skater Alysa Liu.
Liu’s figure skating comeback has been remarkable: The 20-year-old is a 2025 world figure skating champ and an two-time Olympic gold medalist in the Milan Cortina Games.
Her free skate on Olympic ice on Thursday clinched the 20-year-old the gold, marking the first time a U.S. woman won an individual figure skating gold since 2002.
“My family is out there. My friends are out there. I had to put on a show for them,” Liu told the Associated Press afterward. “When I see other people out there smiling, because I see them in the audience, then I have to smile, too. I have no poker face.”
She sat in third place after the short program and is the top American in those standings. The approach she took was one with no pressure on herself.
“I’m OK if I do a fail program. I’m totally OK if I do a great program,” she said after the short program, according to the Associated Press. “No matter what the outcome is, it’s still my story.”
Liu became the youngest U.S. figure skating champ at 13. She’s the first female figure skater to land a quadruple jump in international competition.
But at age 16, she announced her retirement from figure skating. Liu said she hated skating by that point and had been planning her exit for a year before she did it.
Liu had skated since the age of 5. Skating can be a solitary and controlled sport. She craved teen normalcy, time with friends and freedom. She put her skates in the closet and said she didn’t miss the ice at all.
“I left the sport completely,” Liu said. “Like I wouldn’t step in the rink. Honestly, I was low-key traumatized.”
Liu spent the next two years making up for lost time. She spent time with her siblings in Oakland, California. She’s the oldest of five kids. She hung out with high school friends, graduated and traveled the world, including hiking in the Himalayas. She enrolled at UCLA and picked up a new sport: skiing.
Skiing reminded her of skating because of the sensation of the cold air on her skin. One day, she ventured into a rink with a friend. And, she didn’t hate it. In fact, she enjoyed it.
She started skating again for fun and then floated the idea of coming out of retirement to her longtime coach, Phillip DiGuglielmo.
“I said, ‘Please don’t.’ I really did. I said, ‘Please don’t. Respect your legacy as an Olympic bronze medalist,’” DiGuglielmo said.
DiGuglielmo had coached Liu since she was 5.
“We had a Zoom call for two hours,” DiGuglielmo said. “The story is, I had a lot of glasses of wine over those two hours. And she talked me into a comeback.”
Liu and DiGuglielmo resumed training for just seven months, and she won the 2025 World Figure Skating Championships. DiGuglielmo said no one has taken a two-year break from skating and pulled off such a feat.
“It makes me think if I was one of those athletes, I’d be like, ‘Why did I just skate for the last year? I could have taken a vacation for two years. But that’s Alysa. She’s different,” DiGuglielmo said.
Liu pointed out that she left her sport while still in puberty. At 20, she’s physically and mentally stronger. And, she’s competing on her own terms, taking an active role in choreography, competition and training.
“I have a perspective not many of the athletes in the sport have,” Liu said. “So many people, their goal is the Olympics, and when they get there, and it’s over, they don’t know what to do. I’m really just doing this for fun.”
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Southern California lost a conservation champion as the Friends of Big Bear Valley announced the death Wednesday of Sandy Steers, a biologist and the group’s executive director, at the age of 73.
The group marked Steers’ death “with heavy hearts and great sadness.” The environmental education nonprofit said it would be providing more information but asked for “time to grieve and process this sad news.”
Although Steers spearheaded many projects and fought developers who tried to build in Big Bear Valley, she was perhaps best known for her eagle advocacy.
Eagles typically only visit Big Bear to find food in the winter when their normal sources of sustenance have frozen over, according to the Friends of Big Bear Valley.
That changed in 2009 when a male juvenile from Catalina began to nest in Big Bear during the summer. Shortly after, a pair of eagles nested on the north side, bolstering Big Bear Valley’s role as vital habitat for the birds of prey.
By the fall of 2011, the first bald eagle chick, named Jackie, hatched in the Big Bear Valley to parents Ricky and Lucy.
Friends of Big Bear Valley documented and monitored the eagles and spent two years fundraising and planning for their biggest venture: installing cameras trained on the eagles’ nest.
Steers and the Friends of Big Bear Valley turned the local nesting eagles into a sensation, with thousands of monthly fans logging in to the camera feed to keep track of the arrival of new adults and their offspring.
Jackie, the hatchling from 2011, is now the star of a 24-hour webcam that monitors her and her partner, Shadow, 145 feet up in a Jeffrey pine overlooking Big Bear Lake.
In 2025, three eaglets hatched and two survived and eventually left the nest.
It was that inside access provided by Steers and that Friends of Big Bear Valley that kept thousands of viewers coming back.
The “Truman Show”-like window into the eagles’ lives has played a major role in their fame, but it doesn’t fully explain it. Other nest cams across the country don’t get as much attention.
Jenny Voisard, media and website manager for Friends of Big Bear Valley, chalks it up partly to Jackie’s and Shadow’s highly individual personalities. There’s also the dedication of the nonprofit and its volunteers. Steers, who once volunteered as an eagle counter for the U.S. Forest Service, became a key authority on Jackie and Shadow.
Years ago, Steers dedicated herself to keeping an eye on a newly hatched chick, watching as it grew and eventually took flight.
“She totally fell in love with this eagle,” Voisard said. That eagle is believed to be Jackie.
Roughly 25 years ago, the original anti-development nonprofit, the Friends of the Fawnskin, named for the Big Bear Lake north shore community, was formed to fight a planned area residential development. Steers, who had just moved into the area from the more developed south shore, joined the group. Most of those founders eventually segued to the newer Friends of Big Bear Valley in the 2010s.
Steers helped lead a push against San Diego businessman Irving Okovita, who sought to build a 132-condominium, 175-slip marina on 12.5 acres of Grout Bay territory on the North Shore in the early 2000s.
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She was even named in a lawsuit that accused her of blocking the project but that eventually died in 2006, along with the development.
Although that effort fizzled, another found success.
In September, San Bernardino County supervisors approved the 50-home project called Moon Camp despite claims that it will take away valuable foraging areas for the raptors. San Bernardino County officials insist the project won’t harm the eagles, saying it went through “extensive environmental review” to ensure that.
The site is less than a mile from Jackie and Shadow’s nest, and would be visible from the 24-hour live cam.
Bald eagle eggs only hatch about 50% of the time, but the success rate seemed even lower in Big Bear. The camera was installed to help wildlife experts figure out what was going on, Voisard said. A second camera capturing a wider view of their habitat was added in 2021.
Today, a small squad of volunteers and contractors watch and record data on Jackie and Shadow every second of the day. Some observers are overseas to keep tabs when those in the U.S. are sleeping. They track who is in the nest and count every stick and “fluff” delivery. They document eagle calls, mating and all things egg.
The nonprofit also keeps a public-facing “eagle log,” which provides updates on what the power couple is up to, along with analysis of their behaviors and educational tidbits.
Steers “believed that having a balance of story, and science is the way to reach people,” Voisard said. “This was all her vision.”
The fandom transcends nationality, religion, age and political persuasion, she said. Many schools use the nest cam as an educational tool, introducing kids to Jackie and Shadow. Older and disabled watchers are able to connect to nature they may not be able to easily access. Some emergency room workers watch to unwind from their stressful jobs.
As for Steers, the renaissance woman had a bachelor’s degree in biology from UCLA, but her interests took her in numerous directions.
“She worked for NASA, led tours in the Galapagos and ran a technology consulting company,” Voisard told The Times. “She also was a screenwriter and author.”
She was a practitioner of Neuro-Linguistic Programming (NLP), the Inca tradition of Shamanic Healing and believed in past lives.
Her spiritually was formed after she recovered from Stage 4 cancer through the use of alternative techniques, according to her website.
Steers will long be remembered for her connection with and support of Jackie and Shadow. She spoke with The Times in 2024 about the lessons the pair had for the fans of their webcam.
They “are extremely resilient and strong. … I like to think they’re teaching people resilience and to take things as they come.”
Staff writer Clara Harter contributed to this report.
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Andrew J. Campa, Lila Seidman
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People near a fire Monday afternoon at a commercial building in Nashua, New Hampshire, said the explosion was very loud and led the ground to shake.Fire officials said about 40 people were in the Greater Nashua Mental Health building when the gas leak was first reported at about 2:15 p.m. Fire Chief Steve Buxton said four people were unaccounted for as of Monday evening, but he believed officials would be able to make contact with them.Three firefighters were injured, one seriously. William Closs was working in the area when he felt the rumbling.”Real loud. It shook a lot,” Closs said. An emergency alert was issued in New Hampshire about a potential gas leak after the fire and explosion.The emergency alert urged anyone in the area of the building to extinguish burners or other flames and prepare to evacuate. People were told to stay away from the area.When he saw the emergency alert on his phone, Closs said he was already in the process of trying to evacuate the building he was in. “We were trying to figure out how to get people out, as it was the building right next to us,” Closs said.First responders assisted in the evacuation.”They were quick, efficient, thorough,” Closs said.Closs said he left the scene to walk down the road to meet friends and family, leaving his car at the scene. “Again, I didn’t know that if a roof had collapsed, or what was going on, but as soon as we saw the building next door was on fire, we were like, ‘What do we do now? Here we go,’” Closs said.>> Meanwhile, witness Peter Hernandez joined sister station WMUR live to describe what he saw:
People near a fire Monday afternoon at a commercial building in Nashua, New Hampshire, said the explosion was very loud and led the ground to shake.
Fire officials said about 40 people were in the Greater Nashua Mental Health building when the gas leak was first reported at about 2:15 p.m. Fire Chief Steve Buxton said four people were unaccounted for as of Monday evening, but he believed officials would be able to make contact with them.
Three firefighters were injured, one seriously.
William Closs was working in the area when he felt the rumbling.
“Real loud. It shook a lot,” Closs said.
An emergency alert was issued in New Hampshire about a potential gas leak after the fire and explosion.
The emergency alert urged anyone in the area of the building to extinguish burners or other flames and prepare to evacuate. People were told to stay away from the area.
When he saw the emergency alert on his phone, Closs said he was already in the process of trying to evacuate the building he was in.
“We were trying to figure out how to get people out, as it was the building right next to us,” Closs said.
First responders assisted in the evacuation.
“They were quick, efficient, thorough,” Closs said.
Closs said he left the scene to walk down the road to meet friends and family, leaving his car at the scene.
“Again, I didn’t know that if a roof had collapsed, or what was going on, but as soon as we saw the building next door was on fire, we were like, ‘What do we do now? Here we go,’” Closs said.
>> Meanwhile, witness Peter Hernandez joined sister station WMUR live to describe what he saw:
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MINNEAPOLIS — For weeks, administrators at this charter high school have arrived an hour before class, grabbed neon vests and walkie-talkies, and headed out into the cold to watch for ICE agents and escort students in.
Lately, fewer than half of the 800 sudents show up.
“Operation Metro Surge,” the immigration crackdown in Minnesota that led to nationwide protests after federal agents shot and killed two U.S. citizens, has had students, parents and teachers on edge regardless of their immigration status.
Signs of a fearful new normal are all over the school. Green craft paper covers the bottom of many first-floor windows so outsiders can’t peer in. A notice taped outside one door says unauthorized entry is prohibited: “This includes all federal law enforcement personnel and activities unless authorized by lawful written direction from appropriate school officials or a valid court order.”
Students at a Minneapolis high school classroom with many empty seats on Jan. 29, 2026.
Staff coordinate throughout the day with a neighborhood watch group to determine whether ICE agents are nearby. When they are, classroom doors are locked and hallways emptied until staff announce “all clear.”
Similar tactics have been utilized by schools in other cities hit by immigration raids across the country. The Los Angeles Unified School District established a donation fund for affected families and created security perimeters around schools last summer.
But it appears nowhere have students felt the repercussions of local raids more than in Minneapolis.
Many schools have seen attendance plummet by double-digit percentages. At least three other, smaller charter schools in Minneapolis have completely shut down in-person learning.
At this high school, which administrators asked The Times not to identify for fear of retaliation by the Trump administration, 84% of students are Latino and 12% are Black. Staff and students are being identified by first or middle names.
A balloon sits in a hallway at the high school.
Doors and windows are covered at the school so outsiders can’t see in.
Three students have been detained — and later released — in recent weeks. Two others were followed into the school parking lot and questioned about their immigration status. Several have parents who were deported or who self-deported. Latino staff said they have also been stopped and questioned about their legal status.
“Our families feel hunted,” said Noelle, the school district’s executive director.
Students returned from winter break on Jan. 6, the same day 2,000 additional immigration agents were dispatched to Minneapolis to carry out what Immigration and Customs Enforcement Acting Director Todd Lyons called the agency’s “largest immigration operation ever.” The next day, an ICE officer fatally shot Renee Good, a 37-year-old mother of three.
“I describe that day as if you’re on an airplane and it’s really bad turbulence, and you have to keep your cool because, if you don’t, you lose the entire building,” said Emmanuel, an assistant principal. “It felt like we went through war.”
Attendance dropped by the hundreds as parents grew too afraid to let their children leave home. School leaders decided to offer online learning and scrambled to find enough laptops and mobile hotspots for the many students who didn’t have devices or internet. Some teachers sent packets of schoolwork to students by mail.
A teacher at the Minneapolis high school that administrators asked The Times not to identify for fear of retaliation by the Trump administration. Teachers and students there also asked not to be identified.
Noelle said in-person attendance, which had dropped below 400 students, increased by around 100 in the third week of January. Then federal agents shot and killed 37-year-old intensive care nurse Alex Pretti, and attendance plummeted again.
Rochelle Van Dijk, vice president of Great MN Schools, a nonprofit supporting schools that serve a majority of students of color, said many schools have redirected tens of thousands of dollars away from other critical needs toward online learning, food distribution and safety planning. For students still attending in person, recess has frequently been canceled, and field trips and after-school activities paused.
Even if students return to school by mid-February, Van Dijk said, they will have missed 20% of their instructional days for the year.
“A senior who can’t meet with their college counselor right now just missed support needed for major January college application deadlines. Or a second-grader with a speech delay who is supposed to be in an active in-person intervention may lose a critical window of brain plasticity,” she said. “It is not dissimilar to what our nation’s children faced during COVID, but entirely avoidable.”
At the high school, administrators said they tried to create “a security bubble,” operating under protocols more typical of active shooter emergencies.
Gym class at the Minneapolis school, where many students are so afraid of ICE that they won’t go to the campus.
If agents were to enter the building without a judicial warrant, the school would go into a full lockdown, turning off lights, staying silent and moving out of sight. That hasn’t happened, though ICE last year rescinded a policy that had barred arrests at so-called sensitive locations, including schools.
Tricia McLaughlin, assistant secretary for the Department of Homeland Security, said that blaming ICE for low school attendance is “creating a climate of fear and smearing law enforcement.”
“ICE does not target schools,” McLaughlin said. “If a dangerous or violent illegal criminal alien felon were to flee into a school, or a child sex offender is working as an employee, there may be a situation where an arrest is made to protect the safety of the student. But this has not happened.”
Alondra, a 16-year-old junior who was born in the U.S., was arrested after school Jan. 21 near a clinic where she had gone with a friend, also 16, to pick up medication for her grandmother.
She said that as she was about to turn into the parking lot, another car sped in front of her, forcing her to stop. Alondra saw four men in ski masks with guns get out. Scared, she put her car in reverse. Before she could move, she said, another vehicle pulled up and struck her car from behind.
Alondra shared videos with The Times that she recorded from the scene. She said agents cracked her passenger window in an attempt to get in.
“We’re with you!” a bystander can be heard telling her in the video as others blow emergency whistles.
She said she rolled her window down and an agent asked to see her ID. She gave him her license and U.S. passport.
“Is it necessary to have to talk to you or can I talk to an actual cop?” she asks in the video. “Can I talk to an actual cop from here?”
“We are law enforcement,” the agent replies. “What are they gonna do?”
In another video, an agent questions Alondra’s friend about the whereabouts of his parents. Another agent is heard saying Alondra had put her car in reverse.
“We’re underage,” she tells him. “We’re scared.”
A sign directs students to line up for their school bus route. Bus pickups are staggered, with one group of students escorted outside at a time. This way, the children can be taken back inside the school or onto the bus more easily if ICE arrives.
A Minneapolis Public Radio reporter at the scene said agents appeared to have rear-ended Alondra’s car. But Alondra said an agent claimed she had caused the accident.
“It’s just a simple accident, you know what I mean?” he says in the video. “We’re not gonna get on you for trying to hit us or something.”
“Can you let us go, please?” her friend, visibly shaken, asks the agent at his window.
Alondra and her friend were handcuffed and placed in a U.S. Customs and Border Protection vehicle as observers filmed the incident. At least two observers were arrested as agents deployed tear gas and pepper spray, according to an MPR report.
The agents took the students to the federal Whipple Building. Alondra said the agents separated the friends, looked through and photographed her belongings and had her change into blue canvas shoes before chaining her feet together and placing her in a holding cell alone.
“I asked at least five times if I could let my guardian know what was happening, because I was underage, but they never let me,” she said.
Finally, around 7 p.m., agents released Alondra — with no paperwork about the incident — and she called her aunt to pick her up. Her friend was released later.
Meanwhile, school administrators who saw the MPR video called Alondra’s family and her friend’s.
Alondra said officers didn’t know what had happened to her car and told her they would call her when she could pick it up. But no one has called, and school administrators who helped her make calls to Minneapolis impound lots haven’t been able to locate it either.
Though Alondra could attend classes online, she felt she had to return to campus.
“I feel like if I would have stayed home, it would have gone worse for me,” she said, her lip quivering. “I use school as a distraction.”
The backstage of the auditorium, dubbed the bodega, has been turned into a well-stocked pantry for families who are too afraid to leave their homes.
A volunteer organizes donated items for distribution to families at the Minneapolis high school.
A teacher makes a delivery to a family in Minneapolis.
Teachers and volunteers sort donations by category, including hygiene goods, breakfast cereals, bread and tortillas, fruit and vegetables, diapers and other baby items. Bags are labeled with each student’s name and address and filled with the items their family has requested. After school, teachers deliver the items to the students’ homes.
Noelle said some students, particularly those who are homeless, are now at risk of failing because they’re in “survival mode.” Their learning is stagnating, she said.
“A lot of these kids are — I mean, they want to be — college-bound,” Noelle said. “How do you compete [for admission] with the best applicants if you’re online right now and doing one touch-point a day with one teacher because that’s all the technology that you have?”
On Thursday afternoon, 20 of 44 students had shown up for an AP world history class where the whiteboard prompt asked, “Why might some people resort to violent resistance rather than peaceful protest?”
Upstairs, in an 11th-grade U.S. history class, attendance was even worse — four students, with 17 others following online. The topic was what the teacher called the nation’s “first immigration ban,” the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882.
Students head to their bus at the high school.
Morgan, the teacher, asked the students to name a similarity between the Chinese exclusion era and current day.
“Immigrants getting thrown out,” one student offered.
“Once they leave, they can’t come back,” said another.
“The fact that this is our first ban on immigration also sets a precedent that this stuff can happen over and over and over again,” Morgan said.
Sophie, who teachers English language learners, led the effort to organize the online school option. She is from Chile and says she has struggled to put her own fear aside to be present for the students who rely on her. Driving to school scares her, too.
“It’s lawless,” she said. “It doesn’t matter that I have my passport in my purse. The minute I open my mouth, they’re going to know that I’m not from here.”
Sophie said she once had to call a student’s mother to say her husband had been taken by immigration agents after another school staffer found his car abandoned on a nearby street.
“Having to have that conversation wasn’t on my bingo card for that day, or any day,” she said. “Having to say that we have proof that your husband was taken and hearing that woman crying and couldn’t talk, and I’m like, what do I say now?”
Close to the 4:15 p.m. dismissal, administrators again donned their neon vests and logged on to the neighborhood Signal call for possible immigration activity.
Students walk to a bus Thursday. Dismissal used to be a free-for-all, with large numbers of students rushing outside as soon as the bell rang.
Dismissal used to be a free-for-all — once the final bell rang, students would rush outside to find their bus or ride or to begin the walk home.
Now pickups are staggered, with students escorted outside one bus at a time. Teachers grab numbered signs and tell students to line up according to their route. If ICE agents pull up, administrators said, they could rush a smaller group of students onto the bus or back inside.
In yet another example of how the immigration raids had crippled attendance, some buses were nearly empty. On one bus, just two students hopped on.
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Andrea Castillo
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OMAHA HAS A NEW ADDITION TO THE 100 CLUB. SARAH ROUNTREE CELEBRATED A CENTURY OF CIVIL RIGHTS ACTIVISM TODAY. NEWSWATCH SEVEN’S IZZY JUUL WAS AT SARAH’S BIRTHDAY PARTY AND SHARES HER STORY. TRAILBLAZER I CAN. HISTORY MAKER ALL WORDS TO DESCRIBE THE BIRTHDAY GIRL SARAH ROUNTREE. SHE’S THE LAST SURVIVING MEMBER OF THE COMMITTEE FOR CIVIL LIBERTIES IN OMAHA’S NEWEST 100 YEAR OLD. HELLO EVERYONE! I AM SO HAPPY AND GOD BLESS ALL OF YOU FOR COMING FOR MY BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION. SHE IS 100 YEARS YOUNG. AMEN. YES, SHE’S STILL GOT THE FIGHT IN HER. THE FIRST THING SHE SAID TO ME WAS WE’RE GOING TO START UP THE FOR SALE AGAIN. ROUNTREE WAS AT THE FOREFRONT OF THE 1960S CIVIL RIGHTS MOVEMENT HERE IN OMAHA. THEY DIDN’T TALK ABOUT BLACK HISTORY BACK THEN. THEY DIDN’T DO ANY OF THAT. AND IT BECAUSE OF SEVERAL ROUNTREE THAT WE ARE NOW ABLE TO TALK ABOUT BLACK HISTORY. SHE WAS THE RIGHT HAND AT FORT SILL DOING EVERYTHING FROM FIGHTING SEGREGATION TO TEACHING THEIR KIDS. I’M SURE THAT THE DEPARTED CIVIL RIGHTS MEMBERS FOR HCL MEMBERS ARE LOOKING. THEIR SPIRIT IS HERE TODAY, AND THEY’RE SMILING AND THEY’RE HAPPY. SHE ALWAYS WAS READY TO FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT AND GET INTO GOOD TROUBLE. ROUNTREE AND HER WORK HAVE BEEN ETCHED INTO OMAHA’S HISTORY. A STREET IN HER NAME AND A PROCLAMATION FROM MAYOR JOHN EWING JR HIMSELF. MANY YEARS OF FAITHFUL SERVICE AND MEANINGFUL CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE OMAHA COMMUNITY, LEAVING AN INDELIBLE MARK OF KINDNESS ON ALL THOSE WHO HAVE HAD THE PRIVILEGE OF KNOWING HER. IN OMAHA, IZZY FONFARA JUUL KETV NEWSWATCH SEVEN. HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARAH! CAN YOU IMAGINE EVERYTHIN
Civil rights activist celebrates 100th birthday
Sarah Rountree is the last surviving member of the Committee for Civil Liberties.
Updated: 1:03 PM EST Jan 27, 2026
Civil rights advocate Sarah Rountree celebrated 100 years of activism Monday.Her friends describe her as a “trailblazer, icon history maker.”Rountree is the last surviving member of the Committee for Civil Liberties, a civil rights organization founded in the 1960s.”Hello everyone, I am so happy,” Rountree said at the start of her party. “God bless all of you for coming to my birthday celebration.””She is 100 years young, she’s still got the fight,” the Rev. Darryl Eure, son of another 4CL member, said. “You know, the first thing she said to me was, ‘We’re going to start up the 4CL again.”Rountree was at the forefront of the 1960s civil rights movement in Omaha.”They didn’t talk about Black history back then,” Eure said. “They didn’t do any of that, and it’s because of Sarah Rountree that we are now able to talk about Black history.”She was the right hand at 4CL, doing everything from fighting segregation to teaching kids.”I’m sure that the departed civil rights members, 4CL members, are looking. Their spirits are here today, and they’re smiling, and they’re happy,” Rountree said. “She always was ready to fight the good fight and get into good trouble,” Eure said.Rountree and her work have been etched into Omaha’s history. She has a street in her name and received a proclamation from city Mayor John Ewing Jr. at her party on Sunday.”Mrs. Rountree has dedicated many years of faithful service and meaningful contributions to the Omaha community, leaving an indelible mark of kindness on all those who have had the privilege of knowing her,” the proclamation reads.Family and friends said she is a firecracker who loves to dance to her favorite song, “She’s a Bad Mama Jama” by Carl Carlton.Rountree continued her activism well into her 90s, using her knowledge and reputation to raise awareness of the water crisis in Flint, Michigan. She will be the keynote speaker during Catholic Charities’ celebration of African American history at the end of February.
Civil rights advocate Sarah Rountree celebrated 100 years of activism Monday.
Her friends describe her as a “trailblazer, icon [and] history maker.”
Rountree is the last surviving member of the Committee for Civil Liberties, a civil rights organization founded in the 1960s.
“Hello everyone, I am so happy,” Rountree said at the start of her party. “God bless all of you for coming to my birthday celebration.”
“She is 100 years young, she’s still got the fight,” the Rev. Darryl Eure, son of another 4CL member, said. “You know, the first thing she said to me was, ‘We’re going to start up the 4CL again.”
Rountree was at the forefront of the 1960s civil rights movement in Omaha.
“They didn’t talk about Black history back then,” Eure said. “They didn’t do any of that, and it’s because of Sarah Rountree that we are now able to talk about Black history.”
She was the right hand at 4CL, doing everything from fighting segregation to teaching kids.
“I’m sure that the departed civil rights members, 4CL members, are looking. Their spirits are here today, and they’re smiling, and they’re happy,” Rountree said.
“She always was ready to fight the good fight and get into good trouble,” Eure said.
Rountree and her work have been etched into Omaha’s history. She has a street in her name and received a proclamation from city Mayor John Ewing Jr. at her party on Sunday.
“Mrs. Rountree has dedicated many years of faithful service and meaningful contributions to the Omaha community, leaving an indelible mark of kindness on all those who have had the privilege of knowing her,” the proclamation reads.
Family and friends said she is a firecracker who loves to dance to her favorite song, “She’s a Bad Mama Jama” by Carl Carlton.
Rountree continued her activism well into her 90s, using her knowledge and reputation to raise awareness of the water crisis in Flint, Michigan. She will be the keynote speaker during Catholic Charities’ celebration of African American history at the end of February.
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Known by friends and colleagues as a “planetary patriot,” a “happy warrior” and the “Golden State Eco-Warrior,” Rob Caughlan, a political operative, savvy public relations specialist and one of the early leaders of the Surfrider Foundation, died at his home in San Mateo on Jan. 17. He was 82.
His wife of nearly 62 years, Diana, died four days earlier, from lung cancer.
Environmentalists, political operatives and friends responded to his death with grief but also joy as they recalled his passion, talent and sense of humor — and his drive not only to make the world a better place but to have fun doing it.
“He’d always say that the real winner in a surfing contest was the guy who had the most fun,” said Lennie Roberts, a conservationist in San Mateo County and longtime friend of Caughlan’s. “He was true to that. It’s the way he lived.”
“When he walked into a room, he’d have a big smile on his face. He was a great — a gifted — people person,” said Dan Young, one of the original five founders of the Surfrider Foundation. The organization was cobbled together in the early 1980s by a group of Southern California surfers who felt called to protect the coastline — and their waves.
They also wanted to dispel the stereotype that surfers are lackadaisical stoners and show the world that surfers could get organized and fight for just causes, said Roberts, citing Caughlan’s 2020 memoir, “The Surfer in the White House and Other Salty Yarns.”
Before joining Surfrider in 1986, Caughlan was a political operative who worked as an environmental advisor in the Carter administration. According to Warner Chabot, an old friend and recently retired executive director of the San Francisco Estuary Institute, Caughlan got his start during the early 1970s when he and his friend, David Oke, formed the Sam Ervin Fan Club, which supported the Southern senator’s efforts to lead the Watergate investigation of President Nixon.
According to Chabot, Caughlan organized the printing of T-shirts with Ervin’s face on them, underneath the text “I Trust Uncle Sam.”
“He was an early social influencer — par extraordinaire,” he said.
Glenn Hening, a surfer, former Jet Propulsion Laboratory space software engineer and another original founder of the Surfrider Foundation, said one of the group’s initial fights was against the city of Malibu, which in the early 1980s was periodically digging up sand in the lagoon right offshore and destroying the waves at one of their favorite surf spots.
According to Hening, it was Caughlin’s unique ability to persuade and charm politicians and donors that put Surfrider’s efforts on the map.
Caughlan served as the foundation’s president from 1986 to 1992.
The foundation grabbed the national spotlight in 1989 when it went after two large paper mills in Humboldt Bay that were discharging toxic wastewater into an excellent surf spot in Northern California. The foundation took aim and in 1991 filed suit alongside the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency; the paper mills settled for $5.8 million.
Hening said the victory would never have happened without Caughlan.
The mills had tried to brush off the suit by offering a donation to the foundation, Hening said. But Caughlan and Mark Massara — an environmental lawyer with the organization — rebuffed the gesture.
“The paper mill guys said, ‘Well, what can we do here? How can we make this go away?’” said Hening, recalling the conversation. “And Rob said, ‘It’s not going to go away. We’re not going away. We’re surfers.’”
Roberts said Caughlan’s legacy can be felt by anyone who has ever spent time on the San Mateo County coastline. In the 1980s, the two spearheaded a successful ballot measure that still protects the coast from non-agricultural development and ensured access to the beaches and bluffs. It also prohibits onshore oil facilities for off-shore operations.
The two also worked on a county measure that led to the development of the Devil’s Slide tunnels on Highway 1 between Pacifica and Montara, designed to make that formerly treacherous path safer for travelers.
The state had wanted to build a six-lane highway over the steep hills in the area. “It would have been dangerous because of the steep slopes, and it would be going up into the fog bank and then back down out of the fog. So it was inherently dangerous,” Roberts said.
Chad Nelsen, the current president of the Surfrider Foundation, said he was first drawn into Caughlan’s orbit in 2010 when Surfrider got involved with a lawsuit pertaining to a beach in San Mateo County. Silicon Valley venture capitalist Vinod Khosla purchased 53 acres of Northern California coastline for $32.5 million and closed off access to the public — including a popular stretch known as Martin’s Beach — so Surfrider sued.
Nelsen said that although Caughlan had left the organization about 20 years before, he reappeared with a “sort of unbridled enthusiasm and commitment to the cause,” and the organization ultimately prevailed; the public can once again access the beach “thanks to ‘Birdlegs.’”
Birdlegs was Caughlan’s nickname, and according to Nelsen, it was probably coined in the 1970s by his fellow surfers.
“He had notoriously spindly legs, I guess,” Nelsen said.
Robert Willis Caughlan was born in Alliance, Ohio, on Feb. 27, 1943. His father, who was a parachute instructor with the U.S. Army, died when Caughlan was 4. In 1950, Caughlan moved with his mother and younger brother to San Mateo, where he saw the ocean for the first time.
He rode his first wave in 1959, at age 16, from the breakwater at Half Moon Bay.
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Susanne Rust
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Veteran comedian, actor and Southern California native T.K. Carter has died. He was 69.
Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department deputies arrived at the actor’s Duarte home Friday evening after receiving a call about an unresponsive male, the Associated Press reported. He was declared dead at the scene. No foul play is suspected, though officials have not yet released a cause of death.
Born Thomas Kent Carter in New York City, Carter was raised in the San Gabriel Valley, according to IMDb.
After several small roles in 1970s sitcoms, including “Good Times,” “The Waltons” and “The Jeffersons,” he found his breakthrough role in the 1982 horror movie “The Thing” as the chef Nauls.
He went on to play teacher Mike Fulton in “Punky Brewster” and Clarence Hull in “The Sinbad Show,” among a host of other film and television credits through the 1980s and ‘90s.
In later decades of his career, he took on consulting roles in addition to on-screen appearances.
He worked with Chris Tucker as a dialect coach on the 1998 film “Rush Hour,” and was brought on to the set of the 1996 movie “Space Jam” to help the film’s star, Michael Jordan, learn lines and feel more comfortable in front of the camera.
“T.K. was a terrific actor, and I wanted him to help Michael with his dialogue,” director Joe Pytka told The Times in 2020.
While Carter was best known for his comedic work, describing himself in his Instagram bio as a writer and performer “born to act and make you laugh,” he also took on more serious roles.
He starred in the 2000 HBO miniseries “The Corner,” a drama in which he played Gary McCullough, a west Baltimore father struggling with addiction.
“I just totally felt for Gary,” Carter told The Times. “I’ve had drug problems and cocaine addiction. I lost my father to a drug-related death. I’ve lost a lot of friends. I was fortunate to come out on the other side and get my life together. But I haven’t forgotten. I kept Gary with me all the time. I slept Gary. I breathed Gary.”
As news of the actor’s passing spread, friends and colleagues took to social media with tributes.
“As a young kid, I looked up to T. K. because seeing an African American actor starring in a major film meant a lot to me. I always felt he was headed for stardom,” entrepreneur Shavar Ross posted on X. “I want to send my heartfelt condolences to his family, his friends, and everyone who loved and admired his work. He will always be remembered and respected.”
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Corinne Purtill
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STREET MARKET ON OUR WEBSITE WKYC.COM. A YOUNG INDIANA BOY IS BEING CALLED A HERO AFTER SAVING HIS FRIEND FROM DROWNING AT AN INDOOR POOL. IT WAS HIS BIRTHDAY PARTY AND LIKE, I WAS EXCITED, SO I JUST JUMPED IN THE POOL. I SAW HIM LIKE, DROWNING. LIKE HE WAS LIKE, NOT SWIMMING. SO I HELD A HOLE, LIKE, GET HIM. AND THEN I GOT HIM. WELL, BRAXTON THOUGHT THE WATER WAS SHALLOW ENOUGH WHEN HE JUMPED IN. HIS FRIENDS SAW HIM STRUGGLING AND SWAM RIGHT TO HIM, LIFTING BRAXTON UP AND HOLDING HIM ABOVE THE SURFACE. EVENTUALLY, BOTH BOYS WERE ABLE TO GET OUT SAFELY. I WAS THANKING HIM HOW HE JUST SAVED MY LIFE AND I WAS LIKE, THANK GOD. LIKE GOD SENT HIM TO SAVE ME. FAMILY TO ME, HE’S MY BEST FRIEND AND I JUST LOVE TO BE WI
News We Love: Indiana boy praised for heroic effort to save friend from drowning at birthday party
Updated: 6:05 PM PST Dec 20, 2025
A young Indiana boy is being called a hero after saving his friend from drowning at an indoor pool.”It was his birthday party, and like I was excited, so I just jumped in the pool,” Braxton said.His friend Clark jumped into action when he noticed Braxton wasn’t swimming.”I saw him like, drowning, like he was, like, not really swimming. So I had to… to get him, and then I got him,” Clark said.Braxton said he thought the water was shallow enough when he jumped in.After Clark jumped in and pulled Braxton to the surface, the boys were able to get out safely.”I was thanking him how he just saved my life, and I was like, Thank God, like God sent him to save me,” Braxton said. “He’s like family to me. He’s my best friend, and I just love to be with him.”The boys were honored at their school’s character award ceremony.
A young Indiana boy is being called a hero after saving his friend from drowning at an indoor pool.
“It was his birthday party, and like I was excited, so I just jumped in the pool,” Braxton said.
His friend Clark jumped into action when he noticed Braxton wasn’t swimming.
“I saw him like, drowning, like he was, like, not really swimming. So I had to… to get him, and then I got him,” Clark said.
Braxton said he thought the water was shallow enough when he jumped in.
After Clark jumped in and pulled Braxton to the surface, the boys were able to get out safely.
“I was thanking him how he just saved my life, and I was like, Thank God, like God sent him to save me,” Braxton said. “He’s like family to me. He’s my best friend, and I just love to be with him.”
The boys were honored at their school’s character award ceremony.
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THEIR CAREER LONGEVITY. SPEAKING OF DEFYING STEREOTYPES, AMERICA’S TOP FIGURE SKATER IS GOOD AT A LOT OF THINGS, BUT IT TURNS OUT RETIREMENT WASN’T ONE OF THEM. SHOULD SOUND FAMILIAR HERE. ALYSA LIU JOINS US ON OUR OLYMPIC PODCAST THIS WEEK. THE OAKLAND SKATER RETIRED AT THE AGE OF 16 AFTER THE 2022 BEIJING OLYMPICS. SHE WAS BURNED OUT. SHE JUST WANTED TO KNOW WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO BE A NORMAL TEENAGER, LIKE, LEFT THE SPORT COMPLETELY. LIKE I WOULDN’T EVEN STEP IN THE RINK. HONESTLY, I WAS LOW KEY, A LITTLE BIT TRAUMATIZED. TWO YEARS LATER, SHE STARTED TO GET THE ITCH TO SKATE AGAIN. NOW SHE’S A FAVORITE TO WIN GOLD IN MILAN-CORTINA ON THIS NIGHT, TO ASK THE ROAD TO MILAN CORTINA. THE POWER OF TAKING A BREAK, RETHINKING HOW WE LOOK AT THE ROLE AGE PLAYS IN SPORTS LIKE FIGURE SKATING. OR, AS LINDSEY VONN SHOWED US TODAY, SKIING. A VERY FRANK LOOK AT WHAT YOUNG TEEN ATHLETES GIVE UP TO BE THE VERY BEST IN THEIR SPORT AND THE IMPACT THAT COULD HAVE LONG TERM ON MENTAL HEALTH, AND WHY ALYSSA’S COACH THINKS SHE WAS ABLE TO PULL OFF A TWO YEAR GAP IN TRAINING AND EMERGE STRONGER THAN EVER. SCAN THE QR CODE TO WATCH. DYING TO ASK THE ROAD TO MILAN CORTINA ON YOUTUBE. YOU CAN ALSO DOWNLOAD IT ON APPLE OR SPOTIFY. WE PUT THE YOUTUBE EPISODE UP LATE LAST NIGHT. WOKE UP THIS MORNING. I ALWAYS CHECK TO SEE LIKE, HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE PEOPLE INTO IT OR NOT. IT IS BLOWING. IS IT GOOD? FIGURE SKATING IS JUST ONE OF THOSE THINGS LIKE IT IS. IT’S SO THERE’S SO MUCH DRAMA AND THERE’S SO MUCH BEAUTY TO IT AND SOME CONTROVERSY SOMETIMES. SO YEAH, I WOULD SAY DEFINITELY WATCH THE YOUTUBE VERSION OF THIS ONE. APPLE AND SPOTIFY IS GREAT TOO, BUT THERE’S SOMETHING FUN ABOUT WATCHING HER AND HER COACH AT THE RINK GET THAT. AND THEY SAID, LIKE THEY ANSWERED EVERY QUESTION, DID THEY? EVERYTHING. I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT FIGURE SKATI
‘Dying to Ask’ podcast: From burnout to world champion: Alysa Liu’s unlikely comeback
Updated: 8:19 AM PST Dec 12, 2025
Whoever said quitters never win, never met Olympic figure skater Alysa Liu.Liu quit figure skating after the 2022 Winter Olympics. At age 16, she was burned out and wanted to be a normal teenager. “I was done a year before I quit. I knew I wanted to be done way before I actually announced my retirement,” Liu said. For two years, Liu embraced life as a teenager, making up for lost time she’d spent on the ice. She got a driver’s license, drove her four siblings to school, stayed up late and hung out with friends. She traveled for fun instead of competitions and even hiked in the Himalayas. She enrolled at UCLA and even took up skiing, a sport she’d never had time to try as an elite figure skater. She loved the feel of the cold air on her face when she skied. It reminded her of skating and two years after retiring, Alysa went to a local rink with a friend. Alysa started skating for fun, and it wasn’t long before she got the itch to skate more seriously. She called a former coach, Phillip DiGuglielmo, and asked him what he thought about her coming out of retirement. At first, he wasn’t a fan. “I said, ‘Please don’t. I really did.’ I said, ‘Please don’t. Respect your legacy,’” DiGuglielmo said. “We had a Zoom call for two hours. The story is I had a lot of glasses of wine over those two hours. And she talked me into a comeback.”The two started training together, and seven months later, Liu won a world title in a sport she left as a child but returned to as an adult. In November, she won and claimed her first title at the 2025 Saatva Skate America.On this Dying to Ask, The Road to Milan-Cortina:The power of taking a breakRe-thinking how we look at the role age plays in sports like figure skating A frank look at what young teen athletes give up to be the best in their sport and the impact that can have long-term on mental healthAnd why Liu’s coach thinks she could pull off a two-year gap in training and emerge stronger than everOther places to listenCLICK HERE to listen on iTunesCLICK HERE to listen on StitcherCLICK HERE to listen on SpotifySee more coverage of top California stories here | Download our app | Subscribe to our morning newsletter | Find us on YouTube here and subscribe to our channel
Whoever said quitters never win, never met Olympic figure skater Alysa Liu.
Liu quit figure skating after the 2022 Winter Olympics. At age 16, she was burned out and wanted to be a normal teenager.
“I was done a year before I quit. I knew I wanted to be done way before I actually announced my retirement,” Liu said.
For two years, Liu embraced life as a teenager, making up for lost time she’d spent on the ice. She got a driver’s license, drove her four siblings to school, stayed up late and hung out with friends. She traveled for fun instead of competitions and even hiked in the Himalayas.
She enrolled at UCLA and even took up skiing, a sport she’d never had time to try as an elite figure skater.
She loved the feel of the cold air on her face when she skied. It reminded her of skating and two years after retiring, Alysa went to a local rink with a friend.
Alysa started skating for fun, and it wasn’t long before she got the itch to skate more seriously. She called a former coach, Phillip DiGuglielmo, and asked him what he thought about her coming out of retirement. At first, he wasn’t a fan.
“I said, ‘Please don’t. I really did.’ I said, ‘Please don’t. Respect your legacy,’” DiGuglielmo said. “We had a Zoom call for two hours. The story is I had a lot of glasses of wine over those two hours. And she talked me into a comeback.”
The two started training together, and seven months later, Liu won a world title in a sport she left as a child but returned to as an adult. In November, she won and claimed her first title at the 2025 Saatva Skate America.
CLICK HERE to listen on iTunes
CLICK HERE to listen on Stitcher
CLICK HERE to listen on Spotify
See more coverage of top California stories here | Download our app | Subscribe to our morning newsletter | Find us on YouTube here and subscribe to our channel
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Frederick Green, a Bronx man who authorities said has four prior arrests, was charged Tuesday with attempted murder, assault and weapons possession in the shooting of New York Jets defensive back Kris Boyd on Nov. 16 outside a Midtown restaurant.
Green, 20, was hiding in his girlfriend’s apartment in upstate New York and identified through social media posts and a Crime Stoppers tip, police sources told the New York Daily News. U.S. marshals took him into custody Monday in Amherst, N.Y., a suburb of Buffalo.
Boyd, 29, was walking out of Asian fusion restaurant Sei Less with two teammates and another friend around 2 a.m. when he was shot in the abdomen and taken to Bellevue Hospital in critical condition. The bullet lodged near his right lung in the pulmonary artery, police said.
He posted on social media Nov. 19 that he was “starting to breathe on my own,” but two weeks ago was readmitted to the hospital because of health complications. However, Boyd had recovered enough that last week he made a surprise appearance at the Jets’ practice facility and attended a special teams meeting.
NYPD Chief of Detectives Joseph Kenny said at a news conference last month that the shooting occurred after a group of four to five men “chirped” at Boyd and his companions outside the restaurant, making fun of their fashionable attire.
The confrontation continued when Boyd, Jets teammates Irvin Charles and Jamien Sherwood and another friend left the restaurant minutes later after deciding not to dine there. As they left, the same group again began to “verbally insult them, and once again, questioning their clothing,” Kenny said.
A brawl ensued and one of the fighters — later allegedly identified as Green — fired two rounds from a gun, striking Boyd. Investigators released surveillance footage of the gunman and asked the public’s help identifying him.
In an email to The Times on Nov. 17, an NYPD spokesman said, “The sought individual is described as male, medium complexion. He was last seen wearing a black cap, black sweatshirt, black pants, multi-colored sneakers, and carrying a black bookbag.”
Green has four prior arrests, including one in 2024 for reckless endangerment and another in 2018 for robbery that was sealed because he was a juvenile, police told the Daily News.
Boyd’s teammates were delighted to see him at the practice facility Dec. 3.
“I’ve had friends that didn’t survive gunshot wounds, so to be able to see him walking around with a smile on his face, be able to [talk] with him, I mean, it’s always a blessing,” Jets edge rusher Jermaine Johnson told ESPN. “[Guns] aren’t toys and they’re very deadly, so the fact that he walked away from it is a blessing.”
Boyd is in his first year with the Jets after playing the last two seasons with the Houston Texans and from 2019-2022 with the Minnesota Vikings, who drafted him in the seventh round in 2019 out of Texas.
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Steve Henson
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Share your photos from a family party or neighborhood reunion with the community through the Times “Friends & Neighbors” section. The column is not for commercial or institutional use — we want to keep it for individual readers’ photos.
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WASHINGTON — No one seems to know what happened to Vicente Ventura Aguilar.
A witness told his brother and attorneys that the 44-year-old Mexican immigrant, who doesn’t have lawful immigration status, was taken into custody by immigration authorities on Oct. 7 in SouthLos Angeles and suffered a medical emergency.
But it’s been more than six weeks since then, and Ventura Aguilar’s family still hasn’t heard from him.
The Department of Homeland Security said 73 people from Mexico were arrested in the Los Angeles area between Oct. 7 and 8.
“None of them were Ventura Aguilar,” said Tricia McLaughlin, the assistant Homeland Security public affairs secretary.
“For the record, illegal aliens in detention have access to phones to contact family members and attorneys,” she added.
McLaughlin did not answer questions about what the agency did to determine whether Ventura Aguilar had ever been in its custody, such as checking for anyone with the same date of birth, variations of his name, or identifying detainees who received medical attention near the California border around Oct. 8.
Lindsay Toczylowski, co-founder of the Immigrant Defenders Law Center who is representing Ventura Aguilar’s family, said DHS never responded to her inquiries about him.
The family of Vicente Ventura Aguilar, 44, says he has been missing since Oct. 7 when a friend saw him arrested by federal immigration agents in Los Angeles. Homeland Security officials say he was never in their custody.
(Family of Vicente Ventura Aguilar)
“There’s only one agency that has answers,” she said. “Their refusal to provide this family with answers, their refusal to provide his attorneys with answers, says something about the lack of care and the cruelty of the moment right now for DHS.”
His family and lawyers checked with local hospitals and the Mexican consulate without success. They enlisted help from the office of Rep. Sydney Kamlager-Dove (D-Los Angeles), whose staff called the Los Angeles and San Diego county medical examiner’s offices. Neither had someone matching his name or description.
The Los Angeles Police Department also told Kamlager-Dove’s office that he isn’t in their system. His brother, Felipe Aguilar, said the family filed a missing person’s report with LAPD on Nov. 7.
“We’re sad and worried,” Felipe Aguilar said. “He’s my brother and we miss him here at home. He’s a very good person. We only hope to God that he’s alive.”
Felipe Aguilar said his brother, who has lived in the U.S. for around 17 years, left home around 8:15 a.m. on Oct. 7 to catch the bus for an interview for a sanitation job when he ran into friends on the corner near a local liquor store. He had his phone but had left his wallet at home.
One of those friends told Felipe Aguilar and his lawyers that he and Ventura Aguilar were detained by immigration agents and then held at B-18, a temporary holding facility at the federal building in downtown Los Angeles.
The friend was deported the next day to Tijuana. He spoke to the family in a phone call from Mexico.
Detainees at B-18 have limited access to phones and lawyers. Immigrants don’t usually turn up in the Immigration and Customs Enforcement online locator system until they’ve arrived at a long-term detention facility.
According to Felipe Aguilar and Toczylowski, the friend said Ventura Aguilar began to shake, went unconscious and fell to the ground while shackled on Oct. 8 at a facility near the border. The impact caused his face to bleed.
The friend said that facility staff called for an ambulance and moved the other detainees to a different room. Toczylowski said that was the last time anyone saw Ventura Aguilar.
She said the rapid timeline between when Ventura Aguilar was arrested to when he disappeared is emblematic of what she views as a broad lack of due process for people in government custody under the Trump administration and shows that “we don’t know who’s being deported from the United States.”
Felipe Aguilar said he called his brother’s cell phone after hearing about the arrests but it went straight to voicemail.
Felipe Aguilar said that while his brother is generally healthy, he saw a cardiologist a couple years ago about chest pain. He was on prescribed medication and his condition had improved.
His family and lawyers said Ventura Aguilar might have given immigration agents a fake name when he was arrested. Some detained people offer up a wrong name or alias, and that would explain why he never showed up in Homeland Security records. Toczylowski said federal agents sometimes misspell the name of the person they are booking into custody.
Vicente Ventura Aguilar, who has been missing since Oct. 7, had lived in the United States for 17 years, his family said.
(Family of Vicente Ventura Aguilar)
But she said the agency should make a significant attempt to search for him, such as by using biometric data or his photo.
“To me, that’s another symptom of the chaos of the immigration enforcement system as it’s happening right now,” she said of the issues with accurately identifying detainees. “And it’s what happens when you are indiscriminately, racially profiling people and picking them up off the street and holding them in conditions that are substandard, and then deporting people without due process. Mistakes get made. Right now, what we want to know is what mistakes were made here, and where is Vicente now?”
Surveillance footage from a nearby business reviewed by MS NOW shows Ventura Aguilar on the sidewalk five minutes before masked agents begin making arrests in South Los Angeles. The footage doesn’t show him being arrested, but two witnesses told the outlet that they saw agents handcuff Ventura Aguilar and place him in a van.
In a letter sent to DHS leaders Friday, Kamlager-Dove asked what steps DHS has taken to determine whether anyone matching Ventura Aguilar’s identifiers was detained last month and whether the agency has documented any medical events or hospital transports involving people taken into custody around Oct. 7-8.
“Given the length of time since Mr. Ventura Aguilar’s disappearance and the credible concern that he may have been misidentified, injured, or otherwise unaccounted for during the enforcement action, I urgently request that DHS and ICE conduct an immediate and comprehensive review” by Nov. 29, Kamlager-Dove wrote in her letter.
Kamlager-Dove said her most common immigration requests from constituents are for help with visas and passports.
“Never in all the years did I expect to get a call about someone who has completely disappeared off the face of the earth, and also never did I think that I would find myself not just calling ICE and Border Patrol but checking hospitals, checking with LAPD and checking morgues to find a constituent,” she said. “It’s horrifying and it’s completely dystopian.”
She said families across Los Angeles deserve answers and need to know whether something similar could happen to them.
“Who else is missing?” she said.
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Andrea Castillo
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When Nancy Pelosi first ran for Congress, she was one of 14 candidates, the front-runner and a target.
At the time, Pelosi was little known to San Francisco voters. But she was already a fixture in national politics. She was a major Democratic fundraiser, who helped lure the party’s 1984 national convention to her adopted home town. She served as head of California’s Democratic Party and hosted a salon that was a must-stop for any politician passing through.
She was the chosen successor of Rep. Sala Burton, a short-timer who took over the House seat held for decades by her late husband, Philip, and who delivered a personal benediction from her deathbed.
But at age 49, Pelosi had never held public office — she was too busy raising five kids, on top of all that political moving and shaking — and opponents made light of role as hostess. “The party girl for the party,” they dubbed her, a taunt that blared from billboards around town.
She obviously showed them.
Pelosi not only made history, becoming the nation’s first female speaker of the House. She became the party’s spine and its sinew, holding together the Democrat’s many warring factions and standing firm at times the more timorous were prepared to back down.
The Affordable Care Act — President Obama’s signature achievement — would never have passed if Pelosi had not insisted on pressing on when many, including some in the White House, wished to surrender.
She played a significant role in twice helping rescue the country from economic collapse — the first time in 2009 amid the Great Recession, then in 2020 during the shutdown caused by the COVID-19 pandemic — mustering recalcitrant Democrats to ensure House passage.
“She will go down in history as one of the most important speakers,” James Thurber, a congressional expert at Washington’s American University, said. “She knew the rules, she knew the process, she knew the personalities of the key players, and she knew how to work the system.”
Pelosi’s announcement Thursday that she will not seek reelection — at age 85, after 38 years in Congress — came as no surprise. She saw firsthand the ravages that consumed her friend and former neighbor, Dianne Feinstein. (Pelosi’s eldest daughter, Nancy, was a last caretaker for the late senator.)
She was not about to repeat that final, sad act.
Pelosi, who was first elected in 1987, once said she never expected to serve in Congress more than 10 years. She recalled seeing a geriatric House member hobbling on a cane and telling a colleague, “It’s never going to be me. I’m not staying around that long.”
(She never used a cane, but did give up her trademark stiletto heels for a time after suffering a fall last December and undergoing hip replacement surgery.)
Pelosi had intended to retire sooner, anticipating Hillary Clinton would be elected president in 2016 and seeing that as a logical, and fitting, end point to her trailblazing political career. “I have things to do. Books to write; places to go; grandchildren, first and foremost, to love,” she said in a 2018 interview.
However, she was determined to stymie President Trump in his first term and stuck around, emerging as one of his chief nemeses. After Joe Biden was elected, Pelosi finally yielded the speaker’s gavel in November 2022.
But she remained a substantive figure, still wielding enormous power behind the scenes. Among other quiet maneuvers, she was instrumental in helping ease aside Biden after his disastrous debate performance sent Democrats into a panic. He was a personal friend, and long-ago guest at her political salon, but Pelosi anticipated a down-ticket disaster if Biden remained the party’s nominee. So, in her estimation, he had to go.
It was the kind of ruthlessness that gave Pelosi great pride; she boasted of a reptilian cold-bloodedness and, indeed, though she shared the liberal leanings of her hometown, Pelosi was no ideologue. That’s what made her a superb deal-maker and legislative tactician, along with the personal touch she brought to her leadership.
“She had a will of steel, but she also had a lot of grace and warmth,” said Thurber, “and that’s not always the case with speakers.”
History-making aside, Pelosi left an enduring mark on San Francisco, the place she moved to from Baltimore as a young mother with her husband, Paul, a financier and real estate investor. She brought home billions of dollars for earthquake safety, re-purposing old military facilities — the former Presidio Army base is a spectacular park — funding AIDS research and treatment, expanding public transit and countless other programs.
Her work in the 1980s and 1990s on AIDS funding was crucial in helping move discussion of the disease from the shadows — where it was viewed as a plague that mainly struck gay men and drug users — to a pressing national concern.
In the process, she become a San Francisco institution, as venerated as the Golden Gate Bridge and beloved as the city’s tangy sourdough bread.
“She’s an icon,” said Aaron Peskin, a former San Francisco County supervisor and 2024 candidate for mayor. “She walks into a room, people left, right and center, old, young, white, Black, Chinese stand on their feet. She’s one of the greatest speakers we have ever had and this town understands that.”
Pelosi grew up in Baltimore in a political family. He father, Tommy D’Alesandro, was a Democratic New Deal congressman, who went on to serve three terms as mayor. “Little Nancy” stuffed envelopes — as her own children would — passed out ballots and often traveled by her father’s side to campaign events. (D’Alesandro went on to serve three terms as mayor; Pelosi’s brother, Tommy III, held the job for a single term.)
David Axelrod, who saw Pelosi up close while serving as a top aide in the Obama White House, said he once asked her what she learned growing up in such a political household. “She didn’t skip a beat,” Axelrod said. “She said, ‘I learned how to count.’ ”
Meaning when to call the roll on a key legislative vote and when to cut her losses in the face of inevitable defeat.
Pelosi is still so popular in San Francisco she could well have eked out yet another reelection victory in 2026, despite facing the first serious challenge since that first run for Congress. But the campaign would have been brutal and potentially quite ugly.
More than just about anyone, Pelosi knows how to read a political situation with dispassion, detachment and cold-eyed calculation.
She knew it was time.
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Mark Z. Barabak
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ALL RIGHT. THANK YOU MADISON. AND WHAT WE HAD FEARED THAT DEATH TOLL CONTINUES TO RISE. WE’RE TOLD OFFICIALS SAY THAT 12 PEOPLE ARE NOW CONFIRMED DEAD. NOW, ONE MAN WHO LIVED JUST STEPS FROM THE UPS CRASH SITE SAYS HE’S REALLY LUCKY TO BE ALIVE, EVEN AS HE MOURNS FRIENDS WHO DIDN’T MAKE IT, WHO DIED. WLKY’S DEANDRIA TURNER JOINS US LIVE WITH HIS STORY OF SURVIVING THIS HORRIFIC CRASH. ANDREA. HI, JENNIFER. WELL, ROBERT, HE LIVED AND WORKED AT GRADE A, WHICH IS ABOUT THREE BLOCKS THIS WAY. IT HAS BEEN BLOCKED OFF EVER SINCE THIS CRASH HAPPENED. AND WHEN I SPOKE TO ROBERT, HE TELLS ME THAT HE IS VERY SHAKEN UP, BUT HE IS ALSO VERY GRATEFUL TO BE ALIVE TONIGHT. I STARTED HEARING THIS REAL LOUD, LIKE, RUMBLING, ROARING SOUND AND I STEPPED OUTSIDE THE BACK DOOR THERE AND LOOKED, AND THE ONLY THING I COULD SEE WAS BLACK SMOKE AND FLAMES. FIREBALLS. 12 YEARS ROBERT SANDERS WORKED AS A MAINTENANCE MAN AT GRADE A AUTO PARTS AND RECYCLING. HE ALSO LIVED IN HIS RV ON SITE. ON TUESDAY, THE PLACE HE CALLED HOME BECAME PART OF GROUND ZERO OF THE UPS PLANE CRASH. I HAD JUST BEEN IN MY RV LIKE TWO MINUTES EARLIER AND I CAME DOWN THERE TO BUILDING 12. MOMENTS LATER, THE UNTHINKABLE A PLANE FILLED WITH JET FUEL CAME CRASHING DOWN, RIPPING STRAIGHT THROUGH HIS RV. YOU THINK ABOUT THAT KIND OF THING A THOUSAND TIMES. YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD HAPPEN? A PLANE CRASH, BUT YOU DON’T THINK IT EVER REALLY HAPPENED. BUT THEN IT HAPPENED. NOW ALL THAT HE HAS LEFT ARE THE CLOTHES ON HIS BACK AND HIS TRUCK. BUT WHAT HAUNTS HIM THE MOST ARE THE FACES OF THE THREE FRIENDS HE’LL NEVER SEE AGAIN. THAT THREE FRIENDS. CLOSE FRIENDS THAT ARE GONE. VISIBLY SHAKEN, HE SAYS THE MEMORIES STILL PLAY ON LOOP. THE SOUND OF THE EXPLOSION, THE SMELL OF THE SMOKE. REMINDERS OF HOW FAST LIFE CAN CHANGE JUST. IT’S TERRIFYING. I’VE NEVER BEEN THAT SCARED. YOU KNOW, IT’S STILL MESSING WITH ME. AND AGAIN TONIGHT. JENNIFER. HE KNEW THREE OUT OF THE 12 VICTIMS. AND HE SAYS THAT HE’S JUST VERY THANKFUL TO BE ALIVE. AND WHILE HE DOESN’T HAVE A JOB, AND WHILE HE DOESN’T HAVE A HOME RIGHT NOW, THE ONE THING THAT HE IS HOLDING ON TO IS HIS WILL TO SURVIVE.
Man loses friends, home in Kentucky plane crash: ‘It still messes with me’
Updated: 3:06 AM PST Nov 6, 2025
A man who lived just steps from the UPS plane crash site in Kentucky says he’s lucky to be alive, even as he mourns friends who didn’t make it.Robert Sanders has worked as a maintenance man at Grade A Auto Parts and Recycling for 12 years. He also lived in his RV on the property, which became part of the crash site on Tuesday morning.“I started hearing this real loud like rumbling, roaring sound, and I stepped outside the bay door there and looked, and the only thing I could see was black smoke, flames, and fireballs,” Sanders said. He told sister station WLKY he had just been inside his RV minutes before the plane came down.“I had just been in my RV like two minutes earlier, and I came down there to building 12,” he said.Moments later, a plane filled with jet fuel came crashing down, ripping straight through his RV.“You think about that thing a thousand times…what would happen if a plane crashes, but you don’t think it will ever really happen. But then it happened,” Sanders said.Now, all he has left are the clothes on his back and his truck. But what haunts him most are the faces of three close friends who didn’t survive.“I got three friends, close friends that are gone,” he said.Visibly shaken, Sanders said the memories still play on a loop, the sound of the explosion, the smell of smoke, the terror of the moment.“It was just terrifying. I’d never been that scared, you know? And it’s still messing with me,” he said.For now, Sanders says he’s holding on to the only thing the crash couldn’t destroy, his will to survive.He told WLKY he’s grateful to be alive, but he’s starting over from nothing. He doesn’t know where he’ll go next, but he says one thing is certain: he’ll never forget what happened here. If you would like to help him rebuild, click here.
A man who lived just steps from the UPS plane crash site in Kentucky says he’s lucky to be alive, even as he mourns friends who didn’t make it.
Robert Sanders has worked as a maintenance man at Grade A Auto Parts and Recycling for 12 years. He also lived in his RV on the property, which became part of the crash site on Tuesday morning.
“I started hearing this real loud like rumbling, roaring sound, and I stepped outside the bay door there and looked, and the only thing I could see was black smoke, flames, and fireballs,” Sanders said.
He told sister station WLKY he had just been inside his RV minutes before the plane came down.
“I had just been in my RV like two minutes earlier, and I came down there to building 12,” he said.
Moments later, a plane filled with jet fuel came crashing down, ripping straight through his RV.
“You think about that thing a thousand times…what would happen if a plane crashes, but you don’t think it will ever really happen. But then it happened,” Sanders said.
Now, all he has left are the clothes on his back and his truck. But what haunts him most are the faces of three close friends who didn’t survive.
“I got three friends, close friends that are gone,” he said.
Visibly shaken, Sanders said the memories still play on a loop, the sound of the explosion, the smell of smoke, the terror of the moment.
“It was just terrifying. I’d never been that scared, you know? And it’s still messing with me,” he said.
For now, Sanders says he’s holding on to the only thing the crash couldn’t destroy, his will to survive.
He told WLKY he’s grateful to be alive, but he’s starting over from nothing. He doesn’t know where he’ll go next, but he says one thing is certain: he’ll never forget what happened here. If you would like to help him rebuild, click here.
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On an overcast morning in September, Hector Alessandro Negrete left his beloved Los Angeles — the city he was brought to at 3 months old — and headed down Interstate 5 to Mexico, the only country where he held a passport.
It was a place that, to him, had “always felt like both a wound and a possibility.”
Negrete, 43, sat in the passenger seat as a friend steered the car south and two more friends in another car followed. He had condensed his life to three full suitcases and his dachshund mix, Lorca.
They pulled over at the beach in San Clemente. Angel Martinez, his soon-to-be former roommate, is deeply spiritual, and his favorite prayer spot is the ocean, so he prayed that Negrete would be blessed and protected — and Lorca too — as they began a new stage in their lives.
On the near-empty beach, the friends embraced and wiped away tears. Martinez handed Negrete a small watermelon.
As instructed, Negrete walked to the edge of the water, said his own prayer and, as a gift of thanks to the cosmos, plopped it into a crashing wave.
Negrete, holding a drink, embraces his friend Angel Martinez as they visit a drag club in Tijuana after leaving Los Angeles a day earlier.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
Negrete doesn’t call it self-deportation.
“Self-repatriation,” he said. “I refuse to use this administration’s language.”
President Trump had been in office just over a month when Negrete decided he would return to Mexico. Methodical by nature, he approached the decision like any other — by researching, organizing and planning.
Negrete secured three forms of Mexican identification: his voter credential, a renewed passport and a card akin to a Social Security ID.
He registered Lorca as an emotional support animal, paid for a vaccine card and a certificate of good health, and crate-trained her in a TSA-approved carrier.
He announced his decision to leave in June on his Substack newsletter: “If you’re thinking, ‘Alessandro’s giving up,’ look deeper. I am choosing freedom. For the first time, I feel unshackled from the expectations of waiting.”
Negrete walks the streets of Boyle Heights while shopping for moving supplies after deciding he would leave the U.S. on his own terms.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
Negrete had grown tired of wishing for immigration reform. He had built his career advocating for immigrants such as himself, including stints as statewide coordinator for the Mexican American Legal Defense and Educational Fund, or MALDEF, and as executive director for the California Immigrant Youth Justice Alliance.
He said his work had helped legalize street vending in Los Angeles and he assisted the office of then-California Atty. Gen. Kamala Harris in securing the release of a young woman from immigration detention. He was the first openly undocumented and LGBTQ+ person on the Boyle Heights Neighborhood Council.
Under previous administrations, Negrete’s political work had felt like a shield against deportation. Even during Trump’s first term, Negrete had marched at rallies denouncing his immigration policies.
But that was before the new Immigration and Customs Enforcement patrols that tore into Southern California during Trump’s second term. On June 6, as anti-ICE protesters took to the streets, Negrete rushed to downtown Los Angeles when fellow activists told him street medics were needed.
“One of my homies said, ‘Hey fool, what are you doing here?’” he recalled. Seeing Los Angeles police officers advancing on the crowd, he realized that no amount of public support could protect him.
He fled. “Thank God I left.”
Negrete, in red, with his friends and colleagues at a farewell party and yard sale in August.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
In mid-August, Negrete hosted a yard sale and going away party. The flier was tongue-in-cheek: “Everything must go! Including me!”
His red T-shirt stated plainly, “I AM UNDOCUMENTED,” and his aviator sunglasses hid the occasional tears. Tattoos dotted his extremities, including an anchor on his right leg with the words “I refuse to sink.”
“I think it hit me when I started packing my stuff today,” he told a former colleague, Shruti Garg, who had arrived early.
“But the way you’ve invited everyone to join you is so beautiful,” she replied.
One table held American pop-culture knickknacks — sippy cups with Ghostface from the movie “Scream,” collectible Mickey Mouse ears, a Detective Batman purse shaped like a comic book, another purse shaped like the locker from the ‘90s cartoon “Daria.”
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Negrete said the items reminded him of his youth and represented the gothic, quirky aspects of his personality.
“I was born in Mexico, but I don’t know Mexico,” he said. “So I’m leaving the American parts of me that are no longer going to serve me.”
The back yard slowly filled with loved ones from Negrete’s various social circles. There was his mostly queer softball team — the Peacocks — his running group, his chosen family and his blood family.
Negrete’s close friend Joel Menjivar looked solemn.
“I’m scared it’s going to start a movement,” he said. “Undocumented or DACA friends who are talented and integral to the fabric of L.A. might get ideas to leave.”
Another friend, Mario Mariscal, said he took Negrete’s decision the hardest, though at first he didn’t believe Negrete was serious. More than once he asked, “You really want to give up everything you’ve built here for a new start in Mexico?”
Eventually, Negrete had to tell Mariscal that his questions weren’t helpful. During a deeper conversation about his decision, Negrete shared that he was tired of living with the constant fear of getting picked up, herded into an unmarked van and taken away.
“I just kept telling him, ‘That’s not going to happen to you,’” Mariscal said. “But the more this administration keeps doing it, the more it’s in our face, the more we’re seeing every horror story about that, it became clear that, you know what, you do have a point. You do have to do what’s right for you.”
Negrete continues packing for his move to Mexico as roommate Martinez works at their Boyle Heights home.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
Negrete is cognizant of the privilege that makes his departure different from that of many other immigrants. He is white-passing, fluent in Spanish and English, and moved with $10,000 in savings.
In June, he was hired as executive director of a U.S.-based nonprofit, Old School Hub, that works to combat ageism around the world. The role allowed him to live wherever he wanted.
He decided to settle in Guadalajara, a growing technology hub, with historic buildings featuring Gothic architecture that he found beautiful. It also helped that Guadalajara has one of the country’s most vibrant LGBTQ+ scenes and is a four-hour drive from Puerto Vallarta, a renowned queer resort destination.
As Negrete began his new job while still in L.A., he picked a moving date — Sept. 4 — and booked a two-week Airbnb near the baseball stadium.
That Guadalajara’s team, the Charros de Jalisco, wore Dodger blue felt like a good omen.
On the day he left the United States, Negrete and Martinez hold a prayer at the beach in San Clemente in which Negrete offers thanks to the universe with an offering of a watermelon.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
On the drive toward the border, messages poured into Negrete’s phone.
“I’m sending you all my love Alessandro,” one read. “Cuídate. [Take care.] Know that even though you’re far away from home, you carry us with you.”
“Todo te va a salir bien,” read another. Everything will go well for you, it said. “Spread your wings and flyyyyy.”
Afraid of being stopped and detained at the airport, as has happened to other immigrants attempting to leave the country, Negrete preferred to drive to Tijuana and then fly to Guadalajara.
Negrete’s driver, his friend Jorge Leonardo, turned into a parking lot at the sign reading “LAST USA EXIT.”
Negrete put on his black felt tejana hat and called Iris Rodriguez, who was in the companion car. He asked her to cross on foot with him.
Negrete walks his last few steps on American soil as he enters Mexico en route to Guadalajara, his new home.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
“I don’t want to go alone,” he said.
“We’re still on American soil,” Leonardo said. “You can still change your mind.”
Negrete ignored him.
“See y’all on the other side,” he said as he hopped out of the car.
He and Rodriguez stopped for photos in front of a sign with an arrow pointing “To Mexico.” Around a corner, the border came into full view — a metal turnstile with layers of concertina wire above it.
The line for Mexicanos was unceremoniously quick. The immigration agent barely glanced at Negrete’s passport before waving him through.
On the other side, a busker sang “Piano Man” by Billy Joel in perfect English.
“Welcome to the motherland,” Rodriguez told him. Negrete let out a deep breath.
Negrete tours downtown Guadalajara, where he now lives.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
Negrete’s immediate family members, and almost all of his extended family, live in the U.S.
He was born in Manzanillo, Colima, in 1982. Three months later, the family relocated to Los Angeles, where his parents had two more children.
At 17, Negrete was one of two students in his graduating class at Roosevelt High School to get into UC Berkeley. That’s when he found out he didn’t have papers.
His parents had divorced and his father married a U.S. citizen, obtaining a green card when Negrete was at Roosevelt. They began the legalization process for Negrete in 1999, he said, but two years later he came out to his family as gay.
His father was unsupportive and refused to continue seeking to adjust his immigration status. By the time they mended their relationship, it was too late. Negrete had aged out of the pathway at 21.
In 2008, Negrete said, he was arrested for driving while under the influence of alcohol. Four years later, President Obama established the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA, program to protect immigrants who were brought to the U.S. as children. Negrete failed to qualify because of the DUI.
He said he got his record expunged in 2016, but — again — it was too late.
The following year, Trump began unwinding DACA, shutting out new generations of recipients, including Negrete.
Negrete waited until his last night in the U.S. to tell his mother, who now lives in Colorado, that he was leaving. He had grown tired of friends and other family members begging him to change his mind.
He had partially hinged his decision on the fact that his mom was in remission from her third bout with cancer and had just obtained legal residency. With life more stable for her, he could finally seek stability for himself.
“You taught me to dream,” Negrete recalled telling her. “This is me dreaming. I want to see the world.”
She cried and scolded him, promising to visit and repeating what she had said when he came out to her all those years before: “I wish you told me sooner.”
At a hotel in Tijuana, Negrete’s emotions finally caught up with him.
The day after Negrete and his three friends left L.A., three more friends surprised him by arriving in Tijuana for a final Friday night out together. One of them presented a gift he had put together with help from Negrete’s entire social circle — a video with loved ones sharing messages of encouragement.
In Negrete’s hotel room, as he and his friends watched, the mood grew sentimental.
“You’re basically the one that formed the family friend tree,” one friend said in her clip. “Friendships do not die out in distance.”
Negrete sobbed. “Yes! Friendships don’t have borders,” he said.
“Every single one of you has said this hasn’t hit y’all, like it’s a mini vacation,” he said. “I want to think of it as an extended vacation.”
“This isn’t goodbye, this is we’ll see each other soon,” he continued.
Off his soapbox, Negrete then chided his friends for making him cry before heading to a drag show.
Negrete had a habit of leaving social gatherings abruptly. His friends joked that they would refer to him as “catch me on the 101” because every time he disappeared during a night out, they would open Apple’s Find My app and see him on the freeway heading home.
“We’re not gonna catch him on the 101 no more,” Martinez said.
The last few flights of stairs lead Iris Rodriguez and Negrete to his Airbnb apartment in Guadalajara.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
On the flight to Guadalajara, Negrete’s heart raced and he began to hyperventilate. The anxiety attack caught him off guard.
Negrete had worked hard to show his friends and family that he was happy, because he didn’t want them to think he had doubts — and he had none. But he began to worry about the unknown and to mourn his former dreams of gaining legal status and running for public office.
“It hit me all at once,” he recounted. “I am three hours away from a whole new life that I don’t know. I left everything and I don’t know what’s next.”
Many deep breaths by Negrete later, the plane descended through the clouds, revealing vibrant green fields and a cantaloupe-hued sunset.
Negrete tests the bed at his temporary home in Guadalajara.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
Inside the Airbnb, he was surprised to find a clothesline instead of a dryer. Noticing the blue 5-gallon jug of water in the kitchen, he remarked that he would have to remember tap water wasn’t safe to cook with. But alongside the new was something familiar: The view from his 11–story apartment showed off a sprawling metropolis dotted with trees, some of them palms.
The next day started off like any Sunday, with a trip to Walmart and drag brunch.
Negrete marveled at the cost of a large carton of egg whites ($1) and was shocked to see eggs stored at room temperature, liquid laundry detergent in bags and only single-ply toilet paper. He treated himself to a Darth Vader coffee mug and a teapot featuring characters from “The Nightmare Before Christmas.”
After brunch, it was time to play tourist. Negrete was accompanied by Rodriguez, who stayed with him for the first two weeks, and a new friend, Alejandro Preciado, whom he had met at Coachella in April and happened to be a Guadajalara local.
Negrete tours downtown Guadalajara. He was drawn to the city, in part, by its Gothic architecture.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
Their first stop was the city’s Spanish Renaissance cathedral, where Negrete said a quick prayer to the Virgin Mary at his mother’s request. Negrete treated his friends to an electric carriage ride around the historic buildings, where he excitedly pointed out the Gothic architecture, then they bought aguas frescas and walked through an open-air market, chatting in an English-heavy Spanglish.
“I’m trying to look at how people dress,” Negrete said, suddenly self-conscious about his short shorts. “I’m pretty sure I stand out.”
After dinner, Negrete was booking an Uber back to his Airbnb when a message popped up: “We’ve detected unusual activity.”
The app didn’t know he had moved.
Before he arrived in Guadalajara, Negrete had already joined an intramural baseball team and a running club. Practices began days after his arrival.
Negrete enjoys a view of the sprawling hills of Guadalajara.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
Within a month, he moved into an apartment, visited Mexico City and reconnected with aunts in Mexico City and Guadalajara he hadn’t seen in decades.
He reflected on the small joys of greeting neighborhood señoras on morning dog walks, discovering the depths of Mexican cuisine and the peace of mind that came with no longer feeling like a target — though he’ll still freeze at the sight of police lights.
Still, Negrete remained glued to U.S. politics. In late September, the federal government detailed plans to begin processing initial DACA applications for the first time in four years. Had Negrete stayed in the U.S., he would have finally qualified for a reprieve.
He isn’t regretful.
Lorca greets Negrete as he arrives home after touring Guadalajara.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
His new dreams are wide-ranging. He wants to buy a house in Rosarito, where friends and family from L.A. could visit him. He wants to travel the world, starting with a trip to Spain. And he wants to help U.S. organizations build resources for other immigrants who are considering repatriating.
The goal isn’t to encourage people to leave, he said, but to show them they have agency.
“I actually did it,” he said. “I did it, and I’m OK.”
Now, he said, Mexico feels like an estranged relative that he’s getting to know again.
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Andrea Castillo
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Elk Grove crash leaves 1 person dead
Elk Grove Boulevard between Shorelake Drive and Waterfowl Drive is closed in both directions
Updated: 10:21 PM PDT Oct 19, 2025
A person is dead after a solo vehicle crash in Elk Grove, Elk Grove police said.Elk Grove Boulevard between Shorelake Drive and Waterfowl Drive is closed in both directions, police said. It is unclear what led up to the fatal crash, or how long the roads will be closed.This is a developing story. See news happening? Send us your photos or videos if it’s safe to do so at kcra.com/upload.If this story happened near you or someone you know, share this article with friends in your area using the KCRA mobile app so they know what is happening near them. The KCRA app is available for free in Apple’s App Store and on Google Play.See more coverage of top California stories here | Download our app | Subscribe to our morning newsletter | Find us on YouTube here and subscribe to our channel
A person is dead after a solo vehicle crash in Elk Grove, Elk Grove police said.
Elk Grove Boulevard between Shorelake Drive and Waterfowl Drive is closed in both directions, police said.
It is unclear what led up to the fatal crash, or how long the roads will be closed.
This is a developing story.
See news happening? Send us your photos or videos if it’s safe to do so at kcra.com/upload.
If this story happened near you or someone you know, share this article with friends in your area using the KCRA mobile app so they know what is happening near them. The KCRA app is available for free in Apple’s App Store and on Google Play.
See more coverage of top California stories here | Download our app | Subscribe to our morning newsletter | Find us on YouTube here and subscribe to our channel
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Three crew members were injured when a medical helicopter crashed on Highway 50 in Sacramento on Monday night shortly after taking off from the UC Davis Medical Center.Those on board the REACH Air Medical Services H130 included a pilot, nurse and paramedic, and all three were critically injured. No patient was on board. The crash was reported just after 7 p.m. on eastbound Highway 50 just east of Stockton Boulevard. The freeway was closed for hours before crews reopened the roads around 1:20 a.m. Tuesday.Few details are known about the crew members, but friends identified the nurse on board as Suzie Smith, a Redding resident.One of Smith’s friends said the nurse would travel to Nicaragua every year to fix cleft palates and described her as the most giving person she’s ever known.”She’s just one of those exceptional people who’s out there using her, you know, her intelligence in that to help people. But just that type of person who will go over there on her own expense and help those people,” said Mary Beaver, a longtime friend of Smith.Her pastor, Travis Osborne, said Smith remains in critical condition as of Tuesday evening. Osborne told KCRA that she’s being treated for numerous injuries, including brain swelling.”We are just praying for a miracle. We know God hears our prayers, and it’s dire. You know, she’s in a dire situation,” said Osborne.Following the crash, a group of around 15 witnesses and bystanders ran to offer assistance, even lifting the helicopter up to free someone who was trapped. Some even acknowledged to KCRA 3 that they didn’t know if the crashed aircraft would explode. Smith’s friends shared gratitude for the numerous bystanders who rushed into the dangerous crash scene to help.As of Tuesday night, the pilot and paramedic on board the flight have not yet been identified, and officials have not shared any further updates on their injuries. See more coverage of top California stories here | Download our app | Subscribe to our morning newsletter | Find us on YouTube here and subscribe to our channel
Three crew members were injured when a medical helicopter crashed on Highway 50 in Sacramento on Monday night shortly after taking off from the UC Davis Medical Center.
Those on board the REACH Air Medical Services H130 included a pilot, nurse and paramedic, and all three were critically injured. No patient was on board.
The crash was reported just after 7 p.m. on eastbound Highway 50 just east of Stockton Boulevard. The freeway was closed for hours before crews reopened the roads around 1:20 a.m. Tuesday.
Few details are known about the crew members, but friends identified the nurse on board as Suzie Smith, a Redding resident.
One of Smith’s friends said the nurse would travel to Nicaragua every year to fix cleft palates and described her as the most giving person she’s ever known.
“She’s just one of those exceptional people who’s out there using her, you know, her intelligence in that to help people. But just that type of person who will go over there on her own expense and help those people,” said Mary Beaver, a longtime friend of Smith.
Her pastor, Travis Osborne, said Smith remains in critical condition as of Tuesday evening. Osborne told KCRA that she’s being treated for numerous injuries, including brain swelling.
“We are just praying for a miracle. We know God hears our prayers, and it’s dire. You know, she’s in a dire situation,” said Osborne.
Following the crash, a group of around 15 witnesses and bystanders ran to offer assistance, even lifting the helicopter up to free someone who was trapped. Some even acknowledged to KCRA 3 that they didn’t know if the crashed aircraft would explode.
Smith’s friends shared gratitude for the numerous bystanders who rushed into the dangerous crash scene to help.
As of Tuesday night, the pilot and paramedic on board the flight have not yet been identified, and officials have not shared any further updates on their injuries.
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