Since this weekend honors both Father’s Day and West Virginia’s birthday, it seems like an apt moment to look back at the time when the state’s founding fathers found themselves in quandary about what to name the soon-to-be-born state.
It’s been a bad week for Confederate generals, secessionist leaders and New World explorers, whose statues have been defaced, dismantled or decommissioned as part of the national uproar over racism.
When I got an email from my brother informing me that a BLM protest had taken place last Sunday in the small Central Oregon town in which we went to high school, I thought at first that he was referring to the Bureau of Land Management, which has a district office there.
Monday: Started day by watching video recorded by a New York man being threatened with arrest for birding while black in Central Park. Made me hot under the collar — then began sweating through entire shirt as both temperature and relative humidity approached 90. Discovered air conditioning …
With a last name like mine, I am in no position to cast the first stone at unusual names assigned to others. But in the case of the name selected for their newborn son by Elon Musk and his partner, Grimes, I may make an exception.
It’s hard to think of a more unlikely candidate for holding the key to unlocking a vaccine for COVID-19 than a 4-year-old Belgian llama named Winter.
“Enjoy your weekend!” the masked lady behind the plexiglass screen at the Dollar General store suggested on Friday, as I grabbed my yellow plastic bag of newly bought essentials (protein bars and Keurig coffee pods) and headed for the door.
A sea change in day-to-day living has taken place in West Virginia in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic’s arrival here.
By the time I arrived at my neighborhood Kroger store on Thursday night, the first major wave of coronavirus panic buying was beginning to ebb.
So far, a few trips on the Staten Island Ferry is the closest I’ve come to taking a cruise.
Now that it’s finally safe to say “Happy Valentine’s Day” in Saudi Arabia again, I’m not sure I’d want to.
I used to think nothing said “don’t hire me” like a well-crafted, highly visible neck tattoo. But now it looks like the eyes may have it — “it” being the low-water mark for bad taste in presenting oneself to the world through the application of indelible ink.
Thirty years ago, the first car with a built-in GPS navigation system rolled off a Mazda assembly line, and in short order drivers began to lose track of their surroundings and abandon common sense as they obediently followed the commands of robotic voices with foreign accents down dicey-loo…
Say the word “royalty” in West Virginia and I would guess most people within earshot envision (1) a check from a gas drilling company, (2) the Dukes of Hazzard, or, for those old enough to remember, (3) former First Lady Rachael Worby.
If I read the transcript to Gov. Justice’s State of the State address correctly, we could be on the brink of having deals in hand in coming days and weeks to:
Although National Trivia Day arrived on Saturday, there remains an abundance of the insignificant and unimportant to celebrate on the day following the unofficial holiday’s official observation date.
For the record, I am a proud, one-time grand marshal of Dunbar’s Commode Bowl Parade and an American family man with decades of hands-on experience fixing, adjusting and unclogging toilets.
For newspaper copy editor John Richards, the apostrophe has always been more than an elevated comma.
If you are a policy leader in a state where the youth methamphetamine use rate is more than twice the national average, I can understand having the urge to do something, anything to reverse that trend.
Why am I on the mailing list for Neiman Marcus, the luxury goods retailer that targets a clientele found in America’s top 2 percent income bracket?