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School’s out for summer.
As of this week, it’s out forever … for star Stoga teacher Deb Ciamacca.
For years, the former Marine and beloved U.S. Government teacher has urged her students to get off the sidelines. “Democracy’s not a spectator sport,” she’d tell them.
After speaking out about gun safety here – and on national and international TV – she put her career where her mouth was.
Hatters – some mad, many marvelous – enchanted the throngs at the Devon Horse Show Wednesday.
’Twas a Ladies Day to top all Ladies Days – with a record-smashing 274 contestants, sunny skies and an “Enchanted Garden” theme ripe for the pickin.’
On June 1, Kirstin Rabe Day will return to the show ring at Devon.
It’s been a while.
Twenty years, in fact.
With her erect carriage, her spit-shined boots and gloved fingers, Kirstin will be the picture of equestrian elegance..
But beneath her finery, emotions will be churning.
I’m here.
I’m healthy.
I’ve made it back.
When she last competed at Devon, Kirstin, now 38, was a junior at Radnor High School. She won two ribbons.
Seven months later, she had to give up riding altogether, and with it, her beloved horse.
Lindsey Renninger Schuster might just be the most photographed woman on the Main Line.
She takes multiple “mirror selfies” each day.
She stars in professional shoots up to 150 times a year.
She’s photographed incessantly on vacation.
Always camera-ready, she changes clothes five times a day.
No, Schuster’s not a celebrity, a socialite or even a model, at least not technically.
Hey, Mirror, Mirror: Who’s the slimmest of them all? Shoppers trying on clothes at the new Devon Anthropologie.
Readers have been telling us for months that Anthro’s dressing-room mirrors make them look a tad taller and a smidge thinner than they actually are.
Thanks for the flattering image, the women told us, but, uh, no thanks.
Four weeks after her 24-year-old son died in her arms, Berwyn nurse Beth Perz stood before of a roomful of strangers – reporters, TV cameras and county officials – and broke down. Chester County had just announced its plan to sue opioid manufacturers. And two of the targeted companies – Endo and Cephalon – made the drugs that destroyed her son.
An eleventh-hour addition to the Jan. 15 news conference, Perz had written nothing; she would wing it.
She wiped her eyes, collected herself and began: “I’m here because I have to fight this fight.”
Remember those ever-evolving plans for Devon Yard? How they once included a hotel, apartment building and parking garage near the old Waterloo site? And how, after a series of skirmishes, feisty neighbors thwarted all three.
Well, never say never.
The same developer – Eli Kahn, in partnership with Wade McDevitt – is back with new versions of each, all sited within spitting distance of Devon Yard and the Devon Horse Show.
You smell smoke, call 9-1-1, first responders rush on over.
But what if – gulp – there aren’t enough first responders?
That’s the scary scenario laid out in a new report about the state of volunteer firefighting in PA.
Numbers have fallen off a cliff: from 300,000 volunteers in the 1970s to 38,000 today. The report calls the drop-off nothing short of a “public safety crisis.”
While the situation’s not as dire here, our Main Line fire companies – staffed largely by unpaid volunteers – are hurting for help.
The swankest dining destination this side of Center City – Eddie V’s Prime Seafood – just dropped anchor in front of the King of Prussia Mall.
Everything at Eddie’s oozes opulence: the white-coated waiters, the show-stopping chandelier, the caviar tastings, the oyster-and-champagne pairings, the walk-through glass wine cellar.
Not for nothin’ is “Living it up” the chain’s motto.
Hearts were heavy but heads were held high across the Main Line this week.
Hate would have no home here.
From Beth Chaim in Malvern to Beth David in Gladwyne, from the Chabad Center in Devon to Chabad Main Line in Merion, from Jack M. Barrack Hebrew Academy to the Perelman Jewish Day School, thousands gathered – somber and shattered, yes, but resolute in their response to the deadliest anti-Semitic attack in U.S. history.
There would be no cowering in corners.
With growing unease, Jewish friends had watched the rising tide of hate on their home turf: the toppled tombstones, the scribbled swastikas, the bomb threats. But a massacre? In their own state? In a neighborhood not so different from Narberth? If hate could kill in Squirrel Hill, it could kill anywhere, right?
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