it's what you want to know
With the yellow light finally flashing, the Main Line emerged from its coranavirus cocoon last week. We walked into stores, we dined outside, and in huge numbers, we marched.
With fists raised, voices lifted, signs hoisted.
Like the R5, a wave of protests chugged through Bala, Narberth, Ardmore, Haverford, Bryn Mawr, Wayne, Devon, Berwyn, Paoli, a fresh march each day.
To the Tredyffrin kids who ride his school bus each day, he’s their polite and punctual bus driver. Notable, perhaps, for his Hungarian accent and nothing more.
Ah, but looks can deceive.
Beneath his spotless polo shirt and chipper demeanor, Andras Szekely is, in fact, struggling to survive. He leads a life of carefully hidden homelessness, made bearable only by his art, his far-off family, and his hope for a better tomorrow.
Until now, Andras has kept his living situation secret.
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.
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.
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?
