When the Metropolitan Museum of Art reached out to Ernest Hershberger with an opportunity to collaborate, the Amish furniture maker was stunned.
“You know, I knew about them,” Hershberger said. “But I did say, ‘Well, who's the Met?’ And I still get made fun of for that.”
When the Metropolitan Museum of Art reached out to Ernest Hershberger with an opportunity to collaborate, the Amish furniture maker was stunned.
“You know, I knew about them,” Hershberger said. “But I did say, ‘Well, who's the Met?’ And I still get made fun of for that.”
When the Metropolitan Museum of Art reached out to Ernest Hershberger with an opportunity to collaborate, the Amish furniture maker was stunned.
“You know, I knew about them,” Hershberger said. “But I did say, ‘Well, who's the Met?’ And I still get made fun of for that.”
When the Metropolitan Museum of Art reached out to Ernest Hershberger with an opportunity to collaborate, the Amish furniture maker was stunned.
“You know, I knew about them,” Hershberger said. “But I did say, ‘Well, who's the Met?’ And I still get made fun of for that.”
When the Metropolitan Museum of Art reached out to Ernest Hershberger with an opportunity to collaborate, the Amish furniture maker was stunned.
“You know, I knew about them,” Hershberger said. “But I did say, ‘Well, who's the Met?’ And I still get made fun of for that.”
When the Metropolitan Museum of Art reached out to Ernest Hershberger with an opportunity to collaborate, the Amish furniture maker was stunned.
“You know, I knew about them,” Hershberger said. “But I did say, ‘Well, who's the Met?’ And I still get made fun of for that.”
When the Metropolitan Museum of Art reached out to Ernest Hershberger with an opportunity to collaborate, the Amish furniture maker was stunned.
“You know, I knew about them,” Hershberger said. “But I did say, ‘Well, who's the Met?’ And I still get made fun of for that.”
Most of the people at Stanley Galaszewski’s burial ceremony never knew him.
He died more than 80 years ago.
Still, the crowd on the crisp November afternoon swelled with extended family, leather-jacketed Patriot Guard Riders, a group of quiet school children.
Together, they bowed their heads in prayer to honor the fallen World War II sailor.
Dupont Chemicals, and two other chemical companies, reached a settlement with the state of Ohio last week.
The water running through Sunday Creek rambles without a hint of wildlife. There are no fish darting or crayfish to ensnare. Still, it catches the eye. The stream is a deep orange color.
Michelle Shively MacIver, of the local nonprofit Rural Action, pointed to the sludge-filled stream.
