Journalistic Writing

Check out my original photos and coverage in the New Braunfels Herald Zeitung Magazine here!

By Lauren E. Koops

Things are not the same in Uvalde, Texas. As politicians try to make changes to gun laws, local musicians describe how the dynamic of their Uvalde County has transformed since the tragedy.

The community continues to heal from the shooting of Robb Elementary on May 24, 2022, the deadliest public school shooting in Texas history. Nineteen of the 21 lives lost were under the age of 12.

“Something is poisoned in the ether,” Conner Arthur, frontman of the Uvalde County-based band, The Droptines, said. “Like someone put red dye in a big old jar of water.”

The Droptines are an alternative country band hailing from Uvalde County. They wear Wrangler’s denim, flannels, gimme caps, and straw hats.

“You walk into the store, and somebody’s just going to break down crying,” Sebastian Elizondo, The Droptines’ bassist, said.

Jerry Almaraz is a solo artist from Uvalde who frequently opens the stage for the Droptines. Walking along his high school’s sports track, or “The Honey Bowl” as dubbed by students, Almaraz illustrated the day-to-day changes since May 24.

“I mean just right now, the door was locked coming in and there are five state troopers here,” Almaraz said. “And… and I played sports here. I was the quarterback here.”

State Sen. Roland Gutierrez, D-San Antonio, moved his district’s western office into Uvalde 10 days after the Robb Elementary shooting. He described driving through the haunted streets of Uvalde and seeing memorials for the victims surrounding Robb Elementary.

“In those early days, I saw that look in so many people’s eyes as I went to the store, got gas,” Gutierrez said, “Such a tremendous sense of grief.”

Uvalde’s grief inspires a package of bills filed for Texas’ 88th Legislative Session which call for different facets of school shooting prevention and a change in the state’s gun laws.

After dwelling in the grief-stricken community, Gutierrez filed 11 bills to the 88th Texas Legislative Session in response to the Uvalde tragedy. This session began on Jan. 10 and ends on May 29 at the Texas Capitol.

These bills’ approach to school shooting prevention ranges vastly from mental health resources to services for victims and increased “common sense gun laws.”

One such gun law, Senate Bill 911, would require all sales of ammunition over 200 rounds to be registered in a database. Gutierrez relates this to the U.S. Food and Drug Administration’s process of regulating the sale of pseudoephedrine, an ingredient found in nasal decongestants that can also be used in illegal meth production.

SB 738 ensures operable emergency radio communication infrastructure in areas affected by Texas’ border control service, Operation Lone Star. Additionally, proper mass shooting training would be required. Gutierrez notes that the police took 77 minutes to enter Robb Elementary when the shooter was active.

SB 145 seeks to raise the age of all firearm purchases from 18 to 21 by amending the Texas Penal Code section 46.06 which allows 18-year-olds to purchase long guns but not handguns.

“[The shooter] couldn’t even buy a beer, a cigarette,” Gutierrez said. “But he could go buy an AR-15 and destroy so many lives.”

Gutierrez identified himself as a gun owner and knows that his constituency includes many gun-owning ranchers and farmers. The Pew Research Center states that in rural areas like Uvalde County, both Republicans and Democrats alike favor themes found in these “common sense gun laws.”

“That kid did fall through the cracks, severely, severely damaged by the events in his life, but we must address the common denominator here– a young person’s access to these militarized weapons,” Gutierrez said, “We’ve had five mass shootings in this state, and Governor Abbott has done nothing. Not a thing.”

Almaraz began sharing his hometown when introducing himself on stage, something he hadn’t done before. He said now, instead of assuming Uvalde was “some hick town,” people will come to him after his performances and share personal connections they had with Uvalde’s victims.

“It felt like home. It felt good to be out there,” reflects Arthur, “but the harsh reality is that 10 miles down the road, something like that… something demonic happened. It will always be an elephant in the room.”

Arthur plans never to move back to Uvalde County.

“Every time we talk about it, there’s no new closure,” Elizondo said, “What can we do? We’re just two musicians.”

Gutierrez took in a deep breath, his tone grew still.
“This is something I will talk about until there is change, for the rest of my life.”

Check out my original photos and coverage in the New Braunfels Herald Zeitung Magazine here!

Cigarette smoke and the faint smell of beer compete with a nearby pool’s springfed freshness hanging in the evening air at Deep Eddy’s Cabaret bar. Clacking pool balls and hearty laughter are juxtaposed with deep talk and big words pulled from a doctorate thesis essay.

Visitors are beckoned to enter a spot in Austin, Texas that seems to have stayed eclectically the same throughout the city’s ages.

“I’m not a magician!” Matt said, a University of Texas professor. Matt has been frequenting Deep Eddy’s Cabaret since 2010 and is known as the “‘Eddy’s Magician” by even random passersby in the Austin airport. In ‘Eddy’s, you can squeeze past the pool tables and find him on a porch for smoking behind an emergency exit door.

However, there is little smoking on this porch at Deep Eddy’s Cabaret. Instead, heard are overlapping conversations about the sexual perspectives of ancient Greeks, the applications of existentialism, circumcision in men– and Ernest Hemingway novels.

Friends of the card-shuffling Matt are scattered among the cigarettes. In rain, they post on barstools at a sticky barside, bathed in a jaunty shimmer of multi-colored Christmas lights.

Most of them have been consistently meeting at Deep Eddy’s Cabaret for over 10 years.

Deep Eddy’s Cabaret, dubbed ‘Eddy’s by its regulars, is a neighborhood bar located beside Deep Eddy Pool in the Tarrytown area of Austin. Through an ever-changing population and economy in the city, ‘Eddy’s remains an unchanging oasis to a loyal group of Austinites from diverse walks of life.

Amy Cichowski started coming to ‘Eddy’s in 1972 before she turned 21. Cichowski proudly shared a photo of the newest “‘Eddy’s baby,” belonging to another couple that regularly attends her dive. Her rosy cheeks and welcoming smile hardly convey the fact that she is a grandmother over 60.

“The culture has shifted. Austin used to be all about the music,” Cichowski said. “Now, unfortunately, that’s changed. Because this is the trendy place to go.”

When Cichowski first visited Eddy’s in the ‘70s, Austin’s prominent features included a university, the state capitol and live music with only a few tall buildings in the skyline. Today, the city’s key economic industries are data management and advanced technology manufacturing companies. Since 2004, the Austin skyline now touts 18 buildings towering over 408 feet tall.

If these changes are not indicative enough of a shifting culture, of the top 50 largest metros where new residents count as part of the total population, Austin ranks in the first place. The city loses an estimated 238 locals daily and tallies an average of 56,340 new migrants per year. Some of the top U.S. cities contributing to this growth include Los Angeles and New Y ork.

“People in houses above Zilker (Park) don’t want music after 10 p.m. in the park,” Cichowski said. “That defeats the purpose (of living in Austin.)”

Javad started coming to ‘Eddy’s in 2010 after moving from the University of Iran as part of an exchange program with the University of Texas. Beside him sat a book titled, “The Dialogues of Plato.”

He has been fondly nicknamed the “Persian Philosopher” by his friends at ‘Eddy’s.

“Let this bar be a representation of the city,” Javad said. He pointed to a pool table bustling with twenty-somethings. There was hardly any room to squeeze in and lay quarters on the table to play next. People wriggled by with drinks held over their heads to prevent spilling into the crowd. “I used to come here and read a book!”

Javad is soft-spoken and introspective. Amidst the loud, youthful crowd buzzing along with the Rolling Stones playing from the jukebox, this 38-year-old “Persian Philosopher” looked into his beer and searched for his perfect articulation.

“With social media and advertisements, all the cool kids live in Austin these days,” Javad said.

“But change is an inevitable thing. Even if Austin stayed the same, we’d still be changing, right?”

Susan has been a bartender at Eddy’s for 23 years. She was a journalism student at the University of Texas and is rumored to keep a journal of the people she meets and the stories she hears while working the bar.

“I fell in love with this town the second I stepped foot in it,” Susan said. She laughed at a Facebook video being shown to her by another regular sitting near Javad. She simultaneously wiped down the bartop and poured a beer from the draft.

Susan thinks that those living in Austin are spoiled to be here and things are getting too expensive. When Susan started college in the ‘90s, the national average price for a pint of beer was $2.13.

Today, Susan pours a pint priced at $4 (which is still not too bad for Austin!)

Throughout rising rent and redevelopment in Austin, many local historic hangout spots have permanently closed their doors. The iconic restaurant, Threadgill’s, couldn’t survive torrents of the coronavirus pandemic. Music hall and beer garden Armadillo World Headquarters could no longer afford rent in urban Austin. The storied music venue, Liberty Lunch, was shut down to provide room for an office building redevelopment plan.

Through it all, ‘Eddy’s hangs on.

“I love the energy and the synergy. I feel safe here as a single woman,” Cichowski said. “We all know a little too much about each other. We squabble like a family, we love each other like a family.”

“I feel comfortable here,” Javad said.

“This crew,” Matt said, the undeniable ‘Eddy’s resident magician, “we are the modern history. We are what this place is becoming.”

As one stumbles from the bar and looks to the left in the parking lot, they may see glowing Austin lights from the skyline of the second-fastest growing city in the U.S. Yet, it’s the stars hanging above Deep Eddy’s Cabaret that seem to shine a little brighter.

Bella Candanosa and Kaylee Loggins are sitting together at All Saint’s Episcopal Student Center. A cloudy dusk filters in through their church’s stained glass window. Outside, the world around them often fails to understand their love.

Loggins and Candanosa identify as gay Christians. Candanosa is in a wheelchair, living with autism and partial Deafness. Using she/they pronouns, they live with a condition called COL1A2 Overlap Disorder.

COL1A2 causes a genetic defect in collagen creation. COL1A2 is a combination of the presentation of two disorders, osteogenesis imperfecta and Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. This leads to bone and joint pain, fractures and dislocations, as well as severe heart and vascular problems.

“Disability doesn’t have to be some big tragedy, this is just our lives. When people project their ideas of disability onto us, it can be a bit jarring.”

“To the people in the lives of those with a disability,” Loggins said. “No one has to be the bad guy or at fault. Just love them, care for them, hear for their needs.”

Candanosa and Loggins, juniors at the University of Texas at Austin have been in a happy relationship for one year and nine months. They find themselves at the intersection of being a mixed-ability and mixed-ethnicity couple, frequently speaking in American Sign Language. Though they face atypical challenges, the couple fights for their relationship just as anyone else would.

“A lot of the time, if something upsetting happens, I brush it off,” Candanosa said. “But [Kaylee] reminds me, no, this is important.” Candanosa said she loves the way Kaylee cares about things.

Candanosa frequently finds the disability-friendly options on campus being taken up by able-bodied students. They are often unable to use the large stall in the women’s restroom, accessible tables in the dining hall, a mobility aid shower in the Kinsolving dorms and lower-level washing machines. Candanosa struggles when scooters and shopping carts are not correctly parked as they navigate campus.

“I can be fiery about wanting to fight the world, but then I get tired,” Candanosa said. “And (Kaylee) is like, ‘it’s OK. I can fight the world.’”

The couple is frequently asked uncomfortable questions about their ability to show physical affection. “Would you ask that to an able-bodied couple?” Candanosa said, face flushed.

Loggins did not openly identify as being queer until dating Candanosa.

“People had told me you can’t be both,” Loggins said. “You can’t be Christian and gay. I didn’t see how I could change either of those things about myself.” Loggins said.

Loggins was ostracized by many Christian student groups at the University of Texas at Austin for being a member of the LGBTQ+ community. Both Loggins and Candanosa now find sanctuary at the Episcopal Student Center, a community on campus that is “not ableist or homophobic,” they said.

“I believe God is love. And I don’t see how being homophobic and discriminating against other people is loving.”

Candanosa and Loggins are grateful for their relationship’s equality in caregiving. In a dorm room they share, an inside joke is made about who will take on the role of being a “housewife” for the day and complete chores.

Though Loggins helps Candanosa with physical activities, Candanosa views her as a girlfriend first.

“People don’t realize that (help) is an aspect to all relationships,” Candanosa said. “At a certain point, both parties are caring for each other.”

“What made me interested in Bella in the first place,” said Loggins. “Was her kindness and generosity for others.” Loggins said she loves the way Candanosa is always willing to help.

Due to the rarity and little research done on COL1A2, they may suffer early or unexpected death. “My perspective is that I’m here for a good time,” Candanosa said. “Not a long time.”
Loggins does not share the same perspective. She let out a shaky sigh with eyes cast to the floor. “I would rather love you as long as I can than not.” she said.

Though the clouded world outside may not understand their love, they sit safely inside the church, bathed together beneath a rainbow sheen from the stained glass windows.