August 4, 1987 |
When Raquel Welch appears in the television movie, "Right to Die" on Oct. 12, it will be hard to recognize her. Welch plays a woman dying of Lou Gehrig's disease, but she says deciding to do the role wasn't a career move. "Every part you take can't be a career move. It's fine for the press, but the final question is, 'Does the story move you?' " "Right to Die" deals with the moral dilemma of prolonging a life mechanically when all hope is gone. Welch takes a stand on that issue, as she does the right to privacy and abortion issues.
November 13, 2009 |
Raquel has served the Valdes family, an upper-middle-class Chilean clan, for 23 years. From washing the laundry to preparing meals to dressing the kids and getting them out the door, Raquel is the oil that keeps this domestic engine running. Lately, that engine has been sputtering. The Maid , Sebastián Silva's offbeat (and deadpan) comedy, looks and sounds like a movie shot on a nanny-cam. But its aim is not to document Raquel's incriminating behavior, although there is plenty of that.
December 6, 1991 |
When asked what they want this holiday season - or any other time of year - Sherita and Raquel reply: "A place where we can always stay. " Already the sisters have lived in four foster homes, and they have watched other children being adopted and leaving with their new families. Sherita, 7, and Raquel, 6, receive weekly counseling to deal with feelings of anger, loss and rejection. Both girls were once neglected and deprived, and Sherita's emotional suffering is manifest in a need for attention.
January 12, 1990 |
"I got a Barbie doll for Christmas," Sherita, 5, says excitedly as she looks through a coloring book. Her eyes are twinkling as she adds, "Santa Claus got me mixed up with another girl because my Barbie's white. " She turns to her sister, Raquel, 4, and tells her, in an affectionate command, to get down from the chair and show off her skirt. Jumping down, Raquel twirls merrily around the room. Sherita says that she'll count to 10, and lays down her crayon so she can hold up 10 fingers as she counts.
April 6, 2010
Absence makes the heart grow fonder. So it will be with Donovan McNabb, and not just because he will no longer wear Eagles green on a National Football League field. Philadelphia may miss its traded quarterback more for what he represented as a pro athlete outside the game. Too many in that category have meticulously honed reputations as thugs and miscreants in their civilian lives. McNabb instead has been an outstanding citizen of this region, and a good husband and father, who doesn't pop up in the news for taking drugs or beating animals.
December 6, 1990 |
Raquel, her braided pigtails tied with colorful barrettes, approached the gaming table at Merion Mercy Academy and shyly asked how to play Dial-a-Color. Carolyn Rammel, a Provident National Bank employee who was staffing the table, gave the timid 5-year-old a quick lesson and encouraged Raquel to try her hand. All of 3 feet tall, the youngster could barely reach the knobs to spin the giant wheel, divided like a pie into wedges of color. "Raquel, you've got to get one in," said Rammel, speaking of the white whiffle ball that players must fling from the wheel into one of several color- coded compartments surrounding it. "I can't push that hard," cried Raquel, sucking hard on a purple lollipop that she held tightly in her right hand.
February 16, 2012 |
TYRIRK HARRIS and his girlfriend were well-known on their bustling Tacony block as lousy neighbors. They hogged parking spaces. They took their time in silencing their frequently tripped car alarms. They let their two dogs run outside unleashed, biting and barking at passers-by and leaving piles of poo polka-dotting neighbors' yards. The couple's hot temper was even more notorious. Harris, 27, ended an argument over a snowy parking space last winter by placing his hand on his holstered gun, neighbors said.
July 8, 1996 |
The world of adolescent girls, we've heard, is a frightening place littered with hazards: sex with its risks of teen pregnancy and deadly disease; impossible beauty standards that encourage eating disorders, alliances with boys who have twisted ideas about manhood. And the dreaded eraser tattoo. My niece, 14, just showed me hers - a dark, crude R of mottled skin on her left shoulder. Raquel's explanation - "You take an eraser, and rub real hard! Everybody's got them!" - reminded me of a teasing conversation we had last year, soon after a small family crisis precipitated her coming to live with me, my husband and our three sons.
June 29, 1992 |
Delores Alvarez was sitting at a table along the glass wall at the cozy Hathaway Inn in Germantown last Sunday night. The restaurant was crowded with people celebrating Father's Day when Alvarez ordered chicken salad with walnuts and asked for a glass of water. She and her dining companion gave the menus back to the waiter. As they did, a man approached Alvarez, pointed a small-caliber handgun at her and fired four bullets into her head. The man stood over the 41-year-old woman and fired once more into her body.