Anthony Rivera

4 weeks ago | washingtonpost.com | Anthony Rivera

The little brass bell on the door of Brown’s Hardware jingled — just like it had for 142 years — as the first customers of the day walked in. Merchandise like wire strippers, work gloves and ball valves occupied every inch of the store not long ago, but were mostly gone now. Johnny Cash and June Carter’s song “Jackson” hummedfrom the stereo in the back. A shopper and a clerk were talking. Then came hugs. This wasn’t just the end of a store. This was the loss of a community’s anchor.

1 month ago | seattletimes.com | Anthony Rivera

A wrinkled hand drags a paintbrush with orange acrylic paint onto a plexiglass surface. The woman then stirs her brush in a washing bowl and takes a dollop of red for her next stroke. The 96-year-old moves efficiently and fills the center of the canvas with a little beauty. A sign on the table reads “Stella’s spot.” Many people inside this retirement community in Falls Church, Virginia, know Stella Repper.

1 month ago | washingtonpost.com | Anthony Rivera

A wrinkled hand drags a paintbrush with orange acrylic paint onto a plexiglass surface. The woman then stirs her brush in a washing bowl and takes a dollop of red for her next stroke. The 96-year-old moves efficiently and fills the center of the canvas with a little beauty. A sign on the table reads “Stella’s spot.” Many people inside this retirement community in Falls Church, Virginia, know Stella Repper.

2 months ago | washingtonpost.com | Anthony Rivera

For 23 years, a two-story mural in Northwest D.C. depicting the yellow-brick road, the Emerald City and the cast from “The Wizard of Oz” overlooked the basketball court in Stead Park. The “humanity wall,” painted in 2001 by 11 notable graffiti artists from around the District,was festooned with chunky graffiti lettering and clever details, down to the winged monkeys. And then one day last spring, as though it had clicked its heels, the mural disappeared.

Dec 12, 2024 | washingtonpost.com | Anthony Rivera

Capital Letters Maher was never the class clown in high school. But he remembers people telling him as he got older that he was funny. 8:16 p.m. Fourteen minutes to showtime. Jimmy Maher was fidgeting.He'd done lots of comedy open mics - in cities like New York, Columbus and Orlando - but that felt like eons ago. Hemoved from the far corner of the bar to the back stairwell clutching his eight-year-old composition book of jokes.