by Rob Taylor Jr.
Courier Staff Writer
In February, the New Pittsburgh Courier’s Genea L. Webb penned an article on Don Patterson wanting to create a...
The Council of Fashion Designers Awards, often called the "Oscars of Fashion" celebrated a number of prominent Black fashion designers at an online ceremony...
Black Writers Weekend is the largest gathering of Black literary creatives and filmmakers in the nation. Last week, the Black Writers Weekend was held...
Sen Kamala Harris accepted the vice presidential nomination for the Democratic party at last week's Democratic National Convention he senator introduced her family —...
by LaToya Wright, Contributing Writer
After being snubbed at the 69th Emmys, Insecure star Issa Rae told Variety during a red-carpet interview, “I’m rooting for...
Apple donates its proceeds from John Lewis documentary to museums that honor his legacy
National Civil Rights Museum and National Museum of African American History...
It was a chilly rain laced windy day on the first day of school at Schenley High School in September of 1967. My mind was in a tizzy. I was told that if you were a freshman, seniors were given permission to kick your “butt” at any time during your first week of attendance. My exterior demeanor could not have remotely exhibited how petrified I was as I entered the south entrance of the school. One of the first classes that I had signed up for was band. It was the sixth period, right after lunch. I had gotten through the initial five periods and lunch period unscathed and without any major injuries to report but my upcoming band class could be another matter. JOHN ‘SQUIRREL’ MOSLEY
