Making Olympic timekeepers’ bells: a labor of love

Making Olympic timekeepers’ bells: a labor of love
The bells are rung for a range of disciplines including athletics, track cycling, mountain biking and boxing. (AFP)
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Updated 01 July 2024
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Making Olympic timekeepers’ bells: a labor of love

Making Olympic timekeepers’ bells: a labor of love

LA CHAUX DE FONDS: The air is stifling hot, with a heavy, metallic smell that sticks in the throat and stings the eyes.
In his foundry with smoke-blackened walls, Alois Huguenin uses an enormous ladle to pour molten bronze at 1,250 degrees Celsius (2,282 degrees Fahrenheit) into a metal frame.
For three generations, the century-old traditional foundry in La Chaux-de-Fonds in northwestern Switzerland — the cradle of the country’s famous watchmaking industry — has been crafting the bells used at the Olympic Games.
The bells are rung for a range of disciplines including athletics, track cycling, mountain biking and boxing.
Almost half a century after his grandfather made the first bell for the Moscow Olympics in 1980, Huguenin was preparing the bells for the upcoming Paris Games.
“If all goes well, one Olympic bell is three hours of work,” the 30-year-old, equipped with an apron, gloves and a protective screen, told AFP recently.
Huguenin said he had already delivered 38 bells for Paris, at the request of the Games’ official timekeeper Omega, which has its chronometric testing laboratory around 30 kilometers away in Biel.
“The bell is used to indicate to the athletes, as well as to the spectators, when the last lap has started,” said Alain Zobrist, who heads OmegaTime and is in charge of chronometry within the wider Swatch Group.
It tells the athletes “they must give it their all to reach the finish line as quickly as possible,” he told AFP.
Recalling that Omega has been timekeeping at the Olympics since 1932, he acknowledged that the bells constitute “a very traditional element.”
“Today, chronometry is done electronically. The bells are a nod to our past,” he said.

Ten minutes after pouring the molten bronze — with the texture and bright orange-yellow color of volcanic lava — Huguenin can unmold the thick liquid, with a temperature of just 200C.
With heavy blows of his hammer, he breaks the hard, black-sand mold in the frame, as smoke billows out.
The bell that emerges is covered with a crust, revealing the work that remains to be done: deburring, sanding, filing and polishing.
Huguenin made his first Olympic bell for the 2020 Tokyo Games.
While not as obsessed by bells as some collectors can be, Huguenin says he is proud his creations are seen by billions.
“I put the same energy, the same passion into all the bells I make,” he said, explaining that he also makes bells for livestock, and increasingly for individual events like weddings.
“But to know that we are participating in our own small way in the big Olympic celebration is a source of pride.”
Huguenin said Olympic bells had been part of his life as far back as he could remember.
“Each edition, we watch TV to try to see if we can spot them,” he said, recalling how he kept an eye out for his father’s bells when he was younger.
And “for a few years now, I have been looking out for the bell that I made.”

The bells used for each Olympics remain the same, with only the edition logo changing.
They are always emblazoned with the colorful Olympic rings, stand about 20 centimeters (7.9 inches) high and measure 14 centimeters (5.5 inches) across.
But each bell is nonetheless unique, Huguenin insisted, due to the use of traditional techniques, and recycling.
The clayey Paris sand used for his mold is not synthetic and is reused several times, he said, noting that some grains have been in service for 100 years.
As for the copper-tin alloy used for the bronze, it is made of individually-sourced recycled materials.
On the shelves near his wooden workbench, Huguenin keeps a souvenir collection of bells with defects that were made for previous Games in Atlanta, Rio and Athens.
But a few weeks before the opening of the Paris Olympics, he already has one eye on the future.
Bells need to be made for the 2028 Los Angeles Games, of course, he said, but “first there are the Winter Olympics in Milan Cortina” in 2026.
“I’m going to get started on it this autumn,” he said.
“I’m always one step ahead.”


Survivor of rare rapid-aging disease progeria dies at 28

Sammy Basso. (Twitter @SammyBasso)
Sammy Basso. (Twitter @SammyBasso)
Updated 06 October 2024
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Survivor of rare rapid-aging disease progeria dies at 28

Sammy Basso. (Twitter @SammyBasso)
  • Born in 1995 in Schio, in the northern Italian region of Veneto, Basso was diagnosed with progeria at the age of two. In 2005, he and his parents founded the Italian Progeria Association

MILAN: Sammy Basso, who was the longest living survivor of the rare genetic disease progeria, has died at the age of 28, the Italian Progeria Association said on Sunday.
Progeria, also known as Hutchinson–Gilford syndrome, causes people to age rapidly, leading them to appear older than they are, with a reduced quality of life and a life expectancy of only 13.5 years without treatment, the association’s website said.
It affects one in every 8 million people born, and has a worldwide incidence of one in every 20 million.
Born in 1995 in Schio, in the northern Italian region of Veneto, Basso was diagnosed with progeria at the age of two. In 2005, he and his parents founded the Italian Progeria Association.
He became famous through the National Geographic documentary “Sammy’s Journey,” which recounts his journey along Route 66 in the United States, from Chicago to Los Angeles, with his parents and one of his best friends, Riccardo.
“Today our light, our guide, has gone out. Thank you Sammy for making us part of this wonderful life,” the association wrote on its Instagram page.
There are only 130 recognized cases of classic progeria worldwide, of which four are in Italy.
However, the Italian Progeria Association estimated there could be as many as 350 cases as they can be difficult to trace especially in developing countries.

 


‘Russian spy’ whale likely died of infection: Norway police

‘Russian spy’ whale likely died of infection: Norway police
Updated 04 October 2024
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‘Russian spy’ whale likely died of infection: Norway police

‘Russian spy’ whale likely died of infection: Norway police
  • Animal rights’ organizations NOAH and One Whale claimed the whale had been shot dead and filed a police report

OSLO: A beluga whale found dead in Norway in August, suspected by some of being a Russian spy, probably died of an infection and not gunshot wounds, Norwegian police said Friday.
Nicknamed “Hvaldimir” in a pun on the Norwegian word for whale (“hval“) and its purported ties to Moscow, the white beluga first appeared off the coast in Norway’s far-northern Finnmark region in 2019 and quickly became a celebrity in the country.
He was found dead on August 31 in a bay on Norway’s southwestern coast.
Animal rights’ organizations NOAH and One Whale claimed the whale had been shot dead and filed a police report.
The Norwegian Veterinary Institute conducted an autopsy and found a 35-centimeter (14-inch) stick lodged in his mouth.
“The report concluded that the probable cause of death was a bacterial infection, possibly a result of wounds in his mouth caused by a stick that got stuck,” police official Amund Preede Revheim said in a statement on Friday.
“The stick may also have made it difficult for Hvaldimir to eat, thereby increasing the risk of infection,” he added.
Police said they had found no trace of bullets and had decided not to open an investigation.
“There is nothing in the examinations that suggests Hvaldimir was killed illegally,” Preede Revheim said.
When Hvaldimir was found in 2019, Norwegian marine biologists removed a man-made harness with a mount suited for an action camera and the words “Equipment St. Petersburg” printed in English on the plastic clasps.
The whale appeared to be accustomed to humans.
Norwegian officials said the whale might have escaped an enclosure and been trained by the Russian navy.
Moscow has never made any official response to claims the whale could be a “Russian spy.”


Stranded killer whales make their way to sea in Russia

Stranded killer whales make their way to sea in Russia
Updated 04 October 2024
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Stranded killer whales make their way to sea in Russia

Stranded killer whales make their way to sea in Russia

MOSCOW: A family of killer whales who were stranded in a silted estuary in the Russian Far East have made their way to the open sea after researchers directed them into deeper water, Russia’s emergencies ministry said on Friday.
The four animals, two adults and two calves, beached in the estuary on the Kamchatka Peninsula this week and researchers and volunteers had to douse them with water at one point to prevent them from dying.
After one unsuccessful rescue attempt in which they missed the narrow exit during high tide, the orcas managed to leave the estuary on Friday, the ministry said on the Telegram messaging app where it also published videos of the rescue operation.
Orcas, or killer whales, belong to the sub-order of toothed whales but are also the largest member of the dolphin family, according to Whale and Dolphin Conservation.


Did this happen to me also? Korean adoptees question their past and ask how to find their families

Did this happen to me also? Korean adoptees question their past and ask how to find their families
Updated 04 October 2024
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Did this happen to me also? Korean adoptees question their past and ask how to find their families

Did this happen to me also? Korean adoptees question their past and ask how to find their families
  • The investigation reported dubious child-gathering practices and fraudulent paperwork involving South Korea’s foreign adoption program

SEOUL: Dozens of South Korean adoptees, many in tears, have responded to an investigation led by The Associated Press and documented by Frontline (PBS) last week on Korean adoptions. The investigation reported dubious child-gathering practices and fraudulent paperwork involving South Korea’s foreign adoption program, which peaked in the 1970s and `80s amid huge Western demands for babies.
Here are some of the problems adoptees who responded say they faced, along with tips for finding histories and birth families.
KYLA POSTREL — Adoption paperwork tells multiple stories
Kyla Postrel’s paperwork tells two different stories, neither of which she’s sure is true.
After a DNA test last year, Postrel found a half-brother who was also adopted to the West. Comparing their paperwork made her even more skeptical of the stories they’d been told. But part of her is reluctant to keep looking “for something that may or may not exist and could be absolutely devastating.”
She has been flooded with messages from other adoptees looking for help, and tells them not to be disappointed if they can’t track down their stories.
“I just don’t want any adoptees feeling like their life is a lie,” she says. “Their life is everything that they’ve built since then.”
If her birth mother is still out there, Postrel would want her to know her daughter has had a good life.
CODY DUET — Not enough information in the file
Cody Duet, adopted to rural Louisiana in 1986, requested his full file a decade ago. He got back less than one page, saying his mother was a young factory worker, his father was unknown and there was nothing more they were required to give him.
“It was probably one of the most angry moments in my life,” Duet says. “Who are you to tell me that I don’t get to know who I am?”
He fell into a depression and couldn’t sleep. He struggled with abandonment, like he was easy to get rid of, easy not to love. But now, he wonders, was that story even true?
The AP investigation found that children were systemically listed as abandoned, even though researchers have found that the vast majority had known relatives.
Now Duet wants to resume his search. He wants to find his mother, to tell her he’s reached a point in his life that he’s proud of.
AMY McFADDEN — Some adoptees don’t know what to believe
Amy McFadden always believed what the adoption agency told her parents — that she was abandoned on a staircase at 5 weeks old.
Adopted to the United States in 1975, she’d heard stories about fraudulent adoptions, but always thought of them as one-off problems that had nothing to do with her. She’s grateful for her American life and close to her adoptive parents, and never felt the longing so many other adoptees do to reconnect with their roots.
But when she found out from the AP stories that mothers in South Korea have searched for their missing children for decades, she says, she was in shock for three days. Waves of nausea radiated over her.
She wants to submit her DNA, in case a family has been looking for her.
CALLIE CHAMBERLAIN — Not everyone has a happy ending
For Callie Chamberlain, waiting for word on whether her birth parents wanted to connect felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.
Her original documents said her mother was young, unmarried and uneducated, she says. Her full files from the South Korean agency contained a different story: Her mother was married and she was born of an affair. DNA testing showed both stories were untrue, and identified her mother and father as married both back then and now.
When they connected, her mother said she’d nearly died giving birth. The family was poor. Disoriented from labor and medications, her mother said she only vaguely remembered hospital staff insisting she was very sick and the child deserved a better home. The baby disappeared the next day. She lived with that shame for years, and the entire family searched for Chamberlain.
They have now invited her — and her adoptive family — with open arms. But Chamberlain has met many without such happy endings, and feels a sort of survivor’s guilt. She also questions the belief that reunions will answer all questions and make you whole.
“There is so much grief and there’s so much sorrow,” she says. “There’s this sense of death. And then there’s also so much that gets to be born. It’s an ancestral sorrow that I can feel sometimes, like this wasn’t supposed to happen.”
She has learned of a Korean cultural concept called “han,” an existential and endless grief, born from colonization, war, poverty and the line that cleaves Korea into North and South, splitting families for generations. “That’s something we experience too,” she said. “We are Koreans.”
___
Here are some steps Korean adoptees could take to learn more about their past:
Do birth family searches
Adoptees can first request information from their adoption agencies. If they don’t get results from agencies, they can contact the South Korean government’s National Center for the Rights of the Child as a second step.
Birth searches can take months and aren’t always successful. Less than a fifth of 15,000 adoptees who have asked the government for help with family searches since 2012 have managed to reunite with relatives, according to data obtained by AP. Failures are often caused by inaccurate records or the practice of describing children as abandoned even when they had known parents.
Many adoptees also criticize the consent process for reunions. Adoption agencies and the NCRC can only use traditional mail, and only up to three times, to contact birth parents for their consent to provide personal details to adoptees and meet them. Privacy laws prevent agency and NCRC workers from accessing birth parents’ phone numbers. Still, the Korean-language adoption documents kept by South Korean agencies often have more background information than translated files sent to Western adoptive parents.
When they fail to locate birth parents, NCRC may recommend that adoptees register their DNA with South Korean police or diplomatic offices, or help them publish their stories in South Korean media.
Take a DNA test
Frustrated with search failures and unreliable records, many Korean adoptees in recent years have attempted to reconnect with their birth families through DNA. Adoptees can register their DNA with a South Korean embassy or consulate in the country where they live. They can also register their DNA with a local police station if they travel to South Korea.
DNA testing isn’t common in South Korea, and the process usually depends on whether the birth family had also been trying to find the adoptee through DNA. Once collected at diplomatic or police offices, adoptees’ genetic information is cross-checked with South Korea’s national DNA database for missing persons. When there is a match, the NCRC takes steps to arrange a reunion.
Some adoptees have also found birth relatives through commercial DNA tests popular in the West. The nonprofit group 325 Kamra helps South Korean adoptees and birth families reunite through DNA, by allowing adoptees to upload their commercial test results to a database or providing test kits.
Join adoptee and volunteer groups
There are various Facebook groups — some open, others closed for adoptees only — where adoptees talk about their lives and interactions with adoption agencies.
One of the most active pages is run by Banet, a volunteer group named after the Korean word for newborn baby clothing. The group helps adoptees search for birth families, connects them with government and police, and provides translation during meetings with Korean relatives.
Some websites are tailored to adoptees sharing the same agency, such as Paperslip, which helps adoptees placed through Korea Social Service with birth family searches and adoption document requests.
The Seoul-based nonprofit Global Overseas Adoptees’ Link assists adoptees with birth family searches as well as language education, social events and obtaining visas for employment in South Korea. KoRoot, another Seoul-based civic group, also helps adoptees searching for their families and backgrounds and runs advocacy programs.


Crash saves American teenager whose car suddenly sped up to 193 kph

Crash saves American teenager whose car suddenly sped up to 193 kph
Updated 04 October 2024
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Crash saves American teenager whose car suddenly sped up to 193 kph

Crash saves American teenager whose car suddenly sped up to 193 kph
  • With his Honda SUV's brake not working and the vehicle accelerating, Sam Dutcher drove into road less traveled while asking for help
  • A last-ditch plan averted disaster, with a trooper speeding in front of the Honda and telling Dutcher to crash into the rear of his squad

Sam Dutcher had just finished running errands when the 18-year-old’s Honda Pilot suddenly began to accelerate, even though his foot wasn’t on the gas pedal. The brake wouldn’t work, he couldn’t shift into neutral, and before long, the runaway SUV was speeding into the western Minnesota countryside with no way to stop.
“I had the brake to the floor,” Dutcher said Thursday, but the SUV kept going faster and faster, eventually reaching 120 mph (193 kpm).
A last-ditch plan averted disaster that September evening — a trooper sped in front of the Honda and Dutcher was told to crash into the rear of his squad car, allowing it to ease safely to a stop moments before reaching a dangerous intersection.
“That was really all I could think of that was going to get him stopped in time,” Minnesota Trooper Zach Gruver said. “We kind of just ran out of time and distance. I really didn’t know of any other way.”
Dutcher, who graduated high school in May and is studying auto mechanics, was driving to the family home near West Fargo, North Dakota, around 7:30 p.m. on Sept. 17 when he realized something was wrong.
“I went to take my foot off the accelerator,” Dutcher recalled. “It wouldn’t slow down.” As the SUV gained speed, Dutcher had two options: Stay on a two-lane road and drive into Minnesota, or hop onto the interstate. Figuring traffic would be lighter, he chose the road less traveled.
Dutcher tried using voice command on his phone to call 911, but it didn’t work. So he called his mom.

Catherine Dutcher was in the drive-thru line at Hardee’s. In her 911 call, she mentioned that the Honda had just been in the shop because the accelerator was apparently getting stuck. Authorities suspect that the SUV’s computer malfunctioned.
The family should take the vehicle in to a dealership for an inspection, a Honda spokeswoman told The Associated Press. The company could not comment further until an inspection was done, she said.
As the Honda sped into Minnesota, Clay County Deputy Zach Johnson reached Dutcher by phone. Dash camera video shows Johnson talking Dutcher through possible solutions. Nothing worked.
Meanwhile, all Catherine Dutcher could do was worry. When she called 911 for an update, she broke.
“They said they’ve got several officers going to him as well as medical,” she recalled. “At that point I kind of lost it because I just imagined him being either seriously injured or dead. I didn’t know how they were going to stop a car that was going that speed.”
Gruver heard what was going on through his radio. His Dodge Charger eventually caught up with the Honda as it was approaching the town of Hitterdal, Minnesota, about 30 miles (48 kilometers) from where the problem began.
Only about 200 people live in Hitterdal, but the highway runs through an area with a couple of stop signs, a railroad crossing and an intersection with another highway.

This photo provided by Catherine Dutcher shows Sam Dutcher with Minnesota State Patrol Trooper Zach Gruver at the Travel Center in Moorhead, Minnesota, on Sept. 25, 2024. (Catherine Dutcher via AP)

Gruver raced ahead to keep traffic at bay. His dashcam video showed the Honda zipping quickly past him through town. Dutcher said the SUV was going about 120 mph (193 kph).
Soon, another worry: Johnson warned Gruver that the highway ended at a T-intersection about four miles (6.4 kilometers) away — a two-minute drive at racing speed.
Law enforcement came up with a plan on the fly: Dutcher should drive into the back of Gruver’s squad car as both vehicles were moving.
“Yes, run into the back of his car,” Johnson urged Dutcher in a conversation captured on dashcam video.
The 2022 Honda’s crash mitigation system kicked in at the point of impact, helping ease the collision, Gruver said. The Honda was going about 50 mph (80 kph) when it struck the trooper’s vehicle. From there, Gruver was able to gradually slow to a stop.
Gruver, a married 30-year-old expecting his first baby, was impressed by the young driver who was able to navigate a runaway vehicle at unimaginable speeds.
“Sam did great,” said Gruver, who has been a trooper for over three years. “I don’t think there’s a whole lot of people that could deal with that pressure.”