Features

If you were a potential employer or landlord, this is what you would learn about John Tejada from a quick internet search: his age (40), his height (6’1”), his weight (260 lbs), his race (black), his eyes (brown), his address (in Hartford, Connecticut) how many scars he has (three: two on the knees, one on … Continue reading But It’s You

If you were a potential employer or landlord, this is what you would learn about John Tejada from a quick internet search: his age (40), his height (6’1”), his weight (260 lbs), his race (black), his eyes (brown), his address (in Hartford, Connecticut) how many scars he has (three: two on the knees, one on the ankle), his tattoos (the Superman logo on his right butt-cheek). You would also learn that he was convicted of sexual assault in the second degree in March 2014. This. . . Read more

New Haven is a pockmarked city, riddled with reminders of an era when City Hall thought the only way to save it from economic peril was to tear out row houses and typewriter shops and replace them with beasts of concrete and steel. One of those beasts, the Knights of Columbus tower, looms over one … Continue reading The City Builder

New Haven is a pockmarked city, riddled with reminders of an era when City Hall thought the only way to save it from economic peril was to tear out row houses and typewriter shops and replace them with beasts of concrete and steel. One of those beasts, the Knights of Columbus tower, looms over one such wound: an asphalt wasteland of parking lots, four-lane streets, and fenced-in parks left behind by twenty years of urban renewal. Richard Munday says it’s not all bad. He likes. . . Read more

Marco Antonio Reyes Alvarez’s bags were almost packed. He had his ticket for a flight the next morning, August 8, to Ecuador, the country he left twenty years ago for the United States. At his home in Meriden—a small city midway between Hartford and New Haven—Fanny Torres Reyes, his wife of twenty-four years, their three … Continue reading A Fragile Sanctuary

Marco Antonio Reyes Alvarez’s bags were almost packed. He had his ticket for a flight the next morning, August 8, to Ecuador, the country he left twenty years ago for the United States. At his home in Meriden—a small city midway between Hartford and New Haven—Fanny Torres Reyes, his wife of twenty-four years, their three children, and thirty relatives had gathered for his final hours in the country. His deportation loomed on the other side of the night. “We were saying goodbye, crying, making his. . . Read more

“If this gets any worse, I’ll think I can fly,” Wes thought, as he looked down onto College Street from the top of the Silliman tower. He had taken LSD and cocaine an hour or two earlier. Afraid of what might come next, he backed away from the window. Within moments, he threw up. He … Continue reading By No Means Immune

“If this gets any worse, I’ll think I can fly,” Wes thought, as he looked down onto College Street from the top of the Silliman tower. He had taken LSD and cocaine an hour or two earlier. Afraid of what might come next, he backed away from the window. Within moments, he threw up. He closed his eyes. A feeling of doom swept over him. He was certain that he had died and was experiencing a post-death state. He dialed home. “Mom, I think I’m. . . Read more

Dawn Slade knows everyone and everything on Dixwell Avenue. Walking up the street—which runs north from downtown New Haven and Yale University toward Hamden—one morning this past spring, she nodded at Lake Place, where many residents are Yale undergraduates. “Look at them, on Lake and Broadway,” she said. “You started to see them inching up. … Continue reading The Perimeter

Dawn Slade knows everyone and everything on Dixwell Avenue. Walking up the street—which runs north from downtown New Haven and Yale University toward Hamden—one morning this past spring, she nodded at Lake Place, where many residents are Yale undergraduates. “Look at them, on Lake and Broadway,” she said. “You started to see them inching up. Inching, inching, inching.” Born in 1960, Slade grew up in Dixwell and now lives in Beaver Hills, a nearby neighborhood. She is the cofounder and executive director of Nuts About. . . Read more

It took Valerie over three years to escape her abusive partner. “I moved three or four times,” she said. “I had to start all over again. I had to change my job, the vehicle I drove, everything.” In 2013, Valerie’s partner began to act erratically and stopped taking his medications. (Victims’ names have been changed … Continue reading From the Ground Up

It took Valerie over three years to escape her abusive partner. “I moved three or four times,” she said. “I had to start all over again. I had to change my job, the vehicle I drove, everything.” In 2013, Valerie’s partner began to act erratically and stopped taking his medications. (Victims’ names have been changed to protect their identities.) She met with her partner’s mental health counselors repeatedly to try to stabilize their relationship, but he began to make verbal threats against her. In July. . . Read more

The day her son Brent died, Karine Heard had a migraine. She was at a drive-through bank teller when he called, asking whether she had a piece of his mail at home. “Probably. I’ll have to look,” she whispered into her phone, trying to be discreet. She thought about asking him to lunch but decided … Continue reading The Epidemic at Home

The day her son Brent died, Karine Heard had a migraine. She was at a drive-through bank teller when he called, asking whether she had a piece of his mail at home. “Probably. I’ll have to look,” she whispered into her phone, trying to be discreet. She thought about asking him to lunch but decided against it because of her headache. Brent told her he needed a document that matched the name on his ID so he could check into a methadone clinic—another attempt at. . . Read more

Under the high, Gothic Revival ceiling of the Sterling Memorial Library Lecture Hall, Chinese real estate mogul Zhang Xin speaks to a packed audience of students, professors, and university administrators on the afternoon of November 9, 2016. She is dressed in the stylish business attire that The New Yorker once called “a kind of Shanghai-Tang … Continue reading Unwrapping Major Gifts

Under the high, Gothic Revival ceiling of the Sterling Memorial Library Lecture Hall, Chinese real estate mogul Zhang Xin speaks to a packed audience of students, professors, and university administrators on the afternoon of November 9, 2016. She is dressed in the stylish business attire that The New Yorker once called “a kind of Shanghai-Tang chic.” Before a large projector displaying photos of shiny office buildings in Shanghai, she describes the newest projects of her multi-billion dollar prime office real estate company, SOHO China. Her. . . Read more

In April of 2015, Jamie Lundell won a ten thousand dollar check from the History Channel for forging a Roman gladiator sword. The blade, which took him five days to fashion, was the length of a man’s arm and sharp enough to puncture bone, welded from 108 layers of steel all compressed within a fraction … Continue reading De Re Metallica

In April of 2015, Jamie Lundell won a ten thousand dollar check from the History Channel for forging a Roman gladiator sword. The blade, which took him five days to fashion, was the length of a man’s arm and sharp enough to puncture bone, welded from 108 layers of steel all compressed within a fraction of an inch and patterned like clouds of petrified ink. Below the hammered bronze hilt adorned with buffalo horn caps, a blood-red inscription burned in the olivewood handle: Audentes Fortuna. . . Read more

Center stage at the Iseman Theater, a woman stands clutching two hands to her chest in front of seventy-five first-year students of the Yale School of Drama. “These are my breasts,” she says. “These are Evan’s breasts, and when I come to rehearsal, I don’t want you to touch them.” The students gape. It’s day … Continue reading Consent in the Spotlight

Center stage at the Iseman Theater, a woman stands clutching two hands to her chest in front of seventy-five first-year students of the Yale School of Drama. “These are my breasts,” she says. “These are Evan’s breasts, and when I come to rehearsal, I don’t want you to touch them.” The students gape. It’s day three of their first week of graduate school, and many of them have never heard a professor talk about her body so frankly. “Over the course of rehearsal, they become. . . Read more