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[{"type":"text","text":"In our opinion, he deserves the gold..."}]

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Cowboy State Daily is Wyoming’s largest newspaper with Wyoming’s most experienced journalists. 

<title>You Still Here? Tuesday, January 23, 2024 | Cowboy State Daily</title>

In our opinion, he deserves the gold...

You Still Here? Tuesday, January 23, 2024

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily reporter, Dale Killingbeck

Dale Killingbeck

Wyoming Life

Around Wyoming

Dave Nutter looks back on a life in broadcasting with stories to tell.

The 74-year-old who spent much of his working career talking into microphones and turning dials has to stop periodically to cough as he fights idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis, a disease doctors say will eventually claim his life.

His working resume covers call letters of radio stations from Casper to eastern Nebraska, Rawlins and even short stint in Portland, Oregon, before returning home for a long stint at K2 Radio and Television. 

Along the way, he collected broadcasting equipment and memorabilia that represents Wyoming’s golden-era airwave history.

But how a 13-year-old got on the air and parlayed his teen years into gigs at Casper radio stations in the 1960s and early 1970s seems a Top 40 tale worth spinning again. 

It all began with a fifth-grade trip to the K2 TV station where he was a member of the choir singing Christmas carols. 

He noticed the guys behind the big cameras pointing the lens at him and others.

“It just really looked enticing to me,” Nutter said. “I decided I wanted to be a TV cameraman.”

From that point on he also started paying attention to radio and made it a point when he learned that a Casper radio station was doing a remote broadcast to drop in and hang around. 

He got to know the players, talked with those at the controls and behind the mic, and became a “radio pest.”

Mostly, KVOC, a country station, did the remotes and Nutter recalls being at the annual Casper summer parade downtown in 1964 when he was 13 and standing by the live broadcast guys who included Dave “Woody” Woodside, the program director, at the microphone and the new station owner’s son who was manning the broadcast board controls.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"First Gig"}]

The station owner’s son and Woodside got into an argument and the son walked off. Woodside, who had gotten to know Nutter, looked at him and asked if he could do the job.

“I said, ‘Sure,’” Nutter recalled. “So, that was my very first day probably 1964, I don’t remember exactly, but it was summertime and I ran the controls and helped pack up the equipment. 

"They didn’t give me any pay, but that that’s how I started working at KVOC at 13.”

That impromptu introduction to the board led to more opportunities on remotes that summer and the next where he would ride his bike or hitch a ride with the station crew to the remote location and help set up microphones, the board, and landlines to the station for a remote broadcast.

Because he had no broadcast license, he could not work inside the station, but at 15 that changed. He studied for the third-class FCC license, the minimum requirement, that would allow him to work inside a station with broadcast equipment and the transmitter.

He convinced his parents that he could pass the test and the nearest place to take it was Denver. His family took a vacation with a swing through Denver and at 15 he joined the 20- and 30-year-olds looking for their ticket to a broadcast career by taking the multiple-choice and more than an hour-long exam.

After finishing the test, he rejoined his family and went on the rest of their vacation.

“I came home from vacation and my license was in the mailbox,” Nutter said. “I immediately got on my bicycle and rode to the radio station with the license. It was like my graduation.”

Woodside and the owner were at the station, saw the license, and told him he could go to work the next Sunday. 

It was July 1967. He operated the two turntables, cart machines for ads, reel-to-reel recorders and the broadcast board that controlled which machine sent content on the air.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"Blue-Light Specials"}]

Sundays involved playing 15-inch records from the Salvation Army and other church-related programs that were serialized. 

It also meant going to church locations and setting up remote broadcasts. The station alternated churches during the month, so it might be a Baptist congregation one week and Pentecostal the next.

Nutter said when Kmart came to town in the fall of 1965, the city’s first box store paid to have a three-hour live afternoon broadcast every Sunday from the store. 

It was the first time a store was open on Sundays and lines would form outside the doors before it opened at noon. He and the announcer would go to the store and set up for a 12:30 p.m. start. 

Nutter initially just ran the controls with the on-air personality who called himself the “Deacon Speakin’.”

But then the “deacon” got fired because Kmart did not like the job he was doing. His replacements also got fired. 

Woodside asked Nutter if he thought he could do the announcing part of the broadcast. It involved playing music on the turntable at the store and reading a stack of “blue light” and other specials over the airwaves to bring Sunday shoppers to Kmart doors.

Nutter said the store occasionally did a “99-cent special” that involved putting a small 99-cent sticker on an expensive item such as a barbecue or even a washer or dryer. The draw was no one knew where or what it was.

“People would literally tear up the store looking for those 99-cent specials,” he said.

Nutter told his boss he would try the role. And store management was pleased with the results.

Nutter said he found out that Kmart paid KVOC about $1,200 a month for the broadcasts, which represented the biggest advertising account the station had at the time.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"KATI Calls"}]

While doing the Kmart show he was noticed by a competitor at KATI in town. The station’s program director asked him to come in and talk. 

He was offered a job and took it. His first shift running the board from midnight to 6 a.m. at the Top 40-centered station was June 5, 1968.

“That was the date that Bobby Kennedy got shot in California,” Nutter said. “CBS maintained a network alert system and we got the CBS network alert signal.”

For the next few hours he played instrumental music between CBS News bulletins updating listeners on Kennedy’s fate.

It was also at KATI that the program director told him he could not use his real name and gave him three options of monikers to choose from. 

The one that kind of had a nice ring was “Don Steele.” He chose it.

And as the “Real Don Steele” soon realized, there was another one on the air.

When he went back to the school in the fall, he remembers a girl asking him if he was “this guy?” She pointed to a fan magazine that said a Don Steele was the number one rated disc jockey in the country — he worked at a station in Los Angeles.

“This guy was the real Don Steele and I learned later he came from Portland, Oregon and Omaha,” Nutter said. “So I’m assuming (his program director) gave me three names of three big disc jockeys someplace else in the world.”

Nutter’s time at KATI also involved continuing the Kmart show. When he left KVOC, he brought the account over with him.

Following high school graduation, Nutter’s career took him to Rawlins and then for a stint in Scottsbluff, Nebraska, and then back to KVOC. 

He spent a few years traveling the country in a good-paying job installing kitchen equipment for McDonald’s Restaurants before returning to Casper as a McDonald’s store manager.

A K2 radio salesman convinced him to check out a Sunday radio gig opportunity and lured him back. 

“I started full time at K2 on Jan. 15, 1980 and for all intents and purposes that was the last radio stop,” he said. “That was my last place of employment.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"Personality Role"}]

He spent the next 25 years until 1994 working for K2 in various roles, including as a radio personality, and program and music director. 

He later founded and operated the Wyoming News Network for five years, a radio service that offered radio stations in Wyoming and South Dakota news, special events, sports, and weather.

Nutter said his on-air shows were more a “personality broadcast” where he offered little features and sometimes did interviews of various people.

“I tried a lot of different things that seemed to work,” he said. “I remember my ratings were better than anybody else in town for that time period, even though we never really ever worked for ratings, they were there.”

In addition to on-air work, Nutter fascination with the broadcast equipment led him into a collection of broadcast gear headed for dumpsters at an early age. 

He remembers one day at KVOC when the station engineer called him and said they were taking a bunch of equipment to the dump.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"Collecting Artifacts"}]

Nutter went to the station and gathered the first microphone he ever spoke in as well as the remote radio board that he used at 13 and some cart machines. 

During his K2 career, he remembers coming back from Laramie after a football game broadcast and finding a bunch of old equipment in the dumpster behind the station.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"He rescued it."}]

Among  the items was the first studio camera used at K2 TV in 1957 that weighed nearly 140 pounds.

After being diagnosed with his illness, he knew his collection of things was going to end up back in a dumpster unless he could find a place that wanted it. 

He contacted the Texas Broadcast and Communications Museum and ended up taking two trips down to deliver the 1,400 items he had collected over the years.

The K2 camera was something unique among the other 109 cameras in the museum’s collection. Instead of storing in a corner or closet they put it on the floor in their main lobby, Nutter said.

“I’m proud to say that it is within 15 feet of the TV camera that covered the assassination of Lee Harvey Oswald in the basement of the Dallas Police Department,” he said.

Much of Nutter’s present day involves trips to doctors and procedures to help prolong his life. His pulmonary fibrosis continues to harden his lung tissues making breathing more difficult.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"But he keeps pressing on."}]

“They’ve got a couple of medications out there that prolong you breathing,” he said. “But the only real cure is a lung transplant.”

Dave Nutter Inset David Nutter 1967 Age 15 KVOC edit 6 7 26

<title>Attention Kmart Shoppers: Casper's Dave Nutter Reflects On 45 Years On The Radio | Cowboy State Daily</title>

For 45 years, Dave Nutter was a familiar voice on Casper radio. Now, fighting for his life, Nutter reflects on his unique experiences in radio, including broadcasting blue light specials from Kmart. He most recently donated 1,400 radio items to a museum.

Attention Kmart Shoppers: Casper's Dave Nutter Reflects On 45 Years On The Radio

A woman born in Casper and raised on a ranch near Riverton, along with her young son, were among the more than 900 people who died at Jonestown, Guyana, in November 1978, when self-styled pastor turned messianic figure Jim Jones infamously commanded them to drink a poisoned potion.

Wanda Shirley Swinney moved to Jones’ People's Temple compound in Guyana in August 1977, reuniting with her husband and son. 

How Swinney’s life went from her Wyoming beginnings to ending with the command of a cult leader in Jonestown is a tale of family tragedy, an out-of-wedlock pregnancy, a father’s introduction, and years of brainwashing from the cult’s exalted leader.

The bottom line is Swinney was devoted to Jones. 

In a letter to him written in Guyana, she thanked her “precious Father” for providing their life in Guyana.

“There is no limit to what we can do if we follow your teachings and put them into practice,” she wrote. “Thank you Father for the privilege of being here with you.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"When It Came Tumbling Down"}]

A California congressman, along with journalists, flew to the jungle community in November 1978 to check on his constituents and other Americans who were at Jones’ compound, dubbed “Jonestown."

U.S. Rep. Leo Ryan had heard that people wanted to leave, but were not allowed.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"There was no heavenly outcome."}]

Headlines and history record 918 deaths in Guyana that included Ryan’s assassination and the murder of journalists who accompanied him at the hands of Jones’ deluded followers. Of those, 909 died by drinking the “potion."

Jones died by either self-inflicted gunshot or at the hands of an obedient assistant. Some followers slit their throats, but most of his congregants drank a cyanide-laced potion at his command.

In his now-infamous “Death Tape,” Jones tells his followers “how much” he loved them and tried to give them “the good life.” 

, he characterized Ryan’s visit as a betrayal by “a handful” of sect members “who have made our life impossible.”

Ryan and his party were to fly out with some cult members and children that Jones characterized as “stolen” from Jonestown. 

Jones said the actions of angry sect members at the airport to get their children back using weapons meant the only solution for the rest of the congregation was not to “commit suicide,” but to “take the potion as a revolutionary act.”

He quoted scripture “that no man takes my life from me, I lay it down” and then referred to himself as a communist.

“We can’t go back and they won’t leave us alone,” Jones said. “The best testimony we can make is to leave this (profanity) world.”

Born in Casper as Wanda Shirley Werner on Aug. 20, 1947, she was raised in the early part of her life on a ranch outside Riverton.

It was 31 years later when Wanda Shirley Swinney’s life ended when she — along with her young son — obeyed her “father” and drank Jones' “potion.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Temple Visit"}]

“We went to one of the meetings,” recalls Darlene Parrish, Swinney’s niece.

Darlene and her sister, Tina Parrish, of Carson, Nevada, are the closest living connection to Swinney. They are the daughters of Swinney’s older sister, Jeanie Lou Parrish. Their mother died in October 2023.

Darlene Parrish said that as a young girl, she accompanied her mother on a visit to see her sister in California. 

Her mother and aunt took her to the People’s Temple in San Francisco, where Jones preached and commanded his congregation.

She doesn’t remember a lot from that visit except that in addition to Jones and his followers, there was a monkey at the service.

“Mom told us she remembers Jim Jones getting up there, talking and everything,” Darlene Parrish told Cowboy State Daily. “He said he was ‘Jesus’ and the Bible was just a bunch of lies about him. 

"She said he took the Bible and stomped on it.”

Tina Parrish was 9 months old when her aunt took her life, but she heard the story about the temple visit several times while growing up.

“That was a big story in our family,” she said.

Wanda Shirley Werner was born to Chelsea Guy Werner and Jean Evelyn Werner, the youngest of siblings that including Leonard, Jeanie Lou, and Chelsea Jr.

The Parrish sisters said their mother was born in Missouri and the family moved to Wyoming where their grandfather and grandmother eventually ranched a few years after her birth. 

They believe their grandmother also was possible a teacher for a time.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Mother’s Death"}]

A Casper Star-Tribune article on March 17, 1958, recorded their grandmother’s death.

“Mrs. Jean Evelyn Werner, former Casper resident, died suddenly in a Riverton hospital according to word received here today,” the newspaper reported. “She was 43 years old. Mrs. Werner was born in Huntsville, Missouri. She lived in Casper from 1946 to 1949.”

Darlene Parrish said her mother was 15 at the time of her grandmother’s death and became a surrogate mom for Wanda and Chelsea Jr.

The Parrish sisters said one story their mother told about Wanda involved her as a young girl playing on a stump and disturbing a nearby beehive. 

The bees swarmed on Wanda and their mom, Jeanie, had to quickly run and grab the girl and pull her away, swiping bees off as the girls tried to escape.

After their grandmother’s death, their grandfather got a job driving trucks over the road and went through a succession of wives. 

The Parrish sisters said they did not know their grandfather well and visited him once after he moved to Grants Pass, Oregon.

Their mother’s life stayed centered in Wyoming and they don’t know why Wanda and their grandfather ended up in California.

But the Richmond Independent newspaper listed Wanda Shirley Werner as among the 751 graduates of Richmond High School on June 15, 1965. Richmond is in the San Francisco Bay Area.

Three years later on March 27, 1968, Wanda Werner’s photo is in the same newspaper as a graduate of U.S. Marine Corps boot camp at Parris Island, South Carolina. 

But her military career was cut short by an out-of-wedlock pregnancy and birth of a biracial son, Darren Eugene Werner.

Darren was born on Sept. 8, 1968, in Oakland, California.

The Parrish sisters say that it was the stigma at that time associated with having biracial baby that led to Wanda Werner’s involvement with the People’s Temple.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"An Introduction"}]

“It was my grandfather who kind of got her in it not knowing what it was at the time, of course,” Tina Parrish said. “He was driving truck with a member of the People’s Temple and they also had a mixed-race child.” 

She said her grandfather thought that Wanda would find more acceptance with those people as friends. That introduction likely took place in late 1968 or 1969.

At the People’s Temple, Wanda Werner, then 22, married Timothy Swinney, 32, in 1970, after he had divorced his first wife. 

Swinney was considered a “pioneer” at the People’s Temple because his parents and family followed Jones from their home in Indiana as Jones moved from that state to California.

The Ukiah Daily Journal on Oct. 21, 1970, listed Wanda Swinney as the secretary of the Ukiah Area Council that met at the First Methodist Church. The group’s order of business was to make preparations for food baskets for people for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

San Diego State University, which hosts a website that contains information about Jonestown, and the People’s Temple lists Wanda Swinney as moving to Guyana on Aug. 10, 1977. 

Her husband had gone there on March 18, 1974, and it lists her son, Darren Swinney, as entering the country on Nov. 24, 1975.

Prior to Guyana, Wanda Swinney worked as a bus driver, accounting clerk, and had skills in animal husbandry, farming and cooking, the website states.            

Darlene Parrish recalls one thing her mother talked about was that as girls on the ranch in Wyoming, both she and Wanda enjoyed horses and horseback riding.

In Guyana, Wanda lived in a separate residence from her husband and was listed as being in charge of the livestock, the “piggery,” and large animals.

Although Wanda Werner was patriotic enough to join the Marines during the Vietnam War, undated letters from her to Jim Jones reflect she believed Jones' Marxist anti-American messages and preaching that came out of his pulpit in the years leading up to the Jonestown event.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Brainwashing"}]

A massive FBI file created after the Nov. 18, 1978, mass murder and suicide includes a Nov. 21, 1978, message from the Omaha, Nebraska, office to the San Francisco office that contained an interview with a woman who joined the People’s Temple with her then-husband in Los Angeles. 

They were told to move to Ukiah, California.

“(The woman) advised although the group on the surface appeared to be a religious group, it was actually politically oriented and Jim Jones professed a political philosophy adhering to the teachings of Marx and Lenin,” the FBI memo states. 

“All members of the group had to attend closed instructional meetings two or three days a week, each last several hours,” it continues.

Swinney’s letters to Jones were written while she was in Guyana. She wrote her “Father” that among the reasons she left the United States “were because it is a capitalistic nation and we are Socialists and trying to learn more of Socialism.”

Swinney wrote that the U.S. economy was not going to “exist much longer,” according to an economist, and that the nation was quickly approaching a day of “race war.” 

She foresaw a time when the “fascist government” would round up people and put them in ghettos and concentration camps that were already prepared.

“It is a known fact that train box cars are strategically located, just waiting for the signal for when people will be herded like animals into these camps,” Swinney wrote. “Nuclear war is a constant threat also and here in Socialist Guyana we are safe from the radiation fallout if war does break out.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"'Precious Father'"}]

Tina Parrish said because of her aunt’s involvement in Guyana, while in college she did a research paper on Jonestown and the People’s Temple. But she was unaware then of her aunt’s letters to Jones.

When told about the content, Tina Parrish said one thing was clear.

“I don’t think she would have gotten that from Wyoming or from her dad,” she said.

Darlene Parrish remembers the day her grandfather called her mother with the news of Wanda Swinney’s death.

“I felt bad for her. I didn’t know exactly what was going on. She got off the phone and she was just sobbing,” she said. “Mom said later on that he (Chelsea Werner Sr.) decided because it was such a mess out there that instead of bringing her home, he would just have her buried with the people there.”

Records from the San Diego State University website show that the remains of Wanda and Darren Swinney were eventually brought back to Oakland, California, and buried in Evergreen Cemetery.

“Next of kin could not be located,” the file states. “Buried by receiver on June 19, 1979.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Wanda’s Son"}]

A remembrance by Don Beck, a People’s Temple member who directed the children’s choir while Jones remained in Redwood Valley, California, characterized Darren Swinney as a boy who in second grade struggled until Beck directed the youngster to report to him each day on his way home regarding his performance.

“Darren was like many of our kids. They needed more of our attention, consistently,” he wrote. “Unfortunately, we were often too busy to give the extra attention our kids needed.

"This was one reason we wanted to build a community.”

While both Parrish sisters never knew their aunt or their young cousin who was a year older than Darlene, they still feel the ties and loss that a blood relation brings.

Darlene Parrish said people who make flippant remarks about happened in Guyana are not thinking about those who were left behind.

“Our family, it hit us pretty hard,” she said. "And none of us like the jokes that people make about 'drinking the Kool-Aid.' It’s ridiculous.

"think about (the fact) that there are family and friends who are still alive that knew those people and were affected by it a lot.”

Wanda and son Jonestown site in 2022 AFP via Getty 6 7 26

<title>Casper Woman, Son Among 909 Who Drank Poison At Jim Jones’ Guyana Compound In 1978 | Cowboy State Daily</title>

A woman born in Casper and raised on a ranch near Riverton, along with her young son, were among the more than 900 people who died at Jonestown, Guyana, in November 1978, when self-styled pastor Jim Jones infamously commanded them to drink poison.

Casper Woman, Son Among 909 Who Drank Poison At Jim Jones’ Guyana Compound In 1978

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's business and tourism reporter, Renée Jean

Renée Jean

Entertainment

Rodeo champion Rusty Wright’s big comeback didn’t start with a wild bronc or record-setting ride. It began between rides, in the dust and noise of Cheyenne Frontier Days when a stranger asked him to do a quick interview for a documentary about barrel racing legend Angela Ganter. 

They wanted him to talk about something he feels strongly about — the importance of women in the rodeo world.

“I’ve got a pretty strong opinion about it, so I figured I’d go ahead and do it,” said the saddle bronc champ. “I didn’t expect it to be as big of a deal as it turned out being. I was passionate about it, and they loved that, so I think the interview went a little longer than it was supposed to.”

His off-the-cuff, passionate interview would become what Wyoming filmmaker Raen LeVell describes as the “beating heart” of his 

 a film he believes is well on its way to becoming a grassroots rodeo blockbuster.

It’s enjoyed a multi-week run as the No. 1-ranked Western documentary on IMDb and earned major praise from national outlets like Sports Illustrated. 

It’s also gained elite backing from professional rodeo leaders, who have given it prime screenings at some of the sport’s biggest venues, including the National Finals Rodeo.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"Women Behind Rodeo’s Biggest Champions"}]

Ask Wright who the real heroes of rodeo are, and he’ll point first to the women — those who compete in the arena and the ones who never step inside of it.

In his Cheyenne interview, he poured his heart out about his own mother, ShaRee Wright, and all of the other rodeo moms and wives who help keep riders like himself going. 

“They asked me what my mom meant to me, and the things she’s done for me in my career,” he said. “Everybody hears how our dad helped us along. He gets lots of recognition, which he should. 

“But I don’t feel like my mom or the wives behind the scenes ever really get the recognition they deserve. Honestly, I think it should be just as much as what my dad would get.”

If there were gold buckles for “backbone of the family,” Rusty said he's convinced his mom would have several of those.

The deep respect for women behind the chutes is exactly the kind of authenticity LeVell was hoping to capture in his film, from Ganter’s story to the moms and wives behind the scenes.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"Ganter’s ‘Red Devil’ Comeback"}]

“Outriding the Devil” focuses on the little-told comeback story of Ganter, a barrel racer whose stunning career slammed into a stage-four breast cancer diagnosis so advanced doctors told her she was unlikely to live.

But Ganter had always been a fighter and refused to give up. 

The chemotherapy that ultimately saved her has a telling nickname, though. It’s called the “red devil,” and it wreaks havoc on the human body in its quest to ultimately save it.

There were days Ganter couldn’t walk from her bedroom to the living room. After chemo like that, almost no one believed Ganter would even be able to ride a horse again, much less fight her way back to compete at an elite level. 

“That red devil chemo had road-graded her nervous system,” LeVell said. “She had lost her balance. She didn’t really know left from right. So the idea that she would get on a horse and be able to just kind of like work on a horse was a little fanciful, and the thought that she would come back to rodeo was kind of like Disney-line stuff.”

And yet, Ganter not only survived, but she returned to rodeo at the highest levels, finding a special horse named Bugs and clawing her way back to champion-caliber barrel racing. 

Lighting A Fire Under Rusty Wright’s Comeback

For Wright, who hadn’t known the full depth of Ganter's ordeal until that Cheyenne interview, her resilience ended up lighting a fire right when he needed it most.

“When I did that interview, honestly, I was kind of right in the middle of my own personal issues and stuff,” he said. “I went from, you know, top of the world — I was reserve world champion in 2018 — and then I had a bunch of personal struggles. I wasn’t even making finals one year. I wasn’t even top 50.”

Learning what Ganter had overcome helped him push the reset button.

“You start playing the ‘poor me’ game, and if you open your eyes and look around, everyone’s got something,” he said. “You sitting there crying about your problems, that isn’t going to help you get out of them. 

“Outriding the Devil," the Wyoming-made film that shows the brutal side of "real" rodeo, has enjoyed a multi-week run as the No. 1-ranked Western documentary on IMDb and has earned major praise from national outlets like Sports Illustrated. 

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