Author: tourist_yp6g7u

HONOLULU (AP) — Wallace “Wally” Amos, the creator of the cookie empire that took his name and made it famous and who went on to become a children’s literacy advocate, has died. He was 88.

Amos created the Famous Amos cookie empire and eventually lost ownership of the company — as well as the rights to use the catchy Amos name. In his later years, he became a proprietor of a cookie shop called Chip & Cookie in Hawaii, where he moved in 1977.

He died Tuesday at his home in Honolulu, with his wife, Carol, at his side, his children said. He died from complications with dementia, they said.

“With his Panama hat, kazoo, and boundless optimism, Famous Amos was a great American success story, and a source of Black pride,” said a statement from his children, Sarah, Michael, Gregory and Shawn Amos.

He was married six times to five women, son Shawn said, explaining that he and Carol had split up, reacquainted and then remarried.

“He loved love,” Sarah Amos said.

They said their dad “inspired a generation of entrepreneurs when he founded the world’s first cookie store” on Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles in 1975.

He had been stationed in Hawaii with the Air Force, and Famous Amos gave him the means to later make it his home.

Sarah Amos, who was born in Hawaii, remembers her dad flying back and forth to the U.S. mainland and taking business calls at 4 a.m.

“It’s hard to run a business and to work with people on the mainland when you’re in Hawaii,” she said. “But he made the sacrifice.”

While Wally Amos was a great promotor, he struggled as a businessperson and eventually lost control of the company. He walked away from it because he didn’t want to just be its face, Sarah Amos said.

Later losing the business and the right to use his name was deeply painful and personal, Shawn Amos said: “The remainder of his life and the remainder of his professional pursuits were attempts to get him to, you know, reclaim that space.”

Wally Amos was also co-founder of Uncle Wally’s Muffin Co., whose products are found in stores nationwide. But Amos said the fame never really mattered much to him.

“Being famous is highly overrated anyway,” Amos told The Associated Press in 2007.

His muffin company, based in Shirley, N.Y., was originally founded as Uncle Noname Cookie Co. in 1992, a few years after Amos lost Famous Amos, which still widely uses his name on its products.

Amos had said the Famous Amos cookies sold today are unlike his cookies, which had lots of chocolate, real butter and pure vanilla extract.

“You can’t compare a machine-made cookie with handmade cookie,” he told the AP. “It’s like comparing a Rolls Royce with a Volkswagen.”

Uncle Noname, however, foundered because of debt and problems with its contracted manufacturers.

The company filed for bankruptcy in 1996, abandoned cookies and went into muffins at the suggestion of Amos’ business partner, Lou Avignone.

Inside his now-shuttered Hawaii cookie shop, he sold bite-sized cookies similar to the ones he first sold at the Famous Amos Hollywood store.

Amos also was active in promoting reading. His shop, for example, had a reading room with dozens of donated books, and Amos usually spent Saturdays sitting on a rocking chair, wearing a watermelon hat, reading to children.

Sarah Amos recalled him reading to children at Hanahauʻoli School and continuing to do so even after she graduated from the small elementary school.

The former high school dropout penned eight books, served as spokesperson for Literacy Volunteers of America for 24 years and gave motivational talks to corporations, universities and other groups.

Amos earned numerous honors for his volunteerism, including the Literacy Award presented by President George H.W. Bush in 1991.

“Your greatest contribution to your country is not your signature straw hat in the Smithsonian, but the people you have inspired to learn to read,” Bush said.

In one of his books, “Man With No Name: Turn Lemons Into Lemonade,” Amos explained how he lost Famous Amos even before it was sold for $63 million to a Taiwanese company in 1991. Despite robust sales, by 1985, the business was losing money, so Amos brought in outside investors.

“The new owners gobbled up more of my share until all of a sudden, I found I had lost all ownership in the company I founded,” Amos wrote. Before long, the company had changed ownership four times.

Sarah Amos said that after parting ways with Famous Amos, he stopped baking for about two years. After rediscovering a love of baking, he launched the Hawaii business, Chip & Cookie, in 1991.

Born in Tallahassee, Florida, Amos moved to New York City at age 12 because of his parents’ divorce. He lived with an aunt, Della Bryant, who taught him how to make chocolate chip cookies.

He later dropped out of high school to join the Air Force before working as a mailroom clerk at the William Morris Agency, where he became a talent agent, working with The Supremes, Simon & Garfunkel and Marvin Gaye before borrowing $25,000 to launch his cookie business.

He was the first Black agent in the business, Shawn Amos, said.

Shawn and Sarah said that after becoming parents themselves, they realized how meaningful the chocolate chip cookie is to their family.

“The first time we made cookies with our kids, it sort of sunk in, this is actually a family thing,” Shawn said. “It’s a gift he gave us. It’s part of our heritage.”

The post Wally Amos, 88, of cookie fame, died at home in Hawaii. He lost Famous Amos but found other success appeared first on New York Amsterdam News.

* This article was originally published here

MEXICO CITY — Claudia Santos’ spiritual journey has left a mark on her skin.

Soon after the 50-year-old embraced her pre-Hispanic heritage and pledged to speak for her ancestors’ worldview in Mexico City, she tattooed the symbol “Ollin” — which translates from the Nahuatl language as “movement” — on her wrist.

“It’s an imprint from my Nahuatl name,” said Santos, wearing white with feathers hanging from her neck. She was dressed to perform an ancestral Mexica ceremony on Tuesday in the neighborhood of Tepito.

“It’s an insignia that represents me, my identity.”

Since 2021, when she co-founded an organization that raises awareness of her community’s Mexica heritage, Santos and members of close Indigenous communities gather by mid-August to honor Cuauhtémoc, who was the last emperor or “tlatoani” of Mexico-Tenochtitlan, as the capital was known before it fell to the Spaniards in 1521.

“It’s important to be here, 503 years after what happened, not only to dignify Tepito as an Indigenous neighborhood where there has been resistance, strength and perseverance,” Santos said. “But also because this is an energetic portal, a sacred ‘teocalli’ (‘God’s house’, in Nahuatl).”

The site that she chose for performing the ceremony has a profound sacred meaning in Mexico’s history. Though it’s currently a Catholic church, it’s also the site where Cuauhtémoc — a political and spiritual leader — initiated the final defense of the territory that was lost to the European conquerors.

“Our grandfather, Cuauhtémoc, is still among us,” said Santos, who explained that the site where the church now stands is aligned with the sun. “The cosmic memories of our ancestors are joining us today.”

Though he was not present during the pre-Hispanic rituals, the priest in charge of the Tepito church allowed Santos and fellow Indigenous leaders to move freely through the esplanade of the temple. Their preparations started early each morning, carefully placing roses, fruit, seeds and sculptures of pre-Hispanic figures among other elements.

“I’m very thankful to be given the chance of occupying our sacred compounds once again,” Santos said. “Making this connection between a religious and a spiritual belief is a joy.”

Before Tuesday’s ceremony, as this year’s activities began August 9, a Mayan spiritual guide was also invited to perform a ritual at the church’s main entrance.

“This is an act of kneeling with humbleness, not in humiliation, to make an offering to our Creator,” said Gerardo Luna, the Mayan leader who offered honey, incense, sugar, liquor and other elements as a nourishment for the fire.

“The fire is the element that links us to the spirit of the Creator, who permeates everything that exists,” said Luna, also praising the opportunity to practice his beliefs in a Catholic space.

“There are different ways of understanding spirituality, but there is only one language, the one of the heart,” Luna said. “Our Catholic brothers breathe the same air as us. We all have red blood in our veins, and your bones and mine are the same.”

Some locals approached the church and joined both Mayan and Mexica ceremonies. They were drawn in by the sound of a conch shell that was blown to announce the rituals and the smoke released by the lighting of a resin known as “copal.”

Lucía Moreno, 75, said that participating made her feel at peace. Tomás García, 42, added that he is Catholic, but these ceremonies “purify” him and allow him to let go of any wrongdoing.

Others, like Cleotilde Rodríguez, call upon the ancestors — and God — with a deeper need of comfort.

After Tuesday’s Mexica ritual, the 78-year-old said that she prayed for her health and well-being. No doctor or medicine has cured her aching knees, and none of her 10 children visit her or call to ask how she is. Another son of hers, she said, died by suicide some years ago, and she has not felt at ease since.

“This is what has happened to me, so I hope that God allows me to keep working, that my path is not shortened,” Rodríguez said. “Otherwise, what is going to become of me?”

The “tlalmanalli,” as the Mexica ceremony is known, is as an offering to Mother Earth. All members of the community are encouraged to participate and benefit from its spiritual force.

“What people take with them is medicinal,” Santos said. “It is all blessed, so people leave with medicine for life, which they can use in moments of sadness.”

She was not always aware of the depth of the Mexica and other pre-Hispanic worldviews, but a couple of decades ago, feeling that Catholicism no longer fulfilled her spiritually, she started looking for more.

She researched Buddhism and Hinduism. She practiced yoga and studied the awakening of the mind. But still, she wondered: “What’s in my country? Why, if other nations have gurus, aren’t there any widely known spiritual references in Mexico?”

And then she found them. The Mexica provided her with answers. They were wise, spiritual people, who resisted what others brought upon them, always connected to their ancestors and the profoundness of their land.

As part of her transformation, she received a new name, this time in Nahuatl and tied to the pre-Hispanic calendar. And so, just as her parents baptized her in the very same Tepito church where she now performs Mexica rituals, she embraced her current spirituality in a “sowing” ceremony, where she became “Ollin Chalchiuhtlicue,” which means “precious movement of the water.”

The name, she said, also comes with a purpose. As directed, she defined her life mission after the ceremony. Santos chose to comply with Cuauhtémoc’s final wishes for his people: Maybe the sun has gone down upon us, but it will come out again. In the meantime, we must tell our children — and their children’s children — how big our Motherland’s glory is.

“Through the spirituality of our Mexica tradition we are taking back our dignity and the essence of our Indigenous community,” Santos said. “Being here today is a joy, but also a work of resistance.”

“Tepito exists because it has resisted, and we will continue resisting.”

____

Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP’s collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.

The post An offering, a fire, a prayer. How a Mexico City community celebrates its pre-Hispanic origins appeared first on New York Amsterdam News.

* This article was originally published here