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Famed Inn at Little Washington celebrated in PBS doc airing March 27

Patrick O’Connell recalls 40 years in business as world-renowned chef

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The Inn at Little Washington, gay news
Chef Patrick O’Connell in the kitchen at The Inn at Little Washington. (Photo courtesy The Door)

Patrick O’Connell never had a concern being the only gay in the village. He’s the only Michelin-starred chef in the village, too.

Tucked in the little town of Washington, Va., is the Inn at Little Washington, where founder, proprietor and chef O’Connell says, “everything we do is extraordinary.”

Thanks to PBS, O’Connell can debut a movie star line on his impressive resume. “The Inn at Little Washington: A Delicious Documentary” airs nationally March 27 at 10 p.m. ET on PBS, pbs.org, and the PBS Video App. Produced and directed by Show of Force, in association with VPM, Virginia’s home for public media, as well as with chef Spike Mendelson, the film takes viewers inside the enchanting escape of one of America’s premier dining experiences — one that “every chef and diner dreams to be part of,” according to Washington, D.C.’s own celebrity chef, Jose Andres. The documentary showcases all the ingredients to put together the tasting menu served at the famed establishment ($248 per person, $180 for wine pairings).

The main building at The Inn at Little Washington. (Photo by Gordon Beall)

O’Connell believes that the Inn’s kitchen is an “incredibly delectable theater and it only feels fortuitous that it … will be played out cinematically in homes across America.”

The documentary details O’Connell’s story, allowing diners to throw open the culinary curtain to learn of the Inn’s history, success and myriad challenges. Whether the painful ricochets of homophobia from local residents, or the anxiety of waiting for the phone call from the Michelin guide to see if the Inn might finally earn its exclusive, elusive third star (its highest designation), O’Connell has experienced it all.

Of course, like just about everything, the Inn is currently closed for COVID-19. It closed March 20 and staff are taking reservations again for early May. Under normal conditions, about 170 people are on staff. About 150 can be seated in the dining room on Saturday nights, which, under normal circumstances is full. There are 23 guest rooms which are also typically full every weekend. Inn staff decline to state its annual operating budget.

Before the accolades poured in like so many glasses of Champagne, O’Connell was just a teenager in Washington, D.C. who fell in love with the restaurant world. A theater major at a local university, he worked in restaurants part-time. One summer trip took him to Europe where he experienced the allure of Paris, where chefs were treated like rock stars. He wanted to become one.

Beyond Julia Child cookbooks, O’Connell realized that his life was a little different than everyone else’s. His theater major had become appropriate for his life.

“It’s very difficult for a young person today to imagine what life was like as gay man almost 50 years ago. I had to become a skilled actor and live on guard at all times and frankly worry not just about acceptance, but also safety,” he says.

Coming of age in the mid-’70s, O’Connell decamped from the bustling scene of Washington, D.C. for the bucolic Blue Ridge Mountains town of Washington, Va., 70 miles away.

“Everything shifts when you live close to nature. Instead of worrying about where to go out, you just need to stay dry and warm,” he says.

O’Connell found home in an unheated country house deep in the woods with his then-partner, where they founded a small catering company, creating dishes in their wood cabin.

“Cooking was therapeutic; I could be connected like nothing else,” he says. But his dream was to become that Parisian chef rock star.

In 1978, O’Connell took a leap that changed his life, the course of Washington history (the Virginia one), and the understanding of what makes haute American cuisine.

An abandoned gas station in “downtown” Washington, Va., called his name. O’Connell had found a home for his vision.

Replacing clapboard with fine china and gas pumps with tea kettles, he opened his restaurant and inn.

Discussing O’Connell’s background, the film moves into soft-edged black-and-white frames, painting a pretty picture of the restaurant’s early days. The viewer soon learns, however, that the restaurant was not without its challenges beyond what to serve each night.

“By opening a restaurant in the center of a village, we became a curiosity,” O’Connell says.

Within a few months, D.C.’s media had discovered and celebrated his talents.

“We made no attempt to disguise who we were, but it became a novelty that the Inn was run by two gay men. It was as if the Siegfried and Roy show appeared,” he says.

After just a couple years, this garage-cum-restaurant became the town. One local paper derided it as “the inn that ate little Washington.”

Like any movement, this one came up against stiff resistance and admirably, the directors do not shy away from the Inn’s difficult moments. The producers sat down with local residents who, 40 years ago admitted that, “we heard there was a new (restaurant) with a new menu but also that there were gay people and if you ate at the Inn you might get AIDS.”

In Washington and in kitchens across the U.S., acceptance has come slowly.

“I’m happy to have contributed to changing culture of a professional kitchen and allowing it to be accepting,” O’Connell says.

Professional drama follows personal drama, as the film unfolds to follow two major moments in the history of the Inn: its momentous 40th anniversary party in 2018 and its searing wait for a three-star Michelin designation after being “stuck” at two stars — still impressive — for two years (Michelin first awarded stars in the region for 2017). The Inn is the only establishment in the D.C. area to have a three-star 2020 ranking (minibar in Penn Quarter and Pineapple & Pearls in Eastern Market each have two-star Michelin rankings).

Director Mira Chang says, “Patrick has spent his life in pursuit of the impossible — perfection,” she says, but realized that the film could not simply present as a biopic.

Chang elevates the film’s message as embodying the American dream.

“Few people today, even the staff, don’t know O’Connell’s story. He as gay man came into a conservative rural town, facing obstacles yet never giving up. It’s a universal theme, larger than just food space,” she says.

Snug in his office — one of two dozen buildings the Inn now owns across Washington — O’Connell is most comfortable in his chef’s shirt and dalmatian-print pants. (Inn grounds serve as a respite for rescued Dalmatians as well).

The Inn at Little Washington, for O’Connell, is “a healing sanctuary where people can escape from harsh realities that we live in.”

O’Connell has become that chef rock star. But O’Connell also has created a uniquely American establishment, reflecting the tastes of his own country and the bounty of its land. The Inn at Little Washington expresses fine dining from an American perspective.

“It’s essential that a restaurant reflect a sense of place,” he says.

The drama for O’Connell and his team does not end eagerly awaiting calls from Michelin. In 2020 and beyond, he is set to open a bakery, a general store and an orangerie in which to throw decadent dinner parties.

Through the drama and the levity, the film wades unintentionally into today’s current health crisis, a prescient note of caution and preparedness.

Introducing what life is like in the back of the house, O’Connell says, “In the kitchen we say hello with elbows. It’s very practical, so you don’t have to wash your hands every time you greet someone.”

Pepper-crusted duck breast with a puree of autumn vegetables, pomegranate and persimmon, one of Chef O’Connell’s dishes at The Inn at Little Washington. (Photo courtesy The Door)
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Meet Mr. Christmas

Hallmark’s Jonathan Bennett on telling gay love stories for mainstream audiences

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Hallmark’s Jonathan Bennett

Jonathan Bennett believes there are two kinds of people in the world — those who love Hallmark movies and liars. And in Season 2 of Finding Mr. Christmas, which the Mean Girls star co-created with Ben Roy, Bennett is searching for Hallmark’s next leading man.

“It’s so fun for people because everyone in their life has someone they know that they think should be in Hallmark movies, right? The UPS driver, the barista at the coffee shop, the dentist,” Bennett says. “So we’re testing their acting abilities, we’re testing who they are, but we’re also looking for that star quality — the thing that makes them shine above everyone else. It’s almost something you can’t explain, but we know it when we see it.”

Season 2’s cast includes a former NFL player for the Green Bay Packers, a few actors, and a realtor. The 10 men compete in weekly festive-themed acting challenges, one of which included having to ride a horse and act out a scene with Alison Sweeney. The contestants were chosen from a crop of 360 potential men, and Bennett gives kudos to the show’s Emmy-nominated casting director, Lindsay Liles (The Bachelor, Bachelor in Paradise).

“She has a tough job because she has to find 10 guys that are going to be good reality television, but also have the talent to act, carry a scene, and lead a Hallmark movie eventually,” he says. To be the right fit for a Hallmark leading man, Bennett singles out five key characteristics: you have to be funny, charming, kind, have a sense of humor, and you have to do it all with a big heart.

Of course, Finding Mr. Christmas wouldn’t be Finding Mr. Christmas without its signature eye candy — something Bennett describes as “part of the job” for the contestants. “I can’t believe Hallmark let me get away with this. I dressed them as sexy reindeer and put them in harnesses attached to a cable 30 feet in the air, and they had to do a sexy reindeer photo shoot challenge,” he says with a laugh. “This season is just bigger and bolder than last. People are responding to not only all the craziness that we put them through, but also comparing and contrasting the guys in their acting scenes when we do them back-to-back.”

Season 1 winner Ezra Moreland’s career has been an early testament to the show’s success at finding rising talent. On seeing the show’s first winner flourish, Bennett says, “Now to watch him out in the world, just booking commercial after commercial and shining as an actor and a model, I think the show gave him the wings to do that. He learned so much about himself, and he took all that into his future auditions and casting. He just works nonstop. I’ve never seen an actor book more commercials and modeling gigs in my life.”

Bennett has been a star of plenty of Hallmark movies himself, including the GLAAD-award-winning The Groomsmen: Second Chances, which makes him a fitting host. Among those movies are 2020’s Christmas House, which featured the first same-sex kiss on the network and had a major impact on Bennett’s career as an openly gay man. “Hallmark’s been so great about supporting me in queer storytelling. But again, I don’t make gay movies for gay audiences. I make gay love stories for a broad audience, and that’s a huge difference, right? We’re not telling stories inside baseball that only the gay community will understand.”

He continues, “The backdrop of a Hallmark Christmas movie is very familiar to these people who watch. And so when you tell a gay love story, and you tell it no differently than a straight love story in that space, they’re able to understand. It’s able to change hearts and minds for people who might not have it in their lives.”

While Hallmark has become a major staple of Bennett’s career, he started off wanting to be a Broadway actor. And before the first season of Finding Mr. Christmas aired, Bennett took a break from TV to make his Broadway debut in Spamalot, replacing Michael Urie as Sir Robin and starring alongside Ethan Slater and Alex Brightman.

“That was my dream since I was five years old – then I booked a movie called Mean Girls, and everything kind of changes in your life. You no longer become a person pursuing Broadway, you become a part of pop culture,” Bennett recalls. “And to be honest, when I hit 40, I was like, ‘I’m probably never going to get to live that dream.’ And that’s okay, because I got to do other dreams and other things that were just as cool but different. So I honestly never thought it would happen.”

Bennett is still determined to make his way back on Broadway with the right role — he calls Spamalot the “best experience” of his life, after all — but he’s got another Hallmark show lined up with Murder Mystery House, which he co-created. The show was recently greenlit for development and intends to bring the Hallmark mystery movie to life. “It’s kind of like our version of The Traitors,” Bennett admits.

Looking back on both seasons, Bennett says that what makes Finding Mr. Christmas stand out in the overcrowded reality TV landscape is that everyone involved makes it with heart: “This isn’t a show where you’re going to watch people throw drinks in each other’s faces and get into big fights. The thing that has amazed me so much about this show, the more we’ve done it, is that every season, 10 guys come in as competitors, but they leave as a family and as brothers. That’s something you don’t get on any other network.”

Finding Mr. Christmas airs every Monday on Hallmark through December 20, with episodes available to stream on Hallmark+.

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Guillermo Diaz on his role as a queer, Latino actor in Hollywood

Shattering stereotypes and norms with long resume of roles

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Guillermo Diaz (Photo courtesy Diaz)

Actor Guillermo Diaz has been working hard in the entertainment industry for more than three decades. Proud of his heritage and queer identity, he has broken through many glass ceilings to have a prolific career that includes tentpole moments such as roles in the films Party Girl, Half Baked, and Bros, and in major TV shows like Weeds and Scandal, and even in a Britney Spears music video. This season, he made his feature-length directorial debut with the film Dear Luke, Love Me.

In an intimate sit-down with the Blade, Diaz shares that he attributes a lot of his success to his Cuban upbringing.

“Well, it prepared me to learn how to lie really well and be a good actor because it was a lot of acting like you were straight, back in the eighties and nineties (laugh). Another thing I learned from my Cuban immigrant parents is that they work super hard. They both had two jobs; we were latchkey kids, and I just saw them constantly working and wanting to provide for us by any means. So that was super instilled in me. That was the one thing that really stuck out that I admire and respect.”

Besides Diaz’s recurring roles on TV, his resume includes appearances in just about every genre of programming out there. If there is a major show out there, he was probably on it. Law and Order, Girls, The Closer, Chappelles Show, ER, Party of Five, and the list goes on. He’s accomplished more in his career thus far than most actors do in a lifetime. There is no doubt he is a hard worker.

“It’s a sign that I just loved to work, and it’s funny looking back at it now because you see all those things, but at the time it was just the next gig, the next job.  I was just wanting to keep working and acting and learning and doing all that stuff. Then it sort of accumulates, and you look back and you’re like, damn! That’s a lot of stuff!”

Acting was never on Diaz’s radar until he was asked to fill in for a friend in a Beastie Boys medley for a talent show when he was a sophomore in high school.

“I did it and fell in love with it. I was teased a lot in high school. Then, when I did that performance, all those people who teased me were like, you were so great! So I looked at it initially as a thing of like, oh, this is where I’m accepted and people like me when I’m on stage. It’s kind of sad, too, because that’s what I latched onto. And then of course, I fell in love with the craft and performing and acting, but that initial rush was because all these people who were messing with me and teasing me all of a sudden liked me. And I was like, this is what I have to do.”

Little did Diaz know that he would break the mold when it came to stereotypical casting. When he first hit the industry, diversity and positive representation were not a thing in Hollywood.

“You just kind of accepted at the time. It was the early nineties. 90% of the time, it was playing a thug or a gun dealer, or a crack head – it was all bad guys, negative characters. But it was either that or not act and not be in anything. So you just kind of accept it, and then you have this sort of vision or hope that in the future it’s going to get better.

Diaz’s management was trepidatious about him playing gay roles for fear of being typecast. But Diaz did play a handful of gay roles early on, although he passed on But Im A Cheerleader, which went on to become a gay cult classic. Diaz decided early on that he was not going to hide his sexuality. Diaz appeared in the film Stonewall. That was the defining point for him in sharing his identity.

“Being cast in that historical sort of dramatization of the 1969 Stonewall riots – I couldn’t believe I was in the midst that I was in the middle of doing this and playing the lead drag queen on the film. I just felt so honored, and I knew it was important, and I knew I needed to do a really good job. I thought, what a special moment this is. And it kicked my ass shooting that movie.

I remember after doing Stonewall, people saying, well, now you’re either going to have to make a choice if you’re going to lie, or if you’re going to just be honest, and you’re going to have to be out from now on if you’re going to be honest. And I was like, I’m not going to freaking lie. When they’d asked me, I would say I was gay. I think because I never tried to hide it, it didn’t become a thing. So people just kind of ignored it. It didn’t mess with me or my career. I don’t know. Or I just got lucky. I don’t freaking know.”

As a queer, Latin actor, Diaz is all too aware of what is happening politically and socially in the world towards minority communities. Does he think actors have a place in politics?

“For sure. I mean, we’re people first, right? Like, I hate when people sort of are like, oh, you’re an actor, shut up. I’m super political and outspoken, and I’m that guy who will say shit. I’m on the right side of history, at least. I’m not being complicit and silent. So, yeah, I think actors for sure have a place in politics. Absolutely.”

While directing was on Diaz’s radar, it wasn’t something that he was actively searching out. But as life would have it, his friend Mallie McCown sent him her script for Dear Luke, Love Me, a film she would play the lead in. Diaz was hooked.

“It was one of those scripts that I had to keep putting down every like 20 pages. I would put it down because I didn’t want it to end. It was so good. Originally, I was just going to come on as a producer of the film, and then the director dropped out, and then Mallie asked me if I was interested in directing. I was scared as shit. I had never directed a feature film. But I was like, it’s now or never.”

The film covers a decade of the friendship between Penny and Luke, covering themes of platonic love, asexuality, co-dependence, and self-identity. With most of the film focusing on just the two leads, Diaz has crafted an intimate and raw film. What is his message with the film?

“That love is complicated, but it’s beautiful and rewarding and worth all the heartache. I believe that. I don’t want to give away too much in the film either, but I think everyone can relate to it because there’s heartache and there’s pain, and there’s beauty and there’s love.”

And in looking at his past work and in looking toward his future career, what kind of legacy does Diaz want to build?

“That I broke some ground, that I knocked down some walls as an artist; I’m hoping that made a difference. It’s funny because when you’re in it, you’re not thinking about all this stuff that could possibly pave the way for other people. You’re just kind of moving along and living your life. But yeah, I would hope that I broke down some walls as a queer Latino.

I hope that people can sort of get something out of me trying to live as authentically as I can, just being my queer self. Hopefully, that helps someone along who is having some troubles being accepted or being comfortable with who they are.”

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Exhibit showcases trans, nonbinary joy in Maryland and Virginia

‘Becoming Ourselves’ proclaims that our lives are ‘expressions of divine creation’

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Oshee (Photo by Gwen Anderson)

Gwen Andersen was putting up posters for her photography exhibition “Becoming Ourselves” in and around Takoma Park shortly following the death of Nex Benedict. “Everybody’s heart was heavy,” the lesbian photographer said, “and I’m waltzing around town putting up these posters.” At a bookstore, she asked the person working at the front desk if she could put up one of the posters. They immediately looked at it more closely because of the trans flag, and said yes. 

“When they read it and saw that it was something positive, beautiful, happy, they started to cry,” Andersen said, and she instinctively asked if she could give them a hug. With permission, she walked around the counter and embraced them — and in many ways, herself — in a world where negativity and violence takes aim at and harms the LGBTQ community. It was a powerful moment, she admitted, because “the first person didn’t even see the pictures.”

“That’s when I realized.” she said, “just how the idea of this is making an impact.”

“Becoming Ourselves” is an exhibition of 26 photos featuring happy and joyful trans and nonbinary adults and children that has been displayed at six different spaces of worship and one gallery in Maryland and Virginia. From the United Universalist Congregation of Rockville (UCCR) to its eighth spot that opened at the Sandy Springs Meeting House on Oct. 1, the exhibition originally started after Andersen’s friend Marian Bowden connected her with Sandra Davis, then president-elect for the Women’s Caucus of Art. Davis, seeing that Andersen had something critical to say during a time of intense anti-trans violence, became her mentor. 

Andersen decided to host the exhibition at the UCCR based on the suggestions of her friend Rev. Jill McCrory, an affirming pastor and justice advocate, who along with Stevie Neal had previously invited Andersen to help found Montgomery County (MoCo) Pride. McCrory recommended UCCR and Davis shared that the church had their own hanging system, but for Andersen, their eager acceptance of the show sealed the deal. 

“They were so happy to have been asked,” Andersen said. “They weren’t just consenting. They were wildly enthusiastic about it. I could not have had a better first place to host this.” 

Rev. Dr. Rebekah Savage echoed this affirmation. Andersen approached her in October 2023 and from the very beginning, Savage acknowledged, we knew it would be a vital gift to congregants. Showcasing queer and trans people in spaces of worship, as the portraits hung in the Sanctuary during Sunday morning worship for Transgender Day of Visibility is critical, Savage explained, and it “does more than challenge exclusion,” Savage said. “It proclaims to the world that LGBTQ+ lives are sacred, beautiful, and an essential expression of the divine creation.”

“This visibility is both healing and life-saving, especially right now: for trans youth and families who need to know that there are faith communities ready to celebrate with them fully,” Savage continued. “Becoming Ourselves,” she said, visualized the leadership of our trans loved ones and held space for joy and celebration during times of intense violence. It has, Savage said, “become a beacon of hope, within our congregation and beyond, witnessing to the power of love, equality, and justice as sacred commitments.”

But there was a time crunch — the exhibition would open in March 2024, so all photos had to be taken by December 2023 and to her surprise, there was great interest in being part of the project. She had taken some photos already, but when a friend’s child asked if their friends could be part of it, they realized they would need extra enforcements to get the photos taken and processed in time for printing, so she connected with Salgu Wissmath, a nonbinary photography who recently opened their own exhibition Divine Identity,” and other photographers from Los Angeles, London, and Baltimore. 

She also reached out to Natasha Nazareth from Gaithersburg and Elias Nikitchyuk who worked locally and contributed photos to the exhibition. 

She also brought a child — Emery — on as the Formal Youth Adviser, recognizing that the show’s most important audience would be trans and nonbinary children. The resulting 26 photos of joyful trans and nonbinary adults and children were chosen by LGBTQ young people from across the United States who shared their selections through a virtual survey, and the group just made the tight deadline. Sadly, Stevie (a nickname for the beloved Petra Stephanie) Neal passed before the project was put on display, but their estate covered photography printing costs.

Soon, the UCCR was filled to the brim with photos of happy and joyful trans people. While UCCR has designated a room for its display, there were too many so the photos spilled out into the hallway, entryway, and anywhere else they would fit. It was only the first of many surprises. 

She anticipated just displaying the show at the church in Rockville, but at the opening, McCrory shared that she would love for the show to be on display at Bethesda United Church of Christ (UCC) where she was then and is now working as an interim pastor, so it went to Bethesda UCC next, but that wasn’t its final stop as church members attended other parishes, they shared that they wanted the photos displayed in their own spaces of worship, and soon the photos had travelled to Christ the Servant Lutheran Church in Gaithersburg, Pilgrim Church in Wheaton, Hope United Church of Christ in Alexandria, PhotoWorks at Glen Echo, and finally, Third Space in Baltimore — its most recent stop at the recommendation of one of the photographers. A friend of Octavia Bloom, a Baltimore photographer, wanted the show to come to their hometown. 

The exhibition at Third Space came to an end on Aug. 8, but as before, another church —this one Sandy Springs Meeting House — stepped up to host the show. The brick Sandy Springs Meeting House was originally constructed in 1817 and has stood ever since, making the Sandy Spring Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends one of the oldest Quaker Meetings in Maryland. Sandy Spring just put up their hanging system, on loan from a local artist, this month and aims to have the show on display to the public soon. 

For some, the choice to display the exhibition in churches may seem like a strange or at least surprising one, but for Andersen, it was a meaningful choice. For Andersen, it helps counter the narrative of churches being places of hostility and part of campaigns against us. While recognizing the history of harm that churches and other religious institutions have caused through conversion therapy, exclusion, hate speech, and more, Andersen’s exhibition showcases how spaces of faith can also be key centers of LGBTQ advocacy and organizing. In fact, D.C. has a rich history of LGBTQ activism based out of and supported by faith communities. 

“The fact that it was held in a church made so many people so happy. It also made many people cry because the church has been a place of hostility because the resistance, the hatred, of lesbians, gays, bis and transgender people has been biblical, both in terms of its size and in terms of its purported origin, and so having churches hold this exhibit was dearly important symbolically,” Andersen said.

Andersen shared that so many friends of hers who came to the show had not visited churches in decades because they (justifiably in some cases) viewed them as completely hostile locations. When they went to the exhibitions in the churches and were treated well, she said, she believes it was a healing experience, as it was for many trans and nonbinary children and adults and their parents who are facing a world of negative representation — either hostile from conservative, Christian nationalist groups or media portraying trans and nonbinary people as victims. 

Andersen wanted to create a show that offered hope to trans and nonbinary kids, as It Gets Better did many years before. sharing videos and photos of happy and joyful LGBTQ adults as a way to share positivity and hopefully prevent suicide among LGBTQ children. It was more than timely than ever following Benedict’s death in February 2024. The previous day, Benedict was assaulted by other high school students in a girls’ restroom and later died by suicide.  

“The purpose of the show was to counter all of the negativity because with Republicans running and now Trump in office there was so much animosity and hostility and people trying to pass these hateful laws that I knew this had to be having a negative impact on the mental health of trans kids.” 

Andersen hopes that this exhibition enriches this rich tradition and sparks new conversations — and maybe even more happy tears — at Sandy Springs Meeting House this fall. 

The show will be open most days between about 10 and 4 except for Mondays and Saturdays. Viewers are advised to call Sandy Springs Meeting House at 301-774-9792 first on weekdays. The show will continue until the end of December.

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