Clean energy workforce training hub a ‘gamechanger' in this struggling factor town
Decatur, Illinois, has been losing factory jobs for years. A training program at a local community college promises renewal and provides training for students from disenfranchised communities
This story is part of a collaboration between the Institute for Nonprofit News' Rural News Network and Canary Media, South Dakota News Watch, Cardinal News, The Mendocino Voice and The Maine Monitor, with support from Ascendium Education Group. It is reprinted with permission.
DECATUR, IL. - A fistfight at a high school football game nearly defined Shawn Honorable's life.
It was 1999 when he and a group of teen boys were expelled and faced criminal charges over the incident. The story of the "Decatur Seven" drew national headlines and protests led by the Rev. Jesse Jackson, who framed their harsh treatment as blatant racism. The governor eventually intervened, and the students were allowed to attend alternative schools.
Honorable, now 41, was encouraged by support "from around the world," but he said the incident was traumatizing and he continued to struggle academically and socially. Over the years, he dabbled in illegal activity and was incarcerated, most recently after a 2017 conviction for accepting a large amount of marijuana sent through the mail.
Today, Honorable is ready to start a new chapter, having graduated with honors last week from a clean energy workforce training program at Richland Community College, located in the Central Illinois city of Decatur. He would eventually like to own or manage a solar company, but he has more immediate plans to start a solar-powered mobile hot dog stand. He's already chosen the name: Buns on the Run.
"By me going back to school and doing this, it shows my nephews and my little cousins and nieces that it is good to have education," Honorable said. "I know this is going to be the new way of life with solar panels. So I'll have a step up on everyone. When it comes, I will already be aware of what's going on with this clean energy thing."
After decades of layoffs and factory closings, the community of Decatur is also looking to clean energy as a potential springboard.
Located amid soybean fields a three-hour drive from Chicago, the city was long known for its Caterpillar, Firestone Tire, and massive corn-syrup factories. Industrial jobs have been in decline for decades, though, and high rates of gun violence, child poverty, unemployment, and incarceration were among the reasons the city was named a clean energy workforce hub funded under Illinois' 2021 Climate and Equitable Jobs Act (CEJA).
Decatur's hub, based at Richland Community College, is arguably the most developed and successful of the dozen or so established statewide. That's thanks in part to TCCI Manufacturing, a local, family-owned factory that makes electric vehicle compressors. TCCI is expanding its operations with a state-of-the-art testing facility and an on-site campus where Richland students will take classes adjacent to the manufacturing floor. The electric truck company Rivian also has a factory 50 miles away.
"The pieces are all coming together," Kara Demirjian, senior vice president of TCCI Manufacturing, said by email. "What makes this region unique is that it's not just about one company or one product line. It's about building an entire clean energy ecosystem. The future of EV manufacturing leadership won't just be on the coasts - it's being built right here in the Midwest."
Related: Want to read more about how climate change is shaping education? Subscribe to our free newsletter.
The Decatur CEJA program has also flourished because it was grafted onto a preexisting initiative, EnRich, that helps formerly incarcerated or otherwise disenfranchised people gain new skills and employment. The program is overseen by the Rev. Courtney Carson, a childhood friend of Honorable and another member of the Decatur Seven.
"So many of us suffer significantly from our unmet needs, our unhealed traumas," said Carson, who was jailed as a young man for gun possession and later drag racing. With the help of mentors including Rev. Jackson and a college basketball coach, he parlayed his past into leadership, becoming associate pastor at a renowned church, leading a highway construction class at Richland, and in 2017 being elected to the same school board that had expelled him.
Carson, now vice president of external relations at the community college, tapped his own experience to shape EnRich as a trauma-informed approach, with wraparound services to help students overcome barriers - from lack of childcare to PTSD to a criminal record. Carson has faith that students can overcome such challenges to build more promising futures, like Decatur itself has done.
"We have all these new opportunities coming in, and there's a lot of excitement in the city," Carson said. "That's magnificent. So what has to happen is these individuals who suffered from closures, they have to be reminded that there is hope."
Richland Community College's clean energy jobs training starts with an eight-week life skills course that has long been central to the larger EnRich program. The course uses a Circle of Courage practice inspired by Indigenous communities and helps students prepare to handle stressful workplace situations like being disrespected or even called a racial slur.
"Being called the N-word, couldn't that make you want to fight somebody? But now you lose your job," said Carson. "We really dive deep into what's motivating their attitude and those traumas that have significantly impacted their body to make them respond to situations either the right way or the wrong way."
The training addresses other dynamics that might be unfamiliar to some students - for example, some male students might not be prepared to be supervised by a woman, Carson noted, or others might not be comfortable with LGBTQ+ coworkers.
James said that at first, he showed up late to every class. But soon the lessons sank in, and he was never late again. He always paid attention when people talked, and he gained new confidence.
"As long as I put my mind to it, I can do it," said James, who would like to work as a home energy auditor. Richland partners with the energy utility Ameren to place trainees in such positions.
"I like being out in the field, learning new stuff, dealing with homes, helping people," James said, noting he made energy-efficiency improvements to his own home after the course.
Related: To fill 'education deserts,' more states want community colleges to offer bachelor's degrees
Illinois' 2017 Future Energy Jobs Act (FEJA) launched the state's clean energy transition, baking in equity goals that prioritize opportunities for people who benefited least and were harmed most by the fossil fuel economy. It created programs to deploy solar arrays and provide job training in marginalized and environmental justice communities.
FEJA's rollout was rocky. Funding for equity-focused solar installations went unspent while workforce programs struggled to recruit trainees and connect them with jobs. The pandemic didn't help. The follow-up legislation, CEJA, expanded workforce training programs and remedied snafus in the original law.
Melissa Gombar is principal director of workforce development programs for Elevate, a Chicago-based national nonprofit organization that oversaw FEJA job training and subcontracts for a Chicago-area CEJA hub. Gombar said many community organizations tasked with running FEJA training programs were relatively small and grassroots, so they had to scramble to build new financial and human resources infrastructure.
"They have to have certain policies in place for hiring and procurement. The influx of grant money might have doubled their budget," Gombar said. Meanwhile, the state employees tasked with helping the groups "are really talented and skilled, trying their best, but they're overburdened because of the large lift."
CEJA, by contrast, tapped community colleges like Richland, which already had robust infrastructure and staffing. CEJA also funds community organizations to serve as "navigators," using the trust and credibility they've developed in communities to recruit trainees.
Richland Community College received $2.6 million from April 2024 through June 2025, and the Community Foundation of Macon County, the hub's navigator, received $440,000 for the same time period. The other hubs similarly received between $1 million and $3.3 million for the past year, and state officials have said the same level of funding will be allocated for each of the next two years, according to the Illinois Clean Jobs Coalition.
CEJA hubs also include social service providers that connect trainees with wraparound support; businesses like TCCI that offer jobs; and affiliated entrepreneur incubators that help people start their own clean energy businesses. CEJA also funded apprenticeship and pre-apprenticeship programs with labor unions, which are often a prerequisite for employment in utility-scale solar and wind.
"The sum of the parts is greater than the whole," said Drew Keiser, TCCI vice president of global human resources. "The navigator is saying, 'Hey, I've connected with this portion of the population that's been overlooked or underserved.' OK, once you get them trained, send their resumes to me, and I'll get them interviewed. We're seeing a real pipeline into careers."
The hub partners go to great lengths to aid students - for example, coordinating and often paying for transportation, childcare, or even car repairs.
"If you need some help, they always there for you," James said.
Related: Losing faith: Rural, religious colleges are among the most endangered
In 1984, TCCI began making vehicle compressors in a Decatur plant formerly used to build Sherman tanks during World War II. A few decades later, the company began producing compressors for electric vehicles, which are much more elaborate and sensitive than those for internal combustion engines.
In August 2023, Gov. JB Pritzker joined TCCI President Richard Demirjian, the Decatur mayor, and college officials for the groundbreaking of an Electric Vehicle Innovation Hub, which will include a climatic research facility - basically a high-tech wind tunnel where companies and researchers from across the world can send EV chargers, batteries, compressors, and other components for testing in extreme temperatures, rain, and wind.
A $21.3 million capital grant and a $2.2 million electric vehicle incentive from the state are funding the wind tunnel and the new facilities where Richland classes will be held. In 2022, Pritzker announced these investments as furthering the state goal of 1 million EVs on the road by 2030.
Far from the gritty industrial environs that likely characterized Decatur workplaces of the past, the classrooms at TCCI feature colorful decor, comfortable armchairs, and bright, airy spaces adjacent to pristine high-tech manufacturing floors lined with machines.
"This hub is a game changer," said Keiser, noting the need for trained tradespeople. "As a country, we place a lot of emphasis on kids going to college, and maybe we've kind of overlooked getting tangible skills in the hands of folks."
A marketing firm founded by Kara Demirjian – Richard Demirjian's sister – and located on-site with TCCI also received clean energy hub funds to promote the training program. This has been crucial to the hub's success, according to Ariana Bennick, account executive at the firm, DCC Marketing. Its team has developed, tested, and deployed digital billboards, mailers, ads, Facebook events, and other approaches to attract trainees and business partners.
"Being a part of something here in Decatur that's really leading the nation in this clean energy initiative is exciting," Bennick said. "It can be done here in the middle of the cornfields. We want to show people a framework that they can take and scale in other places."
With graduation behind him, Honorable is planning the types of hot dogs and sausages he'll sell at Buns on the Run. He said Tamika Thomas, director of the CEJA program at Richland, has also encouraged him to consider teaching so he can share the clean energy skills he's learned with others. The world seems wide open with possibilities.
"A little at a time - I'm going to focus on the tasks in front of me that I'm passionate about, and then see what's next," Honorable said. He invoked a favorite scene from the cartoon TV series "The Flintstones," in which the characters' leg power, rather than wheels and batteries, propelled vehicles: "Like Fred and Barney, I'll be up and running."
The post Clean energy workforce training hub a 'gamechanger' in this struggling factor town appeared first on The Hechinger Report.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Yahoo
13-06-2025
- Yahoo
Coroner ID's man who died in pursuit with KCSO deputies
BAKERSFIELD, Calif. (KGET) — The Kern County Coroner's Office identified a 27-year-old man who died in pursuit with the sheriff's office Tuesday night. Coroner officials said Jose Armando Ceja, 27, of Delano was the driver of a vehicle that collided with a wooden pole in the area of Road 180 and Avenue 4 around 9 p.m. Ceja was pronounced dead at the scene. The sheriff's office attempted to stop a white Buick Century for traffic violations in the area of Famoso Porterville Highway near County Line Road. A pursuit started and reached speeds of above 100 mph. The vehicle then collided with a wooden utility pole, according to officials with the highway patrol. Ceja was not wearing his seatbelt and he was ejected from the vehicle. Ceja allegedly threw objects out of the Buick, according to CHP. A gun and ammunition were found in the vehicle. An autopsy will be done to confirm the cause and manner of Ceja's death. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Yahoo
06-06-2025
- Yahoo
San Antonio police backpedal on initial claim that Jonathan Joss' murder was not an anti-LGBT hate crime
Less than a week after the San Antonio Police Department insisted there was 'no evidence whatsoever' of homophobia in the June 1 shooting death of former King of the Hill actor Jonathan Joss, the city's top cop walked back that claim as 'way, way, way premature.' 'We shouldn't have done it,' SAPD Chief William McManus said at a Thursday press conference. 'It was way too soon, before we had any real information, and I will own that.' 'We understand that many in the LGBTQ+ community are feeling anxious and concerned,' McManus added. 'A lot of it has to do with that premature statement that we released, and again, I own that shouldn't have done it. The loss of Jonathan Joss was tragic and most, most heavily felt by the LGBTQ+ community.' Last Sunday, as Joss, 59, and husband Tristan Kern de Gonzales drove to San Antonio from Austin, where they had recently been living, to check the mail at what remains of their home, which burned down in January. (Kern de Gonzalez said he is certain the blaze was arson. Authorities, on the other hand, have said the cause remains undetermined.) When they got there, the pair was shocked to find the charred skull of one of their three dogs, which had perished in the blaze, placed on the ground 'in clear view,' according to Kern de Gonzales. The two began crying and screaming, leading to the deadly confrontation with neighbor Sigfredo Ceja Alvarez, he said. In announcing Joss' death on social media, Kern de Gonzales, 23, said there was no doubt the deadly attack was a hate crime. The 59-year-old Ceja, Kern de Gonzales wrote in a Facebook post, 'was someone who could not stand the sight of two men loving each other.' Still, the SAPD issued a statement a day later saying investigators had found nothing 'to indicate that Mr. Joss' murder was related to his sexual orientation.' 'We take such allegations very seriously and have thoroughly reviewed all available information,' the statement said. 'Should any new evidence come to light, we will charge the suspect accordingly.' However, Kern de Gonzales subsequently told The Independent that Ceja laughed and spewed homophobic slurs as Joss lay dying. 'Everything was really close range. It was in the head,' Kern de Gonzales said. 'I held his face together while I told him how much I loved him. He could still hear me, he looked up at me and he wasn't able to talk because of the extent [of his injuries], but I could tell he was trying to say, 'I love you.'' This, according to Kern de Gonzales, prompted Ceja to unleash a vile anti-LGBT tirade. 'While I'm holding him, he has the gun pointed over me, and he's laughing, saying, 'Oh, you love him? Joto,'' said Kern de Gonzales, who grew up in South Carolina. ''Joto' is Spanish for f****t. I never knew the word until I came to Texas, and then I heard it a lot.' Joss was pronounced dead at the scene. Ceja, according to an incident report obtained from the SAPD, quickly confessed, telling police, 'I shot him.' Some 48 hours following the shooting, Ceja, who now faces a first-degree murder charge, was released from jail on $200,000 bond. He will remain under house arrest, two doors down from where Joss was gunned down, pending trial. In a follow-up interview with The Independent after Ceja bailed out, Kern de Gonzales said he was not surprised by the turn of events and railed against the SAPD for not having better protected Joss. He said the couple, who married this past Valentine's Day, had lodged dozens of complaints about alleged harassment and threats from Ceja and other nearby residents, to little effect. Joss had also been the subject of complaints to police by neighbors, who called the cops on the actor more than 50 times in the past year, according to SAPD incident logs. However, while Joss may have at times annoyed people by 'ranting and raving' in public, Kern de Gonzales said he suffered at times from mental illness but insisted he was never a danger to himself or anyone else. 'I've been in mental health crisis and acted just as Jonathan did, even worse,' he said. 'The difference was, I was given medical attention and was treated as someone who needed help instead of being seen as a violent threat. Jonathan was never violent, he never went after anybody or threatened anybody's person.' Joss, who was of Comanche and White Mountain Apache descent, was best known for voicing the part of John Redcorn in the animated series King of the Hill. He also appeared in a recurring role as Chief Ken Hotate on the NBC series Parks and Recreation. Ceja 'thought he would silence [Joss] and get rid of him, but all he did was make him more powerful,' Kern de Gonzales said. Now, he continued, Joss will instead 'be remembered as a martyr and a legend' among many in the LGBT and Native American communities. Ceja is due back in court on August 19. His court-appointed lawyer, Alfonso Otero, did not respond to a request for comment.
Yahoo
06-06-2025
- Yahoo
A memorial grows for Jonathon Joss, and quiet descends on a complicated street
A family who moved to a south-side San Antonio neighborhood roughly six years ago said that they were warned right away about an eccentric man who lived across the street. They were told, they said, that Jonathan Joss would play drums on his roof at all hours of the night and would yell obscenities and racial slurs at people outside. They said that, when confronted, Joss would often say that he was rehearsing for a role. He really was an actor, though. He played the role of John Redcorn in the animated show 'King of the Hill' for more than a dozen seasons, including in the show's upcoming revival. Another neighbor, Daniela Ruano, 19, said she lived next door to Joss her entire life. He would yell racist slurs at her family, she said, honk his horn in the middle of the night and threaten to hurt them. The behavior, she said, had accelerated. 'I'd say like the last two years have been the worst with him. He started breaking down my fence from the back,' she said. 'We would call the police on him a lot.' Two years ago, she said, Joss threatened another neighbor's brother with a crossbow. Police reports confirm that officers responded to the incident, but did not find a crossbow on Joss when they arrived at the scene. Earlier this year, Joss' family home was destroyed in a fire. But he still came by, neighbors said. In a video Ruano took of the actor on June 1, he is seen walking around the neighborhood and yelling; he is carrying a makeshift pitchfork. At one point, he said he is 'rehearsing a scene.' That day she took the video, Joss, his husband Tristan Kern de Gonzales and another friend were there to pick up mail. The group had just returned from Austin, de Gonzales said, where Joss had participated in a fan meet-and-greet event. Joss, 59, arrived in the usual manner that his neighbors said that they had grown unhappily accustomed to, makeshift pitchfork included. Then, Sigfredo Ceja Alvarez – the neighbor whose brother said he had been threatened by Joss with the crossbow two years ago – drove up behind Joss who was parked in his driveway. He got out, the two exchanged words, witnesses said, and seconds later, Joss was dead. 'I shot him,' Ceja told police, according to an incident report. Ceja, 56, was arrested and charged with murder. His bond was set at $200,000, which he posted on Monday. He was released from jail with GPS monitoring on Wednesday afternoon and is due to appear in court on August 19, according to the Bexar County Sheriff's Office public information officer. When most people think of an actor's life, they tend to imagine gleaming houses high in the Hollywood Hills. For years, Joss lived in the modest house his father built in the 1950s. This week, a makeshift memorial for Joss began growing at the property's fence. A man pulled up in a truck with a royal blue memorial cross adorned with ribbons and flowers. He tied the cross to the fence above the growing memorial. The man, Adrian Reyes, told CNN he had known Joss since high school; they were both in the class of 1984 at Dillard McCollum High School, which recently held its 40th year reunion. 'We're very, very close with him in that class. We track him everywhere,' said Reyes. 'We helped him financially. We helped him get to his events when he didn't have transportation.' 'It's a shame that people are learning about him now that he's gone rather than when he was alive and how talented he was and what a talent we lost,' Reyes said. 'He was a different kind of guy, but he was the life of the party.' Neighbors said there were years, maybe even decades, of disputes, particularly between Joss and Ceja. San Antonio Police logs show numerous calls to both addresses over the past year. 'Me and Jonathan had all these fun little side projects where we were coming up with these little scripts, most of them just for fun to make ourselves laugh. And we would be acting them out in the yard and I guess to the outside world maybe it looked a little crazy,' de Gonzales told viewers on Instagram Live. He did say that although they would sometimes walk around the neighborhood with things like a stick or pitchfork, they never 'threatened' or 'pointed any weapons at anybody.' Police were called to Joss' residence nearly 50 times since January 2024. In some instances, officers were dispatched multiple times in a single day. Neighbors said Joss' behavior turned more erratic and harassing as the years went on. Some said they saw him throw trash and wine bottles onto a nearby property under construction and damage that neighbor's mailbox. 'He went over there and yanked the mailbox off the top, and it was in a brick casing. So he yanked off the door and beat it up where our neighbor had to go replace it,' said one neighbor, who spoke to CNN but asked that their name not be used due to the attention the killing was bringing to their street. 'Jonathan and I had no weapons. We were not threatening anyone. We were grieving. We were standing side by side. When the man fired, Jonathan pushed me out of the way. He saved my life,' de Gonzales said after the shooting, about their trip back to the burned-down home site. De Gonzalez said that the person who killed Joss yelled 'violent homophobic slurs' before opening fire. 'He was murdered by someone who could not stand the sight of two men loving each other,' de Gonzales said. (CNN has attempted multiple times to contact Ceja and also reached out to his lawyer.) The San Antonio Police Department issued a statement on Monday rebutting this. 'Despite online claims of this being a hate crime, currently the investigation has found no evidence to indicate that Mr. Joss's murder was related to his sexual orientation,' the department posted online. But, on Wednesday, as the police department was sharing a Pride Month community forum event, they also released a new statement saying they were continuing the investigation. 'Although we arrested a suspect, our homicide detectives continue to follow every lead to fully understand what led to this senseless act.' On Thursday, San Antonio police expressed more regret. 'We issued a statement the day after Jonathan Joss's murder that was way, way, way premature,' SAPD Chief William McManus told CNN affiliate KENS on Thursday. 'We shouldn't have done it. It was way too soon before we had any real information and I will own that.' He echoed similar sentiments at a forum hosted by San Antonio Pride and the SAPD on Thursday evening, explaining that a judge can attach a hate crime to charges later on. He said they will gather all of the facts leading up to Jonathan Joss' death and will present the case to the District Attorney's office to make that call. He added that police are also investigating the January fire at Joss' home. Joss had told everyone that he was going through a lot. Online, he said he was fighting an uphill battle with financial difficulties. In November, Joss spoke about the difficult living conditions he and his then-fiancé were facing. He said that their home lacked basic utilities such as gas and electricity and described using a fire pit to heat coffee. Despite the challenges, he expressed hope about 'getting through some rough times.' There was one bright spot: his marriage to de Gonzales. Still, Joss also talked about using a stove to heat up water for a hot shower. On Instagram, he showed the poor condition of his house, revealing several holes in the walls and ceiling. In January, Joss experienced two house fires. The second destroyed the house and his car and killed his three dogs, according to social media posts from Joss and his partner. 'Everything I owned… gone. My memories, my keepsakes, my family, my comfort in this world lost in the flames,' he wrote on Facebook. In the months that followed, Joss frequently took to social media to ask fans for financial support. He regularly shared a GoFundMe link started by a fan, which has now raised over $20,000. He sold autographed photos, personalized video messages, t-shirts and '$1 wisdom sayings.' He also posted about marrying his partner on Valentine's Day. In one post with de Gonzales, Joss wrote: 'We shall endeavor to persevere together.' He frequently tried to secure transportation and financial support on Facebook to be able to make celebrity appearances at conventions. Just two days before he was killed, Joss showed up at a 'King of the Hill' Revival Sneak Peek event at the Paramount Theater in Austin, Texas – although he had already written on Facebook that he was not invited to attend. Attendee Brandon Robinson said Joss walked up to the Q&A mic and started 'ranting.' Robinson originally thought Joss' speech was planned but said he soon realized it wasn't. After making some references to his character in 'King of the Hill,' Joss said: 'My house burned down three months ago because I'm gay.' The panelists then announced Joss as the voice of the show's character John Redcorn, prompting applause from the audience. Joss spoke about feeling ignored at the event in one of his final interviews, which took place on 'Bwaaa! A King of the Hill podcast.' But he also said he'd loved his life as an actor. 'I've just been really lucky to have really decent parts. I mean, I never had a – I've never done a bad thing when it comes to acting,' Joss said. Another family showed up this week to remember Joss at the site of the shooting. Paul Gonzalez and Tiffany Zurita said that they lived nearby, but never knew Joss lived in the area. 'We grew up watching the cartoon, you know, me and my wife when we were kids – so just shocked by it,' Gonzalez said of the killing. They brought a pinwheel to place at the memorial, explaining that it helped their own family when experiencing loss. It was something 'to kind of bring that little life back in,' Zurita said. 'You know, the wind's blowing, you see it blowing in the wind, and it just, you know, kind of reminds you that that person's still here,' she said. 'It's a symbol of peace and serene surroundings.' They both said prayers for everyone involved in the tragic incident – and for the neighbors as well. 'I hope they all find peace in time,' said Gonzalez. CNN's Lisa Respers France, Dianne Gallagher, Devon Sayers, Andy Buck, Jeremy Grisham, and Leah Thomeer contributed to this report.
