The Brief

It was the most reliable car he had ever driven — that's how Kris Trexler remembered his General Motors EV1.

"It was just a car that I took home, plugged in at night, got up the next morning — it was like having a gasoline station in the garage," he told NPR Member station Michigan Public in 2010.

Trexler was one of the hundreds of people who got to drive an EV1 — the first modern, mass-produced electric vehicle from a major automaker. The little two-door car looked like a cross between a flying saucer and a computer mouse, and it pioneered technology you can still find in today's EVs.

GM built just over 1,000 EV1s before ending production in 1999, spawning a community of passionate super fans eager to join the EV revolution. But the EV1 was controversial, and short-lived. It was on the road for less than a decade. Many Americans never knew the EV1 existed — and the fight to keep it alive ended with GM crushing nearly all the cars into scrap.

"When it all happened, we just stood there and said, 'What are you guys doing?' " filmmaker and EV advocate Chris Paine told NPR in a 2006 interview about his documentary Who Killed the Electric Car? "The sight of seeing them destroyed before most people ever got to experience them was really quite a shocking moment for us."

The EV1's origins

The story of the EV1 began in 1990, when California passed sweeping regulations aimed at curbing the state's air pollution. The plan mandated automakers build zero-emission vehicles.

"It's a very radical strategy, but it's one that looks well into the next century," California Air Resources Board member Brian Bilbray said at the time. "And it's really going to set the standard for air-quality strategies, not in just this state or this nation, but in the world."

Under pressure, automakers researched electric vehicles, hybrids and even hydrogen fuel cells to comply with the mandate. In 1992, reporter Paul Eisenstein was assigned by NPR to check out the early results, traveling to Arizona to test drive a GM prototype called the Impact.

"As you turn the key, nothing seems to be happening — until you stomp on the Impact's accelerator," Eisenstein reported. "Then with a sudden lurch and an eerie whine, the Impact bursts to life, the speedometer ticking off five, 15, 30, 45 miles an hour."

This is the car that by 1996 hit the market as the EV1. It had zippy acceleration, aerodynamic bodywork that partially covered the rear tires, and an innovative braking system that helped recharge the battery.

"Regenerative braking works by using the motors — the drive motors — in reverse, and they act as generators," GM engineer Larry Oswald said. "So when you apply the brake pedal, essentially what you're doing is generating electricity and putting it back into the battery and storing it for the next acceleration."

The car's battery could take you about 70 miles on a full charge. Battery technology improved over the years, increasing the EV1's range to about 100 miles. But the EV1 gave rise to a new consumer concern: "range anxiety."

"The fear of being stranded; running out of power," Consumer Reports researcher Ron Conlin told NPR in 1997. "The anxiety of the consumer is reflected in our studies."

The EV1 was only available in a few states. And it was expensive: The suggested retail price was $35,000 (more than $70,000 in today's money) but it never actually was for sale — it was only available for lease.

"The car's being marketed to an upscale consumer — very educated, very affluent, as potentially a third vehicle in the household," Conlin said.

Only about 800 drivers leased an EV1, according to an Associated Press article from 2005. However, reports indicated thousands more people put their name on a wait list. GM spokesperson Dave Barthmuss told NPR that the company followed up with those people, and found "less than 50 customers" on the wait list were willing to lease a vehicle.

Many who did get the chance to lease an EV1 grew to love the way the car — with its plug-in charging and appliance-like charm — made them feel "like we were in the 21st century," said documentarian Chris Paine.

A little car with a big legacy

GM had spent more than $1 billion on EV development. But over time, California weakened the mandate to build zero-emission vehicles. The EV1 became an unnecessary cost.

The cars' three-year lease agreements expired in the early 2000s, but GM canceled the program and took its EV1s back. In 2005, NPR reporter Luke Burbank visited a GM facility in Southern California storing dozens of repossessed EV1s. The car's supporters held vigil outside.

"We call that EV1 death row," said Chelsea Sexton, a former GM employee who worked on the EV1 program and was critical of the company's move to stop making electric vehicles.

"It absolutely breaks my heart," Sexton told NPR. "I helped put these cars on the road in the first place, and now they're taking them away from me and from all the other drivers that had them at one point."

Chelsea Sexton hugs Paul Scott during a vigil held outside the General Motors Training Center in Burbank, Calif., protesting GM's plans to crush its EV1 electric vehicles located in the facility's parking lot.

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GM loaded the EV1s onto semi trucks, hauled them to Mesa, Ariz., and crushed them. Photos showed flattened EV1s stacked on top of each other. GM said the cars were destroyed because a lack of replacement parts made the EV1 unsafe.

"There are 2,000 unique parts to this vehicle," Barthmuss said. "Some of them are computer control modules that control the braking on the vehicle. If that part fails, there are some serious safety concerns."

The EV1 was ahead of its time

Twenty-five years after EV1 production ended, every major automaker is building EVs — including GM. In October the company said it's on track to build about 200,000 EVs this year. GM set a goal to phase out gas-powered vehicles by 2035.

As for the EV1, some of the little cars escaped the crusher. In 2010, former EV1 driver Kris Trexler visited the very car he once plugged in to charge each night. It was in a new home: the Petersen Automotive Museum in Los Angeles — one of only 40 EV1s still intact, according to the museum.

"Wow, this brings back some serious memories," Trexler said. "This is just amazing to see this car again."

Downtown Los Angeles

A person in an inflatable frog suit holds a sign during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A woman holds incense during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A person holds up a sign during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis. (Photo by ETIENNE LAURENT / AFP via Getty Images)

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A person holds up a sign during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A tourist bus drives past as people protest in front of the Metropolitan Detention Center (MDC), in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Pasadena

Alison Brett (far right) of La Crescenta at the Ice Out For Good protest in Pasadena on Jan. 10, 2026.

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Casey Law of South Pasadena at Ice Out For Good protest in Pasadena on Jan. 10.

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People have been taking to the streets nationwide this weekend to protest the Trump administration's immigration enforcement tactics following the death of Renee Good in Minneapolis, a 37-year-old woman who was shot and killed by a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officer this week.

At least 1,000 events across the U.S. were planned for Saturday and Sunday, according to Indivisible, a progressive grassroots coalition of activists helping coordinate the movement it calls "ICE Out For Good Weekend of Action."

Leah Greenberg, a co-executive director of Indivisible, said people are coming together to "grieve, honor those we've lost, and demand accountability from a system that has operated with impunity for far too long."

"Renee Nicole Good was a wife, a mother of three, and a member of her community. She, and the dozens of other sons, daughters, friends, siblings, parents, and community members who have been killed by ICE, should be alive today," Greenberg said in a statement on Friday. "ICE's violence is not a statistic, it has names, families, and futures attached to it, and we refuse to look away or stay silent."

Large crowds of demonstrators carried signs and shouted "ICE out now!" as protests continued across Minneapolis on Saturday. One of those protestors, Cameron Kritikos, told NPR that he is worried that the presence of more ICE agents in the city could lead to more violence or another death.

"If more ICE officers are deployed to the streets, especially a place here where there's very clear public opposition to the terrorizing of our neighborhoods, I'm nervous that there's going to be more violence," the 31-year grocery store worker said. "I'm nervous that there are going to be more clashes with law enforcement officials, and at the end of the day I think that's not what anyone wants."

Demonstrators in Minneapolis on Saturday, Jan. 10, 2026.

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The night before, hundreds of city and state police officers responded to a "noise protest" in downtown Minneapolis. An estimated 1,000 people gathered Friday night, according to Minneapolis Police Chief Brian O'Hara, and 29 people were arrested.

People demonstrated outside of hotels where ICE agents were believed to be staying. They chanted, played drums and banged pots. O'Hara said that a group of people split from the main protest and began damaging hotel windows. One police officer was injured from a chunk of ice that was hurled at officers, he added.

Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey condemned the acts of violence but praised what he said was the "vast majority" of protesters who remained peaceful, during a morning news conference.

"To anyone who causes property damage or puts others in danger: you will be arrested. We are standing up to Donald Trump's chaos not with our own brand of chaos, but with care and unity," Frey wrote on social media.

Commenting on the protests, Department of Homeland Security (DHS) spokesperson Tricia McLaughlin told NPR in a statement, "the First Amendment protects speech and peaceful assembly — not rioting, assault and destruction," adding, "DHS is taking measures to uphold the rule of law and protect public safety and our officers."

Good was fatally shot the day after DHS launched a large-scale immigration enforcement operation in Minnesota set to deploy 2,000 immigration officers to the state.

In Philadelphia, police estimated about 500 demonstrators "were cooperative and peaceful" at a march that began Saturday morning at City Hall, Philadelphia Police Department spokesperson Tanya Little told NPR in a statement. And no arrests were made.

In Portland, Ore., demonstrators rallied and lined the streets outside of a hospital on Saturday afternoon, where immigration enforcement agents bring detainees who are injured during an arrest, reported Oregon Public Broadcasting.

A man and woman were shot and injured by U.S. Border Patrol agents on Thursday in the city. DHS said the shooting happened during a targeted vehicle stop and identified the driver as Luis David Nino-Moncada, and the passenger as Yorlenys Betzabeth Zambrano-Contreras, both from Venezuela. As was the case in their assertion about Good's fatal shooting, Homeland Security officials claimed the federal agent acted in self-defense after Nino-Moncada and Zambrano-Contreras "weaponized their vehicle."
Copyright 2026 NPR

Bob Weir, the guitarist and songwriter who was a founding member of the popular and massively influential American rock band the Grateful Dead, has died. According to a statement from his family posted on his website and social media pages, Weir died from underlying lung issues after recently beating cancer. He was 78.

A member of the Dead for its first three decades, and a keeper of the flame of the band's legacy for three more, Weir helped to write a new chapter of American popular music that influenced countless other musicians and brought together an enormous and loyal audience. The Grateful Dead's touring, bootlegging and merchandising set an example that helped initiate the jam-band scene. Its concerts created a community that brought together generations of followers.

Known to fans as "Bobby," he was born in San Francisco as Robert Hall Parber, but was given up for adoption and raised by Frederick and Eleanor Weir. In 1964, when he was still a teenager, Weir joined guitarist Jerry Garcia in a folk music band, Mother Mcree's Uptown Jug Band. In May of 1965 Weir and Garcia were joined by bassist Phil Lesh, keyboard player Ron "Pigpen" McKernan and drummer Bill Kreutzmann to form an electric, blues-based rock and roll band that was briefly named The Warlocks. After discovering that there was another band using that name, Jerry Garcia found a phrase that caught his eye in a dictionary and in December of that year they became the Grateful Dead, launching a 30-year run over which time they grew into a cultural institution.

Weir was a singular rhythm guitarist who rarely played solos, choosing instead to create his own particular style of chording and strumming that gracefully supported Garcia's distinctive guitar explorations especially during the extended jams which were the heart of the band's popularity.

Lyrics were largely a product of a communal effort between Weir and Garcia, as well as lyricists John Perry Barlow, Robert Hunter, that often blurred the lines between who wrote what. The opening lines to "Cassidy," which first appeared on Weir's 1972 solo album Ace and was played by the Dead on live recordings including the 1981 double album Reckoning, reflect the combination of metaphor, rhyme and storytelling set to memorable melodies that the band's audiences could memorize, analyze and sing along to:

I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream
I can tell by the mark he left you were in his dream
Ah, child of countless trees
Ah, child of boundless seas
What you are, what you're meant to be
Speaks his name, though you were born to me
Born to me, Cassidy

Weir's emotive singing, on "Cassidy" and other songs like "Sugar Magnolia," "One More Saturday Night" and the band's unofficial theme, "Truckin', " often included whoops and yells, in contrast to Garcia's calm and steady approach. His occasional tendency to forget lyrics was usually greeted by thunderous applause from fans.

After Garcia's death in 1995, at age 53, the surviving members of the band carried on in various forms and arrangements, the longest running of which was Weir's Dead & Company, which also featured Grateful Dead drummers Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart. Weir and the band concluded their "final tour" in July of 2023, but then returned to the stage for two extended residencies at the Sphere in Las Vegas, in 2024 and 2025.

A self-described "compulsive music maker," in 2018 Weir formed yet another band to mine the depths of the Grateful Dead catalog. It was a stripped-down guitar, acoustic bass and drums outfit that he called Bobby Weir & Wolf Bros. Its members included renowned bassist and producer Don Was.In October of 2022, Weir & Wolf Bros worked with a classical music arranger to present yet another iteration of the Dead's catalog, notable for never being played the same way twice, with a group that largely only plays what's written on the paper in front of them, the 80-piece National Symphony Orchestra.

In a 2022 interview with NPR, Weir explained the reason for that collaboration, and in doing so, seemed to offer a possible explanation for why the band's music stayed so popular for so long: "These songs are … living critters and they're visitors from another world — another dimension or whatever you want to call it — that come through the artists to visit this world, have a look around, tell their stories. I don't know exactly how that works, but I do know that it's real."

After Jerry Garcia's death in 1995, Weir kept the legacy of the Grateful Dead alive, touring with bands that came to include generations of musicians influenced by the group. Here, Weir performs with The Dead at Madison Square Garden in New York City in 2009.

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Weir's work to shepherd and sustain the Dead's legacy was rewarded by ever younger generations of Deadheads, the band's loyal following, who attended tour after tour, often following the band from city to city as their parents and grandparents did during in the 1960's, '70s, '80s and '90s.

In an interview with Rolling Stone in March 2025, Weir shared his thoughts on his legacy, as well as on death and dying, that had a hint of the Eastern philosophies that were popular when the Grateful Dead emerged from the peace and love hippie movement of San Francisco. "I'll say this: I look forward to dying. I tend to think of death as a reward for a life well-lived," he said.

Copyright 2026 NPR

Planet Books, a long-running outpost known for its boundless collection of used books, toys, posters and other antiquities, must move — once again — by March or risk closure.

After 27 years in business, owner James Rappaport said the news came last fall from the proprietors of the neighboring Antique Mall II, which, since 2020, has sublet to him a 4,000-square-foot warehouse now cramped with rare tomes and second-hand memorabilia.

Andrew Jurkiewicz, who owns Antique Mall II alongside his partner, Linda, confirmed the move in a phone call Monday. They’re selling their own store, a decision that ran simultaneously to their landlord’s decision to sell the property altogether.

One person familiar with the sale said the listing — which opened in October — has drawn several interested buyers and is expected to enter escrow in the next week. A public record search found the properties, at 1851 to 1855 Freeman Ave., are owned by DPV Properties LLC, which recently moved its address from Seal Beach to out of state.

When reached by phone, one of the owners declined to comment on their reason for the sale.

After their leases end in March, the businesses are expected to vacate. The antique shop, Jurkiewicz said, will relocate to a space at 3588 Palo Verde Ave. — formerly a Joann Fabric and Crafts — under new ownership.

“We’re both tired,” he said of running the 37-year business that he moved into a former plywood business on Freeman Avenue in 2010.

The future of Planet Books, meanwhile, is far more uncertain. Rappaport has been quiet about his plight until now, insisting he didn’t want to “sound any alarms” that might disrupt the flow of business or scare his regulars.

“I don’t want to panic anybody, especially myself. Not really sure what to do, actually,” Rappaport said.

This marks the second time the bookstore has needed to vacate its location since it opened in 1998.

Its first incarnation on East Anaheim Street was a combination of a couple of hundred book crates left behind by San Pedro bookseller Vinegar Hill Books and collectible toys acquired by the store’s former owner, Michael Munns.

Monthly rent at that time was about $2,000 for 1,500-square feet. Today, Rappaport said, the building costs $5,200 a month to rent, with half of it currently vacant.

His search for a new space has spanned the city, even traveling into neighboring Seal Beach, each time running into the same story.

“Twice the money and one third the size,” he said.

It’s also difficult to find something to fit their needs. The current store has a bookstock of easily more than 100,000 titles.

There’s also the trove of toys, postcards, movie posters and other antiquities that line the walls, counters and shelves throughout. In the back area — the workers call it the “nether world” — towering stacks of books form trench lines leading to an aging work computer, limited-edition prints and a bathroom which hasn’t worked properly since they moved there.

Any storefront they find will likely require a “major purge” of inventory, Rappaport said. Planet Books has two music sections and three sections for both science fiction and mystery. He plans to downsize through donations to nearby schools, shelters and prisons.

If the store cannot find a new home, Rappaport said he’ll have to move his inventory into storage, likely at a facility in Stanton.

There’s also the definite possibility the store closes, he said, though workers are more optimistic.

For many, Planet Books has become the bookstore’s bookstore — the book hog’s mud puddle — where the clerks know the difference between Tom Wolfe and Thomas Wolfe and where patrons might lose themselves for the day among cheap out-of-print treasures on Zen and macrobiotics, Armenian dictionaries, Cantonese cookbooks and volumes on Lydia Maria Child, a 19th century abolitionist.

Wherever the store lands, Rappaport said it will be his last move.

“I’m 68, getting old, you know, I don’t need this,” he said. “I can’t retire because I don’t make anything in Social Security. I just want to have a little bit of fun.”