Author: Jesse

An incarcerated Texas man claiming to be the father of the late University of Utah football player Ty-Coreous (Ty) Jordan has been asked to provide additional documentation proving his legal right to claim Jordan’s share of back pay from the House v. NCAA settlement.

Jordan, the Pac-12 freshman offensive player of the year in the COVID-shortened 2020 season, died on Christmas Day in 2020 from what authorities determined was an accidental, self-inflicted gunshot wound to the abdomen. His death came just four months after the passing of his mother, Tiffany Jordan, from cancer.

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In January 2021, a memorial for Ty Jordan was held at AT&T Stadium in Arlington, Texas—only the second time the Dallas Cowboys’ home venue had hosted such a service.

The claimant of Jordan’s back pay, 50-year-old Antwune Jenkins, is serving a 50-year prison sentence after pleading guilty in two separate cases of aggravated sexual assault of a child. He has asserted that, as Jordan’s sole surviving parent, he is entitled to any funds owed to his son’s estate through football-related compensation, including the House settlement.

As a Power Five football or basketball player, Jordan would qualify for the highest compensation tiers under the House settlement, including payments for broadcast NIL, video-game NIL, lost opportunities and pay-for-play damages. However, because these categories are adjusted for seniority and years of participation, Jordan, who only played one eligible season, would earn less than players who had longer college careers.

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The settlement agreement does not explicitly address how unpaid benefits are treated if a class member dies before receiving their full distribution. In practice, the remaining payments would most likely be handled in accordance to the probate and intestacy laws of a claimant’s state.

“If the heir has the legal paperwork that she or he has inherited the claim, the settlement administrator would honor that,” class co-counsel Jeffrey Kessler said in a text message.

In both Texas and Utah, as with many other states, the parents are the first in the beneficiary line of a decedent without a spouse or children.

In a status report filed this week, the House class counsel told the court that the settlement administrator previously determined a hand-written affidavit provided by Jenkins was “not sufficient proof of his beneficiary status.” The attorneys also said it was their understanding Jenkins “is not currently listed as Mr. Jordan’s father on his birth certificate.”

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Jenkins subsequently sent class counsel a letter, which it received on Dec. 3, asking it to file a declaration with the court overseeing the House settlement to adjudicate Jenkins’ paternity and beneficiary status.

Following his sexual-assault convictions, Jenkins was sentenced to state prison in 2004; Jordan was 3 years old at the time. Two years earlier, Jordan’s mother had filed a child-support action against Jenkins in Dallas County Court and obtained a default judgment. Jenkins has stated in court records that he also has two daughters, who would be half-sisters to Jordan.

In a phone interview with Sportico, Jordan’s maternal grandmother Peggy Pondexter confirmed that Jenkins is Jordan’s biological father. Pondexter said she was unaware of Jenkins’ attempt to pursue potential estate money.

“It hurts my heart,” said Pondexter, who helped raise her grandson. “I don’t see any reason why he should get it. If you didn’t have any hand in helping raise this boy—seeing he got to school back and forth—then why are you trying to cash in on his name?”

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Jenkins, according to the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, has a projected release date of 2053, when he will be 73, though he becomes eligible for parole in 2028.

Pondexter said that the University of Utah covered the cost of Jordan’s funeral and that her grandson had insufficient assets upon his death to warrant probate. “He was a college kid,” she said.

Utah established a memorial scholarship in Jordan’s honor, with head Utes football coach Kyle Whittingham and his wife making an initial $100,000 contribution.

Separately, a GoFundMe campaign to raise money for Jordan’s brother A’Jaun (A.J.) Moore, raised over $24,000. Jenkins has recently made a play for those monies as well in a lawsuit he filed in June against Utah. In that complaint, he sought recovery of “any monies paid to private unities, or people in individual capacity, or any. Monies received from private entities or people in their individual capacity including (GoFundMe), memorial fund, trust, scholarship fund and life insurance [or] revenue-generated in the name of ‘Ty Jordan.’”

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That case was quickly dismissed on procedural grounds. In August, ahead of the October deadline, Jenkins completed and signed the four-page House settlement claim form and mailed it to the U.S. District Court in San Francisco, requesting that the judiciary help him submit it electronically to the claim administrator. In September, Judge Claudia Wilken ordered class counsel to facilitate this process on Jenkins’ behalf. Wilken further directed that, because Jenkins lacks internet access in prison, all communications related to his claim must be sent in writing by mail to the Huntsville, Texas, state facility where he is being housed.

Jenkins previously invoked Jordan’s death in a 2023 civil-rights lawsuit he filed against three correctional officers, alleging they threatened to physically harm him over his use of a wheelchair. He further alleged the officers attempted to provoke him by confiscating a copy of Jordan’s obituary in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. “I begged them not to take it, it was all I had left of him,” Jenkins wrote. “This was retaliation.”

A federal judge dismissed that suit, which sought $3 million in damages, in September 2024; Jenkins has since appealed.

Pondexter, Jordan’s grandmother, said she only met Jenkins once and was previously unaware of him making any efforts to communicate with his son once he was imprisoned. Putting aside both the legal implications and her moral objection to his pursuit behind bars, she poses a practical question.

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“What are you going to do with that money in prison anyway?” Pondexter said. “You can’t spend it.”

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It was a must-win game for the Utah Mammoth.

Coming in losing its last three games—all of which Logan Cooley, who will now be out for eight weeks, missed due to injury—the Mammoth needed to rally together and prove that this team could stay strong.

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But Utah had no trouble playing without its key star in Cooley, winning 5-3 in its game against Kraken.

Heading into the third, Utah was leading 2-1, but it was clear the Kraken weren’t going away. Both teams were motivated to capture the win, with each player battling for the puck any chance they could get.

Seattle got the first opportunity to strike after two Utah penalties gave the Kraken a two-man advantage for a stretch of 1:42.

At first, Karel Vejmelka made an incredible effort, with many deflections and saves from post to post. In fact, he and the Utah defense did so well that the Seattle Kraken didn’t score on either of their power-play opportunities.

“That’s huge. 5-on-3 for a minute and 40 seconds is no joke,” said Nick Schmaltz. ” It’s usually your goalie that’s your best penalty killer in those situations, and (Karel Vejmelka) was great. He made some crazy saves with guys ringing one-timers off his head and whatnot. He was great.”

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Even with Utah’s impressive display on the power play, Seattle wouldn’t give up as the game returned to 5-on-5 hockey. Once the Kraken entered the offensive zone again, Mason Marchment scored the game-tying goal.

The momentum certainly looked to have swung Utah’s way when it kept the Kraken out of the net with dominant penalty-kill play, but when Ryan Lindgren suddenly swung the pass out to Marchment, Vejmelka was just a bit too far away to make a play on the puck.

Now, with the game tied, it was on Utah to make a response of its own. The Mammoth had already done it once this game when Nick Schmaltz singlehandedly stole the puck and scored a breakaway goal to tie the game 1-1 in the second period.

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As Utah chipped away at the Kraken’s defense, applying pressure and taking plenty of shots, Utah got the chance it was looking for.

Thanks to a penalty from Lindgren, Utah was given a power play of its own. As soon as Dylan Guenther found himself open, Schmaltz sent a pass his way, and he fired his signature one-timer into the back of the net.

“We’ve talked about loose puck recoveries,” said Guenther. “We did a really good job getting (the puck) back. When (Nick Schmaltz) got in the middle there, it was a tough play for them. He made a really nice pass.”

After that, Utah would never look back, scoring two empty-net goals on its way to a 5-3 win.

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Schmaltz certainly had the most points on the night, registering a goal and two assists, but hard play from some of Utah’s role players made a huge difference in getting the win.

No one on Utah’s third line—made up of Michael Carcone, Daniil But and Jack McBain—registered a point. But before Schmaltz scored his game-tying goal, it was the third line that ignited the Mammoth to play with the energy it did.

Without their hits and shots, the momentum never would have swung the Mammoth’s way.

Meanwhile, Utah’s fourth line also had a great night, with Kailer Yamamoto even scoring a goal of his own.

Though the referees originally disallowed the goal, citing Liam O’Brien for goaltender interference. But when replay showed that Seattle’s Vince Dunn actually ran into goalie Philipp Grubauer, the Mammoth immediately challenged the ruling and the call was reversed.

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“I think Hunter Cherni and Alec Rippetoe (video coaches) did very well. What you have to understand is the follow-up of daily calls in the NHL, and to stay on top of the rules and how every call goes,” said André Tourigny. “When I saw the play, I said we need to make sure. He was really adamant about it. There was no doubt in his head.”

Cooley may not be able to suit up for the Mammoth for a long time, but Utah’s whole team showed that it can rise up to the challenge.

Now the question will be if Utah can consistently play like this as it waits for Cooley to return.

The Kyle Whittingham era in Utah is over.

The longtime Utes football head coach is stepping down before his team takes on Nebraska in the Las Vegas Bowl on New Year’s Eve, according to ESPN’s Pete Thamel.

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“The time is right to step down from my position as the head football coach at the University of Utah,” Whittingham said in a statement.

“It’s been an honor and a privilege to lead the program for the past 21 years and I’m very grateful for the relationships forged with all the players and assistant coaches that have worked so hard and proudly worn the drum and feather during our time here.

“The opportunity to guide so many talented young men as they pursued their goals — both on and off the field, has truly been a blessing. Thank you to the University, the Salt Lake community, all of Ute Nation and most of all my wife and family for your unwavering support that has helped make Utah Football what it is today.”

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While he’s leaving Utah, The Athletic’s Stewart Mandel reported that Whittingham isn’t retiring and “could seek other coaching opportunities.”

Taking over for Urban Meyer after the 2004 season, Whittingham, who turned 66 last month, oversaw one of the winningest eras in Utah history, going 177-88 in 21 seasons at the helm.

During his tenure, the Utes had eight seasons of 10-plus wins, including a historic 13-0 season in 2008.

Last season, Utah finished 10-2, losing to ranked opponents BYU and Texas Tech, which were the only teams to finish ahead of them in the Big 12 standings.

Utah defensive coordinator Morgan Scalley is the team’s “head coach in waiting,” per Thamel, which has “long been the school’s planned transition.”

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Whittingham had reportedly considered retiring after the 2024 season, but after finishing a disappointing 5-7 during Utah’s first season in the Big 12, the legendary coach decided to give it one more go.

“I couldn’t step away on that note. It was too frustrating and too disappointing,” Whittingham said during Big 12 media days earlier this year.

Lori Beckwith doesn’t know where her son has been for the last three weeks, and she may never know.

But when she saw him Wednesday night, for the first time since he disappeared on Nov. 17, she said he had warm boots and clothing — things he did not have when he went missing.

“To the person — or people — who gave him layers of warm clothing, boots and food: you kept him alive,” she wrote in a Facebook post. “I will never forget it.”

Her son, August Beckwith, 29, is on the autism spectrum and is not verbal. He went missing near the University of Utah while “experiencing a severe mental health crisis and psychosis,” according to a missing person poster from the university’s public safety department.

According to the department, he had no coat, no cellphone and no money.

From that day until yesterday, Lori Beckwith had no idea where her son was. She said she lives a few hours away, and spent most nights in her truck, to stay close to where she thought he might be.

Wednesday evening, someone saw him at the Apollo Burger in Taylorsville, and asked officers to perform a welfare check, according to Aaron Cheshire with the Taylorsville Police Department.

Cheshire said officers identified August Beckwith using a fingerprint scanner, and told his family that they had found him.

“He was moving through various parts of the Salt Lake Valley, and that he managed to survive in extremely cold conditions,” Lori Beckwith wrote on her Facebook post. “What we do know is that he received small acts of kindness along the way that helped keep him alive.”

Throughout the search, Lori Beckwith wrote, people experiencing homelessness consistently tried to help, sharing sightings and showing “a level of compassion that was deeply moving.”

“It is almost certain that people who have very little themselves stepped forward to help him survive,” she added.

In the past, she said, her son has given money, which he earned driving for food delivery apps, to people experiencing homelessness. Then, she added, “when he needed it most, they took care of him.”

When Lori Beckwith got the phone call Wednesday telling her that her son was alive, she said it felt unreal. He is safe, she said, though exhausted. Now, she wrote, she plans to focus on helping him recover from the trauma of his ordeal.

On a Monday, Gov. Spencer Cox stood in front of a crowd at the Salt Lake International Airport as Olympic officials unveiled both the official name and the transitional logo for the 2034 Winter Games. By Tuesday morning, the governor was standing in front of a room full of reporters and joking that the Utah 2034 logo had already fulfilled its purpose.

“It’s really brought people together,” he said, “because everyone seems to not like it.”

The logo has been controversial at best, widely panned at worst. It’s designed with a blocky font that mimics shapes found in Utah’s landscape — the most obvious of which is the “A” that replicates the contour of Delicate Arch. Commenters on social media sites and news articles have quipped it’s the same font used in CAPTCHAs or their fourth-grade book reports. Others complain it’s ugly or simply difficult to read.

To which its designers say: Try looking at it through a different pair of eyes.

The creators of the Utah 2034 transitional logo conferred with visually impaired athletes to, they say, make it as impactful as possible for as many people as possible in as many places as possible. They’ve created a piece that they say reflects the local Olympic and Paralympic committee’s whole-state approach to the 2034 Winter Games. And, they’ve done it all while working within the strict parameters set by the International Olympic Committee for transitional logos — which, in and of themselves, are fairly new.

Plus, noted Nate Morley, the lead designer, it’s art. It’s meant to be provocative.

“Art is subjective. And some people like things, and some people don’t like things. And that’s totally to be expected, and we certainly appreciate that,” said Morley, a Utah native whose company, Works Collective, also designed the LA28 Olympic logo. “I think the intent is to learn kind of why the logo looks the way it looks — what it’s meant to represent — and build that.”

The shape inside the zero, for instance, is evocative of a pictograph, according to a website local Olympic organizers launched to explain the controversial wordmark. The curves of the number two mimic those of a winding mountain road. When stacked, its letters and numbers form a checkerboard pattern reminiscent of Utah’s street grids.

Yet the design goes even deeper than that, said visually impaired athlete Danelle Umstead.

“Every Olympic logo gets backlash,” Umstead, a four-time Paralympian, said in a text. “People forget that logos aren’t created to be trendy — they’re designed to be recognizable for decades, across stadiums, uniforms, merchandise, tiny smartphone screens, and global broadcasts.

“A lot of the early criticism focused on aesthetics alone, without understanding that accessibility was part of the design story.”

And that is a process into which Umstead has special insight.

Meant to be seen

As a decorated Paralympic skier, Umstead has sat through more than a few logo reveals. They can be more difficult for the Park City athlete to navigate than the alpine ski courses she races with the guidance of her husband. While the crowd around her cheers, she said she’s often scrambling to pull segments of a logo up on her phone using “extreme zoom technology.”

“The world is celebrating, and I’m thinking, ‘Hang on — give me five more seconds so I can see it, too,’” Umstead said.

That’s why she said it meant so much to her when creative director Molly Mazzolini consulted with Umstead and four other visually impaired athletes on the design.

Umstead, who also competed on “Dancing with the Stars,” is legally blind from retinitis pigmentosa. Though she does have some sight, she said most logos, with their thin swoops or indeterminate colors, are lost on her.

“I ski 70 mph down a mountain, no problem,” she said. “But if you put a low-contrast logo on a website, that’s where I wipe out.”

Conversely, a unique logo with thick lines, a sans-serif font and high-contrast colors stands out. That’s not the case just for people like her, Umstead said, but for everyone.

“If I don’t have to squint, zoom, and pray to read your logo,” she said, “that’s good design.”

Mazzolini and local Olympic organizers introduced the new logo in black and white — which has the highest contrast — as a nod to the Paralympians. She noted, however, that colors can and will be added to the design, depending on where and how it will be used.

In some instances, the name of the host city — Provo or Salt Lake City, for example — will appear beneath the wordmark as well. Mazzolini said she can also see the design of the characters morphing to fit a certain sport or locale.

“I think it’s something that is all a possibility, because this transition logo process is so new within the Olympic space,” said Mazzolini, the founder of the Utah design firm Infinite Scale. “And I think we also need to think about it from the perspective of, it has a lot of growing to do.”

That growth will be closely regulated by the IOC.

Staying within the guidelines

It’s not like Mazzolini and her design team had a blank canvas when, last December, they began to imagine the kind of logo they would want to stand as the symbol of the Utah 2034 Olympics at least until 2029. (After which, Utah will have permission to begin soliciting sponsors and will be able to reveal its official mascots, symbols and logo).

The IOC had set strict parameters for the transitional logo — or, more accurately, the wordmark. Per the IOC guidelines, “These official marks are limited to typography — without symbols or icons — reserving the full creative expression for the official Games emblem released closer to the Games.”

But the restrictions don’t end there.

The logo had to be rectangular and match the height and width of the Olympic rings. It could be a maximum of two lines, but the IOC prefers it be one. When the Olympic rings and the Paralympic Ajitos are used, the IOC has dictated that the size of the rings must be “no larger than ⅓ of Y where Y is the total surface defined by drawing a rectangle around the Olympic rings, the Games signature, the designation and the Agitos (excluding the divider lines).”

It’s no wonder that the two other Games that have adopted transitional logos — The French Alps 2030 and Brisbane 2032 — went with a simple, bolded font.

“They just communicate a place. They’re not trying to evoke any story or emotion,” Morley said. “So I just give a lot of credit to the organization for looking for ways to sort of tap into the passion of the people of Utah and their excitement for the games.”

With that as his charge, Morley found some inspiration, and some wiggle room, within those restrictions.

Picking a font

The IOC guidelines may not allow the use of symbols in transitional logos, but they do explicitly permit the host to choose the font. So, he began playing with creating a font that evoked landscapes found in Utah, from tip to tail.

Delicate Arch as the “A” was an easy choice. For other characters, he drew inspiration from a collection of photographs, from city streets to the bobsled track to mountain peaks. Some were aerial views, others were closely cropped to focus on a particular bend or squiggle.

“The intent was not to necessarily represent any one feature literally in the letter forms,” Morley said, “but to have the totality of the letter forms feel like they were evocative of the totality of all the topography and all the features of the state.”

Morley said he submitted several options to the Utah 2034 design team. The one picked was no doubt among the most audacious. So, it was no surprise to him that it also provoked a strong response.

“People care a lot about their community. They care a lot about the culture that they’re part of. They care a lot about sports. They care a lot about the Olympics, whether it’s far away or whether it’s in their hometown,” he said. “A brand like this sits at sort of the epicenter of all those things coming together.”

Letting 2002’s logo ‘live within itself’

The same can be said for the 2002 Winter Games. That logo, a stylized, colorful snowflake dubbed the “Crystal,” is beloved by many Utahns but more widely is generally considered simply serviceable. Milton Glaser, the designer of the I (heart) NY logo, in 2022 rated it a 70 out of 100 — far from the highest among Olympic logos but tied for best for all of the Winter Games since.

Mazzolini worked in design during the 2002 Olympics, helping sponsors use that logo and the Olympic rings in their ad campaigns. For the 2034 Games, she said, the design team wanted to give a nod to the 2002 brand while allowing it to “live within itself.”

The transitional logo does that, she said.

“That bold choice does provide a strong legacy for us,” she said, “as well as gives us the runway to continue to tell the story.”

As for the backlash — which included members of the public posting their own, often AI generated, alternatives — she said that’s a common part of the design process. And while she didn’t go so far as to say there is no such thing as bad publicity, she did note that the logo was viewed more than 600,000 times between Facebook and Instagram in the first 48 hours after its airport unveiling.

Members of the Utah 2034 executive committee also stood by their choice, for now.

During a media scrum last week, following the monthly steering committee meeting, Utah 2034 CEO Brad Wilson and president Fraser Bullock said they don’t expect the logo to change much in the next three or four years. After that, though, they aren’t making any guarantees.

Next time a Utah governor unveils an Olympic logo, it just might be a little less bold.

“2029 or 2030 will be a different process,” Brad Wilson said, “And this will be a good platform for us to move from and work from and learn from.”

Note to readers • This story is available to Salt Lake Tribune subscribers only. Thank you for supporting local journalism.

Utah Gov. Spencer Cox believes his state needs more power — a lot more. By some estimates, Utah will require as much electricity in the next five years as it generated all last century, to meet the demands of a growing population as well as chase data centers and AI developers to fuel its economy.

To that end, Cox announced Operation Gigawatt last year, declaring the state would double energy production in the next decade. Although the announcement was short on details, Cox, a Republican, promised his administration would take an “any of the above” approach, which aims to expand all sources of energy production.

Despite that goal, the Utah Legislature’s Republican supermajority, with Cox’s acquiescence, has taken a hard turn against solar power — which has been coming online faster than any other source in Utah and accounts for two-thirds of the new projects waiting to connect to the state’s power grid.

Cox signed a pair of bills passed this year that will make it more difficult and expensive to develop and produce solar energy in Utah by ending solar development tax credits and imposing a hefty new tax on solar generation. A third bill aimed at limiting solar development on farmland narrowly missed the deadline for passage but is expected to return next year.

While Operation Gigawatt emphasizes nuclear and geothermal as Cox’s preferred sources, the legislative broadside, and Cox’s willingness to go along with it, caught many in the solar industry off guard. The three bills, in their original form, could have brought solar development to a halt if not for solar industry lobbyists negotiating a lower tax rate and protecting existing projects as well as those under construction from the brunt of the impact.

“It took every dollar of political capital from all the major solar developers just to get to something tolerable, so that anything they have under development will get built and they can move on to greener pastures,” said one industry insider, indicating that solar developers will likely pursue projects in more politically friendly states. ProPublica spoke with three industry insiders — energy developers and lobbyists — all of whom asked to remain anonymous for fear of antagonizing lawmakers who, next month, will again consider legislation affecting the industry.

The Utah Legislature’s pivot away from solar mirrors President Donald Trump taking a more hostile approach to the industry than his predecessor. Trump has ordered the phaseout of lucrative federal tax incentives for solar and other renewable energy, which expanded under the Biden administration. The loss of federal incentives is a bigger hit to solar companies than the reductions to Utah’s tax incentives, industry insiders acknowledged. The administration has also canceled large wind and solar projects, which Trump has lamented as “the scam of the century.” He described solar as “farmer killing.” 

Yet Cox criticized the Trump administration’s decision to kill a massive solar project in neighboring Nevada. Known as a governor who advocates for a return to more civil political discourse, Cox doesn’t often pick fights. But he didn’t pull punches with the decision to halt the Esmeralda 7 project planned on 62,300 acres of federal land. The central Nevada project was expected to produce 6.2 gigawatts of power — enough to supply nearly eight times the number of households in Las Vegas. (Although the Trump administration canceled the environmental review of the joint project proposed by multiple developers, it has the potential to move forward as individual projects.)

“This is how we lose the AI/energy arms race with China,” Cox wrote on X when news surfaced of the project’s cancellation. “Our country needs an all-of-the-above approach to energy (like Utah).”

But he didn’t take on his own Legislature, at least publicly.

Many of Utah’s Republican legislators have been skeptical of solar for years, criticizing its footprint on the landscape and viewing it as an unreliable energy source, while lamenting the retirement of coal-generated power plants. The economies of several rural counties rely on mining coal. But lawmakers’ skepticism hadn’t coalesced into successful anti-solar legislation — until this year. When Utah lawmakers convened at the start of 2025, they took advantage of the political moment to go after solar.

“This is a sentiment sweeping through red states, and it’s very disconcerting and very disturbing,” said Steve Handy, Utah director of The Western Way, which describes itself as a conservative organization advocating for an all-of-the-above approach to energy development.

The shift in sentiment against solar energy has created a difficult climate for an all-of-the-above approach. Solar projects can be built quickly on Utah’s vast, sun-drenched land, while nuclear is a long game with projects expected to take a decade or more to come online under optimistic scenarios. 

Cox generally supports solar, “in the right places,” especially when the captured energy can be stored in large batteries for distribution on cloudy days and after the sun goes down.

Cox said that instead of vetoing the anti-solar bills, he spent his political capital to moderate the legislation’s impact. “I think you’ll see where our fingerprints were,” he told ProPublica. He didn’t detail specific changes for which he advocated but said the bills’ earlier iterations would have “been a lot worse.”

“We will continue to see solar in Utah.”

Cox’s any-of-the-above approach to energy generation draws from a decades-old Republican push similarly titled “all of the above.” The GOP policy’s aim was as much about preserving and expanding reliance on fossil fuels (indeed, the phrase may have been coined by petroleum lobbyists) as it was turning to cleaner energy sources such as solar, wind and geothermal.

As governor of a coal-producing state, Cox hasn’t shown interest in reducing reliance on such legacy fuels. But as he slowly rolls out Operation Gigawatt, his focus has been on geothermal and nuclear power. Last month, he announced plans for a manufacturing hub for small modular reactors in the northern Utah community of Brigham City, which he hopes will become a nuclear supply chain for Utah and beyond. And on a recent trade mission to New Zealand, he signed an agreement to collaborate with the country on geothermal energy development.

Meanwhile, the bills Cox signed into law already appear to be slowing solar development in Utah. Since May, when the laws took effect, 51 planned solar projects withdrew their applications to connect to the state’s grid — representing more than a quarter of all projects in Utah’s transmission connection queue. Although projects drop out for many reasons, some industry insiders theorize the anti-solar legislation could be at play.

Caught in the political squeeze over power are Utah customers, who are footing higher electricity bills. Earlier this year, the state’s utility, Rocky Mountain Power, asked regulators to approve a 30% hike to fund increased fuel and wholesale energy costs, as well as upgrades to the grid. In response to outrage from lawmakers, the utility knocked the request down to 18%. Regulators eventually awarded the utility a 4.7% increase — a decision the utility promptly appealed to the state Supreme Court.

Juliet Carlisle, a University of Utah political science professor focusing on environmental policy, said the new solar tax could signal to large solar developers that Utah energy policy is “becoming more unpredictable,” prompting them to build elsewhere. This, in turn, could undermine Cox’s efforts to quickly double Utah’s electricity supply. 

Operation Gigwatt “relies on rapid deployment across multiple energy sources, including renewables,” she said. “If renewable growth slows — especially utility-scale solar, which is currently the fastest-deploying resource — the state may face challenges meeting demand growth timelines.”

Rep. Kay Christofferson, R-Lehi, had sponsored legislation to end the solar industry’s state tax credits for several legislative sessions, but this was the first time the proposal succeeded.

Christofferson agrees Utah is facing unprecedented demand for power, and he supports Cox’s any-of-the-above approach. But he doesn’t think solar deserves the advantages of tax credits. Despite improving battery technology, he still considers it an intermittent source and thinks overreliance on it would work against Utah’s energy goals.

In testimony on his bill, Christofferson said he believed the tax incentives had served their purpose of getting a new industry off the ground — 16% of Utah’s power generation now comes from solar, ranking it 16th in the nation for solar capacity. 

Christofferson’s bill was the least concerning to the industry, largely because it negotiated a lengthy wind-down of the subsidies. Initially it would have ended the tax credit after Jan. 1, 2032. But after negotiations with the solar industry, he extended the deadline to 2035.

The bill passed the House, but when it reached the Senate floor, Sen. Brady Brammer, R-Pleasant Grove, moved the end of the incentives to 2028. He told ProPublica he believes solar is already established and no longer needs the subsidy. Christofferson tried to defend his compromise but ultimately voted with the legislative majority.

Unlike Christofferson’s bill, which wasn’t born of an antipathy for renewable energy, Rep. Casey Snider, R-Paradise, made it clear in public statements and behind closed doors to industry lobbyists that the goal of his bill was to make solar pay.

The bill imposes a tax on all solar production. The proceeds will substantially increase the state’s endangered species fund, which Utah paradoxically uses to fight federal efforts to list threatened animals for protection. Snider cast his bill as pro-environment, arguing the money could also go to habitat protection.

As initially written, the bill would have taxed not only future projects, but also those already producing power and, more worrisome for the industry, projects under construction or in development with financing in place. The margins on such projects are thin, and the unanticipated tax could kill projects already in the works, one solar industry executive testified.

“Companies like ours are being effectively punished for investing in the state,” testified another.

The pushback drew attacks from Snider, who accused solar companies of hypocrisy on the environment.

Industry lobbyists who spoke to ProPublica said Snider wasn’t as willing to negotiate as Christofferson. However, they succeeded in reducing the tax rate on future developments and negotiated a smaller, flat fee for existing projects.

“Everyone sort of decided collectively to save the existing projects and let it go for future projects,” said one lobbyist.

Snider told ProPublica, “My goal was never to run anybody out of business. If we wanted to make it more heavy-handed, we could have. Utah is a conservative state, and I would have had all the support.”

Snider said, like the governor, he favors an any-of-the-above approach to energy generation and doesn’t “want to take down any particular industry or source.” But he believes utility-scale solar farms need to pay to mitigate their impact on the environment. He likened his bill to federal law that requires royalties from oil and gas companies to be used for conservation. He hopes federal lawmakers will use his bill as a model for federal legislation that would apply to solar projects nationwide.

“This industry needs to give back to the environment that they claim very heavily they are going to protect,” he said. “I do believe there’s a tinge of hypocrisy to this whole movement. You can’t say you’re good for the environment and not offset your impacts.”

One of the more emotional debates over solar is set to return next year, after a bill that would end tax incentives for solar development on agricultural land failed to get a vote in the final minutes of this year’s session. Sponsored by Rep. Colin Jack, R-St. George, the bill has been fast-tracked in the next session, which begins in January.

Jack said he was driven to act by ranchers who were concerned that solar companies were outbidding them for land they had been leasing to graze cows. Solar companies pay substantially higher rates than ranchers can. His bill initially had a slew of land use restrictions — such as mandating the distance between projects and residential property and creeks, minimum lot sizes and 4-mile “green zones” between projects — that solar lobbyists said would have strangled their industry. After negotiating with solar developers, Jack eliminated the land use restrictions while preserving provisions to prohibit tax incentives for solar farms on private agricultural land and to create standards for decommissioning projects.

Many in rural Utah recoil at rows of black panels disrupting the landscape and fear solar farms will displace the ranching and farming way of life. Indeed, some wondered whether Cox, who grew up on a farm in central Utah, would have been as critical of Trump scuttling a 62,300-acre solar farm in his own state as he was of the Nevada project’s cancellation.

Peter Greathouse, a rancher in western Utah’s Millard County, said he is worried about solar farms taking up grazing land in his county. “Twelve and a half percent is privately owned, and a lot of that is not farmable. So if you bring in these solar places that start to eat up the farmland, it can’t be replaced,” he said.

Utah is losing about 500,000 acres of agricultural land every 10 years, most of it to housing. A report by The Western Way estimated solar farms use 0.1% of the United States’ total land mass. That number is expected to grow to 0.46% by 2050 — a tiny fraction of what is used by agriculture. Of the land managed by the Utah Trust Lands Administration, less than 3,000 of the 2.9 million acres devoted to grazing have been converted to solar farms.

Other ranchers told ProPublica they’ve been able to stay on their land and preserve their way of life by leasing to solar. Landon Kesler’s family, which raises cattle for team roping competitions, has leased land to solar for more than a decade. The revenue has allowed the family to almost double its land holdings, providing more room to ranch, Kesler said.

“I’m going to be quite honest, it’s absurd,” Kesler said of efforts to limit solar on agricultural land. “Solar very directly helped us tie up other property to be used for cattle and ranching. It didn’t run us out; it actually helped our agricultural business thrive.”

Solar lobbyists and executives have been working to bolster the industry’s image with lawmakers ahead of the next legislative session. They’re arguing solar is a good neighbor.

“We don’t use water, we don’t need sidewalks, we don’t create noise and we don’t create light,” said Amanda Smith, vice president of external affairs for AES, which has one solar project operating in Utah and a second in development. “So we just sort of sit out there and produce energy.” 

Solar pays private landowners in Utah $17 million a year to lease their land. And, more important, solar developers argue, it’s critical to powering data centers the state is working to attract.

“We are eager to be part of a diversified electricity portfolio, and we think we bring a lot of values that will benefit communities, keep rates low and stable, and help keep the lights on,” Rikki Seguin, executive director of Interwest Energy Alliance, a western trade organization that advocates for utility-scale renewable energy projects, told an interim committee of lawmakers this summer. 

The message didn’t get a positive reception from some lawmakers on the committee. Rep. Carl Albrecht, R-Richfield, who represents three rural Utah counties and was among solar’s critics last session, said the biggest complaint he hears from constituents is about “that ugly solar facility” in his district.

“Why, Rep. Albrecht, did you allow that solar field to be built? It’s black. It looks like the Dead Sea when you drive by it,” Albrecht said.

Employee costs for family health insurance offered through their job increased more in Utah than the national average and dozens of other states amid an ongoing congressional fight over tax credits that help millions of Americans afford health care.

A 50-state analysis from the State Health Access Data Assistance Center at the University of Minnesota shows a sharp 2.5 % cost increase for Americans last year, outpacing inflation.

Annual health care premiums for families on employer-sponsored insurance did even more so in Utah, with the average premium increasing by more than $1,000 – a nearly 5% jump.

That could affect hundreds of thousands of people, since Utah had 2.1 million residents insured through an employer in 2023 – more than 60% of the population and the highest rate of employer-sponsored coverage in the country.

Some may see a boon, since individual premiums for Utahns on insurance through their job decreased.

But overall, insurance through a job is becoming “increasingly unaffordable for employers and their employees,” said Elizabeth Lukanen, director at the center that completed the analysis.

“As policymakers look for solutions to curb the growing health care affordability crisis, addressing the decades-long trend of increasing costs in employer-sponsored insurance must be part of the conversation,” Lukanen added in a statement.

Lawmakers, though, with a ticking clock to address expiring subsidies for some people insured through the Affordable Care Act before the end of the month, have yet to come to a consensus on the future of American health care policy.

Family premiums increased

Nationally, annual premiums for family coverage offered through employers rose to $24,540 last year, an increase of more than $600 from 2023. Premiums for individuals increased by more than $300 to $8,486.

In Utah, the average annual cost of family coverage increased by $1,084, putting the Beehive State amid 21 states where premiums increased by at least $1,000.

The 4.8% jump in costs last year is far from the biggest increases in states like Delaware and Alabama, where average annual premiums for family plans through an employer increased by 26.4% and 13.7%, respectively.

But it’s still among the largest increases in the country.

The rise also continues a trend of higher premiums for Utah families covered by employer-sponsored insurance, which have gone up 184% since 2022 and 26.3% since 2019. Premiums have also increased nearly every year since 2002.

On the other hand, average premiums for individuals decreased by $232 last year. They’ve also increased at a lower rate than family premiums, going up 160.3% since 2002 and 24.1% since 2019.

Health care costs a top policy concern

Rising health care costs have emerged as a top consumer and policymaker concern, the University of Minnesota researchers said.

Yet employer-sponsored insurance is often overlooked in policy debates, even though it’s “not immune from the healthcare affordability crisis that is tightening its grip throughout America,” said Katherine Hempstead.

Hempstead is a senior policy adviser at the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation, a philanthropic organization focused on making it so “health is no longer a privilege, but a right,” according to the website.

Most of the debate now is focused on tax credits that help people secure insurance through the Affordable Care Act, also known as Obamacare, via the health insurance marketplace. The credits were originally passed in 2021, which expanded tax credits for ACA coverage to people making more than 400% of the federal poverty level, which is equivalent to just over $62,000 for an individual.

But the vote on a three-year extension of the enhanced premium tax credits failed Thursday by a vote of 51-48, as it needed 60 votes to meet the Senate’s standard for closing debate.

Though originally considered a pandemic-era temporary measure, marketplace enrollment more than doubled in Utah and across the country when the enhanced credits were introduced, and are now set to expire at the end of the year.

Democrats made the credits central to the recent government shutdown fight, demanding that Republicans join with them to support a measure to extend the credits indefinitely. However, after a 43-day shutdown — the longest in U.S. history — eight Democrats defected without a deal on the subsidies to reopen the government.

Lawmakers float policy solutions

Some Republicans have coalesced around a bill that would extend the credits for one year with income caps, but the bill has not garnered support among Utah’s own representatives or Republican leadership.

U.S. Rep. Mike Kennedy, a physician representing Utah’s 3rd Congressional District, said Thursday in a statement to The Salt Lake Tribune that he was committed to addressing health care costs but does not think a subsidy extension is the proper way to do so.

“Obamacare promised affordability, but instead we got a subsidy-fueled illusion with spiraling costs hidden by taxpayer dollars and deficit spending,” Kennedy said. “Premiums are rising faster than everything else and subsidies haven’t stopped it. … It is not enough to just extend temporary ACA subsidy extensions.”

Kennedy said last month that he would support reform of the third-party handling of pharmaceutical plans and hospital billing, as well as higher pay for health care providers. He also recently said he would support expanding health savings accounts.

So, too, has House Speaker Mike Johnson, who floated a range of ideas on potential health care policy legislation to pass before the end of the year, according to Politico — some more concrete than others. The speaker, a Louisiana Republican, reportedly brought ten ideas to a meeting Tuesday, including expanding health savings accounts, overhauling pharmacy benefit manager oversight and simply “Innovation.”

He did not propose extending the enhanced premium tax credits.

The rest of Utah’s all-GOP congressional delegation — including Sens. John Curtis and Mike Lee and Reps. Blake Moore, Celeste Maloy and Burgess Owens — did not respond to a request for comment regarding what kind of legislative reforms they would support in lieu of extending enhanced tax credits.

In a CNN appearance Sunday, Curtis called the attempt to pass a three-year extension “not really a serious effort,” and argued that any discussion of the extension needs to include a minimum premium rate and a cap on income eligibility.

“That’s not a thoughtful vote to say we’re just going to extend what we’re doing,” the senator said.

Curtis and Lee both voted against the extension on the Senate floor.