Two small towns rejoice over release of Evan Gershkovich and Paul Whelan

In these two towns, there were cheers and tears.

Evan Gershkovich and Paul Whelan were finally free.

At a soccer bar in Princeton, New Jersey, organizers of an Gershkovich advocacy luncheon joyously edited their invitations. They scratched out “awareness” and replaced it with “is home.” Nearby, people gazed at a portrait of a state championship winning soccer team that a high school-aged Gershkovich had led in celebration.

Six hundred miles west, at a diner in the suburban outpost of Manchester, Michigan, a patron cheered "finally." The owner, standing near a poster reading, "Team Free Paul Whelan," started to plan a welcome party. At a restaurant around the corner, a woman burst into tears.

To them, they were more than fellow countrymen wrongfully imprisoned by a rapacious Russian regime. This was about Evan, the captain of the local soccer team and Paul, Rosemary and Edward Whelan's kid.

As the world reacted to the largest prisoner swap since the Cold War, the release of Americans being held in Russian jails and prison camps provided a momentous celebration for the two towns, where friends and family members of Gershkovich and Whelan have patiently awaited their return.

Gershkovich, a Wall Street Journal reporter from Princeton, had been detained in Russia since early 2023, and was recently sentenced to 16 years in prison on unfounded accusations that he gathered information on behalf of the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency. A former U.S. Marine, Whelan was arrested in December 2018 on espionage charges and was sentenced to 16 years of hard labor in a work camp.

On Thursday, both men, along with Russian-American journalist Alsu Kurmasheva were released into American custody in Turkey before they were flown to Joint Base Andrews in Maryland. In total, the historic swap involved the release of 16 people previously detained in Russia in exchange for eight people held in the U.S., Germany, Norway, Slovenia and Poland. Turkey was the neutral country that would facilitate the swap. It was the biggest and most complicated East-West prisoner exchange in decades.

"Their brutal ordeal is over," said President Biden on Thursday at the White House, standing beside the families of Whelan, Gershkovich and Kurmasheva.

Princeton rejoices over the release of Evan Gershkovich

During the bustling lunch hour at Conte’s Pizza and Bar, one photo among dozens in a gallery of local men's and women’s soccer teams received special attention: The 2009 Princeton High School soccer team. The photo was shot when they won the state title. At center right, leading the cheers, is the team captain, Gershkovich, mouth wide open with joy and sporting a full dome of brown hair.

The image is a far cry from the shaved-head, haggard image of Gershkovich as a Russian prisoner, waiting in courtroom as he faced a 16-year prison sentence on trumped-up espionage charges.

“He should know that the team never gave up," said his beaming and relieved former coach, Wayne Sutcliffe. “We thought about him every day.”

The bar, several blocks away from the high school, seemed like the ideal place to hold a vigil, of sorts, an Evan Gershkovich Awareness Luncheon, scheduled for Aug. 25.

But on Thursday, the vigil was rescheduled as a welcome home party, and the organizers are now hoping that Gershkovich can join in person.

Salvy Baldino, who was assistant coach when Gershkovich attended Princeton High, said he could recall when Gershkovich was on their radar as a standout player in youth soccer leagues.

“We were tough on him because we were tough on all the best players," Baldino said. “And most of them could handle it, and that's why we were so successful. He never took the constructive criticism too personally. He never snapped back.”

Sutcliffe recalled watching images of Gershkovich on television throughout the ordeal and seeing flashes of the resilient teenager from 15 years ago.

“Every time I saw him on TV in that cage when he would, like, in a cheeky way, smile, it was like looking at him when we had a huge game, and the pressure was at its greatest," Sutcliffe said. “Evan’s a guy that you can count on, rely on. He never failed the coaching staff and every guy on the team.”

Manchester celebrates Paul Whelan's freedom

News of Whelan's release from a Russian penal colony was a welcomed shock to the people of Manchester, population 2,000. Whelan's parents live in a farmhouse near Main Street, and it's just 25 miles from Ann Arbor, where Whelan grew up with his sister and two brothers.

In the five years that Whelan has been in custody, the town's people have kept up feverishly with Whelan's case and the various attempts to bring him home. If not through newspapers and television reports, it was Whelan's parents themselves that provided the latest information.

Leslie Kirkland, 57, who owns the Manchester Diner, said Rosemary and Edward Whelan are regular customers.

They've been distraught, she said, since their son's arrest in Moscow in December 2018. She recalled the countless conversations she has had over the years with Whelan's parents.

Some days, the couple would come into the restaurant and talk about their son and how he was faring at IK-17, a labor camp in the Russian province of Mordovia. Other times, they didn't want to talk about it.

"It really means a lot for the community because not only have we supported them, but they've supported us, you know?" Kirkland said. "They're always around town. They didn't hide themselves away. We have their posters up; there's the ribbons all over so we don't forget, and that kind of thing. Everyone's just so happy for them."

Denise Collins, 64, of Manchester, burst into tears when she heard the news. She was on the phone at her restaurant, Frank's Place, and told the person on other end of the line, "I'm going to have to call you back."

Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she said: "His parents are the sweetest people ever, and you know, they're getting older. I'm so happy for them. The last time I saw them, I gave them a big hug and I said, 'I say prayers for you all the time.'

"They're the most wonderful people you have ever met. Five years! And he was held there for no reason whatsoever."

At Reed Barbering up the street, Terry Biegas, 64, of Brooklyn, snipped off the long pieces of a customer's hair Thursday and talked about how much the Whelan family's suffering has weighed on her mind.

Edward Whelan has sat in her barber chair in the past, telling her while she cut his hair that he and his wife stayed home every Saturday, hoping that their son would call.

"When you talk to the family members and you see what they're going through, it's really terrible," Biegas said. "They basically were staying home every Saturday for that one phone call."

Though Kirkland, the owner of the Manchester Diner, hasn't been able to talk with the Whelan family yet about details, she said she's planning a big party at the diner to celebrate his return to Michigan.

"Maybe not the entire community, but for friends, family, businesspeople that have supported them," she said. "We'll do something. Someone else had mentioned we should do a parade."

And so the two towns gleefully ripped up posters. Took down signs. And waited.

For the arrival of their sons.

Contributing: Joey Garrison, Kim Hjelmgaard, Francesca Chambers, USA TODAY