latimes--2020-10-17--Sheriff defied court orders, did not name deputies with histories of misconduct. It was a costly dec

Sheriff defied court orders, did not name deputies with histories of misconduct. It was a costly decision

On three occasions , a judge ordered the Los Angeles County Sheriff ’ s Department to produce a roster of deputies with histories of misconduct .
Court deadlines came and went .
Tens of thousands of dollars in sanctions against the county piled up .
But the list was never disclosed .
Janet Williams had requested the so-called Brady list in a 2017 civil rights lawsuit after a deputy shot and killed her son , Dennis “ Todd ” Rogers , 41 .
She hoped the list would show the department failed to provide proper training and supervision to deputies @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she never got that far .
After the Sheriff ’ s Department repeatedly failed to provide the list to Williams , U.S. District Court Judge André Birotte Jr. granted a default judgment in her favor of more than $ 2 million .
“ Defendants have committed serious , inexcusable discovery abuses and have violated repeated court orders , thereby engaging in culpable conduct that led to their default , ” Birotte , who formerly served as the U.S. Attorney for the Los Angeles region , wrote in his Sept. 25 ruling .
The @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Department faces mounting criticism for resisting disclosure of information about deputies with histories of misconduct and retreating from other reforms — claims it has strongly refuted .
It has been sued by organizations including the American Civil Liberties Union and the Los Angeles Times over a new transparency law that allows the public to see records of confirmed cases of lying and sexual assault by officers , as well as shootings and major uses of force .
( L.A. County Sheriff Alex Villanueva has attributed delays in compliance to limited staffing and lack @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ more transparent than ever before.
” ) During Villanueva ’ s tenure , the county ’ s Office of Inspector General has reported that officials have inactivated internal personnel investigations at a high rate , with many cancellations not meeting the department ’ s standards for closing an investigation .
A Superior Court judge recently found that Villanueva had unlawfully rehired a deputy who had been fired by his predecessor , Sheriff Jim McDonnell , after domestic violence allegations .
( Villanueva has said the deputy was denied due process . )
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ law enforcement agencies across the nation , including the Sheriff ’ s Department , have faced massive protests against their use of force following controversial killings of people of color .
Williams maintained that the deputies involved in her son ’ s shooting outside a Ladera Heights gym lacked proper training .
The Sheriff ’ s Department and the county claimed in court filings that their outside attorney on the case , Douglas Day , intentionally deceived them and hid Williams ’ request for the Brady list despite weekly calls and frequent meetings @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a January 2018 email he sent to the Sheriff ’ s Department and the county that attached the request indicated that “ they knew , or at the very least should have known , ” Birotte said in court records .
Day did not respond to a request for comment .
The Sheriff ’ s Department and the county ultimately never released the list to Williams , offering only to reveal it privately to a judge .
They argued the deputies involved in Rogers ’ shooting were not on the list and that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ before the California Supreme Court focused on whether the list can be given to prosecutors .
“ They still haven ’ t produced the Brady list , ” said Peter Morris , an attorney who represented Williams .
“ That tells me that they want to keep the Brady list secret at all costs.
” The Sheriff ’ s Department did not respond to multiple requests for comment and L.A. County spokesperson Lennie LaGuire said that the county has no comment on the litigation .
Birotte this year also approved a $ 1.3-million @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lawsuit brought by Rogers ’ children .
Priscilla Ocen , a member of the sheriff Civilian Oversight Commission , said the judgment illustrates how “ time and time again ” the Sheriff ’ s Department has blocked transparency about deputies alleged to have committed misconduct and those with a history of bad behavior .
“ They would rather pay $ 2 million than turn over a list , which I think the people have a right to have , especially people who are litigating over the practices and policies of the Sheriff ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ force , ” she said .
Sean Kennedy , another commissioner , said that “ hiding information about deputy misconduct has become more important to them than complying with the law.
” “ When a federal judge grants a $ 2 million default judgment against the LASD for refusing to comply with court orders to produce the Brady list , it ’ s a red flag of serious transparency problems within the Department , ” he said in a statement .
Legal experts said the judgment may lead to more lawsuits that demand @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of deputies whose credibility could be in question .
Simona Grossi , a professor at Loyola Law School who teaches federal civil procedure , said a different outcome would have allowed the county and Sheriff ’ s Department to continue exploiting the system .
“ The information was there , it was just not being provided , ” she said .
The Brady list , named for a 1963 Supreme Court decision that requires prosecutors to alert defendants to favorable evidence , was compiled in 2014 under interim Sheriff John Scott to track @ @ @ @ @ @ @ their credibility as witnesses in court .
It was developed during a time of scandal at the Sheriff ’ s Department , in which an FBI probe of inmate abuse uncovered years of excessive force and cover-ups .
When McDonnell tried to hand the names of about 300 “ Brady ” deputies to prosecutors , the L.A. County deputies ’ union sued .
In August 2019 , California ’ s Supreme Court ruled that the department and other law enforcement agencies can alert the district attorney ’ s office that a deputy who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a history of misconduct .
Villanueva has called the Brady list a “ fake list , ” saying it reflects corrupt investigations aimed to retaliate against deputies .
But after the Supreme Court ’ s decision , he said that instead of maintaining a list , the department would “ work out an effective , efficient , transparent and open process ” to provide information to prosecutors on a case-by-case basis .
Commander Scott Johnson of the department ’ s Professional Standards Division said it provides the district attorney ’ s office with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ records responsive to the new transparency law , and that those records are available on its website .
Johnson said the department does not alert prosecutors to deputies who do not fall under the transparency law but have histories of misconduct that might also lead the district attorney ’ s office to question their credibility in court .
The Civilian Oversight Commission has pushed for more disclosure .
In October 2019 , it passed a resolution calling for the department to provide a complete list of all potentially compromised deputies to prosecutors .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ state Supreme Court , a superior court had said the department could not disclose a Brady list if those on the list were not people who might testify in a criminal case .
But Brian Williams , the executive director of the commission , said he still stands behind the panel ’ s call for increased transparency .
“ The question is , ultimately , does the department know about Brady information concerning specific deputies and is the department turning that information over ?
” he said .
Kennedy also said the fact @ @ @ @ @ @ @ prosecutors to deputies who do not fall under the transparency law is problematic .
“ I think it ’ s the latest example of a failure to take seriously and fully honor the requirements of Brady disclosure , ” he said .
Williams ’ 2017 lawsuit , filed under then-Sheriff McDonnell , alleged that deputies used unjustified force toward Rogers , who managed bipolar disorder with medication .
A father of three , Rogers graduated from the University of Houston with a degree in accounting and finance and moved to Los Angeles in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , his mother said .
In March 2017 , deputies were called to a 24 Hour Fitness in Ladera Heights where Rogers was a member because he was reportedly “ acting erratic.
” Later that night , four deputies responded to another call about Rogers at that location .
A mental evaluation team was requested but none was available , according to a report by the district attorney ’ s office .
Officials said that Rogers was tasered twice and that he pulled out an electric razor with an extension cord , swinging @ @ @ @ @ @ @ The deputy fatally shot Rogers , who sustained four gunshot wounds .
The district attorney ’ s office declined to file charges against the deputy , stating in a 2018 report “ there is insufficient evidence to prove that his split-second decision to use deadly force in this situation was unreasonable.
” “ He got scared , ” Williams said of her son .
“ He just got scared , and the police just took advantage of the situation.
” The Sheriff ’ s Department and the county initially objected to a request @ @ @ @ @ @ @ documents related to the Brady list .
And in the days that followed , its counsel failed to cooperate in the discovery dispute , magistrate Judge Charles Eick wrote in a court filing .
Eick recommended a default judgment after determining that they had violated “ without legitimate excuse ” three court orders to produce the list .
He had previously ordered them to pay more than $ 34,000 in fines to Williams and $ 500 daily sanctions to the court until they disclosed the list .
In opposing the magistrate judge ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Department and the county wrote that they were “ shocked and embarrassed ” to learn of the judge ’ s orders to produce the list , which they claimed their attorney had kept from them .
The court ultimately allowed Williams ’ attorneys to investigate whether the Sheriff ’ s Department and the county knew or should have known about the order to produce the list and ordered the defendants to produce relevant communications .
A month after the court-ordered deadline for evidence , attorneys for the Sheriff ’ s Department and the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , email from Day to a Sheriff ’ s Department investigator who ’ d been assigned to the case .
The email , which attached the Brady list request , CC ’ ed a county counsel .
In addition to the email , the court considered a deposition , in which Day said he ’ d spoken to a different department investigator about producing the list .
Robert Bonner , a member of the Civilian Oversight Commission and a former federal judge , said in a statement that while Birotte ’ s ruling @ @ @ @ @ @ @ correct , the decision to order the disclosure of the list could have negative repercussions .
He expressed concern that plaintiffs in future federal civil rights lawsuits will routinely request the list as leverage to force the county to settle cases or have a court issue a default judgment .
“ Unfortunately , requiring this will likely deter the creation of a Brady list by the LASD , a list which I believe should be made available to the district attorney ’ s office so that it can discharge its obligations , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ default judgment , Williams said she felt “ just faith in God.
” “ I just hate that my son had to suffer that type of ending for his life , ” she said .
“ I pray that God don ’ t let me become bitter or want to see something bad to happen to them [ the deputies ] … I can try to heal from here .
”

A photo of Dennis “Todd” Rogers is held next to attorney Peter Morris as he speaks during a 2017 press conference in downtown L.A.
On three occasions, a judge ordered the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department to produce a roster of deputies with histories of misconduct.
Court deadlines came and went. Tens of thousands of dollars in sanctions against the county piled up.
But the list was never disclosed.
Janet Williams had requested the so-called Brady list in a 2017 civil rights lawsuit after a deputy shot and killed her son, Dennis “Todd” Rogers, 41. She hoped the list would show the department failed to provide proper training and supervision to deputies, leading to excessive force.
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But she never got that far. After the Sheriff’s Department repeatedly failed to provide the list to Williams, U.S. District Court Judge André Birotte Jr. granted a default judgment in her favor of more than $2 million.
“Defendants have committed serious, inexcusable discovery abuses and have violated repeated court orders, thereby engaging in culpable conduct that led to their default,” Birotte, who formerly served as the U.S. Attorney for the Los Angeles region, wrote in his Sept. 25 ruling.
The decision comes as the Sheriff’s Department faces mounting criticism for resisting disclosure of information about deputies with histories of misconduct and retreating from other reforms — claims it has strongly refuted.
It has been sued by organizations including the American Civil Liberties Union and the Los Angeles Times over a new transparency law that allows the public to see records of confirmed cases of lying and sexual assault by officers, as well as shootings and major uses of force. (L.A. County Sheriff Alex Villanueva has attributed delays in compliance to limited staffing and lack of funding, saying the department is “more transparent than ever before.”)
During Villanueva’s tenure, the county’s Office of Inspector General has reported that officials have inactivated internal personnel investigations at a high rate, with many cancellations not meeting the department’s standards for closing an investigation. A Superior Court judge recently found that Villanueva had unlawfully rehired a deputy who had been fired by his predecessor, Sheriff Jim McDonnell, after domestic violence allegations. (Villanueva has said the deputy was denied due process.)
Birotte’s ruling also comes as law enforcement agencies across the nation, including the Sheriff’s Department, have faced massive protests against their use of force following controversial killings of people of color. Williams maintained that the deputies involved in her son’s shooting outside a Ladera Heights gym lacked proper training.
The Sheriff’s Department and the county claimed in court filings that their outside attorney on the case, Douglas Day, intentionally deceived them and hid Williams’ request for the Brady list despite weekly calls and frequent meetings.
But a deposition by Day and a January 2018 email he sent to the Sheriff’s Department and the county that attached the request indicated that “they knew, or at the very least should have known,” Birotte said in court records. Day did not respond to a request for comment.
The Sheriff’s Department and the county ultimately never released the list to Williams, offering only to reveal it privately to a judge. They argued the deputies involved in Rogers’ shooting were not on the list and that sharing it could jeopardize a then-pending case before the California Supreme Court focused on whether the list can be given to prosecutors.
“They still haven’t produced the Brady list,” said Peter Morris, an attorney who represented Williams. “That tells me that they want to keep the Brady list secret at all costs.”
L.A. County spokesperson Lennie LaGuire said that the county has no comment on the litigation.
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In a statement Saturday, the department said: “We are not happy with the outcome, which was a complete surprise to us. The facts of this case and the decisions made regarding this case occurred during the prior sheriff’s administration. We were unaware of the developments in this case and will be discussing this in depth with County Counsel.”
While the lawsuit was filed under then-Sheriff Jim McDonnell, a magistrate judge hearing the case recommended a default judgment in William’s favor in July, 2019. Villanueva assumed office in December, 2018.
Birotte this year also approved a $1.3-million settlement against the county in a separate lawsuit brought by Rogers’ children.
Priscilla Ocen, a member of the sheriff Civilian Oversight Commission, said the judgment illustrates how “time and time again” the Sheriff’s Department has blocked transparency about deputies alleged to have committed misconduct and those with a history of bad behavior.
“They would rather pay $2 million than turn over a list, which I think the people have a right to have, especially people who are litigating over the practices and policies of the Sheriff’s Department as it relates to excessive force,” she said.
Sean Kennedy, another commissioner, said that “hiding information about deputy misconduct has become more important to them than complying with the law.”
“When a federal judge grants a $2 million default judgment against the LASD for refusing to comply with court orders to produce the Brady list, it’s a red flag of serious transparency problems within the Department,” he said in a statement.
Legal experts said the judgment may lead to more lawsuits that demand the Sheriff’s Department produce names of deputies whose credibility could be in question. Simona Grossi, a professor at Loyola Law School who teaches federal civil procedure, said a different outcome would have allowed the county and Sheriff’s Department to continue exploiting the system.
“The information was there, it was just not being provided,” she said.
The Brady list, named for a 1963 Supreme Court decision that requires prosecutors to alert defendants to favorable evidence, was compiled in 2014 under interim Sheriff John Scott to track officers whose histories of misconduct might damage their credibility as witnesses in court.
It was developed during a time of scandal at the Sheriff’s Department, in which an FBI probe of inmate abuse uncovered years of excessive force and cover-ups.
When McDonnell tried to hand the names of about 300 “Brady” deputies to prosecutors, the L.A. County deputies’ union sued. In August 2019, California’s Supreme Court ruled that the department and other law enforcement agencies can alert the district attorney’s office that a deputy who might testify in a criminal case has a history of misconduct.
Villanueva has called the Brady list a “fake list,” saying it reflects corrupt investigations aimed to retaliate against deputies. But after the Supreme Court’s decision, he said that instead of maintaining a list, the department would “work out an effective, efficient, transparent and open process” to provide information to prosecutors on a case-by-case basis.
Commander Scott Johnson of the department’s Professional Standards Division said it provides the district attorney’s office with names and information about any deputy with records responsive to the new transparency law, and that those records are available on its website.
Johnson said the department does not alert prosecutors to deputies who do not fall under the transparency law but have histories of misconduct that might also lead the district attorney’s office to question their credibility in court.
The Civilian Oversight Commission has pushed for more disclosure. In October 2019, it passed a resolution calling for the department to provide a complete list of all potentially compromised deputies to prosecutors.
In the Brady case decided by the state Supreme Court, a superior court had said the department could not disclose a Brady list if those on the list were not people who might testify in a criminal case. But Brian Williams, the executive director of the commission, said he still stands behind the panel’s call for increased transparency.
“The question is, ultimately, does the department know about Brady information concerning specific deputies and is the department turning that information over?” he said.
Kennedy also said the fact that the department doesn’t alert prosecutors to deputies who do not fall under the transparency law is problematic.
“I think it’s the latest example of a failure to take seriously and fully honor the requirements of Brady disclosure,” he said.
Williams’ 2017 lawsuit alleged that deputies used unjustified force toward Rogers, who managed bipolar disorder with medication.
A father of three, Rogers graduated from the University of Houston with a degree in accounting and finance and moved to Los Angeles in 2015 to pursue a career in acting, his mother said.
In March 2017, deputies were called to a 24 Hour Fitness in Ladera Heights where Rogers was a member because he was reportedly “acting erratic.”
Later that night, four deputies responded to another call about Rogers at that location. A mental evaluation team was requested but none was available, according to a report by the district attorney’s office. Officials said that Rogers was tasered twice and that he pulled out an electric razor with an extension cord, swinging it while advancing toward a deputy. The deputy fatally shot Rogers, who sustained four gunshot wounds.
The district attorney’s office declined to file charges against the deputy, stating in a 2018 report “there is insufficient evidence to prove that his split-second decision to use deadly force in this situation was unreasonable.”
“He got scared,” Williams said of her son. “He just got scared, and the police just took advantage of the situation.”
The Sheriff’s Department and the county initially objected to a request Williams made in January 2018 for all documents related to the Brady list. And in the days that followed, its counsel failed to cooperate in the discovery dispute, magistrate Judge Charles Eick wrote in a court filing.
Eick recommended a default judgment after determining that they had violated “without legitimate excuse” three court orders to produce the list. He had previously ordered them to pay more than $34,000 in fines to Williams and $500 daily sanctions to the court until they disclosed the list.
In opposing the magistrate judge’s recommendation, the Sheriff’s Department and the county wrote that they were “shocked and embarrassed” to learn of the judge’s orders to produce the list, which they claimed their attorney had kept from them.
The court ultimately allowed Williams’ attorneys to investigate whether the Sheriff’s Department and the county knew or should have known about the order to produce the list and ordered the defendants to produce relevant communications.
A month after the court-ordered deadline for evidence, attorneys for the Sheriff’s Department and the county provided a Jan. 29, 2018, email from Day to a Sheriff’s Department investigator who’d been assigned to the case. The email, which attached the Brady list request, CC’ed a county counsel.
In addition to the email, the court considered a deposition, in which Day said he’d spoken to a different department investigator about producing the list.
Robert Bonner, a member of the Civilian Oversight Commission and a former federal judge, said in a statement that while Birotte’s ruling in Williams’ case may be legally correct, the decision to order the disclosure of the list could have negative repercussions. He expressed concern that plaintiffs in future federal civil rights lawsuits will routinely request the list as leverage to force the county to settle cases or have a court issue a default judgment.
“Unfortunately, requiring this will likely deter the creation of a Brady list by the LASD, a list which I believe should be made available to the district attorney’s office so that it can discharge its obligations,” he said.
Upon hearing of the default judgment, Williams said she felt “just faith in God.”
“I just hate that my son had to suffer that type of ending for his life,” she said. “I pray that God don’t let me become bitter or want to see something bad to happen to them [the deputies] … I can try to heal from here.”


latimes--2020-10-17--Trump to attend fundraiser in Newport Beach on Sunday

President Trump is scheduled to attend a private fundraiser Sunday in Newport Beach .
Tickets for the event at the @ @ @ @ @ Luckey range from $ 2,800 for an individual admission to $ 150,000 for a couple @ @ @ @ @ photo with the president , according to the invitation .
Ric Grenell , Trump ’ @ @ @ @ @ national intelligence , is expected to be a special guest .
Few other details were @ @ @ @ @ Oculus Rift virtual-reality system .
His company sold for an estimated $ 3 billion to @ @ @ @ @ was hospitalized this month with COVID-19 but has been traveling to campaign events for some @ @ @ @ @ concern of some medical specialists .
The president said he is now free of coronavirus @ @ @ @ @ spokeswoman for the Newport Police Department , declined to give any information about the president @ @ @ @ @ any road closures planned in advance of the trip .
Protesters are expected .

The Trump event will be at the home of tech executive Palmer Luckey.
President Trump is scheduled to attend a private fundraiser Sunday in Newport Beach.
Tickets for the event at the home of tech executive Palmer Luckey range from $2,800 for an individual admission to $150,000 for a couple to attend and take a photo with the president, according to the invitation. Ric Grenell, Trump’s former acting director of national intelligence, is expected to be a special guest.
Few other details were released. Luckey co-founded the Oculus Rift virtual-reality system. His company sold for an estimated $3 billion to Facebook in 2014.
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Trump was hospitalized this month with COVID-19 but has been traveling to campaign events for some time now, to the concern of some medical specialists. The president said he is now free of coronavirus.
Heather Rangel, a spokeswoman for the Newport Police Department, declined to give any information about the president’s visit or about any road closures planned in advance of the trip. Protesters are expected.
City News Service contributed to this report.


latimes--2020-10-17--14-year-old arrested on hate crime charges in alleged assault on San Diego rabbi

A 14-year-old boy was arrested on suspicion of a hate crime Friday , a week after a rabbi was allegedly punched near his San Diego synagogue , police said .
The boy was booked into Juvenile Hall on battery and hate crime charges , San Diego police Lt. Shawn Takeuchi said .
Rabbi Yonatan Halevy told the Union-Tribune that the assault occurred on Oct. 10 as he and his father were walking toward the synagogue .
A teenager rode past them on his bike , Halevy said , then abruptly turned around and brought a clenched fist down on top @ @ @ @ @ @ @ The force knocked the 31-year-old off his feet , he said .
The young assailant spewed slurs , said something about White power , then rode off laughing , Halevy told the Union-Tribune .
“ I was shocked , stunned , and hurt , but was grateful that my father was unharmed , ” he wrote on his synagogue website .
He said he and his University City congregation had been targeted by a group of teens , including the alleged assailant , for a few weeks before the attack .
They had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ broken , he said .
Because the suspect in the alleged assault is a minor , police did not release his name .
Earlier this week , the regional director of the Anti-Defamation League in San Diego said people should not shrug off the encounter as youth behaving badly .
“ We don ’ t want to be dismissive and say it was just kids , ” Tammy Gillies said .
“ We have to take hate and any hate incident very seriously.
” “ It doesn ’ t just impact the target @ @ @ @ @ @ @ whole community that says , ‘ We don ’ t want you here , ” she said .
“ That is the double impact of the hate crime.
” The rabbi said it took 42 minutes for police to arrive as he and his father hunkered down inside the synagogue after it happened .
They called 911 .
They had a description of the assailant .
They had photos , too , because the teen had lingered outside , taunting them .
But , the rabbi said , the responding officers told him @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
That changed Monday when Halevy called police brass in the Northern Division , where the alleged assault occurred .
“ It went from ‘ They can ’ t do anything ’ to ‘ This is No .
1 priority , ’ ” Halevy told the Union-Tribune .
Capt .
Matt Novak runs the Northern Division .
Through a department spokesman , Novak said he “ spoke to the rabbi personally , and acknowledged that the initial response could have been better.
” The captain also said that “ going forward , we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with officers to help them better understand and better respond to incidents like these.
” Halevy said he was encouraged .
“ To the credit of the Police Department , they have owned up to their inadequate response , ” he said .
The San Diego County district attorney ’ s office filed hate crime charges against 30 people in 2018 and 2019 .
They include John Earnest , who is accused in an April 2019 shooting at a Poway synagogue that killed one and wounded three .
He is also accused of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ So far this year , local law enforcement has submitted 39 potential hate-crime cases to county prosecutors .
Charges were brought in 29 of the cases , although only 15 included hate crime allegations .

A 14-year-old boy was arrested on suspicion of a hate crime Friday, a week after a rabbi was allegedly punched near his San Diego synagogue, police said.
The boy was booked into Juvenile Hall on battery and hate crime charges, San Diego police Lt. Shawn Takeuchi said.
Rabbi Yonatan Halevy told the Union-Tribune that the assault occurred on Oct. 10 as he and his father were walking toward the synagogue. A teenager rode past them on his bike, Halevy said, then abruptly turned around and brought a clenched fist down on top of the rabbi’s head.
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The force knocked the 31-year-old off his feet, he said.
The young assailant spewed slurs, said something about White power, then rode off laughing, Halevy told the Union-Tribune.
“I was shocked, stunned, and hurt, but was grateful that my father was unharmed,” he wrote on his synagogue website.
He said he and his University City congregation had been targeted by a group of teens, including the alleged assailant, for a few weeks before the attack. They had been heckled and a car window was broken, he said.
Because the suspect in the alleged assault is a minor, police did not release his name.
Earlier this week, the regional director of the Anti-Defamation League in San Diego said people should not shrug off the encounter as youth behaving badly.
“We don’t want to be dismissive and say it was just kids,” Tammy Gillies said. “We have to take hate and any hate incident very seriously.”
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Gillies called the University City incident a “message crime.”
“It doesn’t just impact the target, but its a message to the whole community that says, ‘We don’t want you here,” she said. “That is the double impact of the hate crime.”
The rabbi said it took 42 minutes for police to arrive as he and his father hunkered down inside the synagogue after it happened.
They called 911. They had a description of the assailant. They had photos, too, because the teen had lingered outside, taunting them. But, the rabbi said, the responding officers told him there was not much they could do.
That changed Monday when Halevy called police brass in the Northern Division, where the alleged assault occurred. “It went from ‘They can’t do anything’ to ‘This is No. 1 priority,’” Halevy told the Union-Tribune.
On Friday, police acknowledged the fumbled initial response.
Capt. Matt Novak runs the Northern Division. Through a department spokesman, Novak said he “spoke to the rabbi personally, and acknowledged that the initial response could have been better.”
The captain also said that “going forward, we will be having discussions and possibly training with officers to help them better understand and better respond to incidents like these.”
Halevy said he was encouraged. “To the credit of the Police Department, they have owned up to their inadequate response,” he said.
The San Diego County district attorney’s office filed hate crime charges against 30 people in 2018 and 2019.
They include John Earnest, who is accused in an April 2019 shooting at a Poway synagogue that killed one and wounded three. He is also accused of starting fires outside an Escondido mosque.
So far this year, local law enforcement has submitted 39 potential hate-crime cases to county prosecutors. Charges were brought in 29 of the cases, although only 15 included hate crime allegations.
Figueroa writes for the San Diego Union-Tribune.


latimes--2020-10-17--Después de 30 años, El Gran Burrito se prepara para su despedida

“ WE SERVE TORTAS BREAKFAST BURRITOS ANYTIME ” , grita un letrero en mayúsculas , y durante mucho tiempo esa proclama pintada en rojo en el costado de El Gran Burrito fue cierta .
“ ¡Treinta años !
” dice el dueño del restaurante , Pedro Dávila , con los ojos brillantes .
“ Tuvimos el orgullo de decir : ‘ 30 años y nunca cerramos ’ ” .
Hasta marzo , su local en East Hollywood servía especialidades de la casa , incluyendo su fuerte , tacos de carne asada , las 24 horas del día desde el extenso @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Santa Mónica Boulevard y Vermont Avenue .
Por la noche , el olor a pollo carbonizado chisporroteando en un asador exterior a menudo se esparcía por el vecindario , magnetizando a los pasajeros del metro cuando salían de las escaleras eléctricas subterráneas .
Pero entonces la gente comenzó a quedarse en casa , las ventas se redujeron y , para minimizar las pérdidas , el lugar de solo efectivo comenzó a cerrar entre las 10 p.m. y las 6 a.m. Aunque Dávila y su esposa , Guadalupe , la chef del restaurante desde @ @ @ @ @ @ @ la pandemia , han tenido un par de años para prepararse para la realidad de que un gran cambio se avecinaba para su amado restaurante .
Si los planes se mantienen según lo programado , el edificio que los Dávila han alquilado desde 1990 será demolido en algún momento antes de finales de 2021 , cuando está previsto que comience la construcción de un proyecto de viviendas asequibles .
El complejo de 187 apartamentos , unidades alquilables reservadas exclusivamente para hogares de bajos ingresos , así como algunos espacios comerciales en la planta @ @ @ @ @ @ @ desarrollador sin fines de lucro Little Tokyo Service Center y Metro , que ha dicho que el proyecto proporcionará nuevas opciones de sombra y asientos en su concurrida estación de Vermont/Santa Mónica .
La necesidad inmediata de opciones de vivienda más asequibles cerca de la intersección es innegable : las familias viven en sus camionetas estacionadas en las calles laterales , la gente arrastra colchones abandonados a los lugares con sombra para tomar siestas por la tarde y un recuento reciente encontró que cerca de 4.000 personas en el distrito del consejo están @ @ @ @ @ @ @ que vive a unas pocas cuadras al oeste del restaurante , dijo que notó que el número de personas que duermen en las aceras del vecindario aumentó drásticamente hace cuatro años .
Tanto sufrimiento , comentó , incluso antes de la pandemia .
“ Para muchas personas , no hay luz al final del túnel ” .
Sobre todo , el empresario de 70 años , que creció en un rancho en el estado mexicano de Puebla , dice que está agradecido por las largas vidas y carreras que él y Guadalupe , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a lo largo de los años , primero con una serie de camiones de tacos que atravesaron las tierras del sur y finalmente dentro de estas paredes amarillas .
Desde su restaurante en la esquina , Dávila ha observado cómo el vecindario ha evolucionado .
Recuerda a las familias armenias que vivían al final de la calle en la década de 1990 y a los innumerables clientes que ha atendido : estudiantes de Los Angeles City College , enfermeras del Hollywood Presbyterian , inmigrantes centroamericanos que lo entrenaron con cariño para que pusiera @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Fácilmente puede marcar una lista de negocios cercanos que han cerrado desde entonces , incluyendo una oficina de dentista , una tienda de panqueques y un lugar que vendía parabrisas .
Cuando se inauguró la parada del metro en 1999 , se dio cuenta rápidamente de que la mayoría de la gente no se detenía para comer , sino que corría a la parada de autobús al otro lado de la calle .
Aprendió que los seres humanos siempre están en movimiento .
“ Los pobres corren para tratar de salir adelante , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ quieren que los pasen ” .
Dávila , que es católico , dijo que él y su esposa a menudo pedían a Dios que pusiera en su camino a personas a las que debían servir .
Al principio de la pandemia , colocó un cartel ofreciendo un plato de comida gratis a cualquiera que lo necesitara , pero finalmente lo retiró , notando que algunos parecían estar abusando de la oferta .
Hace doce años , Oswar Pérez , que entonces tenía 18 años , le pidió trabajo a Dávila , pero le @ @ @ @ @ @ @ barrer el piso .
Su ahora jefe vio potencial en él , dijo Pérez , y desde entonces le ha enseñado cosas sabias , incluyendo uno de sus proverbios favorito , “ Cosechas lo que siembras ” .
“ Te vamos a enseñar ” , le dijo Dávila ese día .
“ Aprenderás ” .
Antes de la pandemia , el restaurante tenía un ajetreo matutino , una fiebre de almuerzo y luego otra oleada de clientes a las 6 p.m. , mientras las familias se instalaban en mesas al aire libre , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Pero tal vez el turno más ocupado de todos llegaba después del anochecer .
“ Como la mayoría de los grandes lugares de tacos de Los Ángeles ” , escribió Jonathan Gold en un perfil de 1996 , “ El Gran Burrito es menos notable por la comida que se sirve dentro del restaurante que por la comida que se sirve en el patio en las noches y los fines de semana ” .
Durante años , el área exterior se llenó especialmente los fines de semana después de la hora de @ @ @ @ @ @ @ baile gay cercanos , recordó Dávila , diciendo que creó un elemento de menú especial llamado “ el burrito gay ” , esencialmente un burrito normal con queso encima , por gratitud a la leal base de clientes LGBTQ .
“ Los clientes gays son los que realmente hicieron del negocio un éxito ” , dijo , con orgullo .
Gran parte del crédito pertenece a su esposa , comentó , quien perfeccionó muchas de sus recetas a través de llamadas telefónicas de larga distancia a México .
“ ¿Cómo se hace el @ @ @ @ @ @ @ vez a su madre .
“ Mija , si lo haces con amor te saldrá bien ” , respondió su madre .
“ Si no , no lo hará ” .
El restaurante es como un segundo hogar , dice Guadalupe , explicando que cuando sus cinco hijos eran más pequeños solían pasar el rato en la pequeña oficina junto a la cocina antes y después de la escuela , durmiendo la siesta bajo el escritorio de madera .
Mientras salía a hacer recados a lo largo de los años , la gente @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , preguntando si era “ la señora del Gran Burrito ” .
“ Les dije : ‘ No , soy la señora de Don Pedro ’ ” , enfatizó , mientras su esposo se reía entre dientes .
La pareja se conoció en Los Ángeles y se casó a mediados de la década de 1970 .
Con un préstamo de $ 10.000 de un amigo convertido en socio , los Dávila compraron suministros de cocina y un camión de tacos que bautizaron como “ Tacos El Conquistador ” .
Con su amigo y @ @ @ @ @ @ @ un restaurante , los Dávila comenzaron a vender comida en una concurrida avenida en Lincoln Park .
Su negocio floreció , especialmente a altas horas de la noche cuando los restaurantes estaban cerrados , y en un año , Dávila pagó el préstamo .
Entonces , una mañana temprano en 1977 , un grupo de hombres se apresuró a subir a la camioneta , robando dinero y cortando el antebrazo izquierdo de Dávila con uno de sus cuchillos de cocina .
Cuando el camión fue atacado de nuevo seis meses después , sabían @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Pasaron temporadas en Santa Mónica y luego en Pico-Union , donde los clientes leales les dijeron que disfrutaban de la comida pero que no les gustaba que los traficantes de drogas clasificaran sus alijos en mesas que Dávila había instalado cerca .
Una noche , cuando tenían el camión estacionado fuera de la discoteca El Sombrero en North Hollywood , Dávila vio a un tipo borracho que se acercaba a él .
La frase se quedó y se convirtió en “ El Gran Burrito ” .
En 1987 , deseoso de tener un @ @ @ @ @ @ @ en Santa Mónica Boulevard y Virgil Avenue .
El negocio floreció , especialmente en las noches de partidos de fútbol soccer o boxeo .
Durante una pelea publicitada entre el campeón mexicano Julio César Chávez y el boxeador puertorriqueño Héctor “ Macho ” Camacho , tanta gente se amontonó alrededor del televisor del restaurante que se esparcieron por la acera .
Pronto , un vehículo rojo pasó e hizo un giro en U. Un empleado del departamento de bomberos llegó y Dávila , quien dijo que es propenso a enfrentar las cosas de @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
El hombre le dijo que podía cerrar voluntariamente o ser cerrado , así que Dávila se acercó inmediatamente al altavoz que usaba para anunciar los pedidos de comida .
“ ¡Señores , discúlpenme !
” gritó Dávila .
Perdónenme , pero la ley está fuera , dijo , y tenemos que cerrar esto .
Todavía sonríe ante la imagen de unas 300 personas enfurruñadas fuera del restaurante antes de que la pelea terminara .
Al poco tiempo , la dueña del edificio le dijo a Dávila que tenía la intención de vender @ @ @ @ @ @ @ que buscó una nueva ubicación a unas pocas cuadras al oeste .
Hizo un trato con dos inmigrantes paquistaníes que tenían una tienda de 99 centavos , subarrendándoles el edificio .
Era 1990 y , después de algunas renovaciones serias , El Gran Burrito abrió oficialmente en sus actuales instalaciones .
A lo largo de los años , cuando el alquiler pasó de $ 3.000 a $ 3.500 y más tarde a $ 10.000 , Dávila esperaba comprar el edificio , pero el antiguo propietario no quería venderlo , expuso .
Durante mucho @ @ @ @ @ @ @ por varios años , pero en los últimos años , dijo , ha operado con un contrato de mes a mes , sabiendo que , en algún momento , la construcción del nuevo proyecto comenzará .
Será doloroso decir adiós .
Pero los hijos de la pareja esperan continuar el restaurante familiar en otro lugar , dijo Dávila , y después de décadas de trabajo , a él y a su esposa les vendría bien un descanso .
Por ahora , están concentrados en superar la pandemia .
En una mañana reciente , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ derecho y sacó dos billetes de cinco dólares doblados y dos billetes de uno : $ 12 en ventas en lo que va del día , dijo , cuando antes de la pandemia , habría estado más cerca de los $ 400 .
El restaurante ha reducido las horas de trabajo y ha pasado de 16 a 8 empleados , expuso Dávila , añadiendo que muchos antiguos empleados le dijeron que no podían ganar lo suficiente con un horario reducido y que necesitaban encontrar nuevos empleos .
Él lo entendió .
Guadalupe dijo @ @ @ @ @ @ @ con sueldos reducidos .
Un jueves por la mañana , un cliente se asomó a la televisión sintonizada a Univisión , que estaba emitiendo un segmento sobre niños latinos que han muerto a causa de COVID-19 .
El hombre suspiró , antes de pedir huevos rancheros .
Detrás del mostrador , Rosa Ávila , de 60 años , se limpió las manos con su delantal negro .
“ Mi primer y único trabajo ” , dijo Ávila , explicando que ha trabajado para los Dávila desde 1987 , poco después de que se @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mexicano de Durango .
Sus tres hijos crecieron con los hijos de los Dávila , relató , y tiene muchos recuerdos en este edificio , incluyendo años de fiestas navideñas , cuando los empleados y sus familias se reunían para comer jamón horneado y ensalada de macarrones .
Los Dávila han sido jefes extremadamente comprensivos , comentó , y aunque sabe que la pandemia ha sido profundamente desalentadora para ellos , agradece a Dios que El Gran Burrito haya logrado mantenerse abierto .
En una mesa afuera , José Sandoval , de 65 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ y vio cómo el vapor levitaba sobre un montón de huevo y chorizo .
El ahora retirado valet , que emigró de El Salvador en 1973 , vive cerca y comenzó a venir al restaurante hace décadas , cuando estaba en Virgil Avenue .
“ Siempre lo he seguido ” , dijo , señalando a Dávila , “ porque la comida es buena y los precios son razonables ” .
“ Intenta conseguir una recarga en 7-Eleven ” , bromeó .
“ Aquí nos tratan bien ” .

“WE SERVE TORTAS BREAKFAST BURRITOS ANYTIME”, grita un letrero en mayúsculas, y durante mucho tiempo esa proclama pintada en rojo en el costado de El Gran Burrito fue cierta.
“¡Treinta años!” dice el dueño del restaurante, Pedro Dávila, con los ojos brillantes. “Tuvimos el orgullo de decir: ‘30 años y nunca cerramos’”.
Luego vino la pandemia.
Hasta marzo, su local en East Hollywood servía especialidades de la casa, incluyendo su fuerte, tacos de carne asada, las 24 horas del día desde el extenso edificio amarillo cerca de la intersección de Santa Mónica Boulevard y Vermont Avenue.
Por la noche, el olor a pollo carbonizado chisporroteando en un asador exterior a menudo se esparcía por el vecindario, magnetizando a los pasajeros del metro cuando salían de las escaleras eléctricas subterráneas. Pero entonces la gente comenzó a quedarse en casa, las ventas se redujeron y, para minimizar las pérdidas, el lugar de solo efectivo comenzó a cerrar entre las 10 p.m. y las 6 a.m.
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“Me dio una profunda tristeza”, dijo Dávila, suspirando. “Pero seguimos aquí”.
El propietario de El Gran Burrito, Pedro Dávila, y su esposa, Guadalupe, la chef del restaurante desde hace mucho tiempo, no pudieron anticipar la pandemia, pero se han estado preparando para grandes cambios. El edificio que alquilan será demolido para dar paso a un proyecto de viviendas asequibles. (Mariah Tauger / Los Angeles Times)
Aunque Dávila y su esposa, Guadalupe, la chef del restaurante desde hace mucho tiempo, no pudieron anticipar la pandemia, han tenido un par de años para prepararse para la realidad de que un gran cambio se avecinaba para su amado restaurante. Si los planes se mantienen según lo programado, el edificio que los Dávila han alquilado desde 1990 será demolido en algún momento antes de finales de 2021, cuando está previsto que comience la construcción de un proyecto de viviendas asequibles.
El complejo de 187 apartamentos, unidades alquilables reservadas exclusivamente para hogares de bajos ingresos, así como algunos espacios comerciales en la planta baja, es una asociación entre el desarrollador sin fines de lucro Little Tokyo Service Center y Metro, que ha dicho que el proyecto proporcionará nuevas opciones de sombra y asientos en su concurrida estación de Vermont/Santa Mónica.
La necesidad inmediata de opciones de vivienda más asequibles cerca de la intersección es innegable: las familias viven en sus camionetas estacionadas en las calles laterales, la gente arrastra colchones abandonados a los lugares con sombra para tomar siestas por la tarde y un recuento reciente encontró que cerca de 4.000 personas en el distrito del consejo están experimentando falta de vivienda.
Dávila, que vive a unas pocas cuadras al oeste del restaurante, dijo que notó que el número de personas que duermen en las aceras del vecindario aumentó drásticamente hace cuatro años. Tanto sufrimiento, comentó, incluso antes de la pandemia.
“Para muchas personas, no hay luz al final del túnel”.
Sobre todo, el empresario de 70 años, que creció en un rancho en el estado mexicano de Puebla, dice que está agradecido por las largas vidas y carreras que él y Guadalupe, de 61 años, han construido juntos a lo largo de los años, primero con una serie de camiones de tacos que atravesaron las tierras del sur y finalmente dentro de estas paredes amarillas.
“Estamos a gusto”.
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Desde su restaurante en la esquina, Dávila ha observado cómo el vecindario ha evolucionado.
Recuerda a las familias armenias que vivían al final de la calle en la década de 1990 y a los innumerables clientes que ha atendido: estudiantes de Los Angeles City College, enfermeras del Hollywood Presbyterian, inmigrantes centroamericanos que lo entrenaron con cariño para que pusiera la salsa picante a un lado.
Fácilmente puede marcar una lista de negocios cercanos que han cerrado desde entonces, incluyendo una oficina de dentista, una tienda de panqueques y un lugar que vendía parabrisas. Cuando se inauguró la parada del metro en 1999, se dio cuenta rápidamente de que la mayoría de la gente no se detenía para comer, sino que corría a la parada de autobús al otro lado de la calle. Aprendió que los seres humanos siempre están en movimiento.
“Los pobres corren para tratar de salir adelante, y los ricos siguen corriendo porque no quieren que los pasen”.
Dávila, que es católico, dijo que él y su esposa a menudo pedían a Dios que pusiera en su camino a personas a las que debían servir. Al principio de la pandemia, colocó un cartel ofreciendo un plato de comida gratis a cualquiera que lo necesitara, pero finalmente lo retiró, notando que algunos parecían estar abusando de la oferta.
Hace doce años, Oswar Pérez, que entonces tenía 18 años, le pidió trabajo a Dávila, pero le explicó que no sabía cocinar ni tampoco barrer el piso. Su ahora jefe vio potencial en él, dijo Pérez, y desde entonces le ha enseñado cosas sabias, incluyendo uno de sus proverbios favorito, “Cosechas lo que siembras”.
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“Te vamos a enseñar”, le dijo Dávila ese día. “Aprenderás”.
Antes de la pandemia, el restaurante tenía un ajetreo matutino, una fiebre de almuerzo y luego otra oleada de clientes a las 6 p.m., mientras las familias se instalaban en mesas al aire libre, compartiendo horchata y costillas en salsa verde.
Pero tal vez el turno más ocupado de todos llegaba después del anochecer.
“Como la mayoría de los grandes lugares de tacos de Los Ángeles”, escribió Jonathan Gold en un perfil de 1996, “El Gran Burrito es menos notable por la comida que se sirve dentro del restaurante que por la comida que se sirve en el patio en las noches y los fines de semana”.
Durante años, el área exterior se llenó especialmente los fines de semana después de la hora de cierre en un grupo de clubes de baile gay cercanos, recordó Dávila, diciendo que creó un elemento de menú especial llamado “el burrito gay”, esencialmente un burrito normal con queso encima, por gratitud a la leal base de clientes LGBTQ.
“Los clientes gays son los que realmente hicieron del negocio un éxito”, dijo, con orgullo.
El propietario de El Gran Burrito, Pedro Dávila, creó un platillo especial para el menú llamado “el burrito gay” para mostrar su gratitud por sus leales clientes LGBTQ. (Mariah Tauger / Los Angeles Times)
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Gran parte del crédito pertenece a su esposa, comentó, quien perfeccionó muchas de sus recetas a través de llamadas telefónicas de larga distancia a México.
“¿Cómo se hace el menudo?” Guadalupe le preguntó una vez a su madre.
“Mija, si lo haces con amor te saldrá bien”, respondió su madre. “Si no, no lo hará”.
El restaurante es como un segundo hogar, dice Guadalupe, explicando que cuando sus cinco hijos eran más pequeños solían pasar el rato en la pequeña oficina junto a la cocina antes y después de la escuela, durmiendo la siesta bajo el escritorio de madera. Mientras salía a hacer recados a lo largo de los años, la gente a veces la reconocía, relata Guadalupe, preguntando si era “la señora del Gran Burrito”.
“Les dije: ‘No, soy la señora de Don Pedro’”, enfatizó, mientras su esposo se reía entre dientes.
La pareja se conoció en Los Ángeles y se casó a mediados de la década de 1970.
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Con un préstamo de $10.000 de un amigo convertido en socio, los Dávila compraron suministros de cocina y un camión de tacos que bautizaron como “Tacos El Conquistador”. Con su amigo y otro colega de un trabajo anterior en un restaurante, los Dávila comenzaron a vender comida en una concurrida avenida en Lincoln Park.
Su negocio floreció, especialmente a altas horas de la noche cuando los restaurantes estaban cerrados, y en un año, Dávila pagó el préstamo. Entonces, una mañana temprano en 1977, un grupo de hombres se apresuró a subir a la camioneta, robando dinero y cortando el antebrazo izquierdo de Dávila con uno de sus cuchillos de cocina. Cuando el camión fue atacado de nuevo seis meses después, sabían que era hora de seguir adelante.
Pasaron temporadas en Santa Mónica y luego en Pico-Union, donde los clientes leales les dijeron que disfrutaban de la comida pero que no les gustaba que los traficantes de drogas clasificaran sus alijos en mesas que Dávila había instalado cerca. Una noche, cuando tenían el camión estacionado fuera de la discoteca El Sombrero en North Hollywood, Dávila vio a un tipo borracho que se acercaba a él.
“¡Oye!”, gritó el hombre. “¡Dame mi gran burrito!”
La frase se quedó y se convirtió en “El Gran Burrito”.
En 1987, deseoso de tener un local fijo, Dávila alquiló un lugar en Santa Mónica Boulevard y Virgil Avenue. El negocio floreció, especialmente en las noches de partidos de fútbol soccer o boxeo. Durante una pelea publicitada entre el campeón mexicano Julio César Chávez y el boxeador puertorriqueño Héctor “Macho” Camacho, tanta gente se amontonó alrededor del televisor del restaurante que se esparcieron por la acera.
Pronto, un vehículo rojo pasó e hizo un giro en U. Un empleado del departamento de bomberos llegó y Dávila, quien dijo que es propenso a enfrentar las cosas de frente, se presentó como el propietario. El hombre le dijo que podía cerrar voluntariamente o ser cerrado, así que Dávila se acercó inmediatamente al altavoz que usaba para anunciar los pedidos de comida.
“¡Señores, discúlpenme!” gritó Dávila. Perdónenme, pero la ley está fuera, dijo, y tenemos que cerrar esto.
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“¡Nooooo!”, suplicaron. “Espera. Ya casi termina”.
Todavía sonríe ante la imagen de unas 300 personas enfurruñadas fuera del restaurante antes de que la pelea terminara.
Al poco tiempo, la dueña del edificio le dijo a Dávila que tenía la intención de vender la propiedad a la ciudad, así que buscó una nueva ubicación a unas pocas cuadras al oeste. Hizo un trato con dos inmigrantes paquistaníes que tenían una tienda de 99 centavos, subarrendándoles el edificio.
Era 1990 y, después de algunas renovaciones serias, El Gran Burrito abrió oficialmente en sus actuales instalaciones.
A lo largo de los años, cuando el alquiler pasó de $3.000 a $3.500 y más tarde a $10.000, Dávila esperaba comprar el edificio, pero el antiguo propietario no quería venderlo, expuso. Durante mucho tiempo el restaurante tuvo contratos de arrendamiento por varios años, pero en los últimos años, dijo, ha operado con un contrato de mes a mes, sabiendo que, en algún momento, la construcción del nuevo proyecto comenzará.
Será doloroso decir adiós. Pero los hijos de la pareja esperan continuar el restaurante familiar en otro lugar, dijo Dávila, y después de décadas de trabajo, a él y a su esposa les vendría bien un descanso.
Por ahora, están concentrados en superar la pandemia.
En una mañana reciente, Dávila metió la mano en su bolsillo derecho y sacó dos billetes de cinco dólares doblados y dos billetes de uno: $12 en ventas en lo que va del día, dijo, cuando antes de la pandemia, habría estado más cerca de los $400.
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El restaurante ha reducido las horas de trabajo y ha pasado de 16 a 8 empleados, expuso Dávila, añadiendo que muchos antiguos empleados le dijeron que no podían ganar lo suficiente con un horario reducido y que necesitaban encontrar nuevos empleos. Él lo entendió. Guadalupe dijo que le preocupa cómo los trabajadores comerán con sueldos reducidos.
“No sabemos qué pasará”, manifestó. “Lo que Dios quiera”.
Un jueves por la mañana, un cliente se asomó a la televisión sintonizada a Univisión, que estaba emitiendo un segmento sobre niños latinos que han muerto a causa de COVID-19. El hombre suspiró, antes de pedir huevos rancheros. Detrás del mostrador, Rosa Ávila, de 60 años, se limpió las manos con su delantal negro.
“Mi primer y único trabajo”, dijo Ávila, explicando que ha trabajado para los Dávila desde 1987, poco después de que se mudara a Los Ángeles desde el estado mexicano de Durango.
Sus tres hijos crecieron con los hijos de los Dávila, relató, y tiene muchos recuerdos en este edificio, incluyendo años de fiestas navideñas, cuando los empleados y sus familias se reunían para comer jamón horneado y ensalada de macarrones. Los Dávila han sido jefes extremadamente comprensivos, comentó, y aunque sabe que la pandemia ha sido profundamente desalentadora para ellos, agradece a Dios que El Gran Burrito haya logrado mantenerse abierto.
Un cliente espera para ordenar dentro de El Gran Burrito. (Mariah Tauger / Los Angeles Times)
En una mesa afuera, José Sandoval, de 65 años, abrió su recipiente para llevar y vio cómo el vapor levitaba sobre un montón de huevo y chorizo. El ahora retirado valet, que emigró de El Salvador en 1973, vive cerca y comenzó a venir al restaurante hace décadas, cuando estaba en Virgil Avenue.
“Siempre lo he seguido”, dijo, señalando a Dávila, “porque la comida es buena y los precios son razonables”.
Aprecia especialmente las recargas de café gratis.
“Intenta conseguir una recarga en 7-Eleven”, bromeó. “Aquí nos tratan bien”.
Mientras Dávila limpiaba una mesa cercana, sonrió a Sandoval.
“Buen provecho”.
“Gracias, amigo”.
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Si quiere leer este artículo en inglés, haga clic aquí


latimes--2020-10-17--Column: She was suffering on the streets of Santa Monica. Here's what it took to rescue her

Coley King , who practices street medicine for the Venice Family Clinic , wasn ’ t frightened by the angry and disoriented woman at Wilshire and Lincoln boulevards in Santa Monica , who was chucking her belongings in all directions .
“ My usual approach is to give some distance , ” said King , who studied the homeless woman ’ s behavior from afar before approaching .
She was limping badly and teetering on the curb , and King feared she might tumble into the path of speeding cars .
The doctor conferred with his traveling companion , outreach @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
He recalls the woman continuing “ to throw a fit ” for a while , tossing a flashlight and backpack in his direction , but then the anger began to melt away .
“ At some point I said , ‘ Hey , can I buy you a cup of coffee ?
’ and she said yes , ” said King .
Her name was Suzanna , and she was in her mid-50s , living on the streets with a combination of mental health and addiction issues .
Over coffee and doughnuts @ @ @ @ @ @ @ surgery she ’ d recently had and a bit about her mental health history .
Suzanna also told King that he appeared to her to be spinning about , as if trapped in a tornado .
King is a physician , not a psychiatrist , but more than a decade of visiting homeless encampments offers an education you can ’ t get in school , and he has learned that it ’ s often better to provide help as soon as someone agrees to it than to write a prescription that may never @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with him , and after a series of questions about her medical history , he asked Suzanna if she ’ d like him to administer an injection , right then and there , that might help relieve her hallucinations and other symptoms .
That was in late June .
A week later , he returned with another , longer-lasting dose of the same medication , and again she agreed to the treatment .
When I met with Suzanna a few days ago , it was at a Venice hotel , where she has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ living a new life , filled with dreams rather than despair .
She said she feels “ immensely ” better and would be moving soon into her own apartment .
I ’ m sharing Suzanna ’ s story because in a county with 60,000 homeless people , three or four of whom die each day on average , it ’ s just so good to hear about a successful intervention .
Last week I wrote about a homeless woman after Silver Lake residents alerted me that she was often naked and disoriented , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ across Sunset Boulevard , in grave danger .
After the column ran , I heard from readers , as I often do on this topic , who said that if she was known to be using drugs and creating disturbances , police should have put a stop to it , and that if she was mentally ill and needed help , she should have been picked up and committed for psychiatric care .
I understand that frustration in a region where sprawling encampments and full-blown mental breakdowns are a common sight , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , involuntary commitments are the only way to save lives .
The woman in Silver Lake , by the way , was hospitalized and remains in treatment .
But there ’ s a tendency to think that simple solutions exist for a human catastrophe with a thousand different causes .
And it would be a mistake to assume that simply medicating or arresting people can be a panacea .
Suzanna ’ s case , in fact , is a study in how much work is involved in rescuing someone .
Long before King @ @ @ @ @ @ @ radar of an outreach team of social workers , psychiatrists , nurses and mental health specialists from city , county and nonprofit agencies .
Holz , who introduced King to Suzanna , was the leader of that team , and she ’ s employed by the People Concern , a full-service provider of housing and mental health services .
Holz told me that the team began working with Suzanna back in March .
So what does that mean ?
It means they began to establish a relationship with Suzanna in an effort to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ going back again and again , offering coffee or conversation or a measure of hope .
For many people , including those with severe mental illness , there ’ s often a better chance of lasting recovery when the person chooses to get help rather than having it forced on them .
“ She was comfortable talking to us , but she didn ’ t want any mental health services , ” said Holz .
Some people lack insight about their own mental problems , but there is often more to it than @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to be carted away , separated from belongings or friends , stigmatized and reminded of terrifying previous commitments or arrests .
Holz said reaching some people on the streets can be difficult because they fear being compelled to do something against their will .
“ With Suzanna , we had to make it very clear to her that we weren ’ t going to force anything on her , ” said Holz .
“ For her and everyone else , the biggest thing is choice — here are the choices , and here @ @ @ @ @ @ @ weeks after the team met Suzanna , she took them up on an offer of a temporary room in a motel , thanks in part to help from St. Joseph Center , which has been managing Project Roomkey shelters during the COVID-19 pandemic .
Even then , there was a long road ahead .
Suzanna tossed things around her room and got kicked out .
Back on the street , she took a hard fall and ended up in the hospital with a damaged hip .
When Holz ’ s team saw her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ engagement began all over again , and when she appeared to be deteriorating , the call went out to King .
“ To be honest , Coley is magic with our clients sometimes , ” said Holz , noting that his unintimidating appearance might be an advantage .
With his long hair , schoolboy backpack and Australian Redback boots , King doesn ’ t look like a doctor .
“ He looks like a regular guy from Venice , ” said Holz , adding that King is “ honest and straightforward ” with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of medication , team support and another shot at shelter made it possible for Suzanna to turn things around .
Even though it took a few months , that ’ s faster than the norm , according to Holz .
It helped , she said , that because of the pandemic , more beds were available through Project Roomkey , and efforts to reel vulnerable people off the streets were stepped up countywide .
On Wednesday , I met up with King at the Venice Family Clinic , which just celebrated 50 years @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with limited healthcare options .
We walked several blocks to Suzanna ’ s hotel , where she was waiting for us , along with Holz .
Another thing I often hear from readers is judgment about homeless people — they ’ re addicts , they made bad choices , they refuse help , they don ’ t even want to help themselves .
Hitting rock bottom does involve some wrong turns , for sure , but often it also involves losing a job or a home , some form of trauma such as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mental disorders and heartbreak of a hundred varieties .
Suzanna told me she studied dance back East , became a showgirl dancer in Las Vegas and South America , studied nursing , had one marriage go under , then lived a pretty good middle-class life for a while with her second husband , until he got cancer .
“ I went into a tailspin , ” she said of her life after her husband died 12 years ago , in his 40s .
They were living in Texas , and “ everywhere I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ so she moved to Las Vegas , where she gambled away money , leaned on alcohol and cocaine and became homeless .
She later moved to California , where she had lived earlier in her life and still has some family , though no one she wanted to impose upon in her declining state .
Suzanna told me she has been diagnosed with depression and bipolar disorder , but medication didn ’ t bring much relief .
Now , she says , she has kicked her addictions , the meds are helping , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , no small thanks to Holz , King and the others who were there for her .
She told me she loves animals and wants to go to school to become a veterinary assistant .
“ I never give up hope , ” Suzanna said .
“ Something good ’ s going to happen , so giving up hope , that ’ s not me .
”

Dr. Coley King, director of homeless health care at Venice Family Clinic, right, visits his client Suzanna, who now has temporary housing and will be moving into an apartment soon.
Coley King, who practices street medicine for the Venice Family Clinic, wasn’t frightened by the angry and disoriented woman at Wilshire and Lincoln boulevards in Santa Monica, who was chucking her belongings in all directions.
“My usual approach is to give some distance,” said King, who studied the homeless woman’s behavior from afar before approaching.
She was limping badly and teetering on the curb, and King feared she might tumble into the path of speeding cars. The doctor conferred with his traveling companion, outreach worker Katie Holz, and moved closer. He recalls the woman continuing “to throw a fit” for a while, tossing a flashlight and backpack in his direction, but then the anger began to melt away.
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“At some point I said, ‘Hey, can I buy you a cup of coffee?’ and she said yes,” said King.
Her name was Suzanna, and she was in her mid-50s, living on the streets with a combination of mental health and addiction issues. Over coffee and doughnuts, Suzanna told King about the hip surgery she’d recently had and a bit about her mental health history.
Suzanna also told King that he appeared to her to be spinning about, as if trapped in a tornado.
King is a physician, not a psychiatrist, but more than a decade of visiting homeless encampments offers an education you can’t get in school, and he has learned that it’s often better to provide help as soon as someone agrees to it than to write a prescription that may never get filled. He carries anti-psychotic drugs with him, and after a series of questions about her medical history, he asked Suzanna if she’d like him to administer an injection, right then and there, that might help relieve her hallucinations and other symptoms.
Suzanna said yes.
That was in late June. A week later, he returned with another, longer-lasting dose of the same medication, and again she agreed to the treatment.
When I met with Suzanna a few days ago, it was at a Venice hotel, where she has been given temporary housing. She is living a new life, filled with dreams rather than despair. She said she feels “immensely” better and would be moving soon into her own apartment.
I’m sharing Suzanna’s story because in a county with 60,000 homeless people, three or four of whom die each day on average, it’s just so good to hear about a successful intervention.
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Last week I wrote about a homeless woman after Silver Lake residents alerted me that she was often naked and disoriented, and that she had been seen crawling across Sunset Boulevard, in grave danger. After the column ran, I heard from readers, as I often do on this topic, who said that if she was known to be using drugs and creating disturbances, police should have put a stop to it, and that if she was mentally ill and needed help, she should have been picked up and committed for psychiatric care.
I understand that frustration in a region where sprawling encampments and full-blown mental breakdowns are a common sight, and I do believe that in some cases, involuntary commitments are the only way to save lives. The woman in Silver Lake, by the way, was hospitalized and remains in treatment.
But there’s a tendency to think that simple solutions exist for a human catastrophe with a thousand different causes. And it would be a mistake to assume that simply medicating or arresting people can be a panacea. Suzanna’s case, in fact, is a study in how much work is involved in rescuing someone.
Long before King met Suzanna, she was on the radar of an outreach team of social workers, psychiatrists, nurses and mental health specialists from city, county and nonprofit agencies. Holz, who introduced King to Suzanna, was the leader of that team, and she’s employed by the People Concern, a full-service provider of housing and mental health services. Holz told me that the team began working with Suzanna back in March.
So what does that mean? It means they began to establish a relationship with Suzanna in an effort to earn her trust, and that meant going back again and again, offering coffee or conversation or a measure of hope. For many people, including those with severe mental illness, there’s often a better chance of lasting recovery when the person chooses to get help rather than having it forced on them.
“She was comfortable talking to us, but she didn’t want any mental health services,” said Holz.
Some people lack insight about their own mental problems, but there is often more to it than that. They understandably may not want to be carted away, separated from belongings or friends, stigmatized and reminded of terrifying previous commitments or arrests. Holz said reaching some people on the streets can be difficult because they fear being compelled to do something against their will.
“With Suzanna, we had to make it very clear to her that we weren’t going to force anything on her,” said Holz. “For her and everyone else, the biggest thing is choice — here are the choices, and here are the possible outcomes.”
A few weeks after the team met Suzanna, she took them up on an offer of a temporary room in a motel, thanks in part to help from St. Joseph Center, which has been managing Project Roomkey shelters during the COVID-19 pandemic. Even then, there was a long road ahead. Suzanna tossed things around her room and got kicked out. Back on the street, she took a hard fall and ended up in the hospital with a damaged hip.
When Holz’s team saw her back in her usual haunts, the engagement began all over again, and when she appeared to be deteriorating, the call went out to King.
“To be honest, Coley is magic with our clients sometimes,” said Holz, noting that his unintimidating appearance might be an advantage. With his long hair, schoolboy backpack and Australian Redback boots, King doesn’t look like a doctor.
“He looks like a regular guy from Venice,” said Holz, adding that King is “honest and straightforward” with patients.
In time, the combination of medication, team support and another shot at shelter made it possible for Suzanna to turn things around. Even though it took a few months, that’s faster than the norm, according to Holz. It helped, she said, that because of the pandemic, more beds were available through Project Roomkey, and efforts to reel vulnerable people off the streets were stepped up countywide.
On Wednesday, I met up with King at the Venice Family Clinic, which just celebrated 50 years of serving the needs of low-income residents with limited healthcare options. We walked several blocks to Suzanna’s hotel, where she was waiting for us, along with Holz.
Another thing I often hear from readers is judgment about homeless people — they’re addicts, they made bad choices, they refuse help, they don’t even want to help themselves. Hitting rock bottom does involve some wrong turns, for sure, but often it also involves losing a job or a home, some form of trauma such as abuse or assault, untreated physical and mental disorders and heartbreak of a hundred varieties.
Suzanna told me she studied dance back East, became a showgirl dancer in Las Vegas and South America, studied nursing, had one marriage go under, then lived a pretty good middle-class life for a while with her second husband, until he got cancer.
“I went into a tailspin,” she said of her life after her husband died 12 years ago, in his 40s. They were living in Texas, and “everywhere I looked, I saw him,” so she moved to Las Vegas, where she gambled away money, leaned on alcohol and cocaine and became homeless. She later moved to California, where she had lived earlier in her life and still has some family, though no one she wanted to impose upon in her declining state.
Suzanna told me she has been diagnosed with depression and bipolar disorder, but medication didn’t bring much relief. Now, she says, she has kicked her addictions, the meds are helping, and she’s feeling pretty good, no small thanks to Holz, King and the others who were there for her.
She told me she loves animals and wants to go to school to become a veterinary assistant.
“I never give up hope,” Suzanna said. “Something good’s going to happen, so giving up hope, that’s not me.”
Steve.lopez@latimes.com


latimes--2020-10-17--CBS chief George Cheeks apologizes to Armenian community for employees' 'hateful' remarks

CBS Chief Executive George Cheeks has apologized to the Armenian ambassador after two CBS employees made offensive comments to protesters outside CBS Studios in Studio City earlier this week .
“ All of us here want you to know that we respect your right for peaceful protest , and we apologize to you and the Armenian community for this experience outside our facility , ” Cheeks wrote in an Oct. 13 letter to Ambassador Armen Baibourtian , the consul general , who is based in Glendale .
Cheeks ’ apology comes amid demonstrations in Southern California in support of Armenia @ @ @ @ @ @ @ battle with its neighbor Azerbaijan over a separatist region on the border between the former Soviet republics .
The area is known as Nagorno-Karabakh , and Armenians call it Artsakh .
In California , Armenian Americans have expressed dismay over some media coverage of the unrest 7,000 miles away ; those frustrations have led to protests outside the Los Angeles Times headquarters and CNN ’ s bureau in Hollywood .
Last Sunday , tens of thousands of demonstrators aligned with Armenia marched through Los Angeles and rallied outside the Turkish Consulate in Beverly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s ally in the war , inflaming old wounds among Armenians that date back more than 100 years to the Armenian genocide .
A CBS-owned local television station , KCAL-TV Channel 9 , aired a story about the mass protest during its 10 p.m. newscast on Sunday .
But members of the group took issue with the KCAL report because it contained a nearly 10-second video statement by Nasimi Aghayev , the consul general of Azerbaijan in Los Angeles .
The group said KCAL — which aired snippets of interviews with three Armenian @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Baibourtian .
Alex Galitsky , communications director for the Armenian National Committee of America , Western Region , told The Times that group members were upset by the slight ; they felt the KCAL report gave too much weight to Aghayev and presented the Azerbaijanis ’ position as a fact .
“ It effectively defeated the whole purpose of the demonstration , ” Galitsky said .
“ It was a disservice and overshadowed what the Armenian community is asking for , which is for our voices to be heard.
” Early Monday morning @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ Radford Avenue studio lot in Studio City to protest the KCAL report , Galitsky said .
Some blocked the entrances to the lot , which houses the headquarters of KCAL , sister station KCBS-TV Channel 2 and soundstages for TV shows in production , including “ Big Brother , ” the daytime show “ The Talk ” and the sitcom “ The Neighborhood.
” For safety reasons , security guards turned employees away from CBS ’ Radford Avenue entrance .
Protesters recorded two verbal altercations and shared them on social media .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ to CBS Studios after he learned of the altercations , which he said included one physical assault .
“ I rushed to the site of the protest , ” Baibourtian said .
“ I wanted to know what was happening.
” In one Twitter post , a video showed an unidentified CBS employee in a black sedan telling two protesters : “ Good thing you are not BLM [ Black Lives Matter ] or I would run your ass over.
” He then drove off .
In the second post , another man @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ I hope you all die , and I hope your country gets blown up.
” CBS said in a statement : “ During the [ Oct. 12 ] events , we were made aware of videos posted on social media that show individuals entering our lot and making offensive and hateful remarks to the protesters .
Two of these individuals were identified as CBS employees.
” CBS security officials were able to track down the two employees because license plate numbers of their vehicles were clearly visible in the videos posted on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to Ambassador Baibourtian , Cheeks called the outbursts by CBS employees “ hateful and offensive.
” “ Please be assured : this conduct does not align with the values of our company , and we condemn their language in the strongest terms , ” Cheeks wrote .
“ These incidents were investigated immediately , and as of last night , both of these individuals are no longer employed by CBS.
” Baibourtian said he was appreciative of Cheeks ’ letter .
“ He immediately took action against the individuals , the CBS employees @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he condemned the language that was used in very strong terms .
His apology was very well received within the Armenian community and we hope that CBS ’ coverage of the war will be unbiased and objective , and that they name the aggressors — Azerbaijan and Turkey — in this conflict.
” KCBS also aired a longer story about the Armenia-Azerbaijan conflict on Monday .

CBS says two employees who made “hateful and offensive” comments to protesters this week are no longer working for the company.
CBS Chief Executive George Cheeks has apologized to the Armenian ambassador after two CBS employees made offensive comments to protesters outside CBS Studios in Studio City earlier this week.
“All of us here want you to know that we respect your right for peaceful protest, and we apologize to you and the Armenian community for this experience outside our facility,” Cheeks wrote in an Oct. 13 letter to Ambassador Armen Baibourtian, the consul general, who is based in Glendale.
CBS Chief Executive George Cheeks wrote this letter of apology to Ambassador Armen Baibourtian, the Armenian consul general.
(Viacom)
Cheeks’ apology comes amid demonstrations in Southern California in support of Armenia, which is engaged in a bloody battle with its neighbor Azerbaijan over a separatist region on the border between the former Soviet republics. The area is known as Nagorno-Karabakh, and Armenians call it Artsakh. In California, Armenian Americans have expressed dismay over some media coverage of the unrest 7,000 miles away; those frustrations have led to protests outside the L.A. Times headquarters and CNN’s bureau in Hollywood.
Last Sunday, tens of thousands of demonstrators aligned with Armenia marched through Los Angeles and rallied outside the Turkish Consulate in Beverly Hills. Neighboring Turkey is Azerbaijan’s ally in the war, inflaming old wounds among Armenians that date back more than 100 years to the Armenian genocide.
A CBS-owned local television station, KCAL-TV Channel 9, aired a story about the mass protest during its 10 p.m. newscast on Sunday. But members of the group took issue with the KCAL report because it contained a nearly 10-second video statement by Nasimi Aghayev, the consul general of Azerbaijan in Los Angeles. The group said KCAL — which aired snippets of interviews with three Armenian protesters — did not reach out to Baibourtian.
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Alex Galitsky, communications director for the Armenian National Committee of America, Western Region, told The Times that group members were upset by the slight; they felt the KCAL report gave too much weight to Aghayev and presented the Azerbaijanis’ position as a fact.
“It effectively defeated the whole purpose of the demonstration,” Galitsky said. “It was a disservice and overshadowed what the Armenian community is asking for, which is for our voices to be heard.”
California Tens of thousands protest outside L.A.’s Turkish Consulate in solidarity with Armenia About 35,000 protesters marched to the consulate in Beverly Hills, focusing their opposition on Turkey, which has expressed support for Azerbaijan in its deadly conflict with Armenia over a small separatist region populated by ethnic Armenians.
Early Monday morning, several dozen protesters converged outside CBS’ Radford Avenue studio lot in Studio City to protest the KCAL report, Galitsky said.
Some blocked the entrances to the lot, which houses the headquarters of KCAL, sister station KCBS-TV Channel 2 and soundstages for TV shows in production, including “Big Brother,” the daytime show “The Talk” and the sitcom “The Neighborhood.”
For safety reasons, security guards turned employees away from CBS’ Radford Avenue entrance. Protesters recorded two verbal altercations and shared them on social media. Baibourtian told The Times that he headed to CBS Studios after he learned of the altercations, which he said included one physical assault.
“I rushed to the site of the protest,” Baibourtian said. “I wanted to know what was happening.”
In one Twitter post, a video showed an unidentified CBS employee in a black sedan telling two protesters: “Good thing you are not BLM [Black Lives Matter] or I would run your ass over.” He then drove off.
In the second post, another man could be heard telling the protesters: “I hope you all die, and I hope your country gets blown up.”
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California Here’s why Armenian Americans in Southern California are protesting Los Angeles is the home to one of the largest Armenian diasporas. Here’s why many are fearful over the recent violence with Azerbaijan in the disputed Nagorno-Karabakh region, known to Armenians as Artsakh.
CBS said in a statement: “During the [Oct. 12] events, we were made aware of videos posted on social media that show individuals entering our lot and making offensive and hateful remarks to the protesters. Two of these individuals were identified as CBS employees.”
CBS security officials were able to track down the two employees because license plate numbers of their vehicles were clearly visible in the videos posted on Twitter.
In his Oct. 13 letter to Ambassador Baibourtian, Cheeks called the outbursts by CBS employees “hateful and offensive.”
“Please be assured: this conduct does not align with the values of our company, and we condemn their language in the strongest terms,” Cheeks wrote. “These incidents were investigated immediately, and as of last night, both of these individuals are no longer employed by CBS.”
Baibourtian said he was appreciative of Cheeks’ letter.
“He immediately took action against the individuals, the CBS employees,” Baibourtian said. “And he condemned the language that was used in very strong terms. His apology was very well received within the Armenian community and we hope that CBS’ coverage of the war will be unbiased and objective, and that they name the aggressors — Azerbaijan and Turkey — in this conflict.”
KCBS also aired a longer story about the Armenia-Azerbaijan conflict on Monday.