latimes--2020-11-26--His dear colleague died but had one last gift

I couldn ’ t think of a better day to tell you about my friend Don Hunt .
He has been gone almost 10 years now and it still hurts , just as it does sometimes to look at my mother ’ s pictures .
She died in 2015 , three years after suffering a paralyzing stroke .
This is a story about love and friendship .
And a reminder to all on this Thanksgiving Day to be grateful for those who touch us in profound and unexpected ways .
Don and my mother never met , but they would @ @ @ @ @ @ @ imagine .
Don and I sat next to each other as editors on The Times ’ Metro desk and quickly bonded as fellow Texans who loved Willie Nelson , the Hill Country and mesquite barbecue .
To this day , I ’ ve never known anyone who could consume so much pulled pork in one sitting .
We shared other traits .
A mutual friend once declared us both “ profoundly cheap.
” We used to joke about whose well-worn wallet had the most adhesive tape , whose shoes the most holes and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Toyota Corolla was 15 years old , his Honda Accord five years older .
But once you really got to know Don , you learned that he was a connoisseur of good living , a lover of expensive cigars , good wine and the opera .
He also cherished the beauty of the American West and frequently visited its national parks .
A native of Austin , he was a proud graduate of the University of Texas and a rabid Longhorns football fan .
His wardrobe consisted mostly of UT apparel — burnt @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Even his bedspread was emblazoned with “ University of Texas Longhorns.
” It had not been an easy life .
Don ’ s father , Darrell A .
Hunt , died in 1947 trying unsuccessfully to rescue his 11-year-old brother-in-law from drowning .
Don was 3 at the time .
His mother , Opal Marguerite Hunt , raised him and his younger brother , Mike , alone .
Opal was determined to make a good life for them .
A stenographer , she worked her way up to administrative secretary in the Texas @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in a working-class neighborhood and saw both her boys graduate from UT .
“ It was very rough bringing up two sons on her own , ” said Phil Worley , a cousin who was more like a brother to Don and Mike .
“ To be hit with something like that so young , it was quite an accomplishment to keep going and to be successful .
Don always admired her for that.
” Some of my fondest memories with Don were enjoying some great Texas music together .
At the Hollywood @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to us represented a new Texas cool , a country singer-songwriter whose phrasing was more jazz club than honky-tonk .
I can still hear the mournful strains of “ Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain ” and the galloping rhythm of “ On the Road Again.
” We also saw the legendary Texas band the Flatlanders at the Troubadour .
During some of our outings we talked about his wife , Frances — they ’ d been separated for years but remained close — and our mothers .
Don went to great lengths @ @ @ @ @ @ @ end of her life .
He would fly home several times a year to visit her in a nursing home , sometimes sleeping on the floor by her bed .
I was also close to my mother , Delfina Valdez Lozano .
I was the middle child of nine and , at 18 , the oldest and still living at home when my parents divorced .
As hard as life could be sometimes , my mother never complained .
After the divorce , she ran a child-care business out of our house .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ neighborhood .
And she loved it .
On our days off , Don and I would often go on long walks .
After one particular hike in August 2011 , he called to tell me he wasn ’ t feeling well .
It wasn ’ t just fatigue , he said .
He went to the doctor the next day and began a series of tests .
A few days later , he called to give me the news .
It was cancer .
Eight brain tumors , as well as cancer of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had died a few weeks earlier , was told he had six months to live .
We both cried and I told him I loved him .
Don had had one close call before .
A few years earlier , after initially believing he had an ear infection , he was stunned to learn that he had suffered a brain aneurysm .
The doctors told him the weak blood vessel could rupture at any moment and they needed to operate that day .
He spent a long night in surgery .
The next @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the intensive care unit .
He woke up and , without his glasses , he squinted to make out who was hovering over his bed .
I leaned in closer and said , “ I bet you didn ’ t think you would see me in heaven.
” We both laughed .
Don always had a good sense of humor , and I got a kick out of his braying hee-haw laugh .
He told me that if he had to pick someone to play him in a movie , he ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he owned every episode of “ The Andy Griffith Show ” in which Knotts played the bumbling but lovable Deputy Barney Fife .
When Knotts got his star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame , Don was there .
But his own life bore little resemblance to that of his comedic hero .
In his last weeks of life , Don never lost his strength of character or his dignity .
I ’ m sure there were times when he was scared or depressed , but he never showed it .
I remember @ @ @ @ @ @ @ final days , watching the New Orleans Saints play the Detroit Lions on television .
He turned to me and said , “ I ’ m really going to miss football.
” And that was it .
We went back to watching the game .
Three days later , Jan. 10 , 2012 , a friend called to tell me that Don had only a few hours left and that if I wanted to see him , I better go now .
I rushed to his Sierra Madre home , where taped to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ paper with a message in large block letters : Do Not Resuscitate .
Don lay in a rented hospital bed upstairs , and occasionally I could hear him moaning in pain , his breathing labored .
His nurse administered more morphine , and soon the house was quiet again .
A few close friends gathered around his kitchen table downstairs to wait it out .
About 9 p.m. , Don ’ s breathing had faded to a whisper .
The nurse suggested it was time to turn off his ventilator .
Don ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a flight from Houston , but luckily , I managed to catch him during a layover in Las Vegas .
I told him what the nurse advised .
“ I think that ’ s the right thing to do , ” Mike said , knowing Don would be gone before he arrived .
The four of us there gathered around Don ’ s bed to say our goodbyes , to hold him and to tell him how much we loved him .
“ You ’ re the best friend anyone could ever have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , a Times copy editor and one of Don ’ s closest friends .
We told him it was OK to let go .
We didn ’ t know if he could hear us .
He had been in a drug-induced sleep for hours .
He lay awkwardly , his body turned slightly to the left , a stiff hand curled at his face .
His skin was a pasty white and his light brown hair matted with sweat .
The only moving object in the room was the second hand on the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sound , the low hum of the ventilator .
A moment passed .
A sudden click from the ventilator .
Then silence .
Five months later , I was in Houston visiting my mother .
She had turned 80 on Jan. 12 , two days after Don died , and I was determined to spend more time with her .
I had gotten up early to take a walk to avoid the stifling summer heat , and when I returned I was surprised to find her bedroom door still closed .
I hesitated @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , because I sensed that , once I did , our family ’ s life would never be the same .
And it wasn ’ t .
The stroke had left my mom partially paralyzed , and except for a few words — yes and no , mostly — unable to talk .
She could comprehend things , but it was unclear how much .
She had been the loving spirit in our family , the one who kept the fragile peace , the bright light in our little universe .
Now that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ our own and argued about her care , tensions fueled by the petty rivalries of nine siblings .
After more than a year of hoping and praying she would recover more of her cognitive abilities , we were told there was no chance her condition would improve .
So we made the painful decision to place her in hospice care .
This meant turning off her heart defibrillator .
But Delfina Valdez Lozano had defied the odds all her life and was not going to surrender easily to death or God .
Like @ @ @ @ @ @ @ never went to college , never learned to drive and never knew a life without work .
Her single greatest talent was for living , her life was her art .
She loved to laugh , she loved to talk , and she loved to cook because she loved people .
“ The skillet makes the home , ” she often said .
And so her house was always filled with friends and family , often united in some raucous birthday or holiday celebration .
She was the most selfless person I ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ were long divorced , she took care of my father after his heart surgery .
It was no small irony that a woman who sacrificed her whole life for others suffered from an enlarged heart .
For her , it was simple : Love was action .
It was about the contributions we make to one another ’ s lives .
In the end , my mother would live 18 more months , longer than her doctors and caregivers ever imagined .
We had finally found a small nursing home in a good @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a problem loomed : The Medicare money was running out , and the facility didn ’ t accept Medicaid .
I dreaded another family fight and looking for another nursing home .
A few months earlier , I had received a surprise call from Mike Hunt .
“ Did you know Don left you something in his will ?
” he said .
No , I told him , I did not .
He offered no details and told me I would hear from the estate .
One day at home , I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ noticed a letter from a San Diego law firm .
I couldn ’ t imagine what it was about but thought I ’ d better open it .
Inside was a check for $ 100,000 .
I immediately sat down and called Mike .
“ There must be some mistake , ” I said .
“ No , ” he said .
“ Don wanted you to have this money.
” Don never even hinted he was going to do this .
But when I think back on it now , it makes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of me .
When my mother ’ s Medicare funds were exhausted , she did not need to move .
She died about the same time Don ’ s money ran out .
On my mother ’ s grave marker are carved the words “ Only Love Endures.
” Don certainly proved that to be true .
When I think of him now , at Thanksgiving , my mind turns to the first line of “ David Copperfield , ” where David wonders whether he will turn out to be the hero of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ out to be the hero of my life .
So , if you ’ re listening , Don , I just want to say thank you for thinking of me in your most difficult hour and to tell you that I still miss and love you dearly , my friend .

Don Hunt, right, and his cousin Phil Worley at the 2006 Rose Bowl game between the University of Texas Longhorns and the USC Trojans. UT won 41-38.
I couldn’t think of a better day to tell you about my friend Don Hunt.
He has been gone almost 10 years now and it still hurts, just as it does sometimes to look at my mother’s pictures. She died in 2015, three years after suffering a paralyzing stroke.
This is a story about love and friendship. And a reminder to all on this Thanksgiving Day to be grateful for those who touch us in profound and unexpected ways. Don and my mother never met, but they would be linked in ways I could never imagine.
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Don and I sat next to each other as editors on The Times’ Metro desk and quickly bonded as fellow Texans who loved Willie Nelson, the Hill Country and mesquite barbecue. To this day, I’ve never known anyone who could consume so much pulled pork in one sitting.
We shared other traits. A mutual friend once declared us both “profoundly cheap.” We used to joke about whose well-worn wallet had the most adhesive tape, whose shoes the most holes and who drove the oldest car. My Toyota Corolla was 15 years old, his Honda Accord five years older.
But once you really got to know Don, you learned that he was a connoisseur of good living, a lover of expensive cigars, good wine and the opera. He also cherished the beauty of the American West and frequently visited its national parks.
A native of Austin, he was a proud graduate of the University of Texas and a rabid Longhorns football fan. His wardrobe consisted mostly of UT apparel — burnt orange hats, jackets and T-shirts. Even his bedspread was emblazoned with “University of Texas Longhorns.”
It had not been an easy life. Don’s father, Darrell A. Hunt, died in 1947 trying unsuccessfully to rescue his 11-year-old brother-in-law from drowning. Don was 3 at the time. His mother, Opal Marguerite Hunt, raised him and his younger brother, Mike, alone.
Opal was determined to make a good life for them. A stenographer, she worked her way up to administrative secretary in the Texas Welfare Department, bought her own home in a working-class neighborhood and saw both her boys graduate from UT.
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Mike and Don Hunt visiting with their mother, Opal, in Texas in an undated photo. (Phil Worley)
“It was very rough bringing up two sons on her own,” said Phil Worley, a cousin who was more like a brother to Don and Mike. “To be hit with something like that so young, it was quite an accomplishment to keep going and to be successful. Don always admired her for that.”
Column One A showcase for compelling storytelling from the Los Angeles Times. More stories
Some of my fondest memories with Don were enjoying some great Texas music together.
At the Hollywood Bowl we saw Willie Nelson, who to us represented a new Texas cool, a country singer-songwriter whose phrasing was more jazz club than honky-tonk. I can still hear the mournful strains of “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” and the galloping rhythm of “On the Road Again.” We also saw the legendary Texas band the Flatlanders at the Troubadour.
During some of our outings we talked about his wife, Frances — they’d been separated for years but remained close — and our mothers. Don went to great lengths to take care of Opal toward the end of her life. He would fly home several times a year to visit her in a nursing home, sometimes sleeping on the floor by her bed.
Mike and Don Hunt with their mother, Opal, at Disneyland in 1961. (Phil Worley)
I was also close to my mother, Delfina Valdez Lozano. I was the middle child of nine and, at 18, the oldest and still living at home when my parents divorced.
As hard as life could be sometimes, my mother never complained. After the divorce, she ran a child-care business out of our house. It seemed like she raised half the neighborhood. And she loved it.
On our days off, Don and I would often go on long walks. After one particular hike in August 2011, he called to tell me he wasn’t feeling well. It wasn’t just fatigue, he said.
He went to the doctor the next day and began a series of tests. A few days later, he called to give me the news.
It was cancer. Eight brain tumors, as well as cancer of the esophagus. Don, whose mother had died a few weeks earlier, was told he had six months to live.
We both cried and I told him I loved him.
Don had had one close call before. A few years earlier, after initially believing he had an ear infection, he was stunned to learn that he had suffered a brain aneurysm. The doctors told him the weak blood vessel could rupture at any moment and they needed to operate that day. He spent a long night in surgery.
The next morning, I went to see him in the intensive care unit. He woke up and, without his glasses, he squinted to make out who was hovering over his bed. I leaned in closer and said, “I bet you didn’t think you would see me in heaven.” We both laughed.
Mike and Don Hunt with their mother, Opal, and grandmother, Annie Squyres, bottom right, in an undated photo. (Phil Worley)
Don always had a good sense of humor, and I got a kick out of his braying hee-haw laugh. He told me that if he had to pick someone to play him in a movie, he’d pick Don Knotts. I think he owned every episode of “The Andy Griffith Show” in which Knotts played the bumbling but lovable Deputy Barney Fife. When Knotts got his star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, Don was there.
But his own life bore little resemblance to that of his comedic hero. In his last weeks of life, Don never lost his strength of character or his dignity. I’m sure there were times when he was scared or depressed, but he never showed it.
I remember sitting with Don on one of his final days, watching the New Orleans Saints play the Detroit Lions on television. He turned to me and said, “I’m really going to miss football.” And that was it. We went back to watching the game.
At one point, he turned to me and said, ‘I’m really going to miss football.’ And that was it. We went back to watching the game.
Three days later, Jan. 10, 2012, a friend called to tell me that Don had only a few hours left and that if I wanted to see him, I better go now.
I rushed to his Sierra Madre home, where taped to the front door was a sheet of paper with a message in large block letters: Do Not Resuscitate. Don lay in a rented hospital bed upstairs, and occasionally I could hear him moaning in pain, his breathing labored. His nurse administered more morphine, and soon the house was quiet again.
Don Hunt at the Eames House in Pacific Palisades in 2011. (Carlos Valdez Lozano)
A few close friends gathered around his kitchen table downstairs to wait it out.
About 9 p.m., Don’s breathing had faded to a whisper. The nurse suggested it was time to turn off his ventilator. Don’s brother, Mike, was on a flight from Houston, but luckily, I managed to catch him during a layover in Las Vegas. I told him what the nurse advised.
“I think that’s the right thing to do,” Mike said, knowing Don would be gone before he arrived.
The four of us there gathered around Don’s bed to say our goodbyes, to hold him and to tell him how much we loved him. “You’re the best friend anyone could ever have,” said a tearful Beth Troy, a Times copy editor and one of Don’s closest friends.
We told him it was OK to let go. We didn’t know if he could hear us. He had been in a drug-induced sleep for hours. He lay awkwardly, his body turned slightly to the left, a stiff hand curled at his face. His skin was a pasty white and his light brown hair matted with sweat. The only moving object in the room was the second hand on the clock by the bed; the only sound, the low hum of the ventilator.
A moment passed. A sudden click from the ventilator. Then silence.
Five months later, I was in Houston visiting my mother. She had turned 80 on Jan. 12, two days after Don died, and I was determined to spend more time with her. I had gotten up early to take a walk to avoid the stifling summer heat, and when I returned I was surprised to find her bedroom door still closed.
I hesitated for a moment before opening the door, because I sensed that, once I did, our family’s life would never be the same. And it wasn’t.
The stroke had left my mom partially paralyzed, and except for a few words — yes and no, mostly — unable to talk. She could comprehend things, but it was unclear how much.
She had been the loving spirit in our family, the one who kept the fragile peace, the bright light in our little universe.
Now that light was gone. We were on our own and argued about her care, tensions fueled by the petty rivalries of nine siblings.
Delfina Valdez Lozano on her 80th birthday in Houston on Jan. 12, 2012. (Paul Vincent Kuntz)
After more than a year of hoping and praying she would recover more of her cognitive abilities, we were told there was no chance her condition would improve. So we made the painful decision to place her in hospice care. This meant turning off her heart defibrillator.
But Delfina Valdez Lozano had defied the odds all her life and was not going to surrender easily to death or God.
Like many women of her generation, she never went to college, never learned to drive and never knew a life without work. Her single greatest talent was for living, her life was her art. She loved to laugh, she loved to talk, and she loved to cook because she loved people.
“The skillet makes the home,” she often said. And so her house was always filled with friends and family, often united in some raucous birthday or holiday celebration.
Carlos Valdez Lozano in the lobby of the Los Angeles Times building in downtown L.A. on June 30, 2018. (Jerome Adamstein/Los Angeles Times)
She was the most selfless person I’ve ever known. Even after they were long divorced, she took care of my father after his heart surgery. It was no small irony that a woman who sacrificed her whole life for others suffered from an enlarged heart.
For her, it was simple: Love was action. It was about the contributions we make to one another’s lives.
In the end, my mother would live 18 more months, longer than her doctors and caregivers ever imagined.
We had finally found a small nursing home in a good location, with good doctors, but a problem loomed: The Medicare money was running out, and the facility didn’t accept Medicaid. I dreaded another family fight and looking for another nursing home.
A few months earlier, I had received a surprise call from Mike Hunt. “Did you know Don left you something in his will?” he said. No, I told him, I did not. He offered no details and told me I would hear from the estate.
One day at home, I was tossing out junk mail when I noticed a letter from a San Diego law firm. I couldn’t imagine what it was about but thought I’d better open it. Inside was a check for $100,000.
I immediately sat down and called Mike. “There must be some mistake,” I said.
“No,” he said. “Don wanted you to have this money.”
Don never even hinted he was going to do this. But when I think back on it now, it makes perfect sense. Don was way ahead of me.
When my mother’s Medicare funds were exhausted, she did not need to move. She died about the same time Don’s money ran out.
On my mother’s grave marker are carved the words “Only Love Endures.”
Don certainly proved that to be true. When I think of him now, at Thanksgiving, my mind turns to the first line of “David Copperfield,” where David wonders whether he will turn out to be the hero of his own life.
Don Hunt in Long Beach in August 2011. (Carlos Valdez Lozano/Los Angeles Times)
Don Hunt turned out to be the hero of my life. So, if you’re listening, Don, I just want to say thank you for thinking of me in your most difficult hour and to tell you that I still miss and love you dearly, my friend.


latimes--2020-11-27--He lost his quesadilla stand to the pandemic. Now he feeds needy people

After a lifetime of working for other people , Heleo Leyva struck out on his own last year .
With his brother Filimon , he opened a quesadilla stand in East Hollywood , named after their hometown in Mexico .
Customers raved about the handmade blue corn tortillas , filled with chicken , beef or squash blossoms .
They grew the squash themselves .
The cash rolled in , one quesadilla at a time .
Then came the coronavirus pandemic and a crackdown on street vendors in mid-March , just over a year into the stand ’ s life .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ his father had taught him in rural Tepexco .
He was 5 or 6 years old .
His father dropped a dozen seeds into his palm and told him to “ grow tomatoes.
” Unsure of what to do , Leyva swallowed the seeds .
By the next year , he had grown his own crop of tomatoes .
Even a small boy could make something valuable out of a few specks .
“ It was devastating , and you didn ’ t know what was happening , ” Leyva said of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ showed me when I was a kid , you have to adapt.
” First , he sold his quesadillas and burritos through Instagram .
But revenues were limited .
Even then , he thought of others , encouraging patrons to purchase food for the hungry neighbors he spoke with daily .
Many had lost their jobs , their homes and their dignity in a flash .
The quesadilla stand had been near his apartment , where he had lived since he was a teenager attending Los Angeles City College .
In a short @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a part of the community as he was .
People were begging him to employ them , when he was barely getting by himself .
His internet was disconnected because he couldn ’ t pay the $ 325 bill .
Since he had no money of his own , he found other ways to help .
He reached out to the newly formed Instagram group Los Angeles Community Fridges , helping East Hollywood establish a neighborhood refrigerator in late July , with electricity provided by Santa Monica Grocery Store .
Community members could @ @ @ @ @ @ @ milk and cheese , along with vegetables , bread , meat and frozen dinners .
At first , the fridge didn ’ t get much traffic .
Then Leyva noticed a change .
“ I thought maybe they were too proud , maybe it ’ s the Mexican ‘ machismo , ’ but in the evening , when nobody was looking , then people would come take food , which was the whole point , ” he said .
Leyva moved to California with his family when he was in fifth grade .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ bar at the Acapulco restaurant on Sunset , then selling wine .
He confronted his own “ machismo ” on Aug. 19 .
At a loss for how to pay their bills , he and his brother started a GoFundMe account .
“ I remember thinking all day after I hit ‘ submit ’ — what would my dad think ?
He ’ d probably beat the ... out of me , ” Levya said .
His father died 10 years ago .
As of Tuesday , the GoFundMe page had raised more @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the money for his own rent .
The rest was for others .
He and his brother knew how to dish up satisfying food .
How about a community cookout ?
That was better than giving out packaged goods .
“ The need was great , so I had to help , ” Leyva said .
On Tuesday afternoon , a line of about 100 people snaked into a strip mall near the intersection of Santa Monica Boulevard and North Vermont Avenue , in front of the Santa Monica Grocery Store .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ cookout .
Some were homeless , others jobless .
Many felt isolated .
A few lamented skipping meals and bills .
Almost all were struggling with the realities of survival during a pandemic .
Aided by a dozen volunteers , the Leyva brothers distributed about 200 free meals of chicken and carne asada tacos , cactus salad , salsa , rice and agua de tamarindo .
The amount of food passed out easily topped the 125 plates from the previous cookout .
The 100 pounds of meat used that day came from the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
The vast majority of the people in line were Latino — a group that has been disproportionately devastated by the pandemic , falling ill or dying , losing their jobs or performing dangerous essential work .
“ This is our community , and who else is going to feed them but us ?
” Leyva asked .
“ People need to eat .
They need to feel like they belong and have a purpose .
COVID-19 has made everyone ’ s life difficult.
” Once too prideful to ask for help , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cookout .
Fuentes , who has lived around the corner for two decades , grabbed a plate of tacos , then walked over to the community fridge and placed a loaf of bread and milk into her black metallic shopping cart .
“ I would have never asked for help , never , ” said Fuentes , who is in her early 60s and unemployed .
“ But after seeing this was for the community and by people from the community , I didn ’ t feel as bad.
” Pat Rodriguez lost @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pandemic and found herself cutting back on every bill , including groceries , to pay rent .
While many in line seemed grim , Rodriguez occasionally smiled when she spotted people who now feel like friends , on her sixth cookout .
The newfound community is valuable for people who are unemployed and mostly homebound .
“ COVID-19 has taken a lot from me , from us , ” said Rodriguez , 58 , of Echo Park .
“ When I come down here , I feel part of a larger group of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and I am thankful someone is looking out for us .
”

After a lifetime of working for other people, Heleo Leyva struck out on his own last year.
With his brother Filimon, he opened a quesadilla stand in East Hollywood, named after their hometown in Mexico.
Customers raved about the handmade blue corn tortillas, filled with chicken, beef or squash blossoms. They grew the squash themselves.
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The cash rolled in, one quesadilla at a time.
Then came the coronavirus pandemic and a crackdown on street vendors in mid-March, just over a year into the stand’s life.
Leyva, 42, remembered the lesson his father had taught him in rural Tepexco.
He was 5 or 6 years old. His father dropped a dozen seeds into his palm and told him to “grow tomatoes.”
Unsure of what to do, Leyva swallowed the seeds.
By the next year, he had grown his own crop of tomatoes. Even a small boy could make something valuable out of a few specks.
East Hollywood residents line up for a meal of grilled chicken, beans and rice during a community cookout along Santa Monica Boulevard. (Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times)
“It was devastating, and you didn’t know what was happening,” Leyva said of the pandemic. “But like my father showed me when I was a kid, you have to adapt.”
Advertisement
First, he sold his quesadillas and burritos through Instagram. But revenues were limited.
Even then, he thought of others, encouraging patrons to purchase food for the hungry neighbors he spoke with daily. Many had lost their jobs, their homes and their dignity in a flash.
The quesadilla stand had been near his apartment, where he had lived since he was a teenager attending Los Angeles City College. In a short time, the stand became as much a part of the community as he was.
People were begging him to employ them, when he was barely getting by himself. His internet was disconnected because he couldn’t pay the $325 bill.
Jesse Aleman, a self-styled troubador, plays guitar for people waiting for a meal. (Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times)
Since he had no money of his own, he found other ways to help.
He reached out to the newly formed Instagram group Los Angeles Community Fridges, helping East Hollywood establish a neighborhood refrigerator in late July, with electricity provided by Santa Monica Grocery Store.
Community members could donate or pick up perishable goods like milk and cheese, along with vegetables, bread, meat and frozen dinners.
At first, the fridge didn’t get much traffic. Then Leyva noticed a change.
“I thought maybe they were too proud, maybe it’s the Mexican ‘machismo,’ but in the evening, when nobody was looking, then people would come take food, which was the whole point,” he said.
Leyva moved to California with his family when he was in fifth grade. He had always worked hard, tending bar at the Acapulco restaurant on Sunset, then selling wine.
He confronted his own “machismo” on Aug. 19. At a loss for how to pay their bills, he and his brother started a GoFundMe account.
“I remember thinking all day after I hit ‘submit’ — what would my dad think? He’d probably beat the ... out of me,” Levya said. His father died 10 years ago.
Volunteers prepare to serve barbecue during the community cookout. (Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times)
As of Tuesday, the GoFundMe page had raised more than $7,000.
Leyva used some of the money for his own rent. The rest was for others.
He and his brother knew how to dish up satisfying food. How about a community cookout? That was better than giving out packaged goods.
“The need was great, so I had to help,” Leyva said.
On Tuesday afternoon, a line of about 100 people snaked into a strip mall near the intersection of Santa Monica Boulevard and North Vermont Avenue, in front of the Santa Monica Grocery Store. It was the Levyas’ 16th pandemic cookout.
Some were homeless, others jobless. Many felt isolated. A few lamented skipping meals and bills. Almost all were struggling with the realities of survival during a pandemic.
Aided by a dozen volunteers, the Leyva brothers distributed about 200 free meals of chicken and carne asada tacos, cactus salad, salsa, rice and agua de tamarindo.
The amount of food passed out easily topped the 125 plates from the previous cookout. The 100 pounds of meat used that day came from the Santa Monica Grocery Store’s carniceria.
The vast majority of the people in line were Latino — a group that has been disproportionately devastated by the pandemic, falling ill or dying, losing their jobs or performing dangerous essential work.
“This is our community, and who else is going to feed them but us?” Leyva asked. “People need to eat. They need to feel like they belong and have a purpose. COVID-19 has made everyone’s life difficult.”
Once too prideful to ask for help, Gloria Fuentes was stopping by her fourth cookout.
Fuentes, who has lived around the corner for two decades, grabbed a plate of tacos, then walked over to the community fridge and placed a loaf of bread and milk into her black metallic shopping cart.
“I would have never asked for help, never,” said Fuentes, who is in her early 60s and unemployed. “But after seeing this was for the community and by people from the community, I didn’t feel as bad.”
East Hollywood residents line up at the community cookout in East Hollywood. (Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times)
Pat Rodriguez lost her job as a machinist during the pandemic and found herself cutting back on every bill, including groceries, to pay rent.
While many in line seemed grim, Rodriguez occasionally smiled when she spotted people who now feel like friends, on her sixth cookout. The newfound community is valuable for people who are unemployed and mostly homebound.
“COVID-19 has taken a lot from me, from us,” said Rodriguez, 58, of Echo Park. “When I come down here, I feel part of a larger group of people all going through the same problems, and I am thankful someone is looking out for us.”
Times staff writer Garrett Snyder contributed to this report.


latimes--2020-11-26--SoCal Edison cuts power to more than 8,000 homes on Thanksgiving amid wildfire concerns

More than 8,000 Southern California Edison customers were without power on Thanksgiving evening , with 100,000 more at risk of having the lights turned out as high winds led to elevated wildfire risk , officials said .
Homes in Los Angeles , Orange , Kern and San Bernardino counties were affected by outages as part of the utility company ’ s public safety power shutoff program , which is intended to reduce the risk that electrical systems become an ignition point for wildfires .
As of 9:30 p.m. , 3,015 customers were without power in Ventura County , while 2,679 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ according to an outage map managed by the utility company .
Roughly 1,200 residences in Los Angeles and San Bernardino counties were also affected by the shutdowns by late Thursday night , the company said .
An additional 102,440 customers were in line to have their power shut off in Ventura , L.A. , Kern , Orange , Riverside and San Bernardino counties , depending on weather conditions , according to the company .
The shut-offs were being enacted as meteorologists warned of potential Santa Ana winds of up to 65 mph across @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Santa Monica Mountains .
Ventura and Los Angeles counties are both under red flag warnings this weekend , meaning conditions are ideal for wildfires to ignite .
The utility company said its decision to implement risk-based shut-offs was based on information gathered from hundreds of weather stations and wildfire cameras .
“ We are really sympathetic about this happening , number one , during the pandemic when people are at home , and two , during the holiday , ” said Jeff Monford , a senior advisor with Edison International , who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ company employees .
Customers were first notified of the potential outages on Tuesday , Monford said .
The company also established resource centers and dispatched trucks in some of the affected areas to provide water , snacks and power charging stations , he said .
Edison came under scrutiny earlier this year after the company admitted that the Bobcat fire , which scarred 115,000 acres in L.A. County and destroyed dozens of homes , may have started after tree branches struck its equipment .

More than 8,000 Southern California Edison customers were without power on Thanksgiving evening, with 100,000 more at risk of having the lights turned out as high winds led to elevated wildfire risk, officials said.
Homes in Los Angeles, Orange, Kern and San Bernardino counties were affected by outages as part of the utility company’s public safety power shutoff program, which is intended to reduce the risk that electrical systems become an ignition point for wildfires.
As of 9:30 p.m., 3,015 customers were without power in Ventura County, while 2,679 customers lost service in Orange County, according to an outage map managed by the utility company. Roughly 1,200 residences in Los Angeles and San Bernardino counties were also affected by the shutdowns by late Thursday night, the company said.
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An additional 102,440 customers were in line to have their power shut off in Ventura, L.A., Kern, Orange, Riverside and San Bernardino counties, depending on weather conditions, according to the company.
The shut-offs were being enacted as meteorologists warned of potential Santa Ana winds of up to 65 mph across parts of the San Fernando Valley and the Santa Monica Mountains. Ventura and Los Angeles counties are both under red flag warnings this weekend, meaning conditions are ideal for wildfires to ignite.
The utility company said its decision to implement risk-based shut-offs was based on information gathered from hundreds of weather stations and wildfire cameras.
“We are really sympathetic about this happening, number one, during the pandemic when people are at home, and two, during the holiday,” said Jeff Monford, a senior advisor with Edison International, who said some of the affected customers included company employees.
Customers were first notified of the potential outages on Tuesday, Monford said. The company also established resource centers and dispatched trucks in some of the affected areas to provide water, snacks and power charging stations, he said.
Edison came under scrutiny earlier this year after the company admitted that the Bobcat fire, which scarred 115,000 acres in L.A. County and destroyed dozens of homes, may have started after tree branches struck its equipment.


latimes--2020-11-27--Earthquake: 3.1 quake strikes in Loma Linda

A magnitude 3.1 earthquake was reported at 4:56 p.m. Friday in Loma Linda , according to the U.S. Geological Survey .
The earthquake occurred one mile from Redlands , one mile from San Bernardino , one mile from Colton and two miles from Grand Terrace .
In the past 10 days , there has been one earthquake of magnitude 3.0 or greater centered nearby .
An average of 234 earthquakes with magnitudes between 3.0 and 4.0 occur per year in California and Nevada , according to a recent three-year data sample .
The earthquake occurred at a depth of 9.4 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ?
Consider reporting what you felt to the USGS .
Even if you didn ’ t feel this small earthquake , you never know when the Big One is going to strike .
Ready yourself by following our five-step earthquake preparedness guide and building your own emergency kit .
This story was automatically generated by Quakebot , a computer application that monitors the latest earthquakes detected by the USGS .
A Times editor reviewed the post before it was published .
If you ’ re interested in learning more about the system , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .

A magnitude 3.1 earthquake was reported at 4:56 p.m. Friday in Loma Linda, according to the U.S. Geological Survey.
The earthquake occurred one mile from Redlands, one mile from San Bernardino, one mile from Colton and two miles from Grand Terrace.
In the past 10 days, there has been one earthquake of magnitude 3.0 or greater centered nearby.
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An average of 234 earthquakes with magnitudes between 3.0 and 4.0 occur per year in California and Nevada, according to a recent three-year data sample.
The earthquake occurred at a depth of 9.4 miles. Did you feel this earthquake? Consider reporting what you felt to the USGS.
Even if you didn’t feel this small earthquake, you never know when the Big One is going to strike. Ready yourself by following our five-step earthquake preparedness guide and building your own emergency kit.
This story was automatically generated by Quakebot, a computer application that monitors the latest earthquakes detected by the USGS. A Times editor reviewed the post before it was published. If you’re interested in learning more about the system, visit our list of frequently asked questions.


latimes--2020-11-27--L.A. County adopts further restrictions on public and private gatherings to slow spread of virus

As the number of new coronavirus cases continued to rise in Los Angeles County , health officials Friday issued a temporary and limited stay-at-home order that will take effect Monday .
The restrictions , which will last for three weeks , are not as severe as those imposed this spring .
“ Residents are advised to stay home as much as possible and always wear a face covering over their nose and mouth when they are outside their household and around others , ” the county public health department said .
The order prohibits all public and private gatherings with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ except for religious services and protests .
It imposes new occupancy limits on businesses , such as personal care and retail , but does not close them .
Beaches , trails and parks will remain open , but gatherings at those sites with non-household members are banned The new rules come just two days after restaurants in much of L.A. County were ordered to suspend outdoor dining .
The decision sparked a backlash from restaurant owners and some elected officials , who called the rules too punishing for the already struggling industry .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
The five-day average of new cases hit 4,751 Friday , crossing the threshold the county had set for imposition of a modified-stay-at-home order .
Officials are concerned that hospitals could see a shortage of beds — especially in intensive care units — over the next two to four weeks if these trends continue .
But hospitals are better equipped now than they were in the spring to handle a surge in cases , treatment for COVID-19 has significantly improved , and hospitals can cancel elective surgeries to make more room .
Countywide @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in just three weeks , from about 800 on Halloween to nearly 1,900 Friday .
The order , which will remain in effect through Dec. 20 , sets the following occupancy limits : Essential retail stores are capped at 35 % of maximum occupancy .
Non-essential retail , such as indoor malls , personal care services , and libraries , at 20 % .
Outdoor fitness centers , museums , galleries , zoos , aquariums and botanical gardens , mini-golf , batting cages and outdoor go-kart racing , at 50 % .
Golf @ @ @ @ @ @ @ archery ranges , skate parks , bike parks , and community gardens remain open for individuals or members of a single household .
Swimming pools that serve more than one household may open only for regulated lap swimming .
The order does not change re-opening protocols for schools and day camps .
Times staff writers Rong-Gong Lin II and Luke Money contributed to this report .

Shoppers crowd at the Citadel Outlets in Commerce on Friday. L.A. County’s new restrictions that take effect Monday will limit retail stores’ occupancy but will not close them.
As the number of new coronavirus cases continued to rise in Los Angeles County, health officials issued a temporary and limited stay-at-home order Friday that will take effect Monday.
The restrictions, which will last for three weeks, are not as severe as those imposed in the spring.
“Residents are advised to stay home as much as possible and always wear a face covering over their nose and mouth when they are outside their household and around others,” the county Department of Public Health said.
The order prohibits all public and private gatherings with individuals not in the same household, except for religious services and protests.
It imposes new occupancy limits on businesses, such as personal care and retail, but does not close them. Beaches, trails and parks will remain open, but gatherings of people from more than one household at those sites are banned.
The announcement came just two days after restaurants in much of L.A. County were ordered to suspend outdoor dining. That decision sparked a backlash from restaurant owners and some elected officials, who called the rules too punishing for the already struggling industry.
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Officials had warned new restrictions were coming.
The five-day average of new cases hit 4,751 Friday, crossing the threshold the county had set for imposition of a modified stay-at-home order.
Officials are concerned that hospitals could see a shortage of beds — especially in intensive care units — over the next two to four weeks if these trends continue. But hospitals are better equipped now than they were in the spring to handle a surge in cases, treatment for COVID-19 has significantly improved, and hospitals can cancel elective surgeries to make more room.
Countywide COVID-19 hospitalizations have already more than doubled in just three weeks, from about 800 on Halloween to nearly 1,900 Friday.
At Skylight Books in Los Feliz, events manager Madeline Gobbo said the county’s new capacity limits would not make a difference because the shop allows only 10 customers at a time to browse the aisles.
Author events have gone virtual, and the store is doing a good online business. Still, since reopening, Skylight has enjoyed “a steady stream of customers every day, all day,” she said. “If people stay at home and stop coming out to shop, that will be bad news for us.”
County authorities, Gobbo added, are giving mixed messages. “Telling people to stay home but then also telling them to keep supporting small businesses — that’s kind of a Catch-22.”
At Monsieur Marcel Gourmet Market and Restaurant in the Original Farmers Market, owner Stephane Strouk said cutting shop capacity to 35% will mean longer customer waits but probably would not hurt his market business, which is a bit better than it was before the pandemic began.
But it was a major blow when he had to close the restaurant’s dining patio this week. He kept some cooks to prepare takeout dishes but had to let go waiters, busboys and dishwashers — 16 employees in all.
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Diners had been gradually returning to the French restaurant, which is his operation’s biggest source of revenue. “We did everything we could” to maintain safety protocols, Strouk said, adding that he didn’t think the county-ordered restaurant closings were justified.
“It’s touching so many people.”
California L.A. County suspends outdoor dining at restaurants as coronavirus surges L.A. County public health officials on Saturday announced they will issue an order suspending outdoor dining at restaurants amid a surge of new coronavirus cases.
The new order, which will remain in effect through Dec. 20, sets the following occupancy limits:
Essential retail stores are capped at 35% of maximum occupancy, and nonessential retail, such as indoor malls, personal care services and libraries, at 20%.
Outdoor fitness centers, museums, galleries, zoos, aquariums, botanical gardens, mini-golf, batting cages and outdoor go-kart racing are capped at 50%.
Golf courses, tennis courts, pickleball, archery ranges, skate parks, bike parks and community gardens remain open for individuals or members of a single household. Swimming pools that serve more than one household may open only for regulated lap swimming.
Drive-in movie venues remain open. Cardrooms are closed.
The order does not change reopening protocols for schools and day camps.
Times staff writers Rong-Gong Lin II and Luke Money contributed to this report.


latimes--2020-11-27--Nearly 100,000 Edison customers may lose power amid fire risk

Nearly 100,000 Southern California Edison customers across six counties could see their power shut off Friday as part of a larger effort by the utility to reduce the risk of wildfires during windy conditions , officials said .
As of Friday morning , 13,357 customers were experiencing power outages in the utilities ’ service area , according to Edison spokeswoman Taelor Bakewell .
Affected households are in Los Angeles , Orange , Kern , San Bernardino and Ventura counties .
More people in these five areas , along with Riverside County , could still lose power , depending on the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ winds .
“ We know how disruptive it can be , and this is a tough weekend to go through it — even my grandparents can be affected — but we live in Southern California and we can face so many natural disasters , ” Bakewell said .
“ We ’ re just trying to mitigate as many risks as we can , and we appreciate everyone ’ s patience as we work to protect the community.
” As howling gales continue to whip through the region , officials at the National Weather @ @ @ @ @ @ @ after Thanksgiving , with northeast winds of up to 45 miles per hour from Malibu to the Hollywood Hills .
A wind advisory will remain in effect until 3 p.m. and a red-flag warning for extreme fire danger has been extended until 6 p.m. Saturday for the mountains in Los Angeles and Ventura counties and the Santa Clarita Valley .
Highs will be in the mid-60s to mid-70s throughout the region , while air quality is in the good to moderate range .
Kristen Stewart , a meteorologist for the National Weather Service @ @ @ @ @ @ @ dry winter “ as well as most of the West coast , really .
“ We ’ re in a La Nina pattern , it will be warmer than normal , and after the long drought we ’ ve had , we really need rain , but we ’ re not going to get it .
“ Edison customers can sign up for text alerts about power outages at ( 800 ) 655-4555 or go to www.sce.com/psps and type in your address to check your status .
“ I know it ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” Bakewell said , “ but we ’ re encouraging people to use flashlights for safety .
”

Nearly 100,000 Southern California Edison customers across six counties could see their power shut off Friday as part of a larger effort by the utility to reduce the risk of wildfires during windy conditions, officials said.
As of Friday morning, 13,357 customers were experiencing power outages in the utilities’ service area, according to Edison spokeswoman Taelor Bakewell. Affected households are in Los Angeles, Orange, Kern, San Bernardino and Ventura counties. More people in these five areas, along with Riverside County, could still lose power, depending on the ferocity and direction of the Santa Ana winds.
“We know how disruptive it can be, and this is a tough weekend to go through it — even my grandparents can be affected — but we live in Southern California and we can face so many natural disasters,” Bakewell said. “We’re just trying to mitigate as many risks as we can, and we appreciate everyone’s patience as we work to protect the community.”
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As howling gales continue to whip through the region, officials at the National Weather Service are predicting a mostly sunny day after Thanksgiving, with northeast winds of up to 45 miles per hour from Malibu to the Hollywood Hills.
A wind advisory will remain in effect until 3 p.m. and a red-flag warning for extreme fire danger has been extended until 6 p.m. Saturday for the mountains in Los Angeles and Ventura counties and the Santa Clarita Valley. Highs will be in the mid-60s to mid-70s throughout the region, while air quality is in the good to moderate range.
Kristen Stewart, a meteorologist for the National Weather Service, said California is in for a dry winter “as well as most of the West coast, really.
“We’re in a La Nina pattern, it will be warmer than normal, and after the long drought we’ve had, we really need rain, but we’re not going to get it. “
Edison customers can sign up for text alerts about power outages at (800) 655-4555 or go to www.sce.com/psps and type in your address to check your status.
“I know it’s nice to light candles around the holidays,” Bakewell said, “but we’re encouraging people to use flashlights for safety.”


latimes--2020-11-27--Life, death and pandemic greet California's struggling Main Streets

Konstantinos Varelas twisted a string of blue komboloi — Greek worry beads — outside his family ’ s restaurant on Main Street in El Monte .
The son of Greek and Mexican immigrants , Varelas was a child when his father bought Golden Ox Burgers .
Back when the street was more alive .
Back when they could count on people popping in for a pastrami sandwich or a quesadilla .
Now , plexiglass divides workers from customers , who have their temperatures taken at the door before picking up food to go .
The staff has been cut in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ less .
And he fidgets more and more with the worry beads he carries all the time in this pandemic year .
“ When Dad first got the restaurant , it was so busy you couldn ’ t walk along the street right here , ” Varelas , the 23-year-old restaurant supervisor , said wistfully .
“ It used to be full of life and busy .
Now , we ’ re lonely , I guess you could say.
” Eight miles away , Aldo Santos wore a blue surgical mask while walking @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lamented the quiet on Colorado Boulevard in Pasadena , where the Rose Parade has been canceled , stores keep closing , and the marquee outside the stately 1924 First United Methodist Church building reads : “ Via Livestream Only.
” “ Colorado Boulevard is the main artery of Pasadena ; everything comes through here .
It ’ s been that way forever , ” said Santos , 64 .
“ But it ’ s not the same .
I can ’ t say it ’ s a ghost town .
It ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ probably at 50 % .
Everyone ’ s just trying to survive.
” Eight months into the ever-worsening COVID-19 pandemic , the same can be said of Main Streets across California , which groan with anxiety as winter sets in , coronavirus cases soar , and “ for lease ” signs become more abundant in shop windows .
From the quaint Myrtle Avenue in Monrovia to the dying strips of old Gold Rush towns to the bucolic Main Street , U.S.A. , in the still-closed Disneyland to the famed Colorado Boulevard — part @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Street of America — these are places that invoke a sense of a more prosperous yesteryear .
A time when mom-and-pops thrived and community was at the center of everything .
Now , Main Street , both as an idea and a place , is fragile .
Oases of calm predictability against the often choppy swells of an urban sea , they are also replete with the kinds of small shops that the pandemic has sunk .
“ People love community .
They love sidewalks .
They love streets with activity , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ professor and author of “ The Death and Life of Main Street : Small Towns in American Space , Memory and Community.
” “ They love the idea of living in a place that has a sense of identity.
” Paul Little , chief executive of the Pasadena Chamber of Commerce , said he worries about already-struggling restaurants surviving a new suspension of outdoor dining and about retail stores getting by with county-imposed limits on customers right before the holidays .
He fears an “ avalanche of closures ” in early 2021 after @ @ @ @ @ @ @ owned and operated places are the ones most at risk , but also the ones that contribute most to the character of Pasadena , ” Little said .
“ Once they ’ re gone , they ’ re very difficult to get back ... .
What are we without them ?
” “ The assumption always was , if you see an empty storefront on Colorado , give it six months and someone else will be there , ” Little added .
“ I don ’ t know if that ’ s the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ within Los Angeles County can seem like one massive stretch of urban sprawl , the Main Streets of its smaller locales are places set aside from the hustle and bustle of big-city life , places where there is “ a positive sense that life can be sanely meaningful , ” Orvell said .
“ The small-town Main Street still represents something different , ” Orvell said .
“ It ’ s smaller , but it ’ s also an entity in itself , so it feels ‘ whole , ’ in a way.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Don Vena sat on a park bench beside Myrtle Avenue in Monrovia .
The 76-year-old retired pastor and substance abuse counselor wore a baseball cap with the letters JC , for Jesus Christ , tapped his foot and smiled as a man played bongos nearby .
Vena , who moved to Monrovia in 1980 to raise his family , comes to the park outside the public library at least once a week to enjoy people , friends and strangers alike .
And he and his wife walk Myrtle Avenue every few days @ @ @ @ @ @ @ look forward to the little serendipities that come my way in my little small town , ” Vena said .
These days , though , he worries about small businesses making it through this pandemic and that people will have gotten used to the ease of ordering online instead of shopping locally .
“ I don ’ t want to see the end of the small town , ” he said .
“ We need it as human beings .
We are built to need each other , to interact and challenge and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ another.
” Nearby , a banner that said “ Optimism Is Not Canceled in Old Town Monrovia !
” touted shopping locally online , and ordering takeout .
The marquee for the closed Studio Movie Grill read , “ We will see you soon at the movies , ” even though the small theater chain filed for bankruptcy last month .
Unlike on Wall Street , a lack of data hides the pandemic ’ s true toll on American Main Streets because many small businesses simply board up without going through bankruptcy court @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for the investment research firm Third Bridge .
Smaller retailers , he said , are having a harder time than big-box stores dealing with COVID-19 restrictions , paying for personal protective equipment and transitioning to online shopping .
But while the year is ending on a bleak note , there is also a tepid “ wait-and-see environment ” on Main Street amid the good news about the development of multiple promising vaccines .
“ Now that we see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel , there ’ s the feeling @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the spring , we ’ ll be OK ... and we ’ ll do whatever it takes to maximize the holiday season , even though we realize it ’ s going to be more challenging , ” Shields said .
In El Monte , the pandemic is a blow to a Main Street that has tried to mount a comeback in recent years .
In 2017 , the city reverted the name of the street known as Valley Mall back to Main Street to signal hopes for the kind of vibrant downtown that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to go back to the roots of our city , what we had , when Main Street was a place where people would congregate , a one-stop shop with different products and services , a place where the community could come together , ” said outgoing Mayor Andre Quintero .
“ That space brings you back to the time when it wasn ’ t that big , when everybody knew each other.
” Quintero , who grew up in the city , envisions a pedestrian-oriented corridor , with event spaces , high-density housing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ businesses .
But that takes a lot of investment , and progress has been slow , he said .
In an effort to woo people to the area in this cruel year , he said , the city has tried to get creative with the outdoor space , hosting drive-in movie screenings — called Movies on Main — in a parking lot , launching a farmers market and holding a drive-through Halloween celebration .
Officials have tried similar outdoor events in Lancaster , where they have closed a section of its eponymous Lancaster @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Saturday nights and filled the street with tables and chairs to support local restaurants , said Chenin Dow , assistant to the city manager .
The city ’ s historic main street , which was rebranded as The BLVD , has undergone a dramatic makeover over the last decade .
It included a pedestrian-friendly road diet that eliminated two lanes of traffic and introduced a speed limit reduction — and the opening of more than 40 new businesses .
“ It has become the heart of the community , ” Dow said .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ has definitely been a challenge for our businesses ; there ’ s no way around that.
” Outside the Laemmle Playhouse 7 art-house movie theater on Colorado Boulevard , which has been closed since March , faded posters advertise films whose titles seem appropriate this year : “ Hope Gap ” and “ Burden.
” “ This has been longer and more painful than anyone could ’ ve imagined , ” said Greg Laemmle , president of the family-run chain of eight Laemmle theaters .
The company has laid off all but @ @ @ @ @ @ @ In October , it sold the properties for the Playhouse 7 and the Royal Theatre in West L.A. to a commercial real estate company , making it a tenant in the buildings it once owned .
On Colorado Boulevard , the theater , which opened in its current location in 1999 , has been part of a “ vibrant , arts-oriented district ” where it drew film buffs who saw three to four movies a month , Laemmle said .
Like many business owners , he sees a lot of uncertainty in a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ demand to see movies ?
Will people feel safe being in crowds ?
Will the office workers , those who went out to eat and see films after hours , return to Colorado Boulevard ?
Theaters already were struggling as more people streamed films at home instead of going to the theater , Laemmle said .
“ Evolution happens constantly , but when an asteroid hits , ” he said , “ it happens a lot faster.
” Next door to the Playhouse 7 , the 126-year-old Vroman ’ s Bookstore is struggling @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s Hawaiian Fusion Cuisine is closed .
To walk west along the boulevard is to pass “ for lease ” signs in the windows of the Cajun restaurant Crackin ’ Kitchen , the Peruvian restaurant Choza 96 , the Lucky Brand store .
In The Dog Bakery , assistant manager Jocelyn Reyes frosted a heart-shaped buckwheat flour cake for someone ’ s pup and said the small shop is “ one of the lucky ones.
” Business has been booming this year because a lot of people now working from home got pets @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
But just next door , Cafe 86 , a bakery for humans , closed up shop .
An apologetic sign on the door of Chef Tony Dim Sum , dated March 17 , says it ’ s closed until further notice .
In the window , wilted flowers droop .
Outside , a homeless man slumped next to a wall , his eyes downcast , his mouth covered with a cloth mask .
A small handwritten sign was propped on the sidewalk next to him : “ Everyone needs help sometimes .
@

Konstantinos Varelas twisted a string of blue komboloi — Greek worry beads — outside his family’s restaurant on Main Street in El Monte.
The son of Greek and Mexican immigrants, Varelas was a child when his father bought Golden Ox Burgers. Back when the street was more alive. Back when they could count on people popping in for a pastrami sandwich or a quesadilla.
Now, plexiglass divides workers from customers, who have their temperatures taken at the door before picking up food to go. The staff has been cut in half. People walk by less and less. And he fidgets more and more with the worry beads he carries all the time in this pandemic year.
“When Dad first got the restaurant, it was so busy you couldn’t walk along the street right here,” Varelas, the 23-year-old restaurant supervisor, said wistfully. “It used to be full of life and busy. Now, we’re lonely, I guess you could say.”
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Konstantinos Varelas, manager of Golden Ox Burgers, holds his worry beads while working at the restaurant on Main Street in El Monte. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
Eight miles away, Aldo Santos wore a blue surgical mask while walking back to work after lunch. He lamented the quiet on Colorado Boulevard in Pasadena, where the Rose Parade has been canceled, stores keep closing, and the marquee outside the stately 1924 First United Methodist Church building reads: “Via Livestream Only.”
“Colorado Boulevard is the main artery of Pasadena; everything comes through here. It’s been that way forever,” said Santos, 64. “But it’s not the same. I can’t say it’s a ghost town. It’s not empty, but it’s probably at 50%. Everyone’s just trying to survive.”
Eight months into the ever-worsening COVID-19 pandemic, the same can be said of Main Streets across California, which groan with anxiety as winter sets in, coronavirus cases soar, and “for lease” signs become more abundant in shop windows.
From the quaint Myrtle Avenue in Monrovia to the dying strips of old Gold Rush towns to the bucolic Main Street, U.S.A., in the still-closed Disneyland to the famed Colorado Boulevard — part of Route 66, dubbed the Main Street of America — these are places that invoke a sense of a more prosperous yesteryear. A time when mom-and-pops thrived and community was at the center of everything.
Now, Main Street, both as an idea and a place, is fragile.
Oases of calm predictability against the often choppy swells of an urban sea, they are also replete with the kinds of small shops that the pandemic has sunk.
“People love community. They love sidewalks. They love streets with activity,” said Miles Orvell, a Temple University professor and author of “The Death and Life of Main Street: Small Towns in American Space, Memory and Community.” “They love the idea of living in a place that has a sense of identity.”
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People wait in line to get in to Urth Caffe on Colorado Boulevard in Pasadena. Businesses are struggling to stay open during state-mandated coronavirus closures, restrictions and curfews. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
Paul Little, chief executive of the Pasadena Chamber of Commerce, said he worries about already-struggling restaurants surviving a new suspension of outdoor dining and about retail stores getting by with county-imposed limits on customers right before the holidays. He fears an “avalanche of closures” in early 2021 after eviction moratoriums expire.
“Unique locally owned and operated places are the ones most at risk, but also the ones that contribute most to the character of Pasadena,” Little said. “Once they’re gone, they’re very difficult to get back.... What are we without them?”
“The assumption always was, if you see an empty storefront on Colorado, give it six months and someone else will be there,” Little added. “I don’t know if that’s the case anymore.”
While the 88 cities within Los Angeles County can seem like one massive stretch of urban sprawl, the Main Streets of its smaller locales are places set aside from the hustle and bustle of big-city life, places where there is “a positive sense that life can be sanely meaningful,” Orvell said.
“The small-town Main Street still represents something different,” Orvell said. “It’s smaller, but it’s also an entity in itself, so it feels ‘whole,’ in a way.”
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On a sunny afternoon last week, Don Vena sat on a park bench beside Myrtle Avenue in Monrovia. The 76-year-old retired pastor and substance abuse counselor wore a baseball cap with the letters JC, for Jesus Christ, tapped his foot and smiled as a man played bongos nearby.
A pedestrian walks dogs past a closed business on Colorado Boulevard in Pasadena, where several businesses have closed and many struggle to stay open. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
Vena, who moved to Monrovia in 1980 to raise his family, comes to the park outside the public library at least once a week to enjoy people, friends and strangers alike. And he and his wife walk Myrtle Avenue every few days to eat and shop.
“I look forward to the little serendipities that come my way in my little small town,” Vena said.
These days, though, he worries about small businesses making it through this pandemic and that people will have gotten used to the ease of ordering online instead of shopping locally.
“I don’t want to see the end of the small town,” he said. “We need it as human beings. We are built to need each other, to interact and challenge and stimulate each other, to love one another.”
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Nearby, a banner that said “Optimism Is Not Canceled in Old Town Monrovia!” touted shopping locally online, and ordering takeout. The marquee for the closed Studio Movie Grill read, “We will see you soon at the movies,” even though the small theater chain filed for bankruptcy last month.
Unlike on Wall Street, a lack of data hides the pandemic’s true toll on American Main Streets because many small businesses simply board up without going through bankruptcy court, said Nick Shields, an analyst for the investment research firm Third Bridge. Smaller retailers, he said, are having a harder time than big-box stores dealing with COVID-19 restrictions, paying for personal protective equipment and transitioning to online shopping.
But while the year is ending on a bleak note, there is also a tepid “wait-and-see environment” on Main Street amid the good news about the development of multiple promising vaccines.
“Now that we see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, there’s the feeling that if we can hang on until the spring, we’ll be OK ... and we’ll do whatever it takes to maximize the holiday season, even though we realize it’s going to be more challenging,” Shields said.
“People love community. They love sidewalks. They love streets with activity. They love the idea of living in a place that has a sense of identity.” — Miles Orvell, a Temple University professor and author
Pedestrians walk along Main Street in El Monte, where many businesses are struggling to stay open. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
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In El Monte, the pandemic is a blow to a Main Street that has tried to mount a comeback in recent years. In 2017, the city reverted the name of the street known as Valley Mall back to Main Street to signal hopes for the kind of vibrant downtown that once was.
“My motivation was to go back to the roots of our city, what we had, when Main Street was a place where people would congregate, a one-stop shop with different products and services, a place where the community could come together,” said outgoing Mayor Andre Quintero. “That space brings you back to the time when it wasn’t that big, when everybody knew each other.”
Quintero, who grew up in the city, envisions a pedestrian-oriented corridor, with event spaces, high-density housing for young professionals, and thriving small businesses. But that takes a lot of investment, and progress has been slow, he said.
In an effort to woo people to the area in this cruel year, he said, the city has tried to get creative with the outdoor space, hosting drive-in movie screenings — called Movies on Main — in a parking lot, launching a farmers market and holding a drive-through Halloween celebration.
Officials have tried similar outdoor events in Lancaster, where they have closed a section of its eponymous Lancaster Boulevard to vehicle traffic on Friday and Saturday nights and filled the street with tables and chairs to support local restaurants, said Chenin Dow, assistant to the city manager.
The city’s historic main street, which was rebranded as The BLVD, has undergone a dramatic makeover over the last decade. It included a pedestrian-friendly road diet that eliminated two lanes of traffic and introduced a speed limit reduction — and the opening of more than 40 new businesses.
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“It has become the heart of the community,” Dow said. But the pandemic, she said, “has definitely been a challenge for our businesses; there’s no way around that.”
A “closed” sign is posted on the Laemmle theater on Colorado Boulevard in Pasadena. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
Outside the Laemmle Playhouse 7 art-house movie theater on Colorado Boulevard, which has been closed since March, faded posters advertise films whose titles seem appropriate this year: “Hope Gap” and “Burden.”
“This has been longer and more painful than anyone could’ve imagined,” said Greg Laemmle, president of the family-run chain of eight Laemmle theaters.
The company has laid off all but seven of its roughly 150 employees. In October, it sold the properties for the Playhouse 7 and the Royal Theatre in West L.A. to a commercial real estate company, making it a tenant in the buildings it once owned.
On Colorado Boulevard, the theater, which opened in its current location in 1999, has been part of a “vibrant, arts-oriented district” where it drew film buffs who saw three to four movies a month, Laemmle said.
Like many business owners, he sees a lot of uncertainty in a post-COVID world. Will there be pent-up demand to see movies? Will people feel safe being in crowds? Will the office workers, those who went out to eat and see films after hours, return to Colorado Boulevard?
Theaters already were struggling as more people streamed films at home instead of going to the theater, Laemmle said.
“Evolution happens constantly, but when an asteroid hits,” he said, “it happens a lot faster.”
Friends Abigail Boydston, left, and Robyn Kiyomi shop at Vroman’s Bookstore in Pasadena. The bookstore has been in business since 1894 but is struggling amid the economic devastation caused by the pandemic. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)
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Next door to the Playhouse 7, the 126-year-old Vroman’s Bookstore is struggling. Two doors down, Roy’s Hawaiian Fusion Cuisine is closed. To walk west along the boulevard is to pass “for lease” signs in the windows of the Cajun restaurant Crackin’ Kitchen, the Peruvian restaurant Choza 96, the Lucky Brand store.
In The Dog Bakery, assistant manager Jocelyn Reyes frosted a heart-shaped buckwheat flour cake for someone’s pup and said the small shop is “one of the lucky ones.” Business has been booming this year because a lot of people now working from home got pets.
The bakery for dogs is thriving. But just next door, Cafe 86, a bakery for humans, closed up shop.
An apologetic sign on the door of Chef Tony Dim Sum, dated March 17, says it’s closed until further notice. In the window, wilted flowers droop.
Outside, a homeless man slumped next to a wall, his eyes downcast, his mouth covered with a cloth mask. A small handwritten sign was propped on the sidewalk next to him: “Everyone needs help sometimes.”


latimes--2020-11-27--New COVID-19 surge spreading beyond urban areas to all corners of California

The autumn COVID-19 surge has now spread not only through major urban areas like Los Angeles but even to the far northern rural reaches of California , a troubling sign as the state faces its greatest challenge yet from the pandemic A Times data analysis found that most California counties are now suffering their worst daily coronavirus case rates of the COVID-19 pandemic , surpassing even the summer surge that had forced officials to roll back the state ’ s first reopening in the late spring .
The data suggest California will face new problems in December if the unprecedented @ @ @ @ @ @ @ phases of the pandemic , different parts of California could help harder-hit areas — San Diego County and San Francisco , for example , took in patients from Imperial County .
But that could be difficult in this wave , with the pandemic worsening in most places across California simultaneously .
“ We can ’ t depend on our counties next to us because they are under the same stress and strain , ” said Dr. Marty Fenstersheib , the Santa Clara County coronavirus testing officer .
“ They can ’ t provide @ @ @ @ @ @ @ So we are on our own .
And our hospitals are hurting at this point.
” The Times analysis also demonstrates how the coronavirus has managed to break free from densely packed neighborhoods in urban areas and farming communities in agricultural valleys , where the virus infected essential workers — many of them Latino — who had no choice but to leave home to work .
Now , infections are spreading faster in other communities .
In Marin County , health officer Dr. Matt Willis said the pandemic has moved from just hitting @ @ @ @ @ @ @ just the last month , “ the majority of cases are among our white residents , ” Willis said .
“ We ’ re finding a greater proportion of those cases among people who are gathering indoors , and might have a more reasonable option to avoid those exposures , because they ’ re based on personal choices , ” Willis told the Board of Supervisors .
“ It ’ s most discouraging that that ’ s what is driving it — but also encouraging because we think those are behaviors that people @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s not a matter of economic necessity.
” In just the last week , record average daily coronavirus case rates have hit L.A. and other hot spots such as San Bernardino and San Diego counties , The Times ’ analysis found , which have already received much attention in recent weeks as hospitals have begun to fill and where , in some cases , the daily death toll has risen .
The crisis has only become exponentially worse in recent weeks .
Many other counties are also seeing record highs in their @ @ @ @ @ @ @ last week , according to The Times ’ analysis , including Ventura , San Luis Obispo , Santa Clara , Sacramento , San Mateo , Solano and Santa Cruz .
Counties across Northern California have also posted record highs in recent days , such as Napa County ; Yolo County , home of UC Davis ; Nevada , Placer and El Dorado counties , which sprawl from the state capital ’ s suburbs to Lake Tahoe ; and sparsely populated Mariposa County , home to Yosemite Valley .
In all , more than @ @ @ @ @ @ @ counties , are in what ’ s shaping up to be the worst wave of the pandemic , The Times ’ analysis found .
Across California , the seven-day average of daily coronavirus cases has more than quadrupled since mid-October , from fewer than 3,000 a day to nearly 14,000 a day as of Wednesday .
In just two weeks , average daily deaths have doubled : Every day , 74 Californian COVID-19 deaths are reported on average as of Wednesday , up from an average of 38 a day .
As of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 1.16 million confirmed coronavirus cases in California and almost 19,000 related deaths , according to The Times ’ coronavirus tracker .
Officials sounded alarm bells all over the state , from the Mexican border , where officials in Imperial County established an overflow medical tent with 50 beds to handle a surge in patients , to Shasta County in the far north , which reported hundreds of people in isolation and thousands in quarantine .
“ Don ’ t make someone feel guilty for not wanting to gather in person , ” said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and Human Services Agency .
“ Be clear : Say ‘ no ’ to anything that could increase risk for you or the people you care about.
” Besides Shasta County , other counties posting record high average daily case rates since Nov. 18 include Calaveras , Del Norte , Glenn , Humboldt , Lassen , Mendocino , Plumas , Sierra , Siskiyou , Sutter , Tehama , Trinity , Tuolumne and Yuba counties , The Times analysis found .
The rate of coronavirus transmission in Los Angeles County is now at the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the pandemic .
Officials now estimate that every infected person , on average , transmits the virus to 1.27 other people .
“ We have not seen [ a transmission rate ] this high in Los Angeles County since mid-March at the very beginning of the pandemic — before any of the prevention or safety measures were put into place , ” said Dr. Christina Ghaly , the county ’ s director of health services .
That ’ s an especially distressing number , given that L.A. County ’ s seven-day average of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
The county is now on pace to see the number of new daily coronavirus cases double in two weeks and quadruple in a month , Ghaly said .
Just last week , it was nearly 200 people a day being admitted o hospitals in L.A. County ; that ’ s now up to nearly 300 hospital admissions daily , Ghaly said Wednesday .
If disease transmission behavior doesn ’ t dramatically change soon , hospitals in L.A. County could see anywhere from 375 new hospital admissions a day to 1,000 a day @ @ @ @ @ @ @ but “ that ability for hospitals to be able to surge and open up additional beds is not endless , ” Ghaly warned .
There are only so many nurses and doctors available trained to do intensive care .
Even nursing homes are seeing more cases .
In remarks to the L.A. County Board of Supervisors on Tuesday , the director of public health , Barbara Ferrer , said there ’ s an increase in coronavirus cases “ among staff and residents at our skilled nursing facilities where many residents are medically fragile @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and death from COVID-19.
” In the past week , Ferrer said Monday , the county reported an additional 842 coronavirus cases among healthcare workers .
“ This is the highest number of weekly cases we have seen in a very , very long time .
And it ’ s a troubling increase , since it represents a huge number of new cases reported amongst healthcare workers just very recently , ” Ferrer said .
“ The best way for each of us to show our gratitude is to take immediate actions that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ number of outbreaks are also worsening .
Between Halloween and mid-November , L.A. County reported a 67 % jump in outbreaks at work sites , and a tripling of outbreaks at food facilities , which includes restaurants , food processing facilities , grocery stores , bottling plants and other food-related businesses .
Case rates in several regions of the state have far exceeded levels seen since the summer months , The Times ’ analysis found .
Over the last seven days , Southern California counties have reported 40 daily coronavirus cases per 100,000 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ That ’ s almost 50 % higher than the summer peak , which maxed out at 28 daily coronavirus cases per 100,000 residents in July .
It ’ s even worse in the rural northern third of the state , where the case rate has skyrocketed to an average of 48 daily cases per 100,000 residents , up from an average of 12 daily cases in August .
Cases in the Sacramento region and Central Coast have risen 57 % and 22 % , respectively , above the highest levels seen in mid-August @ @ @ @ @ @ @ reported 18 average daily cases per 100,000 residents , matching its summer peak .
A region that includes the San Joaquin Valley , the Eastern Sierra and Yosemite is the only one with case rates lower than its summer wave , which was extraordinarily bad .
Those counties reported an average of 37 daily coronavirus cases per 100,000 residents , well below the previous peak of 55 .
The case rates in this section of inland Central California , however , are still increasing at a dramatic pace , on par with most @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Area officials warned that the sharp jump in that region , too , is in danger of maxing out hospital capacity if things don ’ t change soon .
“ Even in our own county hospitals , we ’ re seeing a strain on ICU beds , ” warned Santa Clara County Supervisor Cindy Chavez .
As some of the nation ’ s busiest shopping days ahead of Christmas approaches , officials in Silicon Valley said there would be a ramped-up enforcement effort to ensure crowds don ’ t form , stores adhere @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Retailers can open at up to 25 % of capacity in California counties in the most restrictive COVID-19 tier , in which 95 % of Californians live .
“ We do not want crowds .
A crowded situation promotes the spread of COVID , ” said James Williams , county counsel for Santa Clara County .
Though officials had been issuing warnings before , a supersized staff of inspectors — which will include firefighters — are set to begin issuing citations that will result in fines .
In helping to enforce those @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lives , ” said Tony Bowden , chief of the Santa Clara County Fire Department .
Health officials have voiced grave concerns about reports of many people ignoring federal , state and local health recommendations to cancel travel plans for the Thanksgiving holiday .
Authorities fear substantial travel will cause coronavirus transmission to further worsen , just as it did in China for the Lunar New Year , which fueled the spread that brought the contagious virus to the rest of the world .
“ We ’ re hearing really distressing data that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s not good , ” said Fenstersheib , the Santa Clara County coronavirus testing officer .
With vaccines likely available in just a matter of months , he urged the public to hold out on gatherings for just a few months longer .

People wait in line for a free coronavirus test in front of a closed Taix French restaurant in Echo Park on Wednesday.
The autumn COVID-19 surge has now spread not only through major urban areas like Los Angeles but even to the far northern rural reaches of California, a troubling sign as the state faces its greatest challenge yet from the pandemic.
A Times data analysis found that most California counties are now suffering their worst daily coronavirus case rates of the COVID-19 pandemic, surpassing even the summer surge that had forced officials to roll back the state’s first reopening in the late spring.
The data suggest California will face new problems in December if the unprecedented rise in cases continues. In earlier phases of the pandemic, different parts of California could help harder-hit areas — San Diego County and San Francisco, for example, took in patients from Imperial County. But that could be difficult in this wave, with the pandemic worsening in most places across California simultaneously.
“We can’t depend on our counties next to us, because they are under the same stress and strain,” said Dr. Marty Fenstersheib, the Santa Clara County coronavirus testing officer. “They can’t provide us with beds in their counties. So we are on our own. And our hospitals are hurting at this point.”
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The Times’ analysis also demonstrates how the coronavirus has managed to break free from densely packed neighborhoods in urban areas and farming communities in agricultural valleys, where the virus infected essential workers — many of them Latino — who had no choice but to leave home to work.
Now, infections are spreading faster in other communities. In Marin County, health officer Dr. Matt Willis said the pandemic has moved from hitting predominantly Latino communities. Now, in just the last month, “the majority of cases are among our white residents,” Willis said.
“We’re finding a greater proportion of those cases among people who are gathering indoors, and might have a more reasonable option to avoid those exposures, because they’re based on personal choices,” Willis told the Board of Supervisors. “It’s most discouraging that that’s what is driving it — but also encouraging because we think those are behaviors that people have more control over, because it’s not a matter of economic necessity.”
In just the last week, record average daily coronavirus case rates have hit L.A. and other hot spots such as San Bernardino and San Diego counties, The Times’ analysis found. Such areas have already received much attention in recent weeks as hospitals there have begun to fill and, in some cases, the daily death toll has risen. The crisis has only become exponentially worse in recent weeks.
Many other counties are also seeing record highs in their average daily case rates observed in the last week, according to The Times’ analysis, including Ventura, San Luis Obispo, Santa Clara, Sacramento, San Mateo, Solano and Santa Cruz. Counties across Northern California have also posted record highs in recent days, such as Napa County; Yolo County, home of UC Davis; Nevada, Placer and El Dorado counties, which sprawl from the state capital’s suburbs to Lake Tahoe; and sparsely populated Mariposa County, home to Yosemite Valley.
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In all, more than 23 million Californians, living in 31 counties, are in what’s shaping up to be the worst wave of the pandemic, The Times’ analysis found.
Across California, the seven-day average of daily coronavirus cases has more than quadrupled since mid-October, from fewer than 3,000 a day to nearly 14,000 a day as of Wednesday. In just two weeks, average daily deaths have doubled: In the seven-day period that ended Wednesday, the state had an average of 74 COVID-19 deaths a day, up from 38.
As of Friday evening, California had a total of more than 1.18 million confirmed coronavirus cases in California and more than 19,000 related deaths, according to The Times’ coronavirus tracker.
Officials sounded alarm bells all over the state, from the Mexican border, where officials in Imperial County established an overflow medical tent with 50 beds to handle a surge in patients, to Shasta County in the far north, which reported hundreds of people in isolation and thousands in quarantine.
“Don’t make someone feel guilty for not wanting to gather in person,” said an announcement from the Shasta County Health and Human Services Agency. “Be clear: Say ‘no’ to anything that could increase risk for you or the people you care about.”
Besides Shasta County, other counties posting record average daily case rates since Nov. 18 include Calaveras, Del Norte, Glenn, Humboldt, Lassen, Mendocino, Plumas, Sierra, Siskiyou, Sutter, Tehama, Trinity, Tuolumne and Yuba counties, The Times’ analysis found.
The rate of coronavirus transmission in Los Angeles County is now at the highest since the first few weeks of the pandemic. Officials now estimate that every infected person, on average, transmits the virus to 1.27 other people.
“We have not seen [a transmission rate] this high in Los Angeles County since mid-March at the very beginning of the pandemic — before any of the prevention or safety measures were put into place,” said Dr. Christina Ghaly, the county’s director of health services.
That’s an especially distressing number given that L.A. County’s seven-day average of new daily coronavirus cases is about 4,300. The county is on pace to see the number of new daily coronavirus cases double in two weeks and quadruple in a month, Ghaly said.
Just last week, nearly 200 people a day were being admitted to hospitals in L.A. County; that number is now close to 300 hospital admissions daily, Ghaly said Wednesday. If disease transmission doesn’t dramatically change soon, hospitals in L.A. County could see anywhere from 375 to 1,000 new hospital admissions a day, she said.
Hospitals can ramp up their capacity if needed, but “that ability for hospitals to be able to surge and open up additional beds is not endless,” Ghaly warned; the number of available nurses and doctors who are trained in intensive care is limited.
Nursing homes are also seeing more cases. In remarks to the L.A. County Board of Supervisors on Tuesday, the director of public health, Barbara Ferrer, said the county is seeing an increase in coronavirus cases “among staff and residents at our skilled nursing facilities where many residents are medically fragile and at great risk for serious illness and death from COVID-19.”
In the last week, Ferrer said Monday, the county reported an additional 842 coronavirus cases among healthcare workers.
“This is the highest number of weekly cases we have seen in a very, very long time. And it’s a troubling increase, since it represents a huge number of new cases reported amongst healthcare workers just very recently,” Ferrer said. “The best way for each of us to show our gratitude is to take immediate actions that will stop spreading the virus.”
The number of outbreaks is also growing. From Halloween to mid-November, L.A. County reported a 67% jump in outbreaks at worksites and a tripling of outbreaks at food facilities, which include restaurants, food processing facilities, grocery stores, bottling plants and other food-related businesses.
Case rates in several regions of the state have far exceeded levels seen since the summer months, The Times’ analysis found.
Over the last seven days, Southern California counties reported an average of 40 daily coronavirus cases per 100,000 residents. That’s almost 50% higher than the summer peak, which was 28 daily coronavirus cases per 100,000 residents in July. The rate is even worse in the rural northern third of the state, where it has skyrocketed to an average of 48 daily cases per 100,000 residents, up from an average of 12 daily cases in August.
Cases in the Sacramento region and on the Central Coast have risen 57% and 22%, respectively, above the highest levels seen in mid-August. The nine-county San Francisco Bay Area is reporting 18 average daily cases per 100,000 residents, matching its summer peak.
A region that includes the San Joaquin Valley, the Eastern Sierra and Yosemite is the only one in California with case rates lower than its summer wave, which was extraordinarily bad. Those counties reported an average of 37 daily coronavirus cases per 100,000 residents, well below the previous peak of 55. The case rates in this section of inland Central California, however, are still increasing at a dramatic pace, on par with most other regions of the state.
Bay Area officials warned that the sharp jump in that region, too, is in danger of maxing out hospital capacity if the situation doesn’t change soon.
“Even in our own county hospitals, we’re seeing a strain on ICU beds,” said Santa Clara County Supervisor Cindy Chavez.
As some of the nation’s busiest shopping days approach, officials in Silicon Valley said they would roll out a ramped-up enforcement effort to ensure that crowds don’t form, stores adhere to capacity limits and people wear masks. Retailers can open at up to 25% of capacity in California counties in the most restrictive COVID-19 reopening tier, in which 95% of Californians live.
“We do not want crowds. A crowded situation promotes the spread of COVID,” said James Williams, county counsel for Santa Clara County.
Though officials had been issuing warnings before, a supersized staff of inspectors — which will include firefighters — is set to begin issuing citations that will result in fines.
In helping to enforce those pandemic restrictions, “we can save lives,” said Tony Bowden, chief of the Santa Clara County Fire Department.
Health officials have voiced grave concerns about reports of many people ignoring federal, state and local health recommendations to cancel travel plans for the Thanksgiving holiday. Authorities fear substantial travel will cause coronavirus transmission to further worsen, just as it did in China for the Lunar New Year, which fueled the initial spread that brought the contagious virus to the rest of the world.
“We’re hearing really distressing data that people are traveling. And that’s not good,” said Fenstersheib, the Santa Clara County coronavirus testing officer. With vaccines likely to be available in a matter of months, he urged the public to hold out on gatherings for just a few months longer.
Times staff writer Ryan Menezes contributed to this report.