latimes--2020-12-13--'I've seen people die.' COVID-19 slams Central Valley hospitals, as many resist lockdowns

The last time Dr. Eyad Almasri had a day off was in November , when he was infected with COVID-19 .
His symptoms were not life-threatening , but it crushed him , he said , that he couldn ’ t be with his patients for 10 days .
A pulmonologist with the Fresno campus of UC San Francisco , Almasri works in the intensive care unit at Community Regional Medical Center in downtown Fresno — so packed with COVID-19 patients that the hospital has had to create makeshift isolation wards , including one in a hallway .
Exhausted staff , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , rarely take off their protective gear because the entire area is the “ dirty zone ” — a phrase Almasri detests .
With so many patients , there is no time for breaks anyway .
The story was similar this week in much of the San Joaquin Valley , where hospitals were crowded with COVID-19 patients .
As of noon Saturday , availability of ICU beds in the region was zero .
Fresno , a metro area with more than 1 million people , hit that dubious marker two days earlier .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ way , ” Almasri said Thursday .
“ I can ’ t tell you how scared people are , and I can ’ t even sit there and hold their hands .
There are so many others waiting.
” Across California , medical professionals such as Almasri live in a different world than average citizens , who have no clear window into the conditions of hospital wards .
But the San Joaquin Valley is different .
Nowhere else in California do intensive care doctors and nurses work in such a fragile system .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ high rates of poverty and a staggering shortage of doctors .
Yet during the pandemic , many local leaders have been openly defiant of public health directives .
The Fresno City Council on Thursday approved an order intended to clamp down on backyard parties , for what it was worth .
But the city police chief quickly issued a statement saying his officers would not enforce it .
Meanwhile , coronavirus cases continue to soar in the county , in part because of outbreaks at a Foster Farms poultry plant and a state @ @ @ @ @ @ @ northern part of the five-county San Joaquin Valley , some small-business owners are demanding a reprieve from closures , arguing that this third round is arbitrary and unfair .
They say there is little sense in having large chains such as Target and Walmart , where workers come into contact with hundreds of customers a day , remain open while shuttering outdoor dining for neighborhood eateries and services such as salons .
Closing again , they contend , may mean that they go under permanently — a financial catastrophe for them and their @ @ @ @ @ @ @ overflowing because of restaurants , ” said Johnny Hernandez , co-owner of the Black Rabbit gastropub in Stockton , who joined a protest with other small-business owners Thursday on the steps of Stockton ’ s City Hall .
Hernandez said he has let go seven of his 10 employees and doesn ’ t have the funds to make it past this month .
For him , the threat of financial ruin is more real than the specter of illness .
“ I don ’ t see Republican ; I don ’ t see @ @ @ @ @ @ @ organizer .
“ I see people hurting.
” The valley is a diverse place , with complex opinions on the pandemic .
Farmworkers and other essential Latino workers have been hit hard and are scared that the coming months will be even tougher .
But with many undocumented and unable to receive state aid , they must work to put food on the table .
Many business owners also recognize the seriousness of the pandemic and are taking precautions to protect themselves , their families and employees .
But as elsewhere , conspiracy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ belief that public health orders are the first step to full government tyranny .
Some resisters — aided by the same groups that have staged anti-vaccine rallies and protested coronovirus restrictions , including religious leaders opposed to curtailing church services and the far-right Proud Boys — have banded together to demand the declaration of “ sanctuary cities ” for businesses , where they would be exempt from state lockdowns .
Almasri , the doctor in Fresno , is well aware of the misinformation campaigns and politicization around the pandemic .
He sees it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ My own neighbor told me they thought COVID wasn ’ t real — a scam for hospitals to get money from the government , ” he said .
“ I said , ‘ What are you talking about ?
I ’ m there every day .
I ’ ve seen people die.
’ ” In Fresno County , more than half of COVID-19 cases have been in the Hispanic community , and more people under the age of 75 have died than those older , according to data from the county .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ young , with most of those who have contracted the virus between the ages of 20 and 60 , the county says .
But now the ward is filled with people of every description .
Because of the crowding , Almasri said , doctors and nurses are getting ill , when resources are already stretched .
“ I don ’ t think it ’ s from patients .
It ’ s because there is no room for social distancing .
We don ’ t have time to leave the hospital , so we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a quick bite to eat , ” he said .
To protect himself , Almasri has six N95 masks that he keeps in rotation .
They have to be worn very tightly , with a plastic shield over them .
“ It changes the sound of my voice .
I look like an alien , and I ’ m having life-and-death conversations with people : ‘ Do you want to be put on life support if you get worse ?
’ ” When he goes home , he sleeps in the mother-in-law house @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , who is also a physician , and their three children .
In the field for 25 years , he has never been more proud to be a doctor , he said .
Despite the odds , Almasri and his team have been able to help the same percentage of patients overcome COVID-19 as those in better-served areas .
“ We ’ re saving lives , ” he said .
“ We just can ’ t save everyone at once.
” He said if he could tell people anything about what is happening @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , “ Help us .
Wear a mask.
” One hundred miles north of Almasri ’ s hospital , the parking lot at the upscale Lincoln Center Shops in Stockton was packed Thursday .
Shoe stores , jewelers , juice bars and bakeries were legally serving patrons — some masked , some not .
In defiance of of the shutdown orders , servers at Midgley ’ s Public House delivered burgers and beers to tables indoors while the owner and a handful of regulars drank at the bar .
Nearby , stylists at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and brushing hair dye onto the heads of about a dozen clients , all socially distanced and wearing masks .
Pomp stylist Paula Turner said she needs to be working and was grateful that the salon ’ s owner said he would stay open no matter what the state ordered .
When the salon closed in March during the first shutdown , she fought for months for unemployment payments , eventually receiving them .
But recently , the troubled Employment Development Department demanded the entire amount back , she said , claiming she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ virus is real and deadly , but she also believes she can see her clients safely .
“ I ’ ve got to work .
I ’ ve got to eat , ” she said .
“ If you could tell me one single person who got it at a hair salon , I would be nervous.
” Her client Marsha Mahnke said she is a widower whose children are grown and gone .
The pandemic has been isolating .
“ I don ’ t want to be home alone and looking at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
State Sen. Andreas Borgeas ( R-Modesto ) called the blanket restrictions an “ unsustainable path ” with immediate consequences .
He said the state needs to find a way to handle its economic and health crises at once .
Coronavirus is “ absolutely devastating our ICU bed availability , and we also know the valley ’ s economy is in tatters , ” he said .
Friday , he introduced a bill with state Sen. Anna Caballero ( D-Salinas ) that would invest $ 2.6 billion in grants to help struggling businesses @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of immediate need can be seen at Stockton ’ s Emergency Food Bank , where California National Guard troops on Thursday helped load apples , chocolate milk and other groceries into the trunks of a long line of cars .
The food bank has seen a 15 % increase in customers since the latest lockdown , on top of a 50 % increase already this year , said its chief executive , Leonard Hansen .
But the need goes beyond food .
Elvira Ramirez , executive director of Catholic Charities in Stockton , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to migrant workers and others .
Though the organization is down to the last of its funds , the requests have not stopped , she said .
Every day , her desk is filled with pleas , often written in Spanish , for help to pay rent and utility bills that have stacked up as agricultural work declined this year and the virus closed or curtailed operations at meatpacking plants and other processing facilities .
“ It ’ s about work and how are they going to make ends meet , ” she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ same time , Ramirez said , many of these Latino workers have experienced the virus in their families , with loved ones who have died .
“ The way they frame it is very different , ” she said .
“ Not a single one of the 500-plus families we ’ ve helped in recent times is going to say we shouldn ’ t shut it down because of their personal rights.
” But some witnessing the pandemic ’ s toll on the lowest economic rungs share the concerns of the business owners @ @ @ @ @ @ @ bank , at Stockton ’ s Gospel Center Rescue Mission , which runs the county ’ s only shelter for homeless COVID-19 patients , the Rev .
Wayne Richardson , who serves as CEO , said he expected the facility ’ s 36 beds to be filled in coming days , based on county information .
Eleven were already filled with people recovering from the virus , and 17 of his staff members were under quarantine , he said , after a recent outbreak .
The facility ’ s chief operations officer , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who caught the virus from community exposure ; his wife and daughter also had mild cases .
Like many here , he believes Thanksgiving gatherings and other family events are to blame for the spread .
But he thinks shutdowns are not the answer .
“ It ’ s like stopping a tidal wave with a toothpick , ” said Kimball .
“ All we are doing is putting people in poverty.
” Though conditions in the San Joaquin region are dire , other counties are experiencing similar spikes — and concerns over @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Medina said he is wrestling with how to keep businesses afloat while protecting people ’ s health .
“ We have to find a happy medium and look at the businesses that are currently being asked to shut down , ” he said .
“ Is it really coming from hairdressers ?
Gyms ?
Restaurants ?
” He said he is constantly gathering new information , hoping to provide the best guidance he can .
“ You don ’ t know , ” he said .
“ You ’ re making decisions based @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you , and you are praying to god that the info you receive is vetted .
The good and bad and everything in between .
And you have to ask , is this truly right ?
Or is it one-sided ?
” State Sen. Richard Pan ( D-Sacramento ) , the only medical doctor in the legislative body , said he understands the rising anger among business owners but believes their position is flawed and ultimately will lead to worse economic devastation .
He points out that unless the virus is contained , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ leaving fewer willing to go to those businesses that remain open .
“ It ’ s not the government that is shutting down the businesses in the end .
... What ’ s really shutting down the businesses is the virus , ” Pan said .
“ Unfortunately , painfully , people will realize that they were wrong , and the ones who don ’ t , some of them will die .
We can ’ t save people from themselves after a certain point .
”

Diana Marcum, Anita Chabria, Susanne Rust

The last time Dr. Eyad Almasri had a day off was in November, when he was infected with the novel coronavirus. His symptoms were not life-threatening, but it crushed him, he said, that he couldn’t be with his patients for 10 days.
A pulmonologist with the Fresno campus of UC San Francisco, Almasri works in the intensive care unit at Community Regional Medical Center in downtown Fresno — so packed with COVID-19 patients that the hospital has had to create makeshift isolation wards, including one in a hallway. Exhausted staff, working long hours seven days a week, rarely take off their protective gear because the entire area is the “dirty zone” — a phrase Almasri detests. With so many patients, there is no time for breaks anyway.
The story was similar this week in much of the San Joaquin Valley, where hospitals were crowded with COVID-19 patients. As of noon Saturday, availability of ICU beds in the region was zero. Fresno, a metro area with more than 1 million people, hit that dubious marker two days earlier.
“There is no help on the way,” Almasri said Thursday. “I can’t tell you how scared people are, and I can’t even sit there and hold their hands. There are so many others waiting.”
Across California, medical professionals such as Almasri live a world apart from average citizens, who have no clear window into the conditions of hospital wards. But the San Joaquin Valley is different. Nowhere else in California do intensive care doctors and nurses work in such a fragile system.
It’s an agricultural valley with high rates of poverty and a staggering shortage of doctors. Yet during the pandemic, many local leaders have been openly defiant of public health directives.
The Fresno City Council on Thursday approved an order intended to clamp down on backyard parties, for what it was worth. But the city police chief quickly issued a statement saying his officers would not enforce it. Meanwhile, coronavirus cases continue to soar in the county, in part because of outbreaks at a Foster Farms poultry plant and a state prison.
In Stockton, in the northern part of the San Joaquin Valley, some small-business owners are demanding a reprieve from closures, arguing that this third round is arbitrary and unfair. They say there is little sense in having large chains such as Target and Walmart, where workers come into contact with hundreds of customers a day, remain open while shutting down outdoor dining for neighborhood eateries and services such as salons. Closing again, they contend, may mean that they go under permanently — a financial catastrophe for them and their employees.
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“The hospitals are not overflowing because of restaurants,” said Johnny Hernandez, co-owner of the Black Rabbit gastropub in Stockton, who joined a protest with other small-business owners Thursday on the steps of Stockton City Hall. Hernandez said he has let go seven of his 10 employees and doesn’t have the funds to make it past this month. For him, the threat of financial ruin is more real than the specter of illness.
“I don’t see Republican; I don’t see Democrat,” said the former union organizer. “I see people hurting.”
The valley is a diverse place, with complex opinions on the pandemic. Farmworkers and other essential Latino workers have been hit hard and are scared that the coming months will be even tougher. But with many lacking legal immigration status and unable to receive state aid, they must work to put food on the table. Many business owners also recognize the seriousness of the pandemic and are taking precautions to protect themselves, their families and employees.
Michael Midgley, owner of Midgley’s Public House, joins a rally with other Stockton business owners who want to stay open. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)
But as elsewhere, conspiracy theories are rife — in particular the belief that public health orders are the first step to full government tyranny.
Some resisters — aided by the same groups that have staged anti-vaccine rallies and protested coronavirus restrictions, including religious leaders opposed to curtailing church services and the far-right Proud Boys — have banded together to demand the declaration of “sanctuary cities” for businesses, where they would be exempt from state lockdowns.
Almasri, the doctor in Fresno, is well aware of the misinformation campaigns and politicization around the pandemic. He sees it when he returns to his neighborhood.
Dr. Eyad Almasri of UC San Francisco in Fresno. (Dr. Eyad Almasri)
“My own neighbor told me they thought COVID wasn’t real — a scam for hospitals to get money from the government,” he said. “I said, ‘What are you talking about? I’m there every day. I’ve seen people die.’”
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In Fresno County, more than half of coronavirus cases have been in the Latino community, and more people younger than 75 have died than those older, according to data from the county. Cases in San Joaquin County have also skewed young, with most of those who have contracted the virus between the ages of 20 and 60, the county says.
But now the wards are filled with people of every description.
Because of the crowding, Almasri said, doctors and nurses are getting ill, when resources are already stretched.
“I don’t think it’s from patients. It’s because there is no room for social distancing. We don’t have time to leave the hospital, so we crowd into a break room to grab a quick bite to eat,” he said.
To protect himself, Almasri has six N95 masks that he keeps in rotation. They have to be worn very tightly, with a plastic shield over them.
“It changes the sound of my voice. I look like an alien, and I’m having life-and-death conversations with people: ‘Do you want to be put on life support if you get worse?’”
When he goes home, he sleeps in the mother-in-law house in his backyard to protect his wife, who is also a physician, and their three children.
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In the field for 25 years, he has never been more proud to be a doctor, he said. Despite the odds, Almasri and his team have been able to help the same percentage of patients overcome COVID-19 as those in better-served areas.
“We’re saving lives,” he said. “We just can’t save everyone at once.”
He said if he could tell people anything about what is happening at the hospital, it would be, “Help us. Wear a mask.”
One hundred miles north of Almasri’s hospital, the parking lot at the upscale Lincoln Center shopping center in Stockton was packed Thursday. Shoe stores, jewelers, juice bars and bakeries were legally serving patrons — some masked, some not.
In defiance of the shutdown orders, servers at Midgley’s Public House delivered burgers and beers to tables indoors while the owner and a handful of regulars drank at the bar. Nearby, stylists at Pomp Salon were busy folding highlighting foils and brushing hair dye onto the heads of about a dozen clients, all distanced and wearing masks.
Pomp stylist Paula Turner said she needs to be working and was grateful that the salon’s owner said he would stay open no matter what the state ordered. When the salon closed in March during the first shutdown, she fought for months for unemployment payments, eventually receiving them. But recently, the troubled Employment Development Department demanded the entire amount back, she said, claiming she does not qualify. She believes the virus is real and deadly, but she also believes she can see her clients safely.
Pomp Salon stylist Molly works on a customer while owner Dino Ballin and his wife, Vicki Kirk, walk by. Ballin refuses to shut down. “We had no debt at the start of the year. Now we have $300,000,” he said of the effect of shutdown orders on his business. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)
“I’ve got to work. I’ve got to eat,” she said. “If you could tell me one single person who got it at a hair salon, I would be nervous.”
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Her client Marsha Mahnke said she is a widower whose children are grown and gone. The pandemic has been isolating.
“I don’t want to be home alone and looking at my gray hair,” she said.
State Sen. Andreas Borgeas (R-Modesto) called the blanket restrictions an “unsustainable path” with immediate consequences. He said the state needs to find a way to handle its economic and health crises at once.
The coronavirus is “absolutely devastating our ICU bed availability, and we also know the valley’s economy is in tatters,” he said.
Friday, he introduced a bill with state Sen. Anna Caballero (D-Salinas) that would invest $2.6 billion in grants to help struggling businesses and their employees.
Borgeas’ assertion of immediate need can be seen at Stockton’s Emergency Food Bank, where California National Guard troops on Thursday helped load apples, chocolate milk and other groceries into the trunks of a long line of cars. The food bank has seen a 15% increase in customers since the latest lockdown, on top of a 50% increase already this year, said its chief executive, Leonard Hansen.
But the need goes beyond food.
Elvira Ramirez, executive director of Catholic Charities in Stockton, has been helping to distribute cash aid to migrant workers and others. Though the organization is down to the last of its funds, the requests have not stopped, she said. Every day, her desk is filled with pleas, often written in Spanish, for help to pay rent and utility bills that have stacked up as agricultural work declined this year and the virus closed or curtailed operations at meatpacking plants and other processing facilities.
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Volunteers with the Emergency Food Bank and members of the California National Guard prepare donations in Stockton. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)
“It’s about work and how are they going to make ends meet,” she said of the requests.
At the same time, Ramirez said, many of these Latino workers have experienced the virus in their families, with loved ones who have died.
“The way they frame it is very different,” she said. “Not a single one of the 500-plus families we’ve helped in recent times is going to say we shouldn’t shut it down because of their personal rights.”
The Rev. Wayne Richardson is chief executive of Stockton’s Gospel Center Rescue Mission, which is housing 11 homeless COVID-19 patients. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)
But some witnessing the pandemic’s toll on the lowest economic rungs share the concerns of the business owners.
Around the corner from the food bank, at Stockton’s Gospel Center Rescue Mission, which runs the county’s only shelter for homeless COVID-19 patients, the Rev. Wayne Richardson, who serves as CEO, said he expected the facility’s 36 beds to be filled in coming days, based on county information. Eleven were already filled with people recovering from the virus, and 17 of his staff members were in quarantine, he said, after a recent outbreak.
The facility’s chief operations officer, Britton Kimball, was one of those who caught the virus from community exposure; his wife and daughter also had mild cases. Like many here, he believes Thanksgiving gatherings and other family events are to blame for the spread. But he thinks shutdowns are not the answer.
“It’s like stopping a tidal wave with a toothpick,” said Kimball. “All we are doing is putting people in poverty.”
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Though conditions in the San Joaquin region are dire, other counties are experiencing similar surges — and concerns over closures.
A homeless woman pushing her belongings in Stockton, which has some of the highest poverty rates in the state during the COVID-19 pandemic. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)
San Benito County Supervisor Mark Medina said he is wrestling with how to keep businesses afloat while protecting people’s health.
“We have to find a happy medium and look at the businesses that are currently being asked to shut down,” he said. “Is it really coming from hairdressers? Gyms? Restaurants?”
He said he is constantly gathering new information, hoping to provide the best guidance he can.
“You don’t know,” he said. “You’re making decisions based on info that is in front of you, and you are praying to god that the info you receive is vetted. The good and bad and everything in between. And you have to ask, is this truly right? Or is it one-sided?”
Edith Icaguirre, right, prepares a takeout order at Papapavlo’s Bistro & Bar in the Lincoln Center in Stockton. Some business owners are calling for local government to declare Stockton a “sanctuary city” in which businesses can continue to operate. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)
State Sen. Richard Pan (D-Sacramento), the only medical doctor in the legislative body, said he understands the rising anger among business owners but believes their position is flawed and ultimately will lead to worse economic devastation. He points out that unless the virus is contained, more people will become seriously ill, leaving fewer willing to go to those businesses that remain open.
“It’s not the government that is shutting down the businesses in the end. … What’s really shutting down the businesses is the virus,” Pan said. “Unfortunately, painfully, people will realize that they were wrong, and the ones who don’t, some of them will die. We can’t save people from themselves after a certain point.”


latimes--2020-12-13--Column: The most controversial thing about Gov. Pete Wilson's statue is its dull irrelevance

If you want a lesson in the power of monuments to influence hearts and minds and whitewash the past , look no further than the statue of former California Gov .
Pete Wilson .
It stands forlorn and mostly forgotten in downtown San Diego , next to a Panera Bread .
The life-sized bronze replica captures Wilson in all his Midwestern milquetoast glory .
The boyish smile .
The helmet of hair .
The hands in the pockets of pleated pants .
This oversized trophy is now spotted with oxidation , and nowhere near as shiny as it was during @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and 300 protestors faced off .
It ’ s been in the news recently , after local Latino and LGBTQ groups began a campaign to remove it in the same spirit that toppled effigies of Confederates across the South and Father Junipero Serra in California .
In recent years , Wilson ’ s long political career — two-term U.S. senator and governor , former assemblyman , boy-wonder San Diego mayor — has been largely overshadowed by his endorsement of Prop .
187 , the 1994 ballot initiative that sought to make life miserable @ @ @ @ @ @ @ generation of Latinos to vote Democrat .
The activists claimed victory in October when the nonprofit Horton Walk , which that owns the Wilson statue , removed it under the premise that the move was to ensure its safety .
But Horton Walk reinstalled the monument on Nov. 30 , with little explanation other than a news release by President Stephen Williams that stated , “ The statue of Pete Wilson is a symbol of all that is great about San Diego and its unlimited future.
” So I decided to hang out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ thought about the controversy .
I expected a lively debate about his merits , and whether cancel culture is going too far .
Instead , I got an education about a Wilson I didn ’ t know .
I started with Bruno , a valet worker who waited for cars that never came at a Westin hotel across the street from the Wilson statue .
Did he know about the metal man whose likeness was within our eyesight ?
“ He was the guy who brought the trolley , I forget his name @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a European accent .
I asked the same question to Kristen , the Panera Bread manager , who declined to give her last name .
Outside Panera , David Johnson walked his border collie .
“ He was a politician , right ?
” said the 42-year-old .
“ Something about trolleys.
” I then chased down 16-year-olds Kassy Elizondo and Gilbert Sanchez , who had just walked past the Wilson shrine .
“ He had something to do with trolleys , ” Gilbert said .
My mind was spinning : What the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ?
Then I realized why everyone kept mentioning them as I saw Sanchez stare toward Wilson ’ s feet .
A plaque featured the name of more than 200 donors who raised $ 200,000 to make the statue possible , a Who ’ s Who of Old San Diego surnames : Copley .
Spanos .
Issa .
Moores .
Manchester .
Another one proclaimed that the redevelopment of downtown San Diego was “ one of [ Wilson ’ s ] proudest achievements.
” Next to it was an engraving of the man of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s greatest accomplishment was bringing light rail to San Diego was like saying the pinnacle of George Washington ’ s life was as a whiskey distiller .
Or for Ronald Reagan , his days as a broadcaster for University of Iowa football games .
Wilson is one of the most consequential figures in California history , someone who almost single-handedly changed our trajectory with his endorsement of 187 .
But the statue ’ s mise-en-scene is more fuddy-duddy than a rotary phone , and about as dynamic as butcher paper .
I can @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to say this , but here it goes : Even California ’ s Latino Legislative Caucus , composed largely of state senators and assemblymembers who entered politics to spite what Wilson stood for , paid more respect to Wilson with a tongue-in-cheek thank-you video released last year to mark the 25th anniversary of 187 .
One of the participants was San Diego-area Assemblywoman Lorena Gonzalez , who admitted she was “ shocked ” that Wilson ’ s statue had reemerged .
“ If they want to put it in the GOP headquarters , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s not a unifying vision for San Diego , ” she said .
She noted all the construction in downtown before adding : “ They should just take it out .
When Horton Plaza is rebuilt , then we can come together as a community and decide what ’ s unifying.
” But that ’ s the thing : Almost everyone I talked to was agnostic about seeing the Wilson statue sent to the scrap heap .
They got quiet when I explained what Prop .
187 sought to do , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ But when I mentioned the current controversy surrounding his monument , only Kassy wanted it taken down .
“ They put stuff on [ Wilson ] that happened years ago , ” said Bruno .
“ Everyone makes a mistake .
Keep it .
It ’ s not like he was a killer.
” “ He did good for San Diego , ” said Johnson .
“ Do you want something to remain that negatively represents your town ?
” she said , as her eyes scrunched in thought .
“ But it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s history .
Are we going to take down all statues that are negative ?
” But that ’ s the thing with monuments , said UC Davis professor Javier Arbona , a specialist in the subject .
“ They don ’ t really educate us about the past , ” he said .
“ They tell us more about the contemporary .
In a sense , they help erase or forget things about the past and re-create something rather hazy that redraws what the future is about.
” And after that whitewashing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ doesn ’ t want a monument taken down , even if they aren ’ t particularly enamored of it .
“ People understand [ their removal ] as a desecration , ” he said .
“ It ’ s a strong kind of public sense that certain things are more permanent than fast food , that they ’ re heritage and therefore have to be respected .
It ’ s very powerful.
” I reached out to Williams for response , but the real-estate developer sent me the same boilerplate Nov. 30 news @ @ @ @ @ @ @ longtime associate Sean Walsh told me he ’ d make Wilson available for comment , he never did .
His statue stands on private property , so it ’ s not going anywhere .
Nor can activists install any sort of counter-monument without property management removing it posthaste .
I say let it stand .
It ’ s such an apt metaphor for Wilson .
A man who was a political giant in his time , but one that history will judge harshly .
So harshly that even his fanboys didn ’ t @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in their public homage , and so reduced him to as anodyne an accomplishment as possible .

Former Mayor Pete Wilson stands by his bronze statue in downtown San Diego during its 2007 unveiling.
If you want a lesson in the power of monuments to influence hearts and minds and whitewash the past, look no further than the statue of former California Gov. Pete Wilson.
It stands forlorn and mostly forgotten in downtown San Diego, next to a Panera Bread. The life-sized bronze replica captures Wilson in all his Midwestern milquetoast glory. The boyish smile. The helmet of hair. The hands in the pockets of pleated pants.
This oversized trophy is now spotted with oxidation, and nowhere near as shiny as it was during its 2007 unveiling, when 500 fans and 300 protestors faced off.
Advertisement
It’s been in the news recently, after local Latino and LGBTQ groups began a campaign to remove it in the same spirit that toppled effigies of Confederates across the South and Father Junipero Serra in California.
In recent years, Wilson’s long political career — two-term U.S. senator and governor, former assemblyman, boy-wonder San Diego mayor — has been largely overshadowed by his endorsement of Prop. 187, the 1994 ballot initiative that sought to make life miserable for undocumented immigrants but instead inspired a generation of Latinos to vote Democrat.
The activists claimed victory in October when the nonprofit Horton Walk, which that owns the Wilson statue, removed it under the premise that the move was to ensure its safety.
But Horton Walk reinstalled the monument on Nov. 30, with little explanation other than a news release by President Stephen Williams that stated, “The statue of Pete Wilson is a symbol of all that is great about San Diego and its unlimited future.”
So I decided to hang out near it and ask people what they thought about the controversy.
I expected a lively debate about his merits, and whether cancel culture is going too far. Instead, I got an education about a Wilson I didn’t know.
Advertisement
A titan of trolleys.
I started with Bruno, a valet worker who waited for cars that never came at a Westin hotel across the street from the Wilson statue. Did he know about the metal man whose likeness was within our eyesight?
“He was the guy who brought the trolley, I forget his name,” said the older chap with a European accent.
I asked the same question to Kristen, the Panera Bread manager, who declined to give her last name.
“He developed Horton Plaza, didn’t he?” said the 31-year-old.
“The trolley!” a customer volunteered.
Outside Panera, David Johnson walked his border collie. “He was a politician, right?” said the 42-year-old. “Something about trolleys.”
I then chased down 16-year-olds Kassy Elizondo and Gilbert Sanchez, who had just walked past the Wilson shrine.
“He had something to do with trolleys,” Gilbert said.
My mind was spinning: What the hell was all the talk about trolleys?
Then I realized why everyone kept mentioning them as I saw Sanchez stare toward Wilson’s feet.
A plaque featured the name of more than 200 donors who raised $200,000 to make the statue possible, a Who’s Who of Old San Diego surnames: Copley. Spanos. Issa. Moores. Manchester.
Another one proclaimed that the redevelopment of downtown San Diego was “one of [Wilson’s] proudest achievements.” Next to it was an engraving of the man of the moment.
In front of a streetcar.
Boasting that Wilson’s greatest accomplishment was bringing light rail to San Diego was like saying the pinnacle of George Washington’s life was as a whiskey distiller. Or for Ronald Reagan, his days as a broadcaster for University of Iowa football games.
Wilson is one of the most consequential figures in California history, someone who almost single-handedly changed our trajectory with his endorsement of 187.
But the statue’s mise-en-scene is more fuddy-duddy than a rotary phone, and about as dynamic as butcher paper.
I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but here it goes:
Pete Wilson deserves better.
The statue of former Gov. Pete Wilson was briefly removed before returning to downtown San Diego. (Jarrod Valliere / The San Diego Union-Tribune)
Even California’s Latino Legislative Caucus, composed largely of state senators and assemblymembers who entered politics to spite what Wilson stood for, paid more respect to Wilson with a tongue-in-cheek thank-you video released last year to mark the 25th anniversary of 187.
One of the participants was San Diego-area Assemblywoman Lorena Gonzalez, who admitted she was “shocked” that Wilson’s statue had reemerged.
“If they want to put it in the GOP headquarters, that’s fine, but it’s not a unifying vision for San Diego,” she said. She noted all the construction in downtown before adding: “They should just take it out. When Horton Plaza is rebuilt, then we can come together as a community and decide what’s unifying.”
But that’s the thing: Almost everyone I talked to was agnostic about seeing the Wilson statue sent to the scrap heap.
They got quiet when I explained what Prop. 187 sought to do, and Wilson’s involvement with it. But when I mentioned the current controversy surrounding his monument, only Kassy wanted it taken down.
“They put stuff on [Wilson] that happened years ago,” said Bruno. “Everyone makes a mistake. Keep it. It’s not like he was a killer.”
“He did good for San Diego,” said Johnson.
Kristen sounded more conflicted.
“Do you want something to remain that negatively represents your town?” she said, as her eyes scrunched in thought. “But it’s tough, because it’s history. Are we going to take down all statues that are negative?”
The power of trolleys, man.
But that’s the thing with monuments, said UC Davis professor Javier Arbona, a specialist in the subject.
“They don’t really educate us about the past,” he said. “They tell us more about the contemporary. In a sense, they help erase or forget things about the past and re-create something rather hazy that redraws what the future is about.”
And after that whitewashing happens, Arbona added, people generally doesn’t want a monument taken down, even if they aren’t particularly enamored of it.
“People understand [their removal] as a desecration,” he said. “It’s a strong kind of public sense that certain things are more permanent than fast food, that they’re heritage and therefore have to be respected. It’s very powerful.”
I reached out to Williams for response, but the real-estate developer sent me the same boilerplate Nov. 30 news release he previously released. And after longtime associate Sean Walsh told me he’d make Wilson available for comment, he never did.
His statue stands on private property, so it’s not going anywhere. Nor can activists install any sort of counter-monument without property management removing it posthaste.
I say let it stand. It’s such an apt metaphor for Wilson. A man who was a political giant in his time, but one that history will judge harshly. So harshly that even his fanboys didn’t dare highlight the totality of the man in their public homage, and so reduced him to as anodyne an accomplishment as possible.
Trolleys.


latimes--2020-12-13--She was his best friend. And she led him to his death

It was fifth period at Panorama High School when Brayan Andino ’ s best friend dropped into his class and asked if he wanted to cut school to smoke some weed .
They slipped out to a table and waited until no adults were looking to steal away .
Brayan , a stocky 16-year-old who claimed membership in a gang he didn ’ t belong to and trusted people he shouldn ’ t , asked where they were going .
Lake Balboa Park , she proposed .
If it sounded spontaneous to Brayan , it wasn ’ t .
She @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 10th grade classmates had spent the previous week planning how to kill him , and that she , his closest friend , was the bait in the trap .
In a cramped juvenile courtroom in Sylmar , that friend and a second girl described how in 2017 they helped boys and young men affiliated with the MS-13 street gang coax Brayan to Lake Balboa Park , then into a car that carried him into the mountains above the San Fernando Valley , where he was stabbed and bludgeoned to death and thrown off @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , delivered in the murder trial of a former classmate , marked the first full account of how Brayan ’ s death was planned and carried out .
The trial also presented a troubling portrait of Panorama High , whose resident police officer testified that MS-13 had established a cell on campus .
On Sept. 17 , Superior Court Judge Fred J. Fujioka found Oscar Mendez , now 18 but 15 at the time of the killing , guilty of murder and gang conspiracy .
But even at its end , after hours @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and gang experts , the trial did not fully explain why , as a prosecutor put it in his closing argument , a group of teenagers had embraced “ a culture of death.
” Brayan Alejandro Andino was big for his age — much bigger than classmates who ran with MS-13 .
He was born in Honduras and came to the United States with his brother in 2013 .
Their mother eventually followed the boys north , and they settled in Van Nuys .
At Robert Fulton Middle School , Brayan met a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who would become his closest friend .
The Times is not naming this girl or the other witness who testified because they face a serious threat of retaliation .
When Brayan enrolled at Panorama High , a probation officer assigned to the school warned the campus police officer , Chad Phillippi , that the boy had been challenging students affiliated with MS-13 , claiming he belonged to their archrival , 18th Street .
He had scrawled on his backpack : “ F— MS. ” At best , Brayan was an 18th Street wannabe @ @ @ @ @ @ @ photographed himself flashing the gang ’ s sign , but there was no indication that he actually ran with its members .
Phillippi called Brayan into his office .
“ We discussed how dangerous it would be for him to be claiming 18th Street at my school , ” the officer testified , “ knowing that I had an MS-13 clique on my campus.
” The clique hung out near the quad , Phillippi recalled , a small group of boys and girls , diminutive in stature , all recently arrived from El @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the Salvadoran children who had enrolled at Panorama High after leaving their homeland , which in the last 50 years has been riven by civil war , beset with poverty and haunted by violence between MS-13 and 18th Street , gangs that were born in Los Angeles before being exported to Central America .
In coming to Panorama City and nearby working-class neighborhoods , the children had landed in the territory of an MS-13 clique , the Fultons .
The boys who affiliated with MS-13 didn ’ t dress like typical gang @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sneakers — standard issue for L.A. street gangs — they sported stylish jeans and shirts , and hats bearing the logos of the Los Angeles Rams and the Chicago Bulls , a nod to the gang ’ s obsession with horns , Phillippi said .
When he searched their school bags , Phillippi saw they had doodled pictures of devils in their notebooks and scrawled on their backpacks “ 503.
” It was the telephone country code for El Salvador , they told him , a mark of pride in their homeland .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ for the Los Angeles Police Department , the number carries a different meaning .
It represents a “ subculture ” within MS-13 , which espouses a particularly violent philosophy that requires initiates to kill as a show of loyalty , he testified .
Martin Flores , a gang expert called by the defense , scoffed at that idea , pointing to the gang ’ s numbers in Los Angeles , about 200 members and associates .
“ We ’ ve got to have hundreds of murders a week ” to keep pace with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
But in Aguilar ’ s telling , this new requirement gave rise to a series of killings committed by groups , most of them carried out in the Angeles National Forest .
She may have been Brayan ’ s closest friend , but she was dating a classmate and MS-13 associate , Oscar Mendez .
At 16 , she had given birth to Oscar ’ s son , and in time , they would have another child together .
Six days before Brayan would die , she ’ d spoken on the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ testified that a voice belonging to someone she hadn ’ t met , someone known as El Desquiciado — The Deranged — told her they wanted Brayan lured to a park “ because they wanted to kill him.
” His real name , which wasn ’ t known to the girl , was Roberto Carlos Mendez Cruz .
Mendez Cruz , whose attorney declined to comment , has pleaded not guilty to racketeering and murder .
She and Oscar Mendez took the bus after school to Lake Balboa Park .
A slender young @ @ @ @ @ @ @ six years older than the high schoolers , was waiting .
El Desquiciado was introduced as “ the boss , ” she recalled .
He led them through the park , explaining “ where we were going to be walking to , where I was supposed to take him , ” she testified .
Afterward , with Oscar Mendez watching , she sent Brayan a Facebook message that set in motion their trip to the park : “ We should go smoke on Monday.
” On Oct. 30 , 2017 , after Brayan @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they boarded a bus to Lake Balboa Park .
When he wasn ’ t looking , his friend whispered to the other girl : “ Lo van darle abajo.
” They ’ re going to put him down .
At the park , Brayan and the girls found a quiet spot , where a bike path ducked beneath Balboa Boulevard , and started smoking .
Afternoon gave way to evening .
They had burned through everything they ’ d brought when they noticed a teenager walking toward them , making hand signs .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ They were 18th Street signs , and the girls were confused .
Unlike Brayan , they knew who he was : Gerardo Alvarado , a former Panorama High student known as “ Tato.
” Alvarado was 18 and , unlike most of the Panorama High kids who just associated with the gang , was a full-fledged member of MS-13 , a detective testified .
Alvarado , now 21 , has pleaded not guilty to racketeering and murder .
His attorney declined to comment .
He greeted Brayan and the girls , passed out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mountains with his friends to smoke more weed , Brayan ’ s friend testified .
The four of them piled into the backseat of a dark-colored sedan .
It was growing dark , and the girls testified that they could not make out the faces of the driver or of the young man in the passenger seat .
Nor , they said , did Alvarado introduce them .
They headed north , climbing a winding road to a clearing in the mountains above Sylmar .
Scattered about it were the remnants of a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of metal pipes that once supported the structure ’ s walls , a concrete platform that faced west , toward the Santa Susana Mountains .
The sun had sunk behind them , and from the platform , Brayan ’ s friend testified , they could see the San Fernando Valley sprawled before them , the lights of so many homes and street lamps glittering in the night .
Then , she recalled , Alvarado cut in : “ Let ’ s go walking so we can smoke.
” They scrambled down a narrow @ @ @ @ @ @ @ her footing , while Alvarado pawed at the other girl ’ s rear , the friend testified .
Brayan told him to knock it off .
Suddenly , a boy emerged from brush lining the path , startling the girls .
Everyone laughed .
As they continued down the trail , more boys — or maybe some were young men , it was difficult to tell — materialized out of the dark , the girls said in court .
Brayan ’ s friend testified that she recognized two of their classmates , as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
After walking for some time , Brayan sat down on the path and announced that he wouldn ’ t go any further .
El Desquiciado approached Brayan and asked if he knew who he was .
“ I don ’ t know who you are , ” Brayan replied , according to the girls .
He laughed , clearly still feeling the marijuana .
“ And I don ’ t care.
” At this , El Desquiciado struck Brayan in the face and a boy grabbed him from behind , the friend @ @ @ @ @ @ @ say he was “ hungry and going to kill the chicken.
” The other girl grabbed her by the shirt and they turned to leave .
Her last image of Brayan was of him surrounded , trying to fight off the dark figures clinging to his legs , his arms , his back .
When Brayan didn ’ t come home , his mother logged into his Facebook account and read the messages that discussed leaving school for the park .
She sent his friend a message , asking where Brayan was .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ a pair of detectives went looking for the girl .
David Holmes and Daryn Dupree , from the Los Angeles Police Department ’ s Robbery-Homicide Division , were investigating Brayan ’ s disappearance as a missing persons case .
They took his friend to the Van Nuys police station , where she rattled off a cover story about where she was the night he disappeared .
The detectives gave her their cards , asked her to call if she heard anything about Brayan , and let her go .
Two days later , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ present at Brayan ’ s killing .
She took them to Lake Balboa Park , then to a ravine in Lopez Canyon , where she tried to pinpoint the last place she saw the boy .
The detectives found nothing in the ravine , which was covered in thick brush .
They returned a month later .
Again , nothing .
The next day , the Creek fire swept through the canyon .
With the mountainsides now blackened and bare , the detectives returned to the canyon .
Near the foot of a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a charred , twisted skeleton .
In a way , Brayan ’ s murder put an end to the MS-13 clique at Panorama High .
Several of them stopped going to school .
Phillippi , the campus policeman , testified that the principal called him into his office a month after Brayan ’ s remains were found and asked : “ Officer Phillippi , who do I need to get out of this school to calm this MS problem ?
” Alfonso Garcia , Phillippi told him .
The boy was gone within @ @ @ @ @ @ @ School in North Hills , the officer testified .
A spokeswoman for the Los Angeles Unified School District said the principal of Panorama High wasn ’ t available for an interview .
The morning of Feb. 8 , 2018 , Phillippi took Garcia into custody at his new school , one of eight arrests made that day in connection with Brayan ’ s death .
When the police detained Alvarado , they also searched his family ’ s Panorama City apartment ; in a backpack , an officer testified , they found a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Spanish on a sheet of notebook paper , including one that forbade dismembering bodies within gang territory .
Alvarado , Mendez Cruz ( El Desquiciado ) and 20 more young men are charged in federal court with racketeering and murder .
Brayan ’ s killing is but one in a series of killings attributed by federal authorities to MS-13 ’ s Fulton clique .
An indictment describes in clinical language how the lives of several boys and young men , identified in the document only by their initials , ended in the Angeles @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the chest while yelling , ‘ La Mara !
’ ” Brayan ’ s best friend was arrested that same February morning and charged with murder .
She would testify that two classmates , Alfonso Garcia and Douglas Rodriguez , were among the boys she recognized in the mountains .
Rodriguez and Garcia , both 16 at the time of the killing , have pleaded not guilty in juvenile court to murder .
At Mendez ’ s trial , the girl was escorted into court wearing the grey sweatshirt , black sweatpants @ @ @ @ @ @ @ detained in juvenile hall .
Mendez , the father of her two children , sat across from her at the defense table .
He had grown a wispy mustache and goatee , but his stature remained child-like , his cheeks still plump .
Although he never traveled to the mountains the night Brayan died , Mendez was convicted of murder and gang conspiracy for his role in plotting and coordinating the killing .
He listened to his onetime girlfriend narrate Brayan ’ s murder — to which she has pleaded guilty — in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ described Mendez as “ the father of my children , but he ’ s nothing more than that.
” His attorney asked : “ Once upon a time , you loved him ?
” “ Yes , ” she said , and she began to cry .
A prosecutor asked if she had been thinking of Mendez .
No , she said .
She was thinking of Brayan .
“ The truth is , ” she said , “ I didn ’ t want to do that .
It wasn ’ t my @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have any other option.
” She didn ’ t say anything more , and it was the closest thing she offered to an explanation .

MS-13 is said to have had a “sizable presence” at Panorama High School. In 2018, several students were detained in the 2017 killing of a missing classmate.
It was fifth period at Panorama High School when Brayan Andino’s best friend dropped into his class and asked if he wanted to cut school to smoke some weed.
They slipped out to a table and waited until no adults were looking to steal away. Brayan, a stocky 16-year-old who claimed membership in a gang he didn’t belong to and trusted people he shouldn’t, asked where they were going.
Lake Balboa Park, she proposed. If it sounded spontaneous to Brayan, it wasn’t. She would later testify that several of his 10th-grade classmates had spent the previous week planning how to kill him, and that she, his closest friend, was the bait in the trap.
In a cramped juvenile courtroom in Sylmar, that friend and a second girl described how in 2017 they helped boys and young men affiliated with the MS-13 street gang coax Brayan to Lake Balboa Park, then into a car that carried him into the mountains above the San Fernando Valley, where he was stabbed and bludgeoned to death and thrown off a cliff.
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The girls’ testimony, delivered in the murder trial of a former classmate, marked the first full account of how Brayan’s death was planned and carried out. The trial also presented a troubling portrait of Panorama High, whose resident police officer testified that MS-13 had established a cell on campus.
On Sept. 17, Superior Court Judge Fred J. Fujioka found Oscar Mendez, now 18 but 15 at the time of the killing, guilty of murder and gang conspiracy. But even at its end, after hours of testimony from the girls, detectives and gang experts, the trial did not fully explain why, as a prosecutor put it in his closing argument, a group of teenagers had embraced “a culture of death.”
::
Brayan Alejandro Andino was big for his age — much bigger than classmates who ran with MS-13, also known as Mara Salvatrucha. He was born in Honduras and came to the United States with his brother in 2013. Their mother eventually followed the boys north, and they settled in Van Nuys.
Brayan Alejandro Andino was killed at Angeles National Forest in 2017. The 16-year-old was a sophomore at Panorama High School. (Handout)
At Robert Fulton Middle School, Brayan met a short, chubby girl from El Salvador who would become his closest friend. The Times is not naming this girl or the other witness who testified because they face a serious threat of retaliation.
When Brayan enrolled at Panorama High, a probation officer assigned to the school warned the campus police officer, Chad Phillippi, that the boy had been challenging students affiliated with MS-13, claiming he belonged to their archrival, 18th Street. He had scrawled on his backpack: “F— MS.”
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At best, Brayan was an 18th Street wannabe, according to court testimony. He photographed himself flashing the gang’s sign, but there was no indication that he actually ran with its members.
Phillippi called Brayan into his office. “We discussed how dangerous it would be for him to be claiming 18th Street at my school,” the officer testified, “knowing that I had an MS-13 clique on my campus.”
The clique hung out near the quad, Phillippi recalled, a small group of boys and girls, diminutive in stature, all recently arrived from El Salvador. They represented only a fraction of the Salvadoran children who had enrolled at Panorama High after leaving their homeland, which in the last 50 years has been riven by civil war, beset with poverty and haunted by violence between MS-13 and 18th Street, gangs that were born in Los Angeles before being exported to Central America.
In coming to Panorama City and nearby working-class neighborhoods, the children had landed in the territory of an MS-13 clique, the Fultons. The boys who affiliated with MS-13 didn’t dress like typical gang members. Although they wore Nike Cortez sneakers — standard issue for L.A. street gangs — they sported stylish jeans and shirts, and hats bearing the logos of the Los Angeles Rams and the Chicago Bulls, a nod to the gang’s obsession with horns, Phillippi said.
When he searched their school bags, Phillippi saw they had doodled pictures of devils in their notebooks and scrawled on their backpacks “503.” It was the telephone country code for El Salvador, they told him, a mark of pride in their homeland.
To Steven Aguilar, a gang detective for the Los Angeles Police Department, the number carries a different meaning. It represents a “subculture” within MS-13, which espouses a particularly violent philosophy that requires initiates to kill as a show of loyalty, he testified.
Martin Flores, a gang expert called by the defense, scoffed at that idea, pointing to the gang’s numbers in Los Angeles, about 200 members and associates. “We’ve got to have hundreds of murders a week” to keep pace with MS-13’s growth, he said.
But in Aguilar’s telling, this new requirement gave rise to a series of killings committed by groups, most of them carried out in the Angeles National Forest.
::
She may have been Brayan’s closest friend, but she was dating a classmate and MS-13 associate, Oscar Mendez. At 16, she had given birth to Oscar’s son, and in time, they would have another child together.
Six days before Brayan would die, she’d spoken on the phone with several MS-13 members. She testified that a voice belonging to someone she hadn’t met, someone known as El Desquiciado — the Deranged — told her they wanted Brayan lured to a park “because they wanted to kill him.”
His real name, which wasn’t known to the girl, was Roberto Carlos Mendez Cruz. Mendez Cruz, whose attorney declined to comment, has pleaded not guilty to racketeering and murder.
On Oct. 30, 2017, Brayan ditched class to smoke weed with his best friend and another classmate. When Brayan had looked away, his friend whispered to the other classmate, telling her about MS-13’s plan: “Lo van darle abajo.” They’re going to put him down. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)
She and Oscar Mendez took the bus after school to Lake Balboa Park. A slender young man, nearly six feet tall and six years older than the high schoolers, was waiting. El Desquiciado was introduced as “the boss,” she recalled. He led them through the park, explaining “where we were going to be walking to, where I was supposed to take him,” she testified.
Afterward, with Oscar Mendez watching, she sent Brayan a Facebook message that set in motion their trip to the park: “We should go smoke on Monday.”
“OK,” Brayan said.
::
On Oct. 30, 2017, after Brayan and the two girls ditched class, they boarded a bus to Lake Balboa Park. When he wasn’t looking, his friend whispered to the other girl: “Lo van darle abajo.” They’re going to put him down.
Who, she asked.
“Brayan.”
At the park, Brayan and the girls found a quiet spot, where a bike path ducked beneath Balboa Boulevard, and started smoking. Afternoon gave way to evening. They had burned through everything they’d brought when they noticed a teenager walking toward them, making hand signs.
Brayan and the two girls smoked under a bike path at Lake Balboa Park. They later wound up at Lopez Canyon, where his killers were waiting. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)
Brayan flashed the same signs back. They were 18th Street signs, and the girls were confused. Unlike Brayan, they knew who he was: Gerardo Alvarado, a former Panorama High student known as “Tato.” Alvarado was 18 and, unlike most of the Panorama High kids who just associated with the gang, was a full-fledged member of MS-13, a detective testified.
Alvarado, now 21, has pleaded not guilty to racketeering and murder. His attorney declined to comment.
He greeted Brayan and the girls, passed out cigarettes and suggested they go to the mountains with his friends to smoke more weed, Brayan’s friend testified.
The four of them piled into the backseat of a dark-colored sedan. It was growing dark, and the girls testified that they could not make out the faces of the driver or of the young man in the passenger seat. Nor, they said, did Alvarado introduce them.
They headed north, climbing a winding road to a clearing in the mountains above Sylmar. Scattered about it were the remnants of a stable: rusted troughs, a skeleton of metal pipes that once supported the structure’s walls, a concrete platform that faced west, toward the Santa Susana Mountains. The sun had sunk behind them, and from the platform, Brayan’s friend testified, they could see the San Fernando Valley sprawled before them, the lights of so many homes and street lamps glittering in the night.
At Lopez Canyon, several figures approached Brayan and the girls. His best friend’s last image of Brayan was of him surrounded, trying to fight off the dark figures clinging to his legs, his arms, his back. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)
Then, she recalled, Alvarado cut in: “Let’s go walking so we can smoke.”
They scrambled down a narrow trail. Brayan helped his friend keep her footing, while Alvarado pawed at the other girl’s rear, the friend testified. Brayan told him to knock it off.
Suddenly, a boy emerged from brush lining the path, startling the girls. Everyone laughed. As they continued down the trail, more boys — or maybe some were young men, it was difficult to tell — materialized out of the dark, the girls said in court.
Brayan’s friend testified that she recognized two of their classmates, as well as Mendez Cruz — El Desquiciado. After walking for some time, Brayan sat down on the path and announced that he wouldn’t go any farther. El Desquiciado approached Brayan and asked if he knew who he was.
“I don’t know who you are,” Brayan replied, according to the girls. He laughed, clearly still feeling the marijuana. “And I don’t care.”
At this, El Desquiciado struck Brayan in the face and a boy grabbed him from behind, the friend testified. She said she heard Alvarado say he was “hungry and going to kill the chicken.”
The other girl grabbed her by the shirt and they turned to leave. Her last image of Brayan was of him surrounded, trying to fight off the dark figures clinging to his legs, his arms, his back.
::
When Brayan didn’t come home, his mother logged into his Facebook account and read the messages that discussed leaving school for the park. She sent his friend a message, asking where Brayan was. No reply. A week later, a pair of detectives went looking for the girl.
David Holmes and Daryn Dupree, from the Los Angeles Police Department’s Robbery-Homicide Division, were investigating Brayan’s disappearance as a missing persons case. They took his friend to the Van Nuys police station, where she rattled off a cover story about where she was the night he disappeared. The detectives gave her their cards, asked her to call if she heard anything about Brayan, and let her go.
Two days later, Holmes and Dupree interviewed the other girl present at Brayan’s killing. She took them to Lake Balboa Park, then to a ravine in Lopez Canyon, where she tried to pinpoint the last place she saw the boy. The detectives found nothing in the ravine, which was covered in thick brush. They returned a month later. Again, nothing.
The next day, the Creek fire swept through the canyon. With the mountainsides now blackened and bare, the detectives returned to the canyon. Near the foot of a 30-foot cliff, Holmes and Dupree found a charred, twisted skeleton.
::
In a way, Brayan’s murder put an end to the MS-13 clique at Panorama High. Several of them stopped going to school. Phillippi, the campus policeman, testified that the principal called him into his office a month after Brayan’s remains were found and asked: “Officer Phillippi, who do I need to get out of this school to calm this MS problem?”
Brayan’s best friend was arrested in February 2018 and charged with murder. She would testify that two classmates were among the boys she recognized in the mountains. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)
Alfonso Garcia, Phillippi told him. The boy was gone within days, transferred to James Monroe High School in North Hills, the officer testified. A spokeswoman for the Los Angeles Unified School District said the principal of Panorama High wasn’t available for an interview.
The morning of Feb. 8, 2018, Phillippi took Garcia into custody at his new school, one of eight arrests made that day in connection with Brayan’s death. When the police detained Alvarado, they also searched his family’s Panorama City apartment; in a backpack, an officer testified, they found a numbered list of rules, handwritten in Spanish on a sheet of notebook paper, including one that forbade dismembering bodies within gang territory.
Alvarado, Mendez Cruz (El Desquiciado) and 20 more young men are charged in federal court with racketeering and murder. Brayan’s killing is but one in a series of killings attributed by federal authorities to MS-13’s Fulton clique. An indictment describes in clinical language how the lives of several boys and young men, identified in the document only by their initials, ended in the Angeles National Forest:
“… repeatedly struck G.B. with a machete.”
“… hit E.H. in the chest while yelling, ‘La Mara!’”
“… carved out J.S.’s heart.”
“… lured B.A. to Lake Balboa Park.”
Brayan’s best friend was arrested that same February morning and charged with murder. She would testify that two classmates, Alfonso Garcia and Douglas Rodriguez, were among the boys she recognized in the mountains. Rodriguez and Garcia, both 16 at the time of the killing, have pleaded not guilty in juvenile court to murder.
At Mendez’s trial, the girl was escorted into court wearing the gray sweatshirt, black sweatpants and Velcro shoes issued to every teenager detained in juvenile hall. Mendez, the father of her two children, sat across from her at the defense table. He had grown a wispy mustache and goatee, but his stature remained childlike, his cheeks still plump.
Although he never traveled to the mountains the night Brayan died, Mendez was convicted of murder and gang conspiracy for his role in plotting and coordinating the killing.
He listened to his onetime girlfriend narrate Brayan’s murder — to which she has pleaded guilty — in a flat, low voice. She described Mendez as “the father of my children, but he’s nothing more than that.” His attorney asked: “Once upon a time, you loved him?”
“Yes,” she said, and she began to cry. A prosecutor asked if she had been thinking of Mendez.
No, she said. She was thinking of Brayan.
“The truth is,” she said, “I didn’t want to do that. It wasn’t my intention. But I didn’t have any other option.” She didn’t say anything more, and it was the closest thing she offered to an explanation.


latimes--2020-12-13--A Norwegian church in San Pedro honors a saint who brings light to darkness. Fitting in a pandemic

In an empty nook of the Norwegian Seamen ’ s Church in San Pedro , long-ago memories bubble up like seafoam .
Here , sailors used to huddle thousands of miles from home and regale each other with yarns about their lives .
In a corner long since repurposed , the seafarers gathered to smoke , read newspapers from tiny towns in Norway and drink coffee .
There were bunks to sleep , a pool table for entertainment and phone booths to call home , alongside Lutheran sermons .
It was equal parts nourishment for body and soul .
The @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Los Angeles , dates to the early 1940s , a haven for ship-weary crews who might be anchored for a week or two between sailings that often kept them away from the Nordic country for months at a time .
The chapel still boasts a nautical theme : A small wooden ship hangs from the sanctuary ceiling ; a painting depicts crashing waves .
The adornments bear witness to the church ’ s fading past , even as it transitions to a new phase — one in which homesick college students and Norwegian @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the trappings of home .
“ Today , it ’ s more kind of a gathering place for what we usually call ‘ modern seamen , ’ ” the Rev .
Morgan Berg said of the people the church now serves .
On Sunday , the church will celebrate St. Lucia ’ s Day , one of the biggest holidays in Scandinavia .
The saint , a 4th century Sicilian girl martyred for her Christian faith , is represented as a woman wearing a white robe , red sash and a crown of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ into darkness , ” literally and metaphysically , said Berg — an uplifting observance fitting for a year that has seen the worst pandemic in a century .
Traditional St. Lucia ’ s Day celebrations feature a woman or girl dressed as Lucia , wearing the signature candle-adorned headpiece , leading a procession of singing children dressed as “ star boys , ” Santa ’ s helpers and gingerbread men .
But like so many other events in 2020 , this year ’ s parade and live concert were upended by the coronavirus @ @ @ @ @ @ @ County and beyond .
The church , instead , will have an outdoor service and screen a recorded musical program .
When the Norwegian Seamen ’ s Mission arrived in San Pedro in 1941 , Norway reportedly boasted the largest shipping fleet in the world , with hundreds of vessels visiting the Los Angeles harbor every year .
The Seamen ’ s Church — and dozens of others like it — were built in ports around the world , including one constructed in the early 1950s overlooking the bay in San Francisco .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ and have some connection with the home country ” more than 5,000 miles away , said Jay Cook , an organist whose great-grandfather helped found the local church .
And the house of worship that offered much more became a beloved sanctuary , according to “ 50 Years on Beacon Street , ” a Norwegian-language historical book put together by the church .
Besides being a hub for mariners , the church became an anchor for the approximately 10,000 Norwegians living in L.A. at the time .
To accommodate the growing numbers , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , atop the Beacon Street bluff overlooking the San Pedro Harbor , in 1951 .
Until the mid-1970s , 400 Norwegian ships came through the harbor each year .
By 1985 , that number had been reduced by half , the Rev .
Arne Oystese told The Times that year .
Catherine Chiaro , an Oslo native who moved to Southern California in 1987 and now works as an administrator at the church , remembers hunting down hometown newspapers for visiting sailors , who came by the hundreds annually .
She and Tone @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and works in its gift shop , now see a different kind of bustle in the building .
The women , both wearing matching red face masks and T-shirts bearing the Norwegian flag , recently helped customers purchase traditional Scandinavian Christmas decorations , such as julenisse , a Santa-like gnome , and julebukk , the Yule goat .
The church saw record sales during its annual Christmas market .
They sold out of the bright-yellow S-shaped saffron buns called lussekatter that mark the holiday season .
“ People are looking for that nostalgic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Especially when , you know , isolation is the norm.
” The pandemic has brought plenty of changes to the Seamen ’ s Church .
Two Norwegian couples heading the San Pedro site returned home earlier this year , and Berg , who had arrived from Norway in the summer of 2019 to pastor a sister church in San Francisco , now splits his time between the two locales .
The tall , ruddy-cheeked minister was tasked by the church ’ s headquarters in Bergen , Norway , with surveying where his compatriots @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Berkeley likely has the largest group of students , with around 150 , Berg said , but he is in contact with others across the state .
About 50 to 60 students live in Southern California , he estimated .
Norwegian high school students are typically allowed to spend their penultimate year in the country of their choice , but that didn ’ t happen in 2020 because of the coronavirus , Chiaro said .
Some college students returned home when the virus shuttered in-person classes .
Others were left stranded in California @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ They have relatives that die , and they can ’ t go home for their funerals , ” said Hans Bratt Hernberg , priest of the Church of Sweden , which has shared a building with the Seamen ’ s Church since the late 1950s .
“ It ’ s really a mess.
” Because of the pandemic , the Church of Sweden is holding its St. Lucia celebration online this year .
It ’ s a disappointing cap to a somber year for many , Hernberg said .
But there ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ spot .
Berolina Bakery in Glendale is holding a Swedish shopping event on Sunday morning that will benefit the church .
With traffic in the port dwindling to just a handful of Norwegian ships , the church instead acts as a central hub for the roughly 15,000 expatriates living in the greater Los Angeles area , Berg said .
Amid the hopeful abatement of the pandemic in 2021 and the planned widespread distribution of COVID-19 vaccines , a few passenger vessels have tentative arrival dates in May .
Should those ships sail into @ @ @ @ @ @ @ met with an old tradition , the pastor says : blasting the Norwegian national anthem from the church ’ s loudspeakers .

Sunday marked St. Lucia’s Day, one of the biggest holidays on the Scandinavian calendar. Pastor Morgan Berg, 37, led an outdoor service at the Norwegian Seamen’s Church.
In an empty nook of the Norwegian Seamen’s Church in San Pedro, long-ago memories bubble up like sea foam.
Here, sailors would huddle thousands of miles from home and regale one another with yarns about their lives. In another corner of the church long since repurposed, the seafarers gathered to smoke before settling down to read newspapers from tiny towns in Norway and drink coffee. When they weren’t listening to a Lutheran pastor’s sermons, the mariners found bunks to sleep in, a pool table for entertainment and phone booths to call home. It was equal parts nourishment for body and soul.
The church, perched near the Port of Los Angeles, dates to the early 1940s, a haven for ship-weary crews who might be anchored for a week or two between sailings that often kept them away from the Nordic country for months at a time.
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The chapel still boasts a nautical theme: A small wooden ship hangs from the sanctuary ceiling; a painting depicts crashing waves.
The adornments bear witness to the church’s fading past, even as it transitions to a new phase — one in which homesick college students and Norwegian expatriates living in L.A. take comfort in the trappings of home.
“Today, it’s more kind of a gathering place for what we usually call ‘modern seamen,’” the Rev. Morgan Berg said.
Pastor Morgan Berg, 37, at the Norwegian Seamen’s Church. “Today, it’s more kind of a gathering place for what we usually call ‘modern seamen,’” he said. (Gary Coronado / Los Angeles Times)
On Sunday morning, the church celebrated St. Lucia’s Day, one of the biggest holidays in Scandinavia. The saint, a 4th century Sicilian girl martyred for her Christian faith, is represented as a woman wearing a white robe, a red sash and a crown of glowing candles.
“She brought light into darkness,” literally and metaphysically, said Berg — an uplifting observance fitting for a year that has seen the worst pandemic in a century.
Traditional St. Lucia’s Day celebrations feature a woman or girl dressed as Lucia, wearing the signature candle-adorned headpiece, leading a procession of singing children dressed as Santa’s helpers, gingerbread men and “star boys” in spangled pointy white hats. But like so many other events in 2020, this year’s parade and live concert were upended by the coronavirus, which is raging unchecked in L.A. County and beyond.
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The church, instead, held a service in its backyard. Soft Norwegian songs and prayers filled the crisp morning air. Berg, dressed in a white robe with purple embellishments, led the intimate gathering.
Though the service was smaller and shorter than usual, Christian Duesund, 17, said he was just happy to be able to celebrate with the congregation that he grew up with.
“It was good that everybody could get together; that’s what really matters,” Christian said. “It just feels more normal to be in person than on a Zoom call.”
Christian was there with his Norwegian-born parents, his brother and dog, who drove up from Orange County for the service, as they do every other week. His mother, Sissel, said there are much closer churches, but “this is more like our home.”
Closing out the service was a video screening of a musical service prepared in Norway and sent over by Vegard Husby, the church’s former pastor. He and his wife, Mari, were blocked from returning to the country because of the pandemic, said Liv Johansen, a part-time church employee.
When the Norwegian Seamen’s Mission arrived in San Pedro in 1941, Norway reportedly boasted the largest shipping fleet in the world, with hundreds of vessels visiting the Los Angeles harbor every year. The Seamen’s Church and dozens of others like it, including one constructed in the early 1950s overlooking San Francisco Bay, were built in ports around the world.
“The sailors got to be here and have some connection with the home country” more than 5,000 miles away, said Jay Cook, an organist whose great-grandfather helped found the San Pedro church.
The house of worship became not just a hub for mariners but an anchor for the 10,000 Norwegians living in L.A. in the early 1940s, according to “50 Years on Beacon Street,” a Norwegian-language history book published by the church. To accommodate the growing numbers, the church moved from up the hill to its current location, atop the Beacon Street bluff overlooking the Port of Los Angeles, in 1951.
Until the mid-1970s, 400 Norwegian ships came through the harbor each year. By 1985, that number had been reduced by half, the Rev. Arne Oystese told The Times that year.
Catherine Chiaro, an Oslo native who moved to Southern California in 1987 and now works as a church administrator, remembers hunting down hometown newspapers for visiting sailors, who came in each year by the hundreds.
Now, the building sees a different kind of bustle. On a recent weekday afternoon, Chiaro and and Tone Grunwald, who bakes for the church and works in its gift shop, helped customers purchase traditional Christmas decorations: julenisse, a Santa-like gnome, and julebukk, the Yule goat.
And at its annual Christmas market earlier this month, the church sold out of the bright yellow S-shaped saffron buns called lussekatter that mark the holiday season.
“People are looking for that nostalgic sense,” Cook said. “Especially when, you know, isolation is the norm.”
The pandemic has brought other changes to the Seamen’s Church. After the Husbys and another couple who helped head the congregation returned to Norway earlier this year, the church suddenly needed a new leader. Berg, who had arrived from Norway in the summer of 2019 to head the sister church in San Francisco, now splits his time between the two locations.
Norwegians Syhnove Helset, left, and husband Andreas Helset live in Pasadena, where Andreas attends Caltech. The couple chat with Liv Johansen, center, Catherine Chiaro and Tone Grunwald in the gift shop of the Norwegian Seamen’s Church in San Pedro. (Gary Coronado / Los Angeles Times)
The tall, ruddy-cheeked minister was tasked by the church’s headquarters in Bergen, Norway, with surveying where his compatriots live on the West Coast. More than 50 students live in Southern California, 150 attend UC Berkeley, and he is in contact with others across the state, Berg said.
Some college students returned home when the virus shut down in-person classes. Others were left stranded in California because of visa and travel restrictions.
“They have relatives that die, and they can’t go home for their funerals,” said Hans Bratt Hernberg, pastor of the Church of Sweden, which has shared a building with the Seamen’s Church since the late 1950s. “It’s really a mess.”
Norwegian high school students are typically allowed to spend their penultimate year in the country of their choice, but the year abroad was canceled in 2020 because of the novel coronavirus, Chiaro said.
The Church of Sweden held its St. Lucia celebration online this year, a disappointing finale to a somber year for many, Hernberg said.
But there was a bright — and sweet — spot for some Scandinavians on Sunday, when Berolina Bakery in Glendale held a Swedish shopping event. With many Christmas markets closed this year, the event allowed the Swedish community to stock up on traditional goodies for Lucia day, said Youna Karlsson, who runs the bakery with her Swedish husband, Anders.
Standing in line with his wife and two young children, Nico Ahlstrom, 32, seemed grateful for the gustatory lifeline.
“It’s just another tradition that is way different this year around,” Ahlstrom said. “So it’s nice to be able to come here and grab some food and stuff that is familiar to us from back home.”
Hailing from a Swedish-speaking community in Finland, he said he was most looking forward to buying pickled herring, which can be hard to come by in Los Angeles. Then they planned to head to a park for a picnic, in lieu of typical Lucia festivities.
With traffic in the port dwindling to just a handful of Norwegian ships, the church now is a central hub for the roughly 15,000 expatriates living in the greater Los Angeles area, Berg said.
With hopes of the pandemic abating in 2021, amid the widespread distribution of COVID-19 vaccines, a few Norwegian passenger vessels have tentative arrival dates in May. Should those ships sail into the harbor, they’ll be met with an old tradition, the pastor says: blasting the Norwegian national anthem from the church’s loudspeakers.


latimes--2020-12-13--COVID-19 vaccine clears key hurdle in California and much of the West

The COVID-19 vaccine developed by Pfizer and BioNTech cleared another hurdle in California on Sunday , when a working group of scientists and experts endorsed its safety .
The group , representing California , Nevada , Oregon and Washington , reviewed the vaccine separately from the U.S. Food and Drug Administration , which on Friday issued emergency-use authorization .
The group made its recommendation to the governors of the four states Sunday morning , officials said in a news release .
The move paved the way for vaccines to be distributed across California .
Officials expect the first shipments to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ more to follow this month and in January .
“ With shipments of the vaccine soon on their way to California , ” Gov .
Gavin Newsom said in a statement , “ we are working hand-in-hand with local public health officials to get the vaccine out to the first phase of recipients.
” California ’ s first allocation of about 327,000 doses is being sent mostly to acute-care hospitals to be administered to healthcare workers , although some counties have said they will also send a portion to skilled nursing facilities .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ be available to everyone who wants one until the spring .
“ We ’ re really living in and writing history right now , ” said Desi Kotis , UCSF Health ’ s chief pharmacy executive , who is leading the vaccine rollout there .
UCSF Health expects to receive at least 975 doses Monday or Tuesday , followed by more shipments later in the week .
If hospital officials obtain the first allocation by Tuesday , “ which is a big hope , ” Kotis said , they plan to start vaccinating @ @ @ @ @ @ @ won ’ t be enough to cover the 20,000 or so people affiliated with the healthcare system who need to be vaccinated , including staff at the UCSF Benioff Children ’ s Hospital Oakland and multiple affiliate practices ; the UCSF police force ; and students , staff and researchers at the UCSF School of Medicine .
Of those , UCSF Health has prioritized 10,000 to 11,000 people because they ’ re at high risk of prolonged exposure to the coronavirus .
“ It ’ s not just a doctor , a nurse @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ It could be a physical therapist or occupational therapist working with a COVID patient .
It ’ s a patient transporter moving COVID patients around the hospital and clinics .
It ’ s the environmental service worker , the custodial worker who ’ s cleaning our facility.
” Others who will be prioritized include first responders , people who are working at coronavirus testing sites or administering vaccines , students in clinical rotations in high-risk areas like the emergency department and researchers actively working with COVID-19 patients or vaccines , Kotis @ @ @ @ @ @ @ being careful to vaccinate only about a third of any given work group at a time , so if employees suffer side effects and need a day off , enough workers remain to take care of patients .
The state Department of Public Health selected UCSF Health as a vaccine distribution site in early November after it answered a detailed series of questions about its facilities , down to the detail of the serial numbers on its ultracold freezers for storing the vaccine , Kotis said .
The hospital also had to attest @ @ @ @ @ @ @ patients and employees who aren ’ t affiliated with UCSF .
Based on the latest instructions from health officials , UCSF plans to use the initial doses of vaccine solely on its own employees and students , but that could change , and the hospital is “ ready to pivot and do that work , ” Kotis said .
“ If our health department does say you may need to vaccinate others from long-term care facilities , whether it ’ s workers or residents , or other hospitals in the area , we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” she said .
The health system hopes to have its high-risk workforce vaccinated by mid-January .
Students and staff can opt out .
UCSF will then move on to the second group of people to be vaccinated , which includes essential workers and highest-risk patients .
Discussions are already underway concerning how people will be prioritized within those groups , Kotis said .
News of the working group ’ s recommendation came as conditions continued to deteriorate at California ’ s hospitals .
There were 13,047 COVID-19 patients hospitalized Saturday , according @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
That ’ s a nearly sixfold increase from two months ago , when there were 2,226 patients .
L.A. County saw hospitalizations increase by roughly the same proportion , logging 4,203 patients on Saturday , compared with 723 two months before .
County public health officials on Sunday reported 29 deaths from COVID-19 and 12,731 new cases of the coronavirus , marking the fourth consecutive day the number of new cases topped 11,000 .
The high figures came despite the fact that case numbers are usually lower on weekends because some laboratories @ @ @ @ @ @ @ trucks carrying the vaccine departed Pfizer ’ s manufacturing plant in Kalamazoo , Mich. , on Sunday , advocates sought to dispel skepticism about a drug that could save lives .
Dr. Francis Collins , director of the National Institutes of Health , said the level of scrutiny to which the vaccine had been subjected was unprecedented and that the data detailing its safety and efficacy were publicly available .
“ This is a very powerful outcome of this incredibly intense yearlong experience to develop this , ” Collins said on NBC ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ And I think all reasonable people , if they had the chance to sort of put the noise aside and disregard all those terrible conspiracy theories , would look at this and say , ‘ I want this for my family ; I want it for myself.
’ ” Collins acknowledged that the sense the vaccine development was rushed , plus the “ terrible polarization ” in the country , created a sense of skepticism .
But , he said , it was unfounded .
Collins also cautioned that just because a vaccine @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in health safety should not be discarded .
“ Masks are still going to be part of our life , ” he said .
“ We need to recognize that and not step away or start to drop our guard.
” “ There ’ s still going to be time where we have to abide by the rules and mask and distance and keep our hands clean and not party like it ’ s 1999 and go to a big rave tomorrow night because I got my vaccine , ” she said .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ have to be patient , and it ’ s going to take time .
But the light at the end of the tunnel isn ’ t a train coming back at us anymore .
It ’ s a bright beacon of hope.
” Jay Inslee , the Democratic governor of Washington , said the review by the four states should help assure residents of the region .
“ It was crucial that the Western states had their own independent review of the vaccine , ” Inslee said in a statement , “ so @ @ @ @ @ @ @ safety and efficacy before we start administering to the people of our states .
”

The COVID-19 vaccine developed by Pfizer and BioNTech cleared another hurdle in California on Sunday, when a working group of scientists and experts endorsed its safety.
The group, representing California, Nevada, Oregon and Washington, reviewed the vaccine separately from the U.S. Food and Drug Administration, which on Friday issued emergency use authorization. The group made its recommendation to the governors of the four states Sunday morning, officials said in a news release.
The move paved the way for vaccines to be distributed across California. Los Angeles International Airport’s Twitter account said Sunday night that the first batch had arrived in L.A., with more to follow this month and in January.
“With shipments of the vaccine soon on their way to California,” Gov. Gavin Newsom said in a statement, “we are working hand-in-hand with local public health officials to get the vaccine out to the first phase of recipients.”
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California’s first allocation of about 327,000 doses is being sent mostly to acute-care hospitals to be administered to healthcare workers, although some counties have said they will also send a portion to skilled nursing facilities. The vaccine isn’t expected to be available to everyone who wants it until the spring.
“We’re really living in and writing history right now,” said Desi Kotis, UC San Francisco Health’s chief pharmacy executive, who is leading the vaccine rollout there.
UC San Francisco Health expects to receive at least 975 doses Monday or Tuesday, followed by more shipments later in the week. If hospital officials obtain the first allocation by Tuesday, “which is a big hope,” Kotis said, they plan to start vaccinating people Wednesday morning.
The initial shipment won’t be enough to cover the 20,000 or so people affiliated with the healthcare system who need to be vaccinated, including staff at the UC San Francisco Benioff Children’s Hospital Oakland and multiple affiliate practices; the UC San Francisco police force; and students, staff and researchers at the UC San Francisco School of Medicine. Of those, UC San Francisco Health has prioritized 10,000 to 11,000 people because they’re at high risk of prolonged exposure to the coronavirus.
“It’s not just a doctor, a nurse or a pharmacist,” Kotis said. “It could be a physical therapist or occupational therapist working with a COVID patient. It’s a patient transporter moving COVID patients around the hospital and clinics. It’s the environmental service worker, the custodial worker who’s cleaning our facility.”
Others who will be prioritized include first responders, people who are working at coronavirus testing sites or administering vaccines, students in clinical rotations in high-risk areas like the emergency department and researchers actively working with COVID-19 patients or vaccines, Kotis said.
She said the hospital is being careful to vaccinate only about a third of any given work group at a time, so if employees suffer side effects and need a day off, enough workers remain to take care of patients.
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The state Department of Public Health selected UC San Francisco Health as a vaccine distribution site in early November after it answered a detailed series of questions about its facilities, down to the detail of the serial numbers on its ultracold freezers for storing the vaccine, Kotis said. The hospital also had to attest that it would be willing to vaccinate patients and employees who aren’t affiliated with UC San Francisco.
Based on the latest instructions from health officials, UC San Francisco plans to use the initial doses of vaccine solely on its own employees and students, but that could change, and the hospital is “ready to pivot and do that work,” Kotis said.
“If our health department does say you may need to vaccinate others from long-term care facilities, whether it’s workers or residents, or other hospitals in the area, we will comply with the health department,” she said.
The health system hopes to have its high-risk workforce vaccinated by mid-January. Students and staff can opt out. UC San Francisco will then move on to the second group of people to be vaccinated, which includes essential workers and highest-risk patients. Discussions are already underway concerning how people will be prioritized within those groups, Kotis said.
News of the working group’s recommendation came as conditions continued to deteriorate at California’s hospitals. There were 13,047 COVID-19 patients hospitalized Saturday, according to data released Sunday by the state. That’s a nearly sixfold increase from two months ago, when there were 2,226 patients.
L.A. County saw hospitalizations increase by roughly the same proportion, logging 4,203 patients on Saturday, compared with 723 two months before. County public health officials on Sunday reported 29 deaths from COVID-19 and 12,731 new coronavirus cases, marking the fourth consecutive day the number of new cases topped 11,000. The high figures came despite the fact that case numbers are usually lower on weekends because some laboratories don’t report results.
As trucks carrying the vaccine departed Pfizer’s manufacturing plant near Kalamazoo, Mich., on Sunday, advocates sought to dispel skepticism about a drug that could save lives.
Dr. Francis Collins, director of the National Institutes of Health, said the level of scrutiny to which the vaccine had been subjected was unprecedented and that the data detailing its safety and efficacy were publicly available.
“This is a very powerful outcome of this incredibly intense yearlong experience to develop this,” Collins said on NBC’s “Meet the Press.” “And I think all reasonable people, if they had the chance to sort of put the noise aside and disregard all those terrible conspiracy theories, would look at this and say, ‘I want this for my family; I want it for myself.’”
Collins acknowledged that the sense the vaccine development was rushed, plus the “terrible polarization” in the country, created a sense of skepticism. But, he said, it was unfounded.
Collins also cautioned that just because a vaccine is being rolled out, other steps in health safety should not be discarded.
“Masks are still going to be part of our life,” he said. “We need to recognize that and not step away or start to drop our guard.”
Kotis echoed that sentiment.
“There’s still going to be time where we have to abide by the rules and mask and distance and keep our hands clean and not party like it’s 1999 and go to a big rave tomorrow night because I got my vaccine,” she said. “We’re still going to have to be patient, and it’s going to take time. But the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t a train coming back at us anymore. It’s a bright beacon of hope.”
Jay Inslee, the Democratic governor of Washington, said the review by the four states should help assure residents of the region.
“It was crucial that the Western states had their own independent review of the vaccine,” Inslee said in a statement, “so we can have additional confidence on its safety and efficacy before we start administering to the people of our states.”