latimes--2020-07-23--Workers fear returning to work. Many are resisting the call

A rural schoolteacher in Northern California whose husband has lung disease .
What they have in common : fear .
Also anger , confusion and frustration with California ’ s roller-coaster coronavirus economy — in which workplaces close and open and close again , rules for those that remain open can change by the day , and enforcement often seems lax .
Amid soaring infections and hospitalizations , Gov .
Gavin Newsom this month again shut down a large swath of businesses across the state , including dine-in restaurants , bars , movie theaters , card rooms , gyms , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , thousands of employees who have been furloughed or able to work from home since March are being called back to physical workplaces .
Many , especially those backed by powerful labor unions , are resisting .
They cite the failure of employers over the last four months to prevent COVID-19 outbreaks , even in hospitals , nursing homes , fast-food outlets , grocery stores and warehouses where workers were deemed “ essential ” by the state .
“ Workers who never left the workplace were often not sufficiently protected , ” said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Occupational Health Program at UC Berkeley .
“ Now a lot of people have been forced to go back to work in circumstances they don ’ t feel are safe.
” Since March , more than 17,800 COVID-19 workplace complaints have poured into the Los Angeles County Department of Public Health .
California ’ s Division of Occupational Safety and Health , known as Cal/OSHA , had received some 3,800 complaints as of mid-July .
Businesses are often less than forthcoming with workers about whether they have been exposed to an infected colleague @ @ @ @ @ @ @ county health departments and Cal/OSHA , which has long been underfunded , is unclear .
Furloughed employees called back to the workplace usually lose unemployment benefits if they don ’ t return .
“ It ’ s a terrible situation , ” Stock said .
“ People have to choose between a paycheck and their health — not only their own health , but their health of their family and their community.
” On a corner of Figueroa Street in downtown Los Angeles this month , dozens of masked housekeepers and dishwashers held @ @ @ @ @ @ @ reading , “ I don ’ t feel safe ” and “ Pause reopening of hotels.
” Unite Here Local 11 , a union that represents about 25,000 hospitality workers in Southern California , has mounted protests ever since Los Angeles County allowed hotels to reopen to the general public June 12 .
Since March , hotels had been permitted to serve only first responders , essential workers in quarantine and some homeless people under a county program .
Blanca Guerrero , recently called back to her housekeeping job at the JW Marriott @ @ @ @ @ @ @ bosses have not offered training on how to clean without risking exposure from other workers and guests .
Two weeks ago , a guest approached her without a face covering and coughed on her cleaning cart , but when she told her supervisors , she said , they did nothing .
When a co-worker fell ill , she said , the hotel refused to pay for a COVID-19 test .
A Marriott spokeswoman declined to comment on Guerrero ’ s situation but said in a statement : “ The well-being of our guests @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Marriott has well-established cleaning processes and training in place.
” Despite what Guerrero , 48 , called her “ big fear ” of catching COVID-19 , she said , she can ’ t quit because her minimum-wage pay helps support her two daughters , ages 19 and 23 .
Unite Here has filed a dozen complaints with the L.A. County health department , documenting 85 virus infections , said Kurt Petersen , co-president of Local 11 .
“ We all want to go back to work , but I just don ’ t @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he said , adding that despite installing plexiglass barriers and providing protective equipment , hotels are not hiring sufficient staff to ensure thorough cleaning .
A survey of Local 11 members in late June showed 75 % didn ’ t want to be forced back to work before the pandemic had passed .
The union has petitioned the L.A. County Board of Supervisors to pause the reopening of hotels for tourism and leisure travel until stricter safety protocols , worker training and contact tracing can be ensured .
With Los Angeles County ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ June , and probably rising as businesses shut again , discouraging tourism could prolong the already massive hit to the local economy .
Before COVID-19 struck , 51 million tourists were expected in 2020 .
Now the forecast is for about 30 million visitors .
The decline could mean an $ 11-billion drop in spending , according to the Los Angeles Tourism and Convention Board .
At the Clara Shortridge Foltz Criminal Justice Center a few blocks from where the hotel workers launched their protest , attorney William Hayes is classified as an @ @ @ @ @ @ @ other deputy public defenders .
He has worked through the pandemic , connecting with jailed clients mainly via video since jury trials were suspended in March .
But on July 6 , the hulking building reopened to the public .
Crowds are now milling about as Hayes , 37 , rides the elevators between his 19th-floor office and courtrooms on other floors .
Jury trials are set to resume in August or September .
“ People I work with are frightened , ” he said .
“ It ’ s a kind of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ just as hospitalizations and deaths are spiking.
” Testing in the jails “ shows , like everywhere else , the virus is going up and up and up , ” he said , even as hundreds of defendants are brought to court every day .
At the court , he said , “ social distancing is not enforced .
Seven or eight people jump into elevators .
Members of the public and court personnel are either not wearing masks or wearing them under their chins , or hanging off one ear.
” While @ @ @ @ @ @ @ masks , Hayes said , “ there are still judges who do not wear masks on the bench.
” If Hayes were to stop coming to work , he said , he would not only forfeit his salary but also let down clients waiting for their day in court .
“ They ’ re exposed to a potential death sentence ” via the coronavirus by lingering in jail , he said .
“ My colleagues and I , some of them elderly , are willing to take the risk , ” Hayes said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ way too much of us.
” A spokeswoman for the L.A. County Superior Court declined to directly address Hayes ’ assertions about enforcement but said in an email that judges were directed in May to wear face coverings .
And a July 6 order mandated facial coverage , social distancing and the use of hand sanitizer in all county courthouses .
“ The court has complied with all state and county public health requirements , ” she wrote .
“ The sheriff ’ s staff is tasked with enforcing the social distancing protocol.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ twice a day while floors , benches , courtrooms and elevators have physical-distancing markings , she wrote .
Scores of workers across Southern California — including those at restaurants , grocery stores , call centers , aerospace firms , garment factories and cubicle-filled offices — have contacted The Times to describe unsafe workplaces .
Mostly , they requested anonymity for fear of losing their jobs .
Among the most severe outbreaks : More than 300 workers at garment manufacturer Los Angeles Apparel tested positive for the virus , and four have died .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ retaliation through collective bargaining , is leading public resistance to back-to-work initiatives and airing urgent demands for stricter safety measures .
In mid-June , a dozen unions representing about 17,000 Disneyland Resort employees wrote to Newsom to say it would be unsafe to open the park as scheduled July 17 .
Less than a week after the letter was sent , amid a surge in Southern California coronavirus infections , Walt Disney Co. announced the park would not reopen this month .
It has yet to set a new date .
The company @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it means to open a business where people could die , ” said Austin Lynch , a union spokesman .
Disney defends its reopening plan , citing enhanced cleaning , limits on capacity and the taking of guests ’ temperatures at the park entrance .
But the unions say a theme park with crowds and rides should not open until the virus is under control , because enforcing physical distancing and mask rules would be too difficult .
Joey Hamamoto , 23 , a parking attendant at Disney ’ s Grand Californian Hotel @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he was furloughed in March .
If Disney doesn ’ t meet the union ’ s terms , he would be reluctant to return because “ I won ’ t feel safe , ” he said .
One of Hamamoto ’ s four sons has asthma , his brother recently contracted COVID-19 , and his father had a stroke in May .
He worries about bringing the virus home .
The valet break room is the size of a closet , Hamamoto said , and climbing in and out of multiple cars is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ acknowledged the coronavirus can linger in the air in enclosed spaces .
” We who work in the hotel are the first ones the guests see , people from all over the world , ” he said .
“ There is no telling who can be carrying what.
” Public employee unions are equally emphatic .
On July 10 , United Teachers Los Angeles , which represents 32,000 teachers , counselors , nurses and librarians , issued the results of a poll of its members showing 83 % opposed to reopening campuses .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ in COVID-19 cases , the L.A. school district announced it would not reopen for in-person classes until further notice .
“ You can not tell a person your child [ should ] go to school to save this economy — and maybe your kid will die , ” said Nick Harris , a middle school Spanish teacher .
On Friday , Newsom canceled in-person classes in 32 counties on the state ’ s COVID-19 watchlist .
That was small comfort to Kristen Peckham , who teaches kindergarten in rural Trinity County , which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s school , Burnt Ranch Elementary , will have to adhere to strict standards , including temperature tests , hand-washing and six feet of distancing .
But students below third grade won ’ t be required to wear masks .
Peckham is 66 , and her 85-year-old husband has lung disease .
Remote teaching has been a challenge , she acknowledges .
Some students don ’ t have dependable access to the internet .
And the kids are 5 and 6 years old , making independent learning near impossible .
Other teachers @ @ @ @ @ @ @ classes , but Peckham came up with other ways .
She had recorded videos of lessons for her students ’ parents to download when convenient , then made herself available to answer questions .
She also sent packets of work for students to complete by hand , which yielded even better participation .
Peckham said she ’ s willing to keep doing that — but she isn ’ t willing to risk catching COVID-19 on the job and possibly infecting her husband .
She has told her principal she won ’ t return @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not take the chance of being face to face with the kids.
” Peckham is not alone .
Hundreds of thousands of California workers have underlying health conditions , such as diabetes and autoimmune diseases , that could aggravate a coronavirus infection .
Feldmar Watch Co. , a retailer in L.A. 's Pico-Robertson neighborhood that sells thousand-dollar timepieces , has called back several staffers for appointment-only sales .
Lorel Monroy , who has worked at the store for 14 years , was not among the volunteers .
Monroy , 50 , has chronic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on a mask .
“ I don ’ t want to handle inventory and put it on a client ’ s wrist , ” she said .
“ If I got infected , I probably wouldn ’ t survive on a ventilator.
” Moreover , with schools closed and her husband at his trucking job , she is reluctant to leave her 15-year-old son home alone .
“ He ’ s a responsible kid , ” she said .
“ But teenagers can do crazy stuff.
” So far , Monroy ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ gets called back and loses eligibility for unemployment benefits , she said , she probably would have to return or risk losing her South Los Angeles home to foreclosure .
The sinking state of the economy weighs on her , as furloughs at many companies turn into permanent layoffs .
“ It is scary to think I might be called back , ” she said .
“ But if I don ’ t get called back , I ’ m more scared .
”

Margot Roosevelt, Hugo Martín, Taylor Avery

Hotel workers with safety concerns protest in downtown L.A. on July 8, calling for the reopening of hotels to be paused.
A Santa Monica hotel housekeeper who works for minimum wage.
A downtown Los Angeles lawyer with a six-figure salary.
A Disneyland parking attendant who supports four sons.
A rural schoolteacher in Northern California whose husband has lung disease.
What they have in common: fear.
Also anger, confusion and frustration with California’s roller-coaster coronavirus economy — in which workplaces close and open and close again, rules for those that remain open can change by the day, and enforcement often seems lax.
Amid soaring infections and hospitalizations, Gov. Gavin Newsom this month again shut down a large swath of businesses across the state, including dine-in restaurants, bars, movie theaters, card rooms, gyms, hair salons and some offices.
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Nonetheless, thousands of employees who have been furloughed or able to work from home since March are being called back to physical workplaces.
Many, especially those backed by powerful labor unions, are resisting. They cite the failure of employers over the last four months to prevent COVID-19 outbreaks, even in hospitals, nursing homes, fast-food outlets, grocery stores and warehouses where workers were deemed “essential” by the state.
“Workers who never left the workplace were often not sufficiently protected,” said Laura Stock, director of the Labor Occupational Health Program at UC Berkeley. “Now a lot of people have been forced to go back to work in circumstances they don’t feel are safe.”
Since March, more than 17,800 workplace complaints about COVID-19 have poured into the Los Angeles County Department of Public Health. California’s Division of Occupational Safety and Health, known as Cal/OSHA, had received some 3,800 complaints as of mid-July.
Businesses are often less than forthcoming with workers about whether they have been exposed to an infected colleague, Stock said, and jurisdiction between county health departments and Cal/OSHA, which has long been underfunded, is unclear.
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Furloughed employees called back to the workplace usually lose unemployment benefits if they don’t return. “It’s a terrible situation,” Stock said. “People have to choose between a paycheck and their health — not only their own health, but the health of their family and their community.”
On a corner of Figueroa Street in downtown Los Angeles this month, dozens of masked housekeepers and dishwashers held a lunchtime rally, waving hand-lettered signs reading, “I don’t feel safe” and “Pause reopening of hotels.”
Unite Here Local 11, a union that represents about 25,000 hospitality workers in Southern California, has mounted protests ever since Los Angeles County allowed hotels to reopen to the general public June 12. Since March, hotels had been permitted to serve only first responders, essential workers in quarantine and some homeless people under a county program.
Blanca Guerrero, recently called back to her housekeeping job at the JW Marriott Santa Monica Le Merigot, said her bosses have not offered training on how to clean without risking exposure from other workers and guests.
Two weeks ago, a guest approached her without a face covering and coughed on her cleaning cart, but when she told her supervisors, she said, they did nothing. When a co-worker fell ill, she said, the hotel refused to pay for a COVID-19 test.
A Marriott spokeswoman declined to comment on Guerrero’s situation but said in a statement: “The well-being of our guests and associates is of paramount importance. Marriott has well-established cleaning processes and training in place.”
Despite what Guerrero, 48, called her “big fear” of catching COVID-19, she said, she can’t quit because her minimum-wage pay helps support her two daughters, ages 19 and 23.
Unite Here has filed a dozen complaints with the L.A. County health department, documenting 85 virus infections, said Kurt Petersen, co-president of Local 11. “We all want to go back to work, but I just don’t think we are ready yet,” he said, adding that despite installing plexiglass barriers and providing protective equipment, hotels are not hiring sufficient staff to ensure thorough cleaning.
A survey of Local 11 members in late June showed 75% didn’t want to be forced back to work before the pandemic had passed. The union has petitioned the L.A. County Board of Supervisors to pause the reopening of hotels for tourism and leisure travel until stricter safety protocols, worker training and contact tracing can be ensured.
With Los Angeles County’s unemployment rate at 19.5% in June, and probably rising as businesses shut again, discouraging tourism could prolong the already massive hit to the local economy. Before COVID-19 struck, 51 million tourists were expected in 2020. Now the forecast is for about 30 million visitors. The decline could mean an $11-billion drop in spending, according to the Los Angeles Tourism and Convention Board.
At the Clara Shortridge Foltz Criminal Justice Center a few blocks from where the hotel workers launched their protest, attorney William Hayes is classified as an essential worker — along with scores of other deputy public defenders. He has worked through the pandemic, connecting with jailed clients mainly via video since jury trials were suspended in March.
William Hayes, a deputy public defender, says social distancing is not enforced at the Los Angeles courthouse where he works. (Gabriella Angotti-Jones / Los Angeles Times)
But on July 6, the hulking building reopened to the public. Crowds are now milling about as Hayes, 37, rides the elevators between his 19th-floor office and courtrooms on other floors. Jury trials are set to resume in August or September.
“People I work with are frightened,” he said. “It’s a kind of madness that we’re opening up just as hospitalizations and deaths are spiking.”
Testing in the jails “shows, like everywhere else, the virus is going up and up and up,” he said, even as hundreds of defendants are brought to court every day.
At the court, he said, “social distancing is not enforced. Seven or eight people jump into elevators. Members of the public and court personnel are either not wearing masks or wearing them under their chins, or hanging off one ear.”
While some judges are “militant” about face coverings, Hayes said, “there are still judges who do not wear masks on the bench.”
If Hayes were to stop coming to work, he said, he would not only forfeit his salary but also let down clients waiting for their day in court. “They’re exposed to a potential death sentence” via the coronavirus by lingering in jail, he said.
“My colleagues and I, some of them elderly, are willing to take the risk,” Hayes said. “But they’re asking way too much of us.”
A spokeswoman for the L.A. County Superior Court declined to directly address Hayes’ assertions about enforcement but said in an email that judges were directed in May to wear face coverings. And a July 6 order mandated facial coverage, social distancing and the use of hand sanitizer in all county courthouses.
“The court has complied with all state and county public health requirements,” she wrote. “The sheriff’s staff is tasked with enforcing the social distancing protocol.” High-traffic areas are cleaned at least twice a day while floors, benches, courtrooms and elevators have physical-distancing markings, she wrote.
Scores of workers across Southern California — including those at restaurants, grocery stores, call centers, aerospace firms, garment factories and cubicle-filled offices — have contacted The Times to describe unsafe workplaces. Mostly, they requested anonymity for fear of losing their jobs. Among the most severe outbreaks: More than 300 workers at garment manufacturer Los Angeles Apparel tested positive for the virus, and four have died.
Organized labor, which protects members from retaliation through collective bargaining, is leading public resistance to back-to-work initiatives and airing urgent demands for stricter safety measures.
Joey Hamamoto, who is furloughed from his job as a valet at a Disneyland hotel, worries he will take COVID-19 back to his family when he returns to work. (Christina House / Los Angeles Times)
In mid-June, a dozen unions representing about 17,000 Disneyland Resort employees wrote to Newsom to say it would be unsafe to open the park as scheduled July 17. Less than a week after the letter was sent, amid a surge in Southern California coronavirus infections, Walt Disney Co. announced the park would not reopen this month. It has yet to set a new date.
The company was “overconfident and not realizing what it means to open a business where people could die,” said Austin Lynch, a union spokesman.
Disney defends its reopening plan, citing enhanced cleaning, limits on capacity and the taking of guests’ temperatures at the park entrance. But the unions say a theme park with crowds and rides should not open until the virus is under control, because enforcing physical distancing and mask rules would be too difficult.
Joey Hamamoto, 23, a parking attendant at Disney’s Grand Californian Hotel, earned minimum wage plus tips before he was furloughed in March. If Disney doesn’t meet the union’s terms, he would be reluctant to return because “I won’t feel safe,” he said.
One of Hamamoto’s four sons has asthma, his brother recently contracted COVID-19, and his father had a stroke in May. He worries about bringing the virus home.
The valet break room is the size of a closet, Hamamoto said, and climbing in and out of multiple cars is risky: The World Health Organization recently acknowledged the coronavirus can linger in the air in enclosed spaces. ”We who work in the hotel are the first ones the guests see, people from all over the world,” he said. “There is no telling who can be carrying what.”
Public employee unions are equally emphatic. On July 10, United Teachers Los Angeles, which represents 32,000 teachers, counselors, nurses and librarians, issued the results of a poll of its members showing 83% opposed to reopening campuses.
Nick Harris, a middle school Spanish teacher, was among the more than three-quarters of L.A. Unified School District teachers who opposed resuming in-person classes in August. (Kent Nishimura / Los Angeles Times)
Three days later, amid a surge in COVID-19 cases, the L.A. school district announced it would not reopen for in-person classes until further notice. “You cannot tell a person your child [should] go to school to save this economy — and maybe your kid will die,” said Nick Harris, a middle school Spanish teacher.
On Friday, Newsom canceled in-person classes in 32 counties on the state’s COVID-19 watchlist. That was small comfort to Kristen Peckham, who teaches kindergarten in rural Trinity County, which is not on the list.
Peckham’s school, Burnt Ranch Elementary, will have to adhere to strict standards, including temperature tests, hand-washing and six feet of distancing. But students below third grade won’t be required to wear masks.
Peckham is 66, and her 85-year-old husband has lung disease.
Remote teaching has been a challenge, she acknowledges. Some students don’t have dependable access to the internet. And the kids are 5 and 6 years old, making independent learning near impossible.
Other teachers at her school used Zoom to livestream classes, but Peckham came up with other ways. She had recorded videos of lessons for her students’ parents to download when convenient, then made herself available to answer questions. She also sent packets of work for students to complete by hand, which yielded even better participation.
Peckham said she’s willing to keep doing that — but she isn’t willing to risk catching COVID-19 on the job and possibly infecting her husband.
She has told her principal she won’t return to a classroom. “I could not take the chance of being face to face with the kids.”
Peckham is not alone. Hundreds of thousands of California workers have underlying health conditions, such as diabetes and autoimmune diseases, that could aggravate a coronavirus infection.
Feldmar Watch Co., a retailer in L.A.’s Pico-Robertson neighborhood that sells thousand-dollar timepieces, has called back several staffers for appointment-only sales. Lorel Monroy, who has worked at the store for 14 years, was not among the volunteers.
Monroy, 50, has chronic asthma and feels suffocated when she puts on a mask.
“I don’t want to handle inventory and put it on a client’s wrist,” she said. “If I got infected, I probably wouldn’t survive on a ventilator.”
Moreover, with schools closed and her husband at his trucking job, she is reluctant to leave her 15-year-old son home alone. “He’s a responsible kid,” she said. “But teenagers can do crazy stuff.”
So far, Monroy’s boss is understanding. But if she gets called back and loses eligibility for unemployment benefits, she said, she probably would have to return or risk losing her South Los Angeles home to foreclosure.
The sinking state of the economy weighs on her, as furloughs at many companies turn into permanent layoffs. “It is scary to think I might be called back,” she said. “But if I don’t get called back, I’m more scared.”


latimes--2020-07-23--As big leagues prepare to return amid pandemic, memories of when barrio baseball ruled East L.A.

The Dodgers were still in Brooklyn and Dwight D. Eisenhower was still in the White House the last time Southern California went this deep into the summer without a Major League Baseball game .
For Conrad Munatones , then a 20-year-old catcher from East Los Angeles , the big leagues were an East Coast thing , like Broadway plays or Philly cheesesteaks .
“ When someone said the Brooklyn Dodgers , I thought that meant Brooklyn Avenue , ” he remembered .
Two minor league teams played in Los Angeles , but to Munatones , baseball meant Sunday doubleheaders at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ legends made their names playing for teams like Eastside Beer , Ornelas Food Market and the Carmelita Chorizeros .
The games drew hundreds of people to the parks after church to sit on uncomfortable wooden bleachers or on blankets in the grass as mariachis played and carne asada sizzled .
“ For Mexican Americans in the postwar era , next to the Catholic Church , barrio baseball was both the centerpiece and the heartbeat of their community , ” said Samuel O. Regalado , a Cal State Stanislaus history professor who has written @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the players , both U.S.-born and migrants , the games were a transnational platform by which they could achieve a level of respect and local notoriety that , outside of the barrios , was rarely afforded to them.
” For players like Munatones , who signed with the Dodgers two months after the team moved from New York in 1958 , baseball was never better than on those warm summer afternoons in East L.A. “ The interest was total in that community because that ’ s all we had , ” said Munatones @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Dimas .
“ We were given the opportunity to perform in front of good-sized crowds that loved baseball and didn ’ t have the money to buy tickets for the [ minor league ] Angels or the Hollywood Stars .
“ It was quite a thing .
Most of these people were laborers .
They were given a Sunday to enjoy so they would do it as a family.
” Evergreen Park , now Evergreen Recreation Center , is temporarily closed , a victim of the COVID-19 pandemic that also delayed the start @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Thursday .
But the memory of how baseball once thrived there hasn ’ t been forgotten , not by those who played or cheered them on .
Minor league baseball ruled in Southern California for the first half of the 20th century , but the Stars played at Gilmore Field in the Fairfax district on what is now CBS Television City and the Angels at Wrigley Field in South Los Angeles .
To the people of East L.A. , the teams might as well have been in South America .
“ A lot @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Wrigley Field or Gilmore Stadium .
So the Sunday leagues became very big in the Boyle Heights community , ” said Ernie Rodriguez , an outfielder who debuted with the Chorizeros — or sausage makers — when he was just 16 .
“ It was kind of exciting .
I just took it as normal.
” For a time it was .
In the years after World War II , a loose affiliation of amateur and semiprofessional teams played nearly every weekend throughout Southern California and northern Mexico .
Nowhere were those games @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was transitioning from being the second-largest Jewish community west of Chicago to the single-largest concentration of Mexican Americans in the country .
The emerging Latino neighborhoods of East L.A. and Boyle Heights , made up of native-born Chicanos and Mexican-born immigrants , were split by language and culture and needed something to unify them .
That was baseball .
“ You ’ d get standing room only when Carmelita was playing , ” Munatones said of the Chorizeros , the New York Yankees of Mexican American baseball with 19 city championships in three @ @ @ @ @ @ @ else.
” Sponsored by the Carmelita Provision Co. , the Chorizeros not only had the best players , best manager and best owner , the team also had the best logo — a cartoon pig wearing a baseball hat and taking a healthy left-handed swing with an oversized bat .
A likeness of the pig , visible from what is now the 710 Freeway , once stood guard outside the building on the corner of Floral Avenue and Ford Boulevard .
The pig is gone now and the building is a drab , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ like the great teams that used to wear the company ’ s uniform .
Mario Lopez , the man who ran both the company and the baseball team , had played baseball growing up in Mexico and brought his love for the game with him when he emigrated to the U.S. shortly after World War I .
At first he ran a gas station , but after being frustrated trying to find traditional Mexican food in L.A. , he closed that , bought a market on Carmelita Avenue and began selling delicacies such @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and pork sausage .
Baseball was his real focus , though , and his teams also had the best uniforms , with “ Chorizeros ” sewn in large cursive script across the front .
His largess didn ’ t stop with the uniforms .
Lopez would give away packages of chorizo at games , then invite everyone to a restaurant to celebrate his team ’ s wins .
( One frequent stop was the Silver Dollar on Whittier Boulevard , the restaurant where journalist Ruben Salazar was killed by a sheriff ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 1970 . )
The rosters were made up largely of teenagers who played at local high schools and players in their mid-30s whose minor league careers had ended .
When Munatones was in college at UCLA , he would occasionally come back and suit up on Sundays , even though it could have cost him his college eligibility .
Lopez was also known to hire ringers to work in his sausage factory , looking the other way if they only showed up to play ball on Sundays .
“ That was my life @ @ @ @ @ @ @ baseball , ” said Art Velarde , who played eight years as a catcher for Carmelita in the 1950s and ’ 60s .
“ We were looked up to then.
” Carmelita ’ s games also became a place for political activity , with voter resignation campaigns and citizenship drives taking place behind the backstop and activists sometimes combing the stands for donations to fund discrimination lawsuits .
The players , many of whom attended Roosevelt High School in Boyle Heights , supported civil rights and labor organizations .
“ Smart politicians attended @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Mexican people were — at the church and ballpark , ” Johnny Peña , who played for Carmelita , told an interviewer .
Added Rodriguez , whose brother pitched for a rival East L.A. team before signing with the Baltimore Orioles : “ We were sharing something there in the community .
It was very nice.
” Years later , as a coach and teacher at Roosevelt , Rodriguez , 83 , watched approvingly as students walked off campus to protest unequal conditions in L.A. high schools .
The Chicano Blowouts , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ were the largest Mexican American civil rights protests in U.S. history .
The influence on Mexican American baseball history has inspired a series of books , spearheaded by author Richard A. Santillan , with the help of Munatones and other former ballplayers throughout California and the Southwest .
The next volume , “ Mexican American Baseball in Boyle Heights , ” will appear next spring .
The Chorizeros were at their best between the late 1940s and early 1960s , at one time fielding nine brothers from the Peña family .
Munatones said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ My mother , with her wisdom , picked a house a half a block away from the playground , ” said Munatones , who went on to play professionally for five years in the U.S. and Mexico , but never played in the major leagues .
“ I used to hang out in the back end of the batter ’ s box area .
I had my fingers right in the net , my nose to the net , watching the guys play.
” At Evergreen Park , with its short @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the wall was a ground-rule double .
A batter had to clear the chain-link fence surrounding the community swimming pool for a home run .
Not that that was a good thing .
Each team brought just one ball to the game , so losing one into the water could prove disastrous .
Rodriguez , a teammate of Munatones at Roosevelt and UCLA who went on to play , manage and scout for the Dodgers , Angels and Giants , also watched those games as a kid .
“ That was the closest @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Baseball hadn ’ t come to the Los Angeles area , ” he said .
“ There were a lot of good ballplayers .
It was good for the little kids and for the community to see these guys play.
” They had an influence on Maureen Poon Fear ’ s life as well , although she didn ’ t know it until years later .
Fear ’ s father , Wally Poon , played for Carmelita in the postwar years but had given up baseball by the time his daughter was born @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at the age of 52 , without ever talking to her about those days .
But Fear stumbled across his history looking through some old photos , including one the Peñas signed to her father , whom the family looked upon as an uncle .
Fear finally met her “ cousins ” nine years ago when a plaque honoring Manuel “ Shorty ” Perez — the Chorizeros ’ manager for 34 years , who was buried in his uniform — was unveiled at Belvedere Park .
“ It was the most amazing experience @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said .
“ It ’ s like they gave [ my dad ] to me.
” Poon , whose family was Chinese , had grown up in East L.A. and preferred burritos to noodles , his daughter remembered .
She also knew he had once owned a sporting goods store and managed bowling alleys .
What she didn ’ t know was that as a young man he starred for the Eastside Merchants and the Chorizeros .
“ It was everything .
It was ‘ go to church , go play ball.
’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sense of from the guys , ” Fear said .
“ They didn ’ t need the Dodgers .
Everything was there , the community , the teams .
They were such celebrities.
” Velarde told Fear her father had given him his first bat .
An aging Richie Peña said Poon had given him his first baseball glove .
“ I realized that he died really young but , man , he had a great life and he had the best friends , ” Fear said .
“ They love him so @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s my connection with the whole East L.A. thing.
” Wally Poon had stopped playing baseball and had started a family by the time the Dodgers started construction on a stadium in Chavez Ravine , which is a whole other chapter in the Mexican American baseball story in Los Angeles .
Munatones was in his final minor league season when the Dodgers played their first game there .
Amateur and semipro baseball across the river in East L.A. wasn ’ t dead yet ; in fact , it would go for another @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the same .
“ We were still big .
But most of the interest went because , you know , Vin Scully [ was ] on the radio .
Fans would take the streetcar or the bus or whatever to get to Dodger Stadium , ” said Rodriguez , who had also moved on by then .
“ That became big baseball.
” The Dodgers aren ’ t solely responsible for chasing barrio baseball away .
Regalado , the Cal State Stanislaus history professor , says freeway access caused much of the talent @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the barrio in the 1960s and ‘ 70s .
Some teams , such as the Los Angeles 40-60 club , weren ’ t tethered to the old neighborhoods like business-sponsored teams and were also free to move .
“ Barrio baseball , in its time , routinely brought three generations together on a weekly basis and was a valued tradition now lost to history , ” Regalado said .
The games — like the players and the teams — have been gone for decades now .
So as the lights at Dodger @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , come back on this week , Rodriguez , who once chased those lights as a young player in the Dodgers ’ minor league system , says he ’ ll still be pining for the days when baseball in Los Angeles didn ’ t mean the Dodgers and Giants at Dodger Stadium .
It was the Chorizeros and Eastside Beer at Evergreen Park .

The Dodgers were still in Brooklyn and Dwight D. Eisenhower was still in the White House the last time Southern California went this deep into the summer without a Major League Baseball game.
For Conrad Munatones, then a 20-year-old catcher from East Los Angeles, the big leagues were an East Coast thing, like Broadway plays or Philly cheesesteaks.
“When someone said the Brooklyn Dodgers, I thought that meant Brooklyn Avenue,” he remembered.
Two minor league teams played in Los Angeles, but to Munatones, baseball meant Sunday doubleheaders at Belvedere and Evergreen parks, where neighborhood legends made their names playing for teams like Eastside Beer, Ornelas Food Market and the Carmelita Chorizeros. The games drew hundreds of people to the parks after church to sit on uncomfortable wooden bleachers or on blankets in the grass as mariachis played and carne asada sizzled.
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“For Mexican Americans in the postwar era, next to the Catholic Church, barrio baseball was both the centerpiece and the heartbeat of their community,” said Samuel O. Regalado, a Cal State Stanislaus history professor who has written extensively on the subject. “For the players, both U.S.-born and migrants, the games were a transnational platform by which they could achieve a level of respect and local notoriety that, outside of the barrios, was rarely afforded to them.”
The Carmelita Chorizeros won 19 city championships in the span of three decades. (Richard Peña)
For players like Munatones, who signed with the Dodgers two months after the team moved from New York in 1958, baseball was never better than on those warm summer afternoons in East L.A.
“The interest was total in that community because that’s all we had,” said Munatones, now 83 and living in San Dimas. “We were given the opportunity to perform in front of good-sized crowds that loved baseball and didn’t have the money to buy tickets for the [minor league] Angels or the Hollywood Stars.
“It was quite a thing. Most of these people were laborers. They were given a Sunday to enjoy so they would do it as a family.”
Evergreen Park, now Evergreen Recreation Center, is temporarily closed, a victim of the COVID-19 pandemic that also delayed the start of the Major League Baseball season until Thursday. But the memory of how baseball once thrived there hasn’t been forgotten, not by those who played or cheered them on.
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“You’d get standing room only when Carmelita was playing. They were just something else.” — Conrad Munatones, on the Chorizeros
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Minor league baseball ruled in Southern California for the first half of the 20th century, but the Stars played at Gilmore Field in the Fairfax district on what is now CBS Television City and the Angels at Wrigley Field in South Los Angeles. To the people of East L.A., the teams might as well have been in South America.
Ernie Rodriguez in his Whittier neighborhood with the first baseball glove he owned. Rodriguez was an outfielder who debuted with the Chorizeros when he was 16. (Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times)
“A lot of people couldn’t get to Wrigley Field or Gilmore Stadium. So the Sunday leagues became very big in the Boyle Heights community,” said Ernie Rodriguez, an outfielder who debuted with the Chorizeros — or sausage makers — when he was just 16.
“It was kind of exciting. I just took it as normal.”
For a time it was.
The 1949 Ornelas Food Market baseball team, from “Mexican American Baseball in East Los Angeles.” (Richard Peña)
In the years after World War II, a loose affiliation of amateur and semiprofessional teams played nearly every weekend throughout Southern California and northern Mexico. Nowhere were those games bigger than in East L.A., which was transitioning from being the second-largest Jewish community west of Chicago to the single-largest concentration of Mexican Americans in the country.
The emerging Latino neighborhoods of East L.A. and Boyle Heights, made up of native-born Chicanos and Mexican-born immigrants, were split by language and culture and needed something to unify them. That was baseball.
“You’d get standing room only when Carmelita was playing,” Munatones said of the Chorizeros, the New York Yankees of Mexican American baseball with 19 city championships in three decades. “They were just something else.”
Sponsored by the Carmelita Provision Co., the Chorizeros not only had the best players, best manager and best owner, the team also had the best logo — a cartoon pig wearing a baseball hat and taking a healthy left-handed swing with an oversized bat.
When Conrad Munatones was in college at UCLA, he would occasionally come back and suit up on Sundays in East L.A. (Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times)
A likeness of the pig, visible from what is now the 710 Freeway, once stood guard outside the building on the corner of Floral Avenue and Ford Boulevard. The pig is gone now and the building is a drab, derelict shell — a memory, just like the great teams that used to wear the company’s uniform.
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Mario Lopez, the man who ran both the company and the baseball team, had played baseball growing up in Mexico and brought his love for the game with him when he emigrated to the U.S. shortly after World War I. At first he ran a gas station, but after being frustrated trying to find traditional Mexican food in L.A., he closed that, bought a market on Carmelita Avenue and began selling delicacies such as pig’s feet, chicharrones and pork sausage.
Baseball was his real focus, though, and his teams also had the best uniforms, with “Chorizeros” sewn in large cursive script across the front. His largess didn’t stop with the uniforms. Lopez would give away packages of chorizo at games, then invite everyone to a restaurant to celebrate his team’s wins. (One frequent stop was the Silver Dollar on Whittier Boulevard, the restaurant where journalist Ruben Salazar was killed by a sheriff’s deputy while covering the Chicano Moratorium in 1970.)
“That was my life. We never missed a Sunday of baseball,” said Art Velarde, shown in his Hacienda Heights home. He played eight years as a catcher for Carmelita. (Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times)
The rosters were made up largely of teenagers who played at local high schools and players in their mid-30s whose minor league careers had ended. When Munatones was in college at UCLA, he would occasionally come back and suit up on Sundays, even though it could have cost him his college eligibility.
Lopez was also known to hire ringers to work in his sausage factory, looking the other way if they only showed up to play ball on Sundays.
“That was my life. We never missed a Sunday of baseball,” said Art Velarde, who played eight years as a catcher for Carmelita in the 1950s and ’60s. “We were looked up to then.”
Carmelita’s games also became a place for political activity, with voter registration campaigns and citizenship drives taking place behind the backstop and activists sometimes combing the stands for donations to fund discrimination lawsuits. The players, many of whom attended Roosevelt High School in Boyle Heights, supported civil rights and labor organizations.
“Smart politicians attended the games, because that was where the Mexican people were — at the church and ballpark,” Johnny Peña, who played for Carmelita, told an interviewer.
“A lot of people couldn’t get to Wrigley Field or Gilmore Stadium. So the Sunday leagues became very big in the Boyle Heights community,” Ernie Rodriguez said. (Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times)
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Added Rodriguez, whose brother pitched for a rival East L.A. team before signing with the Baltimore Orioles: “We were sharing something there in the community. It was very nice.”
Years later, as a coach and teacher at Roosevelt, Rodriguez, 83, watched approvingly as students walked off campus to protest unequal conditions in L.A. high schools. The Chicano Blowouts, as the 1968 demonstrations became known, were the largest Mexican American civil rights protests in U.S. history.
The influence on Mexican American baseball history has inspired a series of books, spearheaded by author Richard A. Santillan, with the help of Munatones and other former ballplayers throughout California and the Southwest. The next volume, “Mexican American Baseball in Boyle Heights,” will appear next spring.
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“It was everything. It was ‘go to church, go play ball.’ That’s what I got a sense of from the guys.” — Maureen Poon Fear, whose late father played for Carmelita in the postwar years.
The Chorizeros were at their best between the late 1940s and early 1960s, at one time fielding nine brothers from the Peña family. Munatones said he grew up watching the team play.
Mario Service Station was among the teams playing in East L.A. (Cal State Los Angeles library)
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“My mother, with her wisdom, picked a house a half a block away from the playground,” said Munatones, who went on to play professionally for five years in the U.S. and Mexico, but never played in the major leagues. “I used to hang out in the back end of the batter’s box area. I had my fingers right in the net, my nose to the net, watching the guys play.”
At Evergreen Park, with its short left-field porch, a ball hit over the wall was a ground-rule double. A batter had to clear the chain-link fence surrounding the community swimming pool for a home run.
Not that that was a good thing. Each team brought just one ball to the game, so losing one into the water could prove disastrous.
Rodriguez, a teammate of Munatones at Roosevelt and UCLA who went on to play, manage and scout for the Dodgers, Angels and Giants, also watched those games as a kid.
Left, Ernie Rodriguez and his brother Reuben were coaches in the minor leagues. Right, Conrad Munatones is handed a rifle to serve in the military as a member of the Dodgers organization.
“That was the closest we were to baseball since Major League Baseball hadn’t come to the Los Angeles area,” he said. “There were a lot of good ballplayers. It was good for the little kids and for the community to see these guys play.”
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They had an influence on Maureen Poon Fear’s life as well, although she didn’t know it until years later.
Fear’s father, Wally Poon, played for Carmelita in the postwar years but had given up baseball by the time his daughter was born. He died 40 years ago, at the age of 52, without ever talking to her about those days. But Fear stumbled across his history looking through some old photos, including one the Peñas signed to her father, whom the family looked upon as an uncle.
Manuel “Shorty” Perez, shown in 1981, was the Chorizeros’ manager for 34 years. (Gil Perez)
Fear finally met her “cousins” nine years ago when a plaque honoring Manuel “Shorty” Perez — the Chorizeros’ manager for 34 years, who was buried in his uniform — was unveiled at Belvedere Park.
“It was the most amazing experience I’ve had,” she said. “It’s like they gave [my dad] to me.”
Poon, whose family was Chinese, had grown up in East L.A. and preferred burritos to noodles, his daughter remembered. She also knew he had once owned a sporting goods store and managed bowling alleys. What she didn’t know was that as a young man he starred for the Eastside Merchants and the Chorizeros.
“It was everything. It was ‘go to church, go play ball.’ That’s what I got a sense of from the guys,” Fear said. “They didn’t need the Dodgers. Everything was there, the community, the teams. They were such celebrities.”
Velarde told Fear her father had given him his first bat. An aging Richie Peña said Poon had given him his first baseball glove.
“I realized that he died really young but, man, he had a great life and he had the best friends,” Fear said. “They love him so much, even now. So that’s my connection with the whole East L.A. thing.”
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::
“Barrio baseball, in its time, routinely brought three generations together on a weekly basis and was a valued tradition now lost to history.” — Samuel O. Regalado, Cal State Stanislaus history professor
Wally Poon had stopped playing baseball and had started a family by the time the Dodgers started construction on a stadium in Chavez Ravine, which is a whole other chapter in the Mexican American baseball story in Los Angeles.
Art Velarde holds an autographed baseball from his living teammates at his home in Hacienda Heights. (Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times)
Munatones was in his final minor league season when the Dodgers played their first game there. Amateur and semipro baseball across the river in East L.A. wasn’t dead yet; in fact, it would go for another decade.
But it would never be the same.
“We were still big. But most of the interest went because, you know, Vin Scully [was] on the radio. Fans would take the streetcar or the bus or whatever to get to Dodger Stadium,” said Rodriguez, who had also moved on by then. “That became big baseball.”
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The Dodgers aren’t solely responsible for chasing barrio baseball away. Regalado, the Cal State Stanislaus history professor, says freeway access caused much of the talent in East L.A. to begin moving out of the barrio in the 1960s and ‘70s. Some teams, such as the Los Angeles 40-60 club, weren’t tethered to the old neighborhoods like business-sponsored teams and were also free to move.
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“Barrio baseball, in its time, routinely brought three generations together on a weekly basis and was a valued tradition now lost to history,” Regalado said.
The games — like the players and the teams — have been gone for decades now.
So as the lights at Dodger Stadium, clearly visible from East L.A., come back on this week, Rodriguez, who once chased those lights as a young player in the Dodgers’ minor league system, says he’ll still be pining for the days when baseball in Los Angeles didn’t mean the Dodgers and Giants at Dodger Stadium.
It was the Chorizeros and Eastside Beer at Evergreen Park.


latimes--2020-07-23--Violence breaks out at the Azerbaijan Consulate in Brentwood as protesters clash

One person was arrested and an officer was injured after a peaceful protest turned violent at the Azerbaijan Consulate in Brentwood on Tuesday , the Los Angeles Police Department said .
The protest , organized by the Armenian National Committee of America , Western Region , started about 2 p.m. with hundreds of Armenian American protesters marching to the consulate near the 11700 block of Wilshire Boulevard .
Video shows the group chanting “ Armenians demand justice ” and “ Justice for Tavush.
” They were protesting against a violence in Tavush , a northern province of Armenia near the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ unclear how the violence started , but it appears that the group clashed with a smaller group of counterprotesters at the consulate , according to protesters and the LAPD .
Video shows small groups fistfighting and pushing one another on the streets .
“ I think this is something that shouldn ’ t happen in Los Angeles , ” L.A. Consul General of Azerbaijan Nasimi Aghayev told NBC News .
“ Every side should be able to peacefully express their opinion and offer their side of the story.
” LAPD Capt .
Randy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ detective who tried to stop a fight was punched in the eye and will require stitches .
As a result , one person was arrested on suspicion of battery on a police officer .
“ Ultimately , the crowd wasn ’ t listening to their facilitators and came across the street to try to instigate with the counterprotesters , ” he said .

The Azerbaijan Consulate is located on Wilshire Boulevard in Brentwood. On Tuesday, fighting broke out among protesters outside the consulate.
One person was arrested and several people, including an officer, were injured after a peaceful protest turned violent at the Azerbaijan Consulate in Brentwood earlier this week, the Los Angeles Police Department said.
The protest, organized by the Armenian Youth Federation, started about 2 p.m. Tuesday with hundreds marching to the Azerbaijan Consulate near the 11700 block of Wilshire Boulevard. A smaller group of Azerbaijani counterprotesters also was present.
After the larger group clashed with the counterprotesters, small pockets of violence erupted, and at least four people were injured, including an LAPD officer, authorities said.
Erik Hakobyan, an 18-year-old protester, was arrested on suspicion of battery on a police officer after authorities said he punched an LAPD detective in the face.
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The local protest came after violence that began July 12 in Tavush, a northern province of Armenia near the border of Azerbaijan. Both sides have accused each other of violence and encroachment on their territory. Four Azerbaijani soldiers have been killed and five wounded, while three Armenian soldiers and two police officers were wounded, according to the New York Times.
The Western Region of the Armenian National Committee of America blames Azerbaijan for engaging in the use of “heavy artillery, tanks and combat drones against civilians and civilian infrastructure, striking a kindergarten, a [personal protective equipment] mask factory and homes along the border of Armenia and Azerbaijan.”
Alex Galitsky, communications director for the group, said the Brentwood protest was part of a larger global movement that aims to condemn the Azerbaijani government’s “incitement of anti-Armenian hatred and racism.”
According to a news release from the LAPD, a much smaller group of Azerbaijani counterprotesters was present at the Consulate when the Armenian group arrived. But after the two groups became increasingly “agitated and verbal toward each other,” more police were called to escort the Azerbaijani protesters out of the area.
“At that time, an altercation occurred between the Azerbaijani protesters and a vehicle carrying Armenian protesters. As a result of the altercation, multiple fights broke out between the two groups,” the LAPD said.
According to the LAPD news release, three people were punched or kicked during the encounters. They were hospitalized with injuries that did not appear to be life-threatening, authorities said.
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When a detective tried to pull away Hakobyan, who police say was joined by others in assaulting a counterprotester who was on the ground, he punched the detective in the face, according to the LAPD news release.
L.A. Consul General of Azerbaijan Nasimi Aghayev said seven people were injured in the attack by the Armenian group and five were hospitalized.
“I think this is something that shouldn’t happen in Los Angeles,” Aghayev told NBC News. “Every side should be able to peacefully express their opinion and offer their side of the story.”
Galitsky said the Azerbaijani group was throwing stones and water bottles at the Armenian protesters, who had already instructed those gathered to disperse in an effort to diffuse potential problems. He said the violence began when “an Azerbaijani protester assaulted a female Armenian protester, knocking her out with a flag pole while she was in her car.”
Galitsky said none of the violence stemmed from his group or the Armenian Youth Federation.
“We strongly condemn any violence that took place,” he said, adding that he does not want the violence in Brentwood’s protest to distract from the violence happening in Armenia as a result of tensions between the Azerbaijani and Armenian governments.


latimes--2020-07-23--Defendants settle for $1.6 million as details emerge on 44,000-gallon Ventura oil spill

Four years after 44,814 gallons of unrefined crude gushed out of a Crimson oil pipeline , the Ventura County district attorney ’ s office said the companies responsible for the 2016 accident will pay up .
A media release from the office this week said Colorado-based Crimson Pipeline LLC , which owns the 10-inch pipeline that starts in Ventura and runs 87 miles to Wilmington , has agreed to a settlement requiring it to pay $ 1.3 million in civil penalties , costs and natural resources damage .
The contractor who worked on the pipeline before the spill , CD @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 300,000 .
“ Obviously the pandemic has affected negotiations … everyone ’ s hurting right now , ” said Karen Wold , a Ventura County senior deputy district attorney who worked on the case .
But , she added , “ The environment is too important to let people have these types of spills , whether it ’ s negligent or intentional .
... We need to make sure our natural resources are still there for our children , and our children ’ s children.
” The company didn ’ t immediately respond @ @ @ @ @ @ @ six months after the incident , two district attorney ’ s office investigators and a lawyer looked into the spill full-time , Wold said .
A civil complaint filed Tuesday by the district attorney and the California attorney general ’ s office , which represented the state ’ s Department of Fish and Wildlife in proceedings , paints a fresh , full picture of the incident , connecting it to a failed valve replacement rushed because of cost-cutting measures .
According to the document , the companies “ were anxious to complete the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ would be required to make a special payment to its electric utility if it pumped during peak hours between noon and 6 p.m. ” If the oil wasn ’ t up and running quickly , Crimson would have had to pay $ 15,000 .
Things started going wrong at the Hall Canyon repair site when the team contracted to make the fix brought the wrong tools for the job , the report said .
To save time , they didn ’ t reconnect the remote leak detection system .
Night fell and work @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , the repair team left , thinking they had sealed the connection between the pipe and the valve .
But three nuts “ were completely loose , ” a third-party investigator found .
According to the report , a visible gap remained at the valve connection , which wasn ’ t properly inspected after installation .
Neither CD Lyon nor Crimson had personnel onsite as oil began to flow through the pipes .
About 700 barrels of oil seeped out with the detection system offline , the report says .
It flowed down @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a mile through Prince Barranca , a gorge that typically fills with water during storms .
The arroyo it entered led to the ocean , but the leak was stopped before it got to the water after a Ventura County resident reported oil in his backyard to authorities at 5:30 a.m .
Shortly after the civil complaint was released , defendants settled with the state and local prosecutors .
“ For our county , this was an extraordinarily large spill , ” Wold said .
In 2016 , The Times reported Crimson had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , including a 280,000-gallon Ventura leak in 2008 .
Crimson has more legal proceedings ahead .
A lawsuit filed by homeowners affected by the spill in 2018 has yet to play out .
“ It ’ s the simple thing you learn as a child : You make a mess , you clean it up , ” said Oxnard-based attorney Mark Hiepler , who is representing four affected homeowners .
Hiepler ’ s clients are seeking $ 16 million to cover nuisance damages and the complete removal of left-over oil .
Crimson estimates @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be as high as 20,000 gallons , Hiepler said .
He said cleanup crews made up of trucks and hundreds of workers filled the homeowners ’ backyards for months after the spill .
Two homeowners had to move , and some developed breathing problems , Hiepler said .
The plaintiffs tried mediation before suing two years after the incident , he added .
There ’ s still “ a mess , and it ’ s in homeowners ’ backyards , ” Hiepler said .

A contractor guides a hose into Prince Barranca gorge in Ventura to pump out oil that spilled June 23, 2016, from a pipeline valve.
Four years after 44,814 gallons of unrefined crude gushed out of a Crimson oil pipeline, the Ventura County district attorney’s office said the companies responsible for the 2016 accident will pay up.
A media release from the office this week said Colorado-based Crimson Pipeline LLC, which owns the 10-inch pipeline that starts in Ventura and runs 87 miles to Wilmington, has agreed to a settlement requiring it to pay $1.3 million in civil penalties, costs and natural resources damage. The contractor who worked on the pipeline before the spill, CD Lyon, will pay an additional $300,000.
“Obviously the pandemic has affected negotiations … everyone’s hurting right now,” said Karen Wold, a Ventura County senior deputy district attorney who worked on the case. But, she added, “The environment is too important to let people have these types of spills, whether it’s negligent or intentional. ... We need to make sure our natural resources are still there for our children, and our children’s children.”
The company didn’t immediately respond to a request for comment.
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For six months after the incident, two district attorney’s office investigators and a lawyer looked into the spill full-time, Wold said. A civil complaint filed Tuesday by the district attorney and the California attorney general’s office, which represented the state’s Department of Fish and Wildlife in proceedings, paints a fresh, full picture of the incident, connecting it to a failed valve replacement rushed because of cost-cutting measures.
According to the document, the companies “were anxious to complete the valve replacement in one day because Crimson would be required to make a special payment to its electric utility if it pumped during peak hours between noon and 6 p.m.” If the oil wasn’t up and running quickly, Crimson would have had to pay $15,000.
Things started going wrong at the Hall Canyon repair site when the team contracted to make the fix brought the wrong tools for the job, the report said. To save time, they didn’t reconnect the remote leak detection system. Night fell and work continued. After 17 hours of labor, the repair team left, thinking they had sealed the connection between the pipe and the valve. But three nuts “were completely loose,” a third-party investigator found.
According to the report, a visible gap remained at the valve connection, which wasn’t properly inspected after installation. Neither CD Lyon nor Crimson had personnel onsite as oil began to flow through the pipes.
About 700 barrels of oil seeped out with the detection system offline, the report says. It flowed down a steep canyon slope and about half a mile through Prince Barranca, a gorge that typically fills with water during storms. The arroyo it entered led to the ocean, but the leak was stopped before it got to the water after a Ventura County resident reported oil in his backyard to authorities at 5:30 a.m.
Shortly after the civil complaint was released, defendants settled with the state and local prosecutors.
“For our county, this was an extraordinarily large spill,” Wold said. In 2016, The Times reported Crimson had been responsible for 11 spills since 2006, including a 280,000-gallon Ventura leak in 2008.
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Crimson has more legal proceedings ahead. A lawsuit filed by homeowners affected by the spill in 2018 has yet to play out.
“It’s the simple thing you learn as a child: You make a mess, you clean it up,” said Oxnard-based attorney Mark Hiepler, who is representing four affected homeowners.
Hiepler’s clients are seeking $16 million to cover nuisance damages and the complete removal of left-over oil. Crimson estimates 6,000 gallons remain, but that could be as high as 20,000 gallons, Hiepler said.
He said cleanup crews made up of trucks and hundreds of workers filled the homeowners’ backyards for months after the spill. Two homeowners had to move, and some developed breathing problems, Hiepler said. The plaintiffs tried mediation before suing two years after the incident, he added.
There’s still “a mess, and it’s in homeowners’ backyards,” Hiepler said.


latimes--2020-07-22--No answers yet in ongoing investigation into San Gabriel Mission fire

The cause of the fire that tore through the San Gabriel Mission on a recent early morning remains under investigation , city of San Gabriel officials say , and no arrest has been made in the case despite media reports .
The city issued a statement Wednesday afternoon saying that “ the investigation remains ongoing and a definite cause is still being determined by investigators.
” The fire happened July 11 , but investigators were only able to begin examining the historical and religious site on July 15 after engineers and structural specialists “ were able to stabilize loose debris @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on and destroyed the mission ’ s roof .
Earlier Wednesday , some media reports pointed to the arrest of a man near Alhambra as being in connection to the fire .
San Gabriel officials confirmed a person was arrested , but said it was in connection with a separate suspected arson incident on July 12 .
“ This individual was arrested for an unrelated charge , ” the statement said .
Control of the church was also being returned by investigators to mission officials .
Wednesday ’ s announcement was the first @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the fire since July 13 .
The blaze that ripped through the church was first reported on July 11 at 4:24 a.m .
While there were no injuries , the roof was destroyed , and just-refurbished pews and much of the interior were seriously damaged .
Whether by luck or divine intervention , the altar and many historical wooden statues positioned nearby survived unscathed .
Paintings that adorned the mission ’ s interior walls had been relocated due to ongoing renovations and thus were also spared , and an 18th century baptismal font @ @ @ @ @ @ @ III of Spain also survived .
After the fire , hundreds of parishioners , community members and Roman Catholics from throughout Southern California made pilgrimages to the mission to grieve and pray .
Los Angeles Archbishop José H. Gomez toured the damage along with San Gabriel Valley regional Auxiliary Bishop David G. O ’ Connell , who addressed the distressed faithful .
O ’ Connell said that socially distanced masses would continue to be held at the adjacent chapel and that the 11 a.m. mass on Sunday was presided over by Gomez .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the last for the chapel as the Los Angeles Archdiocese suspended all outdoor masses due to state coronavirus regulations on July 14 .
The investigation into the fire was led by the Verdugo Fire Task Force , a grouping of fire departments from smaller surrounding cities that pool resources and investigators together for larger projects .
According to Capt .
Antonio Negrete , public information officer for the San Gabriel Fire Department , the six-member group consisted of fire investigators from the cities of San Gabriel , San Marino , Monterey Park @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Angeles Fire Department also assisted .
Negrete said personnel from the federal Bureau of Alcohol , Tobacco , Firearms and Explosives were also involved in the investigation , which is normal when fires involve religious institutions .
The fire came as the legacy of the California missions and other colonial monuments have come under question .
A statue of the mission ’ s founder , Father Junípero Serra , was preemptively moved by mission leadership before the end of June .
Serra statues have been forcibly ripped down in San Francisco , Olvera @ @ @ @ @ @ @ The Ventura City Council agreed last week to move two statues of Serra away from city property .
Serra , an 18th century Spanish priest , founded the first nine of the state ’ s eventual 21 missions .
He is known for spreading Catholicism throughout California and the West at the expense of indigenous cultures .
Many Native American tribes were decimated through diseases introduced by Spaniards such as Serra , while his mission system destroyed villages , native plants and animals .
Native Americans were also often forced into constructing the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ high mortality rates .
Serra ’ s defenders call him a protector of “ Native Americans in both Mexico and Alta California ” who fought against Spanish brutality .

A definitive cause for a fire at the San Gabriel Mission remains unclear, according to San Gabriel city officials, despite earlier media reports that an arrest had been made.
The cause of the fire that tore through the San Gabriel Mission on a recent early morning remains under investigation, city of San Gabriel officials say, and no arrest has been made in the case despite media reports.
The city issued a statement Wednesday afternoon saying that “the investigation remains ongoing and a definite cause is still being determined by investigators.”
The fire happened July 11, but investigators were only able to begin examining the historical and religious site on July 15 after engineers and structural specialists “were able to stabilize loose debris” from the fire, which began on and destroyed the mission’s roof.
Earlier Wednesday, some media reports pointed to the arrest of a man near Alhambra as being in connection to the fire.
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San Gabriel officials confirmed a person was arrested, but said it was in connection with a separate suspected arson incident on July 12.
“This individual was arrested for an unrelated charge,” the statement said.
Control of the church was also being returned by investigators to mission officials.
Wednesday’s announcement was the first official update provided by the city regarding the fire since July 13.
The blaze that ripped through the church was first reported on July 11 at 4:24 a.m. While there were no injuries, the roof was destroyed, and just-refurbished pews and much of the interior were seriously damaged.
Whether by luck or divine intervention, the altar and many historical wooden statues positioned nearby survived unscathed.
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Paintings that adorned the mission’s interior walls had been relocated due to ongoing renovations and thus were also spared, and an 18th century baptismal font and silver pieces donated by King Charles III of Spain also survived.
After the fire, hundreds of parishioners, community members and Roman Catholics from throughout Southern California made pilgrimages to the mission to grieve and pray.
Los Angeles Archbishop José H. Gomez toured the damage along with San Gabriel Valley regional Auxiliary Bishop David G. O’Connell, who addressed the distressed faithful.
O’Connell said that socially distanced masses would continue to be held at the adjacent chapel and that the 11 a.m. mass on Sunday was presided over by Gomez.
That day’s services were some of the last for the chapel as the Los Angeles Archdiocese suspended all outdoor masses due to state coronavirus regulations on July 14.
The investigation into the fire was led by the Verdugo Fire Task Force, a grouping of fire departments from smaller surrounding cities that pool resources and investigators together for larger projects.
According to Capt. Antonio Negrete, public information officer for the San Gabriel Fire Department, the six-member group consisted of fire investigators from the cities of San Gabriel, San Marino, Monterey Park, Monrovia and Glendale. The Los Angeles Fire Department also assisted.
Negrete said personnel from the federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives were also involved in the investigation, which is normal when fires involve religious institutions.
The fire came as the legacy of the California missions and other colonial monuments have come under question.
A statue of the mission’s founder, Father Junípero Serra, was preemptively moved by mission leadership before the end of June.
Serra statues have been forcibly ripped down in San Francisco, Olvera Street and Sacramento in recent weeks. The Ventura City Council agreed last week to move two statues of Serra away from city property.
Serra, an 18th century Spanish priest, founded the first nine of the state’s eventual 21 missions. He is known for spreading Catholicism throughout California and the West at the expense of indigenous cultures.
Many Native American tribes were decimated through diseases introduced by Spaniards such as Serra, while his mission system destroyed villages, native plants and animals.
Native Americans were also often forced into constructing the missions, were severely disciplined and faced high mortality rates.
Serra’s defenders call him a protector of “Native Americans in both Mexico and Alta California” who fought against Spanish brutality.


latimes--2020-07-22--Orange County indie label Burger Records shuts down amid sexual misconduct allegations

The Fullerton indie label Burger Records has dissolved in the wake of multiple accusations of sexual misconduct and abuse against its staff and bands signed to the imprint .
The allegations , which are mostly but not entirely anonymous , surfaced through the Instagram account lured_by_burger_records , and quickly spread through the indie-rock community .
Over several tumultuous days this week , Burger ’ s co-founder Lee Rickard stepped down and divested from the label , and its president , Sean Bohrman , wrote that the label would implement changes , including modifying its name ( to the not-very-different vowel-less @ @ @ @ @ @ @ new president , Jessa Zapor-Gray .
“ We are also deeply sorry for the role Burger has played in perpetuating a culture of toxic masculinity .
We are sorry that we did not actively monitor this behavior well enough to make the Burger music scene safer for you , ” the label said in a statement Tuesday .
However , just a day later , Zapor-Gray announced she wouldn ’ t be taking the job .
Zapor-Gray did not immediately respond to phone or email messages , but wrote in a statement : @ @ @ @ @ @ @ over in this capacity , I expected some blowback for my decision to accept but I believed that the opportunity to have a role in effecting real and lasting positive change within the Burger and indie music scenes was worth the risk .
Upon further review , I have informed Burger Records that I no longer believe I will be able to achieve my intended goals in assuming the leadership role at Burger in the current climate .
Therefore , I have decided to step away from the label entirely to focus on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the entire operation was ending to a Pitchfork reporter , closing that conversation with a Porky Pig GIF .
He said the label will be removing its catalog from streaming services , and that bands would be free to re-release their albums elsewhere .
The label ’ s entire online and social presence has since been deleted as well , and concert promoter Total Trash Productions , which produced the annual Burger Boogaloo festival , said it had severed all ties with the label .
Bohrman did not immediately return requests for comment @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in 2007 , was a small but influential label focused on limited-run cassettes .
The label also threw popular festivals like Santa Ana ’ s Burgerama and Oakland ’ s Burger Boogaloo .
The label ’ s aesthetic — which often affected a throwback , naifish attitude toward punk and garage rock — attracted a young and devoted fan base for acts like the Black Lips , FIDLAR , the Growlers , King Tuff and Peach Kelli Pop , and acts as big as Weezer and Iggy Pop performed at their festivals .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Regrettes singer Lydia Night accused SWMRS drummer Joey Armstrong , son of Green Day ’ s Billie Joe Armstrong , of “ emotional abuse and sexual coercion by someone in a position of power over me ” while she was a minor .
SWMRS was signed to Burger before the label ’ s dissolution .
Joey Armstrong responded to the accusations in a post on his band ’ s Instagram account , saying that “ While I don ’ t agree with some of the things she said about me ...
I was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ her the way she deserves to have been treated both during our relationship and in the two years since we broke up.
” The Growlers , the Orange County band who released music on Burger and who produce their own popular Beach Goth festival , responded to several anonymous allegations of sexual misconduct in an Instagram post .
Growlers singer Brooks Nielsen said that while the band denied the claims , “ We take them seriously and want to get to the bottom of them.
” Shortly after the post , keyboardist Adam @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that “ I ’ m not innocent in abuse ” regarding a 2017 incident of alleged sexual misconduct .

The Fullerton indie label Burger Records has dissolved in the wake of multiple accusations of sexual misconduct and abuse against its staff and bands signed to the imprint.
The allegations, which are mostly but not entirely anonymous, surfaced through the Instagram account lured_by_burger_records, and quickly spread through the indie-rock community. Over several tumultuous days this week, Burger’s co-founder Lee Rickard stepped down and divested from the label, and its president, Sean Bohrman, wrote that the label would implement changes, including modifying its name (to the not-very-different vowel-less BRGR RCRDS) and bringing in a new president, Jessa Zapor-Gray. “We are also deeply sorry for the role Burger has played in perpetuating a culture of toxic masculinity. We are sorry that we did not actively monitor this behavior well enough to make the Burger music scene safer for you,” the label said in a statement Tuesday.
However, just a day later, Zapor-Gray announced she wouldn’t be taking the job. Zapor-Gray did not immediately respond to phone or email messages, but wrote in a statement: “When I was asked to take over in this capacity, I expected some blowback for my decision to accept but I believed that the opportunity to have a role in effecting real and lasting positive change within the Burger and indie music scenes was worth the risk. Upon further review, I have informed Burger Records that I no longer believe I will be able to achieve my intended goals in assuming the leadership role at Burger in the current climate. Therefore, I have decided to step away from the label entirely to focus on my other projects.”
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Bohrman then announced the entire operation was ending to a Pitchfork reporter, closing that conversation with a Porky Pig GIF. He said the label will be removing its catalog from streaming services, and that bands would be free to re-release their albums elsewhere. The label’s entire online and social presence has since been deleted as well, and concert promoter Total Trash Productions, which produced the annual Burger Boogaloo festival, said it had severed all ties with the label.
Bohrman did not immediately return requests for comment from The Times.
Burger, founded in 2007, was a small but influential label focused on limited-run cassettes. The label also threw popular festivals like Santa Ana’s Burgerama and Oakland’s Burger Boogaloo. The label’s aesthetic — which often affected a throwback, naifish attitude toward punk and garage rock — attracted a young and devoted fan base for acts like the Black Lips, FIDLAR, the Growlers, King Tuff and Peach Kelli Pop, and acts as big as Weezer and Iggy Pop performed at their festivals.
Among this week’s allegations, Regrettes singer Lydia Night accused SWMRS drummer Joey Armstrong, son of Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong, of “emotional abuse and sexual coercion by someone in a position of power over me” while she was a minor. SWMRS was signed to Burger before the label’s dissolution. Joey Armstrong responded to the accusations in a post on his band’s Instagram account, saying that “While I don’t agree with some of the things she said about me... I was selfish and I didn’t treat her the way she deserves to have been treated both during our relationship and in the two years since we broke up.”
The Growlers, the Orange County band who released music on Burger and who produce their own popular Beach Goth festival, responded to several anonymous allegations of sexual misconduct in an Instagram post. Growlers singer Brooks Nielsen said that while the band denied the claims, “We take them seriously and want to get to the bottom of them.”
Shortly after the post, keyboardist Adam Wolcott Smith quit the band, saying that “I’m not innocent in abuse” regarding a 2017 incident of alleged sexual misconduct.


latimes--2020-07-23--Attorney for top L.A. County official accuses sheriff of defamation over Facebook Live comments

An attorney representing Los Angeles County ’ s chief executive officer has accused Sheriff Alex Villanueva of defamation and threatened to take legal action against him over comments he made Wednesday on a live Facebook broadcast .
The spat centers around a question about the propriety of CEO Sachi Hamai ’ s position on the board of United Way of Greater Los Angeles .
The nonprofit helped push a proposal to the Board of Supervisors this week to redirect 10 % of the county ’ s general fund — which includes part of the Sheriff ’ s Department ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of low-income residents in under-resourced communities .
Villanueva has suggested that the proposal is a veiled attempt to defund his department .
Hamai stepped down from the United Way board before Tuesday ’ s vote to avoid the appearance of any conflict .
During the meeting , she raised concerns about the proposal .
Even so , the board voted 4-1 to draft a measure that could appear on the November ballot .
The question to Villanueva was posed on Facebook by his wife , Vivian , who asked in a comment whether @ @ @ @ @ @ @ serve on the United Way board .
“ Hey , Viv , sweetpea , ” Villanueva responded before reading aloud her question .
“ Apparently it is a felony if you ’ re receiving money from United Way , and you ’ re on the board , or you ’ re a county officer and you ’ re voting on a measure or you ’ re facilitating a measure which you stand to gain from your position on the other third party .
That is a felony.
” Villanueva then cited a government @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for the county and Hamai , sent Villanueva a letter Thursday demanding that he retract his “ illegal and defamatory ” statements .
Villanueva could not immediately be reached for comment .
“ The statements above about Ms. Hamai are malicious lies , and you know it perfectly well .
It ’ s shocking and grossly irresponsible for anyone , much less the sheriff of Los Angeles County , to be publishing such defamatory falsehoods .
And you ’ re doing so about the top executive officer in the county that employs you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Miller said the government code Villanueva cited requires that a public official “ have a prohibited ‘ financial interest ’ in a matter involving her or his public entity.
” “ Ms .
Hamai has no financial interest therein or in any matter involving UW .
Until recently , she served as an unpaid member of the UW board .
She received no financial benefit for this service , ” he wrote .
In an interview Thursday , Miller said , “ It ’ s very serious , and he ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ announcing her resignation from the United Way board , Hamai said she was unaware of the charity ’ s involvement in putting forth the ballot measure proposal .
“ I was previously unaware of these efforts by United Way and , unfortunately , now believe there may be a perceived conflict of interest given my role as the chief executive officer for the county of Los Angeles , ” Hamai wrote .
“ Therefore , in an abundance of caution and effective immediately , it is with sadness that I will be stepping @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
”

Sheriff Alex Villanueva, with his wife, Vivian, at the ceremony for his swearing in.
An attorney representing Los Angeles County’s chief executive officer has accused Sheriff Alex Villanueva of defamation and threatened to take legal action against him over comments he made Wednesday on a live Facebook broadcast.
The spat centers around a question about the propriety of CEO Sachi Hamai’s position on the board of United Way of Greater Los Angeles. The nonprofit helped push a proposal to the Board of Supervisors this week to redirect 10% of the county’s general fund — which includes part of the Sheriff’s Department’s budget — to better address the needs of low-income residents in under-resourced communities.
Villanueva has suggested that the proposal is a veiled attempt to defund his department. Hamai stepped down from the United Way board before Tuesday’s vote to avoid the appearance of any conflict. During the meeting, she raised concerns about the proposal. Even so, the board voted 4-1 to draft a measure that could appear on the November ballot.
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The question to Villanueva was posed on Facebook by his wife, Vivian, who asked in a comment whether it is a felony for Hamai to serve on the United Way board.
“Hey, Viv, sweetpea,” Villanueva responded before reading aloud her question. “Apparently it is a felony if you’re receiving money from United Way, and you’re on the board, or you’re a county officer and you’re voting on a measure or you’re facilitating a measure which you stand to gain from your position on the other third party. That is a felony.” Villanueva then cited a government code.
Skip Miller, an attorney for the county and Hamai, sent Villanueva a letter Thursday demanding that he retract his “illegal and defamatory” statements.
“The statements above about Ms. Hamai are malicious lies, and you know it perfectly well. It’s shocking and grossly irresponsible for anyone, much less the sheriff of Los Angeles County, to be publishing such defamatory falsehoods. And you’re doing so about the top executive officer in the county that employs you,” Miller wrote in the letter.
Villanueva did not answer questions about the dispute, directing a reporter to the sheriff’s information bureau.
A Sheriff’s Department spokesman later provided The Times with a letter Villanueva sent to Miller saying that it was a violation of ethical rules for the county’s attorney to advise Hamai to sue the sheriff, whom he also represents in a number of matters. Villanueva demanded that Miller retract his letter. Miller told The Times he does not represent Villanueva and never has.
Miller said the government code Villanueva cited requires that a public official “have a prohibited ‘financial interest’ in a matter involving her or his public entity.”
“Ms. Hamai has no financial interest therein or in any matter involving UW. Until recently, she served as an unpaid member of the UW board. She received no financial benefit for this service,” he wrote.
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In an interview Thursday, Miller said, “It’s very serious, and he’s in big trouble.”
In a letter announcing her resignation from the United Way board, Hamai said she was unaware of the charity’s involvement in putting forth the ballot measure proposal.
“I was previously unaware of these efforts by United Way and, unfortunately, now believe there may be a perceived conflict of interest given my role as the chief executive officer for the county of Los Angeles,” Hamai wrote. “Therefore, in an abundance of caution and effective immediately, it is with sadness that I will be stepping down from serving as a board member.”


latimes--2020-07-23--Man and woman killed in Baldwin Park shooting

Detectives are at the scene of a Baldwin Park shooting that left a man and woman dead , according to @ @ @ @ @ ’ s Department .
Deputies responded to the 3300 block of Athol Street , a @ @ @ @ @ 2 p.m. Thursday to assist Baldwin Park police officers after reports of the shooting , @ @ @ @ @ by the Sheriff ’ s Department .
They found the man and the woman , @ @ @ @ @ at the scene .
No additional information was immediately available and the investigation is ongoing @ @ @ @ @ said .

Detectives are investigating after a man and woman were found fatally shot in Baldwin Park.
Detectives are investigating a Baldwin Park shooting that left a man and woman dead, and another person severely injured, according to the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department.
Deputies responded to the 3300 block of Athol Street, a residential area, just after 2 p.m. Thursday to assist Baldwin Park police officers after reports of a domestic violence incident, according to a media statement by the Sheriff’s Department.
They found a man and woman, who were both pronounced dead at the scene. A third victim was hospitalized with severe but not life-threatening injuries.
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Deputies found a firearm at the scene. The victims were not identified.
Deputy James Nagao, a spokesman for the Sheriff’s Department, said he did not know the gender of the third victim or whether that person was shot.
Sheriff’s officials initially said in a media release that they had identified a female suspect, but Nagao could not confirm that. He said that he did not have information about a suspect and that the investigation is ongoing.


latimes--2020-07-23--California prisons must set aside space for COVID-19 patients, judge orders

A federal judge overseeing litigation concerning the treatment of California inmates has ordered the state to set aside at least 100 beds at each of its 35 prisons to handle potential coronavirus outbreaks and prevent a repeat of the devastating spread at San Quentin .
U.S. District Judge Jon Tigar on Wednesday ordered the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation to identify space at 30 of its facilities that can be used to isolate prisoners who test positive for the virus .
The state must give inmate lawyers and federal receiver J. Clark Kelso — who was appointed by the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and had previously pushed for more space for prisoners to be isolated — a list of available accommodations by next week .
Within two weeks , the remaining five prisons also must identify space .
“ No one disputes that setting aside space for isolation and quarantine in the event of an outbreak is necessary , ” Tigar said in the order .
The judge implemented what he describes as a modified version of a proposal from lawyers representing inmates .
“ Plaintiffs ’ expert , for example , states that ' [ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who have symptoms of the virus must be separated from those in quarantine as suspected cases , and both groups must be separated from people who are asymptomatic and not suspected of infection .
Without adequate space to accomplish this separation , minor outbreaks can quickly flare up to a disastrous level , ’ ” Tigar said .
He gave the state until early September to complete any needed work .
Four prisons have already seen major COVID-19 outbreaks , and the judge noted that without action , other outbreaks could occur elsewhere @ @ @ @ @ @ @ maker in how California prisons are handling the pandemic .
More than 7,200 inmates have tested positive statewide , and the disease has killed 42 inmates — including 15 at San Quentin State Prison and 19 at the California Institution for Men in Chino .
“ This should have happened long ago , ” said Michael W. Bien , the lead lawyer for inmates in a separate medical case .
“ Everyone agrees 100 beds is not really adequate.
” Bien said the important aspect is that Tigar is opening the door to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of inmates to create space .
Current and recently released inmates have described the fear as the virus rages and , one by one , prisoners have gotten sick and in some cases died .
Several said they felt helpless because they could not easily practice social distancing or take other precautions .
As the crisis at San Quentin escalated , Gov .
Gavin Newsom made a decision to release up to 8,000 inmates on top of 3,500 he had already set free .
Tigar had first suggested the move after touring the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
With about 50,000 medically vulnerable inmates behind bars , the Prison Law Office and other lawyers for inmates have repeatedly pushed for releases , but both Tigar and a three-judge federal panel have so far rejected motions seeking the mass release of inmates .
In his most recent order , Tigar told the state that space must be vacated as soon as practically possible .
“ In planning for effective isolation and quarantine space , each institution must take into account unique factors that may impact where an incarcerated person can be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ disability , mental health and restricted housing needs , ” he said .
As the virus spread through the dormitory-like barracks at the Chino prison , the state struggled to keep inmates socially distanced and eventually put up tents outside and moved beds into other facilities .
Kelso pushed for pods of inmates to be established , but inmates said no arrangement provided any true distancing that would help prevent the spread of the illness .
Tigar approved a plan in May by the state and prisoner lawyers to transfer 700 of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
But some inmates had not been tested for more than three weeks before the move , Kelso said , and ultimately the transfer of 121 inmates to San Quentin and 66 to Corcoran State Prison launched the virus in those facilities .
More than 2,100 inmates have since tested positive at San Quentin , and more than a dozen have died , including eight on death row .
In the wake of the outbreak , the state medical director overseeing prisoner health was removed from his position .

A federal judge overseeing litigation concerning the treatment of California inmates has ordered the state to set aside at least 100 beds at each of its 35 prisons to handle potential coronavirus outbreaks and prevent a repeat of the devastating spread at San Quentin.
U.S. District Judge Jon Tigar on Wednesday ordered the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation to identify space at 30 of its facilities that can be used to isolate prisoners who test positive for the virus.
The state must give inmate lawyers and federal receiver J. Clark Kelso — who was appointed by the court to protect inmates’ medical rights and had previously pushed for more space for prisoners to be isolated — a list of available accommodations by next week. Within two weeks, the remaining five prisons also must identify space.
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“No one disputes that setting aside space for isolation and quarantine in the event of an outbreak is necessary,” Tigar said in the order.
The judge implemented what he describes as a modified version of a proposal from lawyers representing inmates.
“Plaintiffs’ expert, for example, states that ‘[p]eople with confirmed cases or who have symptoms of the virus must be separated from those in quarantine as suspected cases, and both groups must be separated from people who are asymptomatic and not suspected of infection. Without adequate space to accomplish this separation, minor outbreaks can quickly flare up to a disastrous level,’ ” Tigar said.
He gave the state until early September to complete any needed work.
Four prisons have already seen major COVID-19 outbreaks, and the judge noted that without action, other outbreaks could occur elsewhere. Tigar has become a major decision maker in how California prisons are handling the pandemic.
More than 7,200 inmates have tested positive statewide, and the disease has killed 42 inmates — including 15 at San Quentin State Prison and 19 at the California Institution for Men in Chino.
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“This should have happened long ago,” said Michael W. Bien, the lead lawyer for inmates in a separate medical case. “Everyone agrees 100 beds is not really adequate.”
Bien said the important aspect is that Tigar is opening the door to many more beds and the potential release of inmates to create space.
Current and recently released inmates have described the fear as the virus rages and, one by one, prisoners have gotten sick and in some cases died. Several said they felt helpless because they could not easily practice social distancing or take other precautions.
As the crisis at San Quentin escalated, Gov. Gavin Newsom made a decision to release up to 8,000 inmates on top of 3,500 he had already set free. Tigar had first suggested the move after touring the prison with the governor at his side.
With about 50,000 medically vulnerable inmates behind bars, the Prison Law Office and other lawyers for inmates have repeatedly pushed for releases, but both Tigar and a three-judge federal panel have so far rejected motions seeking the mass release of inmates.
In his most recent order, Tigar told the state that space must be vacated as soon as practically possible.
“In planning for effective isolation and quarantine space, each institution must take into account unique factors that may impact where an incarcerated person can be housed. Examples of these factors include disability, mental health and restricted housing needs,” he said.
As the virus spread through the dormitory-like barracks at the Chino prison, the state struggled to keep inmates socially distanced and eventually put up tents outside and moved beds into other facilities.
Kelso pushed for pods of inmates to be established, but inmates said no arrangement provided any true distancing that would help prevent the spread of the illness.
Tigar approved a plan in May by the state and prisoner lawyers to transfer 700 of the most medically vulnerable inmates out of Chino. But some inmates had not been tested for more than three weeks before the move, Kelso said, and ultimately the transfer of 121 inmates to San Quentin and 66 to Corcoran State Prison launched the virus in those facilities.
More than 2,100 inmates have since tested positive at San Quentin, and more than a dozen have died, including eight on death row. In the wake of the outbreak, the state medical director overseeing prisoner health was removed from his position.