latimes--2020-06-21--'Heroes Wear Masks': Father-daughter duo shares a message in chalk

During the first week of the shutdown amid the COVID-19 pandemic , Neal Brandenburg ’ s daughters were bouncing off the walls .
The stay-at-home dad usually has the house to himself while his wife is at work and daughters Noa , 6 , and Ruby , 11 , attend Culver City schools .
“ The ‘ staycation ’ with children was not going smoothly , ” he said .
“ I just desperately needed something to do that could entertain them.
” Two weeks in , and the tedium had gone too far .
As Brandenburg scrolled through Instagram @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
A friend in New Jersey , Sarah Chamberlin , had posted a photo of her daughter lying on the pavement , eyes closed .
Purple chalk butterfly wings spread out from her sides , and antennae twisted out of her head .
Today , the family would try chalk art , Brandenburg decided .
In the garage , he grabbed a long-forgotten bag of chalk .
He placed masking tape on the asphalt so Noa and Ruby could color in the lines .
A few hours later , a multicolored mosaic and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ appeared on the street .
“ Hey , that was pretty fun , ” Brandenburg thought .
“ We should do it again tomorrow.
” But the family had worn down the chalk pieces far enough that their fingertips were scraping the pavement .
After a trip to Target and the purchase of a bucket of pastels , they were back in business .
As the week continued , the Brandenburgs colored away : a flower inspired by Japanese artist Takashi Murakami , an apple reminiscent of Henri Matisse , a simplistic robot @ @ @ @ @ @ @ out the chalk drawings that had become a giant montage .
“ Everyone was just bored and going for walks and bike rides .
There was nothing else to look at ; we were in a pretty sleepy neighborhood , ” Brandenburg said .
“ So the street art became a bit of a destination.
” A week later , the ephemeral illustrations would be erased .
As Brandenburg took an evening walk with his dog in early April , storm clouds rolled in , covering the nearly full moon .
“ All @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 25 minutes , ” he said .
“ It was sort of cathartic.
” Over the next few weeks , Brandenburg began to look online for inspiration .
An education lawyer by training , he had no artistic experience .
If he was going to make art , he decided , he would do it well .
He found a volunteer form for Art Share L.A. , a nonprofit that operates an affordable housing building for artists and exhibits art to the community .
He signed up .
“ I just wanted to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Brandenburg said .
“ I really wanted to see people doing street art.
” Scrolling through Instagram , he found an account belonging to I Am Fake with an image of a nurse , a symbol of the frontline healthcare workers battling the coronavirus .
She gazes skyward , chin tilted up and shoulders back , wearing a blue surgical mask emblazoned with a red-and-yellow “ S ” — the Superman shield .
He wanted his daughters to understand this message .
The strength of nurses .
The importance of health .
The @ @ @ @ @ @ @ family took chalk to the street .
“ Here we go again !
” he posted on Instagram .
Brandenburg attempted his own superhero mask .
He had purchased sprayable chalk and made stencils representing Spider-Man , Iron Man and Black Panther .
Earlier in the year , Ruby had taken a one-day spray-paint class and had become the family ’ s expert .
“ I kinda taught you in the beginning , ” she said , turning toward her dad .
“ And then you found a bunch of other skills that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , the family paints the message “ Heroes Wear Masks , ” an homage to the image of the nurse Brandenburg had seen on Instagram .
The chalk artwork , he said , has become a public service announcement for his daughters and other kids in the neighborhood .
“ A kid comes over to see Spider-Man , and the parent has an opportunity to say , ‘ Oh , look , heroes wear masks .
You ’ re wearing a mask .
You ’ re a hero .
You ’ re just @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cool , right ?
’ ” Brandenburg said .
“ So if you ’ re 5 , and you ’ re getting that reinforcement from something that you thought was neat on the street , that ’ s the goal : indoctrinating little kids.
” Ruby remembers seeing a young neighborhood boy learning to ride a bike .
As his mom was teaching him how to pedal , he pointed to the Brandenburgs ’ artwork .
“ He was like , ‘ Oh , my God , it ’ s Black Panther !
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Brandenburg woke to a text from another neighbor .
Linked to the text was an article from The Times .
The lead photo showed a woman wearing a mask while walking two golden retrievers on the sidewalk and heading toward the Brandenburgs ’ Spider-Man artwork .
“ The sort of unrelenting creative energy that I ’ ve been feeling during coronavirus , I don ’ t know where that came from , ” he said .
“ It was just all on our street and just for our little neighborhood .
It @ @ @ @ @ @ @ really care.
” He thought back to the Art Share L.A. volunteer form he ’ d filled out .
On a whim , he decided to email the nonprofit again , asking if he and Ruby could come paint some superheroes as part of the group ’ s Let ’ s Paint the Town project .
The response dinged in his inbox : Yes !
The day before the family ’ s professional art debut , Brandenburg and his older daughter bought glossy poster boards and real spray paint .
They decided they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for Art Share .
But as the paint shot onto the cardboard , the colors smeared .
Their supplies exhausted , the two were left to hope for the best when they tackled their street painting .
The next day , the Brandenburgs arrived in Studio City , near the Wasteland outfitter on Ventura Boulevard .
They began spraying superheroes — Spider-Man , Iron Man , Black Panther — and the paint came out bright , crisp , perfect .
Looking around , the father-daughter duo watched the other , more experienced artists @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s walls .
“ Real artists , ” Brandenburg mused , not realizing his own artwork was taking on an elevated status .
As the “ Heroes Wear Masks ” images grew in popularity , Brandenburg to showcase the art .
Soon , though , it became clear the site would serve another purpose .
Following the death of George Floyd on May 25 , Brandenburg realized that supporting the Black Lives Matter message was more important than reinforcing the need to wear masks .
Ahead of a planned protest near Culver @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of a raised fist on the internet and cut it out for Ruby to spray-paint .
“ Doing the art with my daughter gives us a way to confront these issues , have conversations around these issues and continue an ongoing dialogue about them , ” he said .
He posted the downloadable Black Lives Matter image on his website so others could print it .
Brandenburg said he hopes the art will proliferate .
People from as far as Massachusetts and New York have been printing it , he said .
As @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they said art may need to take a back seat — at least for a while .
Ruby , who plays lacrosse , does improv and is on stage crew , has a full plate .
She hopes to continue art through classes , which she hasn ’ t taken for years .
Brandenburg began a full-time job as an attorney for educational organization Green Dot Public Schools on Monday .
Art may have to be relegated to nights and weekends .
“ I don ’ t know how long [ art ] @ @ @ @ @ @ @ now , I ’ m still totally hooked on it , ” he said .
“ I feel like for years I ’ ve been needing [ an artistic outlet ] and not knowing which way to go for it .
It sort of clicked , and it ’ s incredibly satisfying.
” Though “ Heroes Wear Masks ” won ’ t be his main focus , Brandenburg said he expects the message will be relevant for some time , particularly in light of Gov .
Gavin Newsom ’ s order this week @ @ @ @ @ @ @ most public settings .
“ I think there ’ s a very good chance that there will be a coronavirus surge this fall , ” Brandenburg said .
But one day , he hopes the necessity of wearing masks will wash away , just like the chalk in that April rainstorm .

During the first week of the shutdown amid the COVID-19 pandemic, Neal Brandenburg’s daughters were bouncing off the walls.
The stay-at-home dad usually has the house to himself while his wife is at work and daughters Noa, 6, and Ruby, 11, attend Culver City schools.
“The ‘staycation’ with children was not going smoothly,” he said. “I just desperately needed something to do that could entertain them.”
Two weeks in, and the tedium had gone too far.
As Brandenburg scrolled through Instagram, he came up with an idea. A friend in New Jersey, Sarah Chamberlin, had posted a photo of her daughter lying on the pavement, eyes closed. Purple chalk butterfly wings spread out from her sides, and antennae twisted out of her head.
Today, the family would try chalk art, Brandenburg decided.
In the garage, he grabbed a long-forgotten bag of chalk. He placed masking tape on the asphalt so Noa and Ruby could color in the lines. A few hours later, a multicolored mosaic and a “Space Invaders” alien had appeared on the street.
Advertisement
Neal Brandenburg is a self-taught artist. (Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)
“Hey, that was pretty fun,” Brandenburg thought. “We should do it again tomorrow.”
But the family had worn down the chalk pieces far enough that their fingertips were scraping the pavement. After a trip to Target and the purchase of a bucket of pastels, they were back in business.
As the week continued, the Brandenburgs colored away: a flower inspired by Japanese artist Takashi Murakami, an apple reminiscent of Henri Matisse, a simplistic robot. Culver City neighbors stopped to check out the chalk drawings that had become a giant montage.
“Everyone was just bored and going for walks and bike rides. There was nothing else to look at; we were in a pretty sleepy neighborhood,” Brandenburg said. “So the street art became a bit of a destination.”
A week later, the ephemeral illustrations would be erased. As Brandenburg took an evening walk with his dog in early April, storm clouds rolled in, covering the nearly full moon.
“All the chalk just washed away in like 25 minutes,” he said. “It was sort of cathartic.”
Advertisement
But the artwork wasn’t finished.
Lindsay Rojas walks past Brandenburg’s Spider-Man-themed drawing in Culver City. (Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)
Over the next few weeks, Brandenburg began to look online for inspiration. An education lawyer by training, he had no artistic experience. If he was going to make art, he decided, he would do it well.
He found a volunteer form for Art Share L.A., a nonprofit that operates an affordable housing building for artists and exhibits art to the community. He signed up.
“I just wanted to carry paint cans for them,” Brandenburg said. “I really wanted to see people doing street art.”
Scrolling through Instagram, he found an account belonging to I Am Fake with an image of a nurse, a symbol of the frontline healthcare workers battling the coronavirus. She gazes skyward, chin tilted up and shoulders back, wearing a blue surgical mask emblazoned with a red-and-yellow “S” — the Superman shield.
The image struck Brandenburg.
He wanted his daughters to understand this message. The strength of nurses. The importance of health. The protection of masks.
Again, the family took chalk to the street. “Here we go again!” he posted on Instagram.
Advertisement
Brandenburg attempted his own superhero mask. He had purchased sprayable chalk and made stencils representing Spider-Man, Iron Man and Black Panther.
Neal Brandenburg and daughter Ruby, 11, use nuts as weights to hold a stencil in position while creating an Iron Man-themed “Heroes Wear Masks” drawing in Los Angeles. (Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)
Earlier in the year, Ruby had taken a one-day spray-paint class and had become the family’s expert.
“I kinda taught you in the beginning,” she said, turning toward her dad. “And then you found a bunch of other skills that you taught me.”
Beside each hero, the family paints the message “Heroes Wear Masks,” an homage to the image of the nurse Brandenburg had seen on Instagram.
The chalk artwork, he said, has become a public service announcement for his daughters and other kids in the neighborhood.
Advertisement
“A kid comes over to see Spider-Man, and the parent has an opportunity to say, ‘Oh, look, heroes wear masks. You’re wearing a mask. You’re a hero. You’re just like Spider-Man. That’s pretty cool, right?’” Brandenburg said. “So if you’re 5, and you’re getting that reinforcement from something that you thought was neat on the street, that’s the goal: indoctrinating little kids.”
Ruby remembers seeing a young neighborhood boy learning to ride a bike. As his mom was teaching him how to pedal, he pointed to the Brandenburgs’ artwork.
“He was like, ‘Oh, my God, it’s Black Panther!’” Ruby recalled.
A Black Panther-themed “Heroes Wear Masks” artwork along Ventura Boulevard in Studio City.
(Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)
One morning, Brandenburg woke to a text from another neighbor. Linked to the text was an article from The Times. The lead photo showed a woman wearing a mask while walking two golden retrievers on the sidewalk and heading toward the Brandenburgs’ Spider-Man artwork.
Brandenburg was equally shocked and proud.
“The sort of unrelenting creative energy that I’ve been feeling during coronavirus, I don’t know where that came from,” he said. “It was just all on our street and just for our little neighborhood. It never occurred to me that anybody would really care.”
Advertisement
He thought back to the Art Share L.A. volunteer form he’d filled out. On a whim, he decided to email the nonprofit again, asking if he and Ruby could come paint some superheroes as part of the group’s Let’s Paint the Town project.
The response dinged in his inbox: Yes!
The day before the family’s professional art debut, Brandenburg and his older daughter bought glossy poster boards and real spray paint. They decided they’d need some practice before painting for Art Share.
But as the paint shot onto the cardboard, the colors smeared. Their supplies exhausted, the two were left to hope for the best when they tackled their street painting.
The next day, the Brandenburgs arrived in Studio City, near the Wasteland outfitter on Ventura Boulevard. They began spraying superheroes — Spider-Man, Iron Man, Black Panther — and the paint came out bright, crisp, perfect.
Looking around, the father-daughter duo watched the other, more experienced artists as they painted murals on the building’s walls.
“Real artists,” Brandenburg mused, not realizing his own artwork was taking on an elevated status.
Advertisement
As the “Heroes Wear Masks” images grew in popularity, Brandenburg put together a website to showcase the art.
A passerby checks out a Spider-Man themed stencil along Traction Avenue near 3rd Street in Los Angeles. (Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)
Soon, though, it became clear the site would serve another purpose.
Following the death of George Floyd on May 25, Brandenburg realized that supporting the Black Lives Matter message was more important than reinforcing the need to wear masks.
Ahead of a planned protest near Culver City Hall, Brandenburg found an image of a raised fist on the internet and cut it out for Ruby to spray-paint.
“Doing the art with my daughter gives us a way to confront these issues, have conversations around these issues and continue an ongoing dialogue about them,” he said.
He posted the downloadable Black Lives Matter image on his website so others could print it. Brandenburg said he hopes the art will proliferate. People from as far as Massachusetts and New York have been printing it, he said.
As for the chalk-spraying father and daughter, they said art may need to take a back seat — at least for a while.
Ruby, who plays lacrosse, does improv and is on stage crew, has a full plate. She hopes to continue art through classes, which she hasn’t taken for years.
Brandenburg began a full-time job as an attorney for educational organization Green Dot Public Schools on Monday. Art may have to be relegated to nights and weekends.
“I just desperately needed something to do that could entertain them.” — Neal Brandenburg
Advertisement
Neal Brandenburg walks by a mural painted by artist Sara Sandoval on Traction Avenue near 3rd Street in Los Angeles. (Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)
“I don’t know how long [art] will keep my interest. But right now, I’m still totally hooked on it,” he said. “I feel like for years I’ve been needing [an artistic outlet] and not knowing which way to go for it. It sort of clicked, and it’s incredibly satisfying.”
Though “Heroes Wear Masks” won’t be his main focus, Brandenburg said he expects the message will be relevant for some time, particularly in light of Gov. Gavin Newsom’s order this week requiring all Californians to wear masks in most public settings.
“I think there’s a very good chance that there will be a coronavirus surge this fall,” Brandenburg said.
But one day, he hopes the necessity of wearing masks will wash away, just like the chalk in that April rainstorm.


latimes--2020-06-21--L.A.'s Black community is happy to have new white support — but it's long overdue

As Donny Joubert watched a Minneapolis police officer kneel into the neck of George Floyd , he was outraged at yet another example of police brutality .
So too was the rest of the nation , and the pain of Floyd ’ s death has resulted in weeks of mass protests .
Joubert and others in the Black community are encouraged that these protests are centered not in South Los Angeles but in upscale business districts and locales and have attracted a kaleidoscope of races demanding justice .
But they ’ re asking a simple question : Where have you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Black folks remember the hope and disappointment following the Watts riots in 1965 and the Rodney King riots in 1992 , when the nation ’ s attention eventually turned away from racial injustice .
The show of unity now is fine , but what happens when the passion of the protests cools down ?
Will the thousands demonstrating on the streets move on ?
Longtime community activist Earl Ofari Hutchinson , president of the Los Angeles Urban Policy Roundtable , said unless this infusion of energy from white people , young activists @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , education of Black issues and action at the voting booth , the weeks of protests may not move the needle toward lasting change .
“ I ’ m cautiously optimistic that this will be more than just a momentary , thrill-seeking high for many , and that many will continue to be moved by the power of advocacy for racial justice , that they will continue to be engaged , ” said Hutchinson , 72 .
“ There has to be organizations that spring forth in addition to Black Lives Matter with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ them.
” Joubert hopes so , too , because he has seen the destruction of civil unrest firsthand .
He remembers as a 5-year-old comparing his toy soldiers to real-life National Guard troops as they patrolled the streets during the Watts riots .
Twenty-seven years later , he and other gang members brokered an unprecedented truce between rival groups during the King riots , an often overshadowed gesture amid the more than 60 lives lost and $ 1 billion worth of property damage in the city .
In both instances , white people @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Black citizens .
They shouldn ’ t have been , he said .
“ We all have to live together , and it took this long for folks to realize what we have been going through , ” Joubert said .
“ Rodney King should have been a highlight .
The riots in 1965 should have been a highlight .
We ’ re taking a big step forward , but Floyd shouldn ’ t have had to lose his life for this to happen.
” This time , policy changes have followed swiftly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and initiating serious discussions to redirect funding from police budgets to improve housing , healthcare , education , mental health services and other resources .
Los Angeles is no stranger to public uproars sparked by racial tension .
But none of it looked like it does now , with tens of thousands of people of mixed races descending on Hollywood Boulevard on successive weekends for peaceful protests .
Sporadic thefts and vandalism followed nonviolent protests over Floyd ’ s death in Santa Monica , Beverly Hills and the Fairfax district but did not @ @ @ @ @ @ @ city in 1992 after a jury acquitted the four officers who were videotaped beating King , a Black motorist , after a high-speed chase .
Plots of land in South L.A. where buildings once stood remain empty .
In 1965 , 34 people died over six days of unrest after a scuffle broke out in a crowd when a white California Highway Patrol officer pulled over a Black motorist in Watts .
In both instances , critics say , substantial reforms didn ’ t happen .
Agencies wrote detailed reports .
Task forces @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Watts , the 1992 uprising and now the protests over Floyd ’ s killing came from years of festering frustration toward the inequality Black Americans suffer , said Bernard Parks , one of the few Black Los Angeles Police Department officers in 1965 and a deputy chief during the King riots .
“ When they do the study for finding out why people went out of their houses and into the streets in 2020 , they ’ ll probably see the identical issues , ” said Parks , 76 , who later became @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Council member .
“ None of that has changed over all these decades .
Investment in community , economic imbalance , education — none of that has been resolved.
” Watts still suffers from a high poverty rate , ranking as the 13th-worst neighborhood in Los Angeles for violent crime per capita , according to a Times analysis of crime reports .
The area has seen progress , including a $ 35-million federal grant awarded in April by the Department of Housing and Urban Development and a community policing relationship that activists , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
But it still bears the scars of its past .
On a recent afternoon , Joubert walked into the Boys & Girls Club at Nickerson Gardens , the low-income public housing complex where he was raised , to sort canned food for families in the area .
Outside the gym is a mural with names of people dead from gang violence or other causes .
To the community , it ’ s a sacred monument — even children know not to mess with it , he said .
Joubert helped to open @ @ @ @ @ @ @ winter to keep kids active and out of trouble .
But the COVID-19 pandemic — which has killed Black people at a disproportionate rate — forced a temporarily closure .
He now hands out food to families every Friday with help from the Gang Reduction and Youth Development Foundation .
When he first heard of Floyd ’ s death and saw the anger that initially spurred some vandalism in Los Angeles and other cities , he and other gang interventionists reached out to young people and counseled them .
It was OK to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they encouraged them to take that anger out productively in peaceful protests ; they shouldn ’ t destroy property , especially in their neighborhoods .
“ We ’ re not new to this , ” Joubert said .
“ We ’ ve already been through two of them .
There ’ s nothing else left to burn.
” As he watched television , he was shocked as more and more white people joined the marches .
It almost brought a tear to his eye , he said .
“ I never thought I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ do any of this in Beverly Hills , ” said William Taylor , with a chuckle .
Taylor , 72 , sat in a chair at Tolliver ’ s Barber Shop in South Los Angeles , looking at a well-known 1992 photo of a laundromat engulfed in flames , one of the many reminders of the mayhem .
He ’ s still upset that some vacant land around the community hasn ’ t been redeveloped .
The day after the King verdict , Taylor , who was then the owner-manager of his father @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to do a job .
Because of the danger , he called his client , a white woman , asking if he could reschedule .
She refused .
“ Her attitude was , ‘ They are not rioting where I am located , so I still want service , ’ ” Taylor said .
The journey to her Hollywood apartment was “ painful , ” he said .
He bypassed Normandie and Vermont avenues , routes that would have made the drive shorter but were inaccessible because rioters were pulling people out of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he arrived , he said , the woman had become fearful as the devastation crept closer to her area .
He said today ’ s movement may have more impact because , unlike his client then , white people have not waited to show concern until their own lives were affected .
But he also hopes those who are just now joining the cause develop a deeper understanding of the systemic inequities that underpin the protests .
“ If I were younger , I would be out there walking with them , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a better world , and I know myself and others would gladly help them understand what we ’ ve gone through and be a sounding board.
” Ann Tolliver Binion , 78 , whose brother owns Tolliver ’ s Barber Shop , said the current movement reminds her of a biblical story in which God forced the prophet Moses and his followers to wander the desert for 40 years .
The Israelites could enter the Promised Land only after the older , more stubborn generation died off , and Binion thinks that is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ A lot of this stuff has been ingrained for so long that the older generations may not have been able to comprehend , ” Binion said .
“ I think things will change because this generation understands .
And no matter who you are , how can you watch that George Floyd video and not demand change ?
” Parks , too , is encouraged .
He said during both previous riots he overheard insensitive comments from white colleagues in the department who openly supported King ’ s beating .
Some @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in Watts .
“ Some officers were asking , ‘ Why are we concerned with that part of the city ?
’ and a lot of Black officers had to challenge them and say , ‘ We care because my family lives in South Los Angeles , ’ ” Parks said .
The deliberate decision of protest organizers to steer demonstrations to whiter , wealthier areas may have played a role in a wider awakening , said Jody Armour , a professor at the USC Gould School of Law who specializes in racial @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Martin in 2012 highlighted racial profiling , but since then , the accumulating instances of killings caught on video — Ahmaud Arbery , Eric Garner and others — have also shocked people ’ s senses .
“ We ’ ve seen for so long that the cost of injustice has been limited to certain communities and geographic areas , ” Armour said .
“ Now , with these marches , we are seeing more privileged communities start to bear that price .
For us to make real progress , we all collectively have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is greater than the cost of justice.
” As Joubert took a break from lifting plastic containers with canned food in the gym , he reflected on what is the next step for creating real change : voting — knowing the issues and then acting on them .
He ’ s glad to have new allies on board , even if they came late , he said .
“ We have to live in the here and now , ” Joubert said .
“ We have them now waking up to what has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ time , and we have to seize this moment .
We can ’ t let it go to waste .
”

Donny Joubert stands by a memorial mural painted on the wall of the Boys & Girls Club of Nickerson Gardens in South Los Angeles.
As Donny Joubert watched a Minneapolis police officer kneel into the neck of George Floyd, he was outraged at yet another example of police brutality.
So too was the rest of the nation, and the pain of Floyd’s death has resulted in weeks of mass protests.
Joubert and others in the Black community are encouraged that these protests are centered not in South Los Angeles but in upscale business districts and locales and have attracted a kaleidoscope of races demanding justice. But they’re asking a simple question: Where have you been? Because this is long overdue.
Advertisement
Black folks remember the hope and disappointment following the Watts riots in 1965 and the Rodney King riots in 1992, when the nation’s attention eventually turned away from racial injustice.
The show of unity now is fine, but what happens when the passion of the protests cools down? Will the thousands demonstrating on the streets move on?
Longtime community activist Earl Ofari Hutchinson, president of the Los Angeles Urban Policy Roundtable, said unless this infusion of energy from white people, young activists and others translates into continued mass action, education of Black issues and action at the voting booth, the weeks of protests may not move the needle toward lasting change.
“I’m cautiously optimistic that this will be more than just a momentary, thrill-seeking high for many, and that many will continue to be moved by the power of advocacy for racial justice, that they will continue to be engaged,” said Hutchinson, 72. “There has to be organizations that spring forth in addition to Black Lives Matter with doable, practical programs that can engage them.”
Joubert hopes so, too, because he has seen the destruction of civil unrest firsthand.
He remembers as a 5-year-old comparing his toy soldiers to real-life National Guard troops as they patrolled the streets during the Watts riots. Twenty-seven years later, he and other gang members brokered an unprecedented truce between rival groups during the King riots, an often overshadowed gesture amid the more than 60 lives lost and $1 billion worth of property damage in the city.
Advertisement
In both instances, white people were largely oblivious to the inequities of Black citizens. They shouldn’t have been, he said.
“We all have to live together, and it took this long for folks to realize what we have been going through,” Joubert said. “Rodney King should have been a highlight. The riots in 1965 should have been a highlight. We’re taking a big step forward, but Floyd shouldn’t have had to lose his life for this to happen.”
This time, policy changes have followed swiftly, including some cities banning police chokeholds and initiating serious discussions to redirect funding from police budgets to improve housing, healthcare, education, mental health services and other resources.
Los Angeles is no stranger to public uproars sparked by racial tension. But none of it looked like it does now, with tens of thousands of people of mixed races descending on Hollywood Boulevard on successive weekends for peaceful protests.
Sporadic thefts and vandalism followed nonviolent protests over Floyd’s death in Santa Monica, Beverly Hills and the Fairfax district but did not match the destruction that sprawled across the city in 1992 after a jury acquitted the four officers who were videotaped beating King, a Black motorist, after a high-speed chase. Plots of land in South L.A. where buildings once stood remain empty.
In 1965, 34 people died over six days of unrest after a scuffle broke out in a crowd when a white California Highway Patrol officer pulled over a Black motorist in Watts.
In both instances, critics say, substantial reforms didn’t happen. Agencies wrote detailed reports. Task forces were created. Promises were made.
Watts, the 1992 uprising and now the protests over Floyd’s killing came from years of festering frustration toward the inequality Black Americans suffer, said Bernard Parks, one of the few Black Los Angeles Police Department officers in 1965 and a deputy chief during the King riots.
“When they do the study for finding out why people went out of their houses and into the streets in 2020, they’ll probably see the identical issues,” said Parks, 76, who later became chief of the department and a City Council member. “None of that has changed over all these decades. Investment in community, economic imbalance, education — none of that has been resolved.”
Bernard Parks receives a salute from the troops upon his formal appointment as LAPD Police Chief on Aug. 22, 1997, at the Police Academy. (Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times)
Watts still suffers from a high poverty rate, ranking as the 13th-worst neighborhood in Los Angeles for violent crime per capita, according to a Times analysis of crime reports. The area has seen progress, including a $35-million federal grant awarded in April by the Department of Housing and Urban Development and a community policing relationship that activists, politicians and the LAPD say is strong. But it still bears the scars of its past.
On a recent afternoon, Joubert walked into the Boys & Girls Club at Nickerson Gardens, the low-income public housing complex where he was raised, to sort canned food for families in the area. Outside the gym is a mural with names of people dead from gang violence or other causes. To the community, it’s a sacred monument — even children know not to mess with it, he said.
Joubert helped to open a boxing academy at the gym last winter to keep kids active and out of trouble. But the COVID-19 pandemic — which has killed Black people at a disproportionate rate — forced a temporarily closure. He now hands out food to families every Friday with help from the Gang Reduction and Youth Development Foundation.
The mural at the Boys & Girls Club of Nickerson Gardens bears the name of Donny Joubert’s mother, Lottie Brown, and others who have died. (Al Seib / Los Angeles Times)
When he first heard of Floyd’s death and saw the anger that initially spurred some vandalism in Los Angeles and other cities, he and other gang interventionists reached out to young people and counseled them. It was OK to be mad, they said. But they encouraged them to take that anger out productively in peaceful protests; they shouldn’t destroy property, especially in their neighborhoods.
“We’re not new to this,” Joubert said. “We’ve already been through two of them. There’s nothing else left to burn.”
As he watched television, he was shocked as more and more white people joined the marches. It almost brought a tear to his eye, he said.
Those scenes surprised others.
“I never thought I’d see the day they would do any of this in Beverly Hills,” said William Taylor, with a chuckle.
Taylor, 72, sat in a chair at Tolliver’s Barber Shop in South Los Angeles, looking at a well-known 1992 photo of a laundromat engulfed in flames, one of the many reminders of the mayhem. He’s still upset that some vacant land around the community hasn’t been redeveloped.
The day after the King verdict, Taylor, who was then the owner-manager of his father’s furniture-moving business, was scheduled to do a job. Because of the danger, he called his client, a white woman, asking if he could reschedule. She refused.
“Her attitude was, ‘They are not rioting where I am located, so I still want service,’” Taylor said.
The journey to her Hollywood apartment was “painful,” he said. He bypassed Normandie and Vermont avenues, routes that would have made the drive shorter but were inaccessible because rioters were pulling people out of their vehicles and beating them. When he arrived, he said, the woman had become fearful as the devastation crept closer to her area.
He said today’s movement may have more impact because, unlike his client then, white people have not waited to show concern until their own lives were affected. But he also hopes those who are just now joining the cause develop a deeper understanding of the systemic inequities that underpin the protests.
“If I were younger, I would be out there walking with them,” Taylor said. “I dream of a better world, and I know myself and others would gladly help them understand what we’ve gone through and be a sounding board.”
Ann Tolliver Binion, 78, whose brother owns Tolliver’s Barber Shop, said the current movement reminds her of a biblical story in which God forced the prophet Moses and his followers to wander the desert for 40 years. The Israelites could enter the Promised Land only after the older, more stubborn generation died off, and Binion thinks that is similar to what’s happening now.
“A lot of this stuff has been ingrained for so long that the older generations may not have been able to comprehend,” Binion said. “I think things will change because this generation understands. And no matter who you are, how can you watch that George Floyd video and not demand change?”
Parks, too, is encouraged. He said during both previous riots he overheard insensitive comments from white colleagues in the department who openly supported King’s beating. Some questioned why they were responding to riots in Watts.
“Some officers were asking, ‘Why are we concerned with that part of the city?’ and a lot of Black officers had to challenge them and say, ‘We care because my family lives in South Los Angeles,’” Parks said.
The deliberate decision of protest organizers to steer demonstrations to whiter, wealthier areas may have played a role in a wider awakening, said Jody Armour, a professor at the USC Gould School of Law who specializes in racial issues.
The fatal shooting of Trayvon Martin in 2012 highlighted racial profiling, but since then, the accumulating instances of killings caught on video — Ahmaud Arbery, Eric Garner and others — have also shocked people’s senses.
“We’ve seen for so long that the cost of injustice has been limited to certain communities and geographic areas,” Armour said. “Now, with these marches, we are seeing more privileged communities start to bear that price. For us to make real progress, we all collectively have to say that the price of injustice is greater than the cost of justice.”
As Joubert took a break from lifting plastic containers with canned food in the gym, he reflected on what is the next step for creating real change: voting — knowing the issues and then acting on them. He’s glad to have new allies on board, even if they came late, he said.
“We have to live in the here and now,” Joubert said. “We have them now waking up to what has been happening to us for a long time, and we have to seize this moment. We can’t let it go to waste.”


latimes--2020-06-21--A lifeline for working parents, L.A. County day camps struggle to adapt to new rules

Samantha “ Sammie ” Chou showed up to the first day of camp at L.A .
Gymnastics in Culver City on Wednesday wearing a glittery new unicorn backpack , neon tumbling shorts and a petal pink surgical mask spotted with cartoon owls .
“ After a week or a month , I ’ m going to second grade , ” the 6-year-old said , betraying both a child ’ s idiosyncratic perception of time and the temporal limbo families like hers have faced since schools closed in mid-March .
For months , her parents , Shawn Chou and Jennifer Lee @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by piano and theater and dance and jujitsu , bingeing on Zoom play dates and racing to keep up with her demanding dual-language immersion program .
But with schools out for the summer and industries statewide opening up , both are now expected back at work .
“ For our situation , camps are invaluable — we can ’ t live without them , ” said Chou , a filmmaker and producer .
“ It ’ s actually a lifesaver for us .
I don ’ t know what we ’ d do @ @ @ @ @ @ @ will look different than it has in years past .
Masks will be everywhere .
Shared snacks will be banned .
There will be no field trips , no clap games , no capture the flag .
But for many working families , those things don ’ t really matter as long as summer camp serves its primary function : child care .
Providing that care in compliance with ever-evolving state and local public health guidelines , however , has proved a dizzying task for camp operators — particularly in Los Angeles County @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ongoing deaths and a rise in new coronavirus cases .
“ Marin County was way ahead of us ; they opened their day camps already .
[ But ] L.A. County was much more cautious , ” said Helen Hernandez , director of parks and recreation for the city of Baldwin Park and a board member at the California Park and Recreation Society , a nonprofit industry network .
“ There ’ s 90-something cities in L.A. County that are working together to be together on the same page ” with new safety @ @ @ @ @ @ @ day camp for about 150 kids a week , as well as about 25 counselors in training .
The program runs from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. and costs $ 130 a week — one of the most affordable camps in the region .
“ Our community is a working community ; people do have to be at work at 6:30 a.m. — some parents even ask if we can open at 5:30 , ” Hernandez said .
“ Generally we have a waiting list , because our camp is pretty reasonable.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she said opening was impossible .
“ It ’ s a barrage of so many things , ” Hernandez said .
“ Every kid would need their own ball , their own jump rope , their own hula hoop .
The playgrounds are still not open , so there ’ s no outdoor play with the playgrounds .
You can ’ t play bingo ; you don ’ t play Monopoly , checkers , Jenga .
Even a walk to the fire department is out because the firefighters are exposed .
All these @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , we can ’ t do.
” Parks departments and private camps across the state have spent weeks swapping symptom screening tools , resources and liability wavers in an attempt to adapt to the new reality .
But between a limited roster of activities and reduced staffing ratios , tight restrictions on space and an exponential increase in the cost of materials , many have canceled or moved online for the summer .
“ That ’ s what they ’ re all kind of wrangling with , ” said Sarah Auerswald of Moms @ @ @ @ @ @ @ dozens of local summer camps every year .
“ You either can ’ t afford to run because there aren ’ t enough kids there , or you have to make it more expensive to pay for it .
That ’ s just the balance sheet , right ?
” Indeed , in the days since California ’ s Department of Public Health released its long-awaited day camp guidelines , which went into effect June 12 , camps that had vowed they would open suddenly said they could not .
Others that had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ course , some despite having issued refunds to families who had signed up .
Sleep-away camps have still not received any guidance .
“ Everybody ’ s like , ‘ What ’ s the plan ?
’ There ’ s a lot of plans , ” said Dan Pardo of the YMCA of Metropolitan Los Angeles , which typically runs day camps for 4,000 to 5,000 children a week in the summer .
“ We had a lot of people reaching out to us because they are thinking , ‘ What am I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Who ’ s watching my kids while I ’ m back at work ?
’ ” In May , Pardo was confident YMCA camps would open .
But almost as soon as the state guidelines were released in June , the nonprofit announced that many could not .
“ It really has been the state taking the lead on when and how these are going to be opened , and the counties are following suit from there , ” said Matthew Duarte , executive director of the California Assn .
of Recreation and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the decision not to open as a snowball effect of rules and costs .
“ Our county is sort of different than everyone else , ” Auerswald said .
“ The county health department and the city , those are the people who are saying yes you can [ open ] if you follow the rules.
” Most California counties have adopted the state guidelines as their own .
But L.A. County ’ s guidelines , which were released June 11 , are in some cases more stringent .
City rules can be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ about what people are and are not doing based on what county they ’ re in , ” said Stephanie Martinez , recreation services manager for West Hollywood .
“ Because our city continues to be under a state of local emergency , that limits us ” too .
It also matters where camps are held inside a given city .
Los Angeles Unified School District campuses , which host camps every summer , remain closed .
County beaches , too , were briefly ruled off-limits for day camp operators .
In May @ @ @ @ @ @ @ camp guidelines were unveiled , the Department of Beaches and Harbors said it would probably not issue beach camps permits for the summer at all .
“ It was going so quickly that no sooner had we put out that letter to our operators than we heard there could be guidance for summer camps , ” said department spokeswoman Carol Baker .
“ It involves children , so obviously we need to be very careful and cautious.
” For camp owners , though , the move felt capricious — particularly after it was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ been really frustrating from the beginning , ” said Sina Monjazeb , owner and director of Sandy Days Kids Camp at Will Rogers State Beach , which is now slated to open in early July .
“ Just in the L.A. area there ’ s probably at least a dozen beach camps that have been affected.
” Chou said he researched dozens of camps last summer before choosing the ones Samantha would attend .
Since the spring , he has been inundated with updates from those organizations — camps ready to open , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ delayed .
“ What we found was the camps say , ‘ We ’ re open !
Oh , but we ’ re not sure , ’ and then they change and reverse course and say , ‘ We ’ re open again , ’ ” he said .
Despite demand , experts said many families remain deeply divided about whether to send kids to camp at all .
“ We actually conducted a survey with our participants and I think a lot of parents and guardians are just not ready to send @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
For others , summer camp now feels like a litmus test : Can children really practice physical distancing ?
Will they wear masks all day long ?
Can safety precautions be scaled ?
If it can ’ t happen at camp , how will it work out with school ?
“ We may be holding out hope that school is going to start again in the fall no problem , ” Auerswald said .
With so many fits and starts opening camps , “ there ’ s a crack in that armor @ @

Shawn Chou and Jennifer Lee drop off their daughter Samantha Chou, 6, at L.A. Gymnastics in Culver City. They are among parents who have pinned their hope on summer camps reopening.
Samantha “Sammie” Chou showed up to the first day of camp at L.A. Gymnastics in Culver City on Wednesday wearing a glittery new unicorn backpack, neon tumbling shorts and a petal pink surgical mask spotted with cartoon owls.
“After a week or a month, I’m going to second grade,” the 6-year-old said, betraying both a child’s idiosyncratic perception of time and the temporal limbo families like hers have faced since schools closed in mid-March. For months, her parents, Shawn Chou and Jennifer Lee, tried to fill the gaps left by piano and theater and dance and jujitsu, bingeing on Zoom play dates and racing to keep up with her demanding dual-language immersion program.
But with schools out for the summer and industries statewide opening up, both are now expected back at work.
“For our situation, camps are invaluable — we can’t live without them,” said Chou, a filmmaker and producer. “It’s actually a lifesaver for us. I don’t know what we’d do without it.”
Advertisement
Across California, camp will look different than it has in years past. Masks will be everywhere. Shared snacks will be banned. There will be no field trips, no clap games, no capture the flag.
But for many working families, those things don’t really matter as long as summer camp serves its primary function: child care. Providing that care in compliance with ever-evolving state and local public health guidelines, however, has proved a dizzying task for camp operators — particularly in Los Angeles County, where reopening has been tempered by ongoing deaths and a rise in new coronavirus cases.
“Marin County was way ahead of us; they opened their day camps already. [But] L.A. County was much more cautious,” said Helen Hernandez, director of parks and recreation for the city of Baldwin Park and a board member at the California Park and Recreation Society, a nonprofit industry network. “There’s 90-something cities in L.A. County that are working together to be together on the same page” with new safety protocols.
Typically, Baldwin Park offers day camp for about 150 kids a week, as well as about 25 counselors in training. The program runs from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. and costs $130 a week — one of the most affordable camps in the region.
“Our community is a working community; people do have to be at work at 6:30 a.m. — some parents even ask if we can open at 5:30,” Hernandez said. “Generally we have a waiting list, because our camp is pretty reasonable.”
But with all the new rules, she said opening was impossible.
“It’s a barrage of so many things,” Hernandez said. “Every kid would need their own ball, their own jump rope, their own hula hoop. The playgrounds are still not open, so there’s no outdoor play with the playgrounds. You can’t play bingo; you don’t play Monopoly, checkers, Jenga. Even a walk to the fire department is out because the firefighters are exposed. All these things that are traditionally low-cost for us, we can’t do.”
Parks departments and private camps across the state have spent weeks swapping symptom screening tools, resources and liability wavers in an attempt to adapt to the new reality. But between a limited roster of activities and reduced staffing ratios, tight restrictions on space and an exponential increase in the cost of materials, many have canceled or moved online for the summer.
“That’s what they’re all kind of wrangling with,” said Sarah Auerswald of Moms L.A., which curates detailed information on dozens of local summer camps every year. “You either can’t afford to run because there aren’t enough kids there, or you have to make it more expensive to pay for it. That’s just the balance sheet, right?”
Indeed, in the days since California’s Department of Public Health released its long-awaited day camp guidelines, which went into effect June 12, camps that had vowed they would open suddenly said they could not. Others that had already canceled for the season abruptly reversed course, some despite having issued refunds to families who had signed up. Sleep-away camps have still not received any guidance.
“Everybody’s like, ‘What’s the plan?’ There’s a lot of plans,” said Dan Pardo of the YMCA of Metropolitan Los Angeles, which typically runs day camps for 4,000 to 5,000 children a week in the summer. “We had a lot of people reaching out to us because they are thinking, ‘What am I doing for day care this summer? Who’s watching my kids while I’m back at work?’”
In May, Pardo was confident YMCA camps would open. But almost as soon as the state guidelines were released in June, the nonprofit announced that many could not.
Advertisement
“It really has been the state taking the lead on when and how these are going to be opened, and the counties are following suit from there,” said Matthew Duarte, executive director of the California Assn. of Recreation and Park Districts.
Many in L.A. described the decision not to open as a snowball effect of rules and costs.
“Our county is sort of different than everyone else,” Auerswald said. “The county health department and the city, those are the people who are saying yes you can [open] if you follow the rules.”
Most California counties have adopted the state guidelines as their own. But L.A. County’s guidelines, which were released June 11, are in some cases more stringent. City rules can be more restrictive still.
“You hear about what people are and are not doing based on what county they’re in,” said Stephanie Martinez, recreation services manager for West Hollywood. “Because our city continues to be under a state of local emergency, that limits us” too.
It also matters where camps are held inside a given city. Los Angeles Unified School District campuses, which host camps every summer, remain closed. County beaches, too, were briefly ruled off-limits for day camp operators. In May, weeks before state or local summer camp guidelines were unveiled, the Department of Beaches and Harbors said it would probably not issue beach camps permits for the summer at all.
“It was going so quickly that no sooner had we put out that letter to our operators than we heard there could be guidance for summer camps,” said department spokeswoman Carol Baker. “It involves children, so obviously we need to be very careful and cautious.”
For camp owners, though, the move felt capricious — particularly after it was reversed.
“This whole thing has been really frustrating from the beginning,” said Sina Monjazeb, owner and director of Sandy Days Kids Camp at Will Rogers State Beach, which is now slated to open in early July. “Just in the L.A. area there’s probably at least a dozen beach camps that have been affected.”
Chou said he researched dozens of camps last summer before choosing the ones Samantha would attend. Since the spring, he has been inundated with updates from those organizations — camps ready to open, then canceled, then moved online or delayed.
“What we found was the camps say, ‘We’re open! Oh, but we’re not sure,’ and then they change and reverse course and say, ‘We’re open again,’” he said.
Despite demand, experts said many families remain deeply divided about whether to send kids to camp at all.
“We actually conducted a survey with our participants and I think a lot of parents and guardians are just not ready to send their children back,” Martinez said.
For others, summer camp now feels like a litmus test: Can children really practice physical distancing? Will they wear masks all day long? Can safety precautions be scaled? If it can’t happen at camp, how will it work out with school?
“We may be holding out hope that school is going to start again in the fall no problem,” Auerswald said. With so many fits and starts opening camps, “there’s a crack in that armor.”


latimes--2020-06-21--California ghost town with a bloody past suffers a new calamity

The smell of scorched wood and melted wiring lingered in the air Thursday as Brent Underwood surveyed the damage to this 19th century mining town perched 8,500 feet above the Owens Valley floor .
The marketer and his partners bought the Cerro Gordo ghost town for $ 1.4 million in 2018 with the goal of transforming it into a remote tourist attraction .
Visitors would enjoy gourmet meals , hikes to scowling mine shafts and overnight stays in a rickety bunkhouse and hotel .
But that dream suffered a fiery setback last week .
Underwood said he was awakened at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of nightmares : furious winds driving flames that were leaping like demons and scorching unpredictable paths up slopes dotted with historic mining structures .
Then came the explosions of propane tanks as flames engulfed the hotel .
In a cruel irony , Underwood said , “ The American Hotel opened on June 15 , 1871 , and it burned to the ground 149 years to the day later on June 15 , 2020.
” Asked Friday about the cause of the blaze , the Lone Pine Fire Department said only that it was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ running water in Cerro Gordo ’ s weathered collection of old mining equipment , junked cars and 22 structures , some of them with walls insulated with newspapers .
“ All I could do was call 911 , ” Underwood said .
“ And then , with help from a caretaker , I used buckets to desperately fling water from storage tanks onto the flames.
” After firefighters put out the last embers , three historic treasures had been reduced to ashes : an icehouse , a residence and the hotel .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ this fire , ” Underwood said from a balcony overlooking the charred ruins .
“ Fire officials told me that it could have been a thousand different things in these old buildings.
” Then , the lanky 32-year-old suggested the cause might be paranormal .
“ The caretaker here told me that he and another person saw a shadowy apparition moving in the hotel kitchen at 4 p.m. the previous day.
” Strange occurrences and ghostly apparitions are part of the myth and allure that Underwood and his partners are banking on , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hideaway like no other for urbanites aching to escape the clatter and routine of city life .
Their supporters include Terri Geissinger , a historian of the West .
“ Cerro Gordo is a nugget in time that needs to be preserved , ” she said .
“ But maintaining a ghost town is only for the roughest and toughest of people .
That ’ s because you ’ re going to get frustrated , beat up and kicked in the gut .
“ You can ’ t do it with just money @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s takes a heart of steel.
” Located on roughly 400 acres in the Inyo Mountains , Cerro Gordo was not designed for comfort .
In its heyday , there was a murder a week in Cerro Gordo , an extraordinarily violent community of about 500 people .
Silver miners slept on cots surrounded by sandbags stacked 4 feet high to protect themselves from stray bullets .
In the late 1800s , an estimated 30 miners who had emigrated from China were buried in a mine shaft .
The house that was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to a man named William Crapo , who gunned down a postmaster as he walked along the dirt road skirting the American Hotel .
A fundraiser organized by the nonprofit Friends of Cerro Gordo has already collected more than $ 17,000 that will be used to rebuild the hotel to current construction and safety codes .
“ The loss of the American Hotel is incalculable , ” said Roger Vargo , president of Friends of Cerro Gordo , “ due to its historic value to the growth of Los Angeles and much of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ week ago , ” he added , “ it commanded the center of town on a mountain with views of Owens Valley and the eastern Sierra Nevada to the west and Death Valley to the east.
” A year ago , the hotel and other Cerro Gordo structures were explored in an episode of the TV show “ Ghost Adventures ” that focused on two children who died after being trapped in a steamer trunk .
Underwood ’ s commitment to the Cerro Gordo restoration project has been tested mightily in recent months @ @ @ @ @ @ @ platforms started the moment Cerro Gordo was sold .
Underwood was vilified as a trust-funder who took over the mining town as some sort of hobby .
“ That hurt a little bit , ” said Underwood , the son of schoolteachers who was born and raised in Tampa , Fla .
Shortly after he decided to wait out the coronavirus lockdown in Cerro Gordo , the area was buried in 5 feet of snow .
“ There was no way in or out for several weeks , ” he said .
( @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mining town is via a 7½-mile steep , gravel road . )
“ After the snow melted , I was hospitalized with a bad case of appendicitis.
” Judging from historical records , the original residents of Cerro Gordo may not have been sympathetic .
The town ’ s name translates from Spanish into “ Fat Hill , ” and 150 years ago it was the home of silver miners who shipped their diggings off to the small pueblo of Los Angeles by 20-mule team or by steamboats that navigated the once-full Owens @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the area , which produced 4.5 million ounces of silver before declining precious-metal prices sank the local economy , save for a zinc revival from 1911 to 1919 .
Today , only a small fraction of the town ’ s original 500 structures still stand .
They include a general store , an assayer ’ s office , the well-preserved mining operation up on a hill and the remains of a brothel once known as Lola ’ s Palace of Pleasure .
The outdoor plumbing consists of unheated and unlighted Old West @ @ @ @ @ @ @ : rusty pocket watches , iron tools , shattered window glass and whiskey bottles .
“ The fire was heartbreaking , because I have a deep emotional attachment to this place , ” Underwood said .
“ But we ’ re not giving up.
” “ Truth be told , ” he added , “ we ’ ve got big plans for little Cerro Gordo .
”

Brent Underwood stands amid the ashes of the American Hotel on Wednesday, two days after a fire in the Inyo Mountains ghost town of Cerro Gordo burned down the hotel, icehouse and former home of notorious killer Billy Crapo.
The smell of scorched wood and melted wiring lingered in the air Thursday as Brent Underwood surveyed the damage to this 19th century mining town perched 8,500 feet above the Owens Valley floor.
The marketer and his partners bought the Cerro Gordo ghost town for $1.4 million in 2018 with the goal of transforming it into a remote tourist attraction. Visitors would enjoy gourmet meals, hikes to scowling mine shafts and overnight stays in a rickety bunkhouse and hotel.
But that dream suffered a fiery setback last week. Underwood said he was awakened at 3 a.m. June 15 by the stuff of nightmares: furious winds driving flames that were leaping like demons and scorching unpredictable paths up slopes dotted with historic mining structures. Then came the explosions of propane tanks as flames engulfed the hotel.
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In a cruel irony, Underwood said, “The American Hotel opened on June 15, 1871, and it burned to the ground 149 years to the day later on June 15, 2020.”
The site of the Cerro Gordo fire is shown Wednesday, two days after the American Hotel, an icehouse and the home of notorious killer Billy Crapo burned. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
Asked Friday about the cause of the blaze, the Lone Pine Fire Department said only that it was still under investigation.
There is no running water in Cerro Gordo’s weathered collection of old mining equipment, junked cars and 22 structures, some of them with walls insulated with newspapers. “All I could do was call 911,” Underwood said. “And then, with help from a caretaker, I used buckets to desperately fling water from storage tanks onto the flames.”
After firefighters put out the last embers, three historic treasures had been reduced to ashes: an icehouse, a residence and the hotel.
“We may never know exactly what started this fire,” Underwood said from a balcony overlooking the charred ruins. “Fire officials told me that it could have been a thousand different things in these old buildings.”
A weather vane that sat atop the American Hotel in Cerro Gordo is now among the remnants of the building. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
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Then, the lanky 32-year-old suggested the cause might be paranormal. “The caretaker here told me that he and another person saw a shadowy apparition moving in the hotel kitchen at 4 p.m. the previous day.”
Strange occurrences and ghostly apparitions are part of the myth and allure that Underwood and his partners are banking on, in part, to create a wilderness hideaway like no other for urbanites aching to escape the clatter and routine of city life.
Their supporters include Terri Geissinger, a historian of the West. “Cerro Gordo is a nugget in time that needs to be preserved,” she said. “But maintaining a ghost town is only for the roughest and toughest of people. That’s because you’re going to get frustrated, beat up and kicked in the gut.
An old stove that sat inside the American Hotel in Cerro Gordo is now among the remnants of the building. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
“You can’t do it with just money,” she added. “It’s takes a heart of steel.”
Located on roughly 400 acres in the Inyo Mountains, Cerro Gordo was not designed for comfort.
In its heyday, there was a murder a week in Cerro Gordo, an extraordinarily violent community of about 500 people. Silver miners slept on cots surrounded by sandbags stacked 4 feet high to protect themselves from stray bullets. In the late 1800s, an estimated 30 miners who had emigrated from China were buried in a mine shaft.
The house that was destroyed by fire on Monday once belonged to a man named William Crapo, who gunned down a postmaster as he walked along the dirt road skirting the American Hotel.
A fundraiser organized by the nonprofit Friends of Cerro Gordo has already collected more than $17,000 that will be used to rebuild the hotel to current construction and safety codes.
“The loss of the American Hotel is incalculable,” said Roger Vargo, president of Friends of Cerro Gordo, “due to its historic value to the growth of Los Angeles and much of the Old West.”
Brett Underwood stands at the headframe of the Union Mine in Cerro Gordo. The 32-year-old marketer and his partners bought the ghost town for $1.4 million in 2018 to transform it into a remote tourist attraction. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
“Only a week ago,” he added, “it commanded the center of town on a mountain with views of Owens Valley and the eastern Sierra Nevada to the west and Death Valley to the east.”
A year ago, the hotel and other Cerro Gordo structures were explored in an episode of the TV show “Ghost Adventures” that focused on two children who died after being trapped in a steamer trunk.
Underwood’s commitment to the Cerro Gordo restoration project has been tested mightily in recent months.
The mean comments on social media platforms started the moment Cerro Gordo was sold. Underwood was vilified as a trust-funder who took over the mining town as some sort of hobby.
“That hurt a little bit,” said Underwood, the son of schoolteachers who was born and raised in Tampa, Fla.
Brett Underwood displays a check from 1926 in the ghost town of Cerro Gordo, Calif. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
Shortly after he decided to wait out the coronavirus lockdown in Cerro Gordo, the area was buried in 5 feet of snow.
“There was no way in or out for several weeks,” he said. (The only way to get to the mining town is via a 7½-mile steep, gravel road.) “After the snow melted, I was hospitalized with a bad case of appendicitis.”
Judging from historical records, the original residents of Cerro Gordo may not have been sympathetic.
Vintage chemical jars and crucibles on a shelf at the Cerro Gordo ghost town in the Inyo Mountains. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
The town’s name translates from Spanish into “Fat Hill,” and 150 years ago it was the home of silver miners who shipped their diggings off to the small pueblo of Los Angeles by 20-mule team or by steamboats that navigated the once-full Owens Lake.
Life was short and hard in the area, which produced 4.5 million ounces of silver before declining precious-metal prices sank the local economy, save for a zinc revival from 1911 to 1919.
Today, only a small fraction of the town’s original 500 structures still stand. They include a general store, an assayer’s office, the well-preserved mining operation up on a hill and the remains of a brothel once known as Lola’s Palace of Pleasure.
The Yellow Road winds up the Inyo Mountains to the town of Cerro Gordo, where a fire the morning of June 15 burned down the hotel, icehouse and home of the notorious killer Billy Crapo. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
The outdoor plumbing consists of unheated and unlighted Old West outhouses. The ground bristles with artifacts: rusty pocket watches, iron tools, shattered window glass and whiskey bottles.
“The fire was heartbreaking, because I have a deep emotional attachment to this place,” Underwood said. “But we’re not giving up.”
“Truth be told,” he added, “we’ve got big plans for little Cerro Gordo.”


latimes--2020-06-21--Sheriff doesn't explain what prompted deputy-involved shooting of Gardena man

Los Angeles County sheriff ’ s officials on Saturday gave some updates about an officer-involved fatal shooting of an 18-year-old Gardena man but provided no details about what prompted the incident .
Officials said the man , Andres Guardado , was armed with an illegal handgun and was not wearing a uniform identifying him as a security guard .
But their failure to explain what actually led to the shooting has infuriated protesters , who on Sunday said they are concerned the shooting was unjustified and demanded more answers from authorities .
They carried signs that read “ Justice for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Abarca , Guardado ’ s aunt .
She had an El Salvador flag wrapped around herself , reflecting the country her family fled because of the war .
When asked how her family felt , she said , “ broken.
” “ What happened to Andres was not only a tragedy , it was an outright crime , ” said Ron Gochez , a member of Union del Barrio , which organized this demonstration .
“ This is just one more of so many people who have been killed by the L.A. County @ @ @ @ @ @ @ this is the unity between the Black and brown community saying we are tired of this.
” Shortly after 2 p.m. Sunday , the crowd of around 100 began marching down West Redondo Beach Boulevard , taking up both sides of the street as they headed to the Sheriff ’ s Station in Compton over three miles away .
As they marched , people in cars threw up their fists in solidarity and honked their horns .
Protesters wore masks and held signs that read “ Where ’ s the footage ?
?
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ he was scared.
” Toward the front , Aztec dancers beat drums .
Families watched from their front yards , phones raised to capture the crowd marching .
It marked one of several protests over the killing in recent days .
Sheriff Alex Villanueva told reporters that investigators were still gathering evidence , though he did not say why a deputy shot Guardado , 18 , who family members said worked as a security guard .
He also urged the public not to buy into conspiracy theories spreading on social media .
The @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the public to “ wait until all the facts are known ” before making judgments .
“ It ’ s sometimes going to be maddeningly slow because today in the 24-hour news cycle , everybody wants information immediately , ” Villanueva said .
“ But you have to remind yourself this happened not even 48 hours ago .
So the process has just begun.
” Guardado was shot at about 6 p.m. Thursday following a confrontation with deputies at 420 W. Redondo Beach Blvd.
, said Capt .
Kent Wegener of the homicide @ @ @ @ @ @ @ someone in a car that was blocking the location when deputies from the Compton sheriff ’ s station pulled up , Wegener said .
He fled , holding a gun , with two deputies chasing him on foot , Wegener said .
One of the deputies confronted him and opened fire , striking him in the upper torso , he said .
Authorities said they do not know whether Guardado had pointed his weapon at the deputy .
Guardado was shot six times , Wegener said .
He was pronounced dead at the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ worked as a security guard for Street Dynamic Autobody , near the location where he was shot .
Wegener said Guardado was under the 21-year age requirement to be a security guard in California .
He said the victim was not wearing a gunbelt , a uniform or any marked clothing , and that the .40 caliber semiautomatic pistol he was carrying was not licensed .
The weapon with a polymer frame did not have a serial number , Wegener said , but it had an extended magazine with 15-round capacity , “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rounds loaded .
Authorities did not say whether Guardado fired any shots .
Homicide detectives do not have any video of the shooting , Wegener said , and they are still working to get footage from the scene from a third-party vendor operating a web-based system .
An autopsy is expected to be completed within a few days .
Meanwhile , family members and public officials said they believe the shooting was unjustified , pressuring the Sheriff ’ s Department for answers .
Congresswomen Nanette Barragán and Maxine Waters and Los Angeles County @ @ @ @ @ @ @ independent investigations , including one conducted by state Atty .
Gen. Xavier Becerra .
“ Another day , and another Black or brown kid has been shot in the back by police , ” Barragán and Waters said in a joint statement .
“ These killings must stop ... We demand answers and call for an independent investigation into this tragic death .
There must be full transparency so the public can trust the investigation and we know we are getting the truth.
” Barragán and Waters criticized deputies for not wearing body @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Villanueva , he has been asking since December of 2018 — his first month on the job .
He blamed the delay on a lack of support from the county Board of Supervisors .
At the news conference , sheriff ’ s Cmdr .
Chris Marks said officials are close to awarding a contract for body cameras , which will be supplied to 5,200 uniformed deputies working patrol jobs .
On Friday , Jennifer Guardado fought back tears near the auto body shop where her brother was killed .
In one hand , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rose and a black baseball cap .
In the other was a sign with an image of her brother .
“ This is not right , ” she said .
“ I need justice .
He was a good man… .
He was going to make it and become a good professional man in life , but they took that away from my family .
My parents are completely destroyed… .
I didn ’ t even get to say goodbye to him.
” Guardado ’ s uncle Noe Abarca , 47 , who @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , said Guardado was a good man who was working two jobs as a security guard and attending Los Angeles Trade-Technical College to become a mechanic or electrician .
He was also considering joining the Army and had only recently started working at Street Dynamic Autobody .
“ He had no history of trouble , ” Abarca said .
“ He ’ s never been in detention ” and had recently bought a brand-new car .
“ We were proud of him , ” he said .
The owner of a neighboring auto @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the killing .
He said Guardado worked as security guard for his shop and was a good employee with a clean record .
“ We had security out front because we had certain issues with people tagging and stuff like that , and then the police come up and they pull their guns on him , and he ran because he was scared and they shot and killed him , ” Andrew Heney told KCAL-TV Channel 9 .

Sheriff Alex Villanueva said investigators continue to gather evidence in the fatal shooting of Andres Guardado in Gardena.
Los Angeles County sheriff’s officials on Saturday gave some updates about an officer-involved fatal shooting of an 18-year-old Gardena man but provided no details about what prompted the incident.
Officials said the man, Andres Guardado, was armed with an illegal handgun and was not wearing a uniform identifying him as a security guard. But their failure to explain what actually led to the shooting has infuriated protesters, who on Sunday said they are concerned the shooting was unjustified and demanded more answers from authorities. They carried signs that read “Justice for Andres.”
Among the crowd was Edis Abarca, Guardado’s aunt. She had an El Salvador flag wrapped around herself, reflecting the country her family fled because of the war.
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When asked how her family felt, she said, “broken.”
“What happened to Andres was not only a tragedy, it was an outright crime,” said Ron Gochez, a member of Union del Barrio, which organized this demonstration. “This is just one more of so many people who have been killed by the L.A. County sheriff’s and the police ... this is the unity between the Black and brown community saying we are tired of this.”
Shortly after 2 p.m. Sunday, the crowd of around 100 began marching down West Redondo Beach Boulevard, taking up both sides of the street as they headed to the Sheriff’s Station in Compton over three miles away. As they marched, people in cars threw up their fists in solidarity and honked their horns.
Protesters wore masks and held signs that read “Where’s the footage???” and “He ran because he was scared.”
Toward the front, Aztec dancers beat drums. Families watched from their front yards, phones raised to capture the crowd marching.
It marked one of several protests over the killing in recent days.
Sheriff Alex Villanueva told reporters that investigators were still gathering evidence, though he did not say why a deputy shot Guardado, 18, who family members said worked as a security guard. He also urged the public not to buy into conspiracy theories spreading on social media.
The sheriff promised a thorough investigation and urged the public to “wait until all the facts are known” before making judgments.
“It’s sometimes going to be maddeningly slow because today in the 24-hour news cycle, everybody wants information immediately,” Villanueva said. “But you have to remind yourself this happened not even 48 hours ago. So the process has just begun.”
Guardado was shot at about 6 p.m. Thursday following a confrontation with deputies at 420 W. Redondo Beach Blvd., said Capt. Kent Wegener of the homicide bureau. He had been chatting with someone in a car that was blocking the location when deputies from the Compton sheriff’s station pulled up, Wegener said.
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He fled, holding a gun, with two deputies chasing him on foot, Wegener said. One of the deputies confronted him and opened fire, striking him in the upper torso, he said. Authorities said they do not know whether Guardado had pointed his weapon at the deputy.
Guardado was shot six times, Wegener said. He was pronounced dead at the scene.
Andres Guardado, 18, was attending Los Angeles Trade-Technical College to become a mechanic or electrician, his family said. ( Guardado family)
His family said Guardado had worked as a security guard for Street Dynamic Autobody, near the location where he was shot.
Wegener said Guardado was under the 21-year age requirement to be a security guard in California. He said the victim was not wearing a gunbelt, a uniform or any marked clothing, and that the .40 caliber semiautomatic pistol he was carrying was not licensed.
The weapon with a polymer frame did not have a serial number, Wegener said, but it had an extended magazine with 15-round capacity, “larger than allowed” with 13 live rounds loaded. Authorities did not say whether Guardado fired any shots.
Homicide detectives do not have any video of the shooting, Wegener said, and they are still working to get footage from the scene from a third-party vendor operating a web-based system. An autopsy is expected to be completed within a few days.
Meanwhile, family members and public officials said they believe the shooting was unjustified, pressuring the Sheriff’s Department for answers. Congresswomen Nanette Barragán and Maxine Waters and Los Angeles County Supervisor Mark Ridley-Thomas on Saturday called for independent investigations, including one conducted by state Atty. Gen. Xavier Becerra.
“Another day, and another Black or brown kid has been shot in the back by police,” Barragán and Waters said in a joint statement. “These killings must stop... We demand answers and call for an independent investigation into this tragic death. There must be full transparency so the public can trust the investigation and we know we are getting the truth.”
Barragán and Waters criticized deputies for not wearing body cameras — equipment that, according to Villanueva, he has been asking since December of 2018 — his first month on the job. He blamed the delay on a lack of support from the county Board of Supervisors.
At the news conference, sheriff’s Cmdr. Chris Marks said officials are close to awarding a contract for body cameras, which will be supplied to 5,200 uniformed deputies working patrol jobs.
On Friday, Jennifer Guardado fought back tears near the auto body shop where her brother was killed. In one hand, Guardado, 22, held a white rose and a black baseball cap. In the other was a sign with an image of her brother.
“This is not right,” she said. “I need justice. He was a good man…. He was going to make it and become a good professional man in life, but they took that away from my family. My parents are completely destroyed…. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to him.”
Guardado’s uncle Noe Abarca, 47, who was also at the scene on Friday, said Guardado was a good man who was working two jobs as a security guard and attending Los Angeles Trade-Technical College to become a mechanic or electrician. He was also considering joining the Army and had only recently started working at Street Dynamic Autobody.
“He had no history of trouble,” Abarca said. “He’s never been in detention” and had recently bought a brand-new car.
“We were proud of him,” he said.
The owner of a neighboring auto body shop said he was shocked by the killing. He said Guardado worked as security guard for his shop and was a good employee with a clean record.
“We had security out front because we had certain issues with people tagging and stuff like that, and then the police come up and they pull their guns on him, and he ran because he was scared and they shot and killed him,” Andrew Heney told KCAL-TV Channel 9.
Times staff writer Dorany Pineda contributed to this report.


latimes--2020-06-22--A change of plans, not of heart

A change of plans, not of heart

It takes enormous effort to arrange a big wedding — to find the perfect spot to say “ I do , ” to settle the guest list , the music , the food .
This spring , countless couples saw that work swept away when the coronavirus nixed gathering in crowds .
QueJonné and David Cross of South L.A. were just a few days away from the sparkly , elegant Sunday evening they ’ d planned when Californians got the March 19 order to stay home .
“ It wasn ’ t just us .
Everyone was losing something , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the middle of her Las Vegas bachelorette party , when they were forced to put off their 350-guest celebration .
Still , she said , they feel blessed to have quietly gotten married before about 20 loved ones in their church on that day — and to have their health and each other .
Russel and Kathleen Sion celebrate those last small wonders daily — especially now , when his work in particular carries great risk .
A respiratory therapist at a downtown hospital , he has treated many coronavirus patients , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ care .
He has stood at the heads of their beds as they cough .
A colleague he ’ s close to had to be intubated , but thankfully recovered .
Other patients haven ’ t .
Kathleen is a nurse practitioner at a family medicine clinic , where she ’ s also been in contact with those with COVID-19 .
The couple met in school when they were 8 and dated briefly at 13 .
April was to be their perfect month — with celebrations each Friday .
First their fifth anniversary @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hers , then the wedding .
They ’ d planned their vows to focus on becoming a family , for Russel ’ s 10-year-old son Jayden .
The big April 24 wedding had to wait .
But on April 23 , the pair went to the parking lot of the Honda Center for a civil ceremony — via walkie-talkie .
It wasn ’ t the stuff of all their dreams , but their biggest was to be married .
Now they are .
So are Debbie and Jonathan Gryn of Huntington Beach , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ March 27 wedding date .
Postponed : the picture-perfect San Juan Capistrano venue , the Italian buffet , the deejay .
They broke that news to their 130 guests in a photo , writing a tentative late July date on the surgical masks they posed in .
In that moment , said Debbie , “ we felt this weight lifted off our shoulders.
” In the end , so did Martha Suarez Ballesteros , who had been anxious about her April 17 wedding near Puerto Vallarta .
She hates being in the spotlight @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to get Frank Sanchez to elope .
Then , in late March , their wedding planner called to describe the mass exodus of tourists .
Somehow rescheduling for next April eased Martha ’ s jitters , she said .
“ Now I ’ m excited , whereas before I was nervous.
” Meray and Rafi Halajian got married May 16 — their planned date , at their planned church .
Just 10 relatives could be there out of 500 guests , though they livestreamed the ceremony .
Rafi was looking forward to the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ parents , in Armenia , couldn ’ t be there .
“ We ’ re waiting for the dust to settle , ” he said , before they replan the big party .
For now , they ’ re simply happy .
On the couch in Rafi ’ s Glendale condo recently , Meray realized , “ I didn ’ t have to go home , I was already home.
” It felt wonderful .

It takes enormous effort to arrange a big wedding — to find the perfect spot to say “I do,” to settle the guest list, the music, the food.
This spring, countless couples saw that work swept away when the coronavirus nixed gathering in crowds.
QueJonné and David Cross of South L.A. were just a few days away from the sparkly, elegant Sunday evening they’d planned when Californians got the March 19 order to stay home.
“It wasn’t just us. Everyone was losing something,” QueJonné said of the moment, in the middle of her Las Vegas bachelorette party, when they were forced to put off their 350-guest celebration.
QueJonné Cross, foreground, and David Cross Jr., background, quietly got married before 20 guests instead of the 350 they had planned for. (Christina House / Los Angeles Times)
Still, she said, they feel blessed to have quietly gotten married before about 20 loved ones in their church on that day — and to have their health and each other.
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Russel and Kathleen Sion celebrate those last small wonders daily — especially now, when his work in particular carries great risk.
A respiratory therapist at a downtown hospital, he has treated many coronavirus patients, helping to intubate them and manage their care. He has stood at the heads of their beds as they cough. A colleague he’s close to had to be intubated, but thankfully recovered. Other patients haven’t.
Kathleen is a nurse practitioner at a family medicine clinic, where she’s also been in contact with those with COVID-19.
The couple met in school when they were 8 and dated briefly at 13.
April was to be their perfect month — with celebrations each Friday. First their fifth anniversary, then his 29th birthday, then hers, then the wedding. They’d planned their vows to focus on becoming a family, for Russel’s 10-year-old son Jayden.
The big April 24 wedding had to wait. But on April 23, the pair went to the parking lot of the Honda Center for a civil ceremony — via walkie-talkie.
It wasn’t the stuff of all their dreams, but their biggest was to be married. Now they are.
Advertisement
Jonathan Gryn and Debbie Rey signed their wedding license, but postponed festivities planned for guests in San Juan Capistrano. (Christina House / Los Angeles Times)
So are Debbie and Jonathan Gryn of Huntington Beach, who signed their marriage license on their March 27 wedding date. Postponed: the picture-perfect San Juan Capistrano venue, the Italian buffet, the deejay.
They broke that news to their 130 guests in a photo, writing a tentative late July date on the surgical masks they posed in. In that moment, said Debbie, “we felt this weight lifted off our shoulders.”
In the end, so did Martha Suarez Ballesteros, who had been anxious about her April 17 wedding near Puerto Vallarta. She hates being in the spotlight, she said, and had tried to get Frank Sanchez to elope.
Then, in late March, their wedding planner called to describe the mass exodus of tourists.
Martha Suarez Ballesteros is excited about her wedding near Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, tentatively rescheduled for next April. (Christina House / Los Angeles Times)
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Somehow rescheduling for next April eased Martha’s jitters, she said. “Now I’m excited, whereas before I was nervous.”
Meray and Rafi Halajian got married May 16 — their planned date, at their planned church. Just 10 relatives could be there out of 500 guests, though they livestreamed the ceremony.
Rafi was looking forward to the reunion of 28 first cousins. His parents, in Armenia, couldn’t be there.
“We’re waiting for the dust to settle,” he said, before they replan the big party. For now, they’re simply happy.
On the couch in Rafi’s Glendale condo recently, Meray realized, “I didn’t have to go home, I was already home.” It felt wonderful.


latimes--2020-06-21--Protesters demand answers for why 18-year-old Latino man was shot by a sheriff's deputy

Protesters and sheriff ’ s deputies engaged in a tense standoff Sunday evening over the officer-involved shooting of a Gardena man , with authorities using what appeared to be tear gas to disperse a small group who had broken off from the otherwise peaceful demonstration .
“ We don ’ t want to see your children hurt , ” someone announced from a sheriff ’ s helicopter that circled overhead , urging families to leave so that they were not exposed to pepper spray or tear gas and to protect themselves from troublemakers .
Hundreds of demonstrators gathered in Gardena @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , an 18-year-old Latino man fatally shot Thursday by a Los Angeles County sheriff ’ s deputy .
Authorities said Guardado was armed and had fled from deputies , but have not said what prompted the shooting .
“ He ran because he was scared , ” one of the protesters ’ signs read .
“ Why ’ d you kill that kid ?
” the crowd chanted .
People in cars raised their fists in solidarity and honked their horns .
Aztec dancers beat drums at the front of the procession .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , where Guardado was shot , filling the street as they headed toward the sheriff ’ s station in Compton more than three miles away .
Guardado ’ s aunt , Edis Abarca , was there with an El Salvador flag wrapped around her body , reflecting the country her family fled because of civil war .
She said the family felt “ broken.
” Protesters said they were concerned the shooting was unjustified and demanded more answers from authorities , who have so far provided few details on the events that led @ @ @ @ @ @ @ What happened to Andres was not only a tragedy , it was an outright crime , ” said Ron Gochez , a member of Union del Barrio , which organized the demonstration .
“ This is just one more of so many people who have been killed by the L.A. County sheriffs and the police ... this is the unity between the Black and brown community saying we are tired of this.
” Guardado was shot about 6 p.m. Thursday after a confrontation with deputies near a Gardena auto body shop , said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ bureau .
Guardado was speaking with someone in a car that was blocking the location when deputies from the Compton sheriff ’ s station pulled up , Wegener said .
Guardado fled , holding a gun , with two deputies chasing him on foot , Wegener said .
One of the deputies confronted him and opened fire , striking him in the upper torso six times .
He was pronounced dead at the scene .
Authorities said they do not know whether Guardado had pointed his weapon at the deputy , and they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shots .
Guardado ’ s family said he had worked as a security guard for Street Dynamic Auto Body , close to where he was shot .
Authorities said Guardado was under the 21-year age requirement to be a security guard in California .
Guardado was not wearing a uniform at the time of his death , and the .40-caliber semiautomatic pistol he was carrying was not licensed , authorities said .
Sheriff Alex Villanueva told reporters on Saturday that investigators were still gathering evidence but did not provide an explanation for why @ @ @ @ @ @ @ members and public officials have pressured the Sheriff ’ s Department for answers .
U.S. Reps. Nanette Barragán and Maxine Waters and Los Angeles County Supervisor Mark Ridley-Thomas on Saturday called for independent investigations , including one led by state Atty .
Gen. Xavier Becerra .
“ Another day , and another Black or brown kid has been shot in the back by police , ” Barragán and Waters said in a joint statement .
“ These killings must stop .
... We demand answers and call for an independent investigation into this @ @ @ @ @ @ @ transparency so the public can trust the investigation and we know we are getting the truth.
” Homicide detectives do not have any video of the shooting , Wegener said , and they are still working to get footage from the scene from a third-party vendor .
Barragán and Waters criticized deputies for not wearing body cameras — equipment that , according to Villanueva , he has been asking for since December of 2018 , his first month on the job .
He blamed the delay on a lack of support from the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ news conference , Sheriff ’ s Cmdr .
Chris Marks said officials are close to awarding a contract for body cameras that will be supplied to 5,200 uniformed deputies working patrol jobs .
When the crowd of protesters arrived at the Compton station on Sunday , they were met by metal barricades and at least a dozen deputies in riot gear .
“ Show us the tape !
” they chanted .
As protesters banged on a metal fence , a deputy pointed a yellow nonlethal projectile gun at them .
“ Put @ @ @ @ @ @ @ yelled in response .
As most of the protesters began to head out , a smaller group of people faced off against a line of sheriff ’ s deputies in riot gear .
Soon after , there were pops and smoke and calls for a medic .
Protesters rinsed their eyes with milk .
At 6:30 p.m. , deputies told protesters to disperse or they would be arrested on suspicion of unlawful assembly .
Before the confrontation , the crowd parted so that Christopher , Guardado ’ s father , could make his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ apologizing as he struggled to find the words .
“ As a parent , you feel so much pain , ” he said .
“ You don ’ t want your kids , so young and with their whole lives ahead of them , to have their life unfairly destroyed.
” Guardado ’ s cousin , Steve Abarca , was also in the crowd .
“ I don ’ t know what to think .
I don ’ t know what to say , ” he said .
“ I have to be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Trade-Technical College to become a mechanic or electrician , his family said .
He was also considering joining the Army and had only recently started working at Street Dynamic Auto Body .
“ My cousin was not supposed to die like that , ” Abarca said .

Aztec dancers join others outside the Compton sheriff’s station to protest the fatal shooting of Andres Guardado. Family members said the 18-year-old was working as a security guard.
Protesters and sheriff’s deputies engaged in a tense standoff Sunday evening over the officer-involved shooting of a Gardena man, with authorities using what appeared to be tear gas to disperse a small group who had broken off from the otherwise peaceful demonstration.
“We don’t want to see your children hurt,” someone announced from a sheriff’s helicopter that circled overhead, urging families to leave so that they were not exposed to pepper spray or tear gas and to protect themselves from troublemakers.
Hundreds of demonstrators gathered in Gardena earlier to demand justice for Andres Guardado, an 18-year-old Latino man fatally shot Thursday by a Los Angeles County sheriff’s deputy. Authorities said Guardado was armed and had fled from deputies, but have not said what prompted the shooting.
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“He ran because he was scared,” one of the protesters’ signs read. “Why’d you kill that kid?” the crowd chanted.
People in cars raised their fists in solidarity and honked their horns. Aztec dancers beat drums at the front of the procession.
Protesters marched down West Redondo Beach Boulevard, where Guardado was shot, filling the street as they headed toward the sheriff’s station in Compton more than three miles away.
Guardado’s aunt, Edis Abarca, was there with an El Salvador flag wrapped around her body, reflecting the country her family fled because of civil war. She said the family felt “broken.”
Protesters at a rally for Andres Guardado, a Gardena man who was fatally shot by a Los Angeles County sheriff’s deputy. (Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
Protesters said they were concerned the shooting was unjustified and demanded more answers from authorities, who have so far provided few details on the events that led to Guardado’s death.
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“What happened to Andres was not only a tragedy, it was an outright crime,” said Ron Gochez, a member of Union del Barrio, which organized the demonstration. “This is just one more of so many people who have been killed by the L.A. County sheriffs and the police ... this is the unity between the Black and brown community saying we are tired of this.”
Guardado was shot about 6 p.m. Thursday after a confrontation with deputies near a Gardena auto body shop, said Capt. Kent Wegener of the homicide bureau. Guardado was speaking with someone in a car that was blocking the location when deputies from the Compton sheriff’s station pulled up, Wegener said.
Guardado fled, holding a gun, with two deputies chasing him on foot, Wegener said. One of the deputies confronted him and opened fire, striking him in the upper torso six times. He was pronounced dead at the scene.
Authorities said they do not know whether Guardado had pointed his weapon at the deputy, and they did not say whether Guardado fired any shots.
Guardado’s family said he had worked as a security guard for Street Dynamic Auto Body, close to where he was shot. Authorities said Guardado was under the 21-year age requirement to be a security guard in California.
Guardado was not wearing a uniform at the time of his death, and the .40-caliber semiautomatic pistol he was carrying was not licensed, authorities said.
Sheriff Alex Villanueva told reporters on Saturday that investigators were still gathering evidence but did not provide an explanation for why Guardado was shot.
Meanwhile, family members and public officials have pressured the Sheriff’s Department for answers.
U.S. Reps. Nanette Barragán and Maxine Waters and Los Angeles County Supervisor Mark Ridley-Thomas on Saturday called for independent investigations, including one led by state Atty. Gen. Xavier Becerra.
“Another day, and another Black or brown kid has been shot in the back by police,” Barragán and Waters said in a joint statement. “These killings must stop. ... We demand answers and call for an independent investigation into this tragic death. There must be full transparency so the public can trust the investigation and we know we are getting the truth.”
Homicide detectives do not have any video of the shooting, Wegener said, and they are still working to get footage from the scene from a third-party vendor.
Barragán and Waters criticized deputies for not wearing body cameras — equipment that, according to Villanueva, he has been asking for since December of 2018, his first month on the job. He blamed the delay on a lack of support from the county Board of Supervisors.
At a news conference, Sheriff’s Cmdr. Chris Marks said officials are close to awarding a contract for body cameras that will be supplied to 5,200 uniformed deputies working patrol jobs.
When the crowd of protesters arrived at the Compton station on Sunday, they were met by metal barricades and at least a dozen deputies in riot gear.
“Show us the tape!” they chanted.
As protesters banged on a metal fence, a deputy pointed a yellow nonlethal projectile gun at them.
“Put the gun down!” the crowd yelled in response.
As most of the protesters began to head out, a smaller group of people faced off against a line of sheriff’s deputies in riot gear. Soon after, there were pops and smoke and calls for a medic. Protesters rinsed their eyes with milk.
At 6:30 p.m., deputies told protesters to disperse or they would be arrested on suspicion of unlawful assembly.
Before the confrontation, the crowd parted so that Christopher, Guardado’s father, could make his way to the front. Christopher kept apologizing as he struggled to find the words.
“As a parent, you feel so much pain,” he said. “You don’t want your kids, so young and with their whole lives ahead of them, to have their life unfairly destroyed.”
At the rally for Andres Guardado, mourners pay their respects at a makeshift memorial in his honor. (Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
Guardado’s cousin, Steve Abarca, was also in the crowd.
“I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to say,” he said. “I have to be here.”
Guardado was attending Los Angeles Trade-Technical College to become a mechanic or electrician, his family said. He was also considering joining the Army and had only recently started working at Street Dynamic Auto Body.
“My cousin was not supposed to die like that,” Abarca said.
Times video journalist Jackeline Luna contributed to this report.