latimes--2020-11-24--Fire risk returns to Southern California as Santa Ana winds are forecast for Thanksgiving weekend

A Santa Ana wind event expected over the holiday weekend is the latest sign that California ’ s worst wildfire season on record may still have some fuel left in the tank .
In a pair of fire weather forecasts released by the National Weather Service , meteorologists warn that warm , dry inland winds are expected to sweep over the Southland from Santa Barbara to Orange counties from Thursday through Sunday , raising the risk that a fire would burn out of control .
“ After quiet conditions on Wednesday , northerly winds are expected to increase on Thursday @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by late afternoon , bringing lowering humidities and elevated fire weather concerns to the mountains and Santa Clarita Valley , ” the agency ’ s Oxnard office said .
“ There is increasing confidence that a moderate Santa Ana wind event with further drying will bring widespread elevated to brief critical fire weather conditions for Los Angeles and Ventura counties Thursday night into Friday.
” In Santa Barbara , the winds are called “ sundowners , ” and they contributed to the explosive growth of the Thomas fire in 2017 and were expected @ @ @ @ @ @ @ County , the winds are due to arrive Thursday night and “ bring locally critical fire weather conditions , ” the weather service said .
Should a fire break out in the mountains , valleys or foothills , the flames will be feeding on bone-dry grass and shrubs , parched from a rainy season that is underperforming in its first months .
“ We are still high in our fire season , and we haven ’ t had nearly enough rainfall to shut it down , ” said Ryan Kittell , a National @ @ @ @ @ @ @ covers much of the Southland .
“ We like to see 5 inches of rain in our area before we start having that conversation , and we aren ’ t really anywhere near that .
Pretty much everywhere is under an inch.
” The forecast comes during the state ’ s worst fire year on record .
So far this year , wildfires have burned across more than 4 million acres , killed at least 31 people and destroyed thousands of homes and buildings .
The San Bernardino National Forest on Monday announced @ @ @ @ @ @ @ entire Thanksgiving week and extending the hours its firefighters are on duty .
“ Despite one winter storm in early November , vegetation in much of the Forest continues to be very dry .
Some lower elevation areas are even drier than in the summer , when numerous large fires broke out , ” officials said in a statement .
Though the winds are bringing an elevated threat to this region specifically , experts say wildfire risks remain for most of California .
“ The fire season hasn ’ t ended for the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said Dan Collins , a meteorologist with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration ’ s Climate Prediction Center .
“ We ’ ve had large fires in December and January in Southern California.
” Stockton , which is roughly 40 miles south of Sacramento and averages 2 inches of rain between Oct. 1 and Nov. 22 , has received only nine one-hundredths of an inch .
In Ventura County ’ s Camarillo , which would have received 1.7 inches of rain by Sunday in an average year , has received only eight one-hundredths @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Burbank has seen even less , only six one-hundredths of an inch of rain compared with the 1.68 inches of rain it would traditionally see by Sunday .
Only areas far to the north , like Crescent City and Eureka , where it has rained 5.52 inches and 2.62 inches since Oct. 1 , respectively , can consider their fire season over , experts say .
Even then , their rainfall totals are only about 50 % of their seasonal averages .
Looking ahead , 2020 could be considered a harbinger of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rainfall year to year , extreme heat and increasingly long fire seasons , experts say .
As the climate warms , that will carry the risks of fire closer to the peak of Santa Ana wind season , a potentially deadly combination for Californians .
Researchers say that as Earth ’ s polar ice melts and the oceans gradually warm , California rainfall — which predominantly comes in the form of roughly half a dozen soggy storms known as “ atmospheric rivers ” — is expected to become increasingly erratic .
This feast-or-famine @ @ @ @ @ @ @ decade , when a five-year drought was punctuated by a record-wet winter and then another dry year .
The window for that rainfall is shrinking , to just a few months , mostly from January through March , which is giving timber and light , flashy grass fuels , particularly in Southern California , even more time through the year to dry and become more flammable .
California ’ s “ hydro-climate is the most volatile of any place in the United States ; it varies year to year more than any other @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a research meteorologist at UC San Diego ’ s Scripps Institute of Oceanography .
“ It ’ s getting less frequent and more dependent on extreme events , which makes the variability more pronounced .
It ’ s more drought- and flood-prone.
” Should another fire start in the next couple of months , it would be burning during the historic peak of the Santa Ana wind season , Gershunov said .
Though October is often perceived as the worst time for Santa Ana winds , which are typically warmer and drier than @ @ @ @ @ @ @ because that ’ s when the region has historically experienced its worst fires .
But that could change in the decades to come .
More Santa Ana winds actually occur in December and January than any other time of the year , according to a research letter that Gershunov co-wrote and that was published in American Geophysical Union in 2016 .
Indeed , in December 2017 , utility lines downed by Santa Ana winds sparked the Thomas fire .
The Ventura County blaze grew into what was then the second-largest fire in state @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Certainly the Thomas fire is a poster for the future , ” Gershunov said .
“ We didn ’ t really get any significant rain until January and the vegetation was still flammable in December when there were back-to-back Santa Ana winds.
” Additionally , summers are trending hotter .
California experienced its second-hottest and driest October on record and broke daily heat records over the summer .
Five of the six largest fires on record burned this year .
“ Our research suggests sharper seasonality .
Drier in shoulder seasons , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a dangerous recipe when it ’ s in connection to wildfires , ” UCLA climate scientist Daniel Swain said .
“ The trend is of things getting worse .
”

An Angeles National Forest fire crew is on its way to create a fire line as the Bobcat fire burns above Arcadia in Chantry Flat Angeles National Forest on Sept. 15, 2020.
A Santa Ana wind event expected over the holiday weekend is the latest sign that California’s worst wildfire season on record may still have some fuel left in the tank.
In a pair of fire weather forecasts released by the National Weather Service, meteorologists warn that warm, dry inland winds are expected to sweep over the Southland from Santa Barbara to Orange counties from Thursday through Sunday, raising the risk that a fire would burn out of control.
“After quiet conditions on Wednesday, northerly winds are expected to increase on Thursday, with winds shifting to the northeast by late afternoon, bringing lowering humidities and elevated fire weather concerns to the mountains and Santa Clarita Valley,” the agency’s Oxnard office said. “There is increasing confidence that a moderate Santa Ana wind event with further drying will bring widespread elevated to brief critical fire weather conditions for Los Angeles and Ventura counties Thursday night into Friday.”
In Santa Barbara, the winds are called “sundowners,” and they contributed to the explosive growth of the Thomas fire in 2017 and were expected to return this weekend. In Orange County, the winds are due to arrive Thursday night and “bring locally critical fire weather conditions,” the weather service said.
Should a fire break out in the mountains, valleys or foothills, the flames will be feeding on bone-dry grass and shrubs, parched from a rainy season that is underperforming in its first months.
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“We are still high in our fire season, and we haven’t had nearly enough rainfall to shut it down,” said Ryan Kittell, a National Weather Service forecaster in Oxnard, which covers much of the Southland. “We like to see 5 inches of rain in our area before we start having that conversation, and we aren’t really anywhere near that. Pretty much everywhere is under an inch.”
The forecast comes during the state’s worst fire year on record. So far this year, wildfires have burned across more than 4 million acres, killed at least 31 people and destroyed thousands of homes and buildings.
The San Bernardino National Forest on Monday announced it was implementing fire restrictions for the entire Thanksgiving week and extending the hours its firefighters are on duty.
“Despite one winter storm in early November, vegetation in much of the Forest continues to be very dry. Some lower elevation areas are even drier than in the summer, when numerous large fires broke out,” officials said in a statement.
Though the winds are bringing an elevated threat to this region specifically, experts say wildfire risks remain for most of California.
“The fire season hasn’t ended for the southern two-thirds of the state,” said Dan Collins, a meteorologist with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s Climate Prediction Center. “We’ve had large fires in December and January in Southern California.”
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Stockton, which is roughly 40 miles south of Sacramento and averages 2 inches of rain between Oct. 1 and Nov. 22, has received only nine one-hundredths of an inch. In Ventura County’s Camarillo, which would have received 1.7 inches of rain by Sunday in an average year, has received only eight one-hundredths, according to weather service data. Burbank has seen even less, only six one-hundredths of an inch of rain compared with the 1.68 inches of rain it would traditionally see by Sunday.
Only areas far to the north, like Crescent City and Eureka, where it has rained 5.52 inches and 2.62 inches since Oct. 1, respectively, can consider their fire season over, experts say. Even then, their rainfall totals are only about 50% of their seasonal averages.
Looking ahead, 2020 could be considered a harbinger of the state’s climate future with unpredictable rainfall year to year, extreme heat and increasingly long fire seasons, experts say. As the climate warms, that will carry the risks of fire closer to the peak of Santa Ana wind season, a potentially deadly combination for Californians.
Researchers say that as Earth’s polar ice melts and the oceans gradually warm, California rainfall — which predominantly comes in the form of roughly half a dozen soggy storms known as “atmospheric rivers” — is expected to become increasingly erratic. This feast-or-famine trend can be seen in the last decade, when a five-year drought was punctuated by a record-wet winter and then another dry year.
The window for that rainfall is shrinking, to just a few months, mostly from January through March, which is giving timber and light, flashy grass fuels, particularly in Southern California, even more time through the year to dry and become more flammable.
California’s “hydro-climate is the most volatile of any place in the United States; it varies year to year more than any other place,” said Alexander Gershunov, a research meteorologist at UC San Diego’s Scripps Institute of Oceanography. “It’s getting less frequent and more dependent on extreme events, which makes the variability more pronounced. It’s more drought- and flood-prone.”
Should another fire start in the next couple of months, it would be burning during the historic peak of the Santa Ana wind season, Gershunov said.
Though October is often perceived as the worst time for Santa Ana winds, which are typically warmer and drier than onshore breezes, that’s just because that’s when the region has historically experienced its worst fires.
But that could change in the decades to come. More Santa Ana winds actually occur in December and January than any other time of the year, according to a research letter that Gershunov co-wrote and that was published in American Geophysical Union in 2016.
Indeed, in December 2017, utility lines downed by Santa Ana winds sparked the Thomas fire. The Ventura County blaze grew into what was then the second-largest fire in state history at more than 280,000 acres.
“Certainly the Thomas fire is a poster for the future,” Gershunov said. “We didn’t really get any significant rain until January and the vegetation was still flammable in December when there were back-to-back Santa Ana winds.”
Additionally, summers are trending hotter. California experienced its second-hottest and driest October on record and broke daily heat records over the summer. Five of the six largest fires on record burned this year.
“Our research suggests sharper seasonality. Drier in shoulder seasons, wetter in winters. That’s a dangerous recipe when it’s in connection to wildfires,” UCLA climate scientist Daniel Swain said. “The trend is of things getting worse.”


latimes--2020-11-26--Column: Among the many volunteers deserving of thanks, this high school student is a standout

Today , a few words of thanks .
To all the volunteers in Santa Clarita who have been delivering meals to the homes of seniors throughout the pandemic .
“ Ever since March , we ’ ve had a wonderful team that has come together , about 100 of them , ” said Kevin MacDonald , director of the Santa Clarita Valley Senior Center .
“ I ’ ve never seen anything like it.
” Thousands of meals are being distributed this week alone , said MacDonald , and for Thanksgiving Day , the local Lions Club is providing 700 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ senior center .
Thanks , as well , to the staff and volunteers at the Culver City Senior Center .
Supervisor Jill Thomsen tells me that 300 meals have been delivered to its members weekly , along with flowers , plants and books donated by local sponsors .
Local Girl Scouts and Rotary Club members have sponsored food drives , and this week , the Lions Club donated 200 holiday pies .
These may be small gestures in a vast region , but this is a day to celebrate simple acts of kindness @ @ @ @ @ @ @ easier , for the most vulnerable among us , to get through one of the most trying times in decades .
Seniors , in particular , have been hard hit by the virus , and cut off from family and friends because of it .
Which is why I ’ d like to tell you now about a student at Glendora High School , also a senior , but of the fourth year in high school sort .
Serena Lin , 17 , already had plenty to do , what with school and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wanted to perform some kind of public service during the pandemic , as well .
Lin offered back in April to do whatever she could at the Pasadena Senior Center , which has been delivering thousands of meals to needy members and calling them regularly to make sure they ’ re doing OK. Lin was directed to events director Annie Laskey , who runs a weekly social hour by Zoom and leads seniors in discussions about everything under the sun .
When Laskey learned that Lin likes to write and make videos , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ an assisted living center , she put the high school student to work right away .
“ Since she ’ s a poet , we decided to do one of our social hours on poetry , and she was our special guest , ” said Laskey .
“ She wrote some poems and we talked about writing … and she was so delightful and has an affinity for working with seniors.
” Lin has been dropping in on social hour periodically since then , and she said she enjoys being part of wide-ranging @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and advice on dealing with normal aches and pains .
“ I think it ’ s important during COVID to help seniors , and it ’ s given me something to focus on and helped keep me upright , ” said Lin , who told me her public service commitment was instilled in her by her parents , who are both doctors .
“ Many of them really miss being with their grandchildren or other family members and having to be very isolated , and they ’ re having to cope with that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ each other .
It ’ s something they ’ ve struggled with , ” said Lin .
When Laskey was off one day , she asked Lin to fill in as guest host of the social hour .
After she did , Lin wrote a note to my colleague , photographer Francine Orr , who had directed her to the Pasadena Senior Center .
“ On September 1st , I was a guest host of the social hour , and spent the time facilitating an amazing dialogue regarding the advice that Seniors would @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to Orr .
“ I have made many quality friends and learned a lot about life and myself in this process , and I am so grateful that you shared this community with me.
” She said the wisdom shared with her by seniors hasn ’ t always been earth-shattering , but it has been grounding in these unusual times .
Enjoy the present instead of worrying about the future .
Go for a walk and find solace and meaning in nature .
Be of service , and be guided more by positive @ @ @ @ @ @ @ even in difficult times .
When the pace of life slows , as it has now , it ’ s possible to appreciate the things you often take for granted .
“ One of them mentioned that people in our day and age , and in my age group , can be kind of scared to try new things because they think they ’ re going to fail , ” said Lin .
“ She said failure is not a bad thing because even if it doesn ’ t work out , you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be more resilient and you ’ re going to gain new skills.
” Some of Lin ’ s poetry has been inspired by her sessions with the seniors .
In April , she wrote : With the dust of hurriedness Lin took notes on all the advice she got and shared it with dozens of students , then began cataloguing their responses and creating video clips in which she added inspirational music over the narratives .
On Tuesday this week , at social hour , she shared some of the videos during the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the Zoom participants , said there ’ s a lot of talk about generation gaps , but Lin ’ s videos can connect people of all ages .
“ The calmness of that really struck me , ” said Cy Estabrook , another participant , who said he was grateful that young people who are subjected to “ bombardment … from social media ” shared their reflections on the advice of seniors .
The rest of the social hour zigged and zagged , with the seniors offering each other advice on good @ @ @ @ @ @ @ bouts of dizziness , and how to find motivation to exercise .
Another of the participating seniors said she imagines herself 30 years from now , scolding her current self for not staying active .
Wong ran the group through a demonstration on how to avoid neck strain by doing tongue exercises , and how to exercise even your eyeballs by moving them up , down , in a clockwise circle and then counterclockwise .
Lin piped in now and then , and reminded everyone she will be guest host of social hour @ @ @ @ @ @ @ past the one-hour mark and it seemed they could have gone on forever , but finally it was time to say goodbye for another week , and for each of them to offer a wish to one and all .

Serena Lin, 17, a high school senior, participates in a weekly one-hour Zoom conference with members of the Pasadena Senior Center. The high school volunteer has become a big hit with the people she talks to.
Today, a few words of thanks.
To all the volunteers in Santa Clarita who have been delivering meals to the homes of seniors throughout the pandemic.
“Ever since March, we’ve had a wonderful team that has come together, about 100 of them,” said Kevin MacDonald, director of the Santa Clarita Valley Senior Center. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Thousands of meals are being distributed this week alone, said MacDonald, and for Thanksgiving Day, the local Lions Club is providing 700 meals available for drive-through pickup at the senior center.
Advertisement
Thanks, as well, to the staff and volunteers at the Culver City Senior Center. Supervisor Jill Thomsen tells me that 300 meals have been delivered to its members weekly, along with flowers, plants and books donated by local sponsors. Local Girl Scouts and Rotary Club members have sponsored food drives, and this week, the Lions Club donated 200 holiday pies.
These may be small gestures in a vast region, but this is a day to celebrate simple acts of kindness that have made it just a little easier, for the most vulnerable among us, to get through one of the most trying times in decades.
Seniors, in particular, have been hard hit by the virus, and cut off from family and friends because of it. Which is why I’d like to tell you now about a student at Glendora High School, also a senior, but of the fourth year in high school sort. Serena Lin, 17, already had plenty to do, what with school and the college application process, but she wanted to perform some kind of public service during the pandemic, as well.
Lin offered back in April to do whatever she could at the Pasadena Senior Center, which has been delivering thousands of meals to needy members and calling them regularly to make sure they’re doing OK. Lin was directed to events director Annie Laskey, who runs a weekly social hour by Zoom and leads seniors in discussions about everything under the sun.
When Laskey learned that Lin likes to write and make videos, and had already volunteered with seniors at an assisted living center, she put the high school student to work right away.
“Since she’s a poet, we decided to do one of our social hours on poetry, and she was our special guest,” said Laskey. “She wrote some poems and we talked about writing … and she was so delightful and has an affinity for working with seniors.”
Advertisement
Lin has been dropping in on social hour periodically since then, and she said she enjoys being part of wide-ranging discussions on exercise routines, favorite recipes and advice on dealing with normal aches and pains.
“I think it’s important during COVID to help seniors, and it’s given me something to focus on and helped keep me upright,” said Lin, who told me her public service commitment was instilled in her by her parents, who are both doctors.
“Many of them really miss being with their grandchildren or other family members and having to be very isolated, and they’re having to cope with that loneliness and with the days blurring into each other. It’s something they’ve struggled with,” said Lin.
When Laskey was off one day, she asked Lin to fill in as guest host of the social hour. After she did, Lin wrote a note to my colleague, photographer Francine Orr, who had directed her to the Pasadena Senior Center.
“On September 1st, I was a guest host of the social hour, and spent the time facilitating an amazing dialogue regarding the advice that Seniors would give the youth,” Lin wrote to Orr. “I have made many quality friends and learned a lot about life and myself in this process, and I am so grateful that you shared this community with me.”
She said the wisdom shared with her by seniors hasn’t always been earth-shattering, but it has been grounding in these unusual times.
Enjoy the present instead of worrying about the future. Go for a walk and find solace and meaning in nature. Be of service, and be guided more by positive thoughts than doubts. Find silver linings even in difficult times. When the pace of life slows, as it has now, it’s possible to appreciate the things you often take for granted.
“One of them mentioned that people in our day and age, and in my age group, can be kind of scared to try new things because they think they’re going to fail,” said Lin. “She said failure is not a bad thing because even if it doesn’t work out, you’re going to be trained to be more resilient and you’re going to gain new skills.”
Some of Lin’s poetry has been inspired by her sessions with the seniors. In April, she wrote:
When the present
Feels downcast
It’s ok
To visit the past
Rediscovering
Buried memories
With the dust of hurriedness
Settling
Recentering
Ourselves
Lin took notes on all the advice she got and shared it with dozens of students, then began cataloguing their responses and creating video clips in which she added inspirational music over the narratives. On Tuesday this week, at social hour, she shared some of the videos during the Zoom session.
Laskey was reduced to tears.
Irene Wong, one of the Zoom participants, said there’s a lot of talk about generation gaps, but Lin’s videos can connect people of all ages.
“The calmness of that really struck me,” said Cy Estabrook, another participant, who said he was grateful that young people who are subjected to “bombardment … from social media” shared their reflections on the advice of seniors.
The rest of the social hour zigged and zagged, with the seniors offering each other advice on good books to read, how to handle bouts of dizziness, and how to find motivation to exercise.
Another of the participating seniors said she imagines herself 30 years from now, scolding her current self for not staying active. Wong ran the group through a demonstration on how to avoid neck strain by doing tongue exercises, and how to exercise even your eyeballs by moving them up, down, in a clockwise circle and then counterclockwise.
Lin piped in now and then, and reminded everyone she will be guest host of social hour again in early December.
They went past the one-hour mark and it seemed they could have gone on forever, but finally it was time to say goodbye for another week, and for each of them to offer a wish to one and all.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Steve.lopez@latimes.com


latimes--2020-11-26--Immigrant street musicians turn adversity into art to earn their daily bread

When Elías Flores and César Villanueva team up on guitar and accordion , they stir feelings of joy , pride and melancholy in their listeners .
Their instruments vibrate like living beings in the hands of these artists , who roam the streets and restaurants of Los Angeles in search of customers giving tips for their itinerant musical offerings , in which the classic ballads of Mexican vernacular music stand out .
“ We have many , it could be more than 100 songs , ” said Flores , 56 , who plays guitar and sings backup , during a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the most requested tunes in his repertoire were immortalized by the likes of José Alfredo Jiménez , Pedro Infante , Javier Solís , Vicente Fernández , Antonio Aguilar and Cornelio Reyna , among other demi-gods of ranchera and norteña music .
“ They ask for lots of José Alfredo and Vicente Fernández , ” Villanueva , 58 , added in his high-pitched voice as he ambled to a restaurant at nightfall .
Cold weather was penetrating the city , but that did not stop the musicians from going out to earn their @ @ @ @ @ @ @ recession it triggered have posed new challenges for the musicians .
The predominantly Latino and immigrant neighborhoods where the men ply their trade have been among the hardest hit by the virus .
People who ’ ve lost jobs can ’ t afford $ 10 to hear “ De Qué Manera Te Olvido ” or “ Luna de Octubre , ” or $ 25 for a trio of beloved tunes .
“ If we can grab a client in a place , we stay there , ” said Flores , 58 .
As @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be seen at the corner of Wilshire Boulevard and Witmer Street , both wearing black cowboy hats .
One kept his mask in his pocket , while the other placed his mask on his chin as he lifted his voice in song .
The men stroll and perform Monday through Friday , typically from noon to 8 or 10 at night .
On Saturdays and Sundays they play in various mariachi ensembles .
Flores , originally from El Salvador , met Villanueva , born in Guatemala , four years ago .
After playing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they formed their duet .
Besides guitar and accordion , they also have mastered the violin , guitarrón and vihuela .
“ This is the method that God has given us , ” said the native of the Guatemalan province of San Marcos , where he started playing guitar when he was 12 .
At the age of 21 , he says , he resolved to devote himself entirely to art , shortly after moving to Chiapas , Mexico .
Flores first learned to play the violin , accompanying services at Catholic church @ @ @ @ @ @ @ western El Salvador .
Before arriving in Los Angeles in 1989 , fleeing the country ’ s devastating 12-year civil war , he had learned to play the guitar .
But when he settled here no musical group would take him on .
“ I saw the groups [ that played ] in businesses , and I asked for a chance and they didn ’ t give me one , ” said Flores , who has worked in construction , furniture sales and at car washes and tortilla shops .
Then in 1995 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ group and began to play on weekends at restaurants , parties and wherever they were welcome .
But when construction work started drying up around the time of the Sept. 11 , 2001 , terrorist attacks , Flores turned to making music fulltime .
He and Villanueva now orbit around a handful of reliable venues .
“ We go to different places , there are like 10 or 15 , ” said Flores , a resident of the Westlake neighborhood for 25 years .
Mostly those places are restaurants , where the owners @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tips from the diners ; for requests , they charge their regular rates .
One recent evening , after playing along Wilshire Boulevard , the musicians moved west to 7th Street , aiming at a Guatemalan restaurant .
To their surprise , the place was closed .
So they fired up their instruments at the corner of 7th and Union streets , taking advantage of the lighting from a young couple ’ s taco stand .
“ How much for song ?
” asked a young man at the taqueria .
“ Would @ @ @ @ @ @ @ merchant asked .
“ No , ” the musician responded , apologetically , “ we ’ ve already had dinner.
” But the musicians obliged anyway , and sang a song for free , catching the attention of several pedestrians who took the opportunity to record the moment on their cellphones .
Although it was not yet 6 , already the streets were dark and the cold was bearing down .
Before moving on from the taqueria , the musicians each took a hot rice pudding .
“ We don ’ t wrinkle @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said in Spanish , meaning the duo are happy to get work wherever they can , no complaints .
On rainy days they take umbrellas to protect the instruments .
“ We always work , be it cold or hot , we always need to earn our daily bread , ” he said .
But how can a wandering musician defend against a killer virus ?
In March , the men were forced to stay home in the wake of the pandemic .
All told , they didn ’ t work for three @ @ @ @ @ @ @ very big downturn , ” Villanueva said .
On an average day , each musician can earn up to $ 150 for eight hours of work , but another day they might earn only $ 60 .
During the three months of the quarantine , each of them lost about $ 2,000 .
“ For everyone , there was damage , ” said Flores , who was able to scrape by on his small savings .
Starting in June , as some restaurants tentatively resumed operations , the musicians returned to their haunts @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not intruding or pressing them .
So as not to pester the same customers , they change their route every day .
“ Once we were in a restaurant and a girl who was eating there came and said , ‘ And why don ’ t you go to work ?
’ ” Flores recalled .
“ This is an honest job , ” he asserted .
“ The most beautiful thing is that you do what you like and you get paid.
” Even now , as another wave of the virus @ @ @ @ @ @ @ overwhelm daily life , the musicians have no thought of giving up their art .
“ This music thing is like an addiction , ” Villanueva said .
“ A healthy addiction .
”

Elías Flores, from El Salvador, left and César Villanueva, from Guatemala, perform at the corner of Union and 7th streets.
When Elías Flores and César Villanueva team up on guitar and accordion, they stir feelings of joy, pride and melancholy in their listeners.
Their instruments vibrate like living beings in the hands of these artists, who roam the streets and restaurants of Los Angeles in search of customers giving tips for their itinerant musical offerings, in which the classic ballads of Mexican vernacular music stand out.
“We have many, it could be more than 100 songs,” said Flores, 56, who plays guitar and sings backup, during a tour of the Westlake neighborhood. Many of the most requested tunes in his repertoire were immortalized by the likes of José Alfredo Jiménez, Pedro Infante, Javier Solís, Vicente Fernández, Antonio Aguilar and Cornelio Reyna, among other demi-gods of ranchera and norteña music.
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César Villanueva, originally from Guatemala, plays accordion in the duet. (Soudi Jiménez / Los Angeles Times )
“They ask for lots of José Alfredo and Vicente Fernández,” Villanueva, 58, added in his high-pitched voice as he ambled to a restaurant at nightfall. Cold weather was penetrating the city, but that did not stop the musicians from going out to earn their keep.
The COVID-19 pandemic and the recession it triggered have posed new challenges for the musicians. The predominantly Latino and immigrant neighborhoods where the men ply their trade have been among the hardest hit by the virus. People who’ve lost jobs can’t afford $10 to hear “De Qué Manera Te Olvido” or “Luna de Octubre,” or $25 for a trio of beloved tunes.
“If we can grab a client in a place, we stay there,” said Flores, 58.
As daylight faded, the two men could be seen at the corner of Wilshire Boulevard and Witmer Street, both wearing black cowboy hats. One kept his mask in his pocket, while the other placed his mask on his chin as he lifted his voice in song.
The men stroll and perform Monday through Friday, typically from noon to 8 or 10 at night. On Saturdays and Sundays they play in various mariachi ensembles.
Flores, originally from El Salvador, met Villanueva, born in Guatemala, four years ago. After playing with different musicians, two years ago they formed their duet. Besides guitar and accordion, they also have mastered the violin, guitarrón and vihuela.
“This is the method that God has given us,” said the native of the Guatemalan province of San Marcos, where he started playing guitar when he was 12. At the age of 21, he says, he resolved to devote himself entirely to art, shortly after moving to Chiapas, Mexico.
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Flores first learned to play the violin, accompanying services at Catholic church of his town, Metapán, in western El Salvador. Before arriving in Los Angeles in 1989, fleeing the country’s devastating 12-year civil war, he had learned to play the guitar. But when he settled here no musical group would take him on.
“I saw the groups [that played] in businesses, and I asked for a chance and they didn’t give me one,” said Flores, who has worked in construction, furniture sales and at car washes and tortilla shops.
Then in 1995 he and a musician friend formed a group and began to play on weekends at restaurants, parties and wherever they were welcome.
But when construction work started drying up around the time of the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, Flores turned to making music fulltime. He and Villanueva now orbit around a handful of reliable venues.
“We go to different places, there are like 10 or 15,” said Flores, a resident of the Westlake neighborhood for 25 years. Mostly those places are restaurants, where the owners have given them permission to play for tips from the diners; for requests, they charge their regular rates.
One recent evening, after playing along Wilshire Boulevard, the musicians moved west to 7th Street, aiming at a Guatemalan restaurant. To their surprise, the place was closed. So they fired up their instruments at the corner of 7th and Union streets, taking advantage of the lighting from a young couple’s taco stand.
“How much for song?” asked a young man at the taqueria.
“Ten dollars,” Villanueva replied.
“Would you accept three tacos?” the merchant asked.
“No,” the musician responded, apologetically, “we’ve already had dinner.”
But the musicians obliged anyway, and sang a song for free, catching the attention of several pedestrians who took the opportunity to record the moment on their cellphones. Although it was not yet 6, already the streets were dark and the cold was bearing down.
Before moving on from the taqueria, the musicians each took a hot rice pudding.
“We don’t wrinkle our faces at all,” Villanueva said in Spanish, meaning the duo are happy to get work wherever they can, no complaints. On rainy days they take umbrellas to protect the instruments.
“We always work, be it cold or hot, we always need to earn our daily bread,” he said.
But how can a wandering musician defend against a killer virus? In March, the men were forced to stay home in the wake of the pandemic. All told, they didn’t work for three months.
“There has been a very big downturn,” Villanueva said.
On an average day, each musician can earn up to $ 150 for eight hours of work, but another day they might earn only $60. During the three months of the quarantine, each of them lost about $2,000.
“For everyone, there was damage,” said Flores, who was able to scrape by on his small savings.
Starting in June, as some restaurants tentatively resumed operations, the musicians returned to their haunts. They try to respect diners by not intruding or pressing them. So as not to pester the same customers, they change their route every day.
“Once we were in a restaurant and a girl who was eating there came and said, ‘And why don’t you go to work?’” Flores recalled.
“This is an honest job,” he asserted. “The most beautiful thing is that you do what you like and you get paid.”
Even now, as another wave of the virus threatens to shut down more restaurants and overwhelm daily life, the musicians have no thought of giving up their art.
“This music thing is like an addiction,” Villanueva said. “A healthy addiction.”


latimes--2020-11-26--For a learning pod of homeless students, school days unfold in a motel carport

A dozen bleary-eyed children bundled in sweaters , jackets and knit caps trickle into the motel carport , taking seats at metal desks evenly spaced atop the gasoline-stained concrete .
Diagrams of the alphabet and solar system are taped to the beige stucco wall .
“ How are we feeling today ?
” a tutor asks two little boys as they take their seats .
“ Sleepy ?
” The younger boy nods yes as he pulls a blue mask decorated with Dalmatians over his face .
A 4-year-old wearing socks , flip-flops and a hot-pink Minnie Mouse coat bounds @ @ @ @ @ @ @ her chair .
The school day is about to begin for these children , who amid the COVID-19 pandemic are sheltering with their families at the Hyland Motel in Van Nuys .
Every Monday and Tuesday since mid-August , these homeless students — as few as five or as many as 12 — have congregated in the carport , where volunteers help them navigate hours-long Zoom classes .
They are just a fraction of the L.A. Unified School District ’ s estimated 11,000 homeless students , who , according to data , are @ @ @ @ @ @ @ learning impacts : lower grades , attendance rates and online participation .
Coronavirus-forced school closures didn ’ t just impact their education .
It severed their day-long connection to food and shelter .
LAUSD recently has ramped up efforts to reach more students , offering virtual healthcare and counseling and assigning staff to track down absent kids .
“ Quite a few of our students hadn ’ t been logging into school at all until they came to our pod , ” said Emma Gerch , a coordinator with School on Wheels , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ If those students are able to log on and pay attention , that ’ s a win.
” At the Hyland , they take a page from more affluent district parents , who have pooled resources to hire teachers or tutors and set up well-equipped backyard classrooms to accommodate the challenges of distance learning .
The effort is part of a city-funded $ 770,000 pilot program called Kids First , dreamed up by City Councilwoman Nury Martinez and launched in August to help homeless families and children secure healthcare , tutoring @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hit in March , we knew the situation for these families just got so much worse , ” Martinez said .
Gerch is one of four instructors circulating around the carport , helping kids log on to their LAUSD-issued Chromebooks and tablets for 9 a.m. classes at several different schools .
But they are hungry .
“ Can I have a snack ?
” a kindergarten boy seated at a low table — because the desks are too tall for him — asks Gerch .
“ We don ’ t have snacks yet @ @ @ @ @ @ @ listen to your teacher for the next 10 minutes , I can bring you a snack , ” she replies .
A moment later , a small girl runs up to Gerch and also asks for a snack .
The pod pupils have come to rely on the morning snacks — on this day , granola bars — and LAUSD-issued bag lunches .
The district has established that provide two meals each day to students and families , but homeless parents especially may not have access to transportation to get to those centers @ @ @ @ @ @ @ complained to the School on Wheels tutors , saying that students are not allowed to eat while they ’ re on camera .
“ That ’ s a challenge , ” Gerch said .
“ Our kids are hungry .
Sometimes we can ’ t get them to sit unless we give them food.
” So now while they eat , they turn off their cameras .
The younger kids have the hardest time focusing , so tutors will usually sit with them until the learning pod is over at noon .
The @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tend to work independently in the adjacent courtyard or in their rooms , and come downstairs only to grab lunch .
At the back of the class , tutor Ian Chan is working with an energetic , curly haired kindergartener .
The teacher has asked the boy to hold up his phonics worksheet to show his progress to his online teacher , but he is busy coloring — so Chan gently redirects him to the worksheet .
“ What comes after H ?
” Chan asks .
The kindergartener draws a tiny “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ up at his tutor for approval .
“ Cool , ” says Chan , who runs the pod with Gerch .
School on Wheels keeps a spreadsheet of all the students : their teachers ’ names , class schedules and any specialized learning services they are supposed to receive .
The nonprofit is still trying to get the kids ’ grades , which would give the tutors a better idea of how they are performing academically .
“ Many of our kids are behind in grade level because of all the challenges of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ even further behind because it ’ s so hard to stay engaged in online learning , ” Gerch said .
The tutors have seen some progress , though .
When the school year began in August , the youngest kids could hardly sit still and would run in circles around the carport .
Now they ’ ve established a rhythm with the tutor and know that they ’ re expected to pay attention for as long as they can .
The number of students who join the pod is in constant flux .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , or they aren ’ t feeling well .
Erica Richardson , a mother sheltering in the motel with her two children , said that the learning pod has created a sense of stability for her 9- and 12-year-old boys .
Internet connection is unreliable at the Hyland , she said , and it ’ s sometimes out for an entire day .
She knows that her sons will at least get the help they need on Mondays and Tuesdays .
Richardson moved into the motel over a year ago after losing her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shelter .
The pandemic and single parenting have made it all but impossible for her to find work .
She doesn ’ t want to leave the boys alone at the motel .
Her younger son was bullied at school , so he was initially anxious about the pod .
But now he looks forward to being around the other kids .
“ Down here , he ’ s like everybody else , ” Richardson said .
Because they only meet with students twice a week , the tutors try to make their @ @ @ @ @ @ @ most pressing academic needs .
Like first responders , they render educational aid without knowing much about a student ’ s past .
Earlier in the school year , a tutor told Gerch that a seventh-grader was having trouble reading .
So the next time he came to the pod , she sat next to him while his class was reading passages from a history textbook .
“ How does it feel to read this ?
” Gerch asked .
“ Hard ?
Easy ?
” “ I never learned how to read @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hard for Gerch to fathom a student getting to middle school without being able to read .
She asked another tutor to read the passages to him so he could answer the questions along with his classmates .
Gerch brought the student third grade-level worksheets .
Though he at first seemed confident in his ability to complete them , even those were too advanced .
Nikki Perez , project manager with Kids First , walks with an English language learner around the edge of the carport , its floor scattered with food wrappers @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to name the colors of the stars taped to the walls .
“ Este ?
” Perez says , pointing to another .
“ Amarillo !
” — Spanish for “ yellow ” — says the girl , jumping up and down .
The volunteers — a grad student , a former elementary school teacher and a massage therapist among them — help students gather their things and sanitize their hands before classes end around lunchtime .
“ It ’ s time to go !
” one boy yells .
A girl grabs @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shows it off to the other kids .
The students take their time leaving , chatting with each other and the tutors .
It ’ s just a short walk to their motel rooms .

A dozen bleary-eyed children bundled in sweaters, jackets and knit caps trickle into the motel carport, taking seats at metal desks evenly spaced atop the gasoline-stained concrete. Diagrams of the alphabet and solar system are taped to the beige stucco wall.
“How are we feeling today?” a tutor asks two little boys as they take their seats. “Sleepy?”
The younger boy nods yes as he pulls a blue mask decorated with Dalmatians over his face. A 4-year-old wearing socks, flip-flops and a hot-pink Minnie Mouse coat bounds over to her desk and plops into her chair.
The school day is about to begin for these children, who amid the COVID-19 pandemic are sheltering with their families at the Hyland Motel in Van Nuys. Every Monday and Tuesday since mid-August, these homeless students — as few as five or as many as 12 — have congregated in the carport, where volunteers help them navigate hours-long Zoom classes.
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They are just a fraction of the L.A. Unified School District’s estimated 11,000 homeless students, who, according to data, are especially vulnerable to the pandemic’s learning impacts: lower grades, attendance rates and online participation.
Coronavirus-forced school closures didn’t just impact their education. It severed their day-long connection to food and shelter. LAUSD recently has ramped up efforts to reach more students, offering virtual healthcare and counseling and assigning staff to track down absent kids.
The children in the learning pod are sheltering with their families at the Hyland Motel in Van Nuys. Above, Volunteer Elyse Stelford with a first-grader. (Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)
“Quite a few of our students hadn’t been logging into school at all until they came to our pod,” said Emma Gerch, a coordinator with School on Wheels, the nonprofit that has provided volunteer tutors. “If those students are able to log on and pay attention, that’s a win.”
At the Hyland, they take a page from more affluent district parents, who have pooled resources to hire teachers or tutors and set up well-equipped backyard classrooms to accommodate the challenges of distance learning.
The effort is part of a city-funded $770,000 pilot program called Kids First, dreamed up by City Councilwoman Nury Martinez and launched in August to help homeless families and children secure healthcare, tutoring and permanent housing.
“Once COVID hit in March, we knew the situation for these families just got so much worse,” Martinez said.
Nikki Perez, project manager of Kids First, helps a 4-year-old transitional kindergartner learn how to say different colors in English and Spanish. (Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)
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The morning starts with hungry kids
Gerch is one of four instructors circulating around the carport, helping kids log on to their LAUSD-issued Chromebooks and tablets for 9 a.m. classes at several different schools.
But they are hungry.
“Can I have a snack?” a kindergarten boy seated at a low table — because the desks are too tall for him — asks Gerch.
“We don’t have snacks yet, but if you can sit and listen to your teacher for the next 10 minutes, I can bring you a snack,” she replies.
A moment later, a small girl runs up to Gerch and also asks for a snack.
“Give me 10 minutes, OK?” Gerch says, smiling.
Learning pod volunteer Jill Ause helps a 5-year-old kindergartner learn about sounds and the letters of the alphabet. (Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)
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The pod pupils have come to rely on the morning snacks — on this day, granola bars — and LAUSD-issued bag lunches. The district has established 60 “grab and go” centers that provide two meals each day to students and families, but homeless parents especially may not have access to transportation to get to those centers, Gerch said.
Some teachers have complained to the School on Wheels tutors, saying that students are not allowed to eat while they’re on camera.
“That’s a challenge,” Gerch said. “Our kids are hungry. Sometimes we can’t get them to sit unless we give them food.” So now while they eat, they turn off their cameras.
The younger kids have the hardest time focusing, so tutors will usually sit with them until the learning pod is over at noon. The older students who live in the motel tend to work independently in the adjacent courtyard or in their rooms, and come downstairs only to grab lunch.
At the back of the class, tutor Ian Chan is working with an energetic, curly haired kindergartener. The teacher has asked the boy to hold up his phonics worksheet to show his progress to his online teacher, but he is busy coloring — so Chan gently redirects him to the worksheet.
Advertisement
“What comes after H?” Chan asks. The kindergartener draws a tiny “I” on the paper, looking up at his tutor for approval.
“Cool,” says Chan, who runs the pod with Gerch.
School on Wheels keeps a spreadsheet of all the students: their teachers’ names, class schedules and any specialized learning services they are supposed to receive. The nonprofit is still trying to get the kids’ grades, which would give the tutors a better idea of how they are performing academically.
“Many of our kids are behind in grade level because of all the challenges of homelessness, and they’re falling even further behind because it’s so hard to stay engaged in online learning,” Gerch said.
The tutors have seen some progress, though. When the school year began in August, the youngest kids could hardly sit still and would run in circles around the carport. Now they’ve established a rhythm with the tutor and know that they’re expected to pay attention for as long as they can.
Emma Gerch, left, School on Wheels mobile classroom online tutoring coordinator, helps a 5-year-old kindergartner at the learning pod. (Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)
The number of students who join the pod is in constant flux. Sometimes kids will be with another parent, or they aren’t feeling well.
Erica Richardson, a mother sheltering in the motel with her two children, said that the learning pod has created a sense of stability for her 9- and 12-year-old boys. Internet connection is unreliable at the Hyland, she said, and it’s sometimes out for an entire day. She knows that her sons will at least get the help they need on Mondays and Tuesdays.
Richardson moved into the motel over a year ago after losing her job as a janitor at a homeless shelter. The pandemic and single parenting have made it all but impossible for her to find work. She doesn’t want to leave the boys alone at the motel.
Advertisement
Her younger son was bullied at school, so he was initially anxious about the pod. But now he looks forward to being around the other kids. “Down here, he’s like everybody else,” Richardson said.
Overwhelming needs
Because they only meet with students twice a week, the tutors try to make their hours count, zeroing in on the most pressing academic needs. Like first responders, they render educational aid without knowing much about a student’s past.
Earlier in the school year, a tutor told Gerch that a seventh-grader was having trouble reading. So the next time he came to the pod, she sat next to him while his class was reading passages from a history textbook.
“How does it feel to read this?” Gerch asked. “Hard? Easy?”
“I never learned how to read,” he replied.
It was hard for Gerch to fathom a student getting to middle school without being able to read. She asked another tutor to read the passages to him so he could answer the questions along with his classmates.
Gerch brought the student third grade-level worksheets. Though he at first seemed confident in his ability to complete them, even those were too advanced.
Nikki Perez, project manager with Kids First, walks with an English language learner around the edge of the carport, its floor scattered with food wrappers and markers. She asks the 4-year-old to name the colors of the stars taped to the walls.
Advertisement
“Este?” Perez asks, pointing to a star.
“Blue!” the girl shouts.
“Este?” Perez says, pointing to another.
“Amarillo!” — Spanish for “yellow” — says the girl, jumping up and down.
The volunteers — a grad student, a former elementary school teacher and a massage therapist among them — help students gather their things and sanitize their hands before classes end around lunchtime.
“It’s time to go!” one boy yells. A girl grabs her pink scooter from the courtyard and shows it off to the other kids.
The students take their time leaving, chatting with each other and the tutors. It’s just a short walk to their motel rooms.


latimes--2020-11-26--Retail workers fear for their safety this Black Friday: 'An anxiety attack waiting to happen'

She ’ s worked the day after Thanksgiving at a mall shoe store in Los Angeles the last three years , spending her shift running back and forth , hauling sneakers from the stockroom to the waiting feet of customers — and trying to keep her cool when someone inevitably yells at her for disappearing too long .
For retail workers , Black Friday is , as Hernandez puts it , the “ most dreaded day of the year.
” But this year , the day they hate has also become one they fear .
With coronavirus infections rising across @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is historically one of America ’ s busiest shopping days brings real risk .
Some regions have established occupancy restrictions , including California , where the average number of new coronavirus cases has tripled in the last month alone .
But even here , where safety rules are more stringent than in many states , workers are bracing for a high volume of shoppers and the danger that comes with the traffic .
With the virus infecting more Californians every day than at any previous point this year , Gov .
Gavin Newsom @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rolling out new restrictions last week ahead of the Thanksgiving holiday .
Vast swaths of the state now fall in the strictest “ purple tier ” of the state ’ s reopening plan .
The rules allow retail stores and indoor malls in these counties to open , but with capacity limited to 25 % .
Additional regulations cutting occupancy to 20 % in nonessential retail stores could soon come to Los Angeles County , where officials on Tuesday began to outline a new “ Safer at Home ” order , as daily @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Similar tightening of rules is happening in other states , including Nevada and New York .
North Carolina ’ s governor strengthened mask-wearing rules but did not tighten occupancy limits on businesses .
In Utah , where a statewide mask mandate was implemented in response to a surge of cases this month , the governor relaxed restrictions on social gatherings just before Thanksgiving .
Elsewhere , the holiday season is business as usual .
Florida and Georgia long ago lifted statewide restrictions on businesses meant to limit the spread of coronavirus and do @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said stores shouldn ’ t expect the mass crowds they usually see on Black Friday .
The draw of the frantic shopping day has diminished over the years , as e-commerce has grown .
And with coronavirus cases increasing more people will probably turn to online retailers .
But that doesn ’ t mean stores won ’ t see a rise in customers Friday .
Workers say they ’ ve already seen an uptick in the number of shoppers as the holiday season approaches .
Some major retailers have introduced their own safety @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , for example , implemented contactless self-checkout , doubled the number of parking spots for its curbside pickup service and spread its Black Friday deals throughout November to discourage crowding , spokesperson Jake Anderson said in an email .
But workers worry it won ’ t be enough to protect them .
Angel Ponce , 22 , has taken to wearing two masks , one layered on top of the other , because it makes him feel safer working the electronics department at a Target in Van Nuys .
In an attempt to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said he repeatedly tells shoppers the holiday deals have already rolled out online and will still be available after Black Friday .
“ Every day I see more and more people come into the store to look for their new hot electronic , ” Ponce said .
“ That worries me .
Despite all the information out there about COVID and the precautions we should be taking — stay at home , wear a mask , don ’ t go out if you don ’ t need to — a lot of people @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” He has already gotten a taste of what managing an influx of customers might feel like .
With the release of Xbox Series X and PlayStation 5 this month , Ponce said customers have been coming in to pepper him with questions about the consoles , even though they ’ ve been sold out for weeks .
“ If [ customers ] could stop rushing into the store , that would be nice , so there wouldn ’ t be so many people and I wouldn ’ t increase my chances of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ Every day is an anxiety attack waiting to happen , ” said Hernandez , the shoe store employee who spoke on the condition that The Times not identify the specific retailer where she works due to concerns it could put her job in jeopardy .
Employees at her shop wash their hands , wear masks , limit store capacity and disinfect benches and other surfaces regularly , Hernandez said .
But she worries about crowding at the mall .
She says the security team doesn ’ t want long lines outside @ @ @ @ @ @ @ feeling pressured to let in more customers than they should .
“ Although masks are required , people often walk around with their masks hanging down their ears , or just completely off because they ’ re indulging in a warm pretzel or a Frappuccino , ” Hernandez said in an email .
When Hernandez politely asks customers to put on their mask , they often refuse , and even though she ’ s uncomfortable , she has no choice but to help them anyway .
At the beginning of the pandemic , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the company of staying open when nonessential businesses were supposed to shut down and failing to provide adequate disinfectant and other cleaning supplies .
Jacquelyn Frazer , 25 , says she and GameStop have adapted to pandemic realities .
But she has no idea what to expect on Black Friday this year .
Usually , there ’ s a line at the Livermore , Calif. , store before it even opens .
The idea of managing crowds now is frightening , she said , especially because she lives with someone who has leukemia @ @ @ @ @ @ @ coronavirus .
“ We ’ ve accepted there ’ s a chance of us being exposed to it regardless , and we just have to do our best to take precautions , ” Frazer said .
“ But the stress is still there.
” GameStop did not respond to multiple requests for comment .
A Nordstrom store in Westfield Santa Anita mall in Arcadia began counting customers at the door last week , when Newsom rolled out new occupancy restrictions .
Sales associate Samuel Thorne , 28 , said he ’ s been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for the holidays due to layoffs and cutbacks brought on by the pandemic .
Thorne often handles the kids department , which he said can get “ a little crazy ” because people have been cooped up at home for so long .
“ Families are looking for any excuse to get out of the house , ” he said .
“ Kids have tons of pent-up energy and don ’ t quite understand masks and social distancing , so it makes it stressful and difficult when you see the lack of awareness @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Besides rambunctious children , Thorne said he hasn ’ t had any troublesome customers yet .
If he ’ s asked someone to fix their mask or offered one to a mask-less shopper , they go along with it .
Nordstrom did not respond to requests for comment on the company ’ s COVID-19 safety measures .
Thorne advises that if customers absolutely must shop in-person , they should make a game plan ahead of time — create a list of the items and know what sizes they need , in order to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ also suggested shopping solo because bringing the whole family in tow just increases the risk .
“ Retail therapy is definitely a thing people seem to be taking advantage of , ” Thorne said .
“ I would hope people just understand we ’ re people too .
”

Cashier Druhan Parker, right, works behind a plexiglass shield as he checks out shoppers Cassie Howard, left, and Paris Black at an Ulta Beauty store in Chicago on Nov. 19. The surge of coronavirus cases across the U.S. comes as retailers prepare for the holiday season.
Black Friday leaves Andrea Hernandez breathless.
She’s worked the day after Thanksgiving at a mall shoe store in Los Angeles the last three years, spending her shift running back and forth, hauling sneakers from the stockroom to the waiting feet of customers — and trying to keep her cool when someone inevitably yells at her for disappearing too long.
For retail workers, Black Friday is, as Hernandez puts it, the “most dreaded day of the year.” But this year, the day they hate has also become one they fear.
With coronavirus infections rising across much of the United States, what is historically one of America’s busiest shopping days brings real risk. Some regions have established occupancy restrictions, including California, where the average number of new coronavirus cases has tripled in the last month alone. But even here, where safety rules are more stringent than in many states, workers are bracing for a high volume of shoppers and the danger that comes with the traffic.
With the virus infecting more Californians every day than at any previous point this year, Gov. Gavin Newsom pulled the “emergency brake,” rolling out new restrictions last week ahead of the Thanksgiving holiday. Vast swaths of the state now fall in the purple tier — the strictest — of the state’s reopening plan. The rules allow retail stores and indoor malls in these counties to open, but with capacity limited to 25%. Additional regulations cutting occupancy to 20% in nonessential retail stores could soon come to Los Angeles County, where officials on Tuesday began to outline a new “Safer at Home” order, as daily coronavirus infections surge to record levels.
A woman wearing a mask passes in front of the annual Macy’s Great Tree at Union Square in San Francisco on Nov. 21. (Jeff Chiu / Associated Press)
Advertisement
Similar tightening of rules is happening in other states, including Nevada and New York. North Carolina’s governor strengthened mask-wearing rules but did not tighten occupancy limits on businesses. In Utah, where a statewide mask mandate was implemented in response to a surge of cases this month, the governor relaxed restrictions on social gatherings just before Thanksgiving. Elsewhere, the holiday season is business as usual. Florida and Georgia long ago lifted statewide restrictions on businesses meant to limit the spread of the coronavirus and do not require mask-wearing.
Retail experts have said stores shouldn’t expect the mass crowds they usually see on Black Friday. The draw of the frantic shopping day has diminished over the years as e-commerce has grown. And with coronavirus cases increasing more people will probably turn to online retailers. But that doesn’t mean stores won’t see a rise in customers Friday. Workers say they’ve already seen an uptick in the number of shoppers as the holiday season approaches.
Some major retailers have introduced their own safety measures for the holiday season. Target, for example, implemented contactless self-checkout, doubled the number of parking spots for its curbside pickup service and spread its Black Friday deals throughout November to discourage crowding, spokesperson Jake Anderson said in an email.
But workers worry it won’t be enough to protect them.
Angel Ponce, 22, has taken to wearing two masks, one layered on top of the other, because it makes him feel safer working the electronics department at a Target in Van Nuys. In an attempt to stem the flow of customers, he said, he repeatedly tells shoppers the holiday deals have already rolled out online and will still be available after Black Friday.
“Every day I see more and more people come into the store to look for their new hot electronic,” Ponce said. “That worries me. Despite all the information out there about COVID and the precautions we should be taking — stay at home, wear a mask, don’t go out if you don’t need to — a lot of people just don’t listen to that.”
He has already gotten a taste of what managing an influx of customers might feel like. With the release of Xbox Series X and PlayStation 5 this month, Ponce said, customers have been coming in to pepper him with questions about the consoles, even though they’ve been sold out for weeks.
“If [customers] could stop rushing into the store, that would be nice, so there wouldn’t be so many people and I wouldn’t increase my chances of possibly contracting something,” Ponce said.
“Every day is an anxiety attack waiting to happen,” said Hernandez, the shoe store employee who spoke on the condition that The Times not identify the specific retailer where she works due to concerns it could put her job in jeopardy.
Employees at her shop wash their hands, wear masks, limit store capacity and disinfect benches and other surfaces regularly, Hernandez said. But she worries about crowding at the mall. She says the security team doesn’t want long lines outside stores, leaving her and other employees feeling pressured to let in more customers than they should.
“Although masks are required, people often walk around with their masks hanging down their ears, or just completely off because they’re indulging in a warm pretzel or a Frappuccino,” Hernandez said in an email.
When Hernandez politely asks customers to put on their mask, they often refuse, and even though she’s uncomfortable, she has no choice but to help them anyway.
Advertisement
At the beginning of the pandemic, GameStop employees at stores across California accused the company of staying open when nonessential businesses were supposed to shut down and failing to provide adequate disinfectant and other cleaning supplies.
Jacquelyn Frazer, 25, says she and GameStop have adapted to pandemic realities. But she has no idea what to expect on Black Friday this year. Usually, there’s a line at the Livermore, Calif., store before it even opens. The idea of managing crowds now is frightening, she said, especially because she lives with someone who has leukemia and is thus especially vulnerable to the coronavirus.
“We’ve accepted there’s a chance of us being exposed to it regardless, and we just have to do our best to take precautions,” Frazer said. “But the stress is still there.”
GameStop did not respond to multiple requests for comment.
A Nordstrom store in Westfield Santa Anita mall in Arcadia began counting customers at the door last week, when Newsom rolled out new occupancy restrictions. Sales associate Samuel Thorne, 28, said he’s been stretched thin as the company gears up for the holidays because of layoffs and cutbacks brought on by the pandemic.
Thorne often handles the kids department, which he said can get “a little crazy” because people have been cooped up at home for so long.
“Families are looking for any excuse to get out of the house,” he said. “Kids have tons of pent-up energy and don’t quite understand masks and social distancing, so it makes it stressful and difficult when you see the lack of awareness from families coming in to shop.”
Besides rambunctious children, Thorne said he hasn’t had any troublesome customers yet. If he’s asked someone to fix their mask or offered one to a maskless shopper, they’ve gone along with it.
Nordstrom did not respond to requests for comment on the company’s COVID-19 safety measures.
Thorne advises that if customers absolutely must shop in person, they should make a game plan ahead of time — create a list of the items and know what sizes they need, in order to get in and out quickly. Thorne also suggested shopping solo because bringing the whole family in tow just increases the risk.
“Retail therapy is definitely a thing people seem to be taking advantage of,” Thorne said. “I would hope people just understand we’re people too.”


latimes--2020-11-26--This dear colleague's death didn't stop his giving

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

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