latimes--2020-04-16--UC reels under staggering coronavirus costs; 'the worst impacts ... all at once'

The University of California was hit with $ 558 million in unanticipated costs in March alone due to the coronavirus , a staggering sum as students canceled housing and dining contracts , medical centers paused elective surgeries and campus costs soared for online learning .
UC President Janet Napolitano detailed the grim financial picture in a letter Wednesday to Gov .
Gavin Newsom and legislative leaders and asked them for more funding to help cover the unprecedented costs .
She noted that the public research university system was incurring added expenses and revenue losses in multiple areas , as health @ @ @ @ @ @ @ worked on potential cures and campuses sent most students home .
UC also has pledged to avoid layoffs of most employees .
“ As the world ’ s largest public research university system , UC is confronting many of the worst impacts of the virus all at once , ” she wrote .
More funding , she added , would “ help UC provide students the education they were promised , treat our employees with fairness and provide our communities with compassionate care.
” The 23-campus California State University system estimates its lost @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , according to spokesman Michael Uhlenkamp .
H.D .
Palmer , a Department of Finance spokesman , said all requests for additional funding would be reviewed but that Newsom is preparing a May revision that is essentially flat and “ could go further than that ” — meaning budget cuts .
The state could face a deficit of as much as $ 35 billion in the near future , legislative analyst Gabriel Petek said Thursday .
The impact on UC campuses could be particularly dire .
Their unanticipated costs reached about $ 310 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 40 % of $ 775 million monthly revenue in a system with an annual $ 9.3-billion core budget , according to Christopher Newfield , a UC Santa Barbara professor and systemwide budget expert .
Without additional funding , students may face larger class sizes , reduced course offerings , more difficulty getting into needed classes and potentially higher tuition , said Michael Meranze , a UCLA historian who has long studied UC finances .
A generation of scholars could be sidelined if UC lacks the funds to recruit them , jeopardizing the system @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , he said .
“ If they are not reimbursed , the losses caused by the COVID-19 pandemic will be disastrous for the UC system , ” Meranze said .
Caroline Siegel-Singh , a UC San Diego student leader , said hiring freezes , furloughs or layoffs in coming months would reduce staff for needed student services , such as financial aid assistance and mental health counseling .
“ If campuses have to eat these cuts , the unfortunate reality is that it will lead to a serious degradation of the student experience @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Varsha Sarveshwar , UC Student Assn .
president , said that campuses “ did the right thing ” in allowing students to leave , reimbursing their housing and meal plan payments and purchasing laptops and Wi-Fi for those who needed them .
She said UC should not be expected to pay the costs of that support alone .
Napolitano ’ s letter provided the first detailed look at the extraordinary financial impact of the pandemic on the 10-campus UC system , which educates 285,000 students and employs 227,000 faculty , researchers and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Aid , Relief , and Economic Security Act , known as CARES , will provide an estimated $ 437 million in aid to UC campuses and medical centers , Napolitano said , but that would not fully cover even a month of the extra costs .
The federal bill provides nearly $ 14 billion overall for higher education .
But the American Council on Education , an association of more than 1,700 colleges and universities , has criticized that sum as “ woefully inadequate ” and called for $ 50 billion in aid @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and nation already are beginning to take austerity measures as pandemic-related costs mount .
UC Berkeley alone announced this month that the pandemic would cost the campus `` $ 100 million and growing ” with lost revenue from canceled housing and dining contracts , public performances and sports events , along with higher costs for technology .
UC San Diego Chancellor Pradeep Khosla said the campus losses for about 10,000 canceled housing and dining contracts could total nearly $ 40 million .
The medical center had to cancel all elective surgeries and keep @ @ @ @ @ @ @ case of a surge of COVID-19 cases , which could cost more than $ 40 million in lost revenue .
Technology costs sharply increased as well , he said , as the campus purchased more than 500 laptops for students for the shift to remote learning .
“ We are in for some really challenging times , ” Khosla said in an interview .
The costs could continue to soar if campuses stay shuttered with remote learning through the fall — as Khosla said was a possibility .
If they do , some @ @ @ @ @ @ @ gap year or enroll at community colleges instead .
To reduce costs , UC Berkeley and UC San Francisco have instituted a hiring freeze , as have dozens of other campuses including USC , Stanford and Harvard .
Those private institutions also have announced salary cuts for senior leaders .
As UC reels , it also will probably suffer the loss of new state revenue .
Napolitano said that Newsom ’ s proposed 5 % increase for UC , amounting to $ 217.7 million , was off the table for now , although @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tax returns are in .
In addition , UC regents have postponed a planned vote on a five-year proposal to raise tuition for incoming classes beginning this fall .
According to Napolitano , unanticipated new costs and revenue losses include : • $ 310 million for UC campuses for canceled housing and dining contracts , facility cleaning costs and transitioning to remote instruction .
An expected $ 260 million in federal relief won ’ t cover the costs , Napolitano said .
• $ 248 million for UC ’ s health system , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from cancellation of elective procedures .
The system ’ s six academic health centers have treated more than 1,000 patients for COVID-19 .
But costs to prepare and outfit entire facilities for critical care initially cost between $ 1 million and $ 10 million per patient in the early weeks .
The health centers expect to receive about $ 177 million in funding from the Department of Health and Human Services .
• Greater demand for financial aid as massive job losses have upended family economic stability .
But $ 130 million in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ expects to receive should cover the additional needs for the next several academic terms , Napolitano wrote .

Student Shaya Naimi, 19, hangs out on the steps of Powell Library at UCLA, where most students have left campus and classes have moved to online only.
The University of California was hit with $558 million in unanticipated costs in March alone due to the coronavirus, a staggering sum as students canceled housing and dining contracts, medical centers paused elective surgeries and campus costs soared for online learning.
UC President Janet Napolitano detailed the grim financial picture in a letter Wednesday to Gov. Gavin Newsom and legislative leaders and asked them for more funding to help cover the unprecedented costs.
She noted that the public research university system was incurring added expenses and revenue losses in multiple areas, as health centers treated high-cost COVID-19 patients, researchers worked on potential cures and campuses sent most students home. UC also has pledged to avoid layoffs of most employees.
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1 / 83 Socially distanced bikers and walkers, against a backdrop of the Queen Mary, make their way along pedestrian and beach bike path on the first day that Long Beach reopened the path on Monday May 11, 2020. The city of Long Beach eased a few of its public health restrictions, allowing under certain guidelines the reopening of pedestrian and beach bike paths, tennis centers and courts. Beach bathrooms are also reopening, but the parking lots and beaches still remain closed. (Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times) 2 / 83 Traffic remains light on the southbound 110 Freeway headed toward downtown Los Angeles on April 28. (Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times) 3 / 83 Dominique Barrett, center, known as “King Vader” to his 2.4 million TikTok followers, prepares to shoot a video on April 30 in Glendora. (Dania Maxwell / Los Angeles Times) 4 / 83 Cody Purcell of Redondo Beach rides a wave, glowing from the bioluminescence, in Hermosa Beach, CA, after midnight Friday morning, May 8. (Jay L. Clendenin/Los Angeles Times) 5 / 83 Friends play spikeball, a game perfect for social distancing on an open but restricted San Buenaventura State Beach. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times) 6 / 83 The majority of golfers are wearing masks while hitting balls on the driving range at Van Buren Executive Golf Course in Riverside. (Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times) 7 / 83 Beaches including Harbor Cove Beach were open but beachgoers were not supposed to be sitting on the sand. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times) 8 / 83 Tango instructor Yelizaveta Nersesova leads a Zoom tango event from her Los Angeles home April 27 that brought together hundreds of dancers from around the world. (Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times) 9 / 83 Grocery store workers, joined by United Food and Commercial Workers International Union Local 770 representatives and community members, hold a rally in support of strict social distancing on May 1 at a Ralphs store in Hollywood where 19 employees have tested positive for COVID-19. (Kent Nishimura / Los Angeles Times) 10 / 83 Mostly masked commuters keep their distance from one another on a Metro bus in downtown Los Angeles on April 29. (Gabriella Angotti-Jones / Los Angeles Times) 11 / 83 Gregory Kuhl, 69, heads home after a shopping trip in Hollywood on April 28. Big cracks in the street, cars parked in driveways blocking sidewalks and uneven pavement levels make navigating his route difficult. (Dania Maxwell / Los Angeles Times) 12 / 83 Tenants and their supporters from across Los Angeles gather at city hall to call on L.A. Mayor Eric Garcetti, the L.A. City Council and California Gov. Gavin Newsom to cancel rent and mortgage payments during the COVID-19 crisis. (Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times) 13 / 83 Aerial view of over 100 vehicles lined up at the West Valley COVID-19 testing center at Warner Center in Woodland Hills. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times) 14 / 83 Senior Mason Wise, left, helps his sister, Mackenzie, a sophomore, clean out her PE locker at El Camino Real Charter High School in Woodland Hills. School officials were allowing no more than five students at a time on campus to take home their belongings. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times) 15 / 83 Shuttered storefront businesses in the garment district of Los Angeles. California’s unemployment rate has skyrocketed since the statewide coronavirus shutdown took effect. (Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times) 16 / 83 Healthcare workers celebrate as Claudia Martinez is discharged from the ICU after she recovered from COVID-19 at Scripps Mercy Hospital in Chula Vista. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times) 17 / 83 Carson residents Kaeli Burks, 3, left, and her cousin Bailey Watson, 5, look out the window of their car after their mothers helped them with self-testing at a new drive-up testing site for COVID-19 in Carson. Free COVID-19 testing is available to all city residents thanks to a partnership between the city and US Health Fairs. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times) 18 / 83 Norm and Tracy Kahn enjoy eating dinner outside on a small cafe table sitting in blue chairs on their side yard during the coronavirus pandemic on April 27 in Riverside. “During this pandemic, eating outside offers us an opportunity to change surrounding and appreciate the calmness of being outdoors among trees, scents from nature and the sounds of birds,” she said. Also adding, “Mixing up where we eat puts variety into our days and takes away the sameness of feeling trapped at home.” (Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times) 19 / 83 Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center nurses carry supplies outside the hospital. (Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times) 20 / 83 Tom Sean Foley pauses on a walk with his kids, Cathelen Claire, “C.C.,” 3, and Timothy Joseph, 4, to take a photo in front of the “Love Wall,” mural by artist Curtis Kulig, outside of Smashbox Studios in Culver City. (Jay L. Clendenin / Los Angeles Times) 21 / 83 Protesters stand along Mission Blvd. in Pacific Beach during A Day of Liberty rally on April 26. The protesters were against the government shutdown due to the coronavirus. (K.C. Alfred / San Diego Union-Tribune) 22 / 83 People make orders at a food truck along Shoreline Avenue in Long Beach. (Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times) 23 / 83 Medical staff, wearing protective gear, work inside a COVID-19 isolation area inside the emergency department at Los Angeles County-USC Medical Center in Los Angeles, where patients with the virus are being treated. (Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times) 24 / 83 Neighbors practice social distancing while enjoying the nice weather near The Strand in Hermosa Beach. (Gabriella Angotti-Jones / Los Angeles Times) 25 / 83 Counter-protesters attend a protest to call on state and local officials to reopen the economy in downtown Los Angeles. (Christina House / Los Angeles Times) 26 / 83 A group of protesters cheer on cars during a vehicle caravan protest to call on state and local officials to reopen the economy in downtown Los Angeles. (Christina House / Los Angeles Times) 27 / 83 Cedar Mountain Post Acute Rehabilitation staff member Navi Cavaltera waters a flower pot put up by the community to show their support for the nursing staff of the facility in Yucaipa. Eighteen of 20 coronavirus-related deaths in Yucaipa were residents of the skilled nursing facility. (Irfan Khan / Los Angeles Times) 28 / 83 A pedestrian wearing a protective mask passes a mural on a store on Melrose Avenue in the Fairfax district of Los Angeles. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times) 29 / 83 Jonte Florence, a freestyle dancer, does a handstand on a mostly empty Hollywood Walk of Fame. Florence said he normally performs for hundreds of tourists along the busy street. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times) 30 / 83 The Tyrannosaurus rex overlooking the intersection of Hollywood Boulevard and Highland Avenue wears a protective mask while practicing social distancing. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times) 31 / 83 Businesses are shuttered and pedestrians are few and far between on Hollywood Boulevard. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times) 32 / 83 Daniel Rogerson wears a vintage military gas mask while riding a bike along the beach path in Santa Monica, which is closed to enforce social distancing because of the coronavirus pandemic. (Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times) 33 / 83 A face mask seller in colorful dress appears to be part of a mural behind a bus stop on Soto Street in Los Angeles. (Irfan Khan / Los Angeles Times) 34 / 83 Life around Cesar E. Chavez Boulevard and Soto Street has slowed down as California officials extended stay-at-home orders into May and residents entered Easter weekend with unprecedented limits on their movements. (Irfan Khan / Los Angeles Times) 35 / 83 UC Irvine Medical Center health care workers return their gratitude as about 25 Orange County first responder vehicles participate in a drive-by parade of gratitude as they battle COVID-19 at the hospital. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times) 36 / 83 Billy Budd, 55, of Hollywood, walks along Hollywood Boulevard with a protective face covering. Budd is a scenic artist for movies and television who is currently out of work due to the coronavirus outbreak. (Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times) 37 / 83 Stuart Reyes and his sister, Stephanie, sell masks for $5 each on the 3000 block of West Century Boulevard in Inglewood. Stuart Reyes said he is selling masks to support his mother. (Irfan Khan / Los Angeles Times) 38 / 83 A jogger runs on a closed trail past dozens of pieces of caution tape, torn off by hikers and mountain bikers at El Escorpion Canyon Park in West Hills. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times) 39 / 83 Alex Herron and nurse Mercy Pineda at a blood drive sponsored by USC athletics and the American Red Cross at USC’s Galen Center. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times) 40 / 83 Los Angeles City Hall displays blue lights to show support for healthcare workers and first responders. (Gary Coronado / Los Angeles Times) 41 / 83 After being indoors for several days because of rainy weather and coronavirus stay-at-home orders, Olivia Jacobs, 4, and her mom, Cia Jacobs, enjoy a warm and sunny afternoon making chalk drawings on the sidewalk in front of their home in West Hills. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times) 42 / 83 An Oceanview Plaza security guard sports a whimsical mask while on patrol. (Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times) 43 / 83 Jacob De Wilde, left, and Lesli Lytle load a car with food during a food distribution organized to mark Good Friday. (Irfan Khan / Los Angeles Times) 44 / 83 As a late season storm continues to make its way across the Southland, a young basketball player dribbles along an alley through an Elysian Park neighborhood in Los Angeles. (Kent Nishimura / Los Angeles Times) 45 / 83 People are silhouetted in a window of an apartment building in Hollywood, where a stay-at-home order remains in effect to help curb the spread of the coronavirus. (Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times) 46 / 83 The Wilshire Grand Center display blue lights and a heart to show support for healthcare workers and first responders. (Gary Coronado / Los Angeles Times) 47 / 83 Women wear masks as they stroll along Highland Avenue in Hollywood. Wearing masks while outdoors is mandatory in the city of Los Angeles. (Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times) 48 / 83 Patients are removed from Magnolia Rehabilitation and Nursing Center after 39 tested positive for the coronavirus and nursing staff was not showing up to work. (Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times) 49 / 83 A specimen is turned in at the new mobile testing site for people with symptoms of the coronavirus at Charles R. Drew University of Medicine and Science in South Los Angeles. (Christina House / Los Angeles Times) 50 / 83 Hippie Kitchen in Los Angeles hands out food, water and toiletries to homeless people and residents of skid row. Additionally, masks were offered to help reduce the spread of the coronavirus. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times) 51 / 83 Nurses pose for a fun photo during a break in drive-through public testing for the coronavirus at Arrowhead Regional Medical Center in Colton. (Irfan Khan / Los Angeles Times) 52 / 83 A woman shows a notice from her doctor that allows her to obtain a test for coronavirus at a new drive-up testing site in a parking lot at the South Bay Galleria in Redondo Beach. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times) 53 / 83 A person who wishes to remain anonymous strikes from her car to support McDonald’s employees who are demanding the company cover healthcare costs of any worker or immediate family member who gets sick from COVID-19 in Los Angeles. (Dania Maxwell / Los Angeles Times) 54 / 83 Cassidy Roosen, with Beach Cities Health District, holds up a sign that says, “We’re All in This Together,” while waiting to direct cars at a drive-through, appointment-only coronavirus testing location at the South Bay Galleria in Redondo Beach. (Jay L. Clendenin / Los Angeles Times) 55 / 83 Juliann Hartman, center, and her husband, Butch, wave signs they created to cheer up people on Calabasas Road in Calabasas during the pandemic. (Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times) 56 / 83 Grace Carter, 15, of Riverside, practices a dance routine at home after dance classes and school were canceled. She has to use the Zoom app on her iPhone to practice with her dance group. “It’s hard,” she said. “My bedroom is a smaller space. I miss all my friends at the studio.” (Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times) 57 / 83 A man works from his home in Long Beach. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times) 58 / 83 A San Bernardino County healthcare worker takes a sample at a coronavirus drive-through testing site at the county fairgrounds in Victorville. (Irfan Khan / Los Angeles Times) 59 / 83 A Metro general service employee disinfects a bench in Boyle Heights. (Gary Coronado / Los Angeles Times) 60 / 83 A runner jogs past the Pottery Barn in Pasadena. Some businesses in the area have boarded up their stores. (Al Seib / Los Angeles Times) 61 / 83 Raquel Lezama and daughter Monica Ramos collect meals for their family at Manual Arts High School. Lezama was laid off from her $17.76-an-hour job at a Beverly Hills hotel. (Al Seib / Los Angeles Times) 62 / 83 The Iron City Tavern in San Pedro tries an incentive to lure takeout customers. (Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times) 63 / 83 Healthcare workers gather outside UCLA Ronald Reagan Medical Center to call for further action from the federal government in response to the COVID-19 outbreak. (Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times) 64 / 83 Kristen Edgerle, of Victorville, collects information from a blood donor before drawing blood at The Richard Nixon Presidential Library blood drive during the coronavirus pandemic in Yorba Linda. (Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times) 65 / 83 Shauna Jin, of Los Angeles, with her dog, Bodhi, practices social distancing with John Kiss, of Los Angeles, at the entrance of Runyon Canyon Park in Los Angeles. (Gary Coronado / Los Angeles Times) 66 / 83 A lending library had some additional useful items, including a roll of toilet paper and cans of beans and corn, in a Hermosa Beach neighborhood. (Jay L. Clendenin / Los Angeles Times) 67 / 83 Protesters drive by the Getty House, the home of L.A. Mayor Eric Garcetti, in Hancock Park. Tenant advocates are demanding a total moratorium on evictions during the coronavirus crisis. (Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times) 68 / 83 Venice residents Emily Berry and Gavin Kelley take a break at Venice Beach. Berry, a cocktail waitress at Enterprise Fish Co., lost her job due to the coronavirus outbreak. Kelley, a manager at a performing arts school with a focus on music, said that he still has a job and that classes at the school will resume online this coming Monday. (Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times) 69 / 83 The JW Marriott at L.A. Live is sharing a message of hope with red lights in 34 windows, creating a 19-story display on the hotel’s north side. (Gary Coronado / Los Angeles Times) 70 / 83 Juan Diaz Jr., a lifelong Dodgers fan, prays that the season will start by May in front of Dodger Stadium on what would have been opening day. (Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times) 71 / 83 Hayley, CEO and founder of Love My Neighbor Foundation, right, dances with Crystal Armster, 51, while she and her colleagues continue to feed the homeless on skid row amid the pandemic. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times) 72 / 83 A masked passenger on a Metro bus in downtown Los Angeles. (Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times) 73 / 83 Dede Oneal waits for a coronavirus test at the Crenshaw Christian Center in South Los Angeles. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times) 74 / 83 A man in a mask passes a closed restaurant along Spring Street in downtown Los Angeles. (Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times) 75 / 83 Artist Corie Mattie paints a mural on the side of a pop-up store as a man takes a picture in West Hollywood. (Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times) 76 / 83 Medical assistant Zoila Villalta works with Rosie Boston, 32, of Glendale, who is donating blood for her first time at L.A. Care Health Plan downtown. (Al Seib / Los Angeles Times) 77 / 83 A couple wait for a bus outside the Petersen Automotive Museum in Los Angeles. (Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times) 78 / 83 With all Los Angeles schools closed until further notice, LAUSD buses sit idle in Gardena. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times) 79 / 83 A lone traveler makes his way to catch a flight in Tom Bradley International Terminal. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times) 80 / 83 Denise Young looks on as her daughter, Allison, 9, a fourth-grader at EARThS (Environmental Academy of Research Technology and Earth Sciences) Magnet School in Newbury Park, receives a Chromebook. (Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times) 81 / 83 Hollywood Boulevard is devoid of the usual crowds. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times) 82 / 83 Michael Ray, 11, plays before a movie at the Paramount Drive-In. (Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times) 83 / 83 Isabella Leader, 15, counts how many flags have been left for World War II veteran Lt. Col. Sam Sachs who was celebrating his 105th birthday at the Mom & Dad’s House, an assisted living facility, in Lakewood. Lt. Col. Sachs appealed to the public for birthday cards after the coronavirus pandemic forced the cancellation of a big celebration and wound up receiving thousands, including a letter and photo from President Trump. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)
“As the world’s largest public research university system, UC is confronting many of the worst impacts of the virus all at once,” she wrote. More funding, she added, would “help UC provide students the education they were promised, treat our employees with fairness and provide our communities with compassionate care.”
The 23-campus California State University system estimates its lost monthly revenue at about $100 million, according to spokesman Michael Uhlenkamp.
H.D. Palmer, a Department of Finance spokesman, said all requests for additional funding would be reviewed but that Newsom is preparing a May revision that is essentially flat and “could go further than that” — meaning budget cuts. The state could face a deficit of as much as $35 billion in the near future, legislative analyst Gabriel Petek said Thursday.
The impact on UC campuses could be particularly dire. Their unanticipated costs reached about $310 million in March — amounting to about 40% of $775 million monthly revenue in a system with an annual $9.3-billion core budget, according to Christopher Newfield, a UC Santa Barbara professor and systemwide budget expert.
Without additional funding, students may face larger class sizes, reduced course offerings, more difficulty getting into needed classes and potentially higher tuition, said Michael Meranze, a UCLA historian who has long studied UC finances. A generation of scholars could be sidelined if UC lacks the funds to recruit them, jeopardizing the system’s renowned innovation and intellectual leadership, he said.
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“If they are not reimbursed, the losses caused by the COVID-19 pandemic will be disastrous for the UC system,” Meranze said.
Caroline Siegel-Singh, a UC San Diego student leader, said hiring freezes, furloughs or layoffs in coming months would reduce staff for needed student services, such as financial aid assistance and mental health counseling.
“If campuses have to eat these cuts, the unfortunate reality is that it will lead to a serious degradation of the student experience at the university,” she said.
Varsha Sarveshwar, UC Student Assn. president, said that campuses “did the right thing” in allowing students to leave, reimbursing their housing and meal plan payments and purchasing laptops and Wi-Fi for those who needed them. She said UC should not be expected to pay the costs of that support alone.
Napolitano’s letter provided the first detailed look at the extraordinary financial impact of the pandemic on the 10-campus UC system, which educates 285,000 students and employs 227,000 faculty, researchers and staff. The recently enacted federal Coronavirus Aid, Relief, and Economic Security Act, known as CARES, will provide an estimated $437 million in aid to UC campuses and medical centers, Napolitano said, but that would not fully cover even a month of the extra costs.
The federal bill provides nearly $14 billion overall for higher education. But the American Council on Education, an association of more than 1,700 colleges and universities, has criticized that sum as “woefully inadequate” and called for $50 billion in aid.
Colleges and universities throughout the state and nation already are beginning to take austerity measures as pandemic-related costs mount. UC Berkeley alone announced this month that the pandemic would cost the campus “$100 million and growing” with lost revenue from canceled housing and dining contracts, public performances and sports events, along with higher costs for technology.
UC San Diego Chancellor Pradeep Khosla said the campus losses for about 10,000 canceled housing and dining contracts could total nearly $40 million. The medical center had to cancel all elective surgeries and keep 40% of hospital beds open in case of a surge of COVID-19 cases, which could cost more than $40 million in lost revenue. Technology costs sharply increased as well, he said, as the campus purchased more than 500 laptops for students for the shift to remote learning.
“We are in for some really challenging times,” Khosla said in an interview.
The costs could continue to soar if campuses stay shuttered with remote learning through the fall — as Khosla said was a possibility. If they do, some students have said they will take a gap year or enroll at community colleges instead.
To reduce costs, UC Berkeley and UC San Francisco have instituted a hiring freeze, as have dozens of other campuses including USC, Stanford and Harvard. Those private institutions also have announced salary cuts for senior leaders.
As UC reels, it also will probably suffer the loss of new state revenue. Napolitano said that Newsom’s proposed 5% increase for UC, amounting to $217.7 million, was off the table for now, although additional funding would be considered after July tax returns are in.
In addition, UC regents have postponed a planned vote on a five-year proposal to raise tuition for incoming classes beginning this fall.
According to Napolitano, unanticipated new costs and revenue losses include:


latimes--2020-04-16--Coronavirus has kept mariachis out of work. They sang to L.A.'s mayor for help

Cielito lindo , vienen bajando ( Sweet little heaven , is prancing down ) , Cielito lindo , de contrabando @ @ @ @ @ is sneaking by ) .
More than a dozen musicians from mariachi groups in Boyle @ @ @ @ @ gathered to play several songs at Mariachi Plaza , asking Mayor Eric Garcetti and Los @ @ @ @ @ economic support during the coronavirus pandemic sweeping Los Angeles County .
The musicians have been @ @ @ @ @ weeks and need help to pay rent and bills and to support their families .
@ @ @ @ @ , many of their jobs have dried up .
As the mariachis played , passing @ @ @ @ @ A small crowd gathered to hear the heartwarming music so often heard at the plaza @ @ @ @ @ When they finished playing , the crowd began to applaud and asked for more .

De la Sierra Morena (From the Sierra Morena) ,
Cielito lindo, vienen bajando (Sweet little heaven, is prancing down),
Un par de ojitos negros (A pair of little black eyes),
Cielito lindo, de contrabando (Sweet little heaven, is sneaking by).
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More than a dozen musicians from mariachi groups in Boyle Heights and the surrounding area gathered to play several songs at Mariachi Plaza, asking Mayor Eric Garcetti and Los Angeles Councilman Jose Huizar for economic support during the coronavirus pandemic sweeping Los Angeles County.
Ay, ay, ay, ay ( Ay, ay, ay, ay),
Canta y no llores ( Sing, don’t cry),
Porque cantando se alegran ( Because singing makes rejoice),
Cielito lindo, los corazones ( Sweet little heaven, our hearts),
The musicians have been out of work for six weeks and need help to pay rent and bills and to support their families. Since the pandemic broke out, many of their jobs have dried up.
Alex Cisneros, second from left, with other mariachis. (Gary Coronado/Los Angeles Times)
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Alejandro Bustos with his trumpet. (Gary Coronado/Los Angeles Times)
Fernando Cortes walks home along First Street after the performance. (Gary Coronado/Los Angeles Times)
“We are asking for support, we would like for our message to get out to organizations that can help us because all of the mariachi are in a disastrous situation.” — Israel Moreno, of Boyle Heights
Francisco Hernandez performs with other mariachis. (Gary Coronado/Los Angeles Times)
Alejandro Bustos uses his tie as a mask. (Gary Coronado/Los Angeles Times)
Alejandro Bustos, left, crosses First Street after the performance. (Gary Coronado/Los Angeles Times)
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As the mariachis played, passing cars honked in support. A small crowd gathered to hear the heartwarming music so often heard at the plaza and at community events. When they finished playing, the crowd began to applaud and asked for more.


latimes--2020-04-15--Searing photos show what it's like inside this San Diego hospital right now

From doctors and nurses to technicians and maintenance employees , many healthcare workers are finding themselves learning to do long-familiar jobs in new ways as they battle COVID-19 .
In emergency rooms and intensive care units , front-line workers have a universal observation : Caring for COVID-19 patients safely takes extreme levels of coordination .
A reporter and photographer got a close look at those efforts April 10 when Sharp HealthCare , San Diego ’ s largest health system , granted access to two of its main locations , Sharp Memorial Hospital and Sharp Chula Vista Medical Center .
Whether @ @ @ @ @ @ @ collecting samples from newly arrived emergency patients for testing , or monitoring blood oxygen levels at the bedside , no one works without significant backup .
Workers who enter patient rooms are under the watchful gaze of colleagues on the unit .
Emergency workers used to moving quickly from patient to patient have had to learn to slow down as they put on and take off layer after layer of protective equipment .
It ’ s not , says registered nurse and infection preventionist Cindy Stuart , just about the work of doctors @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of healthcare worker tend to get most of the attention , the cast of characters in this particular drama is much broader .
“ None of this could be achieved without so many , our respiratory department , our lab workers , our support staff , engineering , IT , I mean everybody , ” Stuart said .
“ This could not happen without the entire multidisciplinary team .
When I hear that phrase ‘ healthcare heroes , ’ I know people think doctors and nurses , but it ’ s so much @ @ @ @ @

From doctors and nurses to technicians and maintenance employees, many healthcare workers are finding themselves learning to do long-familiar jobs in new ways as they battle COVID-19.
In emergency rooms and intensive care units, front-line workers have a universal observation: Caring for COVID-19 patients safely takes extreme levels of coordination. A reporter and photographer got a close look at those efforts April 10 when Sharp HealthCare, San Diego’s largest health system, granted access to two of its main locations, Sharp Memorial Hospital and Sharp Chula Vista Medical Center.
Whether turning sedated patients in ICU beds, collecting samples from newly arrived emergency patients for testing, or monitoring blood oxygen levels at the bedside, no one works without significant backup. Workers who enter patient rooms are under the watchful gaze of colleagues on the unit. Emergency workers used to moving quickly from patient to patient have had to learn to slow down as they put on and take off layer after layer of protective equipment.
It’s not, says registered nurse and infection preventionist Cindy Stuart, just about the work of doctors and nurses. Though those two categories of healthcare worker tend to get most of the attention, the cast of characters in this particular drama is much broader.
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“None of this could be achieved without so many, our respiratory department, our lab workers, our support staff, engineering, IT, I mean everybody,” Stuart said. “This could not happen without the entire multidisciplinary team. When I hear that phrase ‘healthcare heroes,’ I know people think doctors and nurses, but it’s so much more than that.”
Wearing personal protective equipment, nurse April Bandi cares for a patient with possible COVID-19 symptoms inside a negative-pressure isolation room Sharp Memorial Hospital in San Diego. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
Nurse Arnold Garcia checks Michael Weiss’ vital signs after he was admitted with possible COVID-19 symptoms at Sharp Chula Vista Medical Center. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
Dr. Keith Yablonicky, center, gets help from nurse Jennifer Livengood putting on his personal protective equipment. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
Nurse Sarah Barrile, left, gets help from nurse Brittney Grayson disinfecting her personal protective equipment after caring for a patient who is using a ventilator. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
Nurses check the details on emergency department patients at Sharp Memorial Hospital in San Diego. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
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Nurse Arnold Garcia, center, gets help from a colleague in decontaminating and disinfecting his personal protective equipment after treating a patient with possible COVID-19. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
Staff unload a patient who has COVID-19 symptoms at Sharp Chula Vista Medical Center. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
Nurses perform an N95 respirator fit test at the new ICU wing at Sharp Chula Vista Medical Center. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
Nurse Sarah Barrile cares for a patient with COVID-19 symptoms who has been placed on a ventilator. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
Nurses Shauna Stanfill, left, and Arnold Garcia care for Michael Weiss at Sharp Chula Vista. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
Linda Isidienu displays her visor, which has been used and cleaned repeatedly as medical staff try to preserve protective gear at the medical center. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
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Nurses stand by to aid fellow nurses working inside the negative-pressure isolation room where patients with COVID-19 symptoms are placed. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
Linda Isidienu cares for an intubated patient at Sharp Chula Vista Medical Center. (Marcus Yam/Los Angeles Times)
A nurse gets help putting on her personal protective equipment at Sharp Chula Vista. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
Reyna Gomez, left, communicates with Norah Pena and John Stanley, who are caring for a COVID-19 patient. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
From left, nurses Michael Manriquez and Linda Isidienu, and Tiffany Matthews, a respiratory therapist, carefully reposition an intubated patient. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
California 20 heartwarming photos show gratitude for healthcare workers Firefighters and law enforcement officers from L.A. to Laguna Beach express their gratitude to healthcare workers for their efforts in fighting COVID-19.


latimes--2020-04-15--20 heartwarming photos show gratitude for healthcare workers

Healthcare workers from Glendale to Mission Viejo were honored Tuesday by first responders who drove firetrucks , highway patrol cars @ @ @ @ @ of tribute for their efforts amid the COVID-19 pandemic .
At UC Irvine Medical Center @ @ @ @ @ gathered outside to acknowledge a parade of about 25 emergency vehicles honoring them with sirens @ @ @ @ @ procession paused outside the windows of an emergency room , where workers inside banged on @ @ @ @ @ of mutual appreciation .
At Mission Hospital in Mission Viejo , Orange County sheriff ’ @ @ @ @ @ the cardiac rehab unit .
And a group of Glendale police officers and firefighters gathered @ @ @ @ @ Adventist Health Glendale .

Allen J. Schaben , Luis Sinco , Robert Gauthier, Kent Nishimura

Healthcare workers from Glendale to Mission Viejo were honored Tuesday by first responders who drove firetrucks, highway patrol cars and police vehicles in processions of tribute for their efforts amid the COVID-19 pandemic. At UC Irvine Medical Center in Orange, healthcare workers gathered outside to acknowledge a parade of about 25 emergency vehicles honoring them with sirens and flashing lights. The procession paused outside the windows of an emergency room, where workers inside banged on the windows in a show of mutual appreciation. At Mission Hospital in Mission Viejo, Orange County sheriff’s deputies honored nurses from the cardiac rehab unit. And a group of Glendale police officers and firefighters gathered to honor the workers at Adventist Health Glendale.
UC Irvine Medical Center
UC Irvine Medical Center workers acknowledge police officers parading in their honor. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
UC Irvine Medical Center workers wave to firefighters. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
An Anaheim firefighter in the procession at UC Irvine Medical Center. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)
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St. Jude Medical Center
Medical personnel from St. Jude Medical Center stand clustered on the sidewalk as Fullerton and Brea Firefighters, EMS and Police join together in a show of support for healthcare workers outside of the hospital in Fullerton. (Kent Nishimura/Los Angeles Times)
Medical personnel pose for pictures with Fullerton firefighters in a show of support for healthcare workers outside of the St. Jude Medical Center in Fullerton. (Kent Nishimura/Los Angeles Times)
Firefighters stand atop a Fullerton Fire Department Engine in a show of support for healthcare workers outside of the St. Jude Medical Center in Fullerton. (Kent Nishimura/Los Angeles Times)
Adventist Health Glendale
Adventist Health Glendale workers take a break to acknowledge the tribute in their honor. (Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times)
Healthcare workers, police officers and firefighters gather outside the Glendale hospital. (Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times)
(Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times )
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Healthcare workers in Glendale. (Luis Sinco /Los Angeles Times)
Police officers applaud at the Glendale hospital. (Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times)
Providence St. Joseph Medical Center
A vintage Burbank police car leads a procession to honor healthcare workers at Providence St. Joseph Medical Center in Burbank. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)
Healthcare workers wave to friends before the start of a procession to honor nurses during a noon celebration in front of Providence St. Joseph Medical Center in Burbank. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)
First responders proceed with lights and sirens on Alameda Avenue to honor healthcare workers at Providence St. Joseph Medical Center in Burbank. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)
Mission Hospital
A worker from Mission Hospital in Mission Viejo acknowledges the tribute. (Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
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Nurses from the Mission Hospital cardiac rehab unit are honored. (Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
The scene at the hospital in Mission Viejo. (Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)


latimes--2020-04-18--Coronavirus turned their big wedding into a Zoom event with no loss of joy

Why let the coronavirus rob them of all their joy ?
That was what Owen Smigelski and Carolyne Johnson began to think as the date approached of the big spring wedding they ’ d had no choice but to cancel .
On April 11 , they were supposed to be 200 miles north in San Luis Obispo , saying vows in a church before more than 100 guests .
They were supposed to be dancing with friends and family at the famed Madonna Inn , and spending their first married night in the inn ’ s rock-showered , blue-flowered , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ supposed to be giving their guests who ’ d flown in from as far as Japan fancy cookies as favors — some shaped like three-tiered wedding cakes , featuring their names and the date .
And that date , which was supposed to be their anniversary , was everywhere : on a big sign they ’ d had made , on the cake topper , on the bright red socks they ’ d ordered for themselves and their combined brood of boys , with 4.11.20 woven into a multicolored collection of hearts .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ ?
Why let the virus , which for weeks already had shut them all inside together for work and for school and for everything else in between , turn that day into just another in an endless string they ’ d spend shuffling around their El Segundo home in their sweatpants ?
They decided instead to just go ahead and get wed right when they ’ d meant to without fuss — in front of friends and family , on Zoom .
Instead of moping around and mourning , they took charge and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ much right now is bleak , frightening and beyond our control .
What is happening in our nation ’ s ICUs is the stuff of our nightmares .
We carry fear for our loved ones ’ health and stress about our shutdown finances in our tense necks and shoulders , in knots in our bellies that rarely relax .
But we also reach out for relief from the grim , not just for ourselves but for others .
There is beauty in that .
And there is strength in the way we grab @ @ @ @ @ @ @ aside the tidy maps we ’ ve made for our lives .
I ’ d been thinking a lot about how much we are doing this when Owen announced his Zoom wedding on Twitter , using my virtual community ‘ s # mydayinla hashtag .
People planning their weddings often want everything just so , but just so just isn ’ t practical when we can ’ t even easily find toilet paper .
A Zoom wedding in the middle of this crisis requires letting go of minutiae and cutting right to the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be lovely and liberating .
No matter that Carolyne ’ s wedding gown was still at the nonessential bridal store , shut down before her final alteration .
Owen chose her red dress with big white polka dots , which shows off her curves .
And in accordance with Zoom fashion , he opted for a crisp dress shirt , bright blue tie and suit jacket to cover the part of him that would be seen on screen , but shorts and those red socks for the part of him that wouldn ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Carolyne and Owen were giving up on the big splash .
They ’ d pushed it forward to Sept. 26 , when there ’ s at least a slim chance that we ’ ll all once again be flying on airplanes , staying in hotels and gathering in groups .
But they needed some happy far sooner , not just to fill that now empty big day .
Like many of us , they ’ ve been struggling as the coronavirus upends their lives .
This is the second time around for both @ @ @ @ @ @ @ boys , Ian and Jonah , 9 and 11 , spend half of each week with him and Carolyne .
Carolyne ’ s son Adam , 7 , is with them all the time .
Now with schools closed , the couple — he ’ s a lawyer , she ’ s an engineer — were trying to take meetings at home with roughhousing in the background while also supervising home schooling ( Adam in particular being too young to process school-assigned videos alone . )
And that wasn ’ t all .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ over his business , repairing and installing coin-operated laundry machines .
It ’ s work deemed essential , but in the crisis , jobs quickly dried up .
Her technicians didn ’ t want to do repairs in heavily used public places .
Money stopped coming in .
She had to lay off her five employees and shut down for good — which led to another woe she couldn ’ t have anticipated .
Carolyne ’ s 81-year-old mother usually came to work with her .
At home alone , she was bored @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and fell and hit her head .
Carolyne and her sister , Julie Mullane , got a call from a hospital ICU — not something you want ever but especially not now .
Their mother had a concussion and a brain bleed and — because of the virus — they couldn ’ t visit or help her communicate with nurses and doctors , which can be difficult for her in fraught circumstances .
Her first language is Japanese .
With so much going on , when they decided to get married on April @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they ’ d just go through the ceremony alone , with an officiant at a safe distance .
But why keep it to themselves and not share it with others who also were stressed and stir crazy and short on good cheer ?
They ’ d spent so long meticulously making their original plans .
This one , in a joyful jumble of generosity , had come together in a flash .
One friend , Heidi Wang , who said she wasn ’ t a big cake baker , nevertheless volunteered to bake @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from Agoura Hills and delivered , arm outstretched , wearing a Minnie , Mickey and Goofy mask she ’ d gotten from her kids ’ doctor ’ s office .
Another friend , Tania Rios , found a local florist to make a boutonniere and a bouquet , which Adam would later drag through the cake icing .
She and Edward Su , who owns a local print shop , put “ Just Married ” signs on the couple ’ s cars .
Owen is a member of a nonprofit , service-oriented social @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s Club .
In a Zoom club meeting , a fellow member ordained online by the Church of the Latter-Day Dude volunteered to be the officiant .
Scott Humphries had been friends with Owen for a matter of months .
He ’ d meet the bride for the first time onscreen at the ceremony — as he sat upper-half dressed up before a pastoral Zoom background that mostly hid his 7-year-old daughter ’ s Disney-princess-themed bedroom , which recently became his home office .
At 3 p.m. that Saturday afternoon , right when @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the altar , Carolyne and Owen sat before a laptop screen at a table in their backyard .
As the boys bounced up and down behind them on the trampoline , they prepared to say their I dos .
Owen opened the Zoom session and so many faces suddenly appeared that they had to toggle among multiple screens just to see them all and say hello .
Some people were dressed up , some casually rumpled .
A couple of bridesmaids wore their gowns .
Some guests sat in their living rooms munching @ @ @ @ @ @ @ unseen , watching TV one way .
Babies burbled .
Dogs moved across frames .
Fingers filled them .
People wandered away and returned .
Conversations some thought were private really weren ’ t .
It was definitely free form , even in El Segundo , where Ian danced for the camera , and Adam grabbed the big cake knife and mussed his mother ’ s carefully pinned , self-styled hair .
Still , vows were said .
Champagne glasses were raised .
Owen gave a toast , “ Here ’ s to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a bunch of craziness , ” and it seemed that everyone had .
They laughed .
They smiled .
They beamed their love out .
It spread .
Neighbors that Owen and Carolyne had never met saw the “ Just Married ” signs on the cars and dropped off a card and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot .
On April 11 , as planned , Owen and Carolyne joyfully got married — which is all that mattered — and not even a pandemic could stop the celebrating .

Why let the coronavirus rob them of all their joy? That was what Owen Smigelski and Carolyne Johnson began to think as the date approached of the big spring wedding they’d had no choice but to cancel.
On April 11, they were supposed to be 200 miles north in San Luis Obispo, saying vows in a church before more than 100 guests.
They were supposed to be dancing with friends and family at the famed Madonna Inn, and spending their first married night in the inn’s rock-showered, blue-flowered, wonderfully retro-kitschy Romance room.
Advertisement
They were supposed to be giving their guests who’d flown in from as far as Japan fancy cookies as favors — some shaped like three-tiered wedding cakes, featuring their names and the date.
And that date, which was supposed to be their anniversary, was everywhere: on a big sign they’d had made, on the cake topper, on the bright red socks they’d ordered for themselves and their combined brood of boys, with 4.11.20 woven into a multicolored collection of hearts.
But why wait on supposed to be? Why let the virus, which for weeks already had shut them all inside together for work and for school and for everything else in between, turn that day into just another in an endless string they’d spend shuffling around their El Segundo home in their sweatpants?
They decided instead to just go ahead and get wed right when they’d meant to without fuss — in front of friends and family, on Zoom.
Instead of moping around and mourning, they took charge and took a stand against sadness.
Advertisement
So much right now is bleak, frightening and beyond our control. What is happening in our nation’s ICUs is the stuff of our nightmares. We carry fear for our loved ones’ health and stress about our shutdown finances in our tense necks and shoulders, in knots in our bellies that rarely relax.
But we also reach out for relief from the grim, not just for ourselves but for others. There is beauty in that. And there is strength in the way we grab the reins where we can and toss aside the tidy maps we’ve made for our lives.
I’d been thinking a lot about how much we are doing this when Owen announced his Zoom wedding on Twitter, using my virtual community‘s #mydayinla hashtag.
People planning their weddings often want everything just so, but just so just isn’t practical when we can’t even easily find toilet paper. A Zoom wedding in the middle of this crisis requires letting go of minutiae and cutting right to the heart of it all — which can be lovely and liberating.
Owen and Carolyne Smigelski with their three children, (L-R), Ian Smigelski, 9, Jonah Smigelski, 11, and Adam Johnson, 7, at their home in El Segundo. (Gary Coronado/Los Angeles Times)
No matter that Carolyne’s wedding gown was still at the nonessential bridal store, shut down before her final alteration. Owen chose her red dress with big white polka dots, which shows off her curves. And in accordance with Zoom fashion, he opted for a crisp dress shirt, bright blue tie and suit jacket to cover the part of him that would be seen on screen, but shorts and those red socks for the part of him that wouldn’t.
It wasn’t that Carolyne and Owen were giving up on the big splash. They’d pushed it forward to Sept. 26, when there’s at least a slim chance that we’ll all once again be flying on airplanes, staying in hotels and gathering in groups.
But they needed some happy far sooner, not just to fill that now empty big day. Like many of us, they’ve been struggling as the coronavirus upends their lives.
This is the second time around for both of them. Owen’s two boys, Ian and Jonah, 9 and 11, spend half of each week with him and Carolyne. Carolyne’s son Adam, 7, is with them all the time. Now with schools closed, the couple — he’s an Internet lawyer, she’s an engineer — were trying to take meetings at home with roughhousing in the background while also supervising home schooling (Adam in particular being too young to process school-assigned videos alone.) And that wasn’t all.
When her father died, Carolyne took over his business, repairing and installing coin-operated laundry machines. It’s work deemed essential, but in the crisis, jobs quickly dried up. Her technicians didn’t want to do repairs in heavily used public places. Money stopped coming in. She had to lay off her five employees and shut down for good — which led to another woe she couldn’t have anticipated.
Carolyne’s 81-year-old mother usually came to work with her. At home alone, she was bored. One day she took a walk and fell and hit her head. Carolyne and her sister, Julie Mullane, got a call from a hospital ICU — not something you want ever but especially not now. Their mother had a concussion and a brain bleed and — because of the virus — they couldn’t visit or help her communicate with nurses and doctors, which can be difficult for her in fraught circumstances. Her first language is Japanese.
With so much going on, when they decided to get married on April 11 after all, they initially thought they’d just go through the ceremony alone, with an officiant at a safe distance.
But why keep it to themselves and not share it with others who also were stressed and stir crazy and short on good cheer?
They’d spent so long meticulously making their original plans. This one, in a joyful jumble of generosity, had come together in a flash.
One friend, Heidi Wang, who said she wasn’t a big cake baker, nevertheless volunteered to bake them a cake — which she drove from Agoura Hills and delivered, arm outstretched, wearing a Minnie, Mickey and Goofy mask she’d gotten from her kids’ doctor’s office. Another friend, Tania Rios, found a local florist to make a boutonniere and a bouquet, which Adam would later drag through the cake icing. She and Edward Su, who owns a local print shop, put “Just Married” signs on the couple’s cars.
Owen is a member of a nonprofit, service-oriented social organization called the El Segundo Dad’s Club. In a Zoom club meeting, a fellow member ordained online by the Church of the Latter-Day Dude volunteered to be the officiant.
Scott Humphries had been friends with Owen for a matter of months. He’d meet the bride for the first time onscreen at the ceremony — as he sat upper-half dressed up before a pastoral Zoom background that mostly hid his 7-year-old daughter’s Disney-princess-themed bedroom, which recently became his home office.
Owen Smigelski and Carolyne Johnson were married over zoom because of the coronavirus pandemic. (Smigelski/Johnson zoom video)
At 3 p.m. that Saturday afternoon, right when they had planned to be standing at the altar, Carolyne and Owen sat before a laptop screen at a table in their backyard. As the boys bounced up and down behind them on the trampoline, they prepared to say their I dos. Owen opened the Zoom session and so many faces suddenly appeared that they had to toggle among multiple screens just to see them all and say hello.
Some people were dressed up, some casually rumpled. A couple of bridesmaids wore their gowns. Some guests sat in their living rooms munching on snacks, as if they were unseen, watching TV one way. Babies burbled. Dogs moved across frames. Fingers filled them. People wandered away and returned. Conversations some thought were private really weren’t.
It was definitely free form, even in El Segundo, where Ian danced for the camera, and Adam grabbed the big cake knife and mussed his mother’s carefully pinned, self-styled hair.
Still, vows were said. Champagne glasses were raised. Owen gave a toast, “Here’s to finding a little bit of happiness in a bunch of craziness,” and it seemed that everyone had.
They laughed. They smiled. They beamed their love out. It spread. Neighbors that Owen and Carolyne had never met saw the “Just Married” signs on the cars and dropped off a card and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot.
On April 11, as planned, Owen and Carolyne joyfully got married — which is all that mattered — and not even a pandemic could stop the celebrating.


latimes--2020-04-18--Boom times for cannabis businesses as Californians, in a pandemic fog, isolate indoors

If there ’ s one business the coronavirus has kissed with fortune , it ’ s weed .
“ Business is up , oh , about one hundred percent , ” said Ryan Moran , operations manager for the Flower Co. , a marijuana distributor in Arcata — a small college town , seated on Humboldt Bay , just north of Eureka .
Moran , who hails from New Jersey , said his company provides next-day delivery for communities in the San Francisco Bay Area , and as of Friday , he expected to start next-day service for Los Angeles @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Next Day LA , ” he said .
The Flower Co. 's offices are in a small , newly constructed office park , where all the tenants work in the weed business , said Moran .
A constant stream of small Toyota pickup trucks and Subarus filtered in and out of the parking lot Wednesday morning .
A late-model BMW idled outside the adjacent building ’ s entrance .
Moran said his business really started to pick up on March 16 , after seven Bay Area counties announced a shelter-in-place order .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” he said , which dipped soon after , apparently because people thought that weed shops would be shuttered .
But then on March 22 , Gov .
Gavin Newsom declared cannabis and scores of other enterprises to be essential businesses .
After that , sales ratcheted back up , Moran said .
They are now higher than they were after the initial surge .
“ There are a lot of people stuck in their houses right now , ” he said , theorizing about the growth in sales .
” So @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ?
They stream Netflix … and get high .
Or watch movies on Amazon ... and get high .
Or play board games ... and get high .
There ’ s not much else to do.
” He also conceded that job-loss anxiety and people feeling unsettled could be contributing to the demand .
Like other essential businesses operating during this period , Moran has set up new safety protocols for his employees , which include wearing masks , gloves and spacing themselves adequately from one another .
Many of those precautions are @ @ @ @ @ @ @ California and Humboldt County ’ s strict regulations and oversight of the the cannabis industry .
He has had to temporarily outsource his production arm , however , because many of his employees have opted not to come in , fearing contracting the virus .
“ A lot of them had underlying health issues , ” he said .
Eight of the roughly 20 workers he usually employs have been moved to “ pick and pack , ” where they get the product ready for shipping .
The same holds for John Casali @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pot farm in Garberville — 82 miles south of Arcata .
Casali has been in the business since the 1970s , when he and his mother moved to the family ’ s current property — a small , family farm located 20 miles west of 101 , along a winding road that leads through gigantic , centuries-old redwood trees and hilly fields of sun-soaked grass .
It was his mother who started growing the crop , along with other fruits and vegetables such as lettuce , snow peas and tomatoes .
And she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ young son .
By the age of 15 , he was growing his own plants .
“ But that was during the Reagan years , ” he said .
“ Remember ?
The war on drugs.
” Back then , Blackhawk helicopters were frequent sights overhead across all of the “ Emerald Triangle ” — Humboldt , Trinity and Mendocino counties , he said .
“ You ’ d see the helicopters stop and hover in the air , ropes coming flying out the side , and men in black , with AR-17s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ where they ’ d give chase to farmers , such as Casali .
“ They ’ d run you through the woods , to the edges of ravines .
It was terrifying.
” In 1992 , he said , 30 federal agents burst into his house , pushed him to his couch , and held a gun to his head .
And after three years of frequent court appearances in San Francisco , he was sentenced to 10 years in federal prison for the cultivation of cannabis and conspiracy to grow .
As @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he oscillated between tears and bewilderment as he toured his state-and-county-certified greenhouse , where he is growing roughly 2,000 young plants .
Casali ’ s product is distributed by Flow Kana , and he grows strains for Willie ’ s Reserve , Willie Nelson ’ s cannabis company .
He said he is not in the business for the money .
He wants to keep his operation small .
He ’ s the only laborer on the farm and hopes he ’ s providing a product that can help people get through times @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said he has been self-medicating since he was injured in a car accident as a boy , and his mother gave him some weed to ease his pain .
He moved from Los Angeles to Red Bluff in 1972 , where he rides around town in an electric wheelchair after suffering a second accident later in life .
“ There ain ’ t no dispensaries in this town , ” Phillips said , “ This is one poor town.
” As for Casali , he ’ s not an avid user of his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it only for quality — not for recreation .
“ It makes me too relaxed .
I ’ d never keep this farm going if I smoked it , ” he said with a laugh .
Recently , Casali enjoyed a visit from two prison officials he got to know while serving time at the Lompoc Federal Correctional Institution .
He said they stayed with him for three days , and both left with a half-dozen plants to bring home .
“ You just never know how things are going to turn out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ Life is full of surprises.
” Los Angeles Times reporter Susanne Rust and photographer Carolyn Cole are embarking on a road journey throughout California .
They aim to give voice to those in remote parts of California as they grapple with the worst health and economic calamity of our lifetimes .

If there’s one business the coronavirus has kissed with fortune, it’s weed.
“Business is up, oh, about one hundred percent,” said Ryan Moran, operations manager for the Flower Co., a marijuana distributor in Arcata — a small college town, seated on Humboldt Bay, just north of Eureka.
Moran, who hails from New Jersey, said his company provides next-day delivery for communities in the San Francisco Bay Area, and as of Friday, he expected to start next-day service for Los Angeles, too.
“We call it Next Day LA,” he said.
The Flower Co.’s offices are in a small, newly constructed office park, where all the tenants work in the weed business, said Moran. A constant stream of small Toyota pickup trucks and Subarus filtered in and out of the parking lot Wednesday morning. A late-model BMW idled outside the adjacent building’s entrance.
Moran said his business really started to pick up on March 16, after seven Bay Area counties announced a shelter-in-place order.
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Ryan Moran is operations manager of the Flower Co., a cannabis packaging and distribution company in Arcata. (Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times)
“We saw a surge in panic buying,” he said, which dipped soon after, apparently because people thought that weed shops would be shuttered.
But then on March 22, Gov. Gavin Newsom declared cannabis and scores of other enterprises to be essential businesses.
After that, sales ratcheted back up, Moran said. They are now higher than they were after the initial surge.
“There are a lot of people stuck in their houses right now,” he said, theorizing about the growth in sales. ”So, what are they going to do? They stream Netflix … and get high. Or watch movies on Amazon ... and get high. Or play board games ... and get high. There’s not much else to do.”
He also conceded that job-loss anxiety and people feeling unsettled could be contributing to the demand.
Advertisement
Like other essential businesses operating during this period, Moran has set up new safety protocols for his employees, which include wearing masks, gloves and spacing themselves adequately from one another.
Young cannabis plants grow in the greenhouse at Huckleberry Hill Farms in Garberville. (Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times)
Many of those precautions are practiced anyway, he said, given California and Humboldt County’s strict regulations and oversight of the the cannabis industry.
He has had to temporarily outsource his production arm, however, because many of his employees have opted not to come in, fearing contracting the virus.
“A lot of them had underlying health issues,” he said.
Eight of the roughly 20 workers he usually employs have been moved to “pick and pack,” where they get the product ready for shipping.
The same holds for John Casali, owner of a small, craft pot farm in Garberville — 82 miles south of Arcata.
Casali has been in the business since the 1970s, when he and his mother moved to the family’s current property — a small, family farm located 20 miles west of 101, along a winding road that leads through gigantic, centuries-old redwood trees and hilly fields of sun-soaked grass.
Advertisement
It was his mother who started growing the crop, along with other fruits and vegetables such as lettuce, snow peas and tomatoes. And she inspired a love of farming in her young son. By the age of 15, he was growing his own plants.
“But that was during the Reagan years,” he said. “Remember? The war on drugs.”
Back then, Blackhawk helicopters were frequent sights overhead across all of the “Emerald Triangle” — Humboldt, Trinity and Mendocino counties, he said.
“You’d see the helicopters stop and hover in the air, ropes coming flying out the side, and men in black, with AR-17s, descend to the ground,” where they’d give chase to farmers, such as Casali. “They’d run you through the woods, to the edges of ravines. It was terrifying.”
Before cannabis was legalized, Casali was arrested and convicted of growing marijuana and sent to prison. (Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times)
In 1992, he said, 30 federal agents burst into his house, pushed him to his couch, and held a gun to his head. And after three years of frequent court appearances in San Francisco, he was sentenced to 10 years in federal prison for the cultivation of cannabis and conspiracy to grow.
Advertisement
As Casali told his story Thursday morning, he oscillated between tears and bewilderment as he toured his state-and-county-certified greenhouse, where he is growing roughly 2,000 young plants.
Casali’s product is distributed by Flow Kana, and he grows strains for Willie’s Reserve, Willie Nelson’s cannabis company.
He said he is not in the business for the money. He wants to keep his operation small. He’s the only laborer on the farm and hopes he’s providing a product that can help people get through times like this.
People like Brian Phillips.
Phillips, 60, said he has been self-medicating since he was injured in a car accident as a boy, and his mother gave him some weed to ease his pain. He moved from Los Angeles to Red Bluff in 1972, where he rides around town in an electric wheelchair after suffering a second accident later in life.
“There ain’t no dispensaries in this town,” Phillips said, “This is one poor town.”
As for Casali, he’s not an avid user of his own product, he said, testing it only for quality — not for recreation.
John Casali is owner/operator of Huckleberry Hill Farms, an organic cannabis farm in Garberville. (Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times)
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“It makes me too relaxed. I’d never keep this farm going if I smoked it,” he said with a laugh.
Recently, Casali enjoyed a visit from two prison officials he got to know while serving time at the Lompoc Federal Correctional Institution. He said they stayed with him for three days, and both left with a half-dozen plants to bring home.
“You just never know how things are going to turn out,” he said with a laugh. “Life is full of surprises.”
Los Angeles Times reporter Susanne Rust and photographer Carolyn Cole are embarking on a road journey throughout California. They aim to give voice to those in remote parts of California as they grapple with the worst health and economic calamity of our lifetimes.


latimes--2020-04-18--'I don't know how I am going to survive this': How the coronavirus muted the mariachi in L.A.

Pedro Zamora grabbed his silver trumpet and began to play a song inside his new home — an airport shuttle bus .
There had been no work for more than a month , and the 68-year-old mariachi musician could not pay the $ 650 it costs to rent his room in Boyle Heights .
Despite an eviction ban , Zamora said , his landlord demanded the money , so he borrowed $ 250 from his son and moved into the black “ Auto Airport Parking ” shuttle stationed outside of Mariachi Plaza .
Like many mariachis across the United States @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cadences of life .
Mariachis play love songs at wedding receptions , songs about Mexico at festivals and dance halls ; they sing birthday songs at parties and morning serenades on Mother ’ s Day .
They subsist on joy , but they also experience sadness , upon occasion , as they witness the last goodbyes at funerals .
Then came the novel coronavirus , which choked off almost every source of revenue for the musicians who have been plying their trade , from L.A. to Texas and beyond .
Stress came in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ grind his teeth , conjuring a groaning sound like that of a tree bending on a windy day .
“ I only have a dollar in my pocket , ” Zamora said .
“ I don ’ t know how I am going to survive this.
” For nearly a century , mariachis hoping to be hired have made the plaza their home .
Economic struggles , like sad songs , were part of the gig .
Even in the best of times , a job was never guaranteed .
In recent years @ @ @ @ @ @ @ gentrification have always loomed as both physical and existential threats .
Some mariachis lost their housing during the renovation of the Boyle Hotel , a historic brick building that sits across the plaza .
The Great Recession of 2008 hit them hard .
So did construction at the Metro light rail station where the plaza lies .
It ’ s not an easy life but mariachis have persevered because of their love for their music — and what they represent .
They are a symbol of Mexican identity and pride and many of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and growth of the Mexican people .
Others speak of loves won and lost .
But whether the mariachis are singing about heartache or the motherland , jubilance often follows in their wake .
Performances that start table-side can take over an entire restaurant or party .
The diversity of everyday events where mariachis are hired to play is expansive .
In the landscape of musicians in America , perhaps only brass bands in places such as New Orleans follow a similar path , hired for weddings , funerals , birthday parties and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has shut down most of these events .
The risk is too high for guests and for the musicians , who are often older and may have underlying health conditions that make them more vulnerable .
On a recent Wednesday afternoon , next to the plaza , near Boyle Avenue and First Street , Santos Monge , 58 , sat in his car watching a Spanish movie on his cellphone .
A green bottle filled with rubbing alcohol lay on the passenger seat .
Sometimes , when he is out of the car @ @ @ @ @ @ @ spraying himself as if it was cologne .
These days Monge , who suffers from diabetes and plays the vihuela , or a small guitar , doesn ’ t want to think much about the future .
“ I get anxious .
I start to feel depressed , ” he said .
“ I don ’ t want to think about what may happen .
I ’ ll spiral and get mentally ill just thinking , ‘ What if I get sick , what if my children get sick , or my grandchildren.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ the coronavirus , I ’ m in real trouble.
” Arturo Ramirez , president of the Los Angeles United Mariachis Organization , said that before the coronavirus outbreak , mariachis at the plaza would typically get up to four gigs a week , making anywhere from $ 300 to $ 400 .
But it ’ s been several weeks since some of the musicians last worked .
When they are able to find work , Ramirez said the mariachis are having to adjust to social distancing , standing several feet apart from one @ @ @ @ @ @ @ time he was hired , Ramirez said , his band had to stand 15 feet away from a home as they sang “ Las Mañanitas , ” a traditional birthday song , to a woman .
“ Even though we know there ’ s not much work , we have to keep hopeful that someone will hire us , ” Ramirez said .
“ An hour or two is enough to provide us with some relief for at least a day or so.
” As a group , he says the musicians were @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by the pandemic .
Now the bills are piling up , food is running out and there is little reason to think the future will be anything but grim .
Ramirez said that about 10 mariachis who travel from Mexico to Boyle Heights to find seasonal work , from March through June , decided to go home .
“ There is nothing out there , ” Ramirez said .
“ Absolutely nothing .
Zero.
” All he can do is hope that he and the others will do better about putting money aside @ @ @ @ @ @ @ into recession .
“ Frankly , it ’ s a discussion that needs to be had.
” Many of the mariachis say they don ’ t know if they are eligible for unemployment or a stimulus check .
They work irregular hours , and some of them don ’ t have legal status in the country .
Ramirez said things have become so dire that he wrote L.A. Mayor Eric Garcetti and asked for help .
A few days later , Gavin Newsom announced a $ 125-million relief effort for immigrants without legal @ @ @ @ @ @ @ which organization will help the mariachis apply for the financial aid .
“ We ’ re in limbo , ” he said .
“ We don ’ t know what will happen in May.
” Some of the musicians say they aren ’ t even looking that far ahead .
They wonder if they can make it through April .
Even if the stay-at-home orders are lifted soon , they wonder about how quickly the economy will recover .
How soon will people want to hire musicians ?
How soon will people feel @ @ @ @ @ @ @ — anything ?
“ It ’ s not like we ’ re going to get back to normal right away , ” Monge said .
“ People are going to be too scared to gather and people may not have money to hire us.
” Monge , who lives with his girlfriend in a small room that costs $ 700 a month , couldn ’ t pay his rent at the beginning of April .
He said they were almost out of food but he ’ d been able to pick up snack @ @ @ @ @ @ @ giveaway .
Three plastic bags filled with cartons of chocolate milk , apples , carrots and bread sat behind the driver ’ s seat .
His landlord , Monge said , told him that the rent would not be collected until he finds steady work .
It is a welcome reprieve , but it hasn ’ t stopped his debts from ballooning .
By the end of next month , he said he would owe two months of rent as well as his monthly car payment and insurance .
In all , he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is indoors .
Everything is almost closed , ” he said .
“ There ’ s nothing we can do.
” A few weeks back , Monge was driving cars from one dealership to another on a part-time basis .
But he lost that job when the pandemic hit .
“ I can sweep and drive , ” he said .
“ I ’ ll take any job right now , but I can ’ t do construction .
When I was younger I could , but not now.
” Monge said the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of “ Que suerte la mía , ” or “ Such My Luck , ” a mariachi song that is infused with sadness .
He started to sing with his soft , raspy voice .
Just my luck , to suffer once more after having suffered What sad agony , to fall once more after having fallen before Just my luck , to lose once more after having lost before Back at the shuttle that same Wednesday afternoon , Zamora sat in the driver ’ s seat , practicing his trumpet while half @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
He ’ d purchased the chicken the day before and had a neighbor warm it up .
Zamora was 17 when he came from Mexico to the United States to work as a mariachi .
He traveled to Chicago , New York , Detroit and eventually settled in Los Angeles at the age of 30 .
He usually made enough money as a mariachi to cover his essential expenses and would send anything extra to his wife and four children in Mexico .
“ I gave everything to my kids , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” In 2011 , his wife , who suffered from diabetic kidney disease , died .
One of his daughters died soon after .
Despite the hard times , Zamora said he was able to keep working .
Until now .
For the first time in his life , he is worried about surviving .
He ’ s not sure he will be able to keep renting the shuttle bus from a neighbor and fears he may end up homeless .
He figured he could maybe visit his children in Los Angeles and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ but their apartments are already overcrowded .
Around 7 p.m. , as storm clouds passed over the city , two other mariachis joined Zamora in the shuttle .
Arturo Ramos , 51 , took over the driver ’ s seat .
A year ago , he started to try and save money so he could return to his home in Michoacan , Mexico , to visit his mother , who is ill .
But his green card will expire in November and the pandemic has made travel planning difficult .
Ramos decided that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ He couldn ’ t risk losing his residency .
Until recently , Ramos , a trumpeter , had worked seasonal jobs as a mariachi and a grape picker in Napa Valley .
But he hasn ’ t been able to find work throughout the state for weeks .
His landlord said he could start paying his $ 400 monthly rent when he gets steady work again .
But Ramos fears he will never recover from the dark hole in which he and so many others sit .
“ I ’ m going to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ”

Pedro Zamora grabbed his silver trumpet and began to play a song inside his new home — an airport shuttle bus.
There had been no work for more than a month, and the 68-year-old mariachi musician could not pay the $650 it costs to rent his room in Boyle Heights. Despite an eviction ban, Zamora said, his landlord demanded the money, so he borrowed $250 from his son and moved into the black “Auto Airport Parking” shuttle stationed outside of Mariachi Plaza.
Like many mariachis across the United States, Zamora had been living off the cadences of life. Mariachis play love songs at wedding receptions, songs about Mexico at festivals and dance halls; they sing birthday songs at parties and morning serenades on Mother’s Day. They subsist on joy, but they also experience sadness, upon occasion, as they witness the last goodbyes at funerals.
Then came the novel coronavirus, which choked off almost every source of revenue for the musicians who have been plying their trade, from L.A. to Texas and beyond. Stress came in waves. A medical condition made Zamora grind his teeth, conjuring a groaning sound like that of a tree bending on a windy day.
“I only have a dollar in my pocket,” Zamora said. “I don’t know how I am going to survive this.”
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Part of the gig
For nearly a century, mariachis hoping to be hired have made the plaza their home. Economic struggles, like sad songs, were part of the gig. Even in the best of times, a job was never guaranteed.
In recent years, higher rents and the specter of gentrification have always loomed as both physical and existential threats. Some mariachis lost their housing during the renovation of the Boyle Hotel, a historic brick building that sits across the plaza.
Santos Monge, 58, tunes his vihuela (a small guitar) as he awaits work as a musician at Mariachi Plaza in Los Angeles. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
The Great Recession of 2008 hit them hard. So did construction at the Metro light rail station where the plaza lies.
It’s not an easy life but mariachis have persevered because of their love for their music — and what they represent. They are a symbol of Mexican identity and pride and many of their ballads celebrate the struggles, joys and growth of the Mexican people. Others speak of loves won and lost.
But whether the mariachis are singing about heartache or the motherland, jubilance often follows in their wake. Performances that start table-side can take over an entire restaurant or party.
The diversity of everyday events where mariachis are hired to play is expansive. In the landscape of musicians in America, perhaps only brass bands in places such as New Orleans follow a similar path, hired for weddings, funerals, birthday parties and backyard celebrations.
Advertisement
But the coronavirus outbreak has shut down most of these events. The risk is too high for guests and for the musicians, who are often older and may have underlying health conditions that make them more vulnerable.
On a recent Wednesday afternoon, next to the plaza, near Boyle Avenue and First Street, Santos Monge, 58, sat in his car watching a Spanish movie on his cellphone. A green bottle filled with rubbing alcohol lay on the passenger seat. Sometimes, when he is out of the car, he walks around with it, spraying himself as if it was cologne.
These days Monge, who suffers from diabetes and plays the vihuela, or a small guitar, doesn’t want to think much about the future.
Column One A showcase for compelling storytelling from the Los Angeles Times. More stories
“I get anxious. I start to feel depressed,” he said. “I don’t want to think about what may happen. I’ll spiral and get mentally ill just thinking, ‘What if I get sick, what if my children get sick, or my grandchildren.’ And if I get sick with the coronavirus, I’m in real trouble.”
Arturo Ramirez, president of the Los Angeles United Mariachis Organization, said that before the coronavirus outbreak, mariachis at the plaza would typically get up to four gigs a week, making anywhere from $300 to $400. But it’s been several weeks since some of the musicians last worked.
When they are able to find work, Ramirez said the mariachis are having to adjust to social distancing, standing several feet apart from one another when they perform. The last time he was hired, Ramirez said, his band had to stand 15 feet away from a home as they sang “Las Mañanitas,” a traditional birthday song, to a woman.
“Even though we know there’s not much work, we have to keep hopeful that someone will hire us,” Ramirez said. “An hour or two is enough to provide us with some relief for at least a day or so.”
As a group, he says the musicians were not financially prepared for the downturn caused by the pandemic. Now the bills are piling up, food is running out and there is little reason to think the future will be anything but grim. Ramirez said that about 10 mariachis who travel from Mexico to Boyle Heights to find seasonal work, from March through June, decided to go home.
“There is nothing out there,” Ramirez said. “Absolutely nothing. Zero.”
All he can do is hope that he and the others will do better about putting money aside — if they survive an economy tipping into recession.
“Frankly, it’s a discussion that needs to be had.”
Many of the mariachis say they don’t know if they are eligible for unemployment or a stimulus check. They work irregular hours, and some of them don’t have legal status in the country. Ramirez said things have become so dire that he wrote L.A. Mayor Eric Garcetti and asked for help. A few days later, Gavin Newsom announced a $125-million relief effort for immigrants without legal status, but it’s unclear which organization will help the mariachis apply for the financial aid.
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“We’re in limbo,” he said. “We don’t know what will happen in May.”
Santos Monge serenades amid an empty space with his vihuela (a small guitar) as he awaits work as a musician at Mariachi Plaza in Los Angeles. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
Some of the musicians say they aren’t even looking that far ahead. They wonder if they can make it through April.
Even if the stay-at-home orders are lifted soon, they wonder about how quickly the economy will recover. How soon will people want to hire musicians? How soon will people feel both safe and want to celebrate something — anything?
“It’s not like we’re going to get back to normal right away,” Monge said. “People are going to be too scared to gather and people may not have money to hire us.”
Monge, who lives with his girlfriend in a small room that costs $700 a month, couldn’t pay his rent at the beginning of April. He said they were almost out of food but he’d been able to pick up snack packs and other items in a food giveaway. Three plastic bags filled with cartons of chocolate milk, apples, carrots and bread sat behind the driver’s seat.
His landlord, Monge said, told him that the rent would not be collected until he finds steady work. It is a welcome reprieve, but it hasn’t stopped his debts from ballooning. By the end of next month, he said he would owe two months of rent as well as his monthly car payment and insurance. In all, he will owe $2,600.
Advertisement
Musicians sit in silence, appropriately spaced apart, as they wait for work at Mariachi Plaza in Los Angeles. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
“Everybody is indoors. Everything is almost closed,” he said. “There’s nothing we can do.”
A few weeks back, Monge was driving cars from one dealership to another on a part-time basis. But he lost that job when the pandemic hit.
“I can sweep and drive,” he said. “I’ll take any job right now, but I can’t do construction. When I was younger I could, but not now.”
Monge said the days of doing nothing make him think of “Que suerte la mía,” or “Such My Luck,” a mariachi song that is infused with sadness. He started to sing with his soft, raspy voice.
Just my luck, to suffer once more after having suffered
What sad agony, to fall once more after having fallen before
Just my luck, to lose once more after having lost before
The itinerant worker
Back at the shuttle that same Wednesday afternoon, Zamora sat in the driver’s seat, practicing his trumpet while half a chicken sat on a cup holder. He’d purchased the chicken the day before and had a neighbor warm it up.
Advertisement
Zamora was 17 when he came from Mexico to the United States to work as a mariachi.
He traveled to Chicago, New York, Detroit and eventually settled in Los Angeles at the age of 30. He usually made enough money as a mariachi to cover his essential expenses and would send anything extra to his wife and four children in Mexico.
“I gave everything to my kids,” he said. “I kept nothing.”
In 2011, his wife, who suffered from diabetic kidney disease, died. One of his daughters died soon after. Despite the hard times, Zamora said he was able to keep working. Until now.
For the first time in his life, he is worried about surviving. He’s not sure he will be able to keep renting the shuttle bus from a neighbor and fears he may end up homeless. He figured he could maybe visit his children in Los Angeles and spend a few days with them, but their apartments are already overcrowded.
Around 7 p.m., as storm clouds passed over the city, two other mariachis joined Zamora in the shuttle.
Advertisement
Arturo Ramos, 51, took over the driver’s seat. A year ago, he started to try and save money so he could return to his home in Michoacan, Mexico, to visit his mother, who is ill. But his green card will expire in November and the pandemic has made travel planning difficult. Ramos decided that he wasn’t going anywhere. He couldn’t risk losing his residency.
Pedro Zamora practices on his trumpet inside an airport shuttle bus that he began living out of three days prior after he couldn’t pay his $650 monthly rent at Mariachi Plaza in Los Angeles. (Marcus Yam / Los Angeles Times)
Until recently, Ramos, a trumpeter, had worked seasonal jobs as a mariachi and a grape picker in Napa Valley. But he hasn’t been able to find work throughout the state for weeks.
His landlord said he could start paying his $400 monthly rent when he gets steady work again. But Ramos fears he will never recover from the dark hole in which he and so many others sit.
“I’m going to be stuck in a bad cycle.”


latimes--2020-04-18--Magnitude 3.2 quake shakes near Valle Vista, Calif.

A magnitude 3.2 earthquake was reported Friday at 9:41 p.m. Pacific time one mile from Valle Vista , Calif. , according to the U.S. Geological Survey .
The earthquake occurred four miles from Hemet , Calif. , four miles from East Hemet , Calif. , five miles from San Jacinto , Calif. and 10 miles from Beaumont , Calif .
In the last 10 days , there have been three earthquakes of magnitude 3.0 or greater centered nearby .
An average of 234 earthquakes with magnitudes between 3.0 and 4.0 occur per year in California and Nevada , according to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ earthquake occurred at a depth of 10.4 miles .
Did you feel this earthquake ?
Consider reporting what you felt to the USGS .
Even if you didn ’ t feel this small earthquake , you never know when the Big One is going to strike .
Ready yourself by following our five-step earthquake preparedness guide and building your own emergency kit .
This story was automatically generated by Quakebot , a computer application that monitors the latest earthquakes detected by the USGS .
A Times editor reviewed the post before it was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in learning more about the system , visit our list of frequently asked questions .

The location and shaking intensity of a magnitude 3.2 earthquake Friday evening a mile from Valle Vista, Calif.
A magnitude 3.2 earthquake was reported Friday at 9:41 p.m. Pacific time one mile from Valle Vista, Calif., according to the U.S. Geological Survey.
The earthquake occurred four miles from Hemet, Calif., four miles from East Hemet, Calif., five miles from San Jacinto, Calif. and 10 miles from Beaumont, Calif.
In the last 10 days, there have been three earthquakes of magnitude 3.0 or greater centered nearby.
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An average of 234 earthquakes with magnitudes between 3.0 and 4.0 occur per year in California and Nevada, according to a recent three-year data sample.
The earthquake occurred at a depth of 10.4 miles. Did you feel this earthquake? Consider reporting what you felt to the USGS.
Even if you didn’t feel this small earthquake, you never know when the Big One is going to strike. Ready yourself by following our five-step earthquake preparedness guide and building your own emergency kit.
This story was automatically generated by Quakebot, a computer application that monitors the latest earthquakes detected by the USGS. A Times editor reviewed the post before it was published. If you’re interested in learning more about the system, visit our list of frequently asked questions.


latimes--2020-04-17--State-funded L.A. 'surge hospital' opens at St. Vincent Medical Center

A temporary state-funded hospital opened this week on the shuttered St. Vincent Medical Center campus near downtown Los Angeles in response to the coronavirus outbreak .
The Los Angeles Surge Hospital , which is operating at the St. Vincent complex , is accepting only individuals diagnosed with COVID-19 , said Julie J. Sprengel , acting chief executive of the hospital and Southwest Division president of Dignity Health Hospitals .
Patients are transferred by the county from community hospitals , Sprengel said .
The hospital , which opened Monday , had eight patients as of Friday morning , said Dr. Christina @ @ @ @ @ @ @ County Department of Health Services .
The hospital is one of a handful of facilities set aside for use during the pandemic .
The Los Angeles-owned Convention Center is now being turned over for use as a field medical facility .
St. Vincent Medical Center closed earlier this year after former owner Verity Health System declared bankruptcy .
Dr. Patrick Soon-Shiong , who also owns The Times , purchased the center for $ 135 million in a deal that was finalized this week .
His global health firm NantWorks is a creditor in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has said he wants to create a “ central command ” center at St. Vincent Medical Center that would attract doctors and experts on the virus , and relieve pressure on other hospitals .
He also plans to use the other buildings on the St. Vincent campus for COVID-19 research , according to a news release about the sale ’ s closure .
Before Soon-Shiong purchased the hospital , the state announced in March that it would lease the empty hospital .
The state is paying $ 16 million for a six-month lease @ @ @ @ @ @ @ been transferred to Soon-Shiong .
The state is also paying healthcare companies Kaiser Permanente and Dignity Health a monthly management fee of $ 500,000 each to oversee the hospital .
The state will also pay for equipment and hospital staff .
The total cost will depend on the number and acuity of patients treated , said Rodger Butler , a spokesman with the California Health and Human Services Agency .
Sprengel said this week that over 500 staff have been hired at the hospital , including physicians , nurses , respiratory therapists , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Angeles County public health officials reported 40 more deaths Friday and 567 new cases , for a total of 495 deaths and 11,391 cases .
Department of Health Services ’ Ghaly said Friday that discussions are ongoing about the best use of the hospital , particularly “ given the ongoing changes in the demographics and the epidemiology , and as well as what hospitals , the general acute care hospitals , across the county are experiencing.
” Dr .
Sunny Jha , an assistant clinical professor of anesthesiology at USC who helped set @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said in an interview Friday that having a facility devoted only to COVID-19 will make it easier for doctors to focus on patients and to conserve personal protective gear .

St. Vincent Medical Center near downtown Los Angeles is back in business to help ease the pressure on local hospitals amid the novel coronavirus crisis.
A temporary state-funded hospital opened this week on the shuttered St. Vincent Medical Center campus near downtown Los Angeles in response to the coronavirus outbreak.
The Los Angeles Surge Hospital, which is operating at the St. Vincent complex, is accepting only individuals diagnosed with COVID-19, said Julie J. Sprengel, acting chief executive of the hospital and Southwest Division president of Dignity Health Hospitals. Patients are transferred by the county from community hospitals, Sprengel said.
The hospital, which opened Monday, had eight patients as of Friday morning, said Dr. Christina Ghaly, director for the Los Angeles County Department of Health Services.
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The hospital is one of a handful of facilities set aside for use during the pandemic. The Los Angeles-owned Convention Center is now being turned over for use as a field medical facility.
St. Vincent Medical Center closed earlier this year after former owner Verity Health System declared bankruptcy. Dr. Patrick Soon-Shiong, who also owns The Times, purchased the center for $135 million in a deal that was finalized this week. His global health firm NantWorks is a creditor in Verity’s bankruptcy proceedings.
Soon-Shiong has said he wants to create a “central command” center at St. Vincent Medical Center that would attract doctors and experts on the virus, and relieve pressure on other hospitals. He also plans to use the other buildings on the St. Vincent campus for COVID-19 research, according to a news release about the sale’s closure.
Before Soon-Shiong purchased the hospital, the state announced in March that it would lease the empty hospital. The state is paying $16 million for a six-month lease, an agreement that’s now been transferred to Soon-Shiong.
The state is also paying healthcare companies Kaiser Permanente and Dignity Health a monthly management fee of $500,000 each to oversee the hospital.
The state will also pay for equipment and hospital staff. The total cost will depend on the number and acuity of patients treated, said Rodger Butler, a spokesman with the California Health and Human Services Agency.
Advertisement
Sprengel said this week that over 500 staff have been hired at the hospital, including physicians, nurses, respiratory therapists, pharmacists, and support staff.
Los Angeles County public health officials reported 40 more deaths Friday and 567 new cases, for a total of 495 deaths and 11,391 cases.
Department of Health Services’ Ghaly said Friday that discussions are ongoing about the best use of the hospital, particularly “given the ongoing changes in the demographics and the epidemiology, and as well as what hospitals, the general acute care hospitals, across the county are experiencing.”
Dr. Sunny Jha, an assistant clinical professor of anesthesiology at USC who helped set up clinical operations at the hospital, said in an interview Friday that having a facility devoted only to COVID-19 will make it easier for doctors to focus on patients and to conserve personal protective gear.