latimes--2020-04-13--This is the latest list of Los Angeles County communities with coronavirus cases

County heath officials reported 31 additional coronavirus-related deaths on Easter Sunday , the largest single-day total since the outbreak began @ @ @ @ @ were people over the age of 65 , and the other six were in the @ @ @ @ @ officials said .
In all , 296 L.A. County residents have died of COVID-19 , @ @ @ @ @ coronavirus .
The number of confirmed infections in the county rose to 9,192 — an @ @ @ @ @ .
That ’ s the lowest number of new cases on a single day since @ @ @ @ @ are the Los Angeles County communities with confirmed coronavirus cases .
For the latest information @ @ @ @ @ tracker .

The Wilshire Grand Center in downtown Los Angeles displays blue lights to show support for healthcare workers and first responders on Friday.
Los Angeles County recorded another coronavirus milestone Sunday.
County heath officials reported 31 additional coronavirus-related deaths on Easter Sunday, the largest single-day total since the outbreak began.
Twenty-five of those fatalities were people over the age of 65, and the other six were in the 41-65 age bracket, health officials said.
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In all, 296 L.A. County residents have died of COVID-19, the disease caused by the coronavirus. The number of confirmed infections in the county rose to 9,192 — an increase of 323 since Saturday. That’s the lowest number of new cases on a single day since March 27.
Here is are the Los Angeles County communities with confirmed coronavirus cases. For the latest information, see The Times coronavirus tracker.
Long Beach 337
Glendale 248
Melrose 199
Torrance 143
Santa Clarita 143
North Hollywood 121
Carson 118
Pasadena 117
Inglewood 116
Hollywood 115
Sylmar 105
West Hollywood 102
Burbank 102
Downey 101
Palmdale 99
South Gate 96
Santa Monica 92
East Los Angeles 91
Lancaster 87
Redondo Beach 84
Van Nuys 80
Sherman Oaks 79
Silver Lake 76
Norwalk 76
Canoga Park 76
Beverly Hills 74
Gardena 74
Reseda 73
Hawthorne 70
Woodland Hills 68
Lynwood 68
Palms 67
Panorama City 65
Compton 64
West Vernon 61
Unincorporated Florence-Firestone 58
Boyle Heights 57
Pico Rivera 57
Westlake 56
Glassell Park 56
Manhattan Beach 54
Pacoima 54
Brentwood 53
Montebello 53
Temple-Beaudry 53
Encino 51
Whittier 51
Bellflower 50
Pico-Union 49
Koreatown 49
Pomona 48
Exposition Park 47
Granada Hills 46
Northridge 46
Hollywood Hills 46
Wilshire Center 46
Hancock Park 46
East Hollywood 45
North Hills 45
Florence-Firestone 45
San Pedro 45
Winnetka 44
Tarzana 44
Covina 43
West Adams 42
Huntington Park 42
Crestview 42
Lakewood 41
Vernon Central 40
South Park 39
Central 39
Rancho Palos Verdes 39
West Covina 39
Paramount 38
Altadena 37
Bell 37
Chatsworth 36
Athens-Westmont 36
Eagle Rock 35
Little Armenia 35
El Sereno 35
Palos Verdes Estates 35
Venice 35
Valley Village 35
Mar Vista 34
West Los Angeles 34
Westwood 34
Wilmington 33
Lake Balboa 33
Alhambra 33
Westchester 32
Valley Glen 32
Pacific Palisades 32
Cerritos 32
Highland Park 32
Harbor Gateway 32
Sun Valley 32
Del Rey 32
Monterey Park 31
Culver City 31
Baldwin Hills 31
Sunland 31
Little Bangladesh 31
Carthay 30
Hacienda Heights 30
West Carson 29
South Whittier 29
El Monte 28
Porter Ranch 28
Bell Gardens 28
Century Palms/Cove 28
Downtown 27
Watts 27
Century City 27
University Park 26
Beverly Crest 26
Maywood 26
Baldwin Park 25
Harvard Park 25
Lawndale 25
Vermont Vista 24
Mid-city 24
Arleta 24
Harbor City 24
Leimert Park 24
West Hills 23
Country Club Park 23
Calabasas 23
Arcadia 22
San Fernando 22
Los Feliz 21
La Mirada 21
Glendora 21
Bel Air 21
Cudahy 21
Willowbrook 21
Studio City 21
Mission Hills 21
Harvard Heights 21
Lomita 21
Azusa 20
Agoura Hills 20
South Carthay 20
Beverlywood 20
Diamond Bar 20
La Puente 20
Miracle Mile 20
Walnut Park 20
La Canada Flintridge 20
Historic Filipinotown 19
Wholesale District 18
San Dimas 18
Lincoln Heights 18
Lennox 18
Victoria Park 17
Hermosa Beach 17
View Park/Windsor Hills 16
Rowland Heights 16
Vermont Square 16
Lakeview Terrace 16
Malibu 16
Crenshaw District 16
Adams-Normandie 15
South Pasadena 15
Vermont Knolls 15
Hyde Park 15
Rosemead 15
Tujunga 15
Green Meadows 14
Canyon Country 14
Monrovia 13
San Gabriel 13
Ladera Heights 13
Mt. Washington 13
Walnut 13
Claremont 12
Unincorporated Covina 12
Temple City 12
Cloverdale/Cochran 11
West Whittier/Los Nietos 11
Rolling Hills Estates 11
Cheviot Hills 11
El Segundo 11
Stevenson Ranch 11
Playa Vista 10
Thai Town 10
Gramercy Place 10
Duarte 10
East Rancho Dominguez 10
La Crescenta-Montrose 10
Echo Park 9
Reseda Ranch 9
Castaic 9
Park La Brea 9
La Verne 8
Valinda 8
Marina Peninsula 8
Atwater Village 8
Elysian Valley 8
Rancho Park 8
Lafayette Square 7
Toluca Lake 7
Covina (Charter Oak) 7
Figueroa Park Square 7
Shadow Hills 7
South San Gabriel 7
San Marino 6
Westlake Village 6
North Whittier 6
La Rambla 6
Marina del Rey 6
Athens Village 6
Santa Fe Springs 6
Alsace 6
West Puente Valley 6
Santa Monica Mountains 6
Acton 5
Del Aire 5
Cadillac-Corning 5
Reynier Village 5
Quartz Hill 5
Rancho Dominguez 5
Elysian Park 5
Miracle Mile 5
Artesia 5
Industry 1-4
Rosewood/East Gardena 1-4
Rosewood 1-4
Roosevelt 1-4
Rolling Hills 1-4
San Francisquito Canyon/Bouquet Canyon 1-4
Regent Square 1-4
San Jose Hills 1-4
Pomona 1-4
San Pasqual 1-4
Playa Del Rey 1-4
Sand Canyon 1-4
Santa Catalina Island 1-4
Placerita Canyon 1-4
Pellissier Village 1-4
Pearblossom/Llano 1-4
Palos Verdes Peninsula 1-4
Saugus 1-4
Saugus/Canyon Country 1-4
Palmdale 1-4
Palisades Highlands 1-4
Sierra Madre 1-4
Signal Hill 1-4
North Lancaster 1-4
South Antelope Valley 1-4
Newhall 1-4
South El Monte 1-4
South El Monte 1-4
Mandeville Canyon 1-4
Longwood 1-4
Llano 1-4
Littlerock/Pearblossom 1-4
Littlerock/Juniper Hills 1-4
Southeast Antelope Valley 1-4
St Elmo Village 1-4
Littlerock 1-4
Little Tokyo 1-4
Leona Valley 1-4
Sun Village 1-4
Lakewood 1-4
Sunrise Village 1-4
Sycamore Square 1-4
Lake Manor 1-4
Lake Los Angeles 1-4
Lake Hughes 1-4
La Habra Heights 1-4
La Habra Heights 1-4
Kagel/Lopez Canyons 1-4
Toluca Terrace 1-4
Toluca Woods 1-4
Jefferson Park 1-4
Irwindale 1-4
Twin Lakes/Oat Mountain 1-4
Unincorporated Azusa 1-4
Rosewood/West Rancho Dominguez 1-4
Hidden Hills 1-4
Unincorporated Hawthorne 1-4
Unincorporated La Verne 1-4
Unincorporated Monrovia 1-4
Unincorporated West L.A. 1-4
Unincorporated Whittier 1-4
University Hills 1-4
Hi Vista 1-4
Val Verde 1-4
Valencia 1-4
Hawaiian Gardens 1-4
Harbor Pines 1-4
Glendora 1-4
Faircrest Heights 1-4
Exposition 1-4
Elizabeth Lake 1-4
El Monte 1-4
El Camino Village 1-4
Vernon 1-4
East Whittier 1-4
East Pasadena 1-4
View Heights 1-4
East Lancaster 1-4
East La Mirada 1-4
East Covina 1-4
Duarte 1-4
Wellington Square 1-4
Desert View Highlands 1-4
West Antelope Valley 1-4
Del Sur 1-4
Del Rey 1-4
Commerce 1-4
Claremont 1-4
Chinatown 1-4
Cerritos 1-4
West Rancho Dominguez 1-4
Brookside 1-4
Bradbury 1-4
Bradbury 1-4
Westfield/Academy Hills 1-4
Westhills 1-4
Bouquet Canyon 1-4
Bassett 1-4
Avocado Heights 1-4
White Fence Farms 1-4
Avalon 1-4
Arcadia 1-4
Angelino Heights 1-4
Angeles National Forest 1-4
Anaverde 1-4
Agua Dulce 1-4
Wiseburn 1-4
Manchester Square 1-4


latimes--2020-04-13--Review: How L.A.'s '60s movements fought for justice — and sometimes even achieved it

Postwar Los Angeles was a glossy postcard of progress : Its entertainment , aerospace and auto industries were humming along , the weather was always perfect , and the price was right for that suburban dream home where you could tan to a crisp next to your kidney-shaped pool .
It was a great time to be alive … if you were white .
For everyone else , it was “ apartheid , ” according to a member of a 1959-60 commission studying Southern California ’ s urban issues .
That ’ s the state of the city at the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Fire : L.A. in the Sixties.
” Authors Mike Davis and Jon Wiener unfurl a racist metropolis where politicians are in the pocket of the 1 percent , violent cops literally get away with murder and the local press — particularly the Los Angeles Times — is in on the fix .
As James Baldwin observed , “ there is … no distance between Birmingham and Los Angeles.
” Non-whites , those 1 million people of African , Asian and Mexican ancestry living on the fringes , were simply “ edited out of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ communities like San Gabriel , East L.A. and Watts as villains like LAPD chief William Parker , Mayor Sam Yorty and governors Pat Brown and Ronald Reagan served the status quo .
How bad was it ?
In 1964 , the LAPD openly wore Barry Goldwater for president badges .
The ‘ 60s are remembered as a perfect storm of rebellion , but our memories are often shaped by repetitive archival news footage tattooed onto our brains .
“ Set the Night on Fire ” fills in many blanks , focusing mostly on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ L.A. — the struggle for fair housing , the fight to integrate schools and jobs — while also excavating the forgotten core of L.A. resistance , illuminating those who often took life-risking steps to expose injustice .
It ’ s a dense , detailed read , but for those who craving an in-the-weeds narrative of the city ’ s diverse movements during the tumultuous 1960s , “ Set the Night on Fire ” is authoritative and impressive .
It works fine for skimmers , but the book ’ s message really resonates as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ painful and often dangerous but ultimately possible and worth the fight .
With pedigrees as activists and urban historians , Davis ( “ City of Quartz ” ) and Wiener ( “ How We Forgot the Cold War ” ) craft multifaceted accounts of seminal events like the Watts uprising .
But they also deliver detailed histories of lesser-known rebel operators : the Los Angeles Free Clinic , the Ash Grove , The Free Press , screenwriter Budd Schulberg ’ s involvement with the Watts Writers Workshop , and rebellious Catholic nun ( @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
There are few outright triumphs in this history , but L.A. ’ s pioneering gay liberation actions did successfully lay groundwork for a unified and long-lived movement .
The authors describe 14 lewd conduct arrests at an Echo Park club called the Black Cat on New Year ’ s Eve 1967 , which begot a 500-person protest that predated New York ’ s Stonewall uprising by two years .
And so it began : a gay-in at Griffith Park in May 1968 ; the country ’ s first gay pride parade two @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Watts rebellion spurred a cultural renaissance in the community , from the building of the Watts Towers to the writers workshop and Horace Tapscott ’ s UGMAA ( Union of God ’ s Musicians and Artists Ascension ) , which became the house band of the black power movement .
Dozens of seemingly unrelated movements are covered , but almost all navigated a common foe — an establishment that would do almost anything to squash them .
There are countless accounts of shady politicians and violent law enforcement agencies whose deeds went unpunished @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they believed in .
“ Set the Night on Fire ” underlines — with zero ambiguity — a racist system so entrenched as to be virtually invincible .
Though they catalog these fights with the fervor of true believers , the authors don ’ t hesitate to highlight the activists ’ shortcomings — the politicking , power struggles and missteps .
For example , they believe the black community suffered because too many groups , ideologies and charismatic leaders jostled for followers disenchanted with civil-rights incrementalism , becoming more of a competition than @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Karenga ’ s back-to-Africa Us movement ; the Stokely Carmichael-led Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee ( SNCC ) ; and the more extreme Nation of Islam , which The Times described as “ dedicated to the extermination of the white race.
” When they did find common ground , it was fleeting .
Leaders from SNCC , the Black Panthers and Us did share a stage at a Free Huey ( Newton , of the Panthers ) rally at the Sports Arena in February , 1968 — Davis and Wiener call it “ the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ proximate cause of its decline.
” The groups tussled over everything from the order of the speakers to the disbursement of funds raised .
It ’ s not always the big issues that motivate community action .
“ Set the Night on Fire ” describes revolutions triggered by seemingly trivial events .
The Chicano blowups of 1968 were sparked by a banned production of “ Barefoot in the Park ” at Wilson High School .
The principal pulled the plug after the final dress rehearsal , declaring that a line in the play @ @ @ @ @ @ @ several hundred kids , including 12-year-olds from a nearby junior high school , walked out of their first class .
The principal called the police and kids were suspended .
It marked , according to the authors , “ the emergence of a new , militant Chicano identity.
” This culminated in the 1970 Chicano Moratorium on the day of a much greater outrage : Journalist Ruben Salazar was killed inside East L.A. ’ s Silver Dollar Bar after he was hit by a tear gas canister fired by county Sheriff Thomas Wilson @ @ @ @ @ @ @ reprimanded for his action .
Not surprisingly , the local political needle really moved only after middle-class white kids were pummeled at an anti-Vietnam War protest in Century City in front a hotel at which President Lyndon Johnson was dining in 1968 .
“ White liberals on the Westside had suddenly experienced firsthand the brutality that Blacks had been protesting against for years , ” the authors write .
The action led to the rise of former cop and city councilman Tom Bradley — who was black but hardly radical .
Bradley ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and he publicly rejected the endorsement of Black Panther Bobby Seale .
He almost defeated incumbent mayor Sam Yorty in 1969 but beat him handily four years later , beginning a 20-year run at City Hall .
“ Set the Night on Fire ” is an essential reference to L.A. ’ s rich history of civil unrest , with a hopeful undercurrent .
Movements can and often do force change .
Long after the 1960s ended , the commitment to resistance remains a powerful tool .
Set the Night on Fire By @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 800 pages , $ 34.95

Postwar Los Angeles was a glossy postcard of progress: Its entertainment, aerospace and auto industries were humming along, the weather was always perfect, and the price was right for that suburban dream home where you could tan to a crisp next to your kidney-shaped pool. It was a great time to be alive … if you were white.
For everyone else, it was “apartheid,” according to a member of a 1959-60 commission studying Southern California’s urban issues.
That’s the state of the city at the outset of “Set the Night on Fire: L.A. in the Sixties.” Authors Mike Davis and Jon Wiener unfurl a racist metropolis where politicians are in the pocket of the 1 percent, violent cops literally get away with murder and the local press — particularly the Los Angeles Times — is in on the fix. As James Baldwin observed, “there is … no distance between Birmingham and Los Angeles.”
Advertisement
Non-whites, those 1 million people of African, Asian and Mexican ancestry living on the fringes, were simply “edited out of utopia,” toiling invisibly in segregated communities like San Gabriel, East L.A. and Watts as villains like LAPD chief William Parker, Mayor Sam Yorty and governors Pat Brown and Ronald Reagan served the status quo. How bad was it? In 1964, the LAPD openly wore Barry Goldwater for president badges.
The ‘60s are remembered as a perfect storm of rebellion, but our memories are often shaped by repetitive archival news footage tattooed onto our brains. “Set the Night on Fire” fills in many blanks, focusing mostly on the movements emerging from South and East L.A. — the struggle for fair housing, the fight to integrate schools and jobs — while also excavating the forgotten core of L.A. resistance, illuminating those who often took life-risking steps to expose injustice.
It’s a dense, detailed read, but for those who craving an in-the-weeds narrative of the city’s diverse movements during the tumultuous 1960s, “Set the Night on Fire” is authoritative and impressive. It works fine for skimmers, but the book’s message really resonates as a whole: Progress is slow, painful and often dangerous but ultimately possible and worth the fight.
Opinion Opinion: 50 years since Watts The Times Opinion section reflects on the uprising that shook the streets of Los Angeles a half-century ago.
With pedigrees as activists and urban historians, Davis (“City of Quartz”) and Wiener (“How We Forgot the Cold War”) craft multifaceted accounts of seminal events like the Watts uprising. But they also deliver detailed histories of lesser-known rebel operators: the Los Angeles Free Clinic, the Ash Grove, The Free Press, screenwriter Budd Schulberg’s involvement with the Watts Writers Workshop, and rebellious Catholic nun (and pop artist) Sister Corita Kent.
There are few outright triumphs in this history, but L.A.’s pioneering gay liberation actions did successfully lay groundwork for a unified and long-lived movement. The authors describe 14 lewd conduct arrests at an Echo Park club called the Black Cat on New Year’s Eve 1967, which begot a 500-person protest that predated New York’s Stonewall uprising by two years. And so it began: a gay-in at Griffith Park in May 1968; the country’s first gay pride parade two years later in Hollywood.
And the Watts rebellion spurred a cultural renaissance in the community, from the building of the Watts Towers to the writers workshop and Horace Tapscott’s UGMAA (Union of God’s Musicians and Artists Ascension), which became the house band of the black power movement.
Dozens of seemingly unrelated movements are covered, but almost all navigated a common foe — an establishment that would do almost anything to squash them. There are countless accounts of shady politicians and violent law enforcement agencies whose deeds went unpunished as these groups fought desperately for what they believed in. “Set the Night on Fire” underlines — with zero ambiguity — a racist system so entrenched as to be virtually invincible.
Advertisement
Though they catalog these fights with the fervor of true believers, the authors don’t hesitate to highlight the activists’ shortcomings — the politicking, power struggles and missteps. For example, they believe the black community suffered because too many groups, ideologies and charismatic leaders jostled for followers disenchanted with civil-rights incrementalism, becoming more of a competition than a community.
Among them: Ron Karenga’s back-to-Africa Us movement; the Stokely Carmichael-led Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC); and the more extreme Nation of Islam, which The Times described as “dedicated to the extermination of the white race.”
When they did find common ground, it was fleeting. Leaders from SNCC, the Black Panthers and Us did share a stage at a Free Huey (Newton, of the Panthers) rally at the Sports Arena in February, 1968 — Davis and Wiener call it “the high point for black unity and the proximate cause of its decline.” The groups tussled over everything from the order of the speakers to the disbursement of funds raised.
It’s not always the big issues that motivate community action. “Set the Night on Fire” describes revolutions triggered by seemingly trivial events. The Chicano blowups of 1968 were sparked by a banned production of “Barefoot in the Park” at Wilson High School. The principal pulled the plug after the final dress rehearsal, declaring that a line in the play was too risqué. The next day several hundred kids, including 12-year-olds from a nearby junior high school, walked out of their first class. The principal called the police and kids were suspended. It marked, according to the authors, “the emergence of a new, militant Chicano identity.” This culminated in the 1970 Chicano Moratorium on the day of a much greater outrage: Journalist Ruben Salazar was killed inside East L.A.’s Silver Dollar Bar after he was hit by a tear gas canister fired by county Sheriff Thomas Wilson. The sheriff was never charged or reprimanded for his action.
Not surprisingly, the local political needle really moved only after middle-class white kids were pummeled at an anti-Vietnam War protest in Century City in front a hotel at which President Lyndon Johnson was dining in 1968. “White liberals on the Westside had suddenly experienced firsthand the brutality that Blacks had been protesting against for years,” the authors write. The action led to the rise of former cop and city councilman Tom Bradley — who was black but hardly radical. Bradley’s coalition was led by Westside liberals, and he publicly rejected the endorsement of Black Panther Bobby Seale. He almost defeated incumbent mayor Sam Yorty in 1969 but beat him handily four years later, beginning a 20-year run at City Hall.
“Set the Night on Fire” is an essential reference to L.A.’s rich history of civil unrest, with a hopeful undercurrent. Movements can and often do force change. Long after the 1960s ended, the commitment to resistance remains a powerful tool.
Set the Night on Fire
By Mike Davis and Jon Wiener
Verso: 800 pages, $34.95


latimes--2020-04-13--The volunteer operation to produce hundreds of gallons of hand sanitizer for Bay Area's most vulnera

The volunteer operation to produce hundreds of gallons of hand sanitizer for Bay Area's most vulnerable

Inside a laboratory at UC Berkeley , a PhD student and a research assistant have been working nonstop for nearly a month to produce hand sanitizer for tens of thousands of the Bay Area ’ s most vulnerable residents .
“ If we ’ re not churning or mixing , we ’ re on the phone or answering emails , ” said PhD student Abrar Abidi .
Often , that work , funded by donations and out-of-pocket costs , continues well beyond midnight — long after they ’ ve left the student teaching lab at the Li Ka Shing Center @ @ @ @ @ @ @ goal is ambitious : produce enough sanitizer for every homeless person and vulnerable individual throughout the Bay Area who may not have the luxury of physical distance during the coronavirus pandemic .
The group has distributed sanitizer to homeless shelters , San Francisco County Jail and food banks throughout San Francisco — one of the first cities to issue a shelter-in-place order .
Backed by their university ’ s approval and aided by a handful of volunteers , including at least one other campus laboratory , Abidi , 26 , and Yvonne Hao @ @ @ @ @ @ @ gallons of sanitizer using products found inside the lab to match a formula designed by the World Health Organization .
Since the coronavirus outbreak began , the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention stressed the importance of hand-washing above all else .
Hand sanitizer should be used as an alternative when soap and water are not readily available , officials have said .
But for some , hand sanitizer is a much needed protective measure that ’ s not readily available .
“ You have thousands of people who have been obliged @ @ @ @ @ @ @ barely any place to wash their hands , ” said Abidi , who is in his second year of graduate school for molecular and cell biology .
“ I believe that having access to basic hygiene supplies and the ability to keep ourselves healthy should be a basic human right , ” said Hao , who was previously working on genome-engineering projects before turning her attention to COVID-19 .
San Francisco County has seen at least 14 deaths linked to the coronavirus and more than 870 confirmed cases of infected individuals .
Nearby @ @ @ @ @ @ @ deaths and more than 840 confirmed cases .
One of the first batches of sanitizer was delivered to more than 900 inmates at San Francisco County Jail after Elina Kostyanovskaya , a PhD student at UC San Francisco , flagged Abidi to the dangers posed by a potential outbreak in such a space .
Four members of the San Francisco Sheriff ’ s Office have tested positive for the virus , including one who had been assigned to the jail .
The sheriff ’ s department has since said that the deputy tested @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pretty impossible in these facilities , ” Kostyanovskaya said .
Kostyanovskaya , 27 , who is working with the Science Policy Group at UCSF to develop hand sanitizer for the jail and prison populations , added that if a jail outbreak occurred , the infected would probably have to be moved inside an already overloaded public health system .
According to San Francicso Dist .
Atty .
Chesa Boudin , the inmate population at the county jail has decreased from 1,238 in January to 766 as of last week .
Still , outbreaks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ incarcerated continue to be of growing concern after a spike in coronavirus infections was reported at the Santa Rita Jail in Alameda County .
Looking for assistance , Abidi called the office of county Supervisor Dean Preston , whose campaign he had previously worked on .
The aide who picked up the phone lived in a house in Haight-Ashbury , which has since become a main distribution and packaging site .
Anthony Turner , 28 , is a carpenter by day who found himself with time on his hands as job demands slowed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ resident of the house have been leads on the distribution front , bottling the sanitizer by the ounce and working with a network of more than a dozen community activists to drop it off throughout the city .
“ The absurdity that this has fallen to us is not lost on us , ” Turner said .
“ For the moment , it seems like groups of committed San Franciscans can stop the bleeding .
But the fact that it fell to such a spontaneous operation is telling .
When the dust settles @ @ @ @ @ @ @ we all need to remember who stepped up for those who needed it most .
And who didn ’ t. ” A GoFundMe campaign was launched to collect money for the bottles , and local businesses , including Alameda Packaging , have previously donated an ample supply .
One of the first San Francisco shelters that received sanitizer has since had an outbreak of more than 70 people .
All the while , confirmed cases of the virus continue to rise throughout California , an especially concerning reality for the state ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ will remain not-for-profit as a push for monetization would jeopardize the principle of the project .
“ It ’ s as perverse an idea that people should pay to be in the sun or pay to breathe air or drink water , ” he said .
The sanitizer work will continue until there is no longer a need — a stance that all involved seem to steadfastly endorse .
“ I think goodwill is at an all-time high , ” Hao said .
“ That is something positive , I suppose , in @ @ @ @ @ @

Inside a lab at UC Berkeley, glycerol is mixed with other products to create hand sanitizer for the Bay Area’s most vulnerable.
Inside a laboratory at UC Berkeley, a PhD student and a research assistant have been working nonstop for nearly a month to produce hand sanitizer for tens of thousands of the Bay Area’s most vulnerable residents.
“If we’re not churning or mixing, we’re on the phone or answering emails,” said PhD student Abrar Abidi. Often, that work, funded by donations and out-of-pocket costs, continues well beyond midnight — long after they’ve left the student teaching lab at the Li Ka Shing Center for Biomedical and Health Sciences.
Their goal is ambitious: produce enough sanitizer for every homeless person and vulnerable individual throughout the Bay Area who may not have the luxury of physical distance during the coronavirus pandemic. The group has distributed sanitizer to homeless shelters, San Francisco County Jail and food banks throughout San Francisco — one of the first cities to issue a shelter-in-place order.
Advertisement
Backed by their university’s approval and aided by a handful of volunteers, including at least one other campus laboratory, Abidi, 26, and Yvonne Hao, 22, have produced hundreds of gallons of sanitizer using products found inside the lab to match a formula designed by the World Health Organization.
Hand sanitizer is in high demand, especially for those in vulnerable communities. (John Roark / Idaho Post-Register)
Since the coronavirus outbreak began, the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention stressed the importance of hand-washing above all else. Hand sanitizer should be used as an alternative when soap and water are not readily available, officials have said. But for some, hand sanitizer is a much needed protective measure that’s not readily available.
“You have thousands of people who have been obliged to live on the street and have barely any place to wash their hands,” said Abidi, who is in his second year of graduate school for molecular and cell biology.
“I believe that having access to basic hygiene supplies and the ability to keep ourselves healthy should be a basic human right,” said Hao, who was previously working on genome-engineering projects before turning her attention to COVID-19.
San Francisco County has seen at least 14 deaths linked to the coronavirus and more than 870 confirmed cases of infected individuals. Nearby Alameda County has counted at least 23 deaths and more than 840 confirmed cases.
Advertisement
One of the first batches of sanitizer was delivered to more than 900 inmates at San Francisco County Jail after Elina Kostyanovskaya, a PhD student at UC San Francisco, flagged Abidi to the dangers posed by a potential outbreak in such a space. Four members of the San Francisco Sheriff’s Office have tested positive for the virus, including one who had been assigned to the jail. The sheriff’s department has since said that the deputy tested false positive.
“Social distancing is pretty impossible in these facilities,” Kostyanovskaya said.
Kostyanovskaya, 27, who is working with the Science Policy Group at UCSF to develop hand sanitizer for the jail and prison populations, added that if a jail outbreak occurred, the infected would probably have to be moved inside an already overloaded public health system.
According to San Francicso Dist. Atty. Chesa Boudin, the inmate population at the county jail has decreased from 1,238 in January to 766 as of last week. Still, outbreaks of the virus among those who are incarcerated continue to be of growing concern after a spike in coronavirus infections was reported at the Santa Rita Jail in Alameda County.
Looking for assistance, Abidi called the office of county Supervisor Dean Preston, whose campaign he had previously worked on. The aide who picked up the phone lived in a house in Haight-Ashbury, which has since become a main distribution and packaging site.
Anthony Turner, 28, is a carpenter by day who found himself with time on his hands as job demands slowed amid the pandemic. He and another resident of the house have been leads on the distribution front, bottling the sanitizer by the ounce and working with a network of more than a dozen community activists to drop it off throughout the city.
“The absurdity that this has fallen to us is not lost on us,” Turner said. “For the moment, it seems like groups of committed San Franciscans can stop the bleeding. But the fact that it fell to such a spontaneous operation is telling. When the dust settles and credit and blame is dispensed, we all need to remember who stepped up for those who needed it most. And who didn’t.”
A GoFundMe campaign was launched to collect money for the bottles, and local businesses, including Alameda Packaging, have previously donated an ample supply.
One of the first San Francisco shelters that received sanitizer has since had an outbreak of more than 70 people. All the while, confirmed cases of the virus continue to rise throughout California, an especially concerning reality for the state’s most vulnerable.
Abidi said the operation will remain not-for-profit as a push for monetization would jeopardize the principle of the project.
“It’s as perverse an idea that people should pay to be in the sun or pay to breathe air or drink water,” he said.
The sanitizer work will continue until there is no longer a need — a stance that all involved seem to steadfastly endorse.
“I think goodwill is at an all-time high,” Hao said. “That is something positive, I suppose, in light of this crisis.”


latimes--2020-04-13--We're crisscrossing California — at a safe distance — to tell your stories amid the pandemic

Some are calling it a war against an unseen enemy — the coronavirus .
Yet if it truly is a war , the battlefield can ’ t be covered from a home office .
That ’ s why Los Angeles Times staff photographer Carolyn Cole and I are embarking on a road journey that will take us throughout California .
We want to check in with the communities and people of our nation ’ s most populous and diverse state .
We aim to give voice to those in remote parts of California as they grapple with the worst health @ @ @ @ @ @ @ We are starting at the Oregon border , with a plan to wind down to the Mexican border — crisscrossing back and forth , from the coastal range to the Sierra , with the valley in between , as we head south .
Then back .
How will we do this — safely ?
We will be traveling the state in a pair of camper vans , keeping separate from each other , as much as possible .
We ’ ll be stocked with food , minimizing trips to groceries and cafes .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ only at a safe distance from other people , always wearing masks and other protective gear .
We will be washing and wiping as all of us — hopefully all of us — are doing at home .
Carolyn and I have also taken precautions to ensure that we are not “ silent spreaders ” — unknowingly infecting others with the coronavirus .
We delayed our journey by several days so we could get tested for COVID-19 , helping to ensure we were not carriers of the disease caused by the virus .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ less-than-perfect way to describe the current international campaign to contain the coronavirus .
Wars come to an end when there are clear victors , or when two sides negotiate a truce .
That will never happen with COVID-19 and other infectious diseases coming behind it .
But it is fair to say we are in the fight of our lives .
As I write this on Sunday evening , more than 22,000 Americans have died .
More than 680 Californians have perished .
Worldwide , the toll topped 114,000 , and continues to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the dangerous side of our jobs .
Carolyn has worked in conflict zones across the globe — Iraq , Afghanistan , Kosovo , Iran and Syria .
And while I haven ’ t visited battlefields , I ’ ve reported from some of the remotest and imperiled parts of the planet , including a leaking concrete dome of radioactive waste in the Marshall Islands .
Carolyn was with me there , too .
We ’ ve both reported stories where the well-being of our sources was paramount , keeping them safe from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ trip will be no different .
But it is critical we get out there .
All across the state , people are feeling the fear and economic pain the coronavirus has unleashed .
Carolyn and I recently reported on a woman who had contracted the virus at a funeral .
When she died , her family organized a service where mourners could pay their respects from their cars .
There are many tragic stories out there , and we will try to tell them with dignity and respect .
We also will report @ @ @ @ @ @ @ neighborhoods banding together , communities seeking more help from government agencies , and first responders and healthcare workers performing acts of heroism .
For several weeks , I ’ ve been dutifully isolating in my home on the outskirts of San Francisco , where my neighbors also hunkered indoors .
I ’ ve watched them from my kitchen window , appearing outside only to exercise , walk their dogs , or chase after their restless children , who ’ ve been locked behind doors for weeks .
I also took note of all @ @ @ @ @ @ @ delivers my mail ; the garbage truck drivers ; the store clerks .
While we are hunkering down at home , hundreds of thousands of Californians are making it possible for us to “ shelter in place.
” We want to tell their stories .
We recognize that some public officials do not want us traveling through their communities .
After I reached out to one local official recently , he urged us not to come .
Why ?
Because “ having reporters come here seems to send a different message than what @ @ @ @ @ @ @ community ” — to stay home .
Although I respect that elected leader ’ s viewpoint , journalists can not tell the story of this pandemic while sheltering in place , just as building inspectors can not do their jobs without visiting buildings .
It is important to note that under Gov .
Newsom ’ s March 22 directive , journalists are listed as essential workers .
Over the next several weeks , Carolyn and I will be on the open road .
You can get updates on where we will be headed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on Twitter at @ susrust and @ carolyn_cole .
My email is also below .
If you want to send us a secure message or tip , you can do so here .
We hope to hear from you .

Some are calling it a war against an unseen enemy — the coronavirus. Yet if it truly is a war, the battlefield can’t be covered from a home office.
That’s why Los Angeles Times staff photographer Carolyn Cole and I are embarking on a road journey that will take us throughout California. We want to check in with the communities and people of our nation’s most populous and diverse state. We aim to give voice to those in remote parts of California as they grapple with the worst health and economic calamity of our lifetimes.
We are starting at the Oregon border, with a plan to wind down to the Mexican border — crisscrossing back and forth, from the coastal range to the Sierra, with the valley in between, as we head south. Then back.
How will we do this — safely?
We will be traveling the state in a pair of camper vans, keeping separate from each other, as much as possible. We’ll be stocked with food, minimizing trips to groceries and cafes. We will conduct interviews and shoot photographs only at a safe distance from other people, always wearing masks and other protective gear.
Carolyn Cole dons protective gear as she prepares to leave Menlo Park on Sunday.
(Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times)
We will be washing and wiping as all of us — hopefully all of us — are doing at home.
Carolyn and I have also taken precautions to ensure that we are not “silent spreaders” — unknowingly infecting others with the coronavirus. We delayed our journey by several days so we could get tested for COVID-19, helping to ensure we were not carriers of the disease caused by the virus.
The term “war” is a less-than-perfect way to describe the current international campaign to contain the coronavirus. Wars come to an end when there are clear victors, or when two sides negotiate a truce. That will never happen with COVID-19 and other infectious diseases coming behind it.
But it is fair to say we are in the fight of our lives. As I write this on Sunday evening, more than 22,000 Americans have died. More than 680 Californians have perished. Worldwide, the toll topped 114,000, and continues to climb.
Tracking the coronavirus in California The latest maps and charts on the spread of COVID-19 in California.
Neither of us are new to the dangerous side of our jobs. Carolyn has worked in conflict zones across the globe — Iraq, Afghanistan, Kosovo, Iran and Syria. And while I haven’t visited battlefields, I’ve reported from some of the remotest and imperiled parts of the planet, including a leaking concrete dome of radioactive waste in the Marshall Islands. Carolyn was with me there, too.
Susanne Rust crouches on the edge of a leaking concrete dome in the Marshall Islands, where the United States buried radioactive waste created by U.S. nuclear weapons testing during the Cold War. (Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times)
We’ve both reported stories where the well-being of our sources was paramount, keeping them safe from danger and retaliation. We know this trip will be no different.
Advertisement
But it is critical we get out there. All across the state, people are feeling the fear and economic pain the coronavirus has unleashed. Carolyn and I recently reported on a woman who had contracted the virus at a funeral. When she died, her family organized a service where mourners could pay their respects from their cars.
There are many tragic stories out there, and we will try to tell them with dignity and respect. We also will report on other aspects of the crisis — neighborhoods banding together, communities seeking more help from government agencies, and first responders and healthcare workers performing acts of heroism.
Hundreds of thousands of Californians are making it possible for us to “shelter in place.” We want to tell their stories. (Susanne Rust / Los Angeles Times)
For several weeks, I’ve been dutifully isolating in my home on the outskirts of San Francisco, where my neighbors also hunkered indoors. I’ve watched them from my kitchen window, appearing outside only to exercise, walk their dogs, or chase after their restless children, who’ve been locked behind doors for weeks.
I also took note of all the service workers: the woman who delivers my mail; the garbage truck drivers; the store clerks.
While we are hunkering down at home, hundreds of thousands of Californians are making it possible for us to “shelter in place.”
We want to tell their stories.
We recognize that some public officials do not want us traveling through their communities. After I reached out to one local official recently, he urged us not to come. Why? Because “having reporters come here seems to send a different message than what I have tried to deliver to our community” — to stay home.
Although I respect that elected leader’s viewpoint, journalists cannot tell the story of this pandemic while sheltering in place, just as building inspectors cannot do their jobs without visiting buildings. It is important to note that under Gov. Newsom’s March 22 directive, journalists are listed as essential workers.
Over the next several weeks, Carolyn and I will be on the open road. You can get updates on where we will be headed, and offer us story ideas, on Twitter at @susrust and @carolyn_cole. My email is also below.
If you want to send us a secure message or tip, you can do so here.
Advertisement
We hope to hear from you.


latimes--2020-04-13--Banks: L.A. schools chief Austin Beutner is performing admirably. But what comes after coronavirus?

When the Los Angeles School Board chose Austin Beutner to lead the district in 2018 , critics complained that he had no classroom experience , and cynics worried that he ’ d cede power to his wealthy charter school-supporting friends .
He was a Wall Street wunderkind ; he made his first $ 100 million by age 33 .
But his education credentials were slim ; his Vision to Learn philanthropy had provided eyeglasses to hundreds of thousands of students in schools across the country since 2012 .
I ’ d seen Beutner at work during his brief stint as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ He was smart and stubborn , righteously impatient and admirably forthright .
When he was replaced a year later by our corporate overseers with someone more malleable , I was disappointed to see him depart .
Still , I couldn ’ t envision this soft-spoken , uber-wealthy white investment banker leading a chronically dysfunctional district , saddled with academic problems and loaded with underprivileged brown and black kids .
But today , during this coronavirus crisis , that school board hiring decision seems a bit like kismet .
As other districts around the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ restrictions , LAUSD — with a businessman at the helm — is using the crisis to strengthen its civic connections and its commitment to vulnerable communities .
The board gave Beutner emergency powers to swiftly fill the crater-sized holes that emerged when campuses were shuttered , teachers shifted gears , and families were forced to shelter at home .
The superintendent has used that authority to provide 2 million meals to children and adults each week , purchase as many as 200,000 laptops for children who don ’ t have computers at home @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that can ’ t afford internet service , and persuade local PBS television stations to carry daily programs aligned with students ’ learning goals .
He reached out for help to his network of business and charitable sources with an urgency that ’ s a clear break from the district ’ s foot-dragging past .
“ We don ’ t need to deliberate for weeks or months or years , ” Beutner told me last week , as he prepared for a district telethon that would generate more than $ 4 million .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ of rules , way too many rules , ” Beutner said .
“ We ’ re solving the problem of how do you set up a lifeline for the community .
You free yourself from prior restrictions .
… You say , let ’ s just do good.
” I ’ m not naive enough to believe that his good-doing will be enough to blunt the academic losses that months away from campus entail .
The district ’ s entrenched achievement gaps won ’ t disappear just because poor kids finally have computers @ @ @ @ @ @ @ may exacerbate academic inequities .
I was stunned by district estimates that one-quarter of its students had no internet access at home .
They can text and watch videos and Google information on their phones , but cyberlearning options are limited for them .
The emergency initiatives to bridge those economic gaps are confronting limitations as well : The technology has been hobbled by limited teacher and student training and inadequate infrastructure .
The food program went forward , but only after the family resource centers that Beutner thought were crucial were canceled @ @ @ @ @ @ @ considering how quickly the assistance was rolled out , key details — like who will pay for what — have yet to be hammered out .
I ’ m sure I ’ ll hear from readers who question Beutner ’ s focus on uplift , given the basics the district lacks : The school system is not a food bank ; you don ’ t have to feed everybody .
Why spend so much money on laptops when kids need nurses , librarians and books ?
Beutner is not afraid of pushback .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the exit if [ district leaders ] tell me you shouldn ’ t be feeding hungry families and kids , ” he said .
“ I believe there ’ s talent in every one of our students .
Our goal has to be to match that talent with opportunity .
... We ’ re changing because we needed to change .
” The initiatives have already improved the image of a school board known mostly for micromanaging and delivered a win to an antsy teachers union , which had tangled with the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Now teachers will be able to create their own weekly schedules and lesson plans , instead of relying only on live video conferencing tools .
They hope that will help them connect with the thousands of students who ’ ve been silent since district campuses closed .
“ There ’ s no substitute for being in the classroom , ” Beutner acknowledges .
But we ’ re trapped in a moment where learning is not about what happens in the classroom , but what ’ s happening in homes and neighborhoods .
And @ @ @ @ @ @ @ translates to action and even the best plans tend to stall , the superintendent ’ s moves could seed a critical culture shift — away from infighting and toward creativity .
For too long , the district has been run like “ a blood sport , ” Beutner said .
“ It ’ s ‘ Are you a Hatfield or a McCoy ?
’ Everybody ’ s been burned ; people retreat to their corners .
In a crisis , we can ’ t operate like that.
” The restrictions the coronavirus imposed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and spotlighted student needs .
Beutner , to his credit , is addressing those things ; he sees hurdles where others see walls .
But the real test will come when the health threat subsides and we get back to our normal lives .
Because the coronavirus brought light to another threat , one that we ’ ve allowed to persist : There ’ s an academic emergency in the nation ’ s second-largest school district .

When the Los Angeles School Board chose Austin Beutner to lead the district in 2018, critics complained that he had no classroom experience, and cynics worried that he’d cede power to his wealthy charter school-supporting friends.
He was a Wall Street wunderkind; he made his first $100 million by age 33. But his education credentials were slim; his Vision to Learn philanthropy had provided eyeglasses to hundreds of thousands of students in schools across the country since 2012.
I’d seen Beutner at work during his brief stint as the L.A. Times publisher in 2014. He was smart and stubborn, righteously impatient and admirably forthright. When he was replaced a year later by our corporate overseers with someone more malleable, I was disappointed to see him depart.
Still, I couldn’t envision this soft-spoken, uber-wealthy white investment banker leading a chronically dysfunctional district, saddled with academic problems and loaded with underprivileged brown and black kids.
Advertisement
But today, during this coronavirus crisis, that school board hiring decision seems a bit like kismet. As other districts around the state are struggling to adapt to pandemic-driven restrictions, LAUSD — with a businessman at the helm — is using the crisis to strengthen its civic connections and its commitment to vulnerable communities.
The board gave Beutner emergency powers to swiftly fill the crater-sized holes that emerged when campuses were shuttered, teachers shifted gears, and families were forced to shelter at home.
The superintendent has used that authority to provide 2 million meals to children and adults each week, purchase as many as 200,000 laptops for children who don’t have computers at home, arrange free online connectivity for families that can’t afford internet service, and persuade local PBS television stations to carry daily programs aligned with students’ learning goals.
He reached out for help to his network of business and charitable sources with an urgency that’s a clear break from the district’s foot-dragging past.
“We don’t need to deliberate for weeks or months or years,” Beutner told me last week, as he prepared for a district telethon that would generate more than $4 million.
The school system “has a lot of rules, way too many rules,” Beutner said. “We’re solving the problem of how do you set up a lifeline for the community. You free yourself from prior restrictions. … You say, let’s just do good.”
::
I’m not naive enough to believe that his good-doing will be enough to blunt the academic losses that months away from campus entail. The district’s entrenched achievement gaps won’t disappear just because poor kids finally have computers.
Advertisement
If anything, extended school closures may exacerbate academic inequities. I was stunned by district estimates that one-quarter of its students had no internet access at home. They can text and watch videos and Google information on their phones, but cyberlearning options are limited for them.
The emergency initiatives to bridge those economic gaps are confronting limitations as well: The technology has been hobbled by limited teacher and student training and inadequate infrastructure. The food program went forward, but only after the family resource centers that Beutner thought were crucial were canceled because large gatherings were barred.
And considering how quickly the assistance was rolled out, key details — like who will pay for what — have yet to be hammered out.
I’m sure I’ll hear from readers who question Beutner’s focus on uplift, given the basics the district lacks: The school system is not a food bank; you don’t have to feed everybody. Why spend so much money on laptops when kids need nurses, librarians and books?
Beutner is not afraid of pushback. “I’ll see my way to the exit if [district leaders] tell me you shouldn’t be feeding hungry families and kids,” he said.
“I believe there’s talent in every one of our students. Our goal has to be to match that talent with opportunity. ... We’re changing because we needed to change. ”
The initiatives have already improved the image of a school board known mostly for micromanaging and delivered a win to an antsy teachers union, which had tangled with the district over prescriptive online teaching rules.
Now teachers will be able to create their own weekly schedules and lesson plans, instead of relying only on live video conferencing tools. They hope that will help them connect with the thousands of students who’ve been silent since district campuses closed.
“There’s no substitute for being in the classroom,” Beutner acknowledges. But we’re trapped in a moment where learning is not about what happens in the classroom, but what’s happening in homes and neighborhoods.
And in a school district where vision seldom translates to action and even the best plans tend to stall, the superintendent’s moves could seed a critical culture shift — away from infighting and toward creativity.
For too long, the district has been run like “a blood sport,” Beutner said. “It’s ‘Are you a Hatfield or a McCoy?’ Everybody’s been burned; people retreat to their corners. In a crisis, we can’t operate like that.”
The restrictions the coronavirus imposed have clarified the district’s responsibilities and spotlighted student needs. Beutner, to his credit, is addressing those things; he sees hurdles where others see walls.
But the real test will come when the health threat subsides and we get back to our normal lives. Because the coronavirus brought light to another threat, one that we’ve allowed to persist: There’s an academic emergency in the nation’s second-largest school district.


latimes--2020-04-13--Coyotes, bobcats and bears: Wildlife is reclaiming Yosemite National Park

Yosemite Village is normally a crush of humanity and traffic congestion .
On Saturday , it was peaceful like few times before — the only sounds coming from the wind and the few local residents .
A young bobcat ambled by the nearly abandoned administrative buildings , while ravens prattled and danced in the empty parking lots , and coyotes trotted along the valley ’ s empty roads and walkways .
Tourists aren ’ t allowed in California ’ s most popular national park , but if they could visit , they might feel as if they had been transported @ @ @ @ @ @ @ previous era , before millions of people started motoring into the valley every year , or to a possible future one , where the artifacts of civilization remain , with fewer humans in the mix .
On March 20 , the national park was closed to prevent the spread of the coronavirus — leaving the 7.5-mile-long valley to only a skeleton crew of 100 to 200 park service employees and an unknown number of concessionaire workers .
This month is typically a busy month in Yosemite : Of the almost 4.6 million tourists @ @ @ @ @ @ @ about 308,000 came during April .
But on this spring day , the air was crystal clear — not a hint of diesel or exhaust tainted the sweet , spring breeze .
And the valley was nearly silent , except for the rushing waters of the Merced River and the wind blowing through the ponderosa pines .
“ You couldn ’ t ask for a better place to be isolated , ” said Warren McClain , a saucier at the Ahwahnee Hotel who has worked in the park since 2017 .
He and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Sanchez , were skateboarding and cycling along Northside Drive , just east of Horsetail Fall , soaking in the bright , warm sun .
Wildlife is coming out of hiding now , they said , as it did during previous government shutdowns of the park — in 1990 , 1995 , 2013 and 2019 .
The difference is that this park closure is expected to be the longest on record .
“ The bear population has quadrupled , ” said Peterson , noting a surge of large megafauna into the fields , thoroughfares @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ It ’ s not like they aren ’ t usually here , ” he said of the bears , bobcats and coyotes that he and other employees now see congregating outside their cabins and apartments .
“ It ’ s that they usually hang back at the edges , or move in the shadows.
” Just three days after a snowstorm blanketed the region , spring has come to the valley .
The sun was bright , the air clear , and fronds and green sprouts of vegetation burst through the dirt @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in her winter coat , stalked and then captured a fat gray squirrel outside the entrance of Camp Curry .
She grabbed the rodent by the neck , shook it and then proceeded to eat it whole , saving the tail for last .
The few employees sheltering in place are taking advantage of the valley ’ s unimpeded natural amenities .
Some are hiking to Mirror Lake and the falls , enjoying trails that are empty aside from the critters .
As of Saturday , the valley was completely free of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ And social distancing didn ’ t seem to be happening — except at the Village Market .
Only 10 people at a time are allowed in the small grocery store , and three wash stations are outside the entrance .
Customers are required to scrub and disinfect their hands before entering .
“ If the virus comes into the valley , it ’ s going to come through here , ” said Ken Concroft , a market employee who was managing the wash stations out front .
He said the biggest risk comes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ such as Foresta and The Redwoods , which are inside the park boundaries .
He and other employees fear “ people who are from the city ” visiting their second homes and inadvertently bringing the virus with them .
He said three visitors had come in that morning .
Entry at the park gates is permitted only to employees , essential workers and those who can show the deeds to their houses .
The wash stations , social distancing measures and newly installed plexiglass sheets that separate customers from cashiers are all steps @ @ @ @ @ @ @ spread of virus in the valley .
Concroft was interested to hear that many stores outside the park are now prohibiting the use of cloth bags , eyeing them as sources of viral transfer .
“ We ’ ll have to consider that , too , ” he said .
“ We ’ re doing everything we can to keep it out.
” For gateway towns such as Oakhurst , Mariposa and Groveland , Yosemite ’ s shutdown has hobbled numerous businesses , as it has in communities near other closed national parks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ those closures have come recently and followed weeks of controversy , in which town leaders accused the Interior Department of being slow to close parks as a protective measure .
Char Miller , a historian at Pomona College , said the park probably was very similar today to how it appeared to visitors in the 19th century .
He referred to journal entries , written by early visitors , such as Alice Ives Van Schaack , who visited Yosemite in 1871 and marveled over its natural wonders and majesty .
Upon seeing Yosemite @ @ @ @ @ @ @ later wrote , “ I felt Heaven itself could not be much lovelier.
” Miller said that geological marvels such as El Capitan and Half Dome `` remind us of how short our time is here.
” “ One thing we can know for sure is that Yosemite is enduring , ” he added .
“ It was here before us , and will remain after we leave .
”

Thanks to the coronavirus, Yosemite National Park is closed, the campgrounds are empty and the trails are void of people.
Yosemite Village is normally a crush of humanity and traffic congestion. On Saturday, it was peaceful like few times before — the only sounds coming from the wind and the few local residents.
A young bobcat ambled by the nearly abandoned administrative buildings, while ravens prattled and danced in the empty parking lots, and coyotes trotted along the valley’s empty roads and walkways.
Tourists aren’t allowed in California’s most popular national park, but if they could visit, they might feel as if they had been transported to another time. Either to a previous era, before millions of people started motoring into the valley every year, or to a possible future one, where the artifacts of civilization remain, with fewer humans in the mix.
Advertisement
On March 20, the national park was closed to prevent the spread of the coronavirus — leaving the 7.5-mile-long valley to only a skeleton crew of 100 to 200 park service employees and an unknown number of concessionaire workers.
This month is typically a busy month in Yosemite: Of the almost 4.6 million tourists that visited the valley in 2019, about 308,000 came during April.
But on this spring day, the air was crystal clear — not a hint of diesel or exhaust tainted the sweet, spring breeze. And the valley was nearly silent, except for the rushing waters of the Merced River and the wind blowing through the ponderosa pines.
Yosemite Half Dome dusted with snow and clouds in Yosemite National Park is closed to visitors due to the coronavirus. (Carolyn Cole/Los Angeles Times)
“You couldn’t ask for a better place to be isolated,” said Warren McClain, a saucier at the Ahwahnee Hotel who has worked in the park since 2017.
Advertisement
He and his co-workers, Dane Peterson and Billy Sanchez, were skateboarding and cycling along Northside Drive, just east of Horsetail Fall, soaking in the bright, warm sun.
Wildlife is coming out of hiding now, they said, as it did during previous government shutdowns of the park — in 1990, 1995, 2013 and 2019. The difference is that this park closure is expected to be the longest on record.
“The bear population has quadrupled,” said Peterson, noting a surge of large megafauna into the fields, thoroughfares and open spaces of the park.
“It’s not like they aren’t usually here,” he said of the bears, bobcats and coyotes that he and other employees now see congregating outside their cabins and apartments. “It’s that they usually hang back at the edges, or move in the shadows.”
Just three days after a snowstorm blanketed the region, spring has come to the valley. The sun was bright, the air clear, and fronds and green sprouts of vegetation burst through the dirt.
A healthy-looking coyote, still adorned in her winter coat, stalked and then captured a fat gray squirrel outside the entrance of Camp Curry. She grabbed the rodent by the neck, shook it and then proceeded to eat it whole, saving the tail for last.
The few employees sheltering in place are taking advantage of the valley’s unimpeded natural amenities. Some are hiking to Mirror Lake and the falls, enjoying trails that are empty aside from the critters.
As of Saturday, the valley was completely free of the virus. Nobody was wearing masks. And social distancing didn’t seem to be happening — except at the Village Market.
A coyote wanders around Curry Village in Yosemite Valley. (Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times)
Only 10 people at a time are allowed in the small grocery store, and three wash stations are outside the entrance. Customers are required to scrub and disinfect their hands before entering.
“If the virus comes into the valley, it’s going to come through here,” said Ken Concroft, a market employee who was managing the wash stations out front. He said the biggest risk comes from visitors who own property in places such as Foresta and The Redwoods, which are inside the park boundaries.
He and other employees fear “people who are from the city” visiting their second homes and inadvertently bringing the virus with them.
He said three visitors had come in that morning.
A young bobcat hunts for a meal in Yosemite Valley. (Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times)
Entry at the park gates is permitted only to employees, essential workers and those who can show the deeds to their houses.
The wash stations, social distancing measures and newly installed plexiglass sheets that separate customers from cashiers are all steps the market has taken to prevent the spread of virus in the valley.
Concroft was interested to hear that many stores outside the park are now prohibiting the use of cloth bags, eyeing them as sources of viral transfer.
“We’ll have to consider that, too,” he said. “We’re doing everything we can to keep it out.”
For gateway towns such as Oakhurst, Mariposa and Groveland, Yosemite’s shutdown has hobbled numerous businesses, as it has in communities near other closed national parks. Outside of California, some of those closures have come recently and followed weeks of controversy, in which town leaders accused the Interior Department of being slow to close parks as a protective measure.
Deer feed in Yosemite Valley. (Carolyn Cole/Los Angeles Times)
Char Miller, a historian at Pomona College, said the park probably was very similar today to how it appeared to visitors in the 19th century.
He referred to journal entries, written by early visitors, such as Alice Ives Van Schaack, who visited Yosemite in 1871 and marveled over its natural wonders and majesty. Upon seeing Yosemite Valley for the first time, she later wrote, “I felt Heaven itself could not be much lovelier.”
Miller said that geological marvels such as El Capitan and Half Dome ”remind us of how short our time is here.”
“One thing we can know for sure is that Yosemite is enduring,” he added. “It was here before us, and will remain after we leave.”
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--2020-04-13--This Orange County company has gone from making hair look cool to fighting coronavirus

In Santa Ana , the corporate history of Suavecito Inc. is told from the hood to City Hall like a barrio fable .
Brothers Pete and Tony Adame grew up with their pal J-Bird in the rough Santa Nita neighborhood during the 1990s , when the streets were hot .
But they all came out OK and got the blue-collar jobs — machinist , line cook , Chipotle burrito wrapper — that they figured were their destiny .
Then Pete Adame lost his job in 2009 as a result of the Great Recession .
With a $ 1,000 severance check @ @ @ @ @ @ @ time to turn their hobby — sweet-scented hair pomade they mixed in 5-gallon Home Depot buckets and gave out to friends in sandwich bags and Tupperware — into a business .
The pomade , named “ Suavecito ” ( literally “ smooth ” in español , but akin to “ hep cat ” in Chicano Spanish ) became a worldwide sensation .
Last year , the company produced more than 6 million 4-ounce cans of their pomade .
Baseball superstar Bryce Harper is a fan , along with Social Distortion frontman Mike Ness @ @ @ @ @ @ @ El Recodo .
Now , 34-year-old Pete is Suavecito ’ s chief executive , 31-year-old Tony is the chief financial officer , and J-Bird — 36 , real name Jason Venable — is the executive secretary .
Their empire owns and operates two giant production warehouses in Santa Ana staffed by more than 100 people , nearly all of them santaneros with working-class backgrounds like theirs .
The company is now a lifestyle brand , with cosmetics , apparel , toys , and even umbrellas emblazoned with its mascot , a Dia de @ @ @ @ @ @ @ iconic to this generation of millennial Southern Californians as Rat Fink was to baby boomers in the 1960s .
And now , in this coronavirus era , Suavecito is making hand sanitizer .
It ’ s not about the money , they say , although Suavecito ’ s first run of 10,000 1- and 8-ounce bottles sold out in seven minutes with just one Instagram post .
Their bigger goal is personal : Hire back the workers they had to furlough because of statewide stay-at-home edicts .
Let their largely Latino clientele know @ @ @ @ @ @ @ help out the hard-luck city they ’ ve always proudly repped .
“ Here ’ s where people are getting the least support , ” said Tony Adame , as he , his brother and Venable walked around one of their warehouses the week before Easter .
About a dozen workers , all young and in masks that didn ’ t take away from their shimmering pompadours , ponytails and fades , packed boxes or worked at computers .
Those who manufactured wore stylish hats or beanies .
It was shipping day .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ ready to be donated across Santa Ana — not just to first responders , but also other people who faced potential exposure to coronavirus on a regular basis .
Postal workers .
UPS drivers .
Cashiers .
At a production line that usually produced aftershave and beard spray , the youngest Adame brother , 29-year-old Cesar , placed stickers onto bottles .
“ It ’ s kinda unreal that we ’ re doing this , but it feels good to help out people , ” he said .
“ We ’ ve just @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it ’ s been go-go-go nonstop , ” said the 38-year-old production manager .
Santa Ana has long suffered a bad reputation across Southern California and beyond , stereotyped as too crime-ridden , too Latino , too poor .
It ’ s an image that Suavecito ’ s founders have tried to fight against with their company .
All their items are labeled “ Santa Ana , California ” on purpose .
“ When we started this , we always wanted to let everyone know where we ’ re from , ” said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s a lot of good here.
” Coronavirus cases here lag behind those in other Orange County cities .
But the economic crisis wrought by the pandemic hangs across the city .
Fourth Street , its historic downtown that has gentrified in recent years , stands almost completely shuttered .
The streets in Santa Ana , one of the densest big cities in the U.S. are empty .
Most of the company ’ s sales come from mom-and-pop barbers and Chicano boutiques that stock its stuff .
Production essentially halted as clients @ @ @ @ @ @ @ % of its staff , a move that Tony Adame said was “ like someone took our family away from us.
” Then friends , like in the old days , started hitting them up .
This time , they needed hand sanitizer .
Nationwide , companies that never imagined they ’ d ever produce the disinfectant — distilleries , breweries , papermakers , even cannabis shops — have jumped into the business to stay financially afloat .
But many have encountered stumbling blocks : a shortage of ingredients .
A steep learning @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lines .
In Suavecito ’ s case , its executives realized nearly everything they needed was in their warehouses .
Tens of thousands of unused spray bottles from discontinued products .
A surplus of FDA-approved alcohol and glycerin .
Relationships with producers to ensure a steady supply line .
“ We felt like a start-up again , ” said Pete Adame .
“ Like , what do we need ?
Who do we call ?
Who are the homies that need to get hooked up ?
” They started with small batches to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ local businesses such as Chapter One : the modern local .
“ They ’ re looked up to here in Santa Ana , ” said owner Jeff Jensen .
“ These guys , they ’ re worldwide but they ’ re focused on what ’ s the most important thing right now — putting stuff in the hands of people who need it.
” Cal State Fullerton women ’ s studies professor Melissa Hidalgo brags that she has used the company ’ s products “ since before they were even called Suavecito.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a hand sanitizer is an action more important than just commerce .
“ Sometimes , it ’ s the damn neighborhood and streets that gets things done , ” she said .
“ And the power in that is in seeing a Latino company saying , ‘ Gente , we got ta take care of ourselves .
And part of that is keeping your ... hands clean.
’ ” The Adames have dealt with coronavirus skepticism in their own homes from older relatives , and know that their customers are facing the same @ @ @ @ @ @ @ half of the population in Los Angeles County , accounted for 28 % of reported COVID-19 deaths .
“ They think coronavirus is just like the flu , ” Pete Adame said .
“ But maybe if your sons and daughters are taking it seriously , then maybe you should.
” Tony Adame estimates they ’ ll produce at least 100,000 bottles of hand sanitizer but don ’ t plan to be in that business forever .
That would require an investment in a whole new production line , and they have other @ @ @ @ @ @ @ thinking of other ways to help Santa Ana .
On Easter , Suavecito held a free taquiza ( taco catering ) outside its warehouse .
And they ’ re also thinking of producing masks , although there ’ s a debate about what the design should be .
“ It can ’ t be our main logo , ” joked Venable .
“ You don ’ t want to see Dad going to Northgate looking like la Muerte .
”

Eugene Cayetano caps bottles of hand sanitizers at the Santa Ana factory of Suavecito, which usually manufactures pomade and Chicano hipster fashion.
In Santa Ana, the corporate history of Suavecito Inc. is told from the hood to City Hall like a barrio fable.
Brothers Pete and Tony Adame grew up with their pal J-Bird in the rough Santa Nita neighborhood during the 1990s, when the streets were hot. But they all came out OK and got the blue-collar jobs — machinist, line cook, Chipotle burrito wrapper — that they figured were their destiny.
Then Pete Adame lost his job in 2009 as a result of the Great Recession. With a $1,000 severance check, he told the guys it was time to turn their hobby — sweet-scented hair pomade they mixed in 5-gallon Home Depot buckets and gave out to friends in sandwich bags and Tupperware — into a business.
Advertisement
The pomade, named “Suavecito” (literally “smooth” in español, but akin to “hep cat” in Chicano Spanish) became a worldwide sensation. Last year, the company produced more than 6 million 4-ounce cans of their pomade. Baseball superstar Bryce Harper is a fan, along with Social Distortion frontman Mike Ness, and Mexican regional music legends Banda El Recodo.
Suavecito Chief Executive Pete Adame, from left, Tony Adame, the chief financial officer, and Executive Secretary Jason Venable grew up in Santa Ana and are committed to helping the city (Irfan Khan / Los Angeles Times)
Now, 34-year-old Pete is Suavecito’s chief executive, 31-year-old Tony is the chief financial officer, and J-Bird — 36, real name Jason Venable — is the executive secretary. Their empire owns and operates two giant production warehouses in Santa Ana staffed by more than 100 people, nearly all of them santaneros with working-class backgrounds like theirs. The company is now a lifestyle brand, with cosmetics, apparel, toys, and even umbrellas emblazoned with its mascot, a Dia de los Muertos-style rockabilly that’s as iconic to this generation of millennial Southern Californians as Rat Fink was to baby boomers in the 1960s.
And now, in this coronavirus era, Suavecito is making hand sanitizer.
It’s not about the money, they say, although Suavecito’s first run of 10,000 1- and 8-ounce bottles sold out in seven minutes with just one Instagram post. Their bigger goal is personal: Hire back the workers they had to furlough because of statewide stay-at-home edicts. Let their largely Latino clientele know that la corona is serious.
And help out the hard-luck city they’ve always proudly repped.
“Here’s where people are getting the least support,” said Tony Adame, as he, his brother and Venable walked around one of their warehouses the week before Easter. About a dozen workers, all young and in masks that didn’t take away from their shimmering pompadours, ponytails and fades, packed boxes or worked at computers. Those who manufactured wore stylish hats or beanies.
Advertisement
It was shipping day. Five thousand 1-ounce hand sanitizer bottles were ready to be donated across Santa Ana — not just to first responders, but also other people who faced potential exposure to coronavirus on a regular basis. Postal workers. UPS drivers. Cashiers.
At a production line that usually produced aftershave and beard spray, the youngest Adame brother, 29-year-old Cesar, placed stickers onto bottles.
“It’s kinda unreal that we’re doing this, but it feels good to help out people,” he said.
His supervisor, Eugene Cayetano, agreed.
“We’ve just been learning on the go, and it’s been go-go-go nonstop,” said the 38-year-old production manager.
Santa Ana has long suffered a bad reputation across Southern California and beyond, stereotyped as too crime-ridden, too Latino, too poor.
It’s an image that Suavecito’s founders have tried to fight against with their company. All their items are labeled “Santa Ana, California” on purpose.
“When we started this, we always wanted to let everyone know where we’re from,” said the soft-spoken Tony Adame. “There’s a lot of good here.”
Coronavirus cases here lag behind those in other Orange County cities. But the economic crisis wrought by the pandemic hangs across the city. Fourth Street, its historic downtown that has gentrified in recent years, stands almost completely shuttered. The streets in Santa Ana, one of the densest big cities in the U.S. are empty.
The downturn hit Suavecito too.
Eugene Cayetano, left, and John Bernal check a bottle of hand sanitizer at Suavecito. (Irfan Khan / Los Angeles Times)
Most of the company’s sales come from mom-and-pop barbers and Chicano boutiques that stock its stuff. Production essentially halted as clients closed down, and Suavecito furloughed 60% of its staff, a move that Tony Adame said was “like someone took our family away from us.”
Then friends, like in the old days, started hitting them up. This time, they needed hand sanitizer.
Nationwide, companies that never imagined they’d ever produce the disinfectant — distilleries, breweries, papermakers, even cannabis shops — have jumped into the business to stay financially afloat.
But many have encountered stumbling blocks: a shortage of ingredients. A steep learning curve. Lack of access to production lines.
In Suavecito’s case, its executives realized nearly everything they needed was in their warehouses.
Tens of thousands of unused spray bottles from discontinued products. A surplus of FDA-approved alcohol and glycerin. Relationships with producers to ensure a steady supply line.
“We felt like a start-up again,” said Pete Adame. “Like, what do we need? Who do we call? Who are the homies that need to get hooked up?”
They started with small batches to test out, then reached out to local businesses such as Chapter One: the modern local.
Eight-ounce bottles of Suavecito hand sanitizer slide down the production line at the company’s Santa Ana factory. (Irfan Khan / Los Angeles Times)
“They’re looked up to here in Santa Ana,” said owner Jeff Jensen. “These guys, they’re worldwide but they’re focused on what’s the most important thing right now — putting stuff in the hands of people who need it.”
Cal State Fullerton women’s studies professor Melissa Hidalgo brags that she has used the company’s products “since before they were even called Suavecito.” She points out that its release of a hand sanitizer is an action more important than just commerce.
“Sometimes, it’s the damn neighborhood and streets that gets things done,” she said. “And the power in that is in seeing a Latino company saying, ‘Gente, we gotta take care of ourselves. And part of that is keeping your ... hands clean.’”
The Adames have dealt with coronavirus skepticism in their own homes from older relatives, and know that their customers are facing the same. Latinos, who make up about half of the population in Los Angeles County, accounted for 28% of reported COVID-19 deaths.
“They think coronavirus is just like the flu,” Pete Adame said. “But maybe if your sons and daughters are taking it seriously, then maybe you should.”
Tony Adame estimates they’ll produce at least 100,000 bottles of hand sanitizer but don’t plan to be in that business forever. That would require an investment in a whole new production line, and they have other plans. But they’re still thinking of other ways to help Santa Ana. On Easter, Suavecito held a free taquiza (taco catering) outside its warehouse.
And they’re also thinking of producing masks, although there’s a debate about what the design should be.
“It can’t be our main logo,” joked Venable. “You don’t want to see Dad going to Northgate looking like la Muerte.”


latimes--2020-04-13--Coronavirus is new front in the war between L.A. County's sheriff and supervisors

Two of Los Angeles County ’ s most powerful elected officials appeared together in front of a news camera last month to describe ramped-up efforts to battle the coronavirus outbreak .
That evening , Sheriff Alex Villanueva ’ s phone buzzed with a text from Supervisor Kathryn Barger .
“ For what it ’ s worth : You were great today , ” she wrote .
“ True leadership.
” It ’ s hard to pinpoint exactly what went wrong after that March 12 show of unity .
But the following week , the dynamic between Villanueva and Barger turned @ @ @ @ @ @ @ control of coronavirus messaging .
It reached a boiling point when the L.A. County Board of Supervisors voted — in a move it said was long in the works — to put the county ’ s chief executive in charge of its crisis response .
In doing so , the board removed Villanueva as the director of the emergency operations center .
Villanueva called the move a “ silent coup.
” Opinions differ as to how the change will play out .
Supervisors and other county officials said it won ’ t matter @ @ @ @ @ @ @ center , with some describing the move as merely a name swap at the top of an organizational chart .
But Villanueva is indicating that at some point after this crisis he will remove his troops from the center ’ s operations .
He has asked the board to provide a transition plan to replace them .
“ If we walked away , a lot of things would fall apart , ” Villanueva said .
“ We ’ re not going to do that .
We want to make sure this thing is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ He added , “ We ’ re going to withdraw at some point.
” The flareup between the board and the sheriff continues a long-running power struggle that began when Villanueva took office in December 2018 .
But it comes as state , local and federal officials face intense scrutiny over their handling of life-and-death matters in response to the deadly coronavirus outbreak and casts the latest squabbling in a harsh light .
It began around the time L.A. County was preparing to issue a stay-at-home order .
Villanueva said he got word @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the emergency operations center was left out of the loop .
He texted Barger , the board ’ s chairwoman , that afternoon , according to screenshots of the exchange provided by the Sheriff ’ s Department .
“ We need to talk , I ’ m getting word you are going off-script with L.A. and Long Beach , ” he wrote , asking if he should shut down the emergency operations center to avoid duplicative efforts .
It was seven days after their joint news conference .
“ What is this shadowy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ charge ?
” Villanueva said he never received a response .
An hour and a half later , Barger announced the order in a live-streamed news conference with Public Health Director Barbara Ferrer and officials from L.A. , Pasadena and Long Beach .
“ In my wildest dreams , I never anticipated that a supervisor would go rogue and decide to branch off on their own , ” Villanueva said in an interview .
“ That ’ s uncharted territory.
” Barger said later that the Sheriff ’ s Department was alerted early @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and her office provided an email that was sent to two sheriff ’ s executives who were advised to notify Villanueva .
On a conference call that morning , department heads were asked for their input .
“ We got nothing from the sheriff , ” Barger said .
“ To have him say he was left out is a convenient omission on his part.
” Two days after Barger ’ s news briefing , Villanueva emailed the board and other officials complaining about decisions being made outside the established command structure , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ aired similar complaints in a television interview .
It was from that interview , Barger said later , that she learned Villanueva planned to close gun shops during the pandemic , viewing them as non-essential businesses .
He went back and forth on the issue , eventually deciding not to enforce the closures after the federal government weighed in , calling the shops essential .
He saw the board ’ s proposal to displace him in the operations center as retaliation for his initial decision to close the gun stores .
Supervisors voted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ week , a move they said stemmed from an audit of the deadly 2018 Woolsey fire that concluded that officials were unprepared for mass evacuations and other disruptions .
The audit recommended that the county centralize coordination of its crisis response .
Villanueva and the board then had another dispute , when he asked them to secure retroactive pay for quarantined employees who he said had to dip into their personal sick leave prior to federal benefits kicking in for affected workers .
Barger told the sheriff he had the authority to grant @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in a sharply worded letter , supervisors further implored him to correct the record after they said his “ false information ” led to threats against Sachi Hamai , the county ’ s chief executive .
The county ’ s emergency operations center was activated March 4 , staffed by 100 or so people — including about eight Sheriff ’ s Department personnel — tasked with coordinating resources to respond to what some have called a once-in-a-generation pandemic .
Day to day , staffers at the operations center might help set up COVID-19 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s access to N95 masks and other protective gear .
They find shelters , food and supplies for people experiencing homelessness and others who have been exposed to the virus but can ’ t quarantine at home .
They handle public messaging and field questions from government officials , businesses and news organizations .
John Stedman , a retired Sheriff ’ s Department chief who oversaw emergency operations , said that if the sheriff removes his staff , it might require a two-year transition that could include the Office of Emergency Management taking @ @ @ @ @ @ @ training duties .
“ I don ’ t know if it ’ s going to be a plus or minus .
It could be a plus if OEM is going to take all that load off the department , ” he said .
“ I don ’ t understand the move if all you ’ re going to do is put a different guy in charge.
” A 2012 report suggested that the head of the OEM was better suited than the sheriff to coordinate during an emergency .
But the review also @ @ @ @ @ @ @ understaffed , ” with 15 full-time workers .
The staff has since doubled , according to Kevin McGowan , who heads the office and was assigned by Hamai to lead the emergency operations center .
McGowan said he fully expects to continue working with the Sheriff ’ s Department .
“ The sheriff has a key role to play in law enforcement , ” McGowan said .
“ OEM has a responsibility to provide leadership and support within the emergency management function so these work symbiotically.
” L.A. County sheriffs have led the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Since then , significant threats and emergencies have grown more complex .
Experts said local government agencies began beefing up staffing and training within disaster response programs after the Sept. 11 , 2001 , terror attacks .
The L.A. County changes line up with Riverside County ’ s system , which is headed by the Emergency Management Department .
The Sheriff ’ s Department , meanwhile , staffs the center ’ s law branch , said county spokeswoman Brooke Federico .
Other counties operate differently .
In Ventura County , the Office of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 2013 until he was hired last summer by L.A. County — is part of the sheriff ’ s office .
But law enforcement there has taken a backseat in running the response to the coronavirus outbreak .
“ The reality is , this is a public health emergency , so our role in it is very limited , ” said Ventura County Sheriff ’ s Capt .
Eric Buschow .
In Ventura County , McGowan oversaw the renovation of the emergency operations center and led emergency management for several disasters , including destructive @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Borderline Bar and Grill , an oil spill and an explosion at the Santa Clara waste treatment center .
Stewart Gary , a retired fire chief whose audit of the Woolsey fire response triggered L.A. County ’ s leadership shakeup , said in a statement that law enforcement is “ one spoke in the wheel ” of an emergency operations center .
“ They are really good collaborative partners , ” he said .
“ I would hope that in Los Angeles that would be the case as well .
”

Two of Los Angeles County’s most powerful elected officials appeared together in front of a news camera last month to describe ramped-up efforts to battle the coronavirus outbreak.
That evening, Sheriff Alex Villanueva’s phone buzzed with a text from Supervisor Kathryn Barger.
“For what it’s worth: You were great today,” she wrote. “True leadership.”
Advertisement
It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what went wrong after that March 12 show of unity. But the following week, the dynamic between Villanueva and Barger turned hostile, with both throwing punches over control of coronavirus messaging.
It reached a boiling point when the L.A. County Board of Supervisors voted — in a move it said was long in the works — to put the county’s chief executive in charge of its crisis response. In doing so, the board removed Villanueva as the director of the emergency operations center. Villanueva called the move a “silent coup.”
Opinions differ as to how the change will play out. Supervisors and other county officials said it won’t matter much in the day-to-day running of the center, with some describing the move as merely a name swap at the top of an organizational chart.
But Villanueva is indicating that at some point after this crisis he will remove his troops from the center’s operations. He has asked the board to provide a transition plan to replace them.
“If we walked away, a lot of things would fall apart,” Villanueva said. “We’re not going to do that. We want to make sure this thing is done properly from start to finish.”
He added, “We’re going to withdraw at some point.”
The flareup between the board and the sheriff continues a long-running power struggle that began when Villanueva took office in December 2018. But it comes as state, local and federal officials face intense scrutiny over their handling of life-and-death matters in response to the deadly coronavirus outbreak and casts the latest squabbling in a harsh light.
Advertisement
Tracking the coronavirus in California The latest maps and charts on the spread of COVID-19 in California.
It began around the time L.A. County was preparing to issue a stay-at-home order.
Villanueva said he got word of those plans March 19, but the emergency operations center was left out of the loop. He texted Barger, the board’s chairwoman, that afternoon, according to screenshots of the exchange provided by the Sheriff’s Department.
“We need to talk, I’m getting word you are going off-script with L.A. and Long Beach,” he wrote, asking if he should shut down the emergency operations center to avoid duplicative efforts. It was seven days after their joint news conference.
“What is this shadowy decision-making group, and who is in charge?”
Villanueva said he never received a response.
An hour and a half later, Barger announced the order in a live-streamed news conference with Public Health Director Barbara Ferrer and officials from L.A., Pasadena and Long Beach.
“In my wildest dreams, I never anticipated that a supervisor would go rogue and decide to branch off on their own,” Villanueva said in an interview. “That’s uncharted territory.”
Barger said later that the Sheriff’s Department was alerted early that morning to the impending order, and her office provided an email that was sent to two sheriff’s executives who were advised to notify Villanueva.
On a conference call that morning, department heads were asked for their input.
“We got nothing from the sheriff,” Barger said. “To have him say he was left out is a convenient omission on his part.”
Two days after Barger’s news briefing, Villanueva emailed the board and other officials complaining about decisions being made outside the established command structure, and two days after that, he aired similar complaints in a television interview.
It was from that interview, Barger said later, that she learned Villanueva planned to close gun shops during the pandemic, viewing them as non-essential businesses. He went back and forth on the issue, eventually deciding not to enforce the closures after the federal government weighed in, calling the shops essential. He saw the board’s proposal to displace him in the operations center as retaliation for his initial decision to close the gun stores.
Supervisors voted unanimously to approve the change the following week, a move they said stemmed from an audit of the deadly 2018 Woolsey fire that concluded that officials were unprepared for mass evacuations and other disruptions. The audit recommended that the county centralize coordination of its crisis response.
Villanueva and the board then had another dispute, when he asked them to secure retroactive pay for quarantined employees who he said had to dip into their personal sick leave prior to federal benefits kicking in for affected workers. Barger told the sheriff he had the authority to grant employees paid administrative leave. Then, in a sharply worded letter, supervisors further implored him to correct the record after they said his “false information” led to threats against Sachi Hamai, the county’s chief executive.
The county’s emergency operations center was activated March 4, staffed by 100 or so people — including about eight Sheriff’s Department personnel — tasked with coordinating resources to respond to what some have called a once-in-a-generation pandemic.
Day to day, staffers at the operations center might help set up COVID-19 testing centers or inventory the county’s access to N95 masks and other protective gear. They find shelters, food and supplies for people experiencing homelessness and others who have been exposed to the virus but can’t quarantine at home. They handle public messaging and field questions from government officials, businesses and news organizations.
John Stedman, a retired Sheriff’s Department chief who oversaw emergency operations, said that if the sheriff removes his staff, it might require a two-year transition that could include the Office of Emergency Management taking on some of the department’s training duties.
“I don’t know if it’s going to be a plus or minus. It could be a plus if OEM is going to take all that load off the department,” he said. “I don’t understand the move if all you’re going to do is put a different guy in charge.”
A 2012 report suggested that the head of the OEM was better suited than the sheriff to coordinate during an emergency. But the review also found that the OEM was “woefully understaffed,” with 15 full-time workers.
The staff has since doubled, according to Kevin McGowan, who heads the office and was assigned by Hamai to lead the emergency operations center. McGowan said he fully expects to continue working with the Sheriff’s Department.
“The sheriff has a key role to play in law enforcement,” McGowan said. “OEM has a responsibility to provide leadership and support within the emergency management function so these work symbiotically.”
L.A. County sheriffs have led the crisis center since the early 1970s. Since then, significant threats and emergencies have grown more complex. Experts said local government agencies began beefing up staffing and training within disaster response programs after the Sept. 11, 2001, terror attacks.
The L.A. County changes line up with Riverside County’s system, which is headed by the Emergency Management Department. The Sheriff’s Department, meanwhile, staffs the center’s law branch, said county spokeswoman Brooke Federico.
Other counties operate differently. In Ventura County, the Office of Emergency Services — which McGowan headed from 2013 until he was hired last summer by L.A. County — is part of the sheriff’s office. But law enforcement there has taken a backseat in running the response to the coronavirus outbreak.
“The reality is, this is a public health emergency, so our role in it is very limited,” said Ventura County Sheriff’s Capt. Eric Buschow.
In Ventura County, McGowan oversaw the renovation of the emergency operations center and led emergency management for several disasters, including destructive wildfires, the mass shooting at the Borderline Bar and Grill, an oil spill and an explosion at the Santa Clara waste treatment center.
Stewart Gary, a retired fire chief whose audit of the Woolsey fire response triggered L.A. County’s leadership shakeup, said in a statement that law enforcement is “one spoke in the wheel” of an emergency operations center.
“They are really good collaborative partners,” he said. “I would hope that in Los Angeles that would be the case as well.”