A shift in demographics. Affordable apartments transformed into luxury condos. A coffee shop called something like “Brew Slut.”
The signs of gentrification take many forms. A newly opened art gallery can serve both as a communal space and a harbinger of the displacement to come. Remodeled homes might boost a street’s curb appeal but then drive up rents in the ensuing months and years.
There are plenty of ways to tell when gentrification is coming to a community; rising home prices and an influx of trendy shops are classic omens. But in the modern market, developers are flipping houses at the highest rate since 2000, and the houses they churn out are often homogeneous: boxy, black and white, minimalist. They’re adorned with trendy house number fonts and chic drought-tolerant gardens, and they can be an obvious sign of gentrification on the way.
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Take a stroll through your neighborhood and keep an eye out for these trends. If you spot a few, gentrification may be on the way. If you spot a bunch, it might be well underway.
The gentrification font
If Neutraface starts speckling the homes and fences around your neighborhood, your rent might soar soon.
The sleek typeface and its many knock-offs have become so commonplace that they’ve become a meme, and the Guardian even declared it “the gentrification font.” It crowns countless brand-new builds across L.A., and like certain wines and cheeses, it pairs well with cheaply done fixer-uppers or the aforementioned box houses.
“The Shake Shack font has invaded,” said Steven Sanders, a Highland Park resident who has lived in the rapidly changing neighborhood since 2015. When Sanders moved there, the median single-family home value was around $463,000, according to Zillow. Today, it’s $1.002 million.
There’s nothing specifically wrong with the font; it’s clean, modern and easy to read. Ironically, it’s named after Richard Neutra, an iconic architect who often stressed affordability in his work.
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If a for-sale house has a Neutraface house number, the listing price will probably be anything but affordable.
Gentrification bonus point: if the font is also brass or gold.
Black-and-white paint jobs
Gentrification, in terms of housing, has become a monochromatic movement. Gone are the green-colored Craftsmans or the pink-hued bungalows of old; today, newly built homes are overwhelmingly white, black or a brutal combination of the two.
“Taste aside, a black house in an era of climate change is ridiculous,” said Adam Greenfield, a transportation and land-use advocate.
Gentrification bonus point: if a black-and-white exterior comes with an accent door — a splash of bright blue, yellow or turquoise to showcase that the property isn’t completely devoid of character. Just mostly devoid of character.
Excess security cameras
If you’re taking a stroll down your street and feel watched — not by anyone specific, but by a small army of Ring doorbells, Nest cameras and other electronic eyes making sure you don’t pick a Meyer lemon or your dog doesn’t defecate on the decomposed granite — brace for a new brand of neighbor.
Surveillance systems and the context behind them, in which owners view their neighbors and passersby as potential package-stealers, are all too common in gentrifying communities. For if it were truly a high-crime place, there would still be chain link and barred windows.
There’s plenty of evidence that smart doorbells lead to racial profiling, and while there’s nothing inherently wrong with security systems, they generally detract from the community feel instead of adding to it.
“It’s the degradation of the social fabric that for so long we all took for granted,” Greenfield said. “It’s legitimate to walk up to a neighbor’s door to ask for or offer something, and security cameras and warning systems discourage that. We can’t let fear win in our society.”
Gentrification bonus point: if they come with a speaker with a disembodied voice that barks at passersby in a condescending tone: “Hi! You are currently being recorded.”
Privacy fences
Sometimes, surveillance systems aren’t enough. Many modern homeowners moving into new neighborhoods don’t even want to be seen by neighbors, so they install privacy fences or towering hedges to shield themselves from anyone walking by.
Greenfield calls them “f— you fences.”
“Many people were raised in the suburban sprawl, where they don’t have as much access to other people. Then they move to denser areas and import those suburban norms of separation and privacy,” Greenfield said.
Lola Rodriguez, a Lincoln Heights resident who grew up in the area, said if a home in the neighborhood is ever hidden from view, it’s usually someone who just moved in.
Gentrification bonus point: if the privacy fence is chic and stylish, like the horizontal trend that has taken over in some areas.
Box houses
One of the more uninspired architectural trends of the last century, modern box houses forgo attempts at character or ornamentation, instead serving as shrines to simplicity. They worship at the altar of minimalism, squeezing out as much square footage as zoning laws will allow.
They’re clean, they’re simple, and they’re a likely sign that a new demographic is moving into a neighborhood.
“It’s jarring seeing a bright white box house jammed between older houses with more character,” Rodriguez said. She prefers the neighborhood’s stock of century-old bungalows over the new homes being built.
The polarizing style isn’t for everyone, but it’s a hit for deep-pocketed buyers eyeing extra space. And box houses are quicker and cheaper to build for profit-minded developers, who will keep cranking out supply as long as there’s demand.
Gentrification bonus point: if the box house includes a glass garage door.
Drought-tolerant gardens
To be clear, the ecological benefits of drought-tolerant landscaping make it a net positive for Southern California. Limited water usage is absolutely a good thing.
But such gardens aren’t always cheap, and if they start popping up in neighborhoods where most residents can’t afford to spend thousands of dollars, sometimes tens of thousands, on their yard, it could be a sign of gentrification.
Most carry the same look: a handful of shrubs, succulents and cacti surrounded by gravel or decomposed granite, giving it a sandy, desert-like quality.
Kerry Kimble and Steven Galindo, two real estate agents with the Agency, said they’ve noticed an increase in drought-tolerant gardens in neighborhoods such as Echo Park, Highland Park and Silver Lake, where displacement has already been happening for years.
The majority of Kimble’s listings are in northeast L.A., and she said she’s noticed a surplus of succulents.
Galindo said some developers add drought-tolerant gardens to attract potential buyers.
“Developers remodel homes for the taste of the gentrifier,” he said.
The pair are currently listing a 106-year-old duplex in Angelino Heights, a neighborhood protected by a Historic Preservation Overlay Zone, which preserves a community’s architectural feel by limiting new building designs and renovations. But not every neighborhood enjoys such protection.
Gentrification bonus point: if the garden is riddled with Firestick plants — the trendy, orange-tipped succulents that seem to anchor every lawn in those “up-and-coming” neighborhoods.
Little Free Libraries
Listen, these are lovely. Unlike surveillance systems and privacy fences, little libraries actually evoke a sense of community, bringing neighbors together over a shared love of literature (even though most generally seem to be stocked exclusively with James Patterson novels and unreadable how-to books).
The charming, birdhouse-like structures certainly don’t cause gentrification, despite what a handful of critics have claimed over the years. But they definitely seem to be a product of gentrification, usually popping up in areas where home prices are rising and well-to-do residents are moving in.
Gentrification bonus point: if a smart doorbell camera watches over the library, making sure nobody takes more than their fair share of books.
Pointed listing language
Sometimes, the clearest sign of gentrification is hearing how people are talking about a neighborhood and the homes within it. There’s a wealth of such examples posted daily on Zillow, Redfin and other listing sites as real estate agents take on certain tones to market properties to potential buyers.
For example, if a listing brags about the home being some kind of port in a storm, a refuge from the area around it, a ship of gentrifiers might be sailing in. One listing in Boyle Heights is touted as an “urban oasis.” Another in South L.A. promises to add “a touch of serenity to urban living.”
Also pay attention to whether a listing is marketed as an actual place to live or simply an investment opportunity. This listing near Leimert Park asks potential buyers to “come see your future investment today.” An Elysian Heights listing touts its use as an Airbnb.
Gentrification bonus point: if the language sounds like an extra flowery wellness ad, such as this listing in East L.A.: “Imagine stepping into a world where every corner whispers tales of renewal.”
It’s hard to say what’s cooler about the Japanese shōya house at the Huntington Library, Art Museum, and Botanical Gardens — the centuries-old wood structure that was once the center of a small farming village in Marugame, Japan, or the backstory of how it got to its new home at the Huntington’s Japanese Garden.
The journey took nearly eight years of negotiations, bureaucratic wrangling and skilled craftsmanship to dismantle, reassemble and, in some cases, re-create the 3,000-square-foot house and gardens. And starting Saturday, visitors can finally tour the compound, which will be open daily from noon to 4 p.m. (except Tuesdays, when the gardens are closed).
Los Angeles-based Akira and Yohko Yokoi donated their ancient family home to the Huntington, but the $10 million job of moving it to San Marino was far more complicated than just taking apart a puzzle and putting it back together.
Consider the distinctive conical ceramic tiles covering the pitched roof like rows of tight curls. All those silver-gray tiles had to be remade by Japanese craftsmen because the originals were mortared to the roof and had to be broken to disassemble the house. The exquisite garden outside the largest and most important room of the house was carefully mapped and measured, and every stone numbered by landscape designer Takuhiro Yamada so it could be re-created at the Huntington.
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And outside the gatehouse that protected the house, built new because the original was damaged by a storm, the Huntington installed a terraced mini farm growing small plots of rice, buckwheat, sesame, wheat and other traditional Japanese crops, surrounded by a riot of colorful cosmos flowers. The house sits higher than the farmland, so water collected from the roof and ponds all drains down to irrigate the farm land.
So this installation isn’t just an exercise in cultural awareness, says curator Robert Hori, the Huntington’s associate director of cultural programs, who oversaw the project from start to finish. To him, the Japanese Heritage Shōya House is a quiet but effective example of sustainability — “learning from the past for a better future” — and a reminder that farmers “are really the backbone of our society.”
There were plenty of trying times — more than two years of negotiating with city, state and federal officials to get the necessary approvals and occupancy permit to move and rebuild the house. And in the midst of the pandemic, when the disassembled house sat in dozens of packing crates for nearly nine months, Hori had to coax reluctant Japanese craftspeople to come and put it together so the ancient wood pieces didn’t warp in SoCal’s dry summer heat.
“When you’ve spent two years lovingly repairing this wood and then you’re told everything might be lost, that was a call to action to the craftspeople who painstakingly worked on this,” says Hori. “Even in the face of a pretty scary time, they felt like it was their responsibility to put this house back together.”
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The project started with a chance meeting in 2016 during a party at the Beverly Hills home of Los Angeles philanthropist Jacqueline Avant. Hori had come to talk with Avant about a Japanese art collection she wanted to donate to the institution. During their conversation, Avant introduced Hori to her friend, Yohko Yokoi, who soon would be traveling to Japan.
“I said, ‘Oh, that will be a wonderful visit because the cherry blossoms will be in full bloom,’” Hori recalls, “and [Yokoi] said, ‘No, because I have to take care of my house.’ And then she began to tell me the story of this house.”
Hori recalls Yokoi saying the house had been built after the war, “so I thought it was a prefab house from the 1950s with poor construction, built after World War II. But then she was saying, ‘We used to have a castle,’ and that’s when it came to light that this house was built around 1700, after the war that unified Japan.”
Prior to that final battle, Japan had been a confederation of warring city-states and provinces, he said. It took 100 years of battles to create a cohesive central government known as the Tokugawa Shogunate. The Yokoi family’s castle was destroyed during the war. They had been fighting on the losing side, Hori said, but the victorious Tokugawa clan decided to incorporate all the losing factions into its new bureaucracy, to become tax collectors and shōya, or village leaders.
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The Yokoi shōya house was built around 1700 in Marugame, says Hori, and was the family’s private residence as well as a kind of community center for the village.
Inside the gatehouse, a large courtyard provided space for weddings, funerals and celebrations. Farmers and merchants entered the shōya house through one entrance, to measure and store their rice, pay their taxes and try to collect funds for other provisions. These rooms had floors made from hard-packed earth, and rustic beams hand-hewn from pine.
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Adjacent to the dirt-floored rooms were the places where the family lived and worked. These raised floors were covered with rice-straw tatami mats. The wood-framed walls and beams were planed to feel as soft to the touch as satin sheets. Sliding walls with windows covered in rice paper and glass opened to reveal exquisite gardens, enjoyed only by visiting dignitaries who entered through their own special gate.
After the military shogunate system was overturned in the late 19th century, the house became the Yokois’ private residence and went through several renovations, according to Yokoi and her husband, Akira. The last family member to live there was Akira’s mother, who died around 1988. The couple moved to California in the late 1960s, says Hori, where Akira worked as an executive for Matsushita Panasonic, the parent company of Panasonic. They visited the house regularly and kept it maintained, with the idea of retiring there someday.That plan faded, however, and eventually, he adds, the upkeep became a chore.
Hori already was thinking about a big project for the Japanese Gardens when he first met Yohko Yokoi. The Huntington’s Chinese Garden was in the midst of a huge expansion, and the discussion was how to add to the Japanese Garden to balance the two, says Hori. “This was an ongoing conversation we’d been having [at the Huntington] since 2012, and I’d been taking several trips to Japan to figure out what we should be adding next to that garden,” he says.
The Yokoi house sounded promising, so even though he had just returned from a visit to Japan, he made another trip within a few weeks so he could see the house while Yokoi was visiting. And that’s when he got the vision that sustained him through all the difficult years to come.
“I thought it had good bones when I first went to look at it, but also, I was interested in the house because it was really a conglomerate of various styles: the front room with its very rustic wood beams and style on one side, and then on the other side a formal reception room with the elegant carvings and mix of styles; a public face and private face of a scale big enough to accommodate visitors circulating through it.”
There were other signs too. The Huntington’s historic Japanese Garden, with its curved wooden Moon Bridge over a small lake and display of a Japanese home, first opened in 1912 when the West was fascinated by Japanese culture, plants and architecture. The garden fell into disrepair during World War II but was refurbished with support from the San Marino League. In 1968, the garden was expanded with a bonsai collection and Zen Court of plants and raked stones. Then in 2010, the Pasadena Buddhist Temple donated a small ceremonial tea house to the garden, which was disassembled and sent back to Japan to be refurbished before being shipped back to San Marino, where it was reassembled.
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The tea house was much smaller than the shōya house, says Nicole Cavender, director of the Huntington’s botanical gardens, but it gave them the confidence to tackle a much larger structure and create a reconstruction of village life.
“We wanted this to be an immersive experience,” says Cavender, “so it has to be productive as well as beautiful.” The fields of tall magenta, pink and white cosmos flowers that edge the farm weren’t added just to enchant, she said, “but to show that we’re actually trying to grow something. The flowers draw pollinators who help the crops grow.”
Eventually there will be koi in the garden pond by the house, and the water circulating in that pond will be enriched with their poop, she says, and help feed the farmland below. Around the house is decorative edging called rain catchers — narrow drains filled with smooth gray rocks to collect any rain or dew falling off the roof, which also drained to the farming areas below.
Three hundred years ago, the Japanese didn’t have a word for sustainability, but they lived the concept every day with this type of regenerative farming, says Hori. “It’s how you survived. We want people to understand that ornamental gardening started with the ability to move water, and to move earth, which is what we have in farming. It all came out of farming.”
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Hori’s vision encompasses more nuanced lessons too. The house has few furnishings. The smooth wood decking around the perimeter of the house is patched in places where the wood was worn, but the patches were done decoratively in the shape of a small gourd. And the simplicity of the furnishings is a gentle question.
“It gets you thinking … do we really need all this stuff we have? We want this to be a living museum, and walking through the house you can really find the three Rs of sustainability — reduce, repair and recycle, reuse or remake,” says Hori.
“It was all part of a circular economy where nothing was wasted. A ‘circular economy’ is a big concept, but we’re hoping these small doses of a big concept can help people take away these lessons and understand them. As a nonprofit we are in the business of inspiring and changing lives. We can make a difference, and that’s a great thing to come to work to.”
Elizabeth Hirschhorn, the Brentwood tenant who did not pay rent for her luxury Airbnb rental for 570 days, moved out of the unit on Friday.
The move was exactly one month after The Times chronicled Hirschhorn’s contentious tenancy, which began with a cordial stay on Airbnb and ended with her and Sascha Jovanovic, the landlord and property owner, suing each other.
“I’m a little overwhelmed, but I finally have my home back,” Jovanovic said. “I had such a peaceful weekend once she left.”
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During her stay, which began in September 2021, Hirschhorn said that the lease was extended off Airbnb and that the unit was subject to the Rent Control Ordinance, so Jovanovic would have to evict her if he wanted her to leave. She also argued that she didn’t have to pay rent since Jovanovic never obtained an occupancy license for the guesthouse.
Jovanovic, who lives on the property, was at the home on Friday being interviewed for a documentary detailing the battle between him and Hirschhorn when he saw three men, who turned out to be movers, walk into the guesthouse.
He said he asked why they were there, and they didn’t clearly say why. He suspected she could be moving out but feared it also could be a home invasion, so he called the police.
The police arrived, and once all of Hirschhorn’s belongings were packed, they escorted her off the property, Jovanovic said.
Jovanovic and his attorney, Sebastian Rucci, knocked on the door to confirm she was gone and then entered the guesthouse and found it empty. Within an hour, a locksmith arrived and changed the locks.
As of now, it’s unclear whether Hirschhorn moved out permanently, or if she’s planning to return to the property.
Jovanovic and Rucci said they hadn’t heard anything from either Hirschhorn or her legal team, so they assumed she had moved out for good. On Saturday, Rucci emailed Hirschhorn’s attorney, Amanda Seward, to figure out the next steps regarding Jovanovic’s eviction lawsuit against Hirschhorn.
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“My review of the case law is that once a tenant abandons the unit, the unlawful detainer is dismissed. If you wish, I can file the dismissal, or we can file a joint dismissal,” Rucci wrote.
Seward replied that they “may have jumped the gun,” according to the email exchange reviewed by The Times.
“Ms. Hirschhorn had discussed with me concern over the constant harassment and surveillance, and also the desire to get the things repaired that needed to be repaired. Subject to my discussions with Ms. Hirschhorn, please be advised that you have no authority to change the locks or to assume abandonment of the unit,” Seward wrote. “Further, you have violated the law by entering without permission and changing the locks.”
Neither Hirschhorn nor Seward immediately responded to a request for comment.
Rucci said he’s planning to drop the unlawful detainer lawsuit, assuming Hirschhorn has moved out for good. But he’ll still pursue damages in a separate lawsuit, since he claims Hirschhorn owes roughly $58,000 in unpaid rent. Hirschhorn said she owes nothing since Jovanovic never had a license to rent the unit, and her lawsuit accuses him of multiple forms of harassment and intimidation in attempts to get her to leave the place, which Jovanovic has denied.
Hirchhorn’s tenancy became a viral story in the days and weeks after The Times chronicled the saga. News vans posted up outside the home, and paparazzi followed Hirschhorn whenever she left.
“Drones were flying above my house every day. It was crazy,” Jovanovic said.
Now, he plans to address the mold damage in the unit, which was an issue during Hirschhorn’s stay that eventually soured their relationship. He also plans to get the necessary permits from the city, which was another issue; Jovanovic never obtained a license to rent the unit, and Hirschhorn argued in court that he wasn’t allowed to charge rent on a unit he didn’t have a license for.
After that, he plans to turn the space into a recreation room for his two adolescent children.
“We need to get the bad energy out and turn it back into a happy, family space,” he said.
Every few months over the last two years, a sea of California carpenters has clogged the state Capitol to voice their support of high-profile housing legislation, their yellow and orange vests, hard hats and work boots in stark contrast to the suits, dresses and fancy shoes more customary in the hallways and hearing rooms of Sacramento.
Their grassroots lobbying has paid off with major legislative wins, including a pair of housing construction bills that Gov. Gavin Newsom signed into law Wednesday.
The laws represent more than the possibility of desperately needed new homes in a state with a 2.5-million-unit housing shortage. They also signal a shift in power dynamics among unions in California, and which ones have the greatest influence over labor standards at residential construction sites.
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“The carpenters’ engagement on housing policy has been an absolute game changer,” said state Sen. Scott Wiener, a San Francisco Democrat who chairs his chamber’s housing committee and is the author of both laws, Senate Bills 4 and 423.
The first bill, SB 4, will make it easier for nonprofit colleges and faith organizations to build affordable homes on their land, while SB 423 will expand current law that lets developers expedite construction of multifamily projects in cities that have fallen behind on their state-mandated housing goals. The measures build on Assembly Bill 2011, a law that went into effect in July to convert buildings traditionally zoned for commercial retail and office space into affordable housing.
The new laws come after years of gridlock on housing proposals, leading to a rift between the California Conference of Carpenters, which is gaining newfound clout in the state Capitol, and the State Building and Construction Trades Council, one of the most influential players in Sacramento over the last decade.
Divisions bubbled up last year when the carpenters broke with the council and other influential unions and sponsored AB 2011, legislation the broader labor movement opposedbecause it lacked more rigorous job standards.
AB 2011 still mandates developers pay union-approved, or “prevailing,” wages and provide some healthcare benefits to workers, whether they’re union members or not. But it lacks the work standard the building trades union prefers, known as “skilled and trained,” a mandate that generally means laborers on job sites are unionized.
In the Democratic-controlled Legislature, where labor has an outsize influence, last year’s union infighting put many lawmakers in the uncomfortable position of having to choose a side.
Opponents of the skilled and trained standard argue it’s unachievable for housing developers because there aren’t enough union workers to meet the threshold. The trades union contends it’s a model that protects workers against exploitation and inadequate job safety protections.
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“I think that prevailing wage in legislation for housing is a positive step,” said Chris Hannan, who was selected president of the State Building and Construction Trades Council this summer. “We don’t believe that that’s enough.”
Hannan succeeded Andrew Meredith, who resigned as president this year as the fight over labor standards raged in the Capitol.
Leadership at the carpenters union say they had no choice but to move forward with their own plan after discussions with the council fell apart.
Jay Bradshaw, executive secretary-treasurer of the Northern California Carpenters Union, said the new standards will help dismantle the underground construction economy and create job opportunities for union members, while safeguarding all workers against wage theft and other unfair labor practices currently happening on residential job sites.
The carpenters’ approach with the new standards is to organize members on job sites, but the trades council historically preferred requiring a unionized workforce to begin with.
“The labor standards we developed will significantly help our current membership. … And it will also pull wages out of competition for those that are not represented,” Bradshaw said. “And then it’s our job to go organize those folks, not the government’s.”
Todd David, a political advisor to Wiener who served as executive director of the Housing Action Coalition in 2022, said the increased influence of the carpenters helped clear a path for new housing legislation.
“There were lots of quiet conversations between legislators with people who knew the carpenters very well, like, can they really do this?” David said.
They did.
So began a new era for the carpenters — and their Democratic allies eager to pass more sweeping housing bills into law using the same labor language.
“They showed up, and they really planted a flag in AB 2011,” said Assemblymember Buffy Wicks, the Oakland Democrat who wrote the legislation and chairs the Assembly committee on housing. “It was a breakout moment, I think, for the carpenters, where they decided enough is enough, we’re going to build housing, we’re going to do strong labor standards, we’re going to break the juggernaut that has been preventing us from actually accomplishing stuff in California in housing policy, with regards to labor standards. And they did it.”
The building trades council and its allies see the fight as far from over.
Hannan and others still consider the dispute over the labor language an easy choice between protecting workers or leaving them vulnerable to exploitation and job safety issues that may result from a lack of training.
“Our members … are the very best at what they do. And they deserve us to fight as hard as we can for them,” Hannan said. “And we believe we are going to be the strongest, loudest voice for the construction worker.”
But the council lost its second battle this year after Wiener introduced his two bills, which largely include the same labor standards as last year’s deal.
Considered this year’s most consequential housing measure, SB 423 will extend by another decade current policy that lets developers streamline multifamily development in cities that have failed to plan for enough housing, which was set to expire in 2026. The original law passed in 2017 and has led to more than 18,000 proposed units, the majority for low-income families.
Last year’s coalition included the California Housing Consortium and other affordable housing groups and two other major unions — the California School Employees Assn. and the Service Employees International Union. This year, Wiener and the carpenters expanded support for the labor changes to add more construction unions.
“We just hung tough, and I think the nature of the crisis sort of forced people to do what they were not comfortable doing in terms of the labor issues,” said Danny Curtin, director of the carpenters conference. “Breaking ranks, or however you want to put it, is never simple or easy. And you don’t want to do it unless you really think there’s no real alternative. But it was unassailable, our bill was unassailable.”
Others don’t see it that way.
Scott Wetch, a lobbyist who represented several unions in the negotiations, described SB 423 as an undemocratic law that would come back to haunt every legislator who voted for it, a “political aneurysm” that “one day will burst.”
He criticized how housing might get built in a streamlined capacity that edges out community input, and questioned whether the healthcare requirements will withstand future legal challenges.
And while some unions were going to bat for their members fighting for more rigorous job rules, Wetch said, others, like the carpenters, “sold their members down the river.”
“The carpenters went to a handful of developers, and said to them, ‘Hey, we want to get some work, we want to work with you, and we will be the Judases that remove these worker protections that you don’t like, because we want to get some work out of you,’” Wetch said.
The carpenters have shrugged off those criticisms. They see the issue as a done deal, the new labor standards now the blueprint for housing legislation in California.
“The carpenters would rather be problem solvers than just problem fighters,” Bradshaw said.
To the native Wintu people it was Bohem Puyuik, the “Big Rise,” and no wonder. Mt. Shasta towered above everything else, her loins delivering the natural springs and snowmelt that birthed a great river.
The Sacramento River provided such an abundance of food that the Wintu and many neighboring tribes — the Pit River, Yana, Nomlaki and others — had little to fight over. They thrived in pre-colonial times, on waters that ran silver with salmon, forests thick with game and oaks heavy with acorns.
But centuries of disease, virtual enslavement and murder wrought by European and American invaders scrambled the harmony that once reigned along the Upper Sacramento River.
Today, three tribes here are locked in a bloodless war. At issue is a proposal by one Indigenous group to expand and relocate its casino and whether the flashy new gambling hall, hotel and entertainment center would honor — or desecrate — the past.
The casino envisioned by the Redding Rancheria and its 422 members would rise nine stories on 232 acresalong Interstate 5. The rancheria — home to descendants from three historic tribes — began planning the development nearly two decades ago, envisioning a regional magnet for tourists and gamblers.
But the proposal has been buffeted by influential opponents, including the city of Redding, neighborhood groups and the billionaire next door — who happens to be the largest private landowner in America. The naysayers list a cavalcade of complaints against the new Win-River casino complex, saying it would despoil prime farmland, exacerbate traffic, increase police and fire protection costs and threaten native fish in the Sacramento River.
Those complaints have helped stall, but not kill, the project, whose fate rests almost solely in the hands of the Bureau of Indian Affairs in Washington, D.C. And now the BIA’s obscure bureaucrats have been confronted with an explosive new charge from two neighboring tribes: that construction of the casino would desecrate what the tribes say should be hallowed ground — the site of an 1846 rampage by the U.S. Cavalry that historians say probably killed hundreds of Native people.
The Sacramento River massacre has not received the attention of other atrocities of America’s westward expansion, such as the one in 1890 at Wounded Knee, S.D., where U.S. troops killed as many as 300 Lakota people. Estimates of the carnage, recorded over the decades from witness accounts and oral tradition, range from 150 to 1,000 men, women and children slaughtered along the banks of the Sacramento River.
If the higher estimates of the death toll are correct, it would rank as one of the largest single mass killings of Indigenous people in American history.
“In my heart, I find it hard to believe that there are Wintu people that are willing to build a casino on … the blood-soaked dirt of the massacre site,” Gary Rickard, chair of the Wintu Tribe of Northern California, told a state Assembly committee in August. “There are dozens of other places along the I-5 corridor and the Sacramento River.”
Redding Rancheria Chair Jack Potter Jr., himself part Wintu, called the claim that his tribe would build its casino on the massacre grounds “a slander that will not be easily forgotten.” He told state lawmakers that the real massacre site is miles away. Rancheria leaders said their opponents have manufactured the controversy for a less honorable reason: to block what would be a sparkling new competitor.
“Gaming in Indian country can be a tide that raises all of our canoes,” insisted Potter, who appeared at times to fight back tears as he spoke at the Sacramento hearing. “We should not battle against one another, in that spirit.”
Column One
A showcase for compelling storytelling from the Los Angeles Times.
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Friendships that go back decades and tribal ties of a century or more have been imperiled by the casino furor. Native people normally aligned against a hostile or indifferent U.S. government — “We’re all the children of genocide,” as one elder put it — have watched sadly as their conflicts turn inward.
It’s a dynamic that has played out before. Robbed of their ancestral lands, tribes now sometimes fight when one tries to claim new territory, often as a base for a lucrative modern endeavor: gambling.
The friction is exacerbated by the peculiar history of the Redding Rancheria — and by opponents’ eleventh-hour invocation of the Sacramento River massacre, 19 years after the rancheria began to assemble parcels for the project.
The Redding Rancheria refers to a nearly 31-acre stretch of land near the south end of Redding that the federal government bought in 1922 for “homeless Indians” who came to the area as seasonal workers for ranches and orchards. The rancheria sits in a relatively obscure location compared with the interstate-adjacent site of the proposed casino, more than three miles by car to the northeast.
In 1939, the Wintu, Pit River, Yana and other Indigenous peoples formed a rancheria government. It was recognized by the United States. But in 1958, an act of Congress “terminated” recognition of multiple California groups, including the Redding Rancheria, in an attempt to force Indians to disperse into the general population. It took a landmark 1983 court settlement to formally restore recognition of 17 rancherias, including the one in Redding.
The result is that there are Redding Rancheria members with Wintu blood, like Potter, 52, who firmly support the casino, while other Wintu descendants who are not descended from the original rancheria families, like Rickard, 78, adamantly oppose it. Rickard grew up with Jack Potter Sr. and has known his son since he was a boy.
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Cordiality prevails, at least outwardly, when Rickard and Potter meet today. But the bad blood between their groups has become fierce, exacerbated by the yawning wealth disparity between the rancheria and the Northern Wintu.
Rancheria members have thrived largely because of the success of their existing Win-River Resort & Casino, which operates 550 slot machines, a dozen table games, an 84-room hotel and an RV park.
The complex is the biggest income producer for the rancheria, which also owns a Hilton Garden Inn and a marijuana dispensary in Shasta County. Sources familiar with the tribe said each enrolled member receives a monthly “per capita” payment of at least $4,000 and perhaps as high as $6,000.
The rancheria’s chief executive, Pitt River descendant Tracy Edwards, 54, declined to discuss the amount of the payments.
That income, along with health clinics and other benefits, makes the Redding Rancheria members the envy of Indigenous groups with comparatively paltry assets. Rickard’s Northern Wintu claims roughly 560 certified members, but like many groups across America, the tribe has been laboring for years and still has not received formal recognition from the U.S. government. That means the tribe can’t put land into trust, a prerequisite to casino development and also a shield against federal, state and local taxes.
“We don’t have the resources in order to obtain the things we need,” said Shawna Garcia, the Northern Wintu’s cultural resources administrator. “We don’t have the revenue to assist our members with things like college, housing and other assistance.”
Historians and ethnographers say the Wintu were the predominant tribe around the site proposed for the casino complex, an expanse of meadow and scrubland that locals dub the Strawberry Fields because of its agricultural history. And Rickard questioned why the “pure-blood Wintu people” he represents have been left to struggle, while the rancheria — representing an amalgamation of tribal groups — stands poised to create an even bigger cash cow with its new casino.
Rancheria leaders like Edwards, a UC Davis-trained lawyer, have emphasized how the tribal group has supported Native and non-Native people, both as one of the largest employers in Shasta County and through its charitable foundation.
In just one year, 2018, the rancheria said it gave more than $1.2 million to community organizations, helping serve the homeless and victims of the Carr fire. During the early phase of the COVID-19 pandemic, the rancheria donated $5,000 each to 60 businesses struggling to stay afloat.
At a cost of $150 million, the rancheria’s new casino would feature 1,200 slot machines — more than double the number at its current casino — and with 250 rooms, the new casino hotel would be more than triple the size of the existing hotel. The tribal group has pledged to close its current Win-River casino when the new one opens.
The rancheria’s outsized community presence has created substantial goodwill around Redding, but a portion of residents have stepped forward — via petitions and ballot measures — to express disdain for large developments they feel could harm the rural character of their community.
Among the more powerful opponents is Archie Aldis “Red” Emmerson, president of logging giant Sierra Pacific Industries, whose sprawling estate looms along the Sacramento River, just south of the casino site.
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In 2020, an Emmerson-allied company purchased property from the city of Redding that included a portion of a road that would be the north entry to the casino site and created an easement that would have barred access to the rancheria land for all but agricultural purposes. The easement effectively would have thwarted the casino by blocking vehicle access to the development.
But in 2022, a Shasta County Superior Court judge voided the deal, saying that in selling the land (for just $3,000 to the billionaire) the city had violated its “own processes, procedures and the relevant law.” The ruling nullified the easement, preserving the rancheria’s unrestricted access to the property.
The Redding City Council and neighboring homeowners have maintained their opposition to the project for years, while a new conservative majority on the Shasta County Board of Supervisors recently reversed the county’s earlier objections. The supervisors supported the casino, despite admonitions from the sheriff, fire chief and county counsel that the agreement with the rancheria did not provide sufficient compensation to cover the increased costs of serving the big development.
The rancheria agreed to make one-time payments totaling $3.6 million to support Shasta County, the Sheriff’s Department and fire and emergency services. That initial infusion would be supplemented by recurring payments: $1,000 for each police service call and $10,000 for each fire/emergency service call.
No issue has unsettled intra-tribal relations, though, like the debate flowing out of the terrible events along the Sacramento River 177 years ago.
Oral histories of the Wintu and neighboring tribes recall how Native families and elders had gathered along the river known as the Big Water each year in early April for the spring salmon run. Traditionally, the season signaled rebirth.
But Capt. John C. Fremont had other ideas.
Fremont diverted his men from their ordered assignment: completing land surveys in the Rocky Mountains. The Americans instead went adventuring to California, where, in the spring of 1846, they responded to sketchy claims from settlers that they were endangered.
About 70 buckskin-clad white men set upon the Native people, the locals far outgunned by the invaders, each toting a Hawken rifle, two pistols and a butcher knife, according to UCLA historian Benjamin Madley‘s detailed account of the massacre.
The horsemen completed their grisly work with such evident pride that legendary frontiersman Kit Carson later bragged that the coordinated assault had been “a perfect butchery.”
The massacre marked the beginning of “a transitional period between the Hispanic tradition of assimilating and exploiting Indigenous peoples and the Anglo-American pattern of killing or removing them,” according to Madley’s “An American Genocide: The United States and the California Indian Catastrophe.”
Fremont (later a U.S. senator from California and a Republican presidential candidate) would say that his party attacked the natives because of reports of an “imminent attack” upon settlers. But the “battle” was one-sided, with the federal troops suffering no known casualties. Afterward, according to Madley’s account, Fremont’s men feasted on the Native people’s larder of fresh salmon.
In the nearly two centuries since, the tragedy would be more forgotten than remembered. There is no historical marker around Redding noting the event.
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The Wintu people believed to have been the principal victims have preserved memories of the mass killing in their oral history. But no ceremony marks the atrocity. And at the Wintu cultural resource center in Shasta Lake City, a wall-size timeline of the group’s history makes no mention of the 1846 bloodshed.
There’s also the now-pressing question — pushed to the fore by the casino feud — about precisely where the massacre occurred. The Northern Wintu and another outspoken opponent, the Paskenta Band of Nomlaki Indians, insist that the Strawberry Fields property was a key location in the atrocity.
The Paskenta commissioned a study by a retired anthropologist from Cal State Sacramento that drew on research from the late 1800s by a linguist from the Smithsonian Institution who, in turn, got much of his information from a Wintu elder who survived the massacre. The report, by Dorothea Theodoratus and a colleague, said that the “center” of the massacre was “opposite the mouth of Clear Creek” in the Sacramento River, a point roughly two miles south of the proposed casino location.
But other accounts from participants and witnesses said Fremont’s soldiers chased down victims after the initial assault, leaving the exact range of the bloodshed unknown. The Theodoratus report says that six villages, including two on the proposed casino property, were so thoroughly intermingled that all “would have had some direct involvement with that massacre.”
Andrew Alejandre, chair of the Paskenta Band, told the Assembly Governmental Organization Committee in August that his tribe is seeking to have the state and federal governments designate the Strawberry Fields a sacred site, off-limits to development. Alejandre, 35, said his tribe vehemently opposes building a casino “on top of men, women, children and elders. The spirit of these ancestors … Let them rest!”
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In rebuttal, Potter and rancheria CEO Edwards note that during the many years that they and others have pursued developments in the region, the rival tribes never mentioned the massacre. Divisive fights over a proposed auto mall and a sports complex (both scrapped) came and went without any discussion about desecration of a mass grave site.
“I would never disrespect the remains of my ancestors,” Potter said.
Fifty miles south of Redding in rural Corning, the 288-member Paskenta Band opened the Rolling Hills Casino and Resort two decades ago. The luxe gaming hall is just one part of an economic surge by the tribe, which has also opened an equestrian complex, an 18–hole golf course, a 1,400-acre gun and hunting center and a 3,000-person amphitheater, where Snoop Dogg performed in May.
Potter charged that the fight over the historic massacre is really a ploy by the flourishing Paskenta to squelch the Redding Rancheria’s hopes for a shimmering destination casino “because of the mistaken belief that it … will cut into the profits of their gaming facilities.”
Paskenta’s Alejandre, a designer who once ran a clothing company, denied that is the case.
While representatives for the Paskenta and Northern Wintu tribes bashed the casino proposal at the August hearing, representatives of at least eightother California tribes argued in support of the Redding Rancheria. One said the Redding group had proved itself a good steward of cultural resources.
Another speaker at the hearing was Miranda Edwards, the 28-year-old daughter of the rancheria CEO. The Stanford-educated Edwards and her mother spoke about the importance of moving the tribal group forward for the “Seventh Generation,” future descendants whose livelihoods must be planned for today.
“We work hard every day to provide for this rural community and make it the best that we can for everyone that lives there,” Miranda Edwards told legislators. “It’s disheartening to hear from those that choose not to see that. But it will not stop our work.”
Potter, the rancheria’s chairman, had a sardonic take on the dispute.
“We always talk about crabs in a pot,” Potter said. “We are like all these crabs, stuck in a pot. When one tries to get out of the pot, all the others reach up and pull him back in.”
Will arguments about the Sacramento River massacre sway the final outcome of the Redding Rancheria’s casino quest? A BIA spokesman said only that “these issues are under review.” Nearly two centuries after representatives of the U.S. military decimated a civilization here, the federal government still retains ultimate authority over the fate of Native people.
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When architect Simon Storey’s clients took him to a steep lot of undeveloped land for sale in Silver Lake, he advised them to pass. Storey’s firm, Anonymous Architects, is used to building on difficult sites, but he knew this particular lot would be especially challenging.
“It’s more difficult and more time-consuming,” says Storey.
The lot lingered on the market for a few years and then the asking price dropped. That’s when Storey and his wife, Jen Holmes, decided they were willing to take on the difficult ground-up construction.
Sloped lots typically require excavation and complicated and costly foundations, and have issues ranging from erosion to drainage to landscaping. It’s not for the faint of heart.
“It’s such a huge pain. But I proved myself right: It wasn’t easy,” he says.
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Storey and Holmes bought the 2,900-square-foot lot in 2017 for $92,000 and started to plan their home. The land was not just steep — a grade of 33% — but also long and narrow. (For comparison, the steepest street in Los Angeles, Eldred Street in Highland Park, has the same slope.) The couple bought the land from entrepreneur Judd Schoenholtz, who bought the lot in a trust sale. Ironically, Schoenholtz was considering how to build on it and had looked at some of Storey’s other houses for inspiration. “Simon is probably the only one who could figure it out,” he says with a laugh.
Working within the constraints of a narrow lot was familiar to Storey, who had previously built his own home in Echo Park, a compact but elegant structure whose 960 square feet exceeded the 780-foot-lot it was built on.
Storey’s previous home, dubbed Eel’s Nest after the slender homes typical of dense neighborhoods in Japan, was a study in efficient urban living. He found ways to enlarge the space, just 15 feet wide, through the clever use of windows and skylights, high ceilings and a floating staircase that did double duty as a light well.
Storey and Holmes wanted to take the best parts of Eel’s Nest and the lessons learned from living in that space for more than a decade and apply them to this new project, which they called the Box. Once again the constraints of the lot dictated the design. “We had no choice but to go right up to maximum width and stick with it for the entire building,” explains Storey.
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The result is a long building that spans just 18 feet across and 100 feet long. Yet adding just three more feet than their previous house makes a dramatic difference. “Every inch makes an outsize difference. I don’t think of it as being a narrow building,” says Storey.
Storey wanted the house to be as utilitarian as possible. He chose a corrugated cement panel typically used for farming and industrial buildings in Europe as a siding material above the two-story concrete base.
With the structure built three feet from the property line, the couple were constrained by city code in the amount of windows allowed on the side of the building. As a result, the windows are arranged in a horizontal expanse, providing panoramic views of the hills in Silver Lake and Echo Park.
The entrance to the house is set back another five feet, allowing double-height windows that span two stories, bringing in more light. The floating staircase from Eel’s Nest makes another appearance in the Box, across from the entrance. A narrow walkway on the top floor connects the front and back of the house but allows light to filter in on both sides to the floor below. The skylight in Eel’s Nest also reappears in the Box, bringing more light into the shower in the primary bathroom.
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With a workshop sitting between the ground-floor garage and the two main stories of the house, Storey and Holmes were able to construct all of the cabinetry, millwork and even features like their stair treads on-site. “Anything made of wood we built ourselves,” says Storey.
Holmes, who works in development at LACMA but was an art student in college, found her sculpting skills came in handy. “I knew how to weld but didn’t do it for 20 years,” explains Holmes, who took a half-day welding class at Gearhead Workshops in Torrance to brush up on her skills.
In fact, much of the construction they did themselves, as a budgetary consideration but also to ensure the level of detail met their standards. Weekends, holidays and vacation days for nearly three years were spent working on the house.
The couple estimate they spent 5,500 hours working on the house, not including the hours spent on planning, designing and general contracting, and saved about $520,000 in construction costs based on pricing from comparable projects Storey has worked on.
“I’d take naps on a furniture blanket on the floor or in the car,” says Holmes, who became a regular at the nearby Whole Foods to pick up meals before they had a working kitchen. “Everyone [who works] there knows me and I know all of them.”
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Other expenses included $300,000 for the foundation, more than three times what it would have cost for a similarly sized project on a flat lot, and about $20,500 for geology consultants to survey the slope. All together the project came in at roughly $1.3 million. However, the average homeowner shouldn’t expect such a deal. Acting as his own architect, general contractor and builder helped Storey and Holmes save considerably. Additionally, every hillside lot presents its own hidden expenses — and what a house costs to build is often very different than its market value in competitive L.A.
Before they started on the cabinets, the pair worked on sealing the envelope of the house to ensure better air quality and circulation. They meticulously identified every gap in the framing stage, foaming and caulking the gaps to improve efficiency.
Once that was complete, they set about building their own window frames and cabinetry. The two handpicked all of their own lumber from Bohnhoff Lumber Co. in Vernon, a decision Storey says is key to guaranteeing high quality. “It was a cost issue but also a quality issue. There is a shocking level of inconsistency when you don’t pick it yourself.” The natural wood provides a calming contrast to the industrial materials used on the exterior.
Most of the casework is a mix of red and white oak. With construction of the house happening during the pandemic, the cost of white oak saw a precipitous rise. Storey and Holmes began to introduce red oak as an accent material, though the effect is still monochromatic. “I don’t want to live somewhere austere, but I like things that are minimal,” says Holmes.
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All of the cabinetry and woodwork is custom, designed to suit the couple’s needs. Separating the kitchen and living room is a multipurpose room-within-a-room that includes a custom pantry on one side and cabinetry to house their record collection and stereo on the other.
“Every element of the house has a function,” says Storey. The focus on utilitarian design is a carryover from Eel’s Nest. “We are squeezing as much utility into the building as possible.” Appliances, primarily Fisher & Paykel, are hidden behind custom wood panels, as are closets and bathrooms.
With four bedrooms and three bathrooms, the house was designed to be flexible enough to adapt to changing needs. Planned prior to the pandemic, Storey’s design called for his office to occupy the back of the house, with living spaces in the front. However, the office can easily be converted into a guest suite for relatives or visitors that includes a kitchenette and a private entry.
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As a passionate cook, Holmes programmed the layout of the kitchen to her specifications. The sink is placed in a central island, facing the views. “Every party I go to, people end up in the kitchen,” says Holmes. “I wanted it to be comfortable to cook in but also a place to entertain. We can have four or eight or 20 people here and it doesn’t feel too big or too small.”
While Holmes wanted the kitchen to be as functional as possible, Storey wanted the kitchen to not look like a kitchen at all. “The fridge and freezer vanish. Nothing screams ‘kitchen.’ We had competing objectives but managed to merge into a perfect solution,” he says, adding, “It’s a good allegory for marriage.”
A Koreatown apartment owner has agreed to pay $130,000 to settle allegations that one of its property managers sexually harassed tenants for nearly a decade.
In May, the U.S. Department of Justice sued apartment owner M&F Development and property manager Abraham Kesary, alleging Kesary engaged in unwelcome sexual acts, including groping, kissing and attempting to penetrate female tenants at an apartment building on Western Avenue.
The lawsuit alleged Kesary also offered to waive or reduce rent and late fees if tenants performed sexual acts.
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Under the terms of the settlement, filed Friday in U.S. District Court in Los Angeles, M&F Development will pay $120,000 to alleged victims, as well as a $10,000 civil penalty to the federal government. It will also be required to hire an independent property manager approved by the government.
As for Kesary, the agreement permanently prohibits him from from working in property management at any rental property and from contacting alleged victims.
“Tenants have the right to live in their homes free from sexual harassment by their landlords,” Assistant Atty. Gen. Kristen Clarke said in a statement. “The Justice Department will continue to vigorously enforce fair housing laws against landlords who prey on vulnerable residents.”
Neither the owners of M&F Development nor Kesary could be immediately reached for comment. However, after the government filed its lawsuit in May, a man who picked up a phone number listed for an Abraham Kesary told The Times that he was Kesary and denied sexually harassing tenants.
After falling through the second half of 2022, Southern California home prices are rising again.
In October, the average home price across the six-county region was $831,080, according to data from Zillow. That’s up 0.12% from the prior month, and the eighth straight month of increases.
Prices fell last year after mortgage rates more than doubled and suddenly sapped the purchasing power of buyers.
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But prices resumed their climb in the spring thanks to a newer byproduct of high rates: an extreme shortage of homes for sale.
Note to readers
Welcome to the Los Angeles Times’ newly launched Real Estate Tracker. This page will be updated every month with data on housing prices, mortgage rates and rental prices. Our reporters will explain what the new data mean for Los Angeles and surrounding areas and help you understand what you can expect to pay for an apartment or house.
Many would-be sellers are now choosing to stay put, not willing to swap their 3% and below mortgages for a loan with an interest rate more than double that.
At the same time, real estate agents say buyers — especially first-timers without a mortgage — have been more willing to return to the market, deciding they won’t see rates drop much if they continue to put off what they’re eager to do: buy a home.
The supply-and-demand mismatch has driven up prices, but the market is far slower than during the pandemic boom, since high rates still present a hurdle to buyers.
October’s average home price across the Southern California region remains 1% below the June 2022 peak.
What happens next depends on a variety of factors, including the direction of mortgage rates and the overall economy.
In recent months, mortgage rates have shot up again. In August, rates surpassed 7% for the first time since last fall, and they are now in the mid-7% range. If rates stay there or climb higher, that could sap demand enough to send prices down.
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But if higher rates convince another wave of homeowners not to list their homes, prices may keep right on climbing.
According to a recent Zillow forecast, home prices are likely to be largely flat across Southern California over the next year as lack of affordability keeps a lid on prices and low inventory serves as a floor.
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Explore home prices and rents for October
Use the tables below to search for home sales prices and apartment rental prices by city, neighborhood and county.
Rental prices in Southern California
In recent months, asking rents in Southern California have ticked down, providing at least some relief for frazzled apartment seekers.
Experts say the trend is driven by a rising number of vacancies across the region that have forced some landlords to accept less. Vacancies have risen because apartment supply is expanding and demand has dipped as consumers worry over the economy and inflation.
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The large millennial generation is also increasingly aging into homeownership, as the smaller Generation Z enters the apartment market.
Prospective renters may not want to get too excited, however. Rent is still extremely high.
In October, the median rent for vacant units of all sizes across Los Angeles County was $1,920, down 1.6% from a year earlier but 9.3% more than in October 2019, according to data from Apartment List.
Tucked alongside a large dorm building on the fringes of Woodbury University’s campus in Burbank is a small but very eye-catching house. The 425-square-foot home is contained by a gently curving concrete form equipped with a generous porch and a dramatic sloping roof. Slender, carefully staggered floor-to-ceiling windows gently illuminate the interior.
It’s a nice piece of architecture. What makes it truly remarkable is who built it — and how.
The Solar Futures House, as it is formally known, was designed by Woodbury architecture students and constructed out of concrete using the latest 3-D printing technology. It is the first such permitted structure in the city of Los Angeles, according to Woodbury architecture dean Heather Flood. And it was built by Emergent, a 3-D printing construction firm based in Redding. (A quick geography explainer: While Woodbury has a Burbank address, a piece of the campus, where the house was built, is located within Los Angeles city limits — hence the L.A. permits.)
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Most notable is how quickly this project came to fruition. “It was 15 months from design, going through the permitting process with the city, working with the printing company and dealing with 14 atmospheric storms,” says Kishani De Silva, chair of the construction management program at Woodbury, who served as faculty lead on the project. “It came to life on the 12th of May. … The next day the students literally graduated.”
From design to near completion in 15 months? In bureaucratic Los Angeles, that counts as damn near miraculous.
Certainly, it helped that students were collaborating with municipal experts from the Mayor’s Office of Energy and Sustainability, the Bureau of Engineering and a nonprofit clean tech incubator at the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power — organizations that could help navigate the red tape. But at a time when our region is gripped by a housing and homelessness crisis, it is nonetheless a model worth examining.
To be clear, the house is not 100% complete — though it’s awfully close. A couple of the interior areas are still in need of drywall, and some exterior features and the landscaping remain unfinished. Moreover, the building will require a certificate of occupancy from L.A.’s Department of Building and Safety.
But it is an impressive piece of design, achieving a lot in a small space.
The layers of 3-D-printed concrete give the walls a geologic look, and the curving shape and high ceilings prevent this intimately scaled studio from feeling like a shoebox. In addition, the covered porch and the living room are connected by a sliding door; throw it open and the space feels bigger and airier.
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And, true to its name, this is a structure that prioritizes environmental concerns.
The Solar Futures House began as an entry in the Solar Decathlon, a national collegiate competition organized by the U.S. Department of Energy that encourages budding designers to create high-performance structures powered by renewable energy.
In the spring of 2022, a class of Woodbury students submitted a design proposal and was selected as one of 14 finalists, receiving a $50,000 grant for construction. By the fall of that year, the team was breaking ground.
The structure they proceeded to build was all about efficiency. Shower water is recirculated for toilet flushing. The home’s bending form and sloped roof are designed to respond to the angle of the sun over the course of the year, thereby maximizing the generation of solar power. Currently, the structure features one solar array on the roof, which makes the building net zero (meaning no additional electricity is needed to power the home). Add another and it becomes net-positive, supplying energy to the grid.
The angled roof is made out of a reflective, resin-coated metal and sits atop 9 inches of mineral wool insulation, which helps preserve the building’s interior temperatures and buffer external noise. (Woodbury’s campus sits next to the 5 freeway, but between the double-layer concrete walls, the triple-glazed windows and the insulation, the house feels peaceful.) Mineral wool insulation also functions as a fire barrier — addressing another environmental concern in California.
To mitigate the use of concrete, which is carbon-intensive, the team developed a formula that contained a higher percentage of fly ash, making it more sustainable. The precise nature of 3-D printing also means that no concrete goes to waste.
This new construction method allowed for the speedy erection of the building’s double-layer walls: De Silva estimates that printing took about three days. It also let students play with form. In a traditional stick-build structure, 90-degree angles are the most efficient way for walls to meet. But 3-D printing allows for more flexible shapes; hence the curving walls, which give the house a more organic feel. Take the bathroom: Designed to be compliant with the Americans With Disabilities Act, it is no afterthought — it’s tucked into an attractive rounded room that also includes laundry facilities.
Naturally, the DOE’s grant didn’t cover all of the costs.
Flood estimates that the budget for the house currently stands at about $250,000, including in-kind support and donated services from area firms. L.A.-based Nous Engineering pitched in on the structural work, while Breen Design Group in Torrance helped with the mechanical systems; Mitsubishi Electric donated an HVAC system and Ikea supplied furnishings.
The Solar Futures House is a significant achievement — especially considering that Woodbury is a small school (with fewer than 1,000 undergraduates) and its accredited architecture program is relatively new, established in 1994. The university serves students primarily from Southern California, many of them Latino, making it a designated Hispanic-Serving Institution. (The school plays a critical role in diversifying the field, since architecture remains overwhelmingly white.)
Two dozen students worked on the Solar Futures House over a period of two academic years, rotating in and out of the project as part of their coursework. But a number of them were able to see it through from beginning to end, including Karin Najarian and Jade Royer; Sergio Santos was able to work on the home throughout the entire final year.
The Solar Futures House soon will be habitable; university administrators are debating how it might be used. Possibilities include a guest house for visiting speakers or a residence for a housing-insecure student.
Whatever its ultimate purpose, the home will continue to function as a teaching tool. “It’s a prototype for a method of design and construction and the actual shape and form could be varied,” says Flood. “It could conform to many different site conditions. You can nest multiple units together in a way that would take advantage of structural efficiencies.” (Construction companies already have begun to create two-story structures using 3-D printing technology.)
Woodbury students will be able to take this initial concept and run with it, refining and adapting it to suit the needs of other constituencies, such as the elderly.
The house may be almost complete, but the ideas that informed it are just beginning to take off.
To learn more about the Solar Futures House, and keep up on any upcoming public events, check the project’s website at solar.woodbury.edu.
The scorched remains of a World War II blimp hangar in Tustin are being razed as air quality officials call nearby asbestos levels “below any level of concern” while continuing to urge neighbors to take safety precautions.
The enormous wooden military relic went up in flames Nov. 7, showering ash and debris — later found to contain asbestos — on nearby residential neighborhoods.
The 17-story hangar smoldered for more than a week, and residents have struggled to get information about the fallout on air quality and airborne contaminants, including when debris will be removed from their properties. While the property is owned by the Navy, a mix of government agencies have been involved in the firefight and aftermath, including the Orange County Fire Authority and the South Coast Air Quality Management District.
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“Our biggest frustration overall is that there’s just nobody in charge,” nearby resident Jeff Lawrence told The Times.
Deconstruction of the hangar should be completed in the next day or two, Tustin officials said Saturday. Plans call for extinguishing all remaining hotspots of the fire, using heavy equipment excavators to remove debris and clearing roadways so water trucks can reach all areas of the hanger.
The trucks equipped with nozzles and hoses will be used for fire suppression and dust abatement throughout the process. The hangar doors and their supporting concrete pillars will be stabilized and left in place for the time being.
“Since monitoring began, all particulate matter from smoke and fire data at community sites are well below any level of concern,” the city said in a statement. “Asbestos sampling data received to date are also well below any levels of concern.”
Most schools in the area have been cleared for on-campus instruction attendance, but a few are still being inspected by asbestos consultants, the Tustin Unified School District said on its website Sunday.
Most public parks are open, but Centennial Park and Veterans Sports Park remain closed until further notice, parks officials said.
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The Orange County Healthcare Agency recommends people who believe their neighborhood has been affected by fire debris take such precautions as keeping doors and windows closed and not running air conditioning systems that draw in outside air. Avoid activities that will displace debris related to the fire, such as sweeping, leaf blowing, mowing and gardening.
Blocks of the city where bulk debris from the fire has been collected are shown a map on the city website.
Times staff writer Hannah Fry contributed to this report