A Drive Through Hell.


Yesterday, after eating lunch at Myung Dong Noodle House on Wilshire, we got into our car and drove south on Irolo St. and went east, along West 8th Street, for about two and a half miles.

Words cannot produce images that could equal the utter filthiness, horror, inhumanity and decay of the street. There were 10 foot high piles of garbage in alleys, people sleeping on sidewalks and bus benches. Shopping carts of trash in front of every store. Lost men and women, high, drunk, dirty, forgotten, mixed in with others who were not. And sidewalks full of new arrivals in the city, walking, working, eating; selling clothes on blankets or food from carts; pushing kids in strollers; striving to get by and survive in one of the most unpleasant and dystopian cities in the Western world.

As the road curved into the underpass that runs under the 110 freeway, dozens of people were living in encampments on each side of the street. A Ritz-Carlton luxury hotel glass tower loomed in the nearby downtown. Was this a joke?

It seemed that God had taken a leave of absence and left Satan in charge.

This is Los Angeles. This is California. This is the United States of America. In 2024.

What kind of government that is even half-awake, half-sentient and semi-moral allows an entire city to fall into a condition that might only exist in a place of war or extreme impoverishment?

There’s a baseline of governance. You keep the streets clean. You try and employ a sense of order and reason to public activities to ensure that life is reasonable, safe and decent.

You don’t allow chaos to reign knowing that revolution will surely follow.

In the depths of the Great Depression, in the 1930s, when 25% of this country was out of work, Los Angeles, west of downtown, the same place we drove in yesterday, looked like this:

Credit: USC Archives/ Dick Whittington Collection.

Chinatown in the Rain. Part I.


Chinatown is particularly poignant in the rain. 

The old and tired streets are washed in puddles. Pagodas, lanterns and the color red are reflected in asphalt. 

Everywhere there are old signs, some neon and some plastic, reminding us of families and times from long ago. 

There are old people with canes, umbrellas and face masks out shopping for hot soup and vegetables.

And packs of visitors waiting in line for take-out dim sum.

There are many empty parking lots selling parking spaces for $5 a day.

A big sign advertises Grandview Gardens, Cantonese Food next to a grass filled lot that might have once contained a restaurant. A history of this place is found online. It closed in 1991. 

Thirty-three years ago.

Grandview Gardens: an old sign like a cemetery headstone. Should it not be another restaurant or apartment or apartments over a restaurant? 

Don’t we have a critical, crying need for housing?

Everything moves so fast in Los Angeles. We come here young and eager and wake up neither.

But everything vital and necessary for the humane needs of humanity is tied up in litigation, neglect, bureaucracy, politics and abuse. For years and decades things decline but politicians are always promising the end of homelessness, the end of pedestrians dying in crosswalks, the end of hate, the dawn of tolerance, a new city of walkable, clean, affordable and safe neighborhoods. But I don’t have the funds to move to Vienna, Austria and neither do ten million other Angelenos.

Yet we drive fast, passing thousands sleeping in tents on garbage filled streets and tell ourselves that everything is normal. Another day of murder, another day of car crashes on the news, another walk through a community that has some thriving businesses and many others dying or dead. Have a smoke, get high, meditate. What else can you do?

In the civic imagination, Chinatown is one of Los Angeles’s happier places. Nobody thinks ill of it, they long to come this neighborhood, hobbling along in D- condition, months out of a pandemic that still haunts it. 

City Hall is a ten minute walk away.