Latest news with #GustavoArellano
Los Angeles Times
2 hours ago
- General
- Los Angeles Times
A California town called Freedom has a wild past as ‘Whiskey Hill'
FREEDOM, Calif. — I was driving home from a reporting trip to Santa Cruz County on Friday when I spotted the plain green and white highway sign, just off Highway 1. It had an arrow pointing north alongside the word FREEDOM. Jackpot! I slowed my aging Jeep, to the annoyance of the pickup driver behind me, just enough to take a not-great cellphone photo out my window before making my way home to the South Bay. As I wrote last week in this newsletter, I am willing to travel out of my way to report from a town with an interesting name. I had stopped in Freedom — a census-designated place with some 3,000 residents in southern Santa Cruz County — to do just that. The morning the newsletter on datelines landed, I awoke to a text from my colleague, friend and fellow California history nerd Gustavo Arellano: 'Whither Weed???' Meaning Weed, population 2,500, in Siskiyou County. I've been to Weed several times. I've even bought a few 'I [Heart] Weed' stoner-humor knickknacks for friends. Alas, I have never reported a story from there, I confessed to Gustavo. 'REVEAL YOUR SHAME!' he texted back. Challenge accepted. Here are a few colorfully named California places I have visited but from which I have not (yet!) earned a dateline: Rough and Ready in Nevada County; Likely in Modoc County; Butt Valley in Plumas County; Hayfork in Trinity County. And, yes, Weed. Though, I have earned datelines from Blackwell's Corner, Cool, Peanut, Weedpatch and Volcano. The unincorporated community blends right in with the adjacent, incorporated city of Watsonville. Looking for proof of Freedom, I found: Freedom Elementary School and the Freedom Branch Library. I also found an easy-to-miss metal plaque on an exterior wall of the Wooden Nickel Bar & Grill (which is on Freedom Boulevard but not technically in Freedom). The plaque recognizes the town's wild past as a place called Whiskey Hill, 'a tiny village where violence, hangings, drinking, and bull and bear fights were a part of daily life.' 'As the town became more civilized, the name was changed to freedom,' reads the sign, hung in 1982 by members of the Order of E Clampus Vitus, a fraternal organization that celebrates obscure local history. Georg Romero, a historian for the Watsonville-based Pajaro Valley Historical Assn. and a retired library director for Cabrillo College, was kind enough to dig into the archives and send me a few old newspaper articles describing how Whiskey Hill, then Freedom, came to be. In the 1860s, the hamlet of Whiskey Hill consisted of 'a dozen shacks, each of which contained a bar and dispensed firewater,' according to a July 1937 article in the Watsonville Leader newspaper. At one rowdy gathering, the newspaper claimed, 'a man was shot through the head, the bullet going in one temple and out the other. A serape was thrown over him and he was left to expire in a corner while the dance and merry-making went on.' The town also was known for its vicious bear and bull fights hosted for spectators who paid $1 for a seat in the shade and 50 cents for a spot in the sun. According to a 2007 column in the Register-Pajaronian newspaper by the late local historian Betty Lewis, a bear would be 'chained to a post in the middle of the arena, and an angry bull was let loose.' As the animals fought, brass bands played and clowns entertained. Ultimately, Whiskey Hill sobered up. In the summer of 1877, Lewis wrote, a small group of residents met at a local schoolhouse and decided upon a more respectable town name: Freedom. Email us at essentialcalifornia@ and your response might appear in the newsletter this week. Today's great photo is from Times photographer Robert Gauthier at ACA Groves farm, where a farmer is fighting to save the iconic California avocado. Hailey Branson-Potts, staff writerKevinisha Walker, multiplatform editorAndrew Campa, Sunday writerKarim Doumar, head of newsletters How can we make this newsletter more useful? Send comments to essentialcalifornia@ Check our top stories, topics and the latest articles on
Los Angeles Times
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
How a Times column about loquats became required high school reading
This month saw your humble columnist notch two huge literary achievements, the kind ink-stained wretches dream about. I was a Pulitzer Prize finalist in the commentary category for my coverage last year about the political evolution of Latinos, making me just the third-ever Latino to achieve that distinction. Maybe even more impressive, however, was that portions of a column I wrote a few years ago became mandatory reading for hundreds of thousands of high schoolers across the country. The occasion was the AP English Language and Composition exam, that annual ritual for smarty-pants high schoolers that allows those who get a great score to earn college credit. The exact column, you may ask? Not the subject of my Pulitzer finalist nod, or my arcane stuff, or my street-level coverage of Southern California life. Or even my rants against In-N-Out, which is overrated. Nope, the subject was… loquats. The small, tart fruit currently ripening on trees all across Southern California, which forever puzzle newcomers and delight longtimers and squirrels. In 2021, I wrote a columna arguing that loquats, not citrus or avocados, are our 'fruit MVPs' because they're so ubiquitous and beloved by many of SoCal's immigrant groups, including Latinos, Asians, Armenians and more. The piece also ridiculed an East Coast reporter who alleged that no one eats loquats in Southern California. I'm very proud of it, but if I were to use one of my columnas to test college-bound high school seniors on their mastery of analysis and rhetoric, I wouldn't have used that one. Someone tell that to CollegeBoard, the nonprofit that administers the Advanced Placement exams along with the SATs. I found out about my columna's inclusion last week after the second round of AP English tests concluded. Friends of mine texted me that their children who took it were bragging to friends about how they knew the 'loquat guy.' Students across the country took to TikTok to shout me out. Some called it their favorite reading prompt. Others ridiculed my columna's description of a loquat tree heavy with fruit as 'glow[ing] like a traffic cone' or my stance that people who say no one eats loquats is an affront to Southern California's 'culinary soul.' Still others wondered what loquats were in the first place, how did they taste and where could they buy some. In response, I created a TikTok account and filmed a short video of me silently staring at the camera while eating a loquat from my 4-year-old tree, which gave fruit for the first time this spring. 'Hello I'm Gustavo Arellano the Loquat King,' a caption read. 'What loquat questions can I answer?' 180,000 views later, I'm a TikTok loquat star. But what exactly the AP test asked students about my piece remains a mystery. A friend's kid told me test takers were required to read a passage from my piece in the multiple-choice section and then answer questions about 'word choice, claims, examples used, figurative language' and the like. (I'm granting anonymity to the kid because CollegeBoard's exam policy states that anyone who shares any content from exams that haven't been publicly released will have their test scores 'canceled, no retest will be permitted, and you may be banned from future testing.' Gosh, can't you just give them detention?) A CollegeBoard spokesperson declined to share the test questions about loquats with me because students are still taking it. They also asked I 'not disclose any information about them' because CollegeBoard sometimes uses the same questions in future tests 'and when information about them is shared, we have to discontinue their use.' Too late! I'm flattered, CollegeBoard. I'm not even angry that you didn't bother to at least give me a head's up. But I guess it's par for the course: Although I did take AP English at Anaheim High with Ms. Sinatra, I skipped out on the test because I figured it was for dorks and goody two-shoes and I didn't think I was either. Oh, how wrong I was. I'll stuff my sorrows by eating a bunch of loquats this weekend, because no one else eats them. Gustavo Arellano, metro columnistKevinisha Walker, multiplatform editorAndrew Campa, Sunday writerKarim Doumar, head of newsletters How can we make this newsletter more useful? Send comments to essentialcalifornia@ Check our top stories, topics and the latest articles on
Los Angeles Times
13-05-2025
- Politics
- Los Angeles Times
Montebello's ex-mayor now works to root elected Republicans out of Orange County
Good morning. I'm Gustavo Arellano, columnista, writing from Orange County and watching my tomato seedlings grow. Here's what you need to know to start your day. Frank Gomez was born to be an L.A. County politician. His grandfather attended Roosevelt High with pioneering Eastside congressmember Ed Roybal and helped to fight off a proposed veteran's hospital in Hazard Park. His mother went to Belvedere Middle School with longtime L.A. councilmember Richard Alatorre. His father taught Chicano political titans Gil Cedillo and Vickie Castro in high school. When Gomez won a seat on the Montebello Unified School District board of trustees in 1997, Richard Polanco — the Johnny Appleseed-meets-Scrooge McDuck of Latino politics in California — helped out his campaign. That's why people were surprised in 2013 when Gomez — by then a Montebello council member who had served a year as mayor — announced he was leaving L.A. County altogether to marry his current wife. 'I had the choice between politics and love,' said the 61-year-old during a recent breakfast in Santa Ana. 'It was an easy choice.' Gomez couldn't stay away from politics for long Today, Gomez leads STEM initiatives for the Cal State system and is also the chair of the Central Orange County Democratic Club, which covers Orange, Tustin, parts of unincorporated Orange County 'and a few voters in Villa Park,' Gomez told me with a chuckle. He's headed the Central O.C. Dems since last year, and has grown them from about 60 members to over 300. Soft-spoken but forceful, Gomez likes to apply his background as a chemistry professor — 'We need to be strategic and analytical' — in helping to build a Democratic bench of elected officials in a region that was a long a GOP stronghold before becoming as purple as Barney the Dinosaur. I knew Gomez's name but didn't realize his L.A. political background until we met last month. That makes him a rare one: someone who has dabbled in both L.A. and Orange county politics, two worlds that rarely collide because each considers the other a wasteland. As someone who has covered O.C. politics for a quarter century but has only paid attention to L.A. politics in earnest since I started with The Times in 2019, I have my thoughts about each scene's differences and similarities. But what about Gomez? From one cutthroat political scene to another 'In L.A., it's Democrats against Democrats,' he replied. 'It's not like I didn't know' what to expect when moving to O.C., he said. 'But it's the difference between Fashion Island and the Citadel.' He thought his days in politics were over until 2022, when his stepson — who had interned with longtime Irvine politico Larry Agran — urged him to run for a seat on the Tustin City Council. Commence Gomez's true 'Welcome to the O.C., bitch' moment. Opponents sent out mailers with photos of garbage cans and graffiti and the message, 'Do not bring L.A. to Tustin,' a political insult introduced to Orange County politics that year by Dist. Atty. Todd Spitzer. 'Those gated communities still try to keep their unsaid redlining,' Gomez said. 'It wasn't like that in L.A. politics because there was no place for it.' Racist L.A. City Hall audio leak notwithstanding, of course. Trying to topple O.C.'s last remaining GOP congressmember Gomez unsuccessfully ran last year for a seat on the Municipal Water District of Orange County. He now plans to focus his political energies on growing the Central O.C. Dems and figuring out how to topple Rep. Young Kim, O.C.'s last remaining GOP congressmember. In the meanwhile, he will continue his political salons at the Central O.C. Dems' monthly meetings at St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Tustin — I was on the hot seat in April, and upcoming guests include coastal O.C. Assemblymember Cottie Petrie-Norris, O.C. supervisorial candidate Connor Traut and former congressmember and current California gubernatorial candidate Katie Porter. 'It's like being in the classroom,' Gomez said as he packed up his leftovers. 'All I do is ask the questions and keep it flowing.' He smiled. 'Johnny Carson on intellectual steroids.' The Trump administration will investigate L.A. County Newsom urges cities to ban homeless camps How to understand the recent trade deals Inside the investigation into faulty evacuation alerts during the wildfires in January What else is going on Get unlimited access to the Los Angeles Times. Subscribe here. Ibram X. Kendi is ready to introduce kids to Malcolm X: 'Racism is worse in times of tragedy' Ibram X. Kendi discusses introducing Malcolm X to today's young readers and the timing of his new book in light of President Trump's anti-DEI actions. How can we make this newsletter more useful? Send comments to essentialcalifornia@ Going out Staying in Peg says: 'David Bowie's Life on Mars!'Paul says 'My Way.' (We're assuming he means by Frank Sinatra) Keep the suggestions coming. Email us at essentialcalifornia@ and your response might appear in the newsletter this week. Today's great photo is from the archives: Leonard Koren began documenting L.A. bathing culture back in 1976 with Wet magazine, which featured contributions from David Lynch, Debbie Harry and Ed Ruscha. Have a great day, from the Essential California team Gustavo Arellano, California columnistKarim Doumar, head of newsletters Check our top stories, topics and the latest articles on
Los Angeles Times
10-05-2025
- Politics
- Los Angeles Times
With the new Pope, a call for Americans to be great
Columnist Gustavo Arellano talks about the election of the first pope from the United States, Pope Leo XIV and how he believes it is a call for Americans to be better people.
Gulf Today
08-05-2025
- Politics
- Gulf Today
My dad didn't need much English to do his job
Gustavo Arellano, Tribune News Service When Donald Trump signed an executive order last week cracking down on truckers who don't speak the best English, there was one industry expert I needed to call: my dad. Lorenzo Arellano drove big rigs across Southern California for 30 years before retiring in 2019. His six-day workweeks kept us well-fed and clothed and allowed him to afford a three-bedroom Anaheim home with a swimming pool, where he and my youngest brother still live today. 'Why does that crazy man want to do this?' he asked me over the phone in Spanish before answering his own question. 'It's because (Trump has) always had a lack of respect for the immigrant. We truckers don't deserve this. He's just trying to harm people. He wants to humiliate the whole world.' Federal regulations punishing immigrant truckers for their limited English dates back to the 1930s. Trump's order calls for the enforcement of an existing requirement that truckers be proficient in English, overturning a 2016 policy that inspectors shouldn't cite or suspend troqueros as long as they could communicate sufficiently, including through an interpreter or smartphone app. Conservatives have long tied that Obama-era action and the rise of immigrant truckers — they now make up 18% of the profession, according to census figures — to a marked increase in fatal accidents over the last decade, which Trump alluded to when he insisted that 'America's roadways have become less safe.' Trump's move is the latest dog whistle aimed at people who don't like that the United States ain't as white as it used to be. It follows similarly xenophobic actions, like declaring English the official language, severely curtailing birthright citizenship and renaming the Gulf of Mexico 'Gulf of America.' The English-for-truckers push has particularly angered me, though. Presuming that a more-diverse trucking industry is the main culprit behind the increase in fatal truck crashes ignores the fact that there are more trucks on the road, driving more miles, than ever before. According to the Federal Motor Carrier Safety Administration, the rate of fatal crashes is three times less than in the late 1970s, when cultural touchstones like 'Smokey and the Bandit' and 'Convoy' seared the image of the good ol' white boy trucker into the American psyche. It's also an insult against people like my 73-year-old dad. When I was in junior high, Papi took me with him on weekends to teach me the value of hard work. He'd wake me up at 2 in the morning so I could strap down cargo on flatbeds during chilly mornings or drag a pallet jack around warehouses at lunchtime. I don't remember hearing him speak anything other than Spanish, the language we've always communicated in. But he succeeded enough that all four of his children are college-educated and have full-time jobs. His dream was for the two of us to eventually open our own father-son trucking company. That never happened because I was too much of a nerd, but I always took pride in my dad's career. He achieved the American dream despite coming into this country in the trunk of a Chevy with a fourth-grade education and only picking up what I've always described as a rudimentary understanding of English. I visited my papi the day after our phone call, to see the only two mementos he could dig up from his trucking career. One was a bent, blurry photo of him from the early 1990s with his first rig, a faded red GMC cabover that he parked behind my Tía Licha's store so he wouldn't have to pay a private lot. Papi, younger than I am today, stands to the side of the troca at the Placentia Home Depot, waiting for workers to unload it. He's not smiling, because old-school Mexicans never smile for the camera. But you can tell by his pose that he's proud. The other memento Papi showed me was a plaque dated 1991 from a trucking trade group. It congratulated him for being a 'credit to your profession' and 'the very best your industry has to offer.' 'They would only give it to the drivers who were safest,' he explained while I held it. We sat in his living room, where photos of my late mom and us kids decorated the bookshelves. He cracked a smile. 'I earned a lot of them.' I asked how he learned the English he did know. Papi replied — in Spanish — that his first lessons were at his first job in the US, a carpet-cutting factory in Los Angeles. The owners taught the Latino workers how to run the machines but also enough phrases so immigration authorities would leave them alone whenever there was a raid. Otherwise, my dad lived in a world of español, my first language. When he married my mami and moved to Anaheim, she convinced him that they should take English classes at night to better their prospects. He only stuck with it for two years, 'because I was working a lot.' When he was training to be a truck driver in the mid-1980s, the instructor spoke Spanish but told everyone they needed to learn enough English to understand traffic signs and pass the DMV test. 'And that makes sense, because this is the United States,' Papi told me. 'But this is also Southern California. Everyone knows a little bit of English, but a lot of people also know a little bit of Spanish, too.' I asked how much English he used on the job. '50%, maybe,' he answered. 'Why am I going to say 'A lot' when that's not true?' He recited the sentences that dispatchers and security guards peppered him with in English at every stop: What are you coming for? What company do you work for? Who's the broker? What's the address? Do you have a driver's licence? He repeated each question — and its corresponding answer — slowly, as if to conjure up a time when he was younger and happy about finally finding his professional groove. 'They listened to me and understood, even though I spoke chueco y mocho,' he said — crooked and broken. Saying that out loud, my dad became uncharacteristically self-conscious. I asked if anyone ever made fun of his English. 'No,' he said, suddenly happy. 'Because truckers, we're a brotherhood.' Papi rattled off all the immigrants he worked alongside in his trucking days. Russians. Armenians. Arabs. Italians. 'They didn't know Spanish. I didn't know their language. So we had to speak English to become friends. Everyone knew a little.' In fact, he remembered how the immigrant truckers looked down on people who spoke perfect English. 'The person who doesn't speak English works harder. He doesn't run away from work. The ones who spoke good English, they worked less because they thought knowing English made them so powerful. When the boss said, 'Who wants more shifts?' the English speaker would say, 'Why do I want to work late?' and run off to their homes.' I asked Papi if he regretted not knowing more English. 'Nope. What's done is done.' Then he took a moment to think. 'Look, studying is for people who like it, like you. But not me. Maybe I could've had a better life.' He gestured around our family home. 'But we had a good life. I did what I had to do.' My father wasn't the most responsible man in his personal life, but trucking grounded him. I thought of how he and so many other truckers sacrificed self-improvement — things like English classes — in the name of getting ahead at work. I remember all the inspections my dad's rig had to go through — he never failed one — and how he still reprimands me to this day if I rely on my rearview mirror instead of my side mirrors when I'm backing up. How nearly every time we see each other, he reminds me to check the oil and the air pressure in my tyres.
