The Brief

“Old Glory,” a roughly 400-year-old Valley Oak tree in Stevenson Ranch, became a Los Angeles County Historic Landmark this week.

But it wasn’t always a walk in the park to protect the towering tree. Here's how we got to the latest chapter in the oak’s life.

Fighting for “Old Glory”

More than 20 years ago, Lynne Plambeck became infuriated with a plan to remove “Old Glory” to widen the road for a proposed housing development.

Plambeck, president of the Santa Clarita Organization for Planning and the Environment (SCOPE), told LAist “Old Glory” was far from the little bush it was made out to be in the initial tree report — it’s more like a cathedral of greenery.

Plambeck was angered by the report’s mischaracterization. So she and a friend decided they should find a tree sitter.

Tree sitting is a type of environmental protest where someone positions themselves in a tree to try to protect it, a practice John Quigley was quite comfortable with.

John Quigley, who sat in the threatened oak tree "Old Glory'' in Stevenson Ranch on Saturday, January 25th, 2003.

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Allen J. Schaben

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Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

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John Quigley stretches his legs from atop the "Old Glory" oak tree.

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Anacleto Rapping

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Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

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Quigley checked out the oak, decided it was big enough to hold a platform, and ended up spending 71 days living in its branches.

“We didn't create the social movement, we protested them cutting the tree down, and it seems like the movement created itself,” she said.

Support from the ground

Plambeck and her friend worried about Quigley at first, so they’d take turns sleeping under his set-up. But armed with a walkie talkie and cell phone, he’d routinely call people in the community, the media, and the film industry to bring attention to the preservation fight.

When a large fence was put up around the tree, it became a convenient place for people to post encouraging artwork and signs.

Andrew Doody, 3, and his sister Elisabeth Doody, 5, peer at the old oak tree.

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Anne Cusack

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Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

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Mati Waiya waves burning sage towards the "Old Glory" oak tree.

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George Wilhelm

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Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

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Teachers brought their classes to hear Quigley speak, the California Oak Foundation hosted an educational news conference in the area, and musicians played banjos or guitars beneath the branches.

People could even send mail to “Old Glory” by addressing it to Oak #419, which Plambeck noted the post office would actually deliver.

“It was definitely a civil disobedience action that turned out good in the end,” she said.

Rene Russo entered the locked area and looked around the base of the "Old Glory" oak.

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Anne Cusack

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Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

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The big move

Quigley and other activists successfully negotiated for “Old Glory” to be moved to another location, about a quarter-mile to Pico Canyon Park.

Bill Rattazzi looks up at the "Old Glory" oak tree.

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Bryan Chan

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Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

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Senna Tree Company documented the meticulous journey, but Plambeck worried about how the oak would handle it. Because as a specialist used to tell her, if trees should move, they would’ve been given legs.

“But God didn't,” she said. “They're supposed to stay where they are. So we were really concerned that it was not going to survive.”

“Old Glory” did make it to the park, where it still stands today. In 2007, it was officially recognized as the largest transplanted tree by Guinness World Records.

The tall oak tree nicknamed "Old Glory" is moved from its hole along Pico Canyon Road.

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Bryan Chan

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Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

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The decades since

SCOPE has celebrated the oak’s 5th, 10th, and 20th anniversary of the saga. Quigley even reenacted his climb for last year’s event and reconnected with some of the now-30-year-olds who had visited his tree sit as children.

Plambeck started pushing for “Old Glory” to be designated as a historic landmark two years ago, and after the idea disappeared “into the yaws of bureaucracy” for some time, she got her wish this week.

L.A. County has now affirmed its commitment to persevering heritage oak trees like “Old Glory” as irreplaceable natural and cultural resources for future generations, according to Supervisor Kathryn Barger’s motion.

Travis Jochimsen, 20, makes his way to the top of "Old Glory" to talk to John Quigley.

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Anne Cusack/

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Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

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There’s more to come

But SCOPE isn’t done yet. Plambeck said they’re also planning to explore a state designation, as she said this oak is a symbol of change for those who feel like they might not be able to make a difference.

“When you care about something and you can work with others to protect it, you can have a success,” she said. “Oaks and trees are really important. They're important to saving our planet. They're important to cooling our neighborhoods, and it's really important not to cut them down, and to take care of them and respect them.”

You can find more information about the importance and benefits of L.A. County’s oak trees here.

The Long Beach Unified Board of Trustees on Wednesday authorized the school district to end the employment of close to 600 employees, a move the LBUSD says is necessary to stabilize its ballooning deficit.

Board members approved two separate resolutions, the first of which does not renew the contracts of 515 certificated employees, who are on temporary contracts that must be re-upped annually. Though it is common for the district to choose not to renew some temporary contracts, the non-renewal of hundreds of TK-12 teachers, early childhood education teachers and social workers represents a massive change for the next school year from the current workforce of 10,000 total employees. While schools across the district will feel the cuts, Poly and Jordan high schools may be especially hard hit; 14 and 12 teachers at each site are listed on the district’s document of non-renewals.

The second resolution authorized the district to formally lay off 54 classified district positions: non-teaching staff members ranging from office support staff to instructional and recreation aides to library media assistants to parent liaisons.

The board votes come after months of warnings from the district that costs and spending have outpaced the district’s funding, saddling LBUSD with a $70 million deficit. The district is now attempting to shrink that deficit through a fiscal stabilization plan that “has prioritized preserving core instructional, wellness, and student support services,” the district wrote in an agenda item related to the cuts.

Prior to the vote, Superintendent Jill Baker framed the proposed cuts with the historical context of significant enrollment declines, the expiration of funds following the Great Recession and COVID-19 pandemic that had allowed the district to develop a healthy reserve, uncertain federal and state dollars and low attendance numbers, for which the district is penalized — “a really grave situation, fiscally,” she said, one that many districts across California are grappling with.

Baker walked board members through the significant efforts the district has made to manage costs, saving more than $47 million, including through significant central office reductions. Despite these efforts, it’s still not enough, Baker said.

“The release of temporary certificated contracts is one way of reducing the number of employees without impacting permanent certificated employees,” the district wrote in the agenda item.

For those 515 certificated employees who will be notified that their contracts will end, it’s a way that “the district can get away with letting teachers go without calling it a layoff,” said Peder Larsen, vice president of the Teachers Association of Long Beach, which represents certificated employees in LBUSD.

Some of them could be rehired, especially if their positions are in high demand, like science, math and special education teachers, Larsen said. Yet, it throws hundreds into a tailspin of uncertainty and fear, unsure if their jobs have definitively ended and how long they will have health coverage, he added.

While he said the district has not officially announced that no permanent certificated employees will be cut (they have until March 15 to do so), he said he is “reading the tea leaves” and predicting those permanent positions will be safe this year.

In his comment to the board during public testimony, Larsen advocated for examining the money spent annually on consultants and contracts and urged the board and district to re-examine their priorities and “choose to protect the people who serve students every single day.”

On both votes, School Board Member Maria Isabel López was the lone vote against the resolutions, voicing her opinion that some of these positions could have been saved if fiscal priorities had been different and major contracts had not been approved.

Other board members acknowledged that the votes will change lives. “There’s not one of us in this room that takes this lightly,” said Board President Diana Craighead before voting in favor of the cuts. Board Member Doug Otto said he was voting to adopt the resolutions “sadly, reluctantly and necessarily.”

It wasn't supposed to be a big deal. After all, it was just a diner.

Sure, Phil Rosenthal (creator of Everybody Loves Raymond and Netflix's Somebody Feed Phil) and Nancy Silverton (owner of Mozza and Chi Spacca) — two of Los Angeles' most iconic food voices — were teaming up on the project. Still, the concept was modest: fluffy scrambled eggs, turkey club sandwiches and coffee refills.

Named in memory of Rosenthal's late parents, Max and Helen — familiar faces to fans of his Netflix series — their unpretentious love of diner classics became both the menu's foundation and its guiding philosophy.

Yet within weeks of opening in November, Max & Helen's had eight-hour waits, viral hot chocolate and celebrity sightings, including Timothée Chalamet, Kylie Jenner and Selena Gomez. It came as a shock to the newly married couple running it all, Lily Rosenthal Royal, Phil's daughter and the diner's creative director, and her husband, Mason Royal, the director of operations, who oversees the kitchen. (They started working together a week after their wedding).

"We thought we were gonna be hot for Larchmont," Rosenthal Royal says.

Instead, Max & Helen's became a destination — the kind of place people plan their weekends around, wait four hours for and drive across L.A. to experience.

Lily & Mason

Rosenthal and Silverton were never going to run Max & Helen's themselves — the plan was always to build it and hand it over. Royal, who has 12 years of restaurant experience, caught Silverton's attention during tastings.

"Nancy was like,'I feel like Mason would be good as the guy running the show,'" Rosenthal Royal said.

The couple had been developing their own pop-up when the opportunity at the diner arose, and suddenly they were running the family business.

For Royal, working with Silverton has been a dream. For Rosenthal Royal, the project is deeply personal — a love letter to her grandparents and the diners her father grew up on.

"We opened it almost selfishly because we live in Larchmont," she said. "We wanted a diner for ourselves, for our friends, for our community."

Wood-paneled walls and vintage family photographs create a nostalgic atmosphere at Max & Helen's diner.

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Catherine Dzilenski

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Courtesy Max & Helen's

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Rosenthal is clear about their importance.

“Diners are democratic with a small D,” he told me last year when the project was still in development. Places where everyone is welcome, where community can flourish — something he felt was increasingly rare.

Worth the wait

The frenzy has now cooled slightly — while weekends still draw four-hour waits, midweek is much calmer.

When I visited with my family on a recent weekday morning, the wait was about 45 minutes. We were seated in the corner banquette area, accompanied by crocheted cushions bearing the name "Max & Helen's." Along with the wood-paneled walls and the black-and-white family photographs, it felt more like a cozy roadside diner you'd stumble upon on a drive up the coast than something nestled among the lifestyle boutiques and specialty stores that crowd Larchmont Boulevard.

Breakfast wins

The menu was simple, which made ordering easy, with breakfast and lunch options.

I tried Nancy's omelet ($18) with herbs and farmer’s cheese, which was thin and crepe-like, folded perfectly at the edges, and impossibly fluffy, offering bursts of freshness from the herbs.

I was particularly curious to try the waffle, which has been both widely lauded (for its taste) and lambasted (for the $17 price point).

It was transcendent, with golden, crisp ridges and deep pockets built to cradle syrup. Rosenthal Royal told me they use a three-day-fermented sourdough batter, a labor-intensive process that gives the waffle its distinctive texture and flavor.

The $17 waffle with whipped maple butter uses a three-day fermented sourdough batter

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Catherine Dzilenski

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Courtesy Max & Helen's

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What truly set it apart, for me at least, was the whipped maple butter: airy and lush, melting into every nook, both indulgent and unexpectedly light.

As for the price — it's a generous portion, and a comparable waffle at Mel's Drive-In in Santa Monica costs $13.50. Apparently, those extra few dollars equal rage bait these days.

I was less impressed with the turkey club ($19), well-cooked bacon, fresh vegetables and a spicy mayo. Nice nods to California diner cuisine. But the bread was a bit thin, without the heft needed to support the rest of the sandwich's company.

Max & Helen's turkey club sandwich served with a side of tallow French fries and Lily's hot chocolate topped with a brûléed marshmallow

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Gab Chabrán

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LAist

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Still, the tallow fries ($8) were exceptionally crispy, and the hot chocolate, $9.50, — another viral sensation — was stellar, thick and rich with a brûléed marshmallow on top.

I even took the liberty of dipping a few fries into the chocolate, which turned out to be a genius move.

Looking ahead

Royal hasn't taken a day off since opening — a fact his wife is quick to call out with a laugh. Their partnership works because their roles complement each other: His operational rigor meets her's warmth and joy.

"Mason runs a tight ship," Rosenthal Royal said. "But we want this to be warm and fun and lighthearted."

It's that balance — systems and soul — that they hope will define Max & Helen's beyond the viral moments.

The pair hope Max & Helen's becomes an institution like Apple Pan or Musso & Frank — a place where, as Rosenthal Royal put it, "Max and Helen would feel at home, where everyone feels loved and seen and warm."

The counter at Max & Helen's evokes classic American diners.

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Catherine Dzilenski

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Courtesy Max & Helen's

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A man recently came in with a gift, telling Rosenthal Royal he'd met someone at the counter she'd seated him next to. They're now dating.

"If we could have that happen over and over again," she said, "I'd be so happy."

Beyond the diner, Rosenthal Royal is also releasing a children's book this spring, co-written with her father — a fitting parallel to their collaborative work at Max & Helen's. Three months in, they've built something bigger than they imagined. Whether it stands the test of time depends on whether the hype fades into something more enduring: a neighborhood fixture that just happens to make a really good waffle.