The Brief

When I was still in high school, my bus stop was on the corner of Miles and Saturn avenues, in the city of Huntington Park. It was across the street from an elementary school, and a stone’s throw from city hall, the public library, and a very nice little park.

Each weekday morning, I’d stand on that corner to wait for a yellow LAUSD school bus to pick me up and take me to a magnet school in the South Bay. Every so often, a putrid odor would fill the crisp morning air. I’d hold my breath to avoid taking it in. Then, I’d stare down the street, hoping the bus would get there early and whisk me away.

In some ways, that's where the reporting for this series started — back in the early 2000s, back when I was still in high school and experiencing those bad smells that still occur today.

LAist reporter Julia Barajas stands at the corner in Huntington Park, where she waited for the school bus as a child.

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What a 'Toxic Tour' of Southeast L.A. has to do with this investigation

I recently hopped on another bus in Huntington Park — two decades later and now a reporter for LAist. I was with a group of high school students on a “Toxic Tour” of the area where I’d grown up.

The “Toxic Tour” is hosted by Communities for Better Environment (CBE), a nonprofit that’s advocated for clean air, soil, and water since the late 1970s. The tour takes you on a four-hour journey that highlights the impact of industrial polluters on residents’ health and quality of life. It also emphasizes how community members have fought back against environmental ills, this as a means of inspiring the next generation of activists. In September 2022, our tour was specifically designed for residents of Southeast L.A.

That day, the bus took us to:

• Park Avenue Elementary School in the city of Cudahy, which was shut down after parents and teachers raised concerns about the petroleum waste that bubbled up on the playground.
• It also took us to Linda Esperanza Marquez High School in Huntington Park, named for a community member who fought to clean up the site it sits on, once known as La Montaña for debris from the 1994 Northridge earthquake. For years, local residents dealt with the dust that blew from 600,000 tons of concrete ruins from the collapse of the Santa Monica Freeway stored there.
• And we made a stop at Exide Technologies in the city of Vernon.

For decades, this battery recycling plant spewed lead into surrounding neighborhoods. After this came to light, the company filed for bankruptcy, leaving it up to California taxpayers to pay for the removal of contaminated soil from schools, parks, and thousands of homes.

Smelling that familiar stench

As we stood outside the battery plant, I recognized a stench: the same one I used to smell while waiting for the bus. A student from South Gate High recognized it, too. She said it was something she often encountered on her campus.

Farmer John's Vernon facility, which closed earlier this year, is covered in murals depicting pastoral scenes with happy pigs.

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Our tour guides told us that Southeast L.A. residents often attribute this dead animal odor to the Farmer John slaughterhouse in Vernon, which is renowned for its hauntingly picturesque pig murals. (Farmer John shut down the facility earlier this year.) On the tour, the guides pointed out that Vernon is also home to facilities that recycle animal remains from slaughterhouses, grocery stores, restaurants, and shelters. Through a process called “rendering,” those remains are turned into materials that can be used for other products.

I thought about the rendering plants on my drive home from work a few days later. While heading south on the 5 Freeway near the city of Commerce, a nauseating smell entered my car. I rushed to roll up the windows, but the stench still left me with a sharp headache.

I looked around to see where it could be coming from, wondering if anyone monitored odor emissions. When I got home, I checked.

What I learned about who was responsible for regulations

Vernon is a primarily industrial city near Downtown Los Angeles and Boyle Heights.

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The South Coast Air Quality Management District (AQMD) is tasked with monitoring and improving air quality in most of L.A. County. I also learned that community members can file odor complaints. Then, through CBE, I found out that AQMD was in the process of shutting down a rendering plant that the agency said had repeatedly broken the rules.

I mentioned all this to my editor, Mary Plummer, and she encouraged me to file public records requests with AQMD. Our goal was to get a better sense of the odors’ impact on local communities.

One of my first requests called for all air quality complaints from August 2022 to the present filed in Vernon, along with neighboring areas and some non-adjacent cities. I also requested all air quality complaints associated with Baker Commodities, Inc. the rendering plant that I'd heard was being shut down by regulators. In this case, we asked for records dating back to August 2019.

The first batch of public records data was illuminating. In recent years, AQMD has received hundreds of complaints about rendering plant odors. As I read through them, I noticed that some were from local schools, while others were from local businesses. One complainant said “IT SMELLS LIKE ROTTING DEAD BODIES EVERY SINGLE DAY.” Another person said that the “ODOR IS SO BAD THAT EVERYONE HAS LEFT THE OFFICE, AGAIN.”

The complainants also said the stench made it difficult for them to breathe. They said it gave them headaches and made their stomachs churn, that it made their eyes itch and throats burn. Some community members reported smelling it in the evenings, others encountered it while dropping off their kids at school. Many said it was worse on hot days, and that they had to close their windows to avoid it. Some said the stench wouldn’t let them sleep. Some said they’d been smelling it for days in a row. Others were outraged because they’d been smelling it for years.

What was most startling was that all complaints were filed after air quality officials adopted a rule intended to prevent those very odors.

Understanding why regulators shut down Baker Commodities, Inc.

With this in mind, I looked into what was behind the shutdown of Baker’s rendering company. After scouring dozens of court documents, I confirmed that the company has sued AQMD for $200 million in damages. Perhaps more significantly, the lawsuit also aims to bar the agency from shutting down the plant again in the future.

These are the steps I took to fully understand what’s on the line with this lawsuit:

• Reached out to dozens of stakeholders, including rendering plant workers who could potentially lose their jobs. 
• Repeatedly called Baker’s headquarters in Vernon and their lead attorney on the case, and spent many hours researching the company.
• I spoke with environmental justice activists and local officials who’d lodged complaints on behalf of their constituents. 
• Then, to learn more about how rendering helps the environment,  I spoke with two agricultural experts. 
• To better understand how the odors can wreak havoc on community members’ health and quality of life, I spoke with experts in public health. 
• I asked a historian/geographer to delve into Vernon’s long-term relationship with its neighbors.
• I also reached out to an attorney who is well-versed in environmental conflicts to help me navigate court records. 
• I visited every rendering plant repeatedly and noticed that one didn’t have any signage to let passersby know where to report odors, which has been required since late 2017 under AQMD's Rule 415 to minimize the odors. 
• And through this reporting, I realized that two of the rendering plants are within walking distance from Exide. 

Why the area's history was so important

Exide’s proximity to the rendering plants matters to those with ties to the area. Over the course of my reporting, I spoke at length with community members throughout Southeast L.A., as well as Boyle Heights and unincorporated East Los Angeles. We chatted on the phone, on social media, and in person, often at parks or in front of their homes. In some cases, I left notes in their mailboxes — in English and in Spanish.

Flyers distributed by LAist reporter Julia Barajas during her reporting process.

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Time and again, local residents said they felt their communities had been pummeled by environmental injustice. Some brought up the Delta jet that dumped fuel on a school in Cudahy in 2020. Others brought up the explosion at a scrap metal recycler in Maywood in 2016. Many underscored that Exide was allowed to operate without permits for decades. To ask community members to endure the stench of decaying carcasses while the soil in many homes is still being remediated, they said, is to add insult to injury.

These interviews included Cristina Garcia, a former state Assemblymember who grew up in Bell Gardens and taught math at Huntington Park High.

Garcia said that when she was teaching, she often had to choose between opening the windows and letting in the stench, or keeping them closed and subjecting her students to a hot room without air conditioning. She said it was hard for students to learn in those conditions. And it was hard for her to teach.

Communities like ours “have been treated like dumping grounds,” Garcia said. She’s certain that the ongoing stench of rotting flesh would not be tolerated in more affluent parts of town, so “why is this how we have to live?”

That question has stayed with me.

Downtown Los Angeles

A person in an inflatable frog suit holds a sign during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A woman holds incense during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A person holds up a sign during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis. (Photo by ETIENNE LAURENT / AFP via Getty Images)

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A person holds up a sign during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A tourist bus drives past as people protest in front of the Metropolitan Detention Center (MDC), in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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Pasadena

Alison Brett (far right) of La Crescenta at the Ice Out For Good protest in Pasadena on Jan. 10, 2026.

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Josie Huan

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Casey Law of South Pasadena at Ice Out For Good protest in Pasadena on Jan. 10.

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People have been taking to the streets nationwide this weekend to protest the Trump administration's immigration enforcement tactics following the death of Renee Good in Minneapolis, a 37-year-old woman who was shot and killed by a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officer this week.

At least 1,000 events across the U.S. were planned for Saturday and Sunday, according to Indivisible, a progressive grassroots coalition of activists helping coordinate the movement it calls "ICE Out For Good Weekend of Action."

Leah Greenberg, a co-executive director of Indivisible, said people are coming together to "grieve, honor those we've lost, and demand accountability from a system that has operated with impunity for far too long."

"Renee Nicole Good was a wife, a mother of three, and a member of her community. She, and the dozens of other sons, daughters, friends, siblings, parents, and community members who have been killed by ICE, should be alive today," Greenberg said in a statement on Friday. "ICE's violence is not a statistic, it has names, families, and futures attached to it, and we refuse to look away or stay silent."

Large crowds of demonstrators carried signs and shouted "ICE out now!" as protests continued across Minneapolis on Saturday. One of those protestors, Cameron Kritikos, told NPR that he is worried that the presence of more ICE agents in the city could lead to more violence or another death.

"If more ICE officers are deployed to the streets, especially a place here where there's very clear public opposition to the terrorizing of our neighborhoods, I'm nervous that there's going to be more violence," the 31-year grocery store worker said. "I'm nervous that there are going to be more clashes with law enforcement officials, and at the end of the day I think that's not what anyone wants."

Demonstrators in Minneapolis on Saturday, Jan. 10, 2026.

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The night before, hundreds of city and state police officers responded to a "noise protest" in downtown Minneapolis. An estimated 1,000 people gathered Friday night, according to Minneapolis Police Chief Brian O'Hara, and 29 people were arrested.

People demonstrated outside of hotels where ICE agents were believed to be staying. They chanted, played drums and banged pots. O'Hara said that a group of people split from the main protest and began damaging hotel windows. One police officer was injured from a chunk of ice that was hurled at officers, he added.

Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey condemned the acts of violence but praised what he said was the "vast majority" of protesters who remained peaceful, during a morning news conference.

"To anyone who causes property damage or puts others in danger: you will be arrested. We are standing up to Donald Trump's chaos not with our own brand of chaos, but with care and unity," Frey wrote on social media.

Commenting on the protests, Department of Homeland Security (DHS) spokesperson Tricia McLaughlin told NPR in a statement, "the First Amendment protects speech and peaceful assembly — not rioting, assault and destruction," adding, "DHS is taking measures to uphold the rule of law and protect public safety and our officers."

Good was fatally shot the day after DHS launched a large-scale immigration enforcement operation in Minnesota set to deploy 2,000 immigration officers to the state.

In Philadelphia, police estimated about 500 demonstrators "were cooperative and peaceful" at a march that began Saturday morning at City Hall, Philadelphia Police Department spokesperson Tanya Little told NPR in a statement. And no arrests were made.

In Portland, Ore., demonstrators rallied and lined the streets outside of a hospital on Saturday afternoon, where immigration enforcement agents bring detainees who are injured during an arrest, reported Oregon Public Broadcasting.

A man and woman were shot and injured by U.S. Border Patrol agents on Thursday in the city. DHS said the shooting happened during a targeted vehicle stop and identified the driver as Luis David Nino-Moncada, and the passenger as Yorlenys Betzabeth Zambrano-Contreras, both from Venezuela. As was the case in their assertion about Good's fatal shooting, Homeland Security officials claimed the federal agent acted in self-defense after Nino-Moncada and Zambrano-Contreras "weaponized their vehicle."
Copyright 2026 NPR

Bob Weir, the guitarist and songwriter who was a founding member of the popular and massively influential American rock band the Grateful Dead, has died. According to a statement from his family posted on his website and social media pages, Weir died from underlying lung issues after recently beating cancer. He was 78.

A member of the Dead for its first three decades, and a keeper of the flame of the band's legacy for three more, Weir helped to write a new chapter of American popular music that influenced countless other musicians and brought together an enormous and loyal audience. The Grateful Dead's touring, bootlegging and merchandising set an example that helped initiate the jam-band scene. Its concerts created a community that brought together generations of followers.

Known to fans as "Bobby," he was born in San Francisco as Robert Hall Parber, but was given up for adoption and raised by Frederick and Eleanor Weir. In 1964, when he was still a teenager, Weir joined guitarist Jerry Garcia in a folk music band, Mother Mcree's Uptown Jug Band. In May of 1965 Weir and Garcia were joined by bassist Phil Lesh, keyboard player Ron "Pigpen" McKernan and drummer Bill Kreutzmann to form an electric, blues-based rock and roll band that was briefly named The Warlocks. After discovering that there was another band using that name, Jerry Garcia found a phrase that caught his eye in a dictionary and in December of that year they became the Grateful Dead, launching a 30-year run over which time they grew into a cultural institution.

Weir was a singular rhythm guitarist who rarely played solos, choosing instead to create his own particular style of chording and strumming that gracefully supported Garcia's distinctive guitar explorations especially during the extended jams which were the heart of the band's popularity.

Lyrics were largely a product of a communal effort between Weir and Garcia, as well as lyricists John Perry Barlow, Robert Hunter, that often blurred the lines between who wrote what. The opening lines to "Cassidy," which first appeared on Weir's 1972 solo album Ace and was played by the Dead on live recordings including the 1981 double album Reckoning, reflect the combination of metaphor, rhyme and storytelling set to memorable melodies that the band's audiences could memorize, analyze and sing along to:

I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream
I can tell by the mark he left you were in his dream
Ah, child of countless trees
Ah, child of boundless seas
What you are, what you're meant to be
Speaks his name, though you were born to me
Born to me, Cassidy

Weir's emotive singing, on "Cassidy" and other songs like "Sugar Magnolia," "One More Saturday Night" and the band's unofficial theme, "Truckin', " often included whoops and yells, in contrast to Garcia's calm and steady approach. His occasional tendency to forget lyrics was usually greeted by thunderous applause from fans.

After Garcia's death in 1995, at age 53, the surviving members of the band carried on in various forms and arrangements, the longest running of which was Weir's Dead & Company, which also featured Grateful Dead drummers Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart. Weir and the band concluded their "final tour" in July of 2023, but then returned to the stage for two extended residencies at the Sphere in Las Vegas, in 2024 and 2025.

A self-described "compulsive music maker," in 2018 Weir formed yet another band to mine the depths of the Grateful Dead catalog. It was a stripped-down guitar, acoustic bass and drums outfit that he called Bobby Weir & Wolf Bros. Its members included renowned bassist and producer Don Was.In October of 2022, Weir & Wolf Bros worked with a classical music arranger to present yet another iteration of the Dead's catalog, notable for never being played the same way twice, with a group that largely only plays what's written on the paper in front of them, the 80-piece National Symphony Orchestra.

In a 2022 interview with NPR, Weir explained the reason for that collaboration, and in doing so, seemed to offer a possible explanation for why the band's music stayed so popular for so long: "These songs are … living critters and they're visitors from another world — another dimension or whatever you want to call it — that come through the artists to visit this world, have a look around, tell their stories. I don't know exactly how that works, but I do know that it's real."

After Jerry Garcia's death in 1995, Weir kept the legacy of the Grateful Dead alive, touring with bands that came to include generations of musicians influenced by the group. Here, Weir performs with The Dead at Madison Square Garden in New York City in 2009.

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Weir's work to shepherd and sustain the Dead's legacy was rewarded by ever younger generations of Deadheads, the band's loyal following, who attended tour after tour, often following the band from city to city as their parents and grandparents did during in the 1960's, '70s, '80s and '90s.

In an interview with Rolling Stone in March 2025, Weir shared his thoughts on his legacy, as well as on death and dying, that had a hint of the Eastern philosophies that were popular when the Grateful Dead emerged from the peace and love hippie movement of San Francisco. "I'll say this: I look forward to dying. I tend to think of death as a reward for a life well-lived," he said.

Copyright 2026 NPR

Planet Books, a long-running outpost known for its boundless collection of used books, toys, posters and other antiquities, must move — once again — by March or risk closure.

After 27 years in business, owner James Rappaport said the news came last fall from the proprietors of the neighboring Antique Mall II, which, since 2020, has sublet to him a 4,000-square-foot warehouse now cramped with rare tomes and second-hand memorabilia.

Andrew Jurkiewicz, who owns Antique Mall II alongside his partner, Linda, confirmed the move in a phone call Monday. They’re selling their own store, a decision that ran simultaneously to their landlord’s decision to sell the property altogether.

One person familiar with the sale said the listing — which opened in October — has drawn several interested buyers and is expected to enter escrow in the next week. A public record search found the properties, at 1851 to 1855 Freeman Ave., are owned by DPV Properties LLC, which recently moved its address from Seal Beach to out of state.

When reached by phone, one of the owners declined to comment on their reason for the sale.

After their leases end in March, the businesses are expected to vacate. The antique shop, Jurkiewicz said, will relocate to a space at 3588 Palo Verde Ave. — formerly a Joann Fabric and Crafts — under new ownership.

“We’re both tired,” he said of running the 37-year business that he moved into a former plywood business on Freeman Avenue in 2010.

The future of Planet Books, meanwhile, is far more uncertain. Rappaport has been quiet about his plight until now, insisting he didn’t want to “sound any alarms” that might disrupt the flow of business or scare his regulars.

“I don’t want to panic anybody, especially myself. Not really sure what to do, actually,” Rappaport said.

This marks the second time the bookstore has needed to vacate its location since it opened in 1998.

Its first incarnation on East Anaheim Street was a combination of a couple of hundred book crates left behind by San Pedro bookseller Vinegar Hill Books and collectible toys acquired by the store’s former owner, Michael Munns.

Monthly rent at that time was about $2,000 for 1,500-square feet. Today, Rappaport said, the building costs $5,200 a month to rent, with half of it currently vacant.

His search for a new space has spanned the city, even traveling into neighboring Seal Beach, each time running into the same story.

“Twice the money and one third the size,” he said.

It’s also difficult to find something to fit their needs. The current store has a bookstock of easily more than 100,000 titles.

There’s also the trove of toys, postcards, movie posters and other antiquities that line the walls, counters and shelves throughout. In the back area — the workers call it the “nether world” — towering stacks of books form trench lines leading to an aging work computer, limited-edition prints and a bathroom which hasn’t worked properly since they moved there.

Any storefront they find will likely require a “major purge” of inventory, Rappaport said. Planet Books has two music sections and three sections for both science fiction and mystery. He plans to downsize through donations to nearby schools, shelters and prisons.

If the store cannot find a new home, Rappaport said he’ll have to move his inventory into storage, likely at a facility in Stanton.

There’s also the definite possibility the store closes, he said, though workers are more optimistic.

For many, Planet Books has become the bookstore’s bookstore — the book hog’s mud puddle — where the clerks know the difference between Tom Wolfe and Thomas Wolfe and where patrons might lose themselves for the day among cheap out-of-print treasures on Zen and macrobiotics, Armenian dictionaries, Cantonese cookbooks and volumes on Lydia Maria Child, a 19th century abolitionist.

Wherever the store lands, Rappaport said it will be his last move.

“I’m 68, getting old, you know, I don’t need this,” he said. “I can’t retire because I don’t make anything in Social Security. I just want to have a little bit of fun.”