Larry Mantle
interviews a wide-range of leaders in politics, entertainment, science, healthcare, history, and the arts.
Published January 17, 2024 5:00 AM
Two men inspect damage to cars and apartment complex after Northridge earthquake, on Jan. 21, 1994
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Timothy A. Clary
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AFP via Getty Images
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Topline:
Three decades since the Northridge quake shook Southern California away just after 4:30 a.m., longtime AirTalk host Larry Mantle writes of the moments with his wife right after it struck: I quickly awoke and told Kristen to run with me to our dining area table. Amidst the sound of crashing glassware and plates, we huddled under the table until the shaking stopped. Car alarms were sounding from our building’s garage and along the street. Everything was dark. Power was out.
Why it matters: What affected me most were the calls throughout the day from listeners traumatized by their experiences. Many were without electricity and struggling to reach loved ones. I can still hear the emotion in their voices. My hope was to provide some measure of comfort as we gradually learned together what hit us.
Keep reading... to hear more about memories of that day and to see images from the quake and clean-up that cost billions.
My wife Kristen and I were sound asleep that MLK Day morning of Jan. 17, 1994. Our condo building began shaking violently just after 4:30 a.m. Unlike previous quakes I’d experienced, this one felt like the building was being jolted vertically instead of side to side. That might have been due to our relatively close proximity to the 6.7 magnitude event.
By the numbers
The Northridge earthquake's magnitude was ultimately measured at 6.7.
Not even close. The Big One will be at least 44 times stronger than Northridge.
I quickly awoke and told Kristen to run with me to our dining area table. Amidst the sound of crashing glassware and plates, we huddled under the table until the shaking stopped. Car alarms were sounding from our building’s garage and along the street. Everything was dark. Power was out.
I called KPCC, where I’d been working for more than a decade, to check on our studios at Pasadena City College, not having any idea of the quake’s epicenter. The overnight engineer told me he felt it, but our facilities were undamaged. I hit the road, uncertain about what damage there might be to surface streets and freeway overpasses. I was trying to shift my overactive adrenaline with positive thoughts about getting to the studios without road blockages or safety hazards.
Soon after I arrived I went on the air to explain what we were learning. Caltech scientists, law enforcement agencies, and fire departments all provided vital details. We carried news conferences throughout the day and night. Hour-by-hour we learned the extent of damage. Structures destroyed at Cal State Northridge. The bottom floor of an apartment complex collapsed, killing residents in their beds. A Santa Monica freeway overpass down. There was large-scale damage up and down the streets of the San Fernando Valley, Hollywood, and Santa Monica.
What affected me most were the calls throughout the day from listeners traumatized by their experiences. Many were without electricity and struggling to reach loved ones. I can still hear the emotion in their voices. My hope was to provide some measure of comfort as we gradually learned together what hit us.
By the time I got home late that night I couldn’t even focus on the shattered items in the kitchen. I was so exhausted and overwhelmed by listener expressions of terror and distress that I could only fall into bed to sleep. Or so I expected. The activation of my fight or flight response many hours before made falling asleep challenging. My difficulty in getting to sleep would continue for months after the Northridge earthquake.
Over my 40-year career of covering news it’s the days of crisis and disaster that stand out strongest. Those are the times Angelenos come together in our mutual feelings of helplessness, fear, and uncertainty. Just being able to hear the voices of others experiencing the same thing is therapeutic. Finding ways of helping others cope with fear and loss gives a sense of purpose in times we feel overwhelmed. That’s one of the unique benefits of a program like the one I host. It provides that link to others when we need it most.
I describe AirTalk — the call-in radio show I hosted then and still do to this day — as Southern California’s biggest conversation. It’s during times like those, 30 years ago, when our service really becomes Southern California’s most necessary conversation. In the weeks following the Northridge quake, we continued providing a space for listeners to detail their rebuilding, healing, and resilience. It only worked because of listeners’ openness to sharing their personal experiences and trials with other Angelenos. That’s the real sense of community we’ve seen with each crisis we’ve faced.
As our audience turned to each other and looked to our station for support and information, we were able to be there connecting everyone. Despite the quake being one of the toughest tests our region has faced, we saw Southern California’s resiliency. Coming together with a sense of community is a powerful thing. We saw that clearly 1/17/94 and after.
Earthquake prep resources
We don't want to scare you, but the Big One is coming. We don't know when, but we know it'll be at least 44 times stronger than Northridge and 11 times stronger than the Ridgecrest quakes in 2019. To help you get prepared, we've compiled a handy reading list
A resident and a cameraman look at damage to the Kaiser Permanente Building following the Northridge earthquake on Jan. 17, 1994.
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Hal Garb
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AFP/Getty Images
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Firefighters cross a street as a broken 16-inch gas main burns in the background, after the Jan. 17, 1994 quake.
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Hal Garb
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AFP via Getty Images
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Devastation and chaos
Two men inspect damage to cars and an apartment complex after the earthquake.
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Timothy A. Clary
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AFP via Getty Images
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Firemen carry a janitorial worker who was rescued from a collapsed garage at the Northridge Mall.
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Denis Poroy
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AFP via Getty Images
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Cars lie smashed by the collapsed Interstate 5 connector in Sylmar on Jan. 17, 1994.
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Jonathan Nourok
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AFP via Getty Images
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Aykui Alaverdyan walks over rubble after taking some of her belongings from her Hollywood Boulevard apartment building that was destroyed in the earthquake.
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Tim Clary
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AFP via Getty Images
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Rubble is all that's left of a parking structure following the 1994 Northridge earthquake.
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Courtesy USGS archive
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A fire breaks out after the earthquake.
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Courtesy USGS archives
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So-called soft-story structured, with elevated first floors over open space for cars, fared poorly in the 1994 earthquake.
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Courtesy USGS archive
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Damage documented by federal officials.
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Courtesy USGS archive
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The scene at Cal State Northridge
A collapsed parking structure in the wake of the Northridge quake.
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Courtesy USGS archive
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The destruction on CSUN's campus was extensive and dramatic. A large parking structure collapsed onto itself, its giant columns bent backward by the force of the quake. A fire broke out in a science building. The university's Oviatt Library sustained damage and most of its books were dumped onto the floor. A second library building was so decimated it had to be demolished.
Staff and faculty worked out of tents that became their temporary offices and information center. Despite the quake, the spring 1994 semester started just two weeks later than originally scheduled. The temblor caused more than $400 million in damage and the reconstruction wasn't officially completed until August 2007.
— Ryan Fonseca
Dormitory staircases at Cal State Northridge damaged by the earthquake.
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Courtesy CSUN University Archives
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CSUN's Science 4 building (now Magnolia Hall) suffered structural and cosmetic damage in the earthquake.
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Courtesy CSUN University Archives
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State of emergency
Los Angeles Mayor Richard Riordan officially declared a state of emergency about an hour after the quake. That was followed by California Gov. Pete Wilson also declaring one, making it easier for the area to get state resources.
That afternoon, President Bill Clinton declared a national disaster for Los Angeles County, helping to direct federal resources to the region.
Multiple highways had to be closed due to the damage and surface streets were used as detours. Thousands of residents were without water and electricity as rescue crews began searching the rubble for survivors.
— Ryan Fonseca
A badly damaged apartment.
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Courtesy USGS archive
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A damaged freeway.
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Courtesy USGS archive
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A badly damaged building.
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Courtesy USGS archive
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Post-quake damage.
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Courtesy USGS archive
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A rescue worker sits in front of the heavily-damaged Northridge Meadows Apartments after a 14th body was removed following the earthquake.
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Chris Wilkins
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AFP via Getty Images
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A family sits beside the street in front of their destroyed home near the epicenter of the earthquake.
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Denis Poroy
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AFP via Getty Images
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Evan Smith hugs his dog Samantha as his sister Emily plays solitaire to pass the time in their front yard encampment in Granada Hills. The family's home was heavily damaged in the earthquake and they lived in the front yard until power and water was restored.
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Chris Wilkins
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AFP via Getty Images
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Juadulupe Flores and her 4-year-old daughter Yijan share breakfast on Jan. 18, 1994 after having camped in Dearborn Park overnight. Thousands of people slept outside, fearing powerful aftershocks following the previous day's temblor.
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Tim Clary
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AFP via Getty Images
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Recovery
The California National Guard was deployed to assist help with recovery efforts and maintain order. Tent cities went up at parks and other open spaces for thousands of displaced Angelenos.
Many people refuse to return to their homes, fearing another earthquake. Some slept on their lawns or in their cars. The quake broke water pipes across the region, and officials told people to boil drinking water. Residents kept bottles and jugs to fill up when water trucks rolled in.
— Ryan Fonseca
A mother and her children walk near a tent city at Winnetka Recreation Center on Jan. 22, 1994 as California National Guard set up the shelters for the thousands of Angelenos made homeless by the quake.
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Tim Clary
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AFP via Getty Images
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National Guard troops play soccer with children at a campground at Lanark Park. The National Guard erected tent cities to house thousands of earthquake refugees living in the area parks amid the threat of rain.
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Tim Clary
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AFP via Getty Images
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People left homeless by the Northridge earthquake line up in Canoga Park to make phone calls at a remote telephone facility.
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Mike Nelson
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AFP via Getty Images
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Families camp out in a city park after their homes were heavily damaged by the earthquake.
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Jonathan Nourok
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AFP via Getty Images
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Residents fill water containers from a tanker truck at Granada Hills High School the day after the earthquake.
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Chris Wilkins
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AFP via Getty Images
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Presidential visit
President Clinton visited Los Angeles two days after the quake touring damaged roadways and surveying the urban destruction.
"This is a national problem. We have a national responsibility," Clinton told local officials in a hangar at Burbank Airport, according to the L.A. Times. "This is something we intend to stay with until the job is over."
— Ryan Fonseca
President Bill Clinton waves to residents on Jan. 19, 1994 during a tour of earthquake-stricken areas.
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Paul J. Richards
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AFP via Getty Images
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Parishioners gather in a parking structure near St. Augustine's Episcopal Church in Santa Monica for Sunday services on Jan. 23, 1994. The church was determined to be unsafe after the earthquake.
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Tim Clary
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AFP via Getty Images
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The $20 billion cost
Along with the dozens killed and thousands hurt, the quake caused $20 billion in damage. This video posted by Caltrans shows the scope of the destruction to the region's freeway system and all the work put in to repair the roadways.
You’re at Union Station when the big one hits. The next two minutes are terrifying. By the time you make your way outside, the Los Angeles you know is gone. In Episode One, you experience what the first hours after a massive earthquake could be like.
You’re at Union Station when the big one hits. The next two minutes are terrifying. By the time you make your way outside, the Los Angeles you know is gone. In Episode One, you experience what the first hours after a massive earthquake could be like.
Adolfo Guzman-Lopez
is an arts and general assignment reporter on LAist's Explore LA team.
Published May 2, 2026 5:00 AM
Steve Campos sits on a bench he calls the "LA Bench" that approriates the logo used by the Dodgers in a statement of civic pride.
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Courtesy Steve Campos
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Topline:
LA welder-artist uses the well-loved "L.A." logo to create an “LA Bench” to spark civic pride. It may look like a tribute to the Dodgers, but it's more complicated.
Why it matters: Steve Campos is a second-generation welder born and raised in L.A. who is using his training and education to create work with more artistic designs.
Why now: The Dodgers’ success is making their logos ubiquitous. But the team's success, some Angelenos say, came at the cost of mass displacement after World War II of working class communities where Dodger Stadium how stands.
The backstory: The interlocking letters of the L.A. logo were used by the L.A. Angels minor league baseball team before the Dodgers moved to L.A. in 1958.
What's next: Campos is offering the LA Benches for sale and hopes he can get permission from the Dodgers to install a few at Dodger Stadium.
It’s about the size of a park bench and made of steel and wood. The bench’s arm rests are formed by the letters “L” and “A” in a design that’s unmistakable to any sports fan. But the welder-artist who created it says it’s not a Dodgers bench.
“This is about civic pride, L.A. pride. I made a design statement saying that it has nothing affiliated with the Dodgers,” said Steve Campos.
Campos grew up near Dodger Stadium, raised by parents who were die-hard Dodgers fans. So much, that they named him after Steve Garvey but that legacy doesn’t keep him from confronting how the Dodgers benefitted from the mass displacement of working-class people from Chavez Ravine after World War Two. That’s why he calls it an L.A. Bench, and not a Dodgers Bench.
The logo may be synonymous with the city's beloved baseball team, but the design of the interlocking letters was used by the L.A. Angels minor league baseball team before the Dodgers moved to L.A. in 1958.
“The monogram was here before the Dodgers,” Campos said.
A second-generation welder
Welding is the Campos family business. His father created gates and security bars for windows and doors for L.A. clients. That was the foundation for the work Campos has done for two decades since graduating from Lincoln High School, L.A. Trade Tech College, and enrolling in a summer program at Art Center in Pasadena.
The inspiration for the L.A. Bench came last year while he was playing around in his shop creating versions of the L.A. logo. A friend he hangs with at Echo Park Lake asked Campos to make him a piece of furniture.
“I was trying to figure out what my friend Curly wanted. He liked Dodgers and drinking and getting into fights, so I was like, 'Let me make something with the LA monogram,'” he said.
Welder-artist Steve Campos created whimsical steel sculptures with the LA logo.
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Courtesy Steve Campos
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It didn’t design itself. He said he had to lengthen the legs on the “A” and lean the back of the “L” in order to make the bench functional. In the process, he’s made a piece of furniture with a ubiquitous logo that he’s embedded with his own L.A. pride, as well as city history past and present.
LA civic pride travels to Japan
Campos vacationed in Japan the last week of April and took advantage of the trip to reach out to people who may be interested in the L.A. Bench. He was caught off guard by people’s reaction when he showed them pictures of it.
“They look at it and they go, 'Oh, Ohtani bench,'” he said.
For them, it’s still a bench embedded with pride, he said, but centered around Dodgers star Shohei Ohtani, an icon in his native Japan.
I would love to get a couple of them installed at Dodger Stadium.
— Steve Campos, welder-artist
Campos has made four L.A. benches and is selling them fully assembled, he said, for $2,500 each — taking into account his labor and how costly the raw materials have become. For now, he’s offering the metal parts as a package for $500, which requires the buyer to purchase the wood for the seat and the back — an easy process, he said.
While he has no plans to mass produce the L.A. Bench, he does have one goal in mind that shows how hard it is for him to separate L.A. civic pride and the Dodgers.
“I would love to get a couple of them installed at Dodger Stadium,” he said.
The former Snapchat buildings on the Venice Boardwalk are now pop-up art spaces, free for all to visit.
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Laura Hertzfeld
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LAist
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Topline:
A new art installation on the Venice Boardwalk features local and international artists, pop-up evening performances, and projects that explore the themes of childhood and home.
Why it matters: The Venice Boardwalk is usually a daytime playground, but a new art installation and performance pop up aims to breathe new life into the evening scene at the beach.
Why now: Two formerly vacant buildings with spaces facing the Boardwalk have been turned into free art installations after a new owner took over the former Snapchat-owned buildings.
The backstory: Stefan Ashkenazy, founder of the Bombay Beach Biennale, brings some of his favorite collaborators into a new space on the Venice Boardwalk, giving a chance for tourists and locals alike to check out projects from artists including William Attaway, James Ostrer, Greg Haberny, Robin Murez, and more.
Read on ... to find out how you can visit.
The Venice Boardwalk after sunset has generally been a no-go zone for tourists and locals alike, as the beachside bars and restaurants close on the early side and safety is often an issue. Now, a group of artists is out to bring some vibrancy to the creative neighborhood with a series of new installations that will include live evening performances – and even a “Venice Opera House.”
“Let's play with light and let's play with sound and give people a reason to come to the Boardwalk after sundown,” said artist and entrepreneur Stefan Ashkenazy, who is curating the project and owns the buildings housing them. “I mean, let's just be open 24 hours a day.”
The concept doesn’t have an official name yet, but he’s been calling it “See World.”
Artist James Ostrer's space looks out from a bed through the fence to the ocean at Venice Beach.
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Laura Hertzfeld
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LAist
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William Attaway, a longtime Venice artist, created a gallery space filled with various paintings and sculptures.
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Laura Hertzfeld
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LAist
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The pair of modern buildings on the Venice Boardwalk at Thornton Ave. – with their big balconies, floor-to-ceiling glass windows, and seven open garage-style retail spaces – have sat mostly empty since Snapchat vacated their beachside offices in 2019. Ashkenazy recently bought the building and recruited artists to fill those front-facing spaces with creative work until a full-time tenant comes in.
Over the past several weeks the installations have been created in real-time, in public.
Venice Boardwalk art pop-ups The installations are open now and can be seen from the Boardwalk for free 24/7. They will be up for several months and evening performances are ongoing.
All of the projects are loosely along the theme of “home,” with each artist claiming a “room” in the two buildings that stretch across a full block on the Boardwalk. Several local Venice artists are featured, including William Attaway, whose intricate mosaic work is recognizable on the Venice public restrooms along the beach. Attaway’s space features a floating larger-than-life-sized statue and various works in a mini-gallery. In the next room is Robin Murez’s pieces, featuring carved wooden seats from her beloved neighborhood Venice Flying Carousel.
Ashkenazy is no stranger to wild (and wildly successful) art ideas. He’s the owner of the Petit Ermitage hotel in West Hollywood, a longtime haven for visiting artists, and the founder of the decade-old Bombay Beach Biennale, where artists install all kinds of work in an annual event near the Salton Sea. Many of the artists from that community are featured at the Venice project.
A "Venice Opera House" will host pop-up music events throughout the summer.
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Laura Hertfeldz
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LAist
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New York-based artist Greg Haberny's paintings on the wall of his Venice space.
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Laura Hertzfeld
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LAist
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New York-based artist Greg Haberny and London-based artist James Ostrer have brought some of their work in the Bombay Beach Biennale to the Venice project. Their windows on the Boardwalk both speak to a child-like sense of wonder and creativity.
“I think it's just kind of exploring and playing a little bit, to have the freedom to be able to do that,” Haberny says of his imagined child’s bedroom space, which includes a fort made out of puffy cheese balls. “It's a big space, too. It's beautiful.”
Ostrer is experimenting with a performance art idea where he sits in bed amongst a room full of his own artwork, which he describes as “happy art with an edge.” Looking out at the ocean from the bed, he’s invited passersby to sit and have chats with him about his work or anything else they want to talk about.
“It’s a very intimate space, so you have a different kind of conversation,” he said. “I use art to channel human creativity, and [talk about] dark things.”
While there are open fences that block off the spaces, they aren’t sealed up at night. Both Ashkenazy and the team of artists seemed open to the idea that anything could happen and that the installations are a conversation with the public – and with that comes some risk.
Greg Haberny (right) works with his assistants on an installation featuring kid-inspired graffiti art and a "cheesy puff" fort.
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Laura Hertzfeld
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LAist
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“I don't really know if I [would] say worried, but I guess it's just the cost of doing business,” Haberny said. “I don't really make things to get damaged or broken, sure. But I have done [things like] burned all my paintings and then made paint out of ash.”
While he’s felt safe – and even slept overnight in the installation – Ostrer has been collaborating with a local female artist who performs in a pig mask in front of his installation some nights. Watching her perform, he said, has taught him about the vulnerability of women in public spaces like the Boardwalk. “I've started to, on a very fractional level, have seen how scary that is. Because I've sat in the bed behind her performing at the front here… the way in which men are approaching her and shrieking at her … it's shocking.”
Ashkenazy says he will keep the artists in the space, potentially rotating new ones in, until a fulltime tenant takes over.
“This is an experiment … and after acquiring the building, the intention wasn't, ‘let's open a bunch of public art spaces,’ he said. “It is kind of …what the building wanted and listening to what the Boardwalk needed. Let's play, let's have the artists that we love and appreciate have a space to play and engage and give the locals and the visitors to the Boardwalk something to experience.”
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Fiona Ng
is LAist's deputy managing editor and leads a team of reporters who explore food, culture, history, events and more.
Published May 2, 2026 5:00 AM
Elephant Hill in El Sereno.
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Courtesy Save Elephant Hill
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Topline:
A new trail across the beloved natural area of Elephant Hill in Northeast Los Angeles officially opens this weekend.
Why it matters: The route is years in the making, and it's a big milestone in the decades-long conservation efforts to preserve this local jewel in the community of El Sereno.
What's next: The trail is part of a decades-long effort to preserve the entire 110 acres of Elephant Hill. Read on to learn more.
The route is years in the making, and it's a big milestone in the decades-long conservation efforts to preserve this local jewel in the community of El Sereno.
The hiking trail connects one side of Elephant Hill to the other — from the corner of Pullman Street and Harriman Avenue all the way across to Lathrop Street.
It's 0.75 miles in total, but packs a punch.
"It's a pretty straight shot, but because of the terrain — the trail is kind of twisty and curvy. There's switchbacks — and great views," Elva Yañez, board president of the nonprofitSave Elephant Hill, said.
People have always been able to access the 110-acre green space, but Yañez said the new trail provides a safe and easy way to navigate the steep hillsides.
The El Sereno nonprofit has been working for two decades to preserve the land. Illegal dumping and off-roading have damaged the open space over the years. And the majority of the 110 acres are privately owned by an estimated 200 individual owners.
Mountains Recreation and Conservation Authority (MRCA) joined the efforts in 2018, spurred by a $700,000 grant from Los Angeles County Regional Park and Open Space District, in part, to build the trail. The local agency received some $2 million in grants from the Santa Monica Mountains Conservancy to add to the 10 acres of Elephant Hill it manages and conserves. This year, MCRA acquired an additional 12 parcels — or about 2.4 acres.
And the spiffy new footpath — with trail signage, information kiosks and landscape boulders — is not just a long-sought-for victory but a beginning in a sense.
"We know that it means a lot to the community," Sarah Kevorkian, who oversees the trail project for MRCA, said. "We're wrapping up the trail, but it really feels like the beginning of all that is to come."
A hint of that vision already exists — for hikers traversing the new route, courtesy ofTest Plot, the L.A.-based nonprofit that works to revitalize depleted lands.
"They're able to see at the end of the trail, at the 'test plot' — exactly what a restored Elephant Hill would look like," Yañez said.
Josie Huang
is a reporter and Weekend Edition host who spotlights the people and places at the heart of our region.
Published May 2, 2026 5:00 AM
Battery storage hubs are used to stabilize the energy grid but have led to lithium battery fires.
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Sandy Huffaker
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AFP via Getty Images
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Topline:
San Gabriel Valley residents are rallying today against a battery storage project in the City of Industry. They warn it could bring environmental and health impacts and pave the way for more industrial development, like data centers.
The backstory: City leaders approved the 400-megawatt Marici battery facility in January. But residents in nearby communities say they were not adequately informed and are concerned about safety risks.
What's next: Some local activists have challenged the approval of the battery facility under the California Environmental Quality Act.
The rally: Protesters will be at the Peter F. Schabarum Regional Park in Rowland Heights from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m.
A coalition of residents from across the San Gabriel Valley are mobilizing over a battery storage project and possibly more industrial development in the City of Industry they say could pollute communities next door.
WHAT: Protest against battery storage facility in the city of Industry
WHERE: Peter F. Schabarum Regional Park in neighboring Rowland Heights
WHEN: 10 a.m. to 1 p.m.
Because of the City of Industry’s unusual, sprawling shape stretching along the 60 Freeway, it borders on more than a dozen communities, meaning what happens there can have far-reaching impact.
“Pollution does not end right at the border,” said Andrew Yip, an organizer with No Data Centers SGV Coalition. “Pollution travels.”
Beyond environmental concerns, locals have also been frustrated with how decisions are made by officials in the City of Industry, a municipality that’s almost entirely zoned for industrial use and has less than 300 residents.
Organizers say they’ve struggled to get direct responses from city officials whom they say have replaced regular meetings with special meetings, which under state law require less advance notice.
A city spokesperson has not responded to requests for comment.
Today’s protest is taking place at Peter F. Schabarum Regional Park in Rowland Heights across the street from the Puente Hills Mall, a largely vacant “dead” mall, which activists fear could be redeveloped into a data center and bring higher utility costs and greater air and noise pollution.
Yip pointed out that industrial developments make a lot of money for the City of Industry.
“But none of these surrounding communities receive any of those benefits,” Yip said. “Yet we have to put up with all the harmful effects and impacts from this city that does all this development without really reaching out.”
