The Brief

Tucked away in a corner of Boyle Heights' Evergreen Cemetery is a single communal grave — the final resting place for Angelenos whose bodies go unclaimed after their death.

You might be asking yourself, "Are there really that many people with no one to claim them after they die?" Maybe surprisingly, the answer is yes. And in Los Angeles County, that number is increasing.

In their new book The Unclaimed: Abandonment and Hope in the City of Angels, co-authors and sociologists Stefan Timmermans of UCLA and Pamela Prickett of the University of Amsterdam report that in the 1970s, nearly 1.2% of all adult deaths in Los Angeles County went unclaimed. At the turn of the century, the percentage increased twofold. Now, they predict that every year hundreds more are going unclaimed.

Timmermans and Prickett joined LAist's daily news program AirTalk recently to explain the bureaucracy, mechanics and unexpected compassion that accompany the death of an unclaimed person in L.A. County.

Who are the unclaimed?

Historically, a potter's field was a place where the "indigent" were buried. Those who went unclaimed met a fate of eternal erasure — an unmarked grave.

"When new migrants came to the United States, one of the first things they did was pay into a burial society. That's how deeply rooted the fear of going unclaimed was," Timmermans said.

But who is going unclaimed is changing.

In December, faith leaders, L.A. County supervisors, medical examiners and community members gathered at the communal grave in Boyle Heights to honor the deaths of more than 1,900 Angelenos whose bodies went unclaimed. They were veterans, unhoused people, widows, nonagenarians, rich folks, poor folks and everyone in between.

"There's something about honoring the dead that reaffirms the living," said Prickett. And beyond that, the unclaimed bodies and their increasing numbers reveal something about the fracturing of our social fabric today, she added. Family estrangement, social isolation and rampant loneliness are just a few of the things that contribute to a growing number of unclaimed bodies. But even these elements aren't always the full story.

Prickett pointed to not just a quantitative shift in who goes unclaimed — on a national scale it's nearly 148,000 out of 2 million every year — but also a qualitative shift.

"There are unhoused people out on the street," she said, "but there are also people who have homes, families, jobs who are going unclaimed."

Claiming a body and paying for burial and funeral services is expensive. It can run upwards of $8,000, which is not something many people can afford. But even so, Prickett and Timmermans said there's an element of the unclaimed life that goes against the grain of what makes us human. That's where Los Angeles city officials, cemetery employees and everyone else comes into the picture.

What happens to unclaimed bodies?

When someone goes unclaimed here in Los Angeles, the responsibility of handling what happens to the person falls on government officials.

Timmermans said there are basically two approaches. The first: "Get rid of the body as quickly and cheaply as possible," he said. There those that believe this is the best way to handle the unclaimed.

Then there's the second approach that involves the people who work at the crematorium in Boyle Heights. They view their jobs as a public service to those who've died and want to "bring dignity to these unclaimed people," Timmermans explained.

Whichever approach is taken, there is always an effort to have the body claimed by next of kin.

"What we've been struck with during this research is how much care these county officials bring into notifying the next of kin," Timmermans said. And these days, it's not as hard to find a family member.

"If you just keep searching through the family tree, you'll find someone," said Prickett. The question, she added, is will that someone be willing to claim their relative's body — and what happens if they don't?

Midge, one of four unclaimed people Timmermans and Prickett followed in their book, had many connections in her church community when she was alive. But after she died, the church community wasn't recognized as her legal next-of-kin.

"How we live our lives isn't necessarily what's recognized at the time of our deaths in terms of who's going to be asked to claim us," Prickett said. This begs the question: Can non-family members claim someone's body?

"Indeed," said Timmermans, but he added it's not easy. "They can file an ex-parte with the court, but the barrier for doing this is quite high."

In Midge's case, if her church community wanted to claim her, according to L.A. County law, they'd have to testify in writing that they had contacted all the legal next-of-kin and make sure they are okay with them taking the body. In fact, Midge's church was willing to take these steps.

"But," as Timmermans explained, "when county officials found a biological relative, someone who Midge had not been in touch with for decades, that person's relationship got precedence."

The church backed off, he said, fearful of potential legal issues.

This is just one story of how someone goes unclaimed upon their death. But due to the city of Los Angeles getting involved, she got a funeral in December with nearly 200 people, civil servants and civilians alike, in attendance.

A dignified resting place in Boyle Heights

Why does it matter that we recognize people who go unclaimed? "First of all, we have history on our side that this is the right thing to do," Prickett said. "The word 'humanity' at its root, 'humando,' means 'to bury."

She said if there's one thing she and Timmermans learned through the decade they spent researching The Unclaimed, it's that even if no one initially shows up to claim the body, people still care about their fellow humans.

"Everybody matters. No matter what happened in your life, that somebody is going to be there to show up for you is maybe an indication that we all can matter a little bit more in each other's lives," Prickett said.

Social ills, fractured families and financial despair might all contribute to a person going unclaimed upon death. But once a year, at a small cemetery tucked away in Boyle Heights, the best of humanity turns up for the "The Ceremony of the Unclaimed Dead" to show love to those they never knew.

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The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has announced several significant rule changes for the 99th Oscars, including AI protections for actors and writers as well as expanded eligibility for international films.

In a statement to NPR, the Academy on Saturday said the changes are in response to listening to the global filmmaking community and addressing barriers to entry in its eligibility process.

The Academy added that its rules and eligibility standards have always evolved alongside technologies such as sound, color, and CGI, and that AI is no different. Awards rules and guidelines are reviewed and refined each year.

A blow for Tilly Norwood 

Among the most noteworthy changes, the Academy now explicitly states that only roles, "demonstrably performed by humans with their consent" are eligible for Acting awards. In other words, AI creations like the much-hyped Tilly Norwood cannot hope to win a Best Actress Oscar anytime soon.

Particle6, the production company behind Norwood, did not immediately respond to NPR's request for comment on Saturday about its creations' ban from consideration. In March, Norwood commented, "Can't wait to go to the Oscars!" in an Instagram post announcing its newly released music video.

The Academy also requires screenplays to be "human-authored" and said it reserved the right to investigate the use of generative AI in any submission.

Meanwhile, qualifying flesh-and-blood human actors can now be nominated for multiple performances in the same category if those performances get enough votes to land in the top five. So, someone like Anne Hathaway, who has five major movies scheduled for release in 2026, could now theoretically sweep the nominations – though that outcome seems extremely unlikely.

"If an actor has an extremely prolific year, might we even see someone swallow up three of the five nominations?," wrote Deadline's awards columnist and chief film critic Pete Hammond about the changes. "Probably won't happen, but it's now possible."

Under previous rules, an actor could only receive one nomination per category. If they had two high-ranking performances in Best Actor, for example, only the one with the most votes would move forward.

International films prioritizes filmmakers over countries

While international films can still be the official selection of their countries, now they can qualify by winning the top prize at a major international festival such as the Palme d'Or at Cannes, the Golden Lion at Venice, or the World Cinema Grand Jury Prize at Sundance.

Historically, countries "owned" the nomination, and only one film per country was allowed. The new rules allow multiple films from the same country to compete if they are critically acclaimed, and it shifts the honor from a geopolitical entity to the filmmakers themselves.

Largely positive response

The changes have prompted a largely positive reaction from the film community on social media, such as on the popular The Shade Room entertainment and celebrity-focused Instagram feed, where commenters widely praised the "human-only" move to protect creative jobs.

The Academy's Awards Committee oversees the rules in tandem with branch executive committees, the International Feature Film Executive Committee and the Scientific and Technical Awards Executive Committee.

The rules are scheduled to go into effect next year, covering films released in 2026.

Copyright 2026 NPR

Los Angeles changes fast, and oftentimes that means some of the architectural relics of our shared past get swept up and paved over in all the "progress." (RIP Garden of Allah.)

But there are still places where you can find ruins that tell a tale, like a long-forgotten speakeasy reputedly for old Hollywood near La Crescenta.

The ruins are still there 

On a recent afternoon, author and local historian Mike Lawler led me just beyond the boundary of Crescenta Valley Park. Joggers like me might have seen an old, towering stone arch shrouded by bushes there — and wondered what lies beyond.

Turns out there was once a place called the Verdugo Lodge back there and Lawler has spent years excavating its history.

A car speeds away from the lodge onto New York Avenue. The stone archway that still stands can be seen in the background.

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“It was a very high-end speakeasy for a time,” Lawler, who also helps run the Historical Society of the Crescenta Valley, said. “An amazing thing. And all the ruins are still here, just like this arch.”

Lawler said we don’t know exactly when the lodge was built, but we do have some of the picture starting in the late 1920s. The place was set up kind of like a timeshare where people bought 10 x 10 foot ‘tent lots’ that gave them access to on-site amenities. There was a golf course, stables, trout stream, a swimming pool — and a lodge with gambling and alcohol.

“The Crescenta Valley in the teens and '20s was a hotbed of moonshine, prostitution, all that stuff," Lawler said. "It was a quiet little community. But in all these canyons up here, stuff was going on. Illegal stuff!”

We don’t have a full guest list, but Lawler said it’s likely at least a few Hollywood types had gone up to the lodge to circumvent Prohibition era laws.

In some ways, it was kind of like the original glamping. Lawler said patrons probably weren’t doing much sleeping, though.

“They might have been unconscious!” he said with a chuckle.

Lawler led me to a road that swooped around a meadow. We passed by a massive swimming pool nestled into the hillside.

Once known as the “Crystal Pool,” it’s now empty and fenced off, with pitch black locker rooms below.

The exterior of the locker rooms for the old Crystal Pool.

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We continued our journey up the hill and eventually arrived at a cascading stone stairway.

And at the top, the big show: overgrown with orange monkey flowers and goliath agaves lies the foundation of the old Verdugo Lodge, with lofty stone fireplaces the only guardians keeping the surrounding oak trees at bay.

Lawler takes out a floorplan that one of the former owners drew up for him.

“This is what it was laid out like on the inside. So a dancehall, and band stand on that side... And then upstairs was the gambling,” Lawler said.

Lawler had in hand a copy of a Los Angeles Times article from 1933 he found. The headline reads: “Revelers Flee in Lodge Raid.”

“The police that raided it were here at 3 o'clock in the morning. And there were still 500 people here. And they said it was the classiest joint they had ever raided... Anyway, people were diving out of windows and everything,” Lawler explained.

In a ruin like this, covered with moss and overgrowth, the imagination can run wild, too.

The archway that still stands outside of what's now known as Mountain Oaks.

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Lawler pointed out a questionable door jam below the old dancefloor that’s been cemented over.

“That is a door. So what is behind there? So there’s a room in there that got walled in for some reason,” he said.

What we do know is that, sometime after the raid, the tawdry Verdugo Lodge and the surrounding land were purchased and then renamed Mountain Oaks by the Kadletzes — an entrepreneurial family who had run everything from a Turkish bath to a mini golf course. Over the next few decades, the family would rent the place out to local groups for recreational retreats.

The future of Mountain Oaks 

After they sold it in the ‘60s, Lawler said Mountain Oaks faced a “nightmare” of development threats. Over the years, some of the subdivided "tent lots" had been combined and sold off, Lawler said. A dozen private homes now stand on these pieces of land, next to the ruins of the Verdugo Lodge.

A map showing the Mountain Oaks public property acquired by The Mountains Recreation and Conservation Authority (MRCA).

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Last year, with help from the City of Glendale, a U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development grant among other funding sources, the Mountains Recreation and Conservation Authority (MRCA) put up $6.1 million to acquire 33-acres of the land — not including the private lots where the homes stand — so the public can continue to roam the meadow and ruins.

Paul Edelman, MRCA's director of natural resources and planning, said his group will continue to manage the land, doing things like brush clearance, trash pickup and sign maintenance. And he said there are no current plans to remove the ruins or make any major changes to the property.

“If somebody comes up with a grand idea where they can find some funding for us to do something to enhance it, we’re always open to it,” Edelman said.

The purchase was good news for local preservationist Joanna Linkchorst.

“I grew up directly up the hill. But I always saw the sign that said ‘private property’ and didn’t really think about it until several years ago when I finally asked Mike. And he said, ‘Oh yeah, we got a resort speakeasy down the street,’” Linkchorst said standing among the oaks and overgrowth.

Linkchorst, who founded the group Friends of Rockhaven to preserve another nearby historic site, said it’s been amazing to see all of the decaying structures that were still hiding out at Mountain Oaks.

“There’s almost like these little ghosts in your head as you imagine what it was like when there was a beautiful wood floor and there was a second floor that people came jumping out of,” Linkchorst said.

Now, let’s check in to the Overlook Hotel.

That’s the fictional place Stanley Kubrick brought to life in his 1980 film The Shining, loosely based on Stephen King’s novel of the same name.

A local architect who hails from South Pasadena meticulously crafted a 3D model of the iconic space so Shining fans everywhere never have to check out.

‘I just couldn’t stop’ 

At his day job, architect Anthony Chieh mainly works on residential and boutique commercial spaces. But over the course of five months, he spent his nights meticulously recreating a virtual replica of the Overlook Hotel from the film that first scared him when he was 12.

Of course he started with the deeply haunted Room 237. That’s where Jack Torrance, played by Jack Nicholson, has a terrifying encounter with a ghostly woman.

Chieh's 3D rendering of Room 237

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Anthony Chieh

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“But once I started, I just couldn’t stop,” Chieh told LAist.

“I ended up modeling the Colorado Lounge, and then after that I was thinking maybe I should make the lobby and then arriving to the Gold Room, and then Grady’s bathroom.”

“It’s like a rabbit hole,” he said.

Users who download Chieh’s free 3D model can fly through all of those spaces, immersed in atmospheric sounds and music from the film.

“It’s interesting to dive into these kind of fictional environments and try to make sense of it,” Chieh said. “And the hope is people will get a different perspective once they’re in there.”

Kubrick’s take on the Overlook was famously inspired by real hotels like the Timberline Lodge in Oregon and the Ahwahnee in Yosemite. But the interiors you see in the film were created on sound stages in England.

“Real architecture, physical buildings, are built for people to live. And for movies, these are more meant to express the emotional aspect of things. It’s a psychological construct,” Chieh said.

In a recently published video essay on YouTube, Chieh dives deep into those psychological constructs and how, as he puts it, “Kubrick designed the Overlook Hotel not as a backdrop, but as the film's true villain.”

How spaces scare 

Chieh said during the monthslong process he was reminded of the power of architecture and design in the real world too – whether it’s an uncomfortably repetitive carpet design or a claustrophobic hallway.

“A physical construct can affect your emotion,” Chieh said.

“You can use it in a way to make people feel comfortable and you can also use it in a way to create fear.”

Chieh's 3D rendering of the Torrance's apartment in 'The Shining'

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What’s next for this architect moonlighting as a 3D modeler?

Chieh says he’s thinking about giving the spaceship from “2001: A Space Odyssey" the virtual treatment next. Or maybe turning to a local non-fictional space, like the Stahl House.

That is, of course, if he can ever escape the Overlook.