The Brief

Almeter Carroll sits alone on a couch inside the Watts Senior Citizen Community Center. It’s almost noon, but the place is nearly empty. Fitness mats and other workout gear lay stacked in a distant corner. No one shows up for a morning gym class except her.

She points across the room to a wall covered with photos of smiling, well-dressed Black men and women gathered at events throughout the years.“They’re all gone. Everyone on that wall. Passed away.”

It’s the same in her personal life. Widowed once, Almeter lost a second partner years later to COVID. For the most part, she likes being independent and taking care of herself. “Of course, I get lonely,” she says. “I miss my husband. I miss my boyfriend.”

She speaks of these things matter-of-factly, but still holds a positive outlook and carries a knowing smile. Quiet as it may be at the moment, the Watts center will begin to buzz with activity come lunchtime. Almeter will be surrounded by friends soon enough.

Shane Shabad, 90, sits at Palisades Park in Santa Monica. Shane has lived alone for over a decade and struggles with vision loss associated with macular degeneration. He became increasingly socially isolated during the pandemic.

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Older adults represent a significantly expanding portion of California’s population. By 2030, individuals over age 65 will begin to outnumber those under 18. But living longer also means people will see more loss, experience more grief and face more isolation.

Neighborhood senior centers may offer a good solution. They localize important resources and provide a safe, accessible space where older adults can go to find community and friendship.

“They're absolutely essential and critical and part of the backbone of older adult services in our state,” said California Department of Aging Director Susan DeMarois. “They’re integral to our communities.”

Beverlee Kelly, 70, spends time at Kenneth Hahn State Recreation Area in Los Angeles. Ms. Kelly used to be active at a senior center near her home before the pandemic. She has not returned since the shutdown in 2020 due to health concerns as she is unvaccinated.

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Shane Shabad, 90, stands in his apartment in Santa Monica.

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Under Gov. Gavin Newsom, the aging department drew up a 10-year master plan that lays out five “bold” goals essential for sustaining longevity — housing, health care, inclusion, caregiving and affordability.

Senior centers can address the inclusion component, although how, exactly, remains unclear.

No two senior centers are alike. Local demographics and economic factors shape each center’s unique dynamics. With hardly any state oversight, most are largely left to themselves to figure out their own best practices.

In fact, no one can even say how many are operating in the state.

Lewis Brown, 80, Director, sits in his office at the Tehachapi Senior Center.

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Tony Kotch, 86, sits at a table for lunch at the Tehachapi Senior Center. The Tehachapi Senior Center is volunteer-run and the older adults cover costs through donations. Older adults residing in rural areas are at an increased risk of social isolation.

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Former Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy sounded an alarm in naming loneliness and social isolation a national epidemic in a 2023 report — equating the long term health effects with smoking 15 cigarettes a day. One in five older Californians like Almeter live alone, making it even more difficult for them to maintain social connections.

Going to the senior center may benefit a person’s mental and physical health, according to a 2025 study by researchers from California State University Northridge and Kaiser Permanente. They distributed surveys at 23 Los Angeles-area senior centers to gauge how attendance affected the wellbeing of participants.

People who attended frequently — several times a week — or over long periods of time had better mental health and felt less lonely. Frequent senior center attendance was associated with greater reduction in loneliness among users under age 75, while the positive relationship between senior center attendance and physical health was more evident among users over age 75. Based on those findings, the authors encouraged local officials and doctors “to promote” senior centers as a healthy resource.

Residents of an affordable senior housing complex in Santa Monica stand in a hallway in 2020.

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Hit hard by the social distancing impacts of COVID, community-based centers faced significant challenges when things began to return to normal. Older adults stayed away for some time out of caution.

But some returned to centers with a renewed focus on health and wellbeing. Rather than look for traditional recreation like bingo, post-COVID older adults wanted to see fitness classes and longevity training.

“As the population changes, as the opportunities change, as the needs change — senior centers evolve with that,” said Dianne Stone of the National Council on Aging. “At the core of it, senior centers are highly social places. It’s all about creating opportunities for social engagement.

“That might be just sitting around having a cup of coffee. It might be taking a class and finding people that are interested in the same things you’re interested in. But all of it is an opportunity to come in and meet people.”

Karaoke, tai chi and romance

Less than 20 miles from Watts, the Culver City Senior Center surges with energy and enthusiasm. Sunlight filters through large glass windows onto tables bustling with Mah Jong and other games. For $20 a year, participants get daily access to rooms filled with exercise classes, arts and crafts workshops and movie screenings.

Members gather early to hit the gym as soon as doors open at 9 a.m. Billiards players bring their own cues to shoot pool. Twice a week, packed-house karaoke sessions involve not just free-spirited singing, but also plenty of dancing.

On a sunny gorgeous day in mid-November, the karaoke team brought microphones and speakers out into the fresh air of Culver’s spacious central courtyard.

Selvee Provost bounced around and chatted knowingly with almost every person sitting under the verandas and shade umbrellas. As people took turns singing, she danced intermittently with different friends. Her simple social activity appeared to come naturally, but it was in the aftermath of loss and loneliness.

Selvee Provost, 67, bows during a Tai-Chi class at the Culver City Senior Center. Last: Cristina Guevara, 78, embraces Julia Sedana, 82, at the Lincoln Heights Senior Center.

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Cristina Guevara, 78, embraces Julia Sedana, 82, at the Lincoln Heights Senior Center.

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Selvee first came to the Culver center with her husband, Jim, in 2018. When COVID hit, things shut down. Then Jim died, and Selvee felt utterly alone. She could feel herself spiraling down in isolation.

“I knew if I sit at home and keep thinking about Jim, I’m gonna get more and more depressed,” she said. “That’s what motivated me to come here and try a class or something — just try anything.”

Tai chi became her pathway to community. “I didn’t know anybody, really. But by going to this class, I met people and learned they have a group about dealing with grief.”

That’s where she met Daniel Kerson. He’d lost his wife at almost the same time as Selvee lost Jim. “Both of us really needed to find companionship to survive,” she said. They moved in together right away and now come to the center throughout the week for classes, events and to socialize.

Louis Cangemi, a newcomer over the last few months, mingled with Selvee and made his own rounds amongst the outdoor karaoke singers and dancers. “I heard about this place and came to meet more people,” said the energetic 80-year-old. “I’m still a bachelor, so I hope to hit it off here with more women.”

But he might encounter a bit of competition. Other men like Jim Diego, 82, have been dancing and courting at Culver for years ahead of Cangemi.

A senior center shaped by its neighborhood

Coffee, tea and art — “Cafe, te y arte” — are the kind of social opportunities that begin each weekday at the Lincoln Heights Senior Citizen Center, all gratis for the mostly Spanish-speaking older adults who make themselves at home here. In one large community room, they share galletas and pasteles along with the free coffee.

As mid-morning hits, fitness classes like chair yoga and latin dance entice a dozen or so participants — predominantly women — to move, smile and laugh together beside the room’s raised performance stage. The men mostly sit and watch.

Chris Garcia, 78, dances with Eva De La Torre, 75, alongside other members of the Lincoln Heights Senior Center during a Halloween party in the Lincoln Heights neighborhood in Los Angeles.

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Twice a week, la lotería keeps the tables full for a couple of hours. Holiday dances draw crowds of over a hundred and feature DJs and live musicians.

“It’s such a lovely community,” said the Lincoln Heights director and one-man staff, Anthony Montiel. “I’m really fortunate to be part of this.”

As director, he maintains the schedule of classes and fills in wherever necessary. People are asked to contribute a few dollars per class, if they can afford it. In his backroom office, he logs in and accounts for handfuls of dog-eared $1 bills.

A lone ping pong player looks for the director in the afternoons. If he’s not too busy with his other duties, he’ll take a break for a quick match. “We have practically a brand new table,” said Montiel. “It’s nice equipment, but the guy usually has no one to play with but me.”

Shared meals, shared space, shared community

Putting a finger on the pulse of how senior centers maintain relevance, adapt and thrive is no easy task. Each center relies on a mix of different funding and resources.

Besides the classes and activities, subsidized lunch programs at all these centers play a crucial role in helping older adults stay healthy. The nutritionally balanced meals provide free or low cost sustenance, but offering the food in a shared, congregate space might be equally just as vital.

“When people are able to go to a setting like a senior center to enjoy a meal in the company of others, possibly to have music and entertainment and activities, that can be really good for people's mental health,” said DeMarois of the Department of Aging. “That’s a big part of it — just trying to foster that connection and engagement on the preventive side.”

Members gather at different tables in the afternoon at the Lincoln Heights Senior Center in Los Angeles.

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Congregate setting meal programs accounted for over 2.3 million older adult meals in the City of Los Angeles and in L.A. County in 2024, according to California Department of Aging records. But this data is not specific to senior centers, as it also includes meals in senior care facilities and other older adult group spaces.

“When it comes to senior centers, there is not good data,” said Stone. “There is not that central database of senior centers or community-based organizations, and there's not even a shared definition of what they are.

“Senior centers are community responses to community aging. No two are the same because no two communities are the same.”

Speaking anecdotally from her own experience, Stone sees the bulk of most senior center populations as being between 75 and 85 years old. But that age range is evolving as older adult communities expand.

DeMarois sees the same dynamics taking shape. “When we talk about people 60-plus, we're experiencing the greatest longevity ever right now,” she said. “The fastest growing demographic in California is 85-plus. We're talking about four decades of life for many people from 60 to 100, so their needs and preferences will change over time.”

Back in Watts, Almeter’s not much interested in a free meal. “I eat my own food.” She sits around as other older adults filter into the center one by one. Many grab their subsidized lunch in styrofoam containers and soon walk right back out the door.

She waits patiently for her friends to arrive — women like Luretha Muckelroy, Maudell Robinson and Watts advisory board member Linda Cleveland. They gather here two or three times each week to play Spades or Bid Whist, card games that evoke plenty of smack talking and mirth.

“We need more men around here,” said Linda, as she notes the all-female crowd. Older adult males show up for some functions and events, but women seem to comprise most of the Watts center attendance.

For a few hours, the close-knit group makes the place come alive. Four players compete in two-person teams, while others keep tally. The losing team must vacate their seats.

They laugh, point fingers and chastise one another — all in good fun. The games can sometimes get heated. In between hands and shuffles, they share snacks and pour sodas.

When asked how she feels about aging alone, Almeter answers without hesitation. “Oh, I love being 87. It’s great to be alive.”

Joe Garcia is a California Local News fellow. Photography by Isadora Kosofsky.

This story was produced jointly by CalMatters and CatchLight as part of our mental health initiative.

This article was originally published on CalMatters and was republished under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license.

This story first appeared on The LA Local.

Rabbi Amy Bernstein says the wind-whipped fire in January 2025 that scorched much of the Pacific Palisades, destroying her home and damaging her synagogue, “blew everything open” for the community’s faith leaders.

“If our hearts must break, let them break open,” said the rabbi, who leads Kehillat Israel where 300 families out of 900 lost their homes. “This tragedy has really pushed us closer to one another. We’re working to change the things we need changed.”

Faith leaders both in the Pacific Palisades and in Altadena and Pasadena — devastated by the pair of fires that tore across Southern California — have relied on interfaith and community partnerships to rally congregants who are picking up the pieces 16 months later.

They’ve had to learn on the fly about insurance coverage and local land use regulations while still trying to keep their scattered flock together and raising money for basic needs. Pastors in Altadena have had to fight to protect the rights of Black people who decades ago found pathways to home ownership in that community despite redlining — but now risk losing their land to outside developers who sense an investment opportunity.

And throughout this span, faith leaders have had to cater to the emotional and spiritual needs of their communities and think about how they want to rebuild their sanctuaries that were lost or damaged in the fire. More than a dozen houses of worship burned to the ground or were damaged.

Interfaith relationships have become stronger after the fires

This would have been difficult for faith leaders to handle but for the interfaith relationships that became closer and stronger after the fires, said the Rev. Grace Park, associate pastor at Pacific Palisades Presbyterian Church, which burned down.

Methodists, Presbyterians, Catholics, Jews and yogis have not just found common ground in human suffering and loss, but have learned how to lean on one another in a time of dire need, she said.

“It’s a sense of mutual affection and respect, learning from each other and leaning on one another,” Park said. “We’re sharing the joys and the deep valleys of what it means to lead through a time of tragedy.”

Brother Satyananda, a senior monk at the Self Realization Fellowship, lost his living quarters and belongings in the fire. Much of the campus, started by Paramahamsa Yogananda who brought ancient spiritual practices from India to the West, fortunately survived the fire.

Satyananda recalls one day when Bernstein picked up on his sadness and offered him “motherly compassion.”

“We share the same profession where we’re tuned to people in need,” he said. “Now, our relationship has changed because we’re tuning into each other. There’s a greater level of trust.”

Pastor BJ King, who leads LoveLand LifeCenter, worked with the late Rev. Cecil B. Murray to heal communities and build interfaith coalitions after the 1992 Los Angeles riots.

“Back then, there was a choice whether or not to get involved,” he said. “But with these fires, there is no choice. It has affected everybody.”

Pastors have had to acquire new skills

King’s congregation has switched to online services after their leased church building in Altadena suffered smoke damage. Twelve families lost their homes. In addition to helping meet people’s basic needs, King has created a program organizing gatherings to connect therapists with those in need of mental health.

“Many people didn’t even know they needed that,” he said.

One of the most powerful roles faith leaders have played after the fire is to “continue to talk with power, people in charge,” said Pastor Jonathan DeCuir, who leads Victory Bible Church in Pasadena. He and others in the region have continued to meet with local officials and even conferred with Gov. Gavin Newsom to keep things moving for their communities.

DeCuir chairs the board of a nonprofit called Legacy Land Project, which provides financial aid, legal support and guidance on building contractors, as well as medical care to those affected by the fires.

The disaster has brought a level of camaraderie that DeCuir says he has never seen among the region’s clergy.

“Denominational lines have been crossed,” he said. “Even if we have different theological stances or approaches to ministry, we are all now looking at how to care for our people and community. If we don’t come together, Altadena will never ever be the same. The people won’t be there anymore. That, to me, is terrifying.”

While a church is more than a building, physical churches do appear as “beacons of hope” in traumatized communities, said Pastor Mayra Macedo-Nolan, executive director of Clergy Community Coalition in Pasadena. Her group has lobbied for houses of worship to be prioritized on the same footing as businesses in the rebuilding plan.

“When people start seeing churches rebuilding in Altadena, they’re going to feel like it’s going to be OK because the churches are coming back,” she said.

Reimagining a purposeful future

Pastor Jonathan Lewis, fourth from right, holds a groundbreaking service at the site of the burned Fountain of Life Nazarene Church to mark the beginning of its rebuilding in Altadena, Calif., April 26, 2026.

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Members of the congregation join in prayer during the groundbreaking ceremony at the site of the burned Fountain of Life Nazarene Church, marking the beginning of its rebuilding, April 26, 2026, in Altadena, Calif.

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Pastor Jonathan Lewis poses for a photo with his congregation during a groundbreaking service at the site of the burned Fountain of Life Nazarene Church, marking the beginning of its rebuilding, April 26, 2026, in Altadena, Calif.

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On April 26, the Altadena Fountain of Life Church broke ground to build a new sanctuary after their house of worship, which had stood for over three decades, was destroyed in the fire. Pastor Jonathan Lewis, who ministers to about 75, hopes the church will be ready in time for Easter next year.

“It’ll be a Resurrection Sunday for our church, too,” he said.

Alexis Duncan, who grew up in Altadena attending that church, came to the groundbreaking with her 6-year-old daughter. She lost both her home and her church building.

“It means everything to me that they’re rebuilding because I want the church to be there for my daughter as she grows up,” she said. “This new beginning gives me and my family hope and the encouragement to come back.”

Some churches like Altadena Community Church, a United Church of Christ congregation, are pausing to rethink their future purpose. The Rev. Michael Lewis, who took over in February after the previous pastor retired, said the congregation is looking into several possibilities for the one-acre lot, including affordable housing.

“We know that a church is not intended to be a landlord and the pastor is no property manager,” he said. “But, we’re also thinking about who is able to return to Altadena? How will this rich, economically diverse community that was scattered by the fire come back?”

The church has been around since the 1940s. A haven for actors, poets and musicians, the former sanctuary also served as a vibrant performance space. Lewis said they hope to incorporate a performance stage into the new facility.

“It’ll look different from what we had before,” he said. “Once we figure out how to build community, we can decide what physical structures will help us support that community.”

As for Kehillat Israel, on May 15, members will carry their Torah scrolls back to their sanctuary, marking one of the first returns by a house of worship to the Palisades since the disaster.

Judaism has had “a long history of starting over,” Bernstein said.

“It’s encoded in our cultural approach to the world, that there are things that can always be taken away from you,” she said. “But what you become can never get taken away.”

Gov. Gavin Newsom announced Friday that he has requested a yearlong extension of FEMA funding for L.A. fire survivors. Without the extension, the money will run out July 9.

Now the decision on FEMA support lies with the federal government.

The funds have allowed many survivors to afford temporary housing and other daily needs. Most have yet to return home — 2 in 3 survivors who were living in Altadena or Pacific Palisades at the time of the fires are still displaced, according to the latest survey of more than 2,100 survivors by the nonprofit Department of Angels. Nearly 40% of respondents reported they will either soon run out of temporary housing insurance coverage or have already.

The situation is particularly dire for low-income households: Nearly 80% of respondents making $50,000 or less said they didn’t think they could afford housing for three months once coverage ended.

“The data is clear: This recovery is not over,” said Angela Giacchetti of the Department of Angels at a news conference organized by the Eaton Fire Collaborative in Altadena on Thursday. “If you are a survivor, you know this in your bones. For many families, it has barely begun. People have just begun to stabilize. We need federal support that reflects the scale of this disaster and systems that survivors can actually navigate and access over time.”

FEMA assistance isn’t reaching most survivors

The FEMA Individuals and Households Program can provide funding for survivors of disasters to pay for temporary housing, repair their homes, and respond to other challenges that insurance may not cover. It can also help cover costs if a survivor has no insurance.

Gil Barel has been relying on FEMA funds to pay rent on a small back house for herself and her son for the last year. She said they still haven’t been able to return to their rent-controlled Pasadena apartment because of smoke damage, though she still has to pay the rent for it.

Gil Barel is paying rent on a smoke-damaged apartment in Pasadena while FEMA funds have helped her cut the cost of temporary housing.

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Barel doesn’t know what they’ll do if the FEMA funding runs out.

“ I'm really stressed out,” she said. “I think I'm just kind of trying to put that thought aside and hope for the best.”

But in the 15 months since the fires, most survivors have not accessed FEMA funding. About 60% have received no FEMA assistance beyond the initial $770 payments dispersed in the immediate aftermath of the fires, according to the Department of Angels survey.

Many have faced denials, according to disaster case manager workers with Catholic Charities of L.A. and lawyers with Legal Aid Foundation of L.A.

That’s the situation for Gayle Nicholls-Ali and her husband, Rasheed, who lost their Altadena home of 15 years in the Eaton Fire. They’ve relied on their insurance to pay for a rental in Montrose, but that’s rapidly running out. And because they have that insurance, FEMA has denied further support.

Gayle Nicholls-Ali and her husband, Rasheed, lost their home in the Eaton Fire. They plan to rebuild, but the cost is a major hurdle.

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“A lot of our ALE [Additional Living Expenses insurance] is going to run out before we even are able to get into a house,” Nicholls-Ali said.

Without FEMA or insurance support, they’ll have to find a way to pay rent on top of a mortgage. They also face a big gap in the cost of their rebuild versus how much their insurance covers. Nicholls-Ali said without the help of FEMA and other sources of funding, recovering feels further out of reach.

Funds for long-term recovery still in limbo

FEMA funding extensions have been routine in past disasters, including the 2023 wildfires in Hawaii and after devastating flooding in North Carolina in 2024.

But the agency has faced significant cuts during the second Trump administration, and there are indications that disaster aid is becoming increasingly political. For example, President Donald Trump has approved aid for just 23% of requests from states with a Democratic governor and two Democratic senators, compared to 89% for states that with Republican governors and senators, according to an analysis by Politico.

The state has also not received more than $33 billion for long-term recovery, which can help pay for infrastructure upgrades and repairs, as well as help rebuild schools, parks and homes. That money was requested by state and local leaders shortly after the January 2025 fires and hasn’t been appropriated by Congress.

An international team of disease detectives is now racing to connect with the more than two dozen passengers who disembarked the MV Honius cruise ship on the Atlantic island of St. Helena before the hantavirus outbreak was identified.

These individuals have flown across the world, including to the United States.

The risk of further spread of this virus is low since it requires close and prolonged contact with an infected individual — and those infected seem to transmit the virus for only a brief period of time. But public health officials want to make sure the outbreak is contained.

Here's how authorities are using the practice of contact tracing to contain the outbreak and keep the hantavirus from spreading.

Contact tracing 101

The concept of modern contact tracing dates to the 1930s and was part of an effort to stop the spread of syphilis. It involves locating the close contacts of anyone who may have been infected. "By identifying people who are at risk of infection," says Preeti Malani, an infectious disease physician at the University of Michigan, "you try to get ahead when people don't have symptoms yet with the goal of preventing the infection from continuing to propagate."

This is a well-tested approach for containing an infectious disease. "It's the oldest tool in the epidemiologic toolbox," explains Malani. "We thought about this a lot early in the pandemic with COVID. But we also do contact tracing for sexually transmitted infections, for things like meningitis and even measles."

Malani likens contact tracing to monitoring ripples in a pond, "trying to prevent those outer rings from propagating by isolating individuals and by identifying individuals who might be at risk of infection."

The idea that "there's a time period where people don't have symptoms but could be harboring the virus, that's what contact tracing helps identify," says Malani.

It starts by pinpointing someone with an infection or suspected infection of the disease in question — in this case, hantavirus. Epidemiologists then look to see with whom they've recently had close contact since these individuals are more likely to have been infected.

This hunt for those with the greatest probability of infection is important. "Otherwise, it becomes an impossible web to contain because everyone is connected to everyone," says Boghuma Titanji, an infectious diseases doctor at Emory University. "So you have to stratify by high, intermediate and low-risk contacts."

The next step involves public health agencies ordering precautions for those who are infected or who may be infected but aren't showing symptoms yet. Such measures may include quarantine, so that an individual doesn't come into contact with even more people — who may then become infected.

One challenge that hantavirus presents is that its incubation period can last up to several weeks. In other words, "people take a long time to become symptomatic after they've been exposed," says Titanji. "Some of these primary contacts would have to be monitoring themselves for symptoms for up to 45 days to be at the tail end of that very long incubation period."

Aboard and ashore

The work isn't high-tech but it is painstaking, requiring officials to reconstruct the many interactions someone may have had over days or weeks.

Onboard the cruise ship, "you might have an individual who is a source of an infection," says Titanji, laying out a hypothetical example. "And then they were sitting at a dinner table with one individual who then goes back to their cabin and shares a bed with their partner who has a conversation with someone else on the deck."

Once someone disembarks the ship, the number of potential interactions can grow quite quickly. This is why officials were concerned when a KLM flight attendant fell ill after being aboard a flight with one of the infected cruise ship passengers. Fortunately, the flight attendant ultimately tested negative for hantavirus.

Titanji is heartened by what she's seen playing out so far. "It seems like the international collaborative effort has been really robust and the mechanisms for containment are in place and underway," she says.

Public health officials argue that contact tracing is a powerful approach that will reduce further spread. "We can break this chain of transmission," said Abdi Mahmoud, the director of the World Health Organization's health emergency alert and response efforts, at a press conference on Thursday.

He has good reason to be confident. Contact tracing was vital during the fight against COVID-19 and helped end the Ebola crisis in Liberia, containing the epidemic there more than a decade ago. Some of the contact tracing even involved hours-long hikes through the jungle to a remote village.

Authorities are hoping for similar success with this hantavirus outbreak.
Copyright 2026 NPR

The sky above Los Angeles State Historic Park in Chinatown will be dotted with color Saturday with the annual Kite Festival.

The festival had its beginnings as a joyful protest in 2021, back when a proposal for a Dodger Stadium gondola included cutting through the airspace above the park. Organizers say last year’s Kite Festival drew a crowd of about 7,000.

“The Kite Festival, [for] some people, it’s their favorite day in Los Angeles,” said Sue Bell Yank, executive director of Clockshop, the nonprofit arts org that runs the festival. “It’s the time when they really feel connected to their city. More so than any other time.”

This year’s programming includes a kite-making station where you can build your own flying art for a donation of $5, along with art workshops and the unveiling of a large floating, inflatable sculpture by Guatemalan kite artist Francisco Ramos.