The Brief

Floyd Howard Jr. calls it his comfort zone — a canopy-covered courtyard in the heart of Skid Row where he can charge his phone, smoke a cigarette and catch up with friends.

It's also the centerpiece of what Los Angeles County administrators say is the nation's first community-designed homeless services campus.

The Skid Row Care Campus opened in May on a 36,000-square-foot site in downtown Los Angeles. It’s the first county program to formally incorporate input from people living in Skid Row, according to officials, including so-called “harm-reduction” programs that focus on keeping drug users safe and alive.

“It was imperative that the plan be designed by the community to repair the harm done by decades of plans that did not involve people who live in Skid Row,” said Molly Rysman with L.A. County’s Department of Health Services.

The care campus is funded with nearly $26 million a year in local, state, federal and private dollars over the next two years. About 2,000 people visit the new campus each day, according to Homeless Healthcare L.A., the main nonprofit staffing the campus.

Although it's only been open a few months, the center appears popular with unhoused Angelenos who desperately need a place to rest. Last month, one woman visited the campus for her first shower in months, she said, after receiving a buprenorphine injection to help her stop using fentanyl.

But some nearby business owners complain of more drug activity on the street since the facility opened.

Howard, a longtime Skid Row resident, said he visits the campus often to pick up the testing strips he uses to check his crystal methamphetamine supply for fentanyl.

Sometimes, he drops by for art classes or acupuncture treatment.

“It’s like a safe haven,” he said.

Centering the community

The site, at 422 S. Crocker St., provides a range of services, including showers, laundry, medical care and housing referrals. Booths line the south side of the plaza, where a rotating cast of representatives from the county’s three health departments provide pop-up services to connect people with addiction treatment or case management.

The primary clientele are the more than 1,800 unsheltered people living on the neighborhood’s streets who — despite the large concentration of homeless programs in the area — have access to few public restrooms and public gathering spaces.

The campus is the result of an initiative called the Skid Row Action Plan, a $280 million effort to expand services and housing funded by L.A. County, the city of L.A. and the state.

L.A. County Supervisor Hilda Solis launched the initiative in 2022 to address historic racism and disinvestment in the neighborhood, where the majority of the unhoused population is Black.

“Engaging the community was not just important; it was essential,” said Solis, whose district includes Skid Row. “Their voices must guide the path forward. Real transformation can only be led by those who live this reality every day.”

A committee of 10 current and former Skid Row residents collaborated with government agencies in 2023 to come up with recommendations for the plan in 2023. That group, known as the Skid Row Action Plan Resident Advisory Committee, recommended the new campus.

They said they wanted a fun community space where they could connect with services and a place where drug users can pick up harm reduction supplies, such as clean needles or pipes, overdose reversal medication and drug testing strips.

As a member of the advisory committee, Skid Row activist General Dogon said he pushed for the campus entrance to be staffed by “community ambassadors,” rather than private security guards.

“Uniforms don't go good with homeless people,” said Dogon, an organizer with the L.A. Community Action Network. “We want everyday faces to be at the door, not some G.I. Joe in a uniform.”

General Dogon observes an encampment sweep along a block of Skid Row.

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Jules Hotz

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CalMatters

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L.A. County officials said input from members of the unhoused community is sometimes ignored, and they are not properly compensated for their efforts. So authorities said they wanted to take a different approach at the care campus.

After the Skid Row Action plan started taking shape, the county hired an additional eight unhoused or formerly unhoused people to serve on resident councils for the Skid Row Care Campus. Each is paid a $10,000 consulting stipend and tasked with surveying other community members about what’s working and what isn’t. They also provide training and technical assistance for the campus’ programs.

“I like the fact that it's focused from the ground up and not the top down,” said Dwight Wilson, a member of a resident council. “It wants to  incorporate the actual feeling of the people in the community that need the resources.”

Even the name, “Skid Row Care Campus,” came from the community. It was suggested by Henriëtte Brouwers, associate director of the L.A. Poverty Department, a nonprofit arts organization and theater group that’s been in Skid Row since 1985.

“ People often talk about Skid Row like it's a bad place; they don’t care to find out why it’s here,” Brouwers said. “But people recover when they build relationships, and you build relationships when you care about somebody.

“I think if we want to end homelessness, we need to actually care.”

An estimated 3,593 homeless people live in Skid Row, including those in homeless shelters, according to the region’s latest count. While the overall unhoused population in the neighborhood has declined by 27% since 2022, the remaining population faces greater health risks, according to survey data.

About 41% of the people in Skid Row’s unhoused population have a serious mental illness, such as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder or post traumatic stress disorder. Roughly 31% deal with substance use disorder, and 26% claim a physical disability.

To meet some of those needs at the Skid Row Care Campus, the nonprofit health agency John Wesley Community Health Institute runs an on-site clinic and a 48-bed board-and-care facility, which provides permanent housing to people who need help with basic activities like dressing or eating. It’s moving in residents this week, according to county officials.

In several months, Skid Row’s first-ever methadone clinic will open here.

Case workers from the county’s three health departments, LAHSA and other departments rotate through booths within the main courtyard of the Skid Row Care campus.

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Aaron Schrank

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LAist

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People can check in at the medical wing, which includes a clinic, a harm reduction dispensary and dozens of respite beds. The first methadone clinic in Skid Row is expected to open there this year.

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Aaron Schrank

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LAist

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Harm reduction 

Many programs at the facility focus on harm reduction, a public health approach that recognizes addiction is a health condition and that some people aren’t going to immediately quit using drugs.

Harm reduction interventions typically focus on minimizing the negative health effects of drug use.

Public health officials and addiction experts say there is ample evidence these approaches not only save lives, but can also help people get into treatment or sobriety, connect them with other services or get them off the street.

But harm reduction remains controversial. Some view these approaches as enabling illegal behavior.

Last month, President Donald Trump signed an executive order encouraging the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development to give priority for housing grants to local agencies that enforce laws against open illicit drug use.

Trump’s order directs his attorney general to ensure that federal substance use disorder grants do not fund harm reduction programs. It also directs HUD to require people with substance use disorders or serious mental illness to seek treatment before they participate in federal housing and homelessness assistance programs.

Days before the executive order, a Trump-appointed HUD administrator told L.A. County officials at a meeting that he believed the region wasn’t doing enough enforcement and was critical of providing housing subsidies to people who use drugs, according to local officials who were there. L.A. County officials said it’s too early to tell what the actual effects of the new order will be.

Drug overdose is the leading cause of death for unhoused Angelenos, according to the county Public Health Department. Skid Row is home to the largest homeless population in L.A. and the highest rates of drug overdose mortality.

There are no designated safe-consumption sites — where people are allowed to use drugs under supervision — in California, although some exist in other parts of the country. A few years ago, Gov. Gavin Newsom vetoed a state bill that would have allowed them.

On the street outside the Skid Row Care Campus, there are many signs that people are using illicit drugs. But they can’t use them inside the facility. The staff won’t allow it.

Last month, when one woman hit her meth pipe while lounging on the patio, a staff member tapped her on the shoulder and asked her to put it away. She complied.

The Skid Row Care Campus’ main harm reduction provider is Homeless Healthcare L.A., best known for its overdose response teams who roll through Skid Row in Jeeps to pass out supplies like clean smoking kits and naloxone, the opioid overdose reversal drug.

“Harm reduction was created by people who use drugs,” said the nonprofit’s Aurora Morales. “And everything that we do reflects what they need.”

On a recent afternoon, Floyd Howard Jr. folded squares of clean tin foil to be packed into kits for fentanyl smokers, as part of a campus work program.

“People that smoke fentanyl, they use the foil to put their drug on and smoke it,” Howard said. “So it's safer to get this from them than to just use some off the ground or something that's not clean.”

Howard added that he’s seen supplies like these save countless lives, including his own.

“If it wasn't for these people, a lot of people would be dead,” he said. “I have a whole lot of people that I met downtown here that passed from overdose.”

An unhoused couple who go by “Porkchop” and “Angel” prepare to visit the Skid Row Care Campus to take their first showers in months. Both had recently taken long-acting injectable doses of buprenorphine to quit using fentanyl, after years of daily use.

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Aaron Schrank

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LAist

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Building community

The care campus sits beside the Umeya Apartments, a 175-unit supportive housing complex managed by the nonprofit Little Tokyo Service Center. Representatives say tenants will start moving in this month.

Most of the site’s neighbors are also homeless services providers. But some business owners complain of increased loitering and drug use outside the campus gates.

“ A lot of people don't want to come here anymore just because the street is so bad and they're scared,” said one representative from a nearby business, who requested anonymity to avoid retaliation. “ They should be helping people get off drugs instead of helping them do drugs.”

Morales of Homeless Healthcare L.A. said she’s working on partnerships with local businesses, including sending work program participants to clean up debris in alleyways.

Many unhoused Skid Row residents say they’re frequently denied service and restroom access at local businesses. Some go days without a proper meal and weeks or even months without a shower.

That’s why the care campus is a refuge.

“ They cater to everybody, and they're not biased about anything,” said Lisa Parizo, a formerly unhoused Skid Row resident who visits the space daily. “If you come in with a dirty shirt, dirty pants, they don't care. They're not gonna give you any less attention.”

It’s too early to tell how the care campus may transform this section of Skid Row.

Months after opening, most people living on Skid Row’s streets still haven’t heard of the campus, said resident councilmember Dwight Wilson, whose responsibilities include evangelizing for the site.

“I haven't run into too many people that have actually been there,” said Wilson. “I'm usually letting them know for the first time.”

Wilson has been living in transitional housing in Skid Row for the past year, since getting out of prison. He saw a listing for this opportunity a few months ago and applied.

He said he’s learned a lot about his neighborhood during the last few months on the job.

“When I was sent down here, I was really upset,” Wilson said. “But actually being down here has been a very humbling experience for me. What I learned is that it is actually a community.”

Flies, rodents and other pests have been a persistent problem in Boyle Heights and nearby communities as millions of pounds of food rot in a nearby burned-out warehouse. It’s gotten bad enough that L.A. Mayor Karen Bass is asking for action from the L.A. County Department of Public Health.

In a letter sent Tuesday to county Public Health Director Barbara Ferrer, Bass said she’s “concerned with County DPH’s pace in addressing this disaster” and the risks it posed to health and quality of life.

“Possibly the worst manifestation of these risks is the severe infestation of flies in Boyle Heights and neighboring communities,” Bass wrote.

LAist has asked the Department of Public Health for comment and will update this article when they respond.

The back-and-forth between jurisdictions

Bass wrote that the city of L.A., which does not have its own health department, is largely dependent on L.A. County for control of potentially disease-carrying vectors. The city has said elsewhere that its Sanitation Department did set about 250 rat traps in surrounding areas.

Bass’ letter says the county took its first steps to hold warehouse operator Lineage accountable for a fly infestation on July 17, ordering the company to remove flies and mosquitoes from the property.

“Although I appreciate that County DPH has taken this first step, the County’s report only directs Lineage to eliminate flies from Lineage’s own property,” Bass’ letter to Ferrer states.

Bass urged the county to compel Lineage to address pests at neighboring properties “with aggressive measures to eliminate the flies and any other vectors.”

As for L.A. County’s Department of Public Health, a spokesperson told LAist on July 17 that it had itself directed the city and Lineage to address the pest situation.

“Los Angeles County Department of Public Health requested that both Lineage Logistics and the City of Los Angeles develop and implement a vector/insect control plan,” the statement reads.

Lineage’s part

According to Councilmember Ysabel Jurado, who represents Boyle Heights on the L.A. City Council and met with Lineage representatives on Monday, an inspector contracted by the company confirmed that the rotting food at the warehouse is serving as a breeding ground for flies. The infestation won’t go away without addressing the root cause, Jurado reported the contractor as saying.

“Removing waste, adding odor-control equipment, and conducting a pest inspection are important,” Jurado said in a statement. “But residents are asking a more fundamental question: Are conditions actually improving? They deserve evidence, timelines and accountability — not just a list of activities.”

Lineage has not yet presented its pest control plan to the public.

A ticking clock

The first day of instruction for L.A. Unified schools is Aug. 12, three days before the city’s current deadline to clear the warehouse — a deadline Lineage does not appear to be on track to meet.

That’s led many teachers and parents to raise the alarm about smells and pests that may very well still be around when school starts. An LAUSD spokesperson told Boyle Heights Beat that it is prepared to temporarily relocate nearby schools, as they did with summer programs during the warehouse fire.

Lineage meets deadline at last minute

Meanwhile, Lineage also faced a deadline of Tuesday to present a plan to air quality officials on how to address smells of spoiled food, which have been reported from miles away. A South Coast Air Quality Management District spokesperson said that the agency received a response from Lineage at 5 p.m. and is evaluating it.

L.A.’s homeless services agency has not completed any internal audits in years — and one that was started two years ago is still incomplete because management is taking months to provide responses, officials said Monday.

The delayed audit has been looking into why the L.A. Homeless Services Authority, known as LAHSA, failed to spend $7 million in federal dollars it was granted to house and serve people in need. The roughly six-page audit report hasn’t been released because it’s missing LAHSA management responses that were requested over two months ago, officials said.

Internal audits are considered critically important to protecting taxpayer dollars at every level of government. L.A. County auditors, for example, issued about 100 reports in a recent fiscal year.

“ We haven’t gotten anything,” said Erum Shahnawaz, LAHSA’s chief internal auditor, referring to the lack of response from LAHSA management at a meeting of the agency’s audit committee on Monday.

“That’s the only thing that's holding us from issuing the final report,” Shahnawaz said of the underspending audit.

That audit is examining a repeat problem. A previous, external audit in January 2022 found LAHSA had left $3.5 million in federal grants on the table by not using them.

Shahnawaz flagged management’s delays to the LAHSA Commissioner Justin Szlasa, Szlasa said. He chairs the commission’s audit committee, and has repeatedly called out LAHSA executives’ delays in providing information about taxpayer spending over the past year.

“ I've been trying to intervene and use whatever I can to try to help provide support,” said Szlasa as he described his attempts to get the auditor the answers needed to complete the report.

Szlasa was appointed to the commission by L.A. County Supervisor Kathryn Barger.

 “It shouldn't take us two months to receive a…management response to an internal audit,” Szlasa said at Monday’s meeting. He said the industry standard for internal audits is eight or nine weeks from start to finish. That compares to the two years — and counting — for LAHSA’s federal underspend audit.

“We haven't had a single internal audit completed here in the last couple of years, which is nuts,” Szlasa added. He called for internal audits to happen much more frequently.

Long delays to LAHSA audits also are not new. In November 2024, the county issued a widely-seen audit that included findings that LAHSA was failing to complete internal audits.

Half of LAHSA’s governing commission is appointed by L.A. Mayor Karen Bass and half appointed by each of the five county supervisors. Bass is also the only elected official on the commission. She served on the audit committee for several months last fall. Records show she was absent for all of the meetings during that time.

Janine Lim, LAHSA’s deputy chief financial officer, said management’s responses to the audit on underspending haven’t been provided yet because LAHSA leadership did not have clearly defined roles for who is supposed to coordinate responses to internal audits.

“ We need to work on clarifying that role internally,” Lim said.

 “The last two months have been probably some of the most stress-filled two months that we've had at LAHSA,” said Paul Rubenstein, chief of staff to LAHSA CEO Gita O’Neil, pointing to mass layoffs.

Szlasa said there’s not that much in the audit for management to respond to.

“It's like, six pages or less,” he said.

Szlasa said  another option is to “just say we've asked management for responses and we're awaiting management response. We can publish the results.”

In response, Shahnawaz said that if management doesn't have an updated timeline for a response, then she’ll go ahead and issue the report without the response.

Once they floated that idea, Lim committed to providing the responses by next Tuesday.

LAHSA’s leadership has downsized the internal audit team — dropping from a staff of three to just one in the agency’s proposed budget up for approval Friday.

Delays in getting access to financial records

The delayed responses from management are not the only thing that’s been slowing down audits, Szlasa said at the meeting.

LAHSA policy, approved by its governing commission, says internal auditors are “ authorized to access all organizational records, personnel, and systems necessary for conducting audits,” he said.

But the auditor has faced challenges in actually getting that access, Szlasa said — including delays in being allowed to view LAHSA’s databases that show contracts and financial payments.

 ”We finally were granted access, but it wasn't, it wasn't easy, it wasn't immediate. It was slow,” Szlasa said.

Many failed outside audits

The delays on the internal audit come even after LAHSA failed multiple external audits in recent years, which have found the agency — overseen by city and county elected officials — has neglected to properly track billions of dollars in spending.

Largely in response to earlier audits, L.A. County supervisors pulled funding from LAHSA and are having the county instead oversee it directly. L.A.’s mayor and City Council have continued to have LAHSA manage the city’s homeless spending while the council delays plans to start studying a possible plan to transition away city tax dollars.

Signatures under scrutiny

LAHSA is also in the midst of a different internal audit — expected to finish in late August or early September — examining whether top officials followed requirements when signing contracts and letting others sign. It was launched in the wake of LAist reporting that found LAHSA’s then-CEO Va Lecia Adams Kellum’s signature finalized a $2.1 million contract with her husband’s employer.

LAist also discovered Adams Kellum’s signature, as LAHSA’s CEO at the time, finalized a quarter-million-dollar contract between LAHSA and a longtime service provider she led up until two months earlier.

That contract was signed so soon after she left the service provider — St. Joseph Center — that the contract paperwork still listed her as one of St. Joseph Center’s points of contact and authorized signers.

She is currently under a state ethics investigation into whether her actions were an illegal conflict of interest.

When Bengara opened in Los Angeles' Arts District earlier this year, its owner and head chef had something special lined up in their kitchen arsenal.

It was genshiyaki, a rare traditional Japanese grilling method that dates back 1,500 years.

Chef and co-owner Tyler Burges had only encountered it once while traveling in Japan at a robatayaki spot in Fukuoka, a port city on the island of Kyushu.

Robatayaki, a style of slow, ember-cooked grilling rooted in Japan's rural coastal kitchens, usually centers on an open charcoal hearth. But the restaurant Burges visited had something even more noteworthy: a genshiyaki pit, a gentler, ambient method of cooking that uses radiant heat instead of direct flame.

Loving the unusually subtle, delicate flavor and texture it produced, he and head chef Phil Mireles decided to bring genshiyaki back to the U.S. and build their Arts District restaurant around it. The genshiyaki pit is a rare enough technique that Burges had to work with fabricator Phil Roxworthy for six months just to get the grill built to spec.

It's Burges' and Mireles' first L.A. project. The pair are also behind Smoke Door, their acclaimed Lake Tahoe restaurant, and Bengara brings a more casual, day-to-day take on the same fire-driven cooking.

All roads lead to the Arts District

Chef/owner Tyler Burges (left) and head chef Phil Mireles at Bengara.

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Wonho Frank Lee

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Courtesy Bengara

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Burges and Mireles both got their start at San Francisco's Saison and Angler under chef Joshua Skenes — who's now just down the street in L.A. at LYNX with fellow alum Brandyn Tepper.

Burges traces Bengara's DNA back to two mentors: Ron Siegel, who introduced him to Japanese ingredients and technique in his mid-20s, and Skenes, who taught him to cook with live fire. It was Skenes, Burges said, who showed him that fire didn't have to mean char and bravado.

"The one thing I loved about wood-fire cooking is you get this subtle, sweet barbecue flavor when you cook correctly over embers, and you don't cook directly over the fire," Burges said. "Most places, when you think about grilling something, you think of char, bold flavors, masculine flavors. But Chef Josh — it's like a master art, getting really delicate, subtle flavor using that grill method."

The uni kiritampo, Bengara's take on a traditional Akita-prefecture rice skewer, finished with scallion.

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Wono Frank Lee

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Courtesy Bengara

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What sets the food apart

Take their luscious miso cod. On a normal grill, the marinade's sugars would blacken before the fish cooked through. On the genshiyaki pit, the cod sits at a distance from the embers, cooking gently until the very end, when it's given one last pass directly over the coals — what Burges describes as a final "kiss" of heat before it hits the plate.

To fuel genshiyaki's slower, ambient style, ordinary charcoal or wood is replaced with binchotan, an ultra-dense, pure-carbon hardwood charcoal traditionally made in Japan, which burns hotter and cleaner.

The signature dish

A perfect example of how this cooking style comes together is the uni kiritampo, the Akita prefecture rice skewer, reimagined with uni and cooked via genshiyaki — born of an offhand kitchen conversation with one of the restaurant's Japanese chefs about regional dishes cooked over fire.

Once they realized genshiyaki was the dish's original, historic cooking method, the rest fell into place.

"It's like the most delicious thing," Burges said. "I don't know why it never made it over to the United States earlier."

Bengara's Arts District dining room pairs industrial bones with warm, low lighting and long communal tables.

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Wonho Frank Lee

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Courtesy Bengara

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The chewy exterior, with just a hint of smoke, gives way to a creamy inside, like a caramelized custard, that’s topped with a decadent amount of uni, providing a semi-sweet finish — one memorable bite.

Tasting menu option

Bengara recently added a daily eight-course tasting menu ($98) that doubles as a greatest-hits tour of the kitchen — Toyosu carpaccio with chili coffee oil, pork belly "tacos" wrapped in mochi crepes, miso cod, Mary's half chicken, and handmade citrus soba, with optional wagyu and uni add-ons.

The price includes a beverage pairing, with a full non-alcoholic option alongside the boozy version. Walk-ins are welcome, and reservations can be booked via OpenTable.

Topline:

Why it matters: Museum officials said you will “likely experience high demand and long wait times in the queue" and thanked people for their patience.

LAist saw estimated wait times up to 6 hours, and it took a little more than 4.5 hours for this reporter to get through. On the bright side, there were still plenty of tickets left, including for the first day. Do not refresh the page or you may lose your spot.

The details: All tickets are timed entry. Tickets are $25 for adults and $21 for those 65 and older. Children, members, active-duty military, personal aides or attendants and EBT cardholders have free entry. Museum neighbors in the LM37 program will also be free, with that pass opening in August.

But how do I buy: Each person is limited to nine tickets, and you’ll have 20 minutes to check out once they’re added to your cart, according to the museum. You can find the link here.

What's next: The grand opening is Sept. 22.

Go deeper: How to secure Lucas Museum of Narrative Art tickets ahead of the fall opening