The Brief

When 12-year-old Wilber “Wilpower” Urbina saw two kids breakdancing for the first time in MacArthur Park back in 1982, he knew he had to get involved.

“It was the coolest thing I had ever seen, but I didn't know what it was because I had never seen it before,” Urbina recalls. “The music sounded very strange, but interesting. From then on, I was just trying to copy the moves that the kids were doing.”

About a year later, Urbina heard from other kids about a new place across the street from MacArthur Park where kids could breakdance for hours for less than 75 cents.

It was called the Youth Break Center, Inc. or better known as Radiotron.

The first Radiotron graphic painted for the 1984 movie Breakin'

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Carmelo Alvarez

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Carmelo Alvarez

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A space for LA’s nascent hip-hop scene

Before Radiotron opened itself to neighborhood youth, it was an avant garde, underground space called Radio Club. In Jonathan Abrams’ The Come Up: An Oral History of the Rise of Hip-Hop, rapper and actor Ice-T recalls Radio Club originally being a punk rock space where people would get on stage and practice their new work. Then the owner started bringing in hip-hop artists from the East Coast.

As New York City’s foundational hip-hop presence continued to develop, more people started experimenting with electro-music, funk and R&B as well as dance forms like popping and locking in Los Angeles. Radio Club became integral to that new movement in the city. It became a place for emerging artists to bring what they saw from the East Coast to the West.

LA Bazar Girl and DJ Antron were regulars at Radiotron

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Carmelo Alvarez

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Carmelo Alvarez

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At the same time, these culture innovators were mixing the East Coast style with the West Coast environment, aesthetics and attitudes, says Jonathan Calvillo, a sociology professor at Emory University, and author of the forthcoming book In The Time of Sky Rhyming: How Hip Hop Resonated In Brown Los Angeles.

Calvillo says when the owners brought in Ice-T as an emcee at Radio Club, it solidified the spot as a hip-hop space, and ushered in more people of color.

Before he was the original gangster rapper and before he became Detective Odafin Tutuola on Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, Ice-T appeared in early 1980s L.A. breakdancing films as an emcee and dancer — the documentary 'Breakin ‘n’ Enterin’ and the now classic movies Breakin’ and Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo, which were all set in Radio Club.

“Ice-T brought in more local street credibility,” Calvillo says.

Kurtis Blow and Kid Frost also visited Radio. DJ Chris “The Glove” Taylor, who frequently deejayed there, wrote about how Michael Jackson recruited some of his dancers for Thriller from Radio. It was a place where even celebrities like Madonna would go to check out the latest trends.

Then in 1983, Carmelo Alvarez, a young Mexican American dancer who had dreams of opening up a performance arts center in his childhood neighborhood of MacArthur Park, decided to rent out office space from the owner of the building Radio occupied. As Alvarez tells it, the owner then asked him to manage the building. It was his opportunity to create that performance space for kids.

Radiotron begins

Alvarez was raised in the MacArthur Park area where he was influenced by gangs. He recalls an art teacher pushing him to try out dancing at the Barnsdall Art Center and Junior Arts Center. There he met veteran artistic director and choreographer Chester Whitmore, who invited Alvarez to be in his tap troupe. He was also a part of the L.A. Inner City Cultural Center and toured with Lula Washington in a dance company.

He recalls seeing breakdancing in New York City in 1980 as a pivotal time for him. “Hip-hop is the vehicle,” Alvarez explains. “The main important thing was the youth.”

Carmelo Alvarez, founder of historic hip hop youth center Radiotron, holds a photo of Radiotron in its former space near Park View and 7th in MacArthur Park.

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Brian Feinzimer

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LAist

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Alvarez says he originally had a whole other game plan for the youth center, but the kids had seen what was happening in Radio Club. The kids were itching to breakdance.

Radio was reborn into Radiotron in 1983 when the producers of Breakin’ approached Alvarez. They named the club in the movie “Radiotron'' and it stuck.

So did the art. The crew left behind the graffiti that was part of the film's set design. Alvarez thought it brought color and light to the space, so he kept it. “I said ‘no, no, no. Leave it alone’. Before that it was all dark and black,” Alvarez recalls.

Photograph caption dated July 5, 1985 reads, "Graffiti art decorates Radiotron's walls, adding to the atmosphere of this no-age-limit nightclub, where kids 6 on up can do their thing and prove their stuff till 3 in the morning."

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James Ruebsamen

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Herald Examiner Collection/ L.A. Public Library

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Tino Montelongo, then 18, of Fillmore's Radiotron Wizards break-dancing troupe dancing outside the Coliseum during the Olympics in the summer of 1984.

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Chris Gulker

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Herald Examiner Collection / L.A. Public Library

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A photo from June 1985 identifies the man spinning records at Radiotron as DJ Tony.

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James Ruebsamen

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Herald Examiner Collection / L.A. Public Library

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Then came the kids.

“So I get a knock on the door and it was a little kid and he said ‘Hey mister, can we break in there?’” Alvarez recalls. “And I said 'sure.’ And they said, ‘Hey! the man said we can break in there!’ And they called a bunch of kids together and they went in there and they started breakdancing.”

“It went from an after-hours nightclub to an after-school youth center,” Alvarez says.

Calvillo says when Radio Club did not agree to the conditions Carmelo requested, its managers moved the club to another location downtown.

A 'safe haven' 

When Radiotron opened, it quickly became viewed as a safe space for kids; a place where young people could fully express themselves and stay away from drugs and gangs.

“Radiotron presented an opportunity for young people to experiment and learn from folks who have been expressing themselves through the hip-hop elements,” Calvillo says. “For a whole generation, early West Coast innovators were being acculturated into hip-hop culture at Radiotron.”

Lifelong breakdancer Wilber “Wilpower” Urbina was one of them.

“All the kids wanted to go to this place,” Urbina recalls. “They knew that you could see some of the best kids, and when you see kids who are more advanced than you are, that makes you get better, you get inspired.”

Wilber 'Wilpower' Urbina as a kid circa 1984 Los Angeles

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Courtesy of Wilber 'Wilpower' Urbina

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Wilber 'Wilpower' Urbina

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He recalls Alvarez being kind and welcoming to all kids who wanted to do graffiti and breakdance at the center.

“He was kind of like a father figure,” Urbina says. “ In barrios or hoods, most people just grew up with just a mom. To see and hear a kind person say good things, that’s great. He didn’t want anything in return. He wants you to do good, to stay away from trouble. To do art. In this place, you could do graffiti, it was really a safe haven.”

The rise of L.A. hip-hop

Many people know about the day that hip-hop supposedly jumped off. Two teen siblings from the South Bronx — DJ Kool Herc and Cindy Campbell — held a back-to-school party in their neighborhood in 1973 and Herc tried something new on the turntables, dropping what many historians say was the first hip-hop beat. But there were other elements that came to define hip-hop.

It wasn’t just the MCing or DJing or the graffiti — it was also the movement, the breakdancing. While young people in New York were b-boying and doing more street dances on the floor, in L.A. and other California cities, Black and brown kids were creating more funk-style dance moves that were placed in a larger umbrella category called “breakin’."

Even before hip-hop took off, California was the place where both popping and locking were created by young people in the 1970s. For example, a 20-something-year-old Soul Train dancer named Don Campbell created locking, an early street dance that influenced breakdance moves in L.A., back in the funk era.

In MacArthur Park, young people from all different background were getting in on it.

“At the time, MacArthur Park was not a particularly safe place to be. But it was a place that was experiencing a lot of growth, a lot of movement, a lot of migration,” Calvillo says. “A lot of the early practitioners that were learning hip-hop culture, and experimenting and adapting it to their surroundings, many of them were Central American.”

The end comes too quickly 

In Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo, the dancers team up together to do a benefit show to save their endangered community center.

Calvillo says the fictional story isn’t far from the truth.

“Much of the plotline of that story was based on what was happening with Radiotron,” Calvillo says. “The youth center was going to be closed, it was being threatened in terms of its location."

Radiotron eventually closed in 1985 due in part to development. The building was torn down for the construction of the Park View Mall. According to news reports, the developers needed a parking lot — right where the Youth Break Center stood. Before that, Radiotron's weekend dances, which brought in revenue, were shut down for code violations. Doctors across the country started pointing out the dangers of breakdancing.

“Kids get hurt in football,” Alvarez says. “Kids get hurt playing on the playground. You don’t take the playground out. No, you go fix it. You tell them to be careful.” Alvarez and the Radiotron kids protested in front of City Hall to get the attention of city council members in order to keep the building but, Alvarez says, there was no luck. The building was lost. Radiotron was only in existence from 1983 to 1985.

Alvarez was heartbroken.

“I purposely had it underage, because the kids didn't have anything,” Alvarez says, reflecting on the importance of the youth center. “They were dancing in the street for money and they were getting tickets. And this is the era of crack and gangs and drive-bys. They needed something.”

Urbina said that after Radiotron closed there was nowhere else to go.

“Sometimes friends would invite us to go there to their lobby... but sometimes the lobby was small and it was carpet,” Urbina says. “So it was like ‘F---! We really miss Radiotron.’”

Alvarez says he’s opened a dozen youth centers since 1978, but it’s been hard to sustain them. The now 66-year-old Alvarez is retired and is working on a project called Community Action for Peace.

Radiotron’s lasting impact 

Alvarez says there’s one major aspect of the Radiotron story that shouldn’t be missed:: just like there were kids that held a back-to-school party that launched hip-hop culture in the South Bronx, young people were also important in the hip-hop movement in L.A.

“Those kids were innovators,” he says. “They were the ones that created it.”

Radiotron launched the careers of a long list of dancers and artists. Alvarez says some of the graffiti artists he shepherded at Radiotron have had work featured in the Museum of Contemporary Art and in LACMA. He points out artists like Prime (who is known to be the founding father of stylized L.A. graffiti lettering), Shandu One and Zender, who all made names for themselves.

Carmelo Alvarez walks near a mural painted by fromer Radiotron memebr RETNA near Park View and 7th in MacArthur Park.

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Brian Feinzimer

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LAist

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Salvadoran American breakdancers like Urbina (aka Wilpower) and Cesar “Lil Cesar'' Rivas were a part of the trendsetting Air Force Crew, which was founded at Radiotron. After the youth center physically closed, Rivas helped Radiotron become a traveling dance competition. In the 1990s the Air Force Crew danced with Kurtis Blow, and became an inspiration for Korea’s b-boying scene.

“We don't often hear their stories in the same way as when folks talk about West Coast rappers because we think of the West Coast as mostly a movement of rappers,” Calvillo said. “But these are dancers that were actually going international.”

At 53, Urbina is still hungry for more. He wants to get the moves he had in his 20s and 30s. It’s hard work, but it’s fun. There’s just one caveat.

He’s not battling people anymore. He’s battling age.

Decades after Radiotron's closing, Wilber 'Wilpower' Urbina, now in his 50s, still finds time to breakdance.

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Wilber 'Wilpower' Urbina

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Wilber 'Wilpower' Urbina

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“You’re battling not getting injuries because breakdancing is very physical,” Urbina says. “Over 50, to be doing 20, 30, 40 headspins…it’s not so easy. I’m also a realist. There’s some moves where I’m like nah…my wrists aren’t the same any more.”

Practicing once a week is enough to keep him fit.

In June, Alvarez hosted a 40-year anniversary party for Radiotron. Urbina performed with the Air Force Crew.

“I want to battle myself to get better and get better in my last years,” Urbina says. “I want to go out hardcore.”

“It makes you feel like a kid again.”

As multiple unions last week celebrated contract settlements that averted a massive, coordinated strike within the 520,000-student Los Angeles school system, teachers in a small district about 15 miles to the southeast quietly prepared to go it alone.

The 200 members of the Little Lake Education Association had reached a breaking point. Months of negotiations with the leadership of their school district had proved fruitless. Their suggestions for money-saving measures that would preserve jobs and critical health care benefits, they said, were dismissed.

So, on April 16, they walked out, commencing the first strike by teachers in the 154-year history of the district. It was a moment almost completely overshadowed by the events of the week in Los Angeles, where nearly 70,000 teachers, administrators and staff workers won major wage gains and other concessions by threatening to go on strike together.

In Little Lake, wages weren’t even on the table.

“We’re trying to protect our class sizes, get more support for our special education programs and keep health care affordable for our teachers and their families,” said Maria Pilios, president of the teachers’ union in the district, which serves portions of Santa Fe Springs, Downey and Norwalk. “Those are the priorities. That’s it.”

With roughly 3,500 students across seven elementary and two middle schools, the Little Lake City School District — where most students are Latino and many rely on free or reduced-price school meals — has far more in common with most districts in California than does the sprawling L.A. system.

While giant school systems such as those in Los Angeles, San Diego and Fresno can be bellwethers for policies and actions, they’re outliers in terms of size. The average school district in California has about 5,700 students, and enrollment has fallen by 7% statewide in the past decade.

Budgets in these districts have also been tightening — and in Little Lake, teachers are feeling the squeeze. Under proposals from the district, they faced the prospect of larger class sizes but no new resources — and 15 of them had already received layoff notices, with nearly that many more still possible.

The teachers who remained were looking at huge increases in their monthly health insurance costs. Though they weren’t bargaining on wages, the insurance costs were tantamount to a serious pay cut.

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When public school enrollment declines, so does funding from the state, because the money is apportioned through a formula that is directly tied to daily attendance. In the Little Lake district, enrollment has dropped by more than 500 students in the last five years.

The accompanying reduction in state funding has meant that districts needed to get creative with their budgets. Some, like Los Angeles, can tap deep financial reserves to keep teachers on the job and other resources flowing. In a system like Little Lake, no such money is available.

Instead, district leadership went after perhaps the most prized facet of the Little Lake teachers’ current contracts. For years, monthly health care premiums for the teachers and their families have been fully covered, a major attraction for a district that pays lower salaries than comparable school systems, union leaders say. In January, in the middle of an existing contract, Little Lake administrators dramatically reduced that coverage, and for some teachers it meant an immediate shift from a premium payment of zero per month to as much as $1,400.

“One-time funding resources have been exhausted. Reserves have been depleted,” Superintendent Jonathan Vasquez said in a video shared on the district’s website. “The district maintained benefits for employees for as long as it could.”

The district is also trying to claw back some money by increasing class sizes but not adding teachers. Pilios said that in addition to the 15 layoff notices already delivered, “We’d need to lay off another 13 to give them the [financial] numbers that they want. That’s almost 15% of the teachers in our district, and that’s just unacceptable.”

Pilios herself teaches middle school English. Three of her periods are already impacted — 33 students for one teacher, in classes normally set for a 26-to-1 ratio. The union’s request for additional adults in such classrooms for support, she said, has not been met.

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Versions of this dynamic are playing out in districts up and down California. On one side, management executives and negotiators stress their budget issues and look to hold down teacher costs or staff numbers. On the other, unions search for solutions that don’t involve putting their teachers in financial jeopardy.

“What we’re seeing [in Little Lake] is similar to the energy across the state,” said David Goldberg, president of the California Teachers Association, the umbrella organization for more than 300,000 teachers, including those in the Little Lake Education Association. “Educators are saying, ‘We’re not going to allow you to balance the budgets on our backs, or on the backs of our students.’” (Disclosure: The CTA is a financial supporter of Capital & Main.)

Pilios said the union brought suggestions to the district for saving money, including buying no new textbooks this year and taking a little out of each of several grants the district has already received. Negotiators for the district showed little interest in those ideas, she said.

The ensuing walkout hasn’t closed schools, with the district lining up strikebreaking instructors at $500 per day — a rate approved by the local Board of Education that generally exceeds the rate paid to its full-time teachers. The teachers’ union responded by filing paperwork in an attempt to recall all five members of the board.

Their demonstrations, meanwhile, have pulled in supporters in numbers that are many multiples of the small union, Pilios said, including community members, students and their families, as well as teachers from neighboring districts who’ve joined several of the gatherings.

The union and the district are closing in on an agreement for the teachers to pay some of their health care premiums, but a lower percentage than management instituted in January. An independent fact-finder concluded that the sides agree on Little Lake’s special education program, which is seeing notable growth in need and requires more staffing and support than it currently receives.

Still, nearly 95% of the educators in the district voted for the first-ever strike. This may not be a Los Angeles-sized action, but the frustration is real.

“My mother was an elementary school teacher,” CTA Vice President Leslie Littman said at a demonstration in Santa Fe Springs this week. “Once you anger elementary school teachers, you know you’re in the wrong.”

Copyright 2026 Capital & Main

Six leading candidates for California governor broke largely along party lines on questions related to taxes, homelessness and the Trump administration at a fast-moving televised debate in San Francisco Wednesday evening.

The debate, broadcast statewide on Nexstar stations, marked a major test for former U.S. Health and Human Services Secretary Xavier Becerra and billionaire investor Tom Steyer, who have emerged as the top polling Democrats after former Rep. Eric Swalwell ended his campaign amid sexual assault allegations.

Throughout a largely tame event, Steyer and Becerra at times came under fire from fellow Democrats on stage, former Rep. Katie Porter and San José Mayor Matt Mahan.

By contrast, the two Republicans onstage, businessman and conservative commentator Steve Hilton and Riverside County Sheriff Chad Bianco, avoided criticizing each other, instead focusing on what they called Democratic failures.

Steyer faced the most attacks of the night — largely centered on his wealth and the investments he made in private prisons and the oil industry as a hedge fund manager decades ago. Porter poked at Steyer’s personal fortune while also jabbing Becerra for his backing by corporate interests and a lack of policy details.

Tom Steyer, a Democratic candidate for California governor, defended his record and pitched himself as a “change agent” during a televised debate at KRON Studios in San Francisco on April 22, 2026.

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And she stressed her own experience as a consumer advocate and single mom who understands the struggles of everyday Californians.

“One candidate is a billionaire who got rich off polluters and ICE prisons and is now using that money to fund this election,” Porter said, even as she and every other Democrat pledged to support whichever Democrat makes it to a November runoff. “Another candidate for nearly 40 years cashed corporate checks and then lacked the courage to take them on. I’m not like them — I have never taken corporate money.”

Katie Porter, right, sharpened her attacks on rival Tom Steyer over his wealth and past investments during a televised debate at KRON Studios in San Francisco on April 22, 2026.

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Mahan echoed the former Orange County congresswoman, calling Steyer “a billionaire who made his money in private prisons” and Becerra “a D.C. insider who the Sacramento establishment is now rallying around.”

San José Mayor Matt Mahan, left, and Xavier Becerra, both Democratic candidates for California governor, shook hands before a televised debate at KRON Studios in San Francisco on April 22, 2026.

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In general, though, the Democrats focused more on defining their own platforms than criticizing one another — perhaps because, with ballots set to reach voters in less than two weeks, Californians seem to just be tuning in and the crowded field is still working to introduce themselves to the electorate.

Becerra, who has seen the largest uptick in polling and endorsements since Swalwell’s exit, pitched his candidacy as a steady hand in the wake of the shocking scandal. On Tuesday, Becerra was endorsed by Democratic Assembly Speaker Robert Rivas.

“We need someone with experience, someone who doesn’t need on the job training,” he said.

Xavier Becerra, a Democratic candidate for California governor, called for experienced leadership as he spoke during a televised debate at KRON Studios in San Francisco on April 22, 2026.

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Steyer parried criticisms of his career in finance by pointing to the wealthy interests opposing his campaign. In recent days, PG&E has poured millions into an anti-Steyer super-PAC that has also received funding from groups representing realtors and prison guards.

“The people raising the costs for California don’t want me to be governor,” he said. “I’m the change agent here and they don’t want change.”

Steyer has put more than $120 million of his own money into his campaign and has blanketed the state in digital and television ads.

The gubernatorial candidates will appear on the ballot together in the June 2 primary. Under California’s top-two primary system, the top two finishers advance to November, regardless of party. That left Democrats concerned that two Republicans could make it into a runoff, in a state where no GOP candidate has won statewide in two decades.

For months, the Democratic field has remained crowded, without a clear frontrunner, and Swalwell’s dramatic exit less than two weeks ago scrambled the race again.

At a televised gubernatorial debate at KRON Studios in San Francisco on Wednesday, April 22, 2026, Riverside County Sheriff Chad Bianco, a Republican candidate for California governor, argued homelessness is driven by substance abuse.

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On Wednesday evening, the partisan divide between the frontrunners on stage was particularly evident when the conversation turned to homelessness. The four Democrats largely praised Gov. Gavin Newsom’s efforts on the issue and agreed on the need to spend more money on preventing homelessness, through programs such as rental assistance.

Bianco and Hilton said homelessness was instead an issue best addressed through substance use treatment.

“This is drug and alcohol induced psychosis,” Bianco said. “This has nothing to do with a home.”

Steve Hilton, a Republican candidate for California governor, leaned into President Donald Trump’s endorsement — calling it “a deep honor” — during a televised debate at KRON Studios in San Francisco on April 22, 2026.

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Mahan, who entered the race late and is polling below the other candidates onstage, sought to draw a contrast with the other Democrats onstage by vowing to suspend the state gas tax — referencing his working class childhood in the farming town of Watsonville.

“I know what it means when gas prices go up a dollar or two unnecessarily,” Mahan said. “I’ll reform the gas tax so it’s no longer the poorest, hardest working people in our state who are paying an unfair share to maintain our infrastructure.”

None of the other Democratic candidates would commit to suspending the gas tax, something both Hilton and Bianco have been campaigning on.

Hilton did not shy away from President Donald Trump, who’s deeply unpopular in this heavily Democratic state. Trump recently endorsed Hilton, a former Fox News host who emigrated from the United Kingdom.

“One of the proudest days of my life is the day I became an American citizen … so it is a deep honor for me to be endorsed by the President of the United States,” Hilton said, adding that Democratic attacks on Trump are only hurting the state. “Here’s what will help every Californian: when I am governor we will have a deep, constructive relationship.”

The next round of tickets to the L.A. Olympics in 2028 will go on sale in August, and registration has re-opened to get a chance at a ticket slot.

Olympics organizers sold more than 4 million tickets in Drop One, which had Los Angeles buzzing with emotion, as excitement about the coming Games warped into disappointment for some over high ticket prices and a hefty 24% service fee per ticket.

Fans who missed out on the first drop or didn't end up buying tickets will get another opportunity in Drop Two. Those who are already registered will be automatically re-entered into the lottery for a slot to buy up to 12 tickets to events, plus 12 more for Olympic soccer. Fans who bought some tickets but not the maximum will also be re-entered in the lottery.

Anyone who hasn't registered yet has until July 22 to sign up.

One big question is exactly how many affordable tickets are left. The first ticket drop started with a locals-only phase for fans in Southern California and Oklahoma City, where a few Olympic events will be held.

According to LA28, a half million $28 tickets and almost all of the available tickets under $100 were sold in that drop for locals, before tickets were made available to the general public.

The majority of tickets sold overall — 73% — went to locals, too.

LA28 says the second drop will have more tickets with "refreshed inventory" and more $28 tickets. In the first drop, the cheapest tickets tended to go quickly.

According to Olympics organizers, Artistic Gymnastics sold the quickest in Drop One.