The Brief

Cruise down Broadway in Chinatown and Yue Wa Market is easy to miss. Not much bigger than a studio apartment, the store hides under a green awning, wedged between a souvenir shop and a pharmacy.

But inside, it’s been a place of connection. For 18 years, owner Amy Tran has greeted customers with a ready smile and hard-to-find produce like Chinese sponge gourd, yardlong beans and heart-shaped cherimoya.

One recent morning, Tran held up a bunch of moon drop grapes she bought at a downtown warehouse just hours earlier.

“Very beautiful,” she said in Mandarin as a group of retiree friends crowded around, murmuring in agreement.

Yue Wa Market specializes in Asian produce and harder-to-find food items like moon drop grapes.

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Satisfying customers is what Tran loves about running the market. But she said it’s time to let go.

This week is Yue Wa's last. Climbing rent and business drop-off since the pandemic — compounded by increased thefts and this summer’s immigration sweeps — have forced 57-year-old Tran to shutter her business.

She breaks the news to her regulars, largely Asian and Latino shoppers who live or work nearby, bouncing between Mandarin, Vietnamese, Spanish and her native Cantonese.

Yue Wa Market blends into the storefronts of Broadway in L.A.'s Chinatown.

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“The business is slow,” she said in English to a Thai customer, who looks crestfallen. “Everything not so good for us.”

A neighborhood cornerstone

It’s a story oft-heard across Los Angeles. Mom ‘n pop’s that anchor immigrant communities are disappearing under economic strain and gentrification pressures as new housing developments and upscale businesses move in.

Yue Wa is the latest grocery to close in Chinatown in recent years, leaving the neighborhood with fewer options for fresh food.

Ott Bhandhumani, a retired Thai caterer who lives in subsidized senior housing just blocks away, said Yue Wa has been essential for him and his wife. After Chinatown’s last two full-service grocery stores closed in 2019, just a handful of street vendors and small grocers like Tran’s were left.

Yue Wa's closure leaves Chinatown with fewer options for those who live and work in Chinatown to buy fresh produce.

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“I came to this place only because she was nice to me,” said Bhandhumani who wishes now he was more of a "big customer" at Yue Wa.

For Tran, the decision to close comes after years of struggle.

Business never rebounded after the pandemic, when many shoppers left Chinatown, some to move in with families like in the San Gabriel Valley, she said. Many of the newer residents skip shopping at an old-school, Chinese-style market where prices aren't listed and haggling is expected.

“She doesn’t want to let go of the store,” said her son, Derek Luu. “But she just feels very hopeless about the situation.”

Family support

Luu, a filmmaker who works with AIDS nonprofits, came home from New York this month to help his mom close up shop.

He grew up in Yue Wa Market, which his mother bought when he was 10.

Before becoming a shopkeeper, Tran held an assortment of jobs in Chinatown after emigrating from Vietnam with her Chinese family — from waiting tables to working shifts at a bakery. For a spell, she was driving to different businesses, hawking plastic shopping bags.

“I remember our living room was just kind of swimming with boxes of bags,” Luu said. “She has always had this entrepreneurial spirit.”

Derek Luu, Amy Tran's son, came home from New York to help his mom close up shop.

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The previous owner of Yue Wa sold herbal supplements and tea before approaching Tran to take over the business in 2007. She at first added yams to her inventory for its medicinal properties. But at customers’ request, she kept expanding the produce section until stacked crates of fruits and veggies spilled onto the sidewalk.

As a teen, Luu pitched in at the store after finishing classes at his arts high school a short walk away from Yue Wa.

He returned there to work during the pandemic, leaving UCLA so he could protect his mother from the surge in anti-Asian attacks from strangers.

“They would come in, take product and throw it into the street,” he recalled. “They would yell slurs at my mom. It got to a point where I just felt like I needed to be here.”

Since the pandemic, thefts have become a weekly occurrence — with losses ranging from stolen register money to pilfered fruit. CCTV shows both Tran and her sole employee, 75-year-old Shi Zong Xu, being robbed. The family estimates they’ve lost tens of thousands of dollars over the last several years.

Seventy-five-year-old Shi Zong Xu, Amy Tran's sole employee at Yue Wa Market, plans to retire after the store closes.

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Tran reasons that more people are suffering hardship, and will often just give away food or cash if she sees someone loitering around her shop.

Tran took out loans to keep the shop afloat as the monthly rent rose to $3,450. But the strain only deepened. The ICE raids this summer scared off some longtime customers and vendors. And then the family became crime victims in their own home.

A family crisis

The family, which includes Tran's husband Hugh and younger child, Tiffany, saw their San Gabriel Valley home go through several break-ins — likely by criminals targeting Asian households in the region, they've been told by investigators.

Luu said in the most recent incident in June, his sister was assaulted and injured. The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, which is investigating, has not identified the suspects.

Seeing her daughter suffer has been crushing for Tran.

Amy Tran and her son Derek Luu speak with a neighborhood friend.

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“My mom just ran out of things to say to my sister,” says Luu. “She felt like she didn’t do enough to protect us. I told her she didn’t fail. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

To help her out during this time of transition, Luu started a GoFundMe for his mom, who herself is dealing with diabetes and cataracts.

Tran doesn’t share her family trauma with customers. She only tells them she can’t afford to stay in Chinatown.

Customers adrift

For regulars, the closure is a heavy loss.

“It makes me upset,” said Sarah Mondol, a nursing student who shops weekly at Yue Wa for her family of six.

She relies on the market for produce like okra, cauliflower and eggplant to make traditional Bangladeshi dishes. “Everything is fresh, and it’s convenient to where I live.”

Mondol said she’ll likely start taking the bus more often to a full-service grocery store about two miles away.

Yue Wa regular Sarah Mondol says she was sad and upset the market was closing after making weekly visits for the five years she and her family have been living in Chinatown.

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“I can go to Smart & Final, but you know, there are not good Asian vegetables I can find there,” she said.

Bhandhumani, the retired Thai caterer, has been battling cancer and said he often doesn't have the strength to shop far from home.

He can’t begin to guess what will replace Yue Wu, but said Chinatown is changing to where it’s not so much for older people like him on a fixed income.

“You can see that they have a new apartment come up, and the price [is] sky- high,” Bhandhumani said. “You can't touch it. We can’t do luxury.”

Tran hasn’t heard what will open in her spot. All she knows is she must be out when her lease ends this month to clear the way.

“Everything that doesn't sell, I’ll try to store it at home,” she said.

Tuesday is her last day. She’s inviting customers to stop by to pick up some tea or fruit, pose for a picture or just say hello — one last time.

Where to go

Yue Wa Market
658 N. Broadway, Los Angeles
(213) 680-4229

Hop onto TikTok and you'll find lots of videos of young people — mostly women — fake baking under the glowing UV lights of a tanning bed. Seattle dermatologist Heather Rogers says this is an alarming trend that comes after years of decline in indoor tanning in the U.S.

She points to a 2025 survey from the American Academy of Dermatology which found 20% of Gen Z respondents prioritize getting a tan over protecting their skin. And 25% say it's worth looking great now even if it means looking worse later.

They feel like "it's better to be tan than it is to worry about skin cancer," Rogers says.

A new study in the journal Science Advances reinforces just why they should worry.

Researchers found that tanning bed users were nearly three times as likely to develop melanoma — the deadliest form of skin cancer — compared to people who'd never tanned indoors. They also had DNA damage that can lead to melanoma across nearly the entire surface of the skin.

"Even in skin cells that look normal, in tanning bed patients, you can find those precursor mutations" that lead to melanoma, says Dr. Pedram Gerami, one of the study's authors and the IDP Foundation professor of skin cancer research at Northwestern University.

Gerami and his collaborators compared the medical records of nearly 3,000 patients who used tanning beds to an age-matched control group of patients who didn't tan indoors. They found that the more people used the tanning beds, the higher their risk of melanoma.

"If they had 10 to 50 tanning bed exposures, their risk was twice as high as the control group," Gerami says. If they had over 200 tanning bed visits, their risk was more than eight times as high.

"If you think about it, getting 200 tanning bed exposures can happen really quickly. If you go once a week for four years, there you are," he says.

The researchers also performed genetic sequencing on normal skin cells from tanning bed users. Most were younger women, which makes sense, because studies have shown that young women in their teens and 20s are the heaviest users of indoor tanning, says study co-author Hunter Shain, an associate professor of dermatology at the UC San Francisco.

Shain says when the researchers compared these skin samples to normal skin cells from people in the general population who were twice the age of the indoor tanners, they were "stunned" by what they found.

"Women in their 30s and 40s had more mutations than people in their 70s and 80s from the general population," says Shain, whose research focuses on the biology of skin cancer. "They somehow were able to cram in two lifetimes' worth of UV damage in 30 years."

Dr. Heather Rogers, who was not involved in the study, notes that tanning beds can emit ultraviolet radiation that is 10 to 15 times stronger than what you'd get from the sun. She says that tanning beds are often marketed as being safer than the sun, but this study shows how wrong those claims are.

Dr. Pedram Gerami says many of the patients he sees at a high-risk melanoma clinic are women who started indoor tanning as teens wanting to look better for events like homecoming and prom.

"Now, as young adults, they're having to deal with frequent skin checks, frequent doctor visits, frequent biopsies, lots of anxiety, and the emotional burden of having been diagnosed with cancer at a young age," Garami says. "So they have a lot of heaviness to deal with."

He says some of these patients chose to donate skin samples to the study in hopes of helping other young people avoid the same fate.

Copyright 2025 NPR

Nearly every pop music holiday song written in the past 80 years owes at least some of its DNA to one Christmas tune in particular: "White Christmas," written by Irving Berlin and sung by Bing Crosby, which he first recorded in 1942.

It's reportedly still one of the best-selling songs of all time in any genre, though chart data from decades ago is unreliable. Even given that murkiness, the Guinness Book of World Records named it as the best-selling physical single of all time in 2012.

"White Christmas" wrote the formula for modern secular holiday songs — despite its complex and troubling history.

Songwriter Irving Berlin wasn't destined to be a Yuletide magic maker. He was born Israel Baline in Siberia to an Orthodox Jewish family; his father was a cantor turned kosher butcher. But Berlin embraced assimilation — he married an Irish Catholic woman and had Christmas trees in his house. Even so, for Berlin, Christmas was a holiday shadowed by personal tragedy.

"On Christmas Day, 1928, his only son died. He always told members of his family that he disliked Christmas for this reason, that he could never, never get past the sadness that he experienced on Christmas Day," said author and New York Times contributing writer Jody Rosen, who wrote a book called White Christmas: The Story of an American Song.

The infant Irving Berlin Jr. died suddenly, less than a month after he was born. And at its heart, "White Christmas" is a deeply melancholic song.

Most Christmas carols and pop songs were unabashedly joyful. Berlin's song represented a turn, Rosen said: "It was strange to have a song that was all about this nose-pressed-up-to-the-glass feeling."

It also set a certain standard for Christmas songs that are about nostalgia, about some lost Christmas past. (Think, for example, of another enduring hit that came shortly after Berlin's smash: "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas," which Judy Garland sang in the 1944 film Meet Me in St. Louis, and which was written by Hugh Martin and Ralph Blane.)

But there's other stuff going on too. Irving Berlin was a hit machine as a Tin Pan Alley and Broadway songwriter. As a New Yorker and an immigrant himself, he was intimately familiar with a particular genre of songs, Rosen said: "That tradition of so-called 'home songs,' you know, songs that pine for a lost place, a lost ideal. These songs are so huge because we have an immigrant population, lots of people who've done a lot of moving. So there were songs about Irish people longing for Ireland and Italians longing for the old country there."

He said Berlin took that genre and flipped it into a Christmas song.

That's especially true of a largely forgotten, tongue-in-cheek introductory verse Berlin originally wrote for "White Christmas." The narrator is a New Yorker stuck in California (as Berlin frequently was, churning out songs for Hollywood): "The sun is shining, the grass is green, the orange and palm trees sway ... but it's December the 24th, and I am longing to be up north!" the protagonist sings.

Rosen said most people listening to "White Christmas" are missing additional subtext. He said that much of that nostalgic vibe in "White Christmas" — all that longing for a pristine, innocent Christmas of yore — is a reference to explicitly racist minstrel songs like Stephen Foster's "Old Kentucky Home," sung by Al Jolson and others — music that was still a staple in Berlin's day.

Foster was inspired by the Harriet Beecher Stowe novel Uncle Tom's Cabin and the song, hailed by Frederick Douglass and Paul Robeson, was meant to be empathetic to the abolitionist cause — the narrator is longing to be reunited with his wife and children, but their family has been torn apart by slaveholders. It later became a popular tune at minstrel shows, with its saddest lines omitted and its meaning twisted.

In "Old Kentucky Home," Rosen said, "You have, grotesquely, the freed Black man longing for life back below the Mason-Dixon line, back on the plantation. Here, instead of a Black man in the north longing for the sultry south, we have a well-to-do white person longing for the wintry north."

But the racial dynamics of "White Christmas" aren't just a matter of subtle references to older songs. Irving Berlin had great commercial expectations for "White Christmas." He built a whole movie around it: 1942's Holiday Inn, starring Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire.

Holiday Inn is stuffed with racist stereotypes and an entire blackface number. (That scene is usually excised from TV broadcasts today, but the whole film is available to stream online.) As Crosby and his love interest, played by Marjorie Reynolds, prepare to perform a song about Abraham Lincoln, Crosby spreads greasepaint on her face, as the orchestra plays "White Christmas" underneath. Not only is "White Christmas" the movie's biggest hit, it's also the film's romantic theme.

Blackface on stage and on screen was very much a recent memory for 1940s audiences, said scholar Brynn Shiovitz. She's the author of the book Behind the Screen: Tap Dance, Race, and Invisibility During Hollywood's Golden Age.

In Holiday Inn, Shiovitz said, "We get a pairing of nostalgia for Christmas, but also nostalgia for blackface, because so many of the people that were watching Holiday Inn when it premiered in the theaters grew up watching vaudeville, grew up watching their parents maybe even perform in blackface."

Audiences loved the song "White Christmas" and its spotlight in Holiday Inn — and American GIs stationed abroad during World War II clamored for the Armed Forces Radio Service to play the song. "White Christmas" was so sturdily successful that Hollywood made another movie centering the song in 1954 — also called White Christmas — this time starring Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, Rosemary Clooney and Vera-Ellen.

Since then, legions of musicians have recorded their own versions of "White Christmas" — including The Drifters, Elvis Presley, Iggy Pop and Sabrina Carpenter. And of course, each generation adds new layers of meaning to the song as it is stitched into our holiday season each year, said Shiovitz.

"With all of these other memories that people have of Christmas, whether it's being piped in while you're shopping, or it's playing on the radio in the car as you're driving to visit family — it's easy to kind of separate it from its history. People develop new memories with it. People have their own ideas of what the song represents, so it's just incredibly complex," Shiovitz said.

Today's audiences and artists don't necessarily hear or even know about the song's racist history, Shiovitz said — but that doesn't mean it's not there.
This story was edited for radio and digital by Jennifer Vanasco.
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