The Brief

One morning in late June, trucks rumbled loudly down Soto Street past the famous pig murals on the walls of the old Farmer John slaughterhouse, a painted pastoral wonderland of happy, frolicking pigs that’s long drawn tourists with a dark sense of humor.

Rina Chavarria, my guide this morning, pointed to a doorway in the mural. It was here, she said, that she and her former co-workers would line up on the sidewalk in the early hours of the morning, ready to do the backbreaking work of butchering hogs and processing the meat.

Rina Chavarria, who worked at Farmer John for nine years, has yet to find employment after the slaughterhouse closed earlier this year.

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“This is where all the people came walking from the parking lot,” Chavarria said in Spanish, then laughed. “It was like a little line of ants here at 5 a.m.”

The Farmer John slaughterhouse in Vernon closed earlier this year after almost a century in the community. Blaming high operating costs in California, the brand’s parent company, Smithfield Foods, announced last year that it would move production out of state. The facility ceased production in February, leaving just a small crew to clean up until June.

Nearly a century of memories, for better or worse

Love it or hate it, the Farmer John plant was a fixture of L.A. life. The pig murals, the Dodger Dogs that it made until 2021, the smell that offended neighbors, and the regular vigils held outside by animal rights activists, who offered water to the pigs being trucked in.

Farmer John's Vernon facility, which closed earlier this year, is covered in murals depicting pastoral scenes with happy pigs.

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Then there was its workforce, the size of a village — more than 2,000 people, according to the union that represented most Farmer John employees. Most of them were immigrants who lived in the surrounding Eastside neighborhoods. Latinos accounted for about 85% of staff.

Many were older, longtime employees, with limited English and specialized jobs skills that are difficult to transfer. Months after they were let go, these workers are struggling to start over, said Linda Nguyen with United Food and Commercial Workers Local 770, which represented most of the Farmer John employees.

“For many, this has been their only job since immigrating to the United States. Some have worked there several decades,” said Nguyen, executive director of the union’s Center for Worker Training and Leadership. 

“The average age of the worker at Farmer John ranges between 52 and 60 years old,” Nguyen said, “so changing careers, having to potentially have some English and math literacy, is pretty daunting for folks. Many of the folks that are in the upper age range had plans to retire at the plant, you know? So this is really upending their lives.”

Life after Farmer John: ‘On the same boat’

Across the street from the plant, at a McDonald’s that once served those Dodger Dogs, Chavarria was joined by longtime Farmer John veteran Maria Borquez.

In the parking lot, the two women embraced and laughed — it was the first time they’d seen each other since the layoffs.

“We’re both sailing on the same boat, which is wobbling,” Chavarria cracked, eliciting a knowing chuckle from Borquez. Neither had found a job yet.

After nearly a decade at Farmer John, most recently as a supervisor in the loins department, Chavarria, 55, was a relative rookie next to Borquez, who spent 24 years at the plant.

Maria Borquez worked at Farmer John for 24 years.

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Each day Borquez, who is 64, arrived before dawn to trim cuts of meat for export.

“The same, the same, the same, every day the same,” Borquez said in Spanish, describing how she’d arrive at 3:30 a.m. to sharpen knives and prepare for her shift.

The work was tough — cold temperatures, rapid assembly lines, repetitive work that strained their muscles and made their arms hurt. Chavarria eventually wound up with carpal-tunnel syndrome and needed surgery, she said. But for both women, the job represented security: a way to put down roots and raise families.

Chavarria, an immigrant from Guatemala, raised two kids while working at Farmer John, and became active in the union. Borquez, who is from Mexico, bought a home with her earnings, often taking overtime hours.

“I didn’t see the sun,” Borquez said, adding that while it was hard work, she loved it. “I felt at home here. Really for me, this was my first home, because I spent less time at home, I only went home to sleep.”

The Farmer John slaughterhouse in Vernon closed after nearly a century in business.

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During the worst of the pandemic, as essential workers, both women showed up to work. Chavarria contracted COVID-19 twice and was sick for weeks. Borquez did not, so she kept coming in, even as news spread that some fellow employees were never coming back.

“Yes, some co-workers died,” Borquez said. “A co-worker that I knew from when I started, he died … it was a very ugly situation.”

By last year, the worst seemed to be over — then, employees learned that the plant would be shuttered. Borquez was let go in November.

“And now, what am I going to do?,” she remembers thinking. “I did not have, nor do I have, a plan to retire. I wanted to stay here.”

Post-layoff challenges

According to UFCW, Farmer John workers received $500 in severance for every year of employment; those who stayed the plant closed received an extra $7,500 retention bonus.

As severance money has run out, obtaining unemployment has proven difficult for some, especially older, monolingual non-English speakers, said Juan Robles, the workforce development coordinator for Local 770.

The Farmer John slaughterhouse in Vernon closed after nearly a century in business.

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“There's still a lot of people struggling with basic things such as certifying for benefits,” said Robles, who has been helping laid-off Farmer John employees with their claims at the union’s nearby worker center in Huntington Park. “These folks have never applied for unemployment if they've been working for the company for 20 plus years.”

The company verified employment documentation, Robles said, meaning that workers hired had legal permission to work. But due to a lack of language and digital skills, and in some cases limited education, some workers have struggled with opening CalJOBS accounts, or with verifying their identity via id.me, the digital tool used by the state.

“So, because those documents were not submitted on time, that triggered an appeal process,” Robles said, leading to delays in receiving their checks.

Robles said Local 770 has hired additional staffers to help, and that the EDD has scheduled standing office hours for former Farmer John workers at its East Los Angeles location.

“They’re desperate to go back into the workforce,” he said.

Earlier this year, California’s Employment Development Department announced a $6.1 million grant set aside for services like career counseling, job fairs, training and other support for laid-off Farmer John workers.

UFCW was able to use some of this to host job fairs for them, said Linda Nguyen. But there have been bureaucratic delays, she said; for example, money that would provide additional services to laid-off workers at L.A.’s WorkSource centers has not yet been released by the city.

Training for new careers

Meanwhile, some former Farmer John workers are learning new skills through the hospitality workers’ union, UNITE HERE, which Local 770 has teamed up with for job training.

One recent afternoon, Farmer John veteran Benie Lacy watched intently as a chef instructor at the union-run Hospitality Training Kitchen in Koreatown taught a class of students how to cut fish.

“We’re studying to be prep cooks,” said Lacy, 55, who spent 25 years at the plant, “basically how they prep the food to be cooked and served, cutting techniques, recipes.”

Benie Lacy, a former Farmer John employee, learns to be a prep cook in a union-sponsored training class.

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It was a far cry from his Farmer John job processing ham and bacon. He said he misses a sense of community at Farmer John, especially.

“When you work around the same people for so many years, and all of a sudden they are gone, you feel like there has been a hole cut out of you,” Lacy said. “You don't know how to fill it back up.”

But he’s plowing ahead, angling for a kitchen job, trying not to worry about whether he’ll be hired at his age because, “if you think about that,” he said, “you’ll just drive yourself to a nervous breakdown.”

Lacy has a mortgage to pay on the house he owns with his sister — and after two and a half decades in a slaughterhouse and meat processing plant, restaurant work doesn’t sound half bad.

“It’s fun here,” he said, motioning around the busy teaching kitchen. “I like this place.”

Making tamales to make ends meet

Maria Borquez and Rina Chavarria also hope to find jobs soon.

Maria Borquez and Rina Chavarria were former co-workers at Farmer John in Vernon.

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Borquez took the same kitchen training class in the spring, along with her sister, who also worked at Farmer John. Her sister, who is 10 years younger, soon found work in a university cafeteria.

But Borquez was still waiting, hoping the union would connect her with an employer. She knows others in the same situation.

“We’re waiting — let’s hope so,” she said.

As Borquez walked back to her car, she took another look at the old building, its pig murals darkened from years of truck exhaust. Her eyes watered up a little. She said it was the first time she’d come here since she was laid off; until now, she’d been reluctant to drive by.

“The last day of work, I cried,” Borquez said. “I’m not ashamed to say it.”

Then she excused herself to hurry home. She had plans to make tamales that afternoon — to sell, she said, because there were bills to pay.

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

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

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

A blow for Tilly Norwood 

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

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

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

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

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

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

International films prioritizes filmmakers over countries

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

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

Largely positive response

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

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

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

Copyright 2026 NPR

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

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

The ruins are still there 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The future of Mountain Oaks 

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

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

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

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

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

The purchase was good news for local preservationist Joanna Linkchorst.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I just couldn’t stop’ 

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

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

Chieh's 3D rendering of Room 237

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

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

“It’s like a rabbit hole,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

How spaces scare 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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