When Elias Redlew was 14 years old and a freshman putting on football pads for the first time to try to impress his parents at home, he didn’t know what he was doing.
“I didn’t know how much range of movement I’d have or how it would affect my speed,” he said.
His father tried to help him.
“I walked outside and hit the door and he said, ‘You’re going to have to get used to the pads.’”
Redlew, 6 feet 2 and 185 pounds, has gotten as comfortable wearing pads as Superman wearing a red cape.
He has become a three-sport standout at San Pedro High with a 4.7 grade-point average. He was the City Section Open Division offensive player of the year as a junior receiver. This season, he has 60 catches for 1,150 yards and 13 touchdowns. He’s also a starting guard who dunks for the basketball team and is one of the favorites to win a City high jump championship after tying for second place last year.
He’ll be one of the players to watch when San Pedro plays host to Carson on Thursday night to decide the Marine League football championship.
“He never played football until high school,” coach Corey Walsh said. “His potential is super high. Each year, he’s continued to get better.”
Redlew’s intelligence combined with a personality that makes him unafraid to explore new experiences offers insights into an athlete not afraid to be uncomfortable at times.
“Experience brings you intellect,” he said. “If you step out of your comfort zone, it will build knowledge.”
San Pedro basketball coach John Bobich has known Redlew since he was 11. He was on a youth basketball team with his son.
“He is one the most humble and kindest athletes I’ve known,” Bobich said. “He definitely has the record for fist bumps as not a day goes by where Elias walks up with a fist bump and a smile saying, ‘Hello coach B!’”
Redlew has received one B in high school. He’s taking four advanced placement classes this semester.
“I’m down for the challenge,” he said. “In order to play sports, I had to hit the books. In middle school, I was always shy and thought I could do it on my own. I learned to ask for help. Teachers are never not going to help you.”
Redlew welcomes challenges on and off the field. He’s had several huge performances this season. He had six catches for 160 yards and two touchdowns against Wilmington Banning. He had 11 receptions for 217 yards and two touchdowns against unbeaten Laguna Beach. There were six catches for 212 yards and two touchdowns against Granada Hills Kennedy.
Receiver Elias Redlew of San Pedro has a 4.7 GPA.
(Jonathan Alcorn/For The Times)
Redlew said of playing receiver: “I really like how different it is. There’s so many unknown things you can do with the player guarding you . He doesn’t know your next move. You have the ability to affect the game as long as your team trusts you.”
San Pedro (5-4, 3-0) vs. Carson (6-3, 3-0) is always a big rivalry game. This one should be better than ever. Beside the league title being at stake, a Carson win might propel the Colts to the No. 1 seed in the City Section Open Division playoffs. Pairings will be revealed on Saturday. The atmosphere should be electric at San Pedro.
“I can’t wait for that game,” Redlew said. “Everybody will be there. Everybody knows that’s the biggest game of the year and is our senior night.”
If San Pedro wins, maybe he’ll do a dunk afterward in the gym or bring out the high-jump pit and try to clear his career-best 6-2.
Whatever happens, it’s OK to admire a teenager who gets A’s on his report card, plays three sports and has a desire to challenge his mind and body every day.
It’s confusing enough that senior Maggie Kearin attends Louisville High in Woodland Hills and will soon attend the University of Louisville in Kentucky on a full scholarship.
Let’s forget about the two Louisvilles for a moment. Did you know she has a scholarship awaiting her based on her skills in field hockey? And the high school she attends doesn’t have a field hockey team.
She earned the offer based on her play in club field hockey. At Louisville High, she’s perfectly happy playing volleyball and soccer when outsiders have no idea she’s one of the top field hockey players in Southern California.
Her father is Jeff Kearin, the former Loyola High and Cal State Northridge football coach who’s the JV football coach at Crespi and has been transporting her for years to competitions. He consulted with others about whether Maggie should go to a high school that has field hockey, and they told him being good in several sports will help her versatility in field hockey.
Maggie has been playing the sport since she was 5.
“She came home one night from a sleepover, ‘I want to play the game with a stick.’ I thought it was lacrosse,” her father said.
Now she has a way to pay for her college education. “No one is happier than Mom and Dad,” her father said.
This is a daily look at the positive happenings in high school sports. To submit any news, please email [email protected].
Lacking confidence as a 14-year-old freshman, Melion Busano entered high school with one thought in mind.
“Just get the four years over with,” he said.
In September 2022, while getting 30 minutes to try out for the basketball team at Eagle Rock High, his confidence was shaken even more.
“They said if we send you a text, you made the team. I never got that text,” he said. “I was in denial. ‘Maybe they forgot me.’ After the third or fourth week, I was [thinking], ‘Maybe they didn’t send that text.’”
Rejection left him adrift, but then came the moment that changed his life. While carrying around a camera for film class, the JV football coach, Vince Vergara, noticed him, pulled him aside and asked, “Hey, do you want to play football?”
He joined the JV team as a sophomore. His mother had refused to let him play football years ago after seeing the 2015 film, “Concussion.” This time, she told him, “Be careful.”
He started from scratch.
“I had to learn on the fly,” he said. “I didn’t know what type of run plays or nothing. Never played youth football, never played flag.”
Last season as a junior, he made varsity and had 211 yards rushing and two touchdowns. This season, as a much improved 5-foot-10, 195-pound senior, he’s become so valuable that coach Andy Moran said he’s the best running back in the City Section, having rushed for 824 yards and 13 touchdowns going into the Northern League title decider against Franklin on Friday.
“He doesn’t go down and everybody has prepared to stop him and hasn’t,” Moran said.
He had 143 yards rushing against Granada Hills Kennedy, 108 yards against Monrovia, 146 yards against Bell, 141 yards against Marquez and 107 yards against L.A. Marshall.
His father was a Marine for 20 years and came here as a teenager from Belize. His mother is from the Philippines.
“Sadly I have not gone to either but would love to go,” he said.
His first name stands for “My Lion.”
“You’re a lion, so you’re fierce,” his father tells him.
With renewed confidence, Busano has discovered a love for football and a belief he can keep getting better with experience.
He even tried out for basketball again and made the team, then decided to focus on football.
His father told him, “Try again, work harder, make yourself a better person.”
It’s all part of the high school experience — experimenting, exploring and dealing with the positives and negatives that happen to everyone in their teenage years. His younger brother also made the football team.
“Now I’m kicking myself why didn’t I do this my freshman year,” Busano said. “Now I appreciate the little things, about discipline, always do your job, don’t do someone else’s job. It’s helped me grow up as a person. I was very ignorant and blind walking into this. I felt I probably won’t be the worst player but probably second string, but I came onto the field and started. It was, ‘Wow.’”
Soon he hopes to visit Belize or Manila to learn more about his parents’ home countries.
“My dad says my grandma has a house where you can wake up and look out the window and the beach is right there,” he said. “I want to visit both.”
He’s a 17-year-old seeing a whole different world and a whole different future with the help of his football experiences.
In the spring of 2020, Doug Caines was burned out and finished coaching football.
“The COVID season probably broke me,” he said.
He had been head coach at Dos Pueblos High since 2018. He had been head coach at Santa Barbara from 2012-14. He remained at Dos Pueblos as a media arts teacher and focused on his own kids.
Then, in 2023, he was approached about becoming the girls’ flag football coach in the first season of the sport. It changed his life.
“Honestly, I’ve never had this much fun coaching football,” he said. “Man is it fun. The girls are just coachable and want to play and most are other athletes first.”
Dos Pueblos flag football receiver Brooklyn Hedricks, left, and quarterback Kacey Hurley.
(Michael Owen Baker/For The Times)
That feeling of fun, players wanting to learn and parents watching to enjoy the game instead of worrying about college recruiters best describes the third season of flag football. Everyone realizes this purity probably won’t last for long. Players are already getting offered flag football scholarships to colleges. High schools have started to seek out players.
Yet for now, the participants are enjoying just having the chance to play a sport that used to be reserved for boys.
“Before freshman year, I had never played and never heard of it,” said star Dos Pueblos receiver/defensive back Brooklyn Hendricks, whose father, George, is head baseball coach and also an assistant flag coach.
Dos Pueblos head coach Doug Caines, center, talks with his players during halftime.
(Michael Owen Baker/For The Times)
She was a travel ball player for years in softball. Her parents spent lots of time and money taking her to games around the country. Guess what has happened in her junior year of high school?
“Softball was my best sport, but flag football honestly is my best,” she said. “To get a scholarship offer is crazy.”
Dos Pueblos is 18-2 and part of a strong group of teams from Ventura County and the Santa Barbara area ready to challenge the powerful teams in Orange County. Dos Pueblos’ took 18-1 Orange Lutheran to overtime before losing.
“That was the most intense game I’ve played in,” Hendricks said. “It was such a battle back and forth. It was so much fun.”
Besides Hendricks, who has more than 30 interceptions in her flag football career, quarterback Kacey Hurley has been a key contributor. Last season Hurley was the center snapping the ball to the quarterback. Now she’s the one firing spirals, with 49 touchdown passes so far.
The regular season ends on Oct. 15. The playoffs are Oct. 21, 25, 28 and Nov. 1 with the championship games on Nov. 8.
Caines has been revitalized and rejuvenated.
“It’s been magical,” he said. “The first year was so fun. No expectations. Everything was new — the first game, the first touchdown, the first interception. We’ve been able to keep that going.”
Based on Caines’ coaching experience, a real trend in the coming years could be veteran 11-man football coaches switching to flag football to get back to the days of players learning from scratch and appreciating every moment at practice and games.
Meanwhile, the players will keep having strange dances before and after games, applying eyeblack like it’s makeup and, most of all, having fun playing a sport that isn’t their main one but could be one day.
“This team has great chemistry,” Hendricks said. “There’s never any drama. We have a good set of coaches, We focus on having more fun. We love a win. That’s great. But it’s more of a family.”
For those high schools in California that still don’t have an athletic trainer, what happened last week at San Clemente High was another reason why they are so valuable for the safety reasons. And also proven was the requirement that coaches be certified in CPR every two years.
As a soccer class was ending last Thursday, an assistant coach fell to the ground. Head coach Chris Murray thought he tripped. Then he looked into his eyes, which appeared dilated, and saw that his face was purple. While a football coach nearby was calling 911, Murray began chest compressions.
Athletic trainer Amber Anaya received a text in her office that said, “Emergency.” She got into her golf cart that contained her automated external defibrilator (AED) machine and raced to the field within two minutes. She determined the coach was in cardiac arrest.
While Anaya hooked up her AED machine to the coach, Murray continued chest compressions. The AED machine evaluated the patient and recommended one shock. This went on for some seven minutes until paramedics arrived. Another shock was given after the paramedics took over.
The coach was transported to a hospital and survived. He would receive a pacemaker. It was a happy ending thanks to people who knew what to do in case of an emergency.
Murray said what he did was based on instincts and adrenaline. As soon as the ambulance left, he said he collapsed to his knee exhausted.
“His ribs are sore but not broken,” Murray said, “so I guess I did good.”
All the preparation in case of an emergency was put to good use by the coach trained in CPR and the athletic trainer who knew how to use an AED machine.
This is a daily look at the positive happenings in high school sports. To submit any news, please email [email protected].
Charlie Kirk, the conservative millennial influencer who galvanized young Americans to support the GOP and was assassinated this week in Utah, was the most influential modern-day catalyst of shifting voting trends among fledgling voters, according to Republican and Democratic strategists.
Kirk founded the nonprofit Turning Point USA in 2012 at the age of 18, and it grew into a force that promoted conservative views on high school and college campuses across the nation.
“He found something among young people that none of us identified,” said Shawn Steel, a member of the Republican National Committee from Orange County who knew Kirk for nearly a decade and invited him to speak before the RNC’s conservative steering committee.
“He found an entire movement in America that conservatives were not even aware they could find. Not only that, he nurtured and created an entire new generation of conservative activists,” said Steel, the husband of former Rep. Michelle Steel. “His legacy will endure.”
The admiration for Kirk’s political organizing skills and mental acuity cut across political lines.
“Whether you agreed with him or not — and to be clear, I didn’t — he was one of the most brilliant political organizers of his generation, and probably generations before that,” said Stephanie Cutter, a veteran Democratic strategist who served as an advisor to Presidents Barack Obama and Bill Clinton, First Lady Michelle Obama and Vice President Kamala Harris. “He could be controversial, but he struck a nerve with people who were likely disengaged in politics prior to Turning Point and built a powerful movement.”
In addition to appealing to young voters about the economic headwinds they faced as they sought to climb the career ladder and tried to buy a house, Kirk also espoused sharply conservative views.
Beyond espousing traditional conservative views — being anti-abortion, pro-gun rights and dubious of climate change — Kirk was critical of gay and transgender rights, the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and diversity, equity and inclusion efforts, saying last year that if he saw a Black airplane pilot, he hoped he was qualified. He was accused of being an anti-Semite because of repeated comments about the power of Jewish donors in the United States, and of being Islamophobic because of comments such as describing “large dedicated Islamic areas” as “a threat to America.”
Kirk, 31 and a father of two, died Wednesday after being shot in the neck while speaking at Utah Valley University. Kirk’s assassination was the latest instance of political violence in an increasingly politically polarized country.
President Trump survived two assassination attempts in 2024 as he successfully sought reelection to the White House.
Kirk’s “mission was to bring young people into the political process, which he did better than anybody ever, to share his love of country and to spread the simple words of common sense on campuses nationwide,” Trump said Wednesday.
On Thursday, Trump told reporters on the White House’s South Lawn that Kirk was partly responsible for his victory in the 2024 presidential election and repeated that he would posthumously award Kirk the Presidential Medal of Freedom.
Turning Point USA, created a month before Kirk graduated from high school, became the new face of conservatism on college campuses and had chapters at more than 800 schools. Prominent conservatives heavily funded the group; in the fiscal year that ended in June of 2024, Turning Point reported $85 million in revenue.
Longtime GOP activist Jon Fleischman, the former executive director of the California Republican Party and the former chairman of the state’s chapter of Young Americans for Freedom in the early 1990s, said Kirk was pivotal to Trump’s election.
“Charlie Kirk was probably the single most prominent and successful youth organizer in the Trump movement,” Fleischman said, adding that Kirk superseded any other GOP organizer he knew at increasing conservative prospects among young voters.
“As somebody who cut their teeth as a youth organizer, I have nothing but awe for the level of sophistication he brought to that field of work,” he said.
Support for Trump among young voters exponentially increased in the 2024 presidential election, according to data compiled by Tufts University. While President Biden had a 25-point edge over Trump among voters ages 18 to 29 in the 2020 election, Harris had a four-point advantage among this cohort last year.
“This last election was the best performance Republicans have had with the youth vote, particularly male voters, in 20 years, maybe even going back to the ’80s,” said Steve Deace, a conservative radio host in Iowa who had known Kirk for a decade.
He gave credit for that success partly to work Kirk did on the ground at colleges across the country, notably being willing to amicably debate with people who disagreed with his beliefs.
“Charlie was basically a Renaissance man who was comfortable in a lot of settings. He wasn’t hoity-toity,” he said.
Deace and others added that this moment could be a turning point for the nation’s democracy and the split between the left and the right.
“We’re going to have a real conversation about whether we can share a country or not. The answer may be we can’t,” Deace said. “We have to decide if we are capable of the fundamental differences between us being adjudicated at the ballot box…. We have to decide if we can share a country. If we truly want to, we’ll figure it out. If we don’t, we won’t. That’s the conversation that needs to happen.”
Bombastic conservative commentator Roger Stone went further, arguing that modern-day Democrats are a greater threat to the nation than terrorists, drug cartels and foreign spies.
“The rot is too deep to reverse our course with mere rhetoric,” Stone wrote to supporters. “Sept. 10, 2025 was the day we crossed the Rubicon, lost our innocence and realized only one path remains to ensure humanity’s survival. The time for American renewal is at hand, and the tree of liberty shall germinate in warp speed with Charlie Kirk serving as the martyr of our glorious refounding.”
A dozen years before he charted a bold, new path for the USC football program, Chad Bowden was living on the pull-out couch of a cramped studio apartment in Hollywood with no clue where his life was headed.
Bowden couldn’t have dreamed up the role he’d one day occupy a few miles down the street at USC, where as the Trojans football general manager, Bowden has infused the program with new energy while putting together the top recruiting class in America.
So how did Bowden rise from that couch to being held up as one of the most consequential arrivals at USC since Pete Carroll himself?
Bowden thought that he might play college football. A few small schools had offered him opportunities to play linebacker coming out of high school in Cincinnati. But Bowden’s father, former baseball general manager Jim Bowden, didn’t think it was the right move. He worried about how his son would handle the rest of the college experience.
“He felt like it was best for me, from a maturity standpoint, to go right into working,” Bowden says.
USC football general manager Chad Bowden looks across the field during preseason camp.
(William Liang/For The Times)
Which is what led him to the tiny apartment off Highland Avenue. He split the place with Jac Collinsworth, his close high school friend, the two of them packed like sardines into a single room that doubled as the kitchen and dining space. Neither seemed to mind the close quarters. Everything became a competition, with each of them pushing the other.
“Both of us were highly motivated guys,” says Collinsworth, whose father is the famed commentator, Cris Collinsworth. “Plus we had [Chad’s] dad in our ear.”
So every morning, they would wake before sunrise to race each other to L.A. Fitness. After, they’d race back up the hill to devour the usual breakfast of egg whites — sometimes mashing in bananas for sweetness. Some days, they’d throw in a motivational video on YouTube to get the blood pumping again, before racing off to try to be the first in the office.
They were both staying up late, getting up early, grinding all day in between. But after a while, it felt to Bowden like he was running in place. He’d tried an internship with a sports agency, only to realize the agency life wasn’t for him. Then he sold Google ads for a company called Linktech, whiling away his days cold-calling strangers who weren’t exactly happy to hear from him. It gave him perspective, he says. But not much else.
It was important to Bowden to find his path as soon as possible. He’d always planned for success at a young age, Jac Collinsworth says. His father, after all, was hired by the Cincinnati Reds as the youngest GM in baseball history back in 1992, and Bowden had practically grown up in that Reds clubhouse. He rode in Ken Griffey Jr’s Lamborghini. He was in the draft rooms, the trade talks, the contract negotiations. Once, he even called out a Reds player’s lack of hustle on the basepaths — and ended up stuffed in a garbage can.
His childhood was intertwined with the game. Even dinnertime could turn on a night’s result. When the Reds won a game, father and son would go out to a local steakhouse for dinner. When they lost, Chad says, they would only eat Triscuits and cheese.
“[Chad] knew that he was going to have to work twice as hard to get that respect from his dad,” Collinsworth says.
As hard as he was working, Bowden didn’t seem to be getting any closer to finding his way in L.A. Evan Dreyer was worried about him.
Dreyer had coached Bowden as a freshman football player at Anderson High in Cincinnati, and they’d stayed in touch since. So when Dreyer was out in L.A., he checked in on his favorite former player.
“Chad needed somebody to look him in the eye and say, ‘What the hell are you doing?’” Dreyer says.
He called Bowden back soon after and offered him a job as his defensive coordinator at Western Brown High, back in Ohio.
Bowden was just 20 years old. He had no coaching experience, aside from filling in for a few weeks as an assistant baseball coach for Dreyer at 14. But Dreyer knew how much Bowden loved football. And he had no doubt that Bowden was bound for great things. He saw it in Bowden even before high school, as early as the fifth grade, when all of the kid’s energy was zeroed in on being the best possible water boy he could be. He sprinted full speed down the sideline to retrieve a loose ball. He didn’t care for school, but memorized the stats of opposing players. It was clear he took pride in the job.
USC general manager Chad Bowden, center, attends a team practice.
(USC Athletics)
But that was when football first swept Bowden up. Now, years later, Dreyer was offering him a chance to get his foot in the door.
“He called me and was like, ‘What are you doing with your life? Football is everything to you.’” Bowden says. “I just kind of sat there and said, ‘What am I doing?”
So took Dreyer up on the offer. The only problem? He had no idea what he was doing as a defensive coordinator.
The team went 1-9. The next year, he followed Dreyer to another high school, and it didn’t get much better. He dialed up blitz after blitz, just hoping for the best. One night, his defense gave up almost 80 points, and a frustrated Bowden was ejected from the game.
Still, he wasn’t one to sit idly by, waiting on a problem to solve itself. Even if there was no obvious — or rational — solution. One week, when his defense gave up over 400 rushing yards, he responded by buying huge tubs of peanut butter, convinced more sandwiches could be the key to bulking up his defensive front.
Once, he babysat for Dreyer’s 3-year old daughter and upon finding out she loved school buses, set out to stop one in the street in order to give her a ride.
There were no half-measures with Bowden, on or off the football field. He preferred to take matters into his own hands if he had to.
“That’s the best way to understand Chad,” Collinsworth said. “He will move a mountain to make something happen.”
He seemed to be in constant motion, attending school at the University of Cincinnati in addition to coaching.
After two seasons coaching high school football, Bowden decided to try a new direction. A friend of his father helped hook him up with an opportunity to shadow the senior vice president of the Miami Dolphins, who eventually helped connect him with Brian Mason, the new recruiting coordinator at Cincinnati.
Mason hired Bowden as a student intern, helping out with Cincinnati’s recruiting. It didn’t take long for him to make an impression on the rest of the staff.
Some staffers, Mason says, were admittedly “thrown off a little bit by his energy” when they first met him. But there was no doubting Bowden’s work ethic as an intern. When Cincinnati coach Luke Fickell gave him a task, coaches remember Bowden sprinting down the hallway to complete it.
“We had to tell him to leave the office, even as a student intern,” Mason said. “He’d go 100 miles per hour to get things done.”
Mason played a critical role helping Bowden focus that energy. He surrounded him with structure and taught Bowden how to be better organized without tamping down his enthusiasm.
“I owe a lot of what happened in my life to Brian Mason,” Bowden says. “Brian did such a great job of understanding that I was crazy. But he also saw the good in me.”
Mason connected Bowden with Marcus Freeman, who at the time was Cincinnati’s defensive coordinator. Bowden asked if he could sit in on meetings with Freeman and Fickell to absorb as much knowledge as he could.
Bowden didn’t stay quiet in those meetings for long. “I never shut up after that,” he says.
It was out of that back-and-forth banter that Bowden and Freeman formed a close bond. Both, according to their fellow coaches, seemed uniquely suited for keeping the other in balance. Where Freeman was the more measured and thoughtful of the two, Bowden was bold and daring. He would push the envelope, and Freeman would rein him back in if need be.
“Like yin and yang,” said Mason, who also worked with both at Notre Dame.
Bowden quickly rose through the ranks at Cincinnati, from defensive quality control assistant to recruiting director. Along the way, there was “tough love” from Freeman that, Bowden says, was exactly what he needed to hear.
Notre Dame coach Marcus Freeman and his team line up to enter the field against USC at the Coliseum on Nov. 30.
(Gina Ferazzi/Los Angeles Times)
“He gave me what I needed to be the best version of me,” he said. “‘If this is what you want to be, this is what you need to do.’”
When Freeman left in 2021 to be Notre Dame’s defensive coordinator, he brought along Bowden, who took a lesser role in South Bend. A year later, Freeman was promoted to head coach and Bowden became his recruiting director and right-hand man.
The recruiting operation quickly took on Bowden’s personality.
“We were flying fast,” says Chris O’Leary, who coached safeties at Notre Dame. “Whether it was offers, calling kids, it was rapid fire all the time. Every day was life or death.”
When it came to talking to recruits, Gerad Parker, who coached tight ends at Notre Dame, likened Bowden to “the crazy uncle at the birthday party.” During official visits, he orchestrated NBA style entrances for recruits and their families. Sometimes he showed up in costume. He memorably dressed up as a leprechaun, another time as an FBI agent.
A leprechaun costume at Notre Dame might seem silly, but Parker said Bowden owned it.
“It’s like going into character when you’re working at Disney,” Parker said. “Those people don’t roll their eyes because they’re in a Cinderella costume. They are Cinderella.”
Of course, not all of his ideas got past the cutting room floor. For one, Freeman refused Bowden’s request to jump out of a helicopter to impress recruits.
“He might bring a list of five ideas, right? And four of them are crazy,” Mason said. “He brought up helicopters on multiple occasions.”
Whatever others thought of his methods, Bowden’s approach was working. He was relentless in building relationships. Recruits raved about his impact. Notre Dame pulled in a trio of top-12 classes that would serve as the bedrock of a run to the national title game.
Michigan had already pursued Bowden to be its general manager before that 2024 run. He turned it down, in order to continue on with Freeman.
By the following January, Bowden decided to change directions. Four days after Notre Dame lost to Ohio State in the national championship, he was named USC’s new football general manager.
At the time, Bowden called the decision “a no-brainer.” While talking with reporters in March, he said “some things that were out of my control” at Notre Dame.
But to those who once worked with both Freeman and Bowden, it was unexpected..
“That had to weigh heavy on Chad,” said Parker, the Irish tight ends coach.
“[They were] like brothers,” said O’Leary, the safeties coach. “I know there’s a lot of layers behind it. But yeah, I was surprised to see him leave Notre Dame.”
By choosing USC, Bowden was once again striking out on his own, walking away from the world he knew best for the promise of building something bigger and better. Fittingly, it would bring him back to the city where his search for a career began.
In seven months at USC, he has completely revamped the front office operation with his hand-picked staff, repaired relationships with local coaches and power brokers and reinvigorated USC’s entire recruiting strategy. The Trojans’ 2026 class has soared to the top of the national recruiting rankings, with 32 commitments and climbing. And boosters are buying in, once again crowding the sidelines of football practices.
Staff members will tell you that Bowden’s impact in that short time at USC runs deeper. That his energy and his willingness to test limits and challenge norms has set a tone for the entire department.
When USC athletic director Jennifer Cohen approached Bowden during a recent football practice, she found him busy scribbling down notes.
“He had 15 things from that practice that he noticed or ideas that he had,” she said.
“He’s the eyes and ears of a program in a way that really takes the pressure off of everyone. He’s just been great within the university community, within the athletic department, with donors, with former players. We could not be more pleased with the progress that he’s made and his team has made and the impact that he’s having on USC football.”
James E. Silcott, a trailblazing Los Angeles architect who, thanks to many gifts to his alma mater, Howard University, became the most generous benefactor to architecture students at historically Black colleges in the U.S., died July 17 in Washington, D.C. He was 95.
Silcott’s memorial service took place on Saturday at Howard; he will be laid to rest in L.A.’s Inglewood Park Cemetery on Sept. 6.
Silcott, who started in Los Angeles working for Gruen Associates alongside colleagues like Frank Gehry, made history as the first Black project architect for both Los Angeles County and UCLA. His successful legal battles with the county — he alleged that he had been unfairly terminated because of his race, and was later a victim of retribution for his lawsuit — shined a light on the entrenched barriers Black professionals faced in public institutions at the time.
Born Dec. 21, 1929, in Boston, to parents from the Caribbean island of Montserrat, Silcott grew up in the city’s Roxbury neighborhood during a time of limited opportunities for young Black people. Living in tenements and walk-ups, and making friends of all races and ethnicities, he learned self-reliance, resilience and cultural fluency, as he recounted in a 2007 oral history for Northeastern University’s Lower Roxbury Black History Project. After graduating high school, he worked as a hotel cook alongside his father. “I didn’t know what I wanted,” he said. But an aptitude test at a local YMCA pointed him toward architecture. After being rejected from several architecture schools, he received a lifeline via Howard University in Washington, D.C.
Silcott entered Howard — its architecture program was the first at a historically Black college to receive accreditation — in 1949. He came under the mentorship of Howard H. Mackey Sr., one of the most prominent Black architects and educators of the 20th century, known for instilling a sense of architecture’s civic purpose. Silcott’s studies were interrupted by three years in the U.S. Army during the Korean War, where he rose to the rank of sergeant. Returning to Howard, he earned his 5-year bachelor of architecture degree in 1957.
Those years were marked by constant financial strain — often forcing him, as he put it, to decide “whether to buy books or buy food” — an experience that would later drive him, as a donor to Howard, to ensure that future students wouldn’t face that choice. He would never forget the role Howard played for him.
“He felt like when nobody else would take him, Howard took him,” said his niece Julie Roberts. “He really credits them for laying the groundwork and setting the path and changing the trajectory of his life.”
Silcott began his career working for architect Arthur Cohen in Boston before moving to Los Angeles — he always hated the cold, said his friends and family — in 1958. Joining Gruen Associates, one of the era’s most influential firms, he, among other efforts, collaborated with Frank Gehry on the design of the Winrock Shopping Center in Albuquerque. He would soon work at UCLA’s architectural and engineering office, becoming the school’s first Black project lead on buildings like the UCLA Boathouse (1965), with its light-filled, maritime-inspired form — including porthole windows and an upper story deck for viewing races. Also at UCLA he collaborated with Welton Becket and Associates on the Jules Stein Eye Institute (1966), with its clean-lined facade of pale stone columns and glass walls that opened to natural light while maintaining shade and privacy.
He later joined Los Angeles County’s Department of Facilities Management, where he would become a senior architect and help oversee projects like the Inglewood Courts Building (1973, another collaboration with Becket) and Los Angeles County Southeast General Hospital (1971), eventually renamed Martin Luther King Jr. General Hospital. As the only Black architect working in the county, Silcott’s good friend (and fellow Howard architecture graduate) Melvin Mitchell said he was not always welcome. “None of those men could ever imagine someone of Silcott’s race or color wielding that kind of power, despite the phony smiles and benign language used,” Mitchell said in his eulogy at Howard.
At the end of the decade Silcott was demoted and later laid off during budget cuts — a move he contended was racially motivated. The county’s Civil Service Commission eventually agreed, ruling in 1984 that he had been improperly terminated in order to preserve the jobs of white employees with less seniority, and ordering that he be reinstated with full back pay. “I had to fight for my job just to make sure the rules were applied fairly,” Silcott told the Los Angeles Times.
Chief County Engineer Stephen J. Koonce, left, gestured as he discussed with James Silcott the details of the architect’s return to work, on March 15, 1984.
(Steve Fontanini / Los Angeles Times)
But the reinstatement was short-lived: within months, Silcott alleged that the county had retaliated by stripping away meaningful duties, among other retributions. “They had him working in a closet at one time,” said Roberts. Later that year, the Board of Supervisors approved a roughly $1 million settlement offer to resolve his federal discrimination lawsuit. The Times noted that his case had “become a rallying point” for those seeking greater equity in public employment. As Silcott later reflected, “This was never just about me. It was about making sure the next Black architect who comes along doesn’t have to fight the same battles.”
Silcott would later work as an architectural consultant to public agencies and universities while serving on several public boards, including the South Los Angeles Area Planning Commission, the Los Angeles Cultural Heritage Commission, the Los Angeles Board of Zoning Appeals and the California State Board of Architectural Examiners.
He built a stylish home in Windsor Hills, where he would regularly host family, not to mention mayors, council members, and, later, former President Obama, said Mitchell.
“He was always there to help. For advice, support, anything. Without hesitation he’d say, ‘I’ll do it.’ He just had that generous spirit.”
— Gail Kennard
In 1995 — retired as an architect — he took on minority ownership and a board seat at Kennard Design Group, one of the largest Black-owned architecture firms in the country, following the death of its founder (and Silcott’s good friend) Robert Kennard. “He didn’t hesitate,” said Gail Kennard, Robert’s daughter, who still leads the firm, and wanted to ensure the company’s stability at a difficult time. “He was always there to help. For advice, support, anything. Without hesitation he’d say, ‘I’ll do it.’ He just had that generous spirit.”
But Silcott’s greatest love, noted Kennard, was Howard — particularly its Department of Architecture — where he would go on to become a historically prolific philanthropist, and help mentor generations of aspiring architects.
“He would tell me stories about people who were coming up in the profession,” said Kennard. “He’d say, I found this new student and he or she’s my new project.”
Silcott’s ability to support the school financially grew out of skillful real estate investments, which began with a few buildings in Boston that he inherited from his mother. He managed and expanded numerous properties both in Boston and Los Angeles.
In 1991 he helped establish the James E. Silcott Fund, now valued at $250,000, offering emergency aid to Howard architecture students in financial distress. In 2002, he established the James E. Silcott Endowed Chair with an initial $1 million, bringing architects like Sir David Adjaye, Philip Freelon, Jack Travis and Roberta Washington to teach and mentor at Howard. And with a $1 million gift he funded the T. George Silcott Gallery, named for his late brother, providing a venue for exhibitions, critiques and public lectures. Silcott also made unrestricted contributions of hundreds of thousands more to Howard’s Department of Architecture, supporting scholarships, travel fellowships and capital improvements. By the end of his life, his contributions to Howard exceeded $3 million, making him, according to the school, the largest individual donor to architecture programs at historically Black colleges and universities in the country.
“Howard and its school of architecture was at the very center of his life,” said Mitchell, who noted Silcott’s gifts also helped keep the school afloat during difficult periods.
Silcott received the Howard University Alumni Achievement Award, the Centennial Professional Excellence Award and the Howard H. Mackey Dean’s Medal, named after his mentor. He also received the Kresge/Coca-Cola Award for philanthropy to HBCUs. In 2020, he was elevated to the AIA College of Fellows.
After a stroke in 2020, Silcott moved to Washington, D.C., to be under family care. He was placed in hospice in 2022, and put on a feeding tube, but lived three more years against the odds, noted Roberts, one of seven close nieces and nephews who called him “Uncle James.”
“He would not acknowledge that he wasn’t going to live forever,” said Roberts. Silcott remained engaged with Howard until his death.
First in a series of stories profiling top high school football players by position. Today, Brady Smigiel, Newbury Park quarterback.
Honored as the The Times’ player of the year in 2024. Passed for more than 3,200 yards. Completed 49 touchdown passes. Won a Southern Section Division 2 championship. Committed to Michigan for college. Rated a five-star quarterback by one recruiting service.
Has Brady Smigiel of Newbury Park High accomplished everything he wanted to do in high school going into his senior year?
“I can argue I’m getting even hungrier,” said the 6-foot-5, 210-pounder.
His former receiver Shane Rosenthal, who is now at UCLA, has known Smigiel since their tee-ball days. Rosenthal said his best friend is never satisfied.
“He knows there’s things to improve on,” Rosenthal said. “This is just the start of his career. He’s got college next and hopefully the NFL. This is not his final destination. He knows where he wants to get to.”
Smigiel intends to keep the pedal to the metal as he plays his final season under his father, head coach Joe Smigiel. He was the one who threw a container filled with Gatorade on his father’s head last season, drawing a nasty stare because dad had a cold and didn’t need to get wet.
All is forgiven and his father would gladly accept another drenching with a little warning this time. The challenge for son will be developing chemistry with his new group of receivers and continuing to progress reading defenses, something he did extraordinarily well in dropping his interceptions to three last season after 14 in 2023.
“There’s no replacing Shane, but there are some very good athletes that came in,” Smigiel said.
Despite his success the last three seasons, which include 11,222 yards passing and 147 touchdowns, Smigiel insists he has not lost his focus.
“There’s a new challenge every season and to know I’m going to college in less than a year makes me even hungrier,” he said. “I want to be able to get better every single day.”
What a touch pass. Brady Smigiel to Drew Cofield. 66 yards. Touchdown. Newbury Park 24, Murrieta Valley 21. Who’s better than Smigiel? pic.twitter.com/qfOYmZHV0o
In April, an example of his day was getting to school at 6:30 a.m. and getting home at 8 p.m. after workouts, classes and training. He has entrusted his training to a staff dedicated to giving him the tools to succeed.
“You just want to get stronger and faster,” he said. “I’m a tall build, so there’s a lot of mass to put weight on. I dropped some bad pounds and started working on my speed training to get more explosive.”
He has made a commitment to Michigan, believing the school is the best fit for his quarterback style, academics and development on and off the field. He’s pursuing his dream — the NFL. He remembers being inspired after watching the draft with former Newbury Park and NFL defensive back Darnay Holmes.
Newbury Park coach Joe Smigiel with sons Brady, left, and Beau.
(Nick Koza)
“My dream has been to be in the NFL my whole life,” he said. “Darnay was at our house and the draft was on and my mom was having a conversation with him. He was about my age right now and his dream was to play in the NFL and the fact it happened and can happen to people you know, it really opened my eyes and is 100% a dream of mine.”
During a nutrition break last spring, Smigiel was hanging out with Rosenthal and looked up the future schedules for Michigan and UCLA. The Bruins will be in Ann Arbor in 2026, with the Wolverines coming to the Rose Bowl in 2027. The best buddies are making plans.
“We’ll be doing a jersey exchange,” Rosenthal said. “I want to be on the same field again.”
Smigiel has matured throughout high school. He has grown constantly, whether in school, his physical dimensions, or his faith. His new offensive coordinator, former Utah quarterback Cam Rising, is helping him become even more prepared for the next level.
The Smigiel journey continues, and it’s going to be quite a ride to follow.
Wednesday: Valencia running back Brian Bonner.
Quarterbacks to watch
Bryson Beaver, Vista Murrieta, 6-3, 195, Sr.: Oregon commit passed for 3,214 yards, 33 touchdowns last season
Corin Berry, Charter Oak, 6-3, 185, Sr. Purdue commit passed for 3,034 yards, 33 touchdowns in 2024
Wyatt Brown, Sherman Oaks Notre Dame, 6-4, 190, Sr.: Santa Monica transfer is ready for Mission League
Luke Fahey, Mission Viejo, 6-0, 185, Sr.: Ohio State commit has great arm, good instincts and is big-time in the clutch
Ryan Hopkins, Mater Dei, 6-3, 190, Sr.: Wisconsin commit is one of the fastest QBs in the state
Jaden Jefferson, Cathedral, 5-9, 175, Jr.: Completed 68% of his passes with only four interceptions
Koa Malau’ulu, St. John Bosco, 6-2, 175, So.: Threw for 19 touchdowns as a freshman
Ryan Rakowski, Palos Verdes, 5-11, 170, Jr. : Passed for 2,809 yards, 24 touchdowns last season
Oscar Rios, Downey, 6-3, 180, Sr.: Arizona commit is terrific passer, runner and leader
Brady Smigiel, Newbury Park, 6-5, 210, Sr.: Michigan commit has passed for 147 TDs in three seasons
Every fall, more than a million young Americans don helmets and padded shoulder pads to play high school football. But this year, questions are intensifying over the risk youth athletes face from repeated head injuries after a gunman who played football in Southern California claimed he suffered from a degenerative brain disease.
After killing four and taking his own life, Shane Tamura — a former varsity player at two Los Angeles-area high schools — left behind a three-page suicide note, authorities say, alleging he suffered from chronic traumatic encephalopathy.
“Football gave me CTE,” Tamura reportedly wrote. “Study my brain please.”
It remains unclear whether the 27-year-old actually suffered from CTE, because the disease can only be diagnosed definitively through brain dissection. However, the claim comes at a time of growing concern over the health risks of contact sports in high school — football in particular.
Caused by repeated head injuries, including concussions and non-concussive impacts, CTE tends to be mostly diagnosed in those who have played football for a decade or longer. However, four years of high school football could expose a player to CTE, said Chris Nowinski, co-founder of the Concussion Legacy Foundation, a nonprofit group that supports athletes and others affected by CTE and concussions.
“The odds of having CTE are best correlated to the number of seasons played,” Nowinski said. “The best window we have is we have studied 45 former high school players who died before 30, and 31% had CTE.”
The issue of chronic brain injury and youth football has been a heated one in Southern California.
Facing political pressure last year, Gov. Gavin Newsom vowed to veto any legislation that sought to ban youth tackle football in the state. Citing parental freedom to decide on which sports their children can participate in, Newsom said he would work with legislators to strengthen safety in the sport.
Currently, California maintains protocols for student athletes who experience concussions or a head injury during a game. Those measures include removing the student from play and evaluation from a licensed health care professional.
The California Youth Football Act also limits full-contact practices for youth football teams to no more than 30 minutes a day for no more than two days per week. It also bans full-contact practices for youth football teams during the off season.
While such laws attempt to limit the risk of injury, experts say the threat cannot be removed entirely.
“What ends up mattering more than anything else, really, is just how long you’re playing, how many hits to the head you’ve gotten over that time, and the intensity of those hits to the head that you experience: Those are what play the biggest role in someone’s risk,” said Dr. Daniel Daneshvar, chief of brain injury rehabilitation at Harvard Medical School.
“So can a high school player get it? Yes,” Daneshvar said.
Tamura appeared to blame the NFL for his condition, according to officials, although he never played football beyond high school.
Experts say players such as Tamura, who is listed in online playerprofiles as performing offensive and defensive roles, are particularly at risk for CTE.
“On his online Huddle profile, it says he was also a defensive back, and he was clearly a very good running back, which would have twice the exposure,” Nowinski said.
It could take from two to six months for scientists to determine whether the gunman actually suffered from CTE, experts say. Such an examination however would require the family’s permission.
High school athletes who are playing football warrant greater study and treatment, Daneshvar said.
“Of the 3.97 million football players in this country, those that are playing at the college and the professional level are less than 4%, so we’re talking about over 96% of people are playing at some youth or high school level,” Daneshvar said.
“Although they’re likely to be at lower risk, based on the fact that they likely have played fewer years than someone who plays at the collegiate pro level, their numbers are greater.”
One of the most well-known cases of a young football player who developed severe CTE is Aaron Hernandez, a tight end in the National Football League who played three seasons with the New England Patriots until his 2013 arrest in the murder of fellow football player Odin Lloyd.
Hernandez was convicted in 2015, and when he died at the age of 27, researchers at Boston University studied his brain and diagnosed him with CTE Stage 3, caused by repeated head trauma.
“When you see someone with Stage 1 and a couple of microscopic lesions, it’s tough to make an interpretation as to how that might affect their behavior,” Nowinski said. But with a person with Stage 3, such as Hernandez, he said, “you can be confident he was not the same person at 27 as he was at 15. Everybody in Stage 3 has some level of symptoms and impairment. “
The disease starts with small lesions developing in the prefrontal cortex, along the brain stem, which sets off a chain reaction that slowly kills brain cells. It’s a reaction that can continue to spread long after repeated impacts stop, Nowinski said.
If scientists determine that Tamura had CTE, Nowinski stressed that did not mean the brain disease caused him or others to commit crimes.
“It’s very clear that most people who have developed CTE have not become murderers, and most people have not had extraordinary psychiatric symptoms that involve them to have involuntary psychiatric holds,” Nowinski said.
However, other forms of brain damage could have affected his behavior.
“CTE is not the entire story,” Nowinski said, noting that experts have identified at least 15 other types of changes to the brain that are associated with traumatic brain injury and repetitive traumatic brain injury. “Even in the absence of CTE, it doesn’t mean that brain damage can’t be driving this. And in many cases, we think that the non-CTE changes are more profound than the early stage CTE changes in people who are young, who have changed”
Diagnosing CTE is a complex process and involves the study of more than 20 regions of the brain, Nowinski said.
First, the brain is preserved in formalin for two weeks. When it is pulled out, it is examined for patterns of atrophy or old contusions. Then, the brain is sliced up and very thin sections are put on glass slides and stained with antibodies that help make abnormal proteins visible.
There is currently no treatment for CTE, but Daneshvar said it should not be viewed fatalistically.
“We have many patients who are experiencing symptoms that may be associated with CTE pathology, and we’re able to identify their symptoms and treat them, and they get better,” he said. “If somebody has a severe depression, there are medications and interventions we can do to help manage their depression.”
As another high school football season approaches, California legislators are proposing Assembly Bill 708, which would allow youth players to wear padded helmet add-ons that are sometimes worn by NFL players. Such equipment is currently prohibited.
On a palm tree-lined bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, thousands of people rallied against the Trump administration in one of many “No Kings Day” protests around the country last month.
Here in Santa Monica, the well-heeled and beachy protesters also had a localized message: America, we’re sorry.
“Santa Monica apologies for Stephen Miller,” a bearded man in a straw hat proclaimed via hand-scrawled poster board.
“Stephen Miller, who raised you?” another protester inquired in purple puff paint. Others paired the White House deputy chief of staff’s name with expletives.
Amid the false accusations and acrid clashes of President Trump’s inner circle, few acolytes have survived longer than Miller.
The 39-year-old has remained essential through Trump’s second term, piloting an immigration platform that has sowed fear across wide swaths of the country — nowhere more so than greater Los Angeles, where federal agents have mounted a relentless assault on immigrants, sweeping up thousands in deportation raids.
In the long shadow of his policies, local and national observers alike are paying renewed attention to Miller’s upbringing in the famously liberal enclave once dubbed “the People’s Republic of Santa Monica.”
“I think people are sad that the words ‘Santa Monica’ and ‘Stephen Miller’ are synonymous, because no one wants that connection,” said Santa Monica Mayor Lana Negrete.
Though often seen as a liberal enclave, Santa Monica is also where conservative strategist Stephen Miller grew up.
(Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)
How did the same 8.3-square-mile city that helped pioneer curbside recycling and strict rent control laws produce a man responsible for Trump’s most draconian policies?
Some are also questioning whether the administration’s focus on Los Angeles is a form of revenge on Miller’s spurned hometown.
When rumors of ICE agents seizing nannies at a Santa Monica park frantically flashed across social networks, Justin Gordon, who went to Hebrew school and high school with Miller, immediately thought his classmate must have personally directed the raid on their local park.
The reports proved spurious, but Gordon still saw an emotional truth.
“In the back of my mind, I’ve always thought, ‘This is Stephen Miller getting back at the city of Los Angeles,’ ” Gordon said.
In the eight years since Miller rose to fame and became an outsized antagonist on the American left, his Santa Monica villain origin story has been exhaustively documented, picked over and reanalyzed.
At the far edge of the American west, a brash adolescent came of age in a coastal community where the establishment prided itself on being antiestablishment. What choice would a young reactionary iconoclast have but to veer right?
Santa Monica was a town in flux when Miller was in high school at the turn of the millennium: a Berkeley meets Beverly Hills where haughty affluence was rapidly eclipsing the Birkenstocks and counterculture bumper stickers. It was also a tale of two cities, with moguls and the upper middle class north of Montana, and pockets of poverty and gang violence in the southern end of town.
Nowhere was this more evident than at Santa Monica High School, where the academics were nationally renowned, the student body resembled a United Colors of Benetton ad and a ’90s strain of “Free to Be … You and Me” liberalism reigned supreme.
The parade of cultural affinity clubs, diversity events and policies that sought to make the school more equitable nauseated Miller.
And the teenage provocateur made no secret of that revulsion, loudly belittling his fellow students. His bitter shtick offered a prescient preview of the grievance politics that would fuel his future boss into power.
Miller has said his years in high school were the hardest of his life, filled with pushback for his “vitriolic viewpoints,” according to Jean Guerrero, a former Times columnist and author of the 2020 Miller biography “Hatemonger.”
“And for whatever reason, he’s had this grievance about that ever since, and he’s been trying through various means, to have what I see as a form of revenge on the communities that rejected him in Los Angeles,” Guerrero said.
Stephen Miller when he was a student at Santa Monica High.
(Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)
Through the White House, Miller did not respond to a request for comment. But anecdotes of Miller’s trollish high school antics have been exhaustively chronicled in the media.
There was the fight to restore the recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance on his bleeding heart campus. His frequent railing against “rampant political correctness,” multiculturalism and the perceived failings of his Latino classmates. Allegedly dumping his middle school best friend for being Latino.
Perhaps most infamous is a campaign speech, seared into the brains of thousands of Samohi classmates, in which he seemingly absolved students of their responsibility to clean up after themselves.
“I will say and I will do things that no one else in their right mind would say or do,” Miller told the crowd, according to a video obtained by Univision. “Am I the only one who is sick and tired of being told to pick up our trash when we have plenty of janitors who are paid to do it for us?”
Students jeered and booed as Miller was escorted off the stage, according to several attendees. He lost that student government election.
“The only compliment I think I’ve ever come up with for Stephen is that there are plenty of conservatives and far-right wing conspiracy theorists and hate mongers that spout what he spouted from behind a computer screen. I have not in my life before or after seen someone do it in an amphitheater full of their high school colleagues,” said Miller’s classmate Kesha Ram Hinsdale, now majority leader of the Vermont state Senate.
Santa Monica High was a hothouse of political engagement, where students — the children of entertainment executives, bankers and lawyers, as well as nannies, day laborers and wait staff — were finding their footing as activists.
Students arrive for a summer school session at Santa Monica High School in 2011.
(Al Seib / Los Angeles Times)
They had watched Proposition 187 pass in their early childhoods, stoking divisions and energizing a wave of Latino activists. (The 1994 ballot measure, which aimed to block undocumented immigrants from accessing public education and other state services, was ultimately blocked by the courts.)
They marched with labor leader Dolores Huerta in support of workers at a neighborhood hotel and protested against the growing threat of war in Iraq.
Despite the kumbaya vibes, Santa Monica High was hardly a post-racial utopia. Students often self-segregated, and the school’s academic sheen was riven by racial division.
Puckish, clad in a suit and preternaturally confident, a teenage Miller was a regular presence at school board meetings. He argued for an English-only school district, decried the board’s focus on equity and generally sought to puncture progressive ideals and push buttons.
“We all knew who he was, and knew him by name,” said Rep. Julia Brownley (D-Westlake Village), a Santa Monica-Malibu school board member from 1994 to 2006.
Miller was raised by Jewish Democrats several generations removed from their own asylum-seeking immigrant story. He enjoyed a comfortable childhood north of Montana, until the family real estate company faltered in the early ’90s and the Millers eventually relocated to a smaller rental on Santa Monica’s shabbier southern end.
Reactionary conservatism didn’t become a defining aspect of Miller’s persona until he started high school, according to Jason Islas, one of his best friends in middle school.
The friendship dissolved the summer before they started at Samohi when, in Islas’ telling, Miller called and announced that they would no longer be hanging out.
Miller delivered the news brusquely, citing Islas’ lack of confidence, his teenage acne and his Latino heritage in a “businesslike tone.”
“It was pretty cruel, even for a teenager,” Islas recalled.
Through a spokesperson, Miller denied this account in 2017. But his derision toward Latino classmates is well-documented — in his own words.
“There are usually very few, if any, Hispanic students in my honors classes, despite the large number of Hispanic students that attend our school,” a 16-year-old Miller wrote in a 2002 letter to a local paper.
The letter denounced the fact that school announcements were made in English and Spanish, “preventing Spanish speakers from standing on their own” and making “a mockery of the American ideal of personal accomplishment.”
Captivated by right-wing radio hosts like Rush Limbaugh and Larry Elder, Miller was a frequent guest on Elder’s show as a teenager, complaining about other perceived liberal excesses of his high school.
After graduating in 2003, Miller went to Duke University before landing on Capitol Hill, where he threaded his way up the far-right thicket with then-Rep. Michele Bachmann of Minnesota and then-Sen. Jeff Sessions of Alabama.
Many of his grievance-fueled Samohi talking points found their way into the first Trump campaign, where Miller had a mind-meld of sorts with the future leader of the free world.
In Trump’s second term, Miller has moved faster and gone further than during the first term, when he advocated unsuccessfully for using the military to push immigration enforcement. This time around, the administration has deployed troops to an American city in a staggering show of force, with masked agents raiding businesses and public spaces.
Ari Rosmarin, a civil rights lawyer who also attended Santa Monica High, said Miller has always had a keen eye for picking fights that would generate maximum hate, outrage and attention. It’s the through line connecting his youthful theatrics with the current assault on Los Angeles, Rosmarin said.
“He knows L.A. — knows that it’s home to both a super, super diverse and beautiful immigrant community, but also home to tons of media, cultural capital, financial capital,” Rosmarin said. “I think in those ways, it’s a particularly attractive site for a battle if your goal is not just a policy outcome, but a political and cultural attack.”
