L.A.s

With less than a week until Nov. 3, it seems like the Los Angeles mayor’s race is Karen Bass’ to lose.

After a bad debate against challenger Nithya Raman over the summer and the fiasco that was City Hall’s response to the Lineage fire, the incumbent had no other way forward but attack, attack, attack.

Now, a poll by the UC Berkeley Institute of Governmental Studies and co-sponsored by The Times has the two in a statistical dead heat, with 19% of voters undecided and time running out for both campaigns to grab them. It’s a stunning reversal from just a month ago, when the same poll had Raman substantially ahead.

Councilmember Nithya Raman, right, speaks during an Oct. 13 debate with Mayor Karen Bass, left, moderated by Conan Nolan, Colleen Williams and Alejandra Ortiz.

(Eric Thayer / Los Angeles Times)

Bass barely improved on her abysmal favorability ratings. But some Angelenos seem willing to shrug and cast a ballot for her, because they just don’t trust the more liberal alternative. Raman, a democratic socialist who has served on the City Council since 2020, saw her unfavorability rating jump to 50%, as more people got to know her and didn’t like what they saw.

This isn’t the first time voters have swung like this in a mayoral race involving an unpopular incumbent and an upstart representing a new L.A.

In 1969, the candidate with six years on the City Council was Tom Bradley. The mayor, who, like Bass, had served in the California state Assembly and Congress was Sam Yorty, four years removed from a disastrous response to the Watts riots.

Bradley placed first in the primary and seemed a shoo-in to become L.A.’s first Black mayor in an era when cities across the country were also electing Black mayors.

Councilman Tom Bradley, right, and Mayor Sam Yorty debate in Tarzana in May 1973.

(Los Angeles Times)

So Yorty — a former New Dealer turned conservative Democrat — chose the only path to victory. He claimed that “left-wing radicals” who supported the arriviste were salivating to “take over your city.” The nattering negativity worked: He easily beat Bradley.

History doesn’t repeat itself, the adage goes, but it always rhymes.

One factor boosting Bass’ fortunes: Backers of conservative reality TV star Spencer Pratt, who finished third in the June primary, are trending toward the mayor they loathe, apparently because they hate Raman even more.

Part of Raman’s fall is self-inflicted. She lost her momentum with an October of unforced errors, from awkward television interviews to inadvertently praising the late LAPD Chief Daryl Gates, whose name is still synonymous with Lucifer across swaths of the city.

You know you’re having a bad month when you think it’s wise to yell, “Only you can stop fascist liars!” in unison with a progressive influencer, only to walk it back after realizing the influencer had superimposed an image of your opponent on his video.

Councilmember Nithya Raman celebrates advancing to the general election with mayoral campaign volunteers and supporters at Lawless Brewing Co. on June 13.

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

But don’t discount how Bass’ camp decided to frame the race. Facing voters who just don’t like their candidate, they long ago stopped focusing on how she would govern the city better in a second term and doubled down on attacking Raman anywhere and everywhere. That strategy owes as much to Yorty’s win as the Beats did to Walt Whitman.

Raman’s colleagues on the City Council have trashed her like bullies out of a boarding school novel.Videos and fliers of homeless encampments blooming across L.A. under a Raman regime are reminiscent of Yorty campaign ads featuring Bradley and the caption, “Will Your City Be Safe With This Man?”

Bass — whose usual sunny disposition I’ve always found a tonic in the toxic world of politics — lashed into Raman during their final debate, offering no real platform and little defense of her record, preferring instead to paint an L.A. collapsing without her in charge.

“Now is not the time,” she said at one point, “to turn the city over to Nithya Raman.”

Then when, Karen?

L.A. Mayor Sam Yorty in 1971.

(Los Angeles Times)

The comparison to 1969 isn’t apples to apples, of course. The city’s demographics are vastly different, its politics nowhere near as conservative. L.A.’s first female Black mayor would never throw racist slurs at Raman, although Bass and her team continue to point out that the India-born council member has lived in L.A. for only 13 years and thus doesn’t understand the place — a page from Yorty’s troll-tastic playbook.

I don’t like Bass’ tactics, but I get it. When you have nothing to run on but your failures, you have to go nasty against a rival who offers a different vision for the city — because fearmongering works when Angelenos know change is on the way but are skittish about what’s next. It happened in 1969, it happened in 2001 when James Hahn beat Antonio Villaraigosa, and it seems to be happening this time around.

We’ll see what election day brings, but Raman can take solace in history if she loses.

Bradley lost his first mayoral campaign but easily won his rematch against Yorty in 1973, after voters realized the status quo was going to remain the status quo. Villaraigosa, too, eventually became mayor.

“Nothing is as powerful as an idea whose time has come,” goes another cliché of history.

Bass might very well cling to her position, but Angelenos still yearn for a visionary to pick them back up from four years of despair under her. They know she’s not it.

Let’s hope she doesn’t become like Yorty in his last term, complaining about haters being unfair and fending off the rebels she can only keep away for so long.

The tune of “Famous Last Words” reverberates throughout the Immanuel Presbyterian Church, a high-ceiling Gothic structure in Koreatown, on a rainy October morning.

The anthemic, life-affirming final track from My Chemical Romance’s 2006 album “The Black Parade” has taken on a new sound here. It’s being played on the church’s organ. Mallory Haney, the musician at the keys, also plays “Disenchanted “ and “Mama,” other songs from the same album celebrating its 20th anniversary, throughout the morning.

What connects this place of worship to a band known for its macabre aesthetic, however, is its music video for the song “Helena” from the album “Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge.”

Filmed here in 2005, the video sees frontman Gerard Way belt the sorrowful lyrics at the front of church with his bandmates and a group of dancers around him. Behind them is a black casket with the body of the eponymous Helena.

My Chemical Romance fans including Charlotte Calvert of Pensacola, Fla., top, attend Ghouls’ Day Out.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

She eventually rises from the dead and dances her way through the congregation.

Now in 2026, several men wearing all black with red ties, like Way does in the music video directed by Marc Webb, trickle in as soon as the doors open. Later, a young woman in a black dress, mimicking what Helena wears on screen, makes an entrance and heads straight to the front to take photos with the casket and flower arrangements that re-create the scene.

“Helena: An Immersive Tribute,” as this experience is dubbed, also features multiple photo ops around the church’s premises that reference the band’s emblematic art (including a statue of Pepe, the marching skeleton on the cover of “The Black Parade” album).

Behind this fan-focused event are Sam Gomez and Kimmy Perez, a Mexican American married couple who make a living putting on pop culture-inspired events, and, in the case of Perez, selling her art under the brand SpooksieBoo at conventions around the country.

My Chemical Romance fans including Benji Godinez, left, and Jennifer Campos, both of Los Angeles, attend Ghouls’ Day Out at Immanuel Presbyterian Church in Los Angeles.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

The festivities at the church will conclude Saturday with a larger event called Ghouls’ Day Out, featuring the same displays inside the space, plus food vendors, an artist market and a My Chemical Romance cover band, Sweet Revenge, out back for attendees to enjoy.

“We’re doing everything we can to give fans the best My Chem experience short of seeing the actual band,” Gomez says during a recent video call.

“I’ve heard some call it MCR Con, which that’s literally what it is!” Perez adds laughing:

Gomez and Perez held the first Ghouls’ Day Out in May 2021, making it an annual staple for My Chemical Romance fans. On top of the May event, this year they decided to bring it back in October to coincide with the band’s series of concerts at the Hollywood Bowl.

Their relationship with Immanuel Presbyterian Church started when its operations manager, Niambi Rendon, attended one of the pop-up events they organize throughout Southern California.

My Chemical Romance fan Cecilia Calvert of Alamogordo, N.M., is overcome with emotion while attending Ghouls’ Day Out.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

Struggling financially, the church sought new partnerships to raise funds. In fact, part of the proceeds from the “Helena” tribute and Ghouls’ Day Out goes to help the church’s food pantry.

But though it wants to take advantage of the My Chemical Romance connection, the church has one key rule: Nothing on display can cross the threshold from “spooky” to “satanic.”

A little blood is fine, Gomez says, but nothing too gruesome. “The most important thing is nothing that’s going to either make fun of or cast a shadow on the clergy. We’ve had many cosplayers that want to come as an evil priest or evil nun. We can’t have that,” Gomez says.

Now in its seventh edition (since 2026 had twice the festivities), the event’s popularity has grown, bringing fans from across the country and even international visitors.

MCR fans including Jenelle Smith, left, and Joanna Glezakos, both of Toronto, attend Ghouls’ Day Out.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

Megan Rose, 33, traveled from rural Virginia to Los Angeles with her partner to attend one of the shows. Looking for other My Chemical Romance-related activities to do while in the city, she learned about the “Helena” tribute on social media.

“The architecture is beautiful and I’ve been having as much fun looking at the church as I have the fandom set up and I think they’ve done a very good job with all the props,” she says.

Mayela González, 41, came all the way from Monterrey, Mexico. A fan of the band since her teenage years, she was in disbelief stepping into a location she’d seen countless times on screen. “I hope the band keeps going, and they don’t stop after this tour,” says González. “I hope they release a new album and keep on performing live.”

“The event has just grown over the years as we allow fans to tell us what they want it to be,” Gomez says. “And over the years, the feedback has been, ‘More MCR theming.’” Gomez and Perez take that commitment to fan satisfaction seriously.

Tracy Phillips who portrays the titular “Helena” poses with a young MCR fan at Ghouls’ Day Out.

(Jonathan Garcia)

“We found the company, which is still in L.A., that made the ‘Helena’ casket that’s in a music video and they said, ‘We can make you an exact replica,’” adds Gomez.

More importan, they also have the real Helena on site. Tracy Phillips, the actor and dancer who played the title role in the music video, takes photos with fans. She made her first Ghouls’ Day appearance in 2025.

“Outside of the church I’m no one, and then I walk into the church in this makeup and dress and people are crying,” says Phillips with a smile. “It’s kind of a bizarre juxtaposition of people knowing me and people not knowing me at all.”

The church is the site where My Chemical Romance filmed its music video for its 2005 hit song, “Helena.”

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

Post-Helena, Phillips worked with the band once more as an assistant choreographer on the “Teenagers” music video. That was nearly 20 years ago. Earlier this month it hired her again after all this time so she could choreograph 20 dancers in three numbers for the Long Live the Black Parade shows at the Hollywood Bowl.

“I was fortunate to get to work with them again,” Phillips says. “They’re all such kind people. Gerard is so kind and brilliant and it was really fun to get to circle back around. It felt like this full-circle moment in a different capacity.”

In the past, the band had posted about Ghouls’ Day Out on its official Instagram account, which led Gomez and Perez to believe at least someone in its team was aware of their event.

My Chemical Romance fans including Savannah Monrreal of Inglewood attend Ghouls Day Out.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

This time around, the band sent them an official “The Black Parade” flag, following its first night at the Bowl, that they now have on display at the church as one of the photo-ops.

Ghouls’ Day Out has generated new opportunities for the church, which hopefully means Gomez and Perez will be welcomed back for years to come.

“Now that the church is known in the My Chemical Romance community, they’ve had people go to them saying, ‘I want to have my wedding there,’” adds Gomez with a joyful grin.

“Night Watch” has an easy hook, starting with its setting. The immersive monster show is staged inside an ominous white van.

Yes, a real van. It’s creepy, and pulls equal inspiration from immersive theater, video games, escape rooms and environmental design. At a little over 30 minutes or so, it’s refreshingly approachable, a bite-sized slice of interactive, participatory theater that lingered with me long after I saw it. And not just because there were moments that startled me. “Night Watch,” like any good monster story, has metaphors on its mind.

“Night Watch” is the creation of Sara Biel and KJ Knies, a husband-and-wife creative team with day jobs working for a themed entertainment design firm. On their own, however, they go by Bee’s Knees. There’s buzz around “Night Watch.” Its initial October dates sold out nearly instantly, but the couple is extending the run at least into mid-November. Additional tickets will go on sale Wednesday at 9 p.m., and those interested are advised to join the waitlist.

The couple’s experience in theme park design is evident in “Night Watch,” as its small cargo van is ripe for exploration, with TVs, monitors, filing cabinets and more outfitted with vintage tech and lore-building corporate paraphernalia. Before the show properly began, I started frantically combing through folders and flipping through notebooks.

KJ Knies and Sara Biel are the creators of “Night Watch,” an immersive horror story set in a van.

(Bee’s Knees)

Yet I soon learned my goal here was not so much to find clues, like in a typical escape room, but to build a personality profile. Participants are assigned the role of an overnight security guard to monitor a mysterious tech firm. You’re unaware, at least at the start, of what kind of business the company is in, but “Night Watch” wants you to get to know the person who held the job before you. The van is outfitted with posters of national parks, hinting at someone who was longing for a life with more freedom and travel than a working-class career provides.

“Night Watch,” off the bat, wants us to grapple with how personal dreams can clash — or become lost — with the corporate world. It feels personal, and that’s no accident, says Biel, as the show was informed by the couple’s own talks about their future.

Throughout “Night Watch,” attendees are tasked with examining security footage.

(Bee’s Knees)

“I moved to L.A. to become a writer. KJ moved to L.A. to become a filmmaker,” Biel says. “Now we’re on this different corporate path. Is this the path that we should be on or should we have listened to our gut and went a more artistic direction? I feel like all of our friends are going through this. You move to this city to do one thing, and you fall into a different path. That’s not bad. I’m of the opinion that you follow the doors that open as you go, but that’s what we were grappling with and what we wanted to bring into this show.”

With monsters, of course.

I completed “Night Watch” solo, but the show can accommodate up to four people (tickets for two start at $90). You’ll interact with an actor who plays your co-worker during the production, primarily via a two-way radio. At times, you’ll monitor the action outside of the van. Other moments have you digging into the digital files of the previous security guard, who is said to have mysteriously left his job. But mostly you’ll just talk with your unseen co-worker, who might push you into philosophical discussions about your hopes for a better life. This creates an inherent tension in “Night Watch.” You might know on one level that this is a monster story, and yet like me, find yourself opening up about personal details, trying to manifest a better day for yourself.

Details inside the van.

(Bee’s Knees)

With “Night Watch’s” emphasis on security footage and old computer logs, Knies says he was influenced by full-motion video games, citing the work of Sam Barlow and his voyeuristic crime game “Her Story.” It isn’t hard to see the show as a thinly veiled statement about our current tech-obsessed era, with each day bringing with it seemingly fresh announcements about some new site, social media add-on, gadget or AI tool that promises to improve our lives (but rarely, if ever, does). There’s a moment when you start to wonder if the business you’re providing security for is actually one of the “good guys.”

The project’s story, says Knies, began with a simple sketch from Biel: “The first idea that Sara pitched me was a monster sucking souls and pooping gold.” It spiraled from there, and the last half of “Night Watch” comes quick as we unravel its multiple mysteries. And that’s where the frights, heightened by the intimacy of the van, come in.

“We really wanted to play with having a confined space that we could manipulate to our advantage,” Biel says. “We wanted to play with the effects of moving the van and shaking the van and closing off your viewpoint.”

The confined venue — a dimly lit storage van — helps participants narrow in on the mission.

(Bee’s Knees)

The van has other benefits, too, especially in L.A. where it’s hard to find a unique venue for a limited-run show. “The cheapest and easiest places you can get are white walls with tile floor, but then you’re going to spend so much money decking that out to make it feel like a lived-in space,” Knies says.

“Night Watch” is currently staged outside of Hatch Escapes, home to some of the city’s finest escape rooms, in Arlington Heights. Biel says the two are talking to Hatch about hosting the show there long-term, but there is one hitch. The van is a rental, and at some point it will need to be returned.

“Don’t tell Enterprise that we painted on their walls,” Knies says.

This week in SoCal theme parks

An audio-animatronic Indiana Jones figure hangs above guests on Disneyland’s Indiana Jones Adventure.

(Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)

• Indiana Jones is adventuring again. Disneyland’s popular Indiana Jones Adventure reopened after a six-week refurbishment on Friday with a number of changes. Most of them will be invisible to guests, but Disneyland engineers worked behind-the-scenes to make the attraction more reliable and found ways to increase its capacity. They also added some spiders. Read all the details here from my walk-through of the attraction last week.
• A bookstore for us immersive, theme park geeks. Coming next year to Los Angeles, near the corner of Melrose and Fairfax avenues, is Genres Book Society, boasting a design led by former Walt Disney Imagineer Ann Morrow Johnson. Genres is part bookshop, part speakeasy and part immersive venue. There’s a dragon, a secret bar and a tree with glowing books. Read more about this bookshop dreamed up by Clare Grant and Karissa Marston here.
• Nikki, meet Nikki. One of my highlights of this year’s Halloween Horror Nights at Universal Studios Hollywood was interacting with a scare actor playing the role of Nikki from the film “Obsession.” The other week, the actor who initiated the role in the movie, Inde Navarrette, visited the horror event and had her own dalliance with one of the park’s Nikki performers.
• Still need Halloween plans? The doors of downtown’s Clifton’s, a venue some say inspired Walt Disney (although this isn’t really confirmed by any official sources), will be open for an immersive theater dinner show. Expect roving actors, multiple storylines to follow and an otherworldly wedding that may or may not involve monsters. The current operators of the historic space have big plans for programming similar such events throughout the holiday season. “The Dark Wedding” runs Friday through Sunday, and tickets start at $65.

A farewell to Halloween season (but mostly just to Cars Land’s zombie car)

A mostly deceased “zombie car” struggles to come to life at Cars Land in Disney California Adventure.

(Todd Martens / Los Angeles Times)

The first Oogie Boogie Bash at Disney California Adventure was held this year on Aug. 18, which means Halloween season is coming to a close after a 2½-month celebration. Our local theme parks will be wrapping up Halloween festivities this weekend, and it was a good one. Universal Studios Hollywood shined with a “Sinners”-inspired maze, but the star of the event was its dedication to Ozzy Osbourne. And Knott’s Berry Farm was wise to partner with the Magic Castle.

But in terms of pure decor, the Disneyland Resort has everyone beat, and I wanted to take a moment to salute my favorite Halloween adornment. I was initially nervous, as when the resort debuted its Halloween look in August the zombie automobile in Cars Land was missing. I make a beeline to it each season because it’s such a demented tale that I want to make sure it hasn’t left the park. This mostly dead skeleton car sits outside Radiator Springs Curios, owned by the character of Lizzie. Lizzie is a widow, lovesick at the loss of her husband Stanley.

The shop was under refurbishment earlier in the season, hence the reason for the zombie car’s late arrival, but I was relieved when it finally materialized a couple weeks ago, its body trying to emerge from the ground from under a tree. It’s a morbid story. Lizzie, see, has created a “ghoul-ant” (coolant, get it?) in the hopes of bringing dead cars back to life. She wants to use it on Stanley, but not until its perfected. It’s not. This mostly lifeless car struggles every few seconds to get its engine going. Occasionally, it musters enough strength to get the radio powered on. But it’s mostly just trapped in a near-dead state.

This zombie car is nothing more than the result of a failed experiment, and the implication is there will be more, as Lizzie will not stop until she’s reunited with Stanley. It’s more than a little sick, but also a statement about the way a lost love can forever haunt us. In that sense, it’s perfect, and I adore it. See you, hopefully, next year, zombie car.

The best thing I ate at the parks this week

The short rib lasagna from the Hearthstone Lounge.

(Todd Martens / Los Angeles Times)

With the heat briefly lifting a little bit ago, it was time to revisit my favorite dish at the Disneyland Resort. It’s heavy, hence the reason I was eager to tackle it when things cooled down. I’ve ordered the short rib lasagna from the Grand Californian’s Hearthstone Lounge three or four times over the past year, and I’m now convinced it’s among the best items on the menu at any restaurant at the resort, including the high-end fine dining establishment Napa Rose. It’s that good. And yes, it’s pricey at $42, but it’s a large portion and could easily be split. In fact, I wish I had done the latter, but I was at the park solo and had to immediately end my night after feasting on this decadent dish because I was simply too full to continue exploring. The tender short rib easily peels apart with a fork, and it’s plentiful. A trio of cheeses, and a heavily creamy Bechamel sauce, coupled with a buttery Mascarpone, make this the perfect winter dish. I’ll be at Disneyland on Thanksgiving, and am half thinking of making this my holiday meal rather than turkey.

Tell us your stories. Ask us your questions.

Have a theme park tale to share? Whether it was a good day or less-than-perfect day, I would love to hear about it. Have a question? A tip? A fun photo from the parks to share? Email me at todd.martens@latimes.com. I may feature your note in an upcoming newsletter.

Ride on,

Todd Martens

P.S.

Morning crowds at Disneyland just after park opening, known as “rope drop.”

(Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)

Late breaking theme park news arrived Tuesday morning courtesy of trade group the Themed Entertainment Assn., which released its 2025 global attendance report. The news for the theme park sector is … mixed? Here in SoCal, attendance at Disneyland Park and Disney California Adventure increased ever-so-slightly, at 0.4% each. Disneyland drew 17.4 million in 2025, making it once again the second most-visited park in the world, behind only Walt Disney World’s Magic Kingdom. Just over 10 million visitors took in California Adventure.

Universal Studios Hollywood fared less great, suffering an attendance dip of 8%. The report attributes the downtown to our devastating wildfires early in the year, as well as a decline in international tourism to the region. It’s worth noting that the park in 2023 opened Super Nintendo World, and it’s newness may have worn off a bit for local visits last year. Overall, the park drew 8 million guests.

Also suffering declines in attendance were Knott’s Berry Farm and Six Flags’ Magic Mountain, each dipping about 4%. Knott’s drew 4.3 million attendees while the Valencia park brought in 3.2 million visitors.

—

This newsletter is free thanks to the support of L.A. Times subscribers. If you’re not yet a subscriber, explore subscription packages to unlock unlimited digital access and support award-winning local reporting.

Was this newsletter forwarded to you? Sign up here to get it in your inbox.

It was less than a month before the Nov. 3 election when Los Angeles city attorney front-runner Marissa Roy realized she’d missed her lucky manicure.

A deputy attorney general in the California Department of Justice, she had scarcely slept since her team clinched its historic $17-billion settlement with Meta in August. She’d been canvassing hundreds of voters and sounding out scores of deputy city attorneys in her bid to transform the troubled office where she’d launched her career in 2017 into the “largest public interest law firm” in L.A.

Between filming TikTok spots and prepping for formal debates, Roy has been fine-tuning her plans to avenge exploited tenants and claw back stolen wages, tame runaway civil liability, protect victims of child abuse and domestic violence, and join other elected attorneys in lawsuits against the Trump administration.

Nails didn’t make the cut.

“There’s just been too much to do,” Roy said of the chrome gel ritual she inaugurated as a volunteer for Eunisses Hernandez in 2022.

Marissa Roy outside L.A. City Hall. “I wanted the slogan ‘let’s sue it’ — that was violently nixed,” she said of her campaign.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Seen one way, Roy’s talismanic manicure is an object lesson for her fiercest critics: all flash and no substance, evidence the 34-year-old lacks the “gravitas” to be among the state’s most powerful elected lawyers.

But like the iridescent glitter in her campaign-matched chrome polish, the meaning shifts with the viewer’s perspective.

To supporters on the city’s restive left and the clique of California city attorneys eager to add Roy to their group chat, it’s a winking show of solidarity burnished through years of knocking on doors for fellow up-and-coming progressives. It was metallic blue for Hernandez, silver for Ysabel Jurado and ultraviolet for her own historic primary upset in June. Her backers see fierce loyalty reflected in the polish, a ritual she started while hunting salon wage thieves to sue.

“I wanted the slogan ‘let’s sue it’ — that was violently nixed,” Roy said of her campaign.

With her Democratic Socialists of America sass, bright amethyst blazers and Bollywood needle drops on Instagram, the lifelong Angeleno cuts a stark contrast to her rival, Deputy Dist. Atty. John McKinney, 58, who leapfrogged to a second-place finish in the primaries amid a stoic, law-and-order campaign that sometimes slipped into Spencer Pratt-style dystopian imagery.

McKinney’s boosters point to his extraordinary biography — from penniless orphan to director of special prosecutions in the country’s largest district attorney’s office — and celebrated courtroom prowess as evidence he is better suited to handle the 120,000 violations referred to the city attorney for potential charges every year.

“John has the experience, stature, reputation, and gravitas to do the job and will be both effective and respected,” said former Los Angeles City Atty. Burt Pines. “I do not have the same confidence in her.”

Campaign materials for the Los Angeles city attorney candidate at a canvassing event in Silverlake.

(Gary Coronado / For The Times)

Roy’s allies counter that prosecuting misdemeanors is only a third of the city attorney’s job — and typically the less complex part. Whereas McKinney has never worked a civil case, Roy has managed multicity litigation and shares the credit for legal victories no attorney could secure alone. In the Meta case, Roy and her team had argued that the social media giant had intentionally designed its products to hook young children and repeatedly misled the public about known risks.

“She was one of the original four team members in California that stayed up until 2 a.m. filing the [Meta] complaint,” said California Atty. Gen. Rob Bonta. “She helped develop our legal strategy, particularly our deception theory, which was our core theory of legal liability for the case.”

Similarly, while McKinney’s camp paints a lawman of singular personal ability, Roy supporters describe her as brilliant, driven, and eager to lift the best and brightest around her.

“She is tenacious and works around the clock,” said San Francisco City Atty. David Chiu.

She’s also infamously bubbly: When a canvasser door-knocked 9th Circuit Judge Richard Paez, for whom Roy had clerked, he reportedly asked the volunteer to give her a hug.

“She has a natural enthusiasm about her that is infectious,” said Mark Ramos, chair of Los Angeles County Democratic Party. “She’s [always] shown up, and showing up matters.”

Which matters more — individual virtue or collaborative ingenuity — now in effect divides the race for the most abstruse job in local politics: Four of L.A’s former city attorneys have endorsed McKinney, while California’s current top elected lawyers have largely lined up behind Roy.

A head-to-head match with McKinney was not what Roy envisioned last year when she launched her campaign to unseat the incumbent city attorney, Hydee Feldstein Soto. After charming L.A.’s major power brokers, she had hoped to win the primary outright and avoid a runoff so she could focus exclusively on the Meta trial in August.

“I had been planning for things to end in June,” she said.

Feldstein Soto was bogged down by scandal and soaring civil liability costs for the city. She also faced criticism for ducking challenges to President Trump’s policies, including the deployment of military troops to Los Angeles last year, a fight the city joined but did not lead.

By early spring, Roy had racked up endorsements from the state’s legal elites and leftist kingmaker Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.). She earned the imprimatur of the city’s powerful Democratic clubs and its influential labor unions, while enjoying widespread support from a democratic socialist base.

Marissa Roy, left, candidate for Los Angeles city attorney, and Alyssa Acevedo, with Service Employees International Union canvass in Silverlake.

(Gary Coronado / For The Times)

L.A. voters want “the transformational leadership that they’re seeing in [New York Mayor Zohran] Mamdani, and also in Mayor [Daniel] Lurie in San Francisco,” said L.A. County Supervisor Lindsey Horvath, a longtime friend of Roy’s and among her earliest endorsers. “Angelenos are increasingly impatient in wanting to see that change come to their city, too.”

Then, in April, Feldstein Soto slipped from unpopular to politically radioactive after hackers stole thousands of LAPD files from her office. That inspired a late-breaking police union endorsement and a surge of corporate cash for McKinney, boosting him to a second-place finish and knocking out Feldstein Soto in a historic rout.

McKinney touts the city attorney’s prosecutor role as a means to stem quality-of-life crimes and curb homelessness. Roy has promised to keep more Angelenos housed and protect their livelihoods through “affirmative litigation” — suits brought against slumlords and exploitative corporations under the state’s Unfair Competition Law.

“When you file these suits, you have complete discretion,” said Pines, the former city attorney who successfully lobbied the state to extend Los Angeles that power in 1977 and watched in dismay as Feldstein Soto left it to whither.

In recent years, affirmative litigation has become an essential tool for defending against punitive federal policy and recovering public funds, Pines and others said.

Seeing the San Francisco city attorney’s office sue to overturn California’s ban on gay marriage — a law that would have stymied her gay younger brother — inspired Roy to give up her elementary school dream of decoding ancient texts to pursue the law.

“Childhood Marissa spent recesses in the library buried in books about ancient Egypt,” Roy said. “It was San Francisco suing — that was when I began to become aware of the power of lawyers.”

Unlike her opponent, Roy grew up comfortably in Monrovia, largely shielded from the sacrifices her family made to afford her an elite education. The daughter of an Indian immigrant mother and a white American father, she graduated from Flintridge Prep and attended University of Southern California on scholarship.

While studying law at Yale, she interned in the affirmative litigation department in the San Francisco city attorney’s office — a program Chiu lauded as “an essential training ground for the next generation of government lawyers” in a recent law review article.

Roy and her supporters say those early experiences cemented her commitment to teamwork, which is central to the less glamorous, more costly side of the city attorney’s job: serving as general counsel for myriad city agencies and legal advisor to City Hall.

“There’s absolutely more collaboration and it’s more significant given the things we’re up against,” said San Diego City Atty. Heather Ferbert, a close ally of Roy’s.

John McKinney, a Los Angeles County prosecutor running against Marissa Roy to become L.A. city attorney, speaks during a news conference on May 5, 2026.

(Kayla Bartkowski/Los Angeles Times)

Ferbert and others pointed to a surge in lawsuits against municipalities over everything from sidewalk trip-and-falls to police misconduct — cases that can lead to seven- or eight-figure payouts.

“If it’s not extremely unusual, it doesn’t make it to the city attorney’s desk,” said Oakland City Atty. Ryan Richardson, who endorsed Roy.

As a deputy city attorney, Roy spearheaded a trio of major wage-theft suits just a month after she was admitted to the bar. Independent expenditure groups supporting McKinney spent more than $350,000 trying to strip her of that title because she was paid by a nonprofit — an common arrangement employed by government law offices across the U.S. — while the city attorney’s office itself gave her permission to use it, and lists her as such in its court filings.

McKinney has since sought to paint Roy as the second coming of George Gascón, the polarizing district attorney who was drubbed in 2024 — a move that assumes most voters are still thinking about Gascón, or are likely to see the graying “godfather of progressive prosecutors” in a raven-haired deputy attorney general.

“The only way you disprove that is by putting your head down and doing the work 10 times harder,” Roy said. “Voters are smarter than that. People in the coalition see these tactics and are tired of them too.”

With three weeks left to go until election day and polls showing her on the brink of losing, Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass has begun to channel the Sun King himself, Louis XIV:

L’État, c’est moi.

Gaslighting voters by insisting the political establishment that has left Los Angeles a mess and that she personifies is worth keeping in office for four more years is her only hope for victory. It’s a wild strategy that reached a crescendo during Tuesday night’s debate, as Bass kept bringing up the fact that L.A.’s ancien régime just doesn’t like her democratic socialist opponent, Nithya Raman.

“Your colleagues have a very difficult time working with you,” Bass snapped at one point, later claiming that Raman’s constituents don’t care for her even though the council member won reelection two years ago. The mayor twice bragged that immigrant rights groups support her; twice referenced Imelda Padilla, the moderate San Fernando Valley council member whose internet dragging of Raman has been out of the Burn Book from “Mean Girls”; and described her opponent as “not ready for prime time.”

Well, the way the mayor’s term has gone in the last couple of years, if it was a prime-time TV show, it might be called “Breaking Bad 2.” And it wouldn’t exactly be a hit.

If it were, two-thirds of Angelenos wouldn’t have decided to vote for anyone but Bass in the primary.

Bass arguably won the debate Tuesday night, but it felt like the technical “victory” — and that’s probably the wrong word — of a politician who is simply more polished. The mayor really needed a knockout punch, and that she did not achieve.

Instead, she in effect told voters that the last four years of disasters, inefficiencies and ineptitude are still a better option than taking a chance on the City Hall equivalent of the classroom dork.

Yet people are so angry at Bass and what she represents that a democratic socialist has a great shot at becoming L.A.’s next mayor — an unthinkable prospect even last year, with no one to blame but the ruling class that has left this great city hobbled, cynical and at the point of giving up.

So the establishment doesn’t like Raman: So what? And: Boo-hoo.

Casting Raman as a political leper while asserting that Bass represents stability and good times ahead isn’t the winning strategy that Bass and Raman’s critics think it is. It’s really just a sad coda for Bass.

She’s been a good soldier for L.A., someone who has participated in nearly every progressive movement to pass through Southern California since volunteering for Robert F. Kennedy’s presidential campaign as a teenager nearly 60 years ago. Even as Bass embarked on a 22-year political career that has seen stops in Sacramento, Washington and City Hall, the native Angeleno always successfully depicted herself as a political outsider.

Because she was: a Black woman in a realm not meant for people like her. She was someone who co-founded a pioneering nonprofit in the crucible of a changing South L.A. in the 1990s and always seemed to land on the right side of history until becoming mayor in 2022.

Sadly, Bass didn’t turn out to be the visionary L.A. desperately needed.

Mayor Karen Bass, left, sits for Tuesday’s debate with Councilmember Nithya Raman, right. Between them are NBC4 reporter Conan Nolan, NBC4 News anchor Colleen Williams and Telemundo 52 anchor Alejandra Ortiz.

(Eric Thayer / Los Angeles Times)

Like so many baby boomers, Bass eventually became The Man without realizing it. Today, she not only stands as the figurehead of the city’s liberal potentates, but she’s also calling on them to rally around one of their own — and they have responded in kind. Democratic politicians, bureaucrats and labor leaders, once rabble-rousers like Bass who nowadays seem to exist mostly to keep their sinecure, have labored mightily to convince unbelieving voters that Bass deserves another shot.

That’s always been the marvel of L.A.’s political establishment. It can take someone like Bass, once considered so radical that her days visiting communist Cuba in the 1970s torpedoed her chances of becoming then-presidential candidate Joe Biden’s running mate in 2020, and transform her into an anodyne incumbent. It can make democratic socialists like Councilmembers Eunisses Hernandez, Ysabel Jurado and Hugo Soto-Martínez — people who explicitly ran to take on a sclerotic City Hall — full-throated Bass supporters who have refused to support one of their own in Raman.

Raman was also becoming part of L.A.’s political chosen ones, to the point she initially endorsed Bass. But she now embraces her turn as the machine’s biggest sellout — whether it’s a true change of heart or a chameleonic self-serving measure, as critics maintain, remains to be seen. It was Raman who said at the end of the debate, “When the mayor is confronted with issues, she blames the system. With your support, we can actually change the system” — catnip to enough Angelenos that Raman seems to be at the cusp of victory and a monumental upset.

After the debate, NBC reporter Robert Kovacic interviewed elected officials to let them hype up Bass or Raman. The latter’s proxy was City Controller Kenneth Mejia, another person loathed by L.A.’s political know-it-alls because he keeps bucking the establishment. Mejia gushed about how Raman “destroyed” Bass with the enthusiasm of a Swiftie.

Bass’ supporters were Councilmember Monica Rodriguez and Assemblymember Rick Chavez Zbur, both of whom gravely parroted their candidate’s warnings about just how dangerous a Raman mayoralty would be. Chavez Zbur reduced Raman’s not-bad performance to a “host of complaints” — ironic, because most of Bass’ night was spent bashing Raman instead of offering much of anything positive.

Rodriguez, meanwhile, told Kovacic that voters shouldn’t choose Raman because “we can’t afford that level of indecisive leadership.”

I rolled my eyes when Rodriguez — whose office declined a chance for her to sit down with me to talk up why Latinos should support Bass — said that.

She’s part of the fabled eastern San Fernando Valley Latino political machine, another group of former gatecrashers who assumed the trappings and stylings of the old guard once they assumed power. Rodriguez long blasted Bass with the same venom she reserved for Raman until the latter mounted her challenge — but now that Rodriguez’s power is under threat, she’s all of a sudden decided to become Bass’ ride-or-die?

Moves like that remind me of another French monarch, Louis XV. “After me, the deluge,” he is supposed to have said, a warning of what would happen once his reign ended.

If Bass’ vow to rule the same as before represents a decisive leader, more and more Angelenos seem to be saying, give us the Raman flood.

Besides, nobody ever said, nor ever put on a campaign sticker, “The establishment? It’s cool!”

Halfway through her very sold-out concert Tuesday night at the Greek Theatre, Ella Langley pulled up a stool near the front of the stage and told us she wanted to “be kind of normal for a second, if that’s all right witcha.”

Life has been pretty un-normal lately for the 27-year-old country singer from small-town Alabama, whose smash “Choosin’ Texas” set a new record last month for the longest stay of all time atop Billboard’s Hot 100. The chart achievement only bolstered talk that Langley is due to clean up when Grammy Award nominations are announced next month — welcome chatter, no doubt, for a striver who grew up, as she said at the Greek, determined to get exactly where she’s gotten.

Yet Langley’s success has brought with it some darkness, including accusations from armchair experts on social media that “Choosin’ Texas” — a monster hit that people keep saying they’ve never heard — owes its impressive stats to an act of record-biz chicanery. More ominously, Langley called off a concert in Oklahoma last week due to what she called a “serious security threat.”

Then former Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem got involved in Langley’s business when she tried in a tweet to pit the singer against Kacey Musgraves after Musgraves hosted the Senate hopeful James Talarico at a show in Dallas. (Langley, who’s been circumspect about voicing her political opinions, appeared to un-tag herself from Noem’s post, which is objectively hilarious.)

So you could empathize with Langley — empathize more than with other country singers longing for the good ol’ days — as she straightened up on that stool to do “Somethin’ Simple,” a winsome ditty from this year’s double-platinum “Dandelion” LP. “While I’m living the dream,” she sang, “all I’m dreaming about is slowing down just a little.”

This acoustic section of Tuesday’s gig, the first of two at the Greek, was by far the best part of the night; Langley also brought out her two openers for a pair of stripped-down duets in “Dreams,” the deathless Fleetwood Mac classic, which she sang with Laci Kaye Booth, and “Strangers,” her soulful power ballad with Kameron Marlowe, who gladly disregarded that unspoken rule about not showing up the headliner who hired you.

Loose, chatty, surrounded by friends and bandmates, Langley here was just a musician playing music; I can’t say whether she attained the normalcy she said she was looking for, though I’d buy that this is more or less what she gets up to on the back porch she sings about missing in “Somethin’ Simple.”

The problem with the rest of the concert — the parts with the lights and the videos and the goofy stage business involving a guy with a keytar and a cigarette — was that it demanded a level of star power that Langley simply doesn’t possess (or anyway isn’t interested in deploying).

On record, she summons a coolly detached quality that plays intriguingly against arrangements lush with romantic pedal steel; there’s something hard to pin down about the emotion of tunes like “Be Her” and “Choosin’ Texas,” in which the narrator sounds almost alienated from her own heartbreak.

If somebody wants to make a case that Langley’s beautifully dead-eyed love songs represent the purest embodiment of Gen Z’s post-pandemic social dysfunction — well, I’m all ears. (Great look too: very Linda Ronstadt meets Stevie Nicks.)

But onstage the lack of affect just felt flat, not least when she’d dole out the kind of canned banter between songs that would make anyone resent the mechanics of stardom. The performance posed an interesting question: How much (or how little) charisma is required to support a branding infrastructure as robust as Langley’s? At the Greek there were ads for her jeans and her sunglasses and her energy drink, and there were more merch stands than I’ve ever seen at the venue. Every one of them was jammed.

Ali: The stakes are high for both contenders, yet I wonder how many Angelenos will be watching.

It’s surprising the number of otherwise politically aware folks who had no idea the debate was taking place tonight until I mentioned it. Then they were irked to find it airing on network TV: “Who still has cable?!” Apparently, venturing onto Telemundo or NBC’s live feed is a bridge too far. But it shouldn’t be.

Raman is still a mystery to many, even though she’s polling ahead. Tonight, she needs to definitively show who she is beyond The Candidate Who Is Not Karen Bass. Bass has to defend her record, of course, but also contend with the electorate’s insatiable need for change — even if they know very little about what that change may bring.

As for the rest of us? Tune in! The future of L.A. requires your attention.

Lopez: Picking up on Gustavo’s framing of the debate as Round 3, we’re talking about two pugilists who used to fight for the same club, more or less, and now enter the ring looking to take each other out. So it’s personal, and could indeed get nasty.

Raman’s job in the debate is a little easier, in some ways. Though I don’t put much stock in polls, she’s ahead on points by virtue of Bass’ high negative rating alone. And yet, think of the pressure on Raman to seal the deal.

If the challenger doesn’t prevail tonight and go on to win the election next month, she could be setting herself up for a lonely political future, having alienated more than a few former allies in her quest to evict the mayor from City Hall.

For Bass, the stakes are just as high. A 21-year political career is on the line.

I hope that along with the punches and counter-punches, we get some inspiration, too, and a workable game plan for making a great but troubled city a better place to call home, even if the Dodgers end up breaking our hearts.

Arellano: Will the Third Bass-Raman debate be a classic — or a dud?

Ali-Frazier. Morales-Barrera. Liddell-Couture. Trilogies are hallowed in the worlds of boxing and mixed-martial arts as case studies of evenly matched rivals to wallop each other in the first two matches, creating the setting for a final showdown and chance at eternal bragging rights — and usually, a title.

Will tonight’s bout between L.A. mayoral candidates Karen Bass and Nithya Raman, scheduled to air at 7 p.m. on KNBC, rise to those rarified levels?

The makings of a classic are there. Bass was the wily incumbent during her primary face-off with Raman who let fellow mayoral candidate Spencer Pratt land most of the attacks against their shared opponent. That left Raman uttering loopy word salads when she wasn’t crying conspiracy between the two. But the council member nevertheless made it into the general election against Bass, and dominated their second debate, hosted in August by the Sherman Oaks Homeowners Assn.

All of a sudden, Bass was a staggering champion lunging at a revived Raman, who swung and stung and ducked the way only a hungry up-and-comer can.

The two go into their rubber match each promoting polls that they claim show voters back them, while letting proxies launch attack ads that promise to get uglier and more ubiquitous as Election Day nears. Expect Bass at tonight’s debate to try and assert her dominance early with equal part offense against Raman and defense of her record. Expect Raman, whom City Hall opponents have long trashed as conflict-averse, to focus on a message of possibility and positivity while holding her ground and striking back — and hard — when necessary.

Will tonight cement the Bass-Raman trilogy as an electoral classic — or end it on a deflating note? One thing’s for sure: the two need to leave everything on the debate stage if either wants to win and get that much closer to become L.A.’s Madam Mayor.

There is no love like municipal infrastructure love.

It was late in the 20th century when my wife, Mary Frances, and I moved into Los Feliz. Quickly we learned that our corner of the neighborhood was known as Franklin Hills, and that just about every eastward outing would take us across a funny little bridge with eight pointy turrets. That bridge was the Shakespeare Bridge.

As a teacher at nearby Ivanhoe Elementary, Mary Frances crossed the bridge twice every school day for more than 20 years. As a student there, our daughter Grace crossed it for six years, usually with me as chauffeur.

We’ve crossed it at all hours in every kind of weather, on foot, on bikes and in cars, talking about school, work, family and, lately, the fractured state of the nation and world.

Now that bridge on Franklin Avenue at St. George Street is near its 100th anniversary and an Oct. 10 neighborhood celebration is in the works, complete with a street party and procession. As the day approaches, I keep thinking about how large a funny little bridge can become in the lives of its neighbors.

This view looks westward across L.A.’s Franklin Avenue Bridge, also known as the Shakespeare Bridge.

(Library of Congress)

Originally it was the Franklin Avenue Bridge, designed by J.C. Wright of the city’s civil engineering department in the mid-1920s, when a twenty-something cartoonist named Walt Disney was new to the neighborhood and the Vitagraph Studios, a block away, were transitioning from silent films to talkies.

Paid for by a controversial city assessment of neighbors, the bridge is 262 feet long and 30 feet wide — a pipsqueak compared with landmarks like Pasadena’s Colorado Street Bridge or the 6th Street Bridge between Boyle Heights and downtown L.A.’s Arts District. Its three open-spandrel arches were made using Portland cement.

Nobody knows where the Shakespeare nickname came from, but city officials designated the bridge as L.A.’s Historic-Cultural Monument No. 126 in 1974 and retrofitted it in the 1990s to better withstand earthquakes. Crucially, city staffers preserved those charming and entirely unnecessary turrets, which deserve their own sonnet, if you ask me.

“Back then, people put some thought into these things,” City Council aide Tom LaBonge told this newspaper in 1988, years before he became councilman (2001-15) for the district that includes the bridge.

Since 2017, neighbors have tended a Shakespeare Bridge Garden beneath the span. The neighbors (a.k.a. the Franklin Hills Residents Assn.) also pay to keep up the landscaping on the nearby traffic island.

When the bridge went up, L.A. “was becoming a city,” said Alison Wallace, president of the FHRA. “We were trying to look legit, and people were adding all of these amazing public works.”

The result, Wallace said, was a span that eased connections between neighborhoods and “helped us become a community.”

This view looks from below the Franklin Avenue Bridge, also known as the Shakespeare Bridge.

(Library of Congress)

Many architectural sources call its style Gothic Revival. Some see Moorish influence. Researcher Tiger Shankman has hailed its “perky, anachronistic beauty.” In “An Architectural Guidebook to Los Angeles,” authors David Gebhard and Robert Winter suggest that the ornate ends of the bridge “cry out for sculptured saints.”

Instead of saints, however, the bridge has seen a lot of actors and film crews. The bridge turns up in the movies “Dead Again” (1991) and “I Love You, Man” (2009), the Netflix series “Nobody Wants This” (in 2025) and the HBO series “I Love L.A.” (also 2025). My favorite clip is a chase sequence from a 1971 “Mannix” episode — excruciatingly slow-paced by 2026 standards, and shot long before the FHRA tore out the city’s blacktop median and planted greenery.

Given all of its neighborhood fame, it surprised me to hear how few Angelenos know about the bridge. When Charlie Ryan and Thom Vest started offering LA Explained walking tours early this year, they expected the Disney history would be a popular part of their Los Feliz itinerary, but the bridge quickly emerged as another central element.

Because most of those who sign up for the Los Feliz tour live elsewhere, they have never crossed the bridge “and don’t know it’s there,” Ryan said. “Out of all the tours that I do, it’s the one that brings the most surprise to people.”

An aerial view of the Shakespeare Bridge, formally known as the Franklin Avenue Bridge, in the Franklin Hills area of Los Feliz.

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

But plenty of those who live nearby have deep connections with the bridge, including Charley and Shirley Mims, who got married there on Oct. 21, 2000.

To open the ceremony, Shirley strolled from the west end of the bridge to the east, where Charley was waiting. (They still live in the neighborhood and plan to be at the centennial party.)

“When you see the bridge and cross it,” my neighbor Dave McDonald said the other day, “you feel like you’re home. It’s like a welcoming beacon.”

“It’s a real local’s way of getting around,” said Matteo Chizzola, who moved to Los Angeles four years ago and settled in Los Feliz two years ago. Last year, when Chizzola decided to start selling matcha from a sort of grown-up street-corner lemonade stand, he chose a patch of sidewalk at Franklin Avenue and Talmadge Street, two blocks from the bridge.

A jogger crosses the Shakespeare Bridge.

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

“It is beautiful and it’s weird. If you go at the right time of day, at sunset, it’s an incredible view,” he said.

Chizzola said he isn’t getting rich running the stand, Fridays through Sundays, but “it has become something that puts a huge smile on my face.”

He’ll be on hand for the bridge’s centennial parade, along with invited local luminaries including Victor the fruit guy (who worked a corner near Marshall High School for more than a decade) and Dora Herrera of the much-loved Yuca’s restaurant on Hillhurst Avenue.

A pedestrian crosses the Shakespeare Bridge,which was completed in 1926.

(Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)

Sometimes, when Mary Frances and I are on a neighborhood walk, we stop mid-span. In the distance to the south, you see the downtown skyline. In the arroyo below the bridge (officially the Arroyo de Sacatela) you see the private homes and yards along Monon Street and Myra Avenue. You also see the Los Feliz campus of the International School of Los Angeles (1960), the only school designed by modernist architect John Lautner.

Then there are the decorations. Every few months, in a tradition started by departed neighbor Chris Boutelle, Mary Frances joins a team of FHRA board members and other volunteers who put up hearts for Valentine’s Day, shamrocks for St. Patrick’s Day, Pride and Juneteenth flags in June, American flags and bunting in the lead-up to July 4, and so on.

Most of these costume changes are seamless. But in June 2023, someone tore down the Pride flags. Neighbors quickly replaced them. They came down again. Neighbors replaced them again. The back-and-forth went on for weeks. A suspect was arrested, released, then re-arrested.

Shakespeare Bridge in Los Feliz was the site of controversy in June 2023, when someone repeatedly stole Pride flags from a bridge display. Neighbors replaced the flags and police made an arrest.

(Gary Coronado / Los Angeles Times)

“It was almost every day for a month. People really came together,” said Wallace. The vandal surely didn’t mean to, but Wallace contends that he wound up uniting the neighborhood as never before.

The Oct. 10 bridge celebration, organized by the FHRA, will begin with a noon procession to the bridge from Marshall High School (another neighborhood Gothic Revival landmark), featuring a marching band, several vintage cars and a costumed dog parade.

At the end of that short walk, there’s a party planned from 1-5 p.m. at the end of Monon Street , right under the bridge. There will be snacks, drinks, live music, kid crafts, a bouncy house, a handful of actors in Shakespearean garb and scads of neighbors being neighborly.

I’ll be there for all of it. In times like these, every bridge needs celebrating.

Shakespeare Bridge, formally known as the Franklin Avenue Bridge, spans a ravine in the Franklin Hills with downtown Los Angeles in the background.

(Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)