legacy

SACRAMENTO — One of Gavin Newsom’s top goals as he winds down his final year as California governor is to leave the state with a balanced budget.

After years of the state spending more money than it brings in, it’s Newsom’s last opportunity to fix a chronic deficit or dump the problem on the next governor.

How far he goes to solve the state’s structural spending imbalance will define his legacy as a steward of trillions in taxpayer dollars. As a potential candidate for president in 2028, he could also have a political incentive to do as little as possible.

“Any cuts you make are going to cause people to scream,” said Darry Sragow, a veteran Democratic strategist. “Any increases in taxes are going to cause people to scream and in terms of what’s best for a presidential run, it would be nice if people weren’t screaming.”

As California’s 40th governor, Newsom expanded publicly funded healthcare to income-eligible undocumented immigrants, increased state-subsidized child-care slots and provided free meals for schoolchildren among a wishlist of progressive wins since he took office in 2019.

His achievements have helped struggling Californians live in an increasingly unaffordable state and given him bona fides to tout to voters if he launches a bid for the White House.

But the state could never afford to pay for existing services and the new programs that Newsom and Democratic lawmakers enacted, according to an analysis of ongoing state spending since before the pandemic released by the Legislative Analyst’s Office last week.

Spending from the state’s principal operating fund has grown about $100 billion since Newsom’s first full fiscal year in office in 2019-20, mostly due to the growing cost of existing programs that he inherited. State spending has outpaced California’s strong revenue growth by about 10%, creating a perennial budget shortfall — a structural deficit — that Newsom and the Democratic-led Legislature solve with largely temporary fixes each year.

Instead of making across-the-board program cuts or raising taxes to align spending with revenue, Democrats have tapped into reserves designed to preserve social services for the state’s most disadvantaged communities during economic downturns.

While the California economy remains stable and state revenue has increased, Newsom and lawmakers have taken $12.2 billion from the rainy day fund. Democrats have borrowed $28 billion more from other state funds to cover their spending in recent years, according to the LAO.

“Taken together, these trends raise serious concerns about the state’s fiscal sustainability,” Legislative Analyst Gabriel Petek wrote in a review of Newsom’s January budget proposal.

Fiscal watchdogs have warned that the spending trends will leave California in a precarious position if the stock market tanks and tax receipts bottom out.

Personal income taxes are driving higher-than-expected revenue now, which analysts attribute to an artificial intelligence boom on Wall Street, and suggest the state could have no deficit in the upcoming year. In January, the Newsom administration anticipated significant operating deficits in the years ahead: $27 billion in 2027-28, $22 billion in 2028-29 and $23 billion in 2029-30.

The LAO, the Legislature’s nonpartisan fiscal advisor, said the state has already solved $125 billion in budget problems over the last three years with mostly short-term solutions.

“This issue is really whether they’re going to take seriously the structural deficit that is several years in the making now, where the spending has outpaced revenue, and to address that, they’re going to either have to make some fairly deep cuts or raise revenue and or both,” said former state Controller Betty Yee, who worked as a budget aide under Gov. Gray Davis and recently dropped her own campaign for governor. “But they have to be real. I think resorting to these one-time solutions has really exacerbated the problem.”

How Newsom wants to address the state’s financial challenges will be revealed on May 14 when he is expected to present his revised budget plan in Sacramento. His January budget proposal did not include any significant reductions or cuts to programs.

H.D. Palmer, a spokesperson for the California Department of Finance, said the governor is looking to solve the budget problem with more than a temporary fix.

“Although he is still finalizing his proposal that he’ll put forth to the Legislature, as he has said, he wants those solutions to be durable, and he wants them to have an impact beyond a single fiscal year,” Palmer said.

To stabilize California’s budget, Democrats will probably have to raise taxes or fees to generate new revenue and cut programs, according to the LAO. At least 40 cents for every dollar in revenue is dedicated to education under the state Constitution, requiring policymakers to find between $30 billion and $60 billion annually in additional revenue to cover projected shortfalls in 2027-28 and beyond if relying on new taxes alone.

President Trump’s cuts to healthcare are adding to the problem.

HR 1 will add $1.4 billion in state costs to the general fund. Newsom’s January budget proposal did not include a plan to help millions of low-income Californians who are expected to lose access to healthcare under the federal cuts.

To temper those cuts in California, other groups proposed a new tax on billionaires that appears poised to qualify for the November ballot.

Spearheaded by Service Employees International Union-United Healthcare Workers West, the initiative would apply a one-time 5% tax on taxpayers with assets exceeding $1 billion. If approved by voters, the tax would generate roughly $100 billion, which would fund healthcare programs.

The measure has divided unions and Democrats at the state Capitol.

Newsom has criticized the initiative, citing concerns that increasing taxes on the wealthy will have the opposite intended effect and drive the highest earners out of California. Under a progressive tax structure, the state budget is dependent on income taxes paid by the ultra-rich on earnings largely from capital gains.

Larry Page and Sergey Brin, the co-founders of Google, have already purchased residences in Florida, along with others looking to escape the tax if it goes through in November. Billionaires launched their own ballot measure campaign to undercut the tax proposal.

State lawmakers are also considering avenues to raise revenue, which include repealing a “water’s edge” tax break. Under the change, multinational companies would no longer be allowed to shield the income of their foreign subsidiaries from state taxes. California loses about $3 billion in revenue from the tax break each year.

In its budget plan released in April, the state Senate proposed a new fee on the largest corporations in the state to provide $5 billion to $8 billion annually for Medi-Cal.

The upper house said 42% of Medi-Cal enrollees are full-time workers who are not enrolled in their company’s healthcare plan because their wages are low enough to qualify for state-subsidized healthcare. As a result, corporations aren’t paying for healthcare for many of their employees and instead taxpayers are picking up the bill through Medi-Cal.

SEIU California, the powerful state union council representing over 700,000 workers, endorsed the plan. The union said Trump’s tax policy will reduce corporate taxes by $900 billion, while 3 million Californians lose healthcare.

“In this urgent moment, California’s workers need to see our leaders show us what they’re made of,” said Tia Orr, executive director of SEIU California. “The Senate is showing the courage to demand corporations pay their fair share, rather than making working people pay with their lives.”

The change is being described as a more politically palatable “fee” and not a tax.

“We explored multiple revenue options, and this was the one that felt more narrow, it felt more focused, and it also felt like it was directly going for the subsidy that’s being lost because of the Trump HR 1 cuts,” said Senate President Pro Tem Monique Limón (D-Goleta), who leads the upper house of the Legislature.

Limón said her caucus believes it’s important to address potential revenue streams because of the depth of federal healthcare reductions.

“If we don’t address the structural deficit, we are looking at severe cuts,” she said. “You are looking at people without health insurance. You are looking at hospitals closing down. You are looking at medical providers not being able to take more patients. You are looking at our emergency rooms over capacity, with not enough medical providers. I mean, you’re looking at a place that’s really, really, really difficult, and we feel like we have to, at least, look at what are viable options that are conditional on these cuts coming.”

Newsom has not commented publicly on the Senate’s plan. As governor, he’s been reluctant to embrace new taxes and fees.

Newsom could reject all the proposals for new taxes or fees and continue what he’s done before: take advantage of higher-than-expected tax collections, shift funds around, delay program implementation and borrow money to knock the deficit down to zero, or forecast a surplus, for his last budget year that begins July 1.

If he doesn’t take on California’s larger budget imbalance, then the problem would be the next governor’s to solve. A stock market crash, or economic recession, could force his successor to make drastic cuts across the board with limited reserves to support programs.

Kicking the can again would cement Newsom’s fiscal legacy as a governor who championed bold headline-making policies that bolstered the safety net for low-income Californians, but who failed to provide a solution to pay for his agenda.

“Not only has he not come up with a plan, he has pretended we don’t need one,” said Patrick Murphy, a professor of public affairs at the University of San Francisco.

Newsom’s interest in running for president could seemingly discourage him from slashing the budget and raising attention to the state’s financial woes, Sragow said. Newsom is setting himself up as a potential front-runner for his party. He has said he remains undecided about officially launching a 2028 campaign.

As a Democrat from California, his opponents would automatically label him as financially irresponsible and tax-happy. Calling out the massive budget problem on the horizon, raising taxes and making painful cuts will give them ammunition.

“There’s a long list of things that he’s going to be charged with, and this is likely to be one more,” Sragow said. “But I guess the question is, is he going to be charged with a political misdemeanor or a political felony?”

Former state Sen. Steve Glazer said Newsom is standing on political quicksand either way. State budget projections are based on assumptions about the future that often don’t bear out, leaving his choices exposed to criticism that he went too far, didn’t do enough, and everything in between.

“Whatever the governor decides to do in his May revise and in his final budget, it’s fraught with political risks, because it can be manipulated so easily by all sides,” Glazer said.

If Newsom ignores the spending problem, his successor could blame him for California’s financial woes when they take office in January and provide their own outlook of the state’s fiscal future. At the time, Newsom could be trying to convince America to make him the nation’s next president.

Murphy said Newsom has championed major policies and been reluctant to back off them later when revenue doesn’t pencil out.

In terms of spending, he’s governed similarly to the men who led California before him, with the exception of Jerry Brown, who cut programs to reduce a deficit he inherited in his second stint in the governor’s office and left Newsom with a surplus.

“It’s not all that different than most of the governors have done, which is finding it very hard to say no and finding it very hard to take on a tough choice of going to the ballot to ask for more money or raise taxes,” Murphy said.

On taxation, Newsom is perhaps most similar to former Gov. George Deukmejian, who opposed general tax increases for most of his administration.

Deukmejian left a budget disaster for his successor, Gov. Pete Wilson. Deukmejian publicly claimed he passed a balanced budget in his final year and blamed an economic downturn for the problems Wilson encountered.

When Wilson announced a record $13-billion budget deficit early in his first year in office in 1991, he said the Persian Gulf War, an economic downturn and natural disasters added to a structural deficit in the budget.

The Legislature and Deukmejian, Wilson said, had “papered over” the problem.

WEST MEMPHIS, Ark. — Dr. Susan Ward-Jones observed something remarkable not long after the East Arkansas Family Health Center opened a new clinic in this small city by the Mississippi River.

“People used to come in unkempt, sloppily dressed. They look better now,” said Ward-Jones, the clinic’s director. “I think people have a new pride in themselves. Maybe they see we’re doing better and they say, ‘I’ll try to do better, too.’”

With a two-story glass atrium and soaring brushed metal portico, the clinic — whose patients are mostly poor and African American — has nearly twice as many exam rooms as the health center’s old location in a cramped storefront down the road. Nine dental suites, a pharmacy and a state-of-the-art demonstration kitchen branch off the sun-dappled atrium. A shaded exercise track winds through a stand of tall oaks out back.

As nationwide protests highlight the continued impact of racism in criminal justice, the struggle to create and maintain health centers like this one — and over the law commonly known as Obamacare — offers a window into the tangled history of race and healthcare in the U.S., as well. The clinic opened in 2014, thanks to the Affordable Care Act, which also helped thousands of its patients get health insurance.

The entrance of the East Arkansas Family Health Center.

(William DeShazer / For The Times)

“The Affordable Care Act empowered people who didn’t have power. It’s given people a measure of self-respect. That’s been very profound,” said Dr. David Satcher, the former U.S. surgeon general who grew up in the South when many hospitals didn’t allow black physicians like him to admit patients.

More darkly, the reaction to the law — whose passage in March 2010 was shadowed by racist outbursts from some opponents — also has revealed troubling fault lines that remain.

The 14 states that continue to oppose expansion of Medicaid insurance made possible by the law are concentrated in the South, effectively maintaining large racial disparities in access to care. Most of those same states are suing in federal court to have the law invalidated.

“It may be too simplistic to say that opposition to the Affordable Care Act in the South is just about race,” said Thomas J. Ward Jr., a historian who has written about healthcare and civil rights. “But you can’t look at opposition to expanding health services, and not see that some of that opposition is rooted in race in a significant way — not necessarily straight racial animosity, but fear of racial empowerment.”

Anita Earvin gets her teeth cleaned at East Arkansas Family Health Center.

(William DeShazer / For The Times)

Today, a new chapter in this complicated story is being written as the coronavirus outbreak disproportionately affects African American communities across the country, once again spotlighting the racial disparities that shadow American healthcare.

The connection between healthcare and race has been particularly resonant along the Mississippi River, where access to medical care was long a dividing line as rigid as separate schools and drinking fountains, and where federal healthcare initiatives half a century ago helped end segregation.

Clifton Collier, who ran a health center in Marianna, Ark., 50 miles south of West Memphis, lived a good part of this history.

Collier, 66, grew up in the heart of the Arkansas Delta, an expanse of dark, fertile earth stretching over bayous and through thick stands of cedar and live oak along the west bank of the Mississippi.

This was one of the last bastions of the Jim Crow South, a ferociously segregated place where former plantation homes still dot the landscape and a commanding statue of Robert E. Lee on the town square bears testimony to the persistence of the old system.

Collier’s was better off than most black families. His father ran a juke joint that did a brisk business, particularly on Sundays. And just outside town, in a place called Black Swamp, the family owned land it had bought after the Civil War. Some in the family say part of the money came from a white man who fathered one of Collier’s ancestors.

As children in the 1960s, Collier and his siblings worked the cotton fields around Black Swamp, lugging burlap sacks up and down long rows and pulling white bolls from between the plants’ needle-like stems.

If anyone got sick, they’d see a local black woman who practiced folk medicine. “We didn’t have money for a doctor,” Collier recalled. “Nobody did.”

None of the town’s four white doctors would see a black patient who didn’t have cash. “We just had to take care of ourselves,” Collier said.

Dr. Judy Ali, a pharmacist at East Arkansas Family Health Center, answers patient calls.

(William DeShazer / For The Times)

That didn’t seem to trouble the physicians, who told a CBS News crew that visited Marianna in 1969 that black patients got what they needed. “They get adequate medical care if they come seeking it,” one doctor said. “So many times, they’re sick, and they don’t seek it because of ignorance or laziness.”

Cracks in this system began to emerge following passage of the 1965 law that created Medicare, the government insurance plan for the elderly and disabled. The law barred federal money for segregated institutions, forcing hundreds of hospitals across the South to desegregate waiting rooms, patient floors and nurseries almost overnight.

A second federal initiative helped bring community health centers such as Collier’s clinic to many of the poorest quarters of America, offering reliable medical care to black patients in places like the Arkansas Delta for the first time.

These clinics weren’t universally welcomed. When volunteers tried to open the Lee County Cooperative Clinic in Marianna in 1968, white landlords refused to rent space.

The local medical society blocked the clinic’s first doctor, a young physician from St. Louis, from admitting patients to the hospital in Marianna, forcing them to travel to Memphis or Little Rock, more than an hour away. Several workers at the clinic were beaten up outside a local restaurant.

But the clinic endured. Such health centers were designed to empower the low-income patients they served, with federal money funneled directly to the clinics, bypassing white-controlled state governments. In Lee County, clinic volunteers helped develop a slate of black candidates for local office.

“The clinic turned out to be the opening chapter of the civil rights movement in Lee County,” recalled Dr. Dan Blumenthal, the clinic’s first doctor, who taught at Atlanta’s Morehouse School of Medicine until he died last year.

Pharmacy technician Precious Parker fills patient prescriptions.

(William DeShazer / For The Times)

The health centers — and federal programs such as Medicare and Medicaid — had a profound impact on the lives of black Americans.

Across the Mississippi River from Marianna, a federally funded health center in Mound Bayou, Miss., helped cut the infant mortality rate among African Americans in the surrounding county by more than a third in just four years, researchers found.

Nationwide, access to care also improved dramatically. In 1964, white Americans were nearly 50% more likely than their black counterparts to have seen a doctor in the previous two years. Three decades later, that reversed, with African Americans more likely than whites to have been to a doctor recently.

Nevertheless, by the time President Obama and congressional Democrats began pushing for the Affordable Care Act, substantial racial inequalities in healthcare remained.

Black Americans were more likely to be uninsured, more likely to report financial barriers to getting care and more likely to die from treatable diseases.

Obama didn’t cite these disparities, focusing instead on the promise of guaranteed health coverage for all Americans.

“Race wasn’t the focus,” a former senior Obama aide recalled. “We didn’t go there.”

But race was never far in the background of the debate.

Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck and other conservative commentators who vigorously opposed the health law repeatedly claimed it was part of Obama’s strategy to make the federal government compensate African Americans for slavery.

“This is a civil rights bill, this is reparations, whatever you want to call it,” Limbaugh told his listeners in 2009.

Democratic lawmakers, meanwhile, deliberately linked their healthcare fight to past struggles for racial equity.

Before the critical March 2010 vote on the law, Georgia Rep. John Lewis, a civil rights icon who had participated in the famous 1965 march across the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Ala., when marchers were beaten by police, walked arm-in-arm with other lawmakers to the Capitol to pass the bill.

Adding to the historical echoes that day, several black lawmakers reported hearing racial epithets as they walked through the crowd of protesters outside the Capitol, many from the then nascent tea party movement. One lawmaker was spit on.

“It was like going into a time machine with John Lewis,” Rep. Andre Carson, a black Democrat from Indiana, observed at the time.

A decade later, some of that vitriol has faded. And the health gains made possible by the law have been striking.

“I think people have a new pride in themselves,” says Dr. Susan Ward-Jones, director of the East Arkansas Family Health Center.

(William DeShazer / For The Times)

Between 2013 and 2015, the share of African Americans without health insurance dropped by nearly half, falling from almost 25% to less than 14%, according to data assembled by the nonprofit Commonwealth Fund.

At the same time, African Americans reported skipping care less frequently because of concerns about cost, almost cutting the gap between blacks and whites in half.

And new research shows that inequalities in how quickly white and black patients start treatment for advanced cancers almost disappeared in states that fully expanded coverage through the health law.

“The law dramatically lessened disparities by race,” said Dr. Otis Brawley, an oncologist at Johns Hopkins University and former chief medical officer at the American Cancer Society.

In Arkansas, which was the first Southern state to expand Medicaid coverage through the law — Louisiana and Virginia have since followed — the impact has been particularly large.

The share of poor residents without health insurance tumbled from nearly 42% to just 19% between 2013 and 2014, researchers found.

The coverage gains allowed clinics like the ones in West Memphis and Marianna to expand services such as dentistry and behavioral health. They added more nurses, more case managers, more health educators and others to help the neediest patients.

Patients, in turn, are more frequently getting checkups and filling their prescriptions more regularly.

Mary Clarksenior gets an eye exam from Dr. Norman Denton.

(William DeShazer / For The Times)

“What we’ve experienced in the last few years has been nothing short of amazing,” said Terrence Aikens, who led efforts at the West Memphis clinic to enroll patients in health insurance through the 2010 health law.

And yet, even now, as the Affordable Care Act enters its second decade, the gains feel tenuous to many here. The law’s opponents — including Arkansas’ governor and the Trump administration — are working to get the Supreme Court to overturn it.

“It is such a difficult history, and we have come so far,” said Ward-Jones, the director of the West Memphis clinic. “Sometimes, though, it feels like we take two steps forward and one step back.”

If Ty Simpson develops into a top NFL quarterback who leads the Rams to a Super Bowl title, the club will look back at the 2026 draft as one of the best and shrewdest in its history.

Until then, it will be remembered for a news conference.

Yeah, that one.

The post-Day 1 session on Thursday night when coach Sean McVay and general manager Les Snead — the personable and ebullient duo that playfully channeled Top Gun’s “Maverick” and “Goose” in 2025 — appeared dour and subdued after selecting Simpson with the 13th overall pick.

The choice brought a collective groan from much of the fan base. And who could blame it?

They were eager to see their favorite team add a final piece — hello, USC receiver Makai Lemon? — to a roster perhaps one playmaker away from making the Rams the favorite to win Super Bowl LXI at SoFi Stadium next February.

That’s no knock on Simpson, a charming and mature Tennessee native who started 15 games for Alabama before the Rams made him the heir apparent to Matthew Stafford.

The next day, Snead and McVay gave Simpson his flowers and repeated the same talking point: They are in “lockstep” as decision-makers. And McVay explained that his “grumpy” demeanor the night before was related to personal issues and his desire to delicately handle Stafford’s reaction to the pick.

On Saturday, the Rams did not make Snead or McVay available to reporters to summarize their draft, which included Simpson, Ohio State tight end Max Klare, Missouri offensive lineman Keagen Trost, Miami receiver CJ Daniels and Alabama defensive lineman Tim Keenan III. It is the smallest draft class in Rams history, which befits a team with no glaring roster holes.

Ostensibly, Snead and McVay stepped aside to give assistant general manager John McKay and Nicole Blake, the director of scouting, strategy and analytics, experience dealing with questions from reporters, which they handled with aplomb.

But the braintrust’s absence only magnified that this draft was unlike any other it has overseen during 10 years of working as a team.

Alabama quarterback Ty Simpson laughs while standing on the draft stage with NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell on Thursday.

(Vera Nieuwenhuis / Associated Press)

It would have been difficult to top 2025.

The Rams won last year’s draft when they traded out of the first round in exchange for the Atlanta Falcons’ first-round pick this year. That gave the Rams the Falcons’ pick at No. 13 and their own at No. 29.

In March, the Rams traded the No. 29 pick to the Kansas City Chiefs in a package for All-Pro cornerback Trent McDuffie. The masterful move addressed the Rams’ most pressing need and gave them a Super Bowl-ready roster. Classic Snead.

The Rams, set up for a boom-or-bust season akin to 2021, were primed for another typical big swing with the 13th pick. But instead of giving Stafford another weapon, they gave him… his eventual replacement.

Choosing Simpson might prove a savvy move. Especially if Stafford is injured this season or retires in the next year or two. But the pick stunned many. And gauging his public reaction afterward, it appeared to unnerve McVay.

During their time together, Snead and McVay built teams that have played in two Super Bowls, winning one, and made eight playoff appearances. Some interpreted McVay’s demeanor on Thursday night as evidence of a splinter in one of the league’s most successful partnerships.

But that does not appear to be the case.

Recall that after the Rams lost in the NFC championship last January, team president Kevin Demoff’s first order of business was signing Snead and McVay to extensions that had been on the table all season.

Several days before the draft, McVay and Snead described their connection. And they did it with heartfelt comments.

“I truly love Les and I have such respect for the job that he does,” McVay said, adding, “There is nobody I’d rather be partnered up with.”

Said Snead: “From a life perspective, you hear it when players retire, they miss the locker room. Whenever that time comes for me, I’ll miss showing up and doing hard things with Sean just because that’s a relationship that probably makes life worth a living.’”

McVay probably feels that way about Stafford. During the 2021 season, Stafford led the Rams to a Super Bowl title. At 38, he is the reigning NFL most valuable player. He also is in negotiations for a contract adjustment.

But McVay’s desire to not hurt Stafford’s feelings by not publicly giving Simpson a trademark, positive-infused welcome-to-L.A. moment seemed misguided. Stafford is one of the toughest and most resilient players in the NFL. He is bound for the Hall of Fame. The guy seems pretty secure in who he is and where he stands with the team and in NFL history.

So the Rams broke from script. They abandoned an all-in pick for an investment in the future.

“You’re never one player away,” McVay said Saturday during a television interview with NFL Network. “We know that we have a chance to be a good football team but you earn it every single year.

“And if you could tell me that taking somebody would ensure us, I think we would do that. But it doesn’t quite work like that.”

No, it doesn’t.

And if Simpson lives up to the potential that the Rams see in him, it will be another in a string of genius decisions by Snead and McVay.

But if Lemon makes a big catch for the Philadelphia Eagles against the Rams in the NFC playoffs, the Rams might look back at it as the swing they should have taken.

Inside the ornate Bovard Auditorium, Larry David kept a full audience in stitches as he discussed the creation and legacy of his improv hit, “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” which concluded in 2024 after 12 seasons.

In a conversation with Lorraine Ali — who wrote “No Lessons Learned: The Making of Curb Your Enthusiasm,” which retraces the show’s long run with cast interviews, episode guides and behind-the-scenes material — David reflected on the separation between himself and the abrasive on-screen persona he adopted for more than two decades.

“I wish I was that Larry David,” he said.

David spoke about the outrageous audition process for “Curb,” wherein actors tried to navigate a brief written scenario without any dialogue to guide them as David lambasted them in character. Out of this process came iconic one-liners and beloved characters, such as Leon, played by J.B. Smoove.

“People bring out certain things, and when I would act with them, some of them would make me seem funny,” David said. “I go, ‘Oh, that’s good — let’s give him a part.’”

David cited “Palestinian Chicken” as one of his favorite episodes of the show. In the episode, David is caught between a delicious new Palestinian chicken restaurant, a Palestinian girlfriend and an outraged inner circle of Jewish friends.

He also spoke briefly about his upcoming episodic HBO series, “Life, Larry and the Pursuit of Happiness,” a historical spoof that will retrace United States history for the country’s 250th founding anniversary. The series will premiere on Aug. 7.

“A lot of wigs, costumes, beards — fake beards,” David said. “Nothing worse than fake beards.”

The controversial ending of “Seinfeld,” which David co-wrote with comedian Jerry Seinfeld, was polarizing among fans when it was released, David said. After a recent rewatch, however, David said he thought it was “pretty good,” to a round of applause from the audience.

Near the end of the panel, an audience member asked a question some definitely had on their mind: Will “Seinfeld” ever get a reunion?

“No,” David replied without missing a beat.

Poverty can be and often is crushing. For Hermanos Espinoza — who are in the midst of promoting their debut studio album “Linaje,” released Friday — growing up in a family that struggled financially after a string of failed restaurants turned out to be the greatest motivator.

Since 2021, the quintet led by the sibling duo of Joel and Leonel Espinoza have steadily built an audience with their brand of new wave norteño, pairing the prominent sounds of the accordion and the bajo quinto with lyrics about making it big thanks to a combination of unrelenting working-class grit, familial love and faith.

Hermanos Espinoza were one of the most buzzed about bands at the 40th South by Southwest music festival, which took place earlier this month in Austin, Texas. At the De Los showcase — one of three appearances the band made during SXSW — the rooftop of the Mala Fama nightclub was at capacity well before the brothers set foot on stage, and a line to get in extended past the door.

“Y que c— su madre la pobreza,” lead vocalist and accordionist Joel Espinoza, 24, belted out from the stage, opening their set with their 2024 hit “Dios Por Delante.” The popular Mexicanism translates to “F— poverty.”

The crowd cheered and danced, letting loose on a late Sunday night.

“I saw my family go through so much because of money, because of poverty. They didn’t deserve it but I understand the world works in a certain way,” he would later tell De Los in a video call. “I just hated it.”

The dynamic singer delivered every lyric with his whole body as he frenetically tapped the buttons of his brightly colored accordion, doing his best to make the squeezebox sound like an electric guitar. The drum set and bajo quinto kept pace, making the set feel more like a rock show than a backyard kickback.

(Cat Cardenas / For De Los)

With “Linaje” — it translates to lineage, a term often associated with nobility and pedigree — the brothers are intent on sharing their hard-earned success with those they love most.

“Some people refer to ‘Linaje’ as royalty, or people who come from money, but for us, it’s the complete opposite,” said Joel. “Our family is hardworking and we wanted to give them credit too. To us, that’s royalty.”

The Espinoza brothers grew up in the South Texas city of McAllen, in the Rio Grande Valley, helping out at their family’s Mexican restaurants. They can still recall prepping food from the early morning hours to late at night. They say it was tedious work that made them disciplined, punctual and appreciative of the value of a hard-earned dollar.

“You see life through a different perspective,” said Leonel, who is 20 years-old.

(Cat Cardenas / For De Los)

The brothers say they brought that same work ethic in their pursuit of music; both were heavily involved in their school’s marching band as part of the drum line, which helped them master rhythmic timing, coordination and motor skills. In high school, Joel picked up the accordion — he describes playing the 49-key instrument as a “love-hate” situation — and Leonel the bajo quinto.

Their mother helped book their first gigs singing serenade covers. But by 2021, house party gigs had slowed down.

“I used to work with my dad back at his restaurant and one of those days I was just feeling really down, ready to give up on my dream of music, but he held me down,” said Joel.

It wouldn’t be long before all that hard work paid off. Hermanos Espinoza gained traction on YouTube and TikTok with their self-released tracks, “Prueba De Fuego” (2022) and the aforementioned “Dios Por Delante,” which describe leaving behind the treachery of poverty for a better life.

“People started tattooing ‘Dios Por Delante’ on their forearms and neck and that’s when we realized that this was more than music, it’s a movement,” Joel said of the impact of the latter song.

Resilience and faith remain at the core of “Linaje,” which was mixed and produced by Ernesto “Neto” Fernández, who has worked with the likes of Peso Pluma and Xavi.

The 15-track LP, a solid representative of the ever-evolving norteño sound coming from the Texas borderlands, begins with a blessing, “29:11.” The title refers to a Bible verse in the Book of Jeremiah: “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’”

“A big part of this album was just letting go of trying to control everything,” said Joel. “I put it into [God’s] hands and we just let things flow.”

Money is the focus in the tracks like “La Moneda,” with Joel’s voice echoing through the backdrop as he proclaims that cash might change some tacky, incompetent chumps, but not him. Almost halfway through the set list is a hazy track, “No Puedo Amarte,” where the singer sours over an unresolved love; the crooning track is reminiscent of a twinkling sad sierreño genre, with an accordion alternating volumes between a bold tremolando and a silky legato.

Still, at its core, “Linaje” fundamentally underscores their grit in tracks like “Modelo V,” the first single under Double P Management that celebrates the journey that led them to success, which honors the lessons taught by their father.

“No matter all the adversities we face, the thing about my dad is that he’s always stayed true to himself and who he is,” says Joel. “That’s how we were raised and how we live day to day.”

There’s a hidden door in Downtown Disney. Only this one isn’t meant to be walked through.

Flanking a stage near the monorail station, you’ll find a glistening white tower, the work of artist and activist Nikkolas Smith, who has adopted the term “artivist.” At first glance, the tower — one of Downtown Disney’s most striking works — appears to be a nod to Disneyland’s Midcentury art, for its curved lines and space-age optimism wouldn’t be out of place in Tomorrowland.

That’s there, says Smith, but there are also a number of more subtle inspirations.

The tower is a nod to five Black architects, trailblazers whose creations sometimes went unnoticed or overlooked. And that’s why at the base of the structure is a looping opening meant to signify a half-open doorway.

Downtown Disney’s Legacy Tower touches on the styles of different Black architects as it rises into the sky.

(Gary Coronado / For The Times)

Smith shares a distressing anecdote. “They had to learn how to read drawings upside down, because they weren’t allowed to sit next to the white clients,” Smith says, adding they also had to endure unequal pay. “So I was incorporating things like the half doorway to symbolize their struggle.”

Officially designated as the Legacy Tower, Smith himself fixates on that word — “legacy.” The term, he says, represents a thematic constant across his work. A regular collaborator on a number of Walt Disney Co. projects and a former architect with Walt Disney Imagineering, the division of the company focused on theme park experiences, Smith is something of a connector. His canvas art, full of fast-moving brush work, is often rooted in the past while urgently seeking to draw links to the present.

Artist Nikkolas Smith went viral for his portrait of Martin Luther King Jr. in a hoodie, a tribute to slain teenager Trayvon Martin.

(Nikkolas Smith)

His 2025 children’s book, “The History of We,” tells the story of how humanity can trace its roots to Africa. And one of his best-known pieces is of Martin Luther King Jr. in a hoodie, meant to evoke the image of Trayvon Martin, the slain 17-year-old whose death inspired a social justice movement. The work went viral in 2013 while Smith was still working for Imagineering. It altered his career trajectory.

“It was like, ‘I cannot just make art about churros and rides right now,’” Smith says. “There’s a time for that, and there’s also a time to talk about this.” He references his portraits related to the killings of Black men, many at the hands of police officers, such as Philando Castile and Michael Brown.

“At the end of the day, Disney understood that,” Smith adds. “They understood that I needed to make art that was extremely important at the moment, about justice or the lack of justice.”

Smith left Disney in 2019 after 11 years but has maintained a close relationship with the company, so much so that Imagineering called upon Smith to design the tower, which opened in 2023.

Artist Nikkolas Smith, left, chats with guests Ricky Yost and Martina Yost of Aubrey, Texas, who recognized Smith from a recent Disney cruise excursion.

(Gary Coronado / For The Times)

As the Legacy Tower spirals toward the sky, its patterns and and lattice work nod to the likes of James H. Garrott, Robert A. Kennard, Roy A. Sealey, Ralph A. Vaughn and Paul Revere Williams. All were active in Los Angeles — Williams, for instance, was a pivotal designer on the LAX Theme Building — and Smith interlaces decorative flourishes in varying styles that twist around one another to work up the Legacy Tower’s pointed spheres.

The door of the Legacy Tower symbolizes perseverance, Smith says. “They made it through, despite all of the obstacles they had to go through.”

Smith had studied the architects while a student at Hampton University, and has documented on his Instagram their various stylings, which range from restrained to whimsical to ornate. A section referencing Vaughn is modern minimalism, whereas an area dedicated to Sealey is full of jagged, pointed linework. All of it is held together via a coiling design that feels full of movement.

The patterns of the Legacy Tower are nods to the likes of James H. Garrott, Robert A. Kennard, Roy A. Sealey, Ralph A. Vaughn and Paul Revere Williams.

(Gary Coronado / For The Times)

“How can I show humanity’s interconnected future? That’s the idea,” Smith says. “There’s this African theme of Sankofa. If we look toward our future, we have to look at the past and value and appreciate the past. I thought it would be great if I could really commemorate some Black designers and architects as the foundation and backstory of the tower. And I was also thinking about these breezeway block patterns that you see in Leimert Park.”

And yet it also feels like something that belongs in the park. Smith says he looked at some Tomorrowland designs.

“A Midcentury Modern vibe was Walt,” Smith says, referring to park patriarch Walt Disney. “That was Walt’s thing. It all connects. I love that people can hopefully now connect both things. You can connect Tomorrowland and Walt with Paul Revere Williams.”

It’s clearly Smith’s favorite design of his for Disney, although it’s not the only space at the resort that features his artistry. During his decade-plus with Imagineering he regularly worked on teams that focused on projects at Disney California Adventure, which this year is celebrating its 25th anniversary. He was heavily involved, he says, in the evolution of Avengers Campus, contributed to a small promenade stage in Pixar Pier and helped envision the facade of Guardians of the Galaxy — Mission: Breakout!, which transformed the former Tower of Terror into a sci-fi structure.

Nikkolas Smith says elements of Downtown Disney’s Legacy Tower symbolize perseverance.

(Gary Coronado / For The Times)

Smith looks back fondly at his years at Imagineering, specifically calling out his time on the Guardians project. The former fake hotel is now full of glistening bronze pipes, a retro futurist look that former Imagineer Joe Rohde, who led the design, has said takes influence from the high-tech aesthetic of architect Renzo Piano, who worked on France’s Pompidou Centre.

“How much can we add to it? How much can we get away with gluing onto this thing?” Smith says of the Guardians facade. “What is the right amount of ‘Guardians of the Galaxy,’ without being too much? Without scaring people on the freeway?”

Today, Smith continues to focus on social justice work, and has also collaborated with filmmaker Ryan Coogler, such as completing concept designs for his Oscar-nominated film “Sinners.” Smith’s 2023 children’s book “The Artivist” documents the importance of creating art that’s in conversation with the world, believing it’s not only a source for education but for empathy. Smith’s weekly paintings speak out often against the current administration, and Smith has been particularly vocal on the ICE raids.

A selection from “The Artivist,” an illustrated book from Nikkolas Smith.

(Nikkolas Smith)

“Some people say that all art is activism, but I feel that some of the best art that is created is art that has a message,” Smith says. “And hopefully that message has to do with the humanity of all people, and for me, I like to focus on marginalized communities, and how we can value the humanity of everybody. That’s why I make picture books about the origins of humanity and the origins of this country.”

The Leimert Park resident says his wife and young son regularly visit the Disneyland Resort. And when he does, Smith says, he always takes a moment to stop by the Pixar Pier stage that he contributed to, which is often used for character meet and greets.

“They were team projects, and I do go up to them with so much pride,” he says. “I go up to the Pixar Pier promenade stage, and I just go up to it and touch it. … The beautiful thing about Disney is these creations are usually around for a lifetime.”

It turns out you can take the artivist out of Disney, but you can’t fully take the Disney out of the artivist.