neighbor

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)

Labor Day is behind us, election day is less than two months away, and the question before Los Angeles voters is this:

Can anyone run this city?

Two fires at abandoned properties, one in Studio City and the other on the eastern edge of Larchmont, offer windows into City Hall dysfunction as Mayor Karen Bass defends her job against a challenge by City Councilmember Nithya Raman.

Let’s start on Babcock Avenue, just south of Moorpark Street, where, for roughly five years, neighbors of a vacant house begged City Hall for attention to what had been a dumping ground, a fire hazard and a homeless hangout.

To no avail.

When they received any response at all, they got the runaround.

Resident Jon Manzanares told me he has supported Bass and Raman in the past. But in a spring 2025 email to City Hall, he said both “should be ashamed and resign in disgrace.”

Well, they didn’t. And following an Aug. 26 fire at the Babcock property, which damaged the rear of an adjacent home, Bass and Raman went after each other for not having addressed all those pleas for help.

“Nithya Raman wants to lead the whole city,” said a Bass campaign social media post, but after six years in office “she can’t even get a single lot cleaned up in her own district.”

Raman shot back, saying she had alerted the mayor’s office about the nuisance property 10 months earlier.

“I cannot call her about the 200-plus issues that we’re dealing with that are at this level of risk,” Raman snapped.

The finger-pointing doesn’t inspire confidence, does it?

At least, said Manzanares, a retired lawyer, L.A. found out what it takes to get a response from the two mayoral candidates.

“The news crews showed up” to cover the fire, Manzanares told me, “and it finally got some attention because of the election.”

But festering eyesores are everywhere, as Bass herself indicated when she called in to KTLA-TV.

Fire damage is seen at an abandoned Studio City property following a overnight blaze on Aug. 26.

(KTLA-TV)

“You know,” she said, “this is a situation that unfortunately exists all over the city.”

A for honesty. F for failing to clean up all those messes, regardless of whether the problem is departmental failure or communications breakdowns with council members.

The fire in Studio City spread to a neighboring property and damaged a structure that Kayt Miranda uses for storage and as a home office. I spoke to Miranda on the front porch of her home, and she said she had filed multiple complaints about the nuisance property over a five-year period.

Five years.

“And we never heard back,” Miranda said, telling me she had seen people set up camp at the property, bringing in mattresses, book shelves and clothing racks. “Then we went to Raman’s office … They would send responses, but … we never saw any action.”

Manzanares showed me an email from a Raman staffer last month that said, “unfortunately, there is not a clear and expeditious path forward on this case.”

Why not? Was it going to take another five years?

Miranda said exasperated neighbors had banded together to put up more lighting and cameras to protect their properties, “but it really did feel like this is forever, because nothing was going to happen.”

When I was done in Studio City, I drove across town to meet with construction worker and pastor Juan Galicia, whose house was torched in March when fire jumped from an adjacent abandoned property.

I had first heard about Galicia in April, when I toured a nearby Hollywood neighborhood for a column about a homeowner who had hired her housekeeper to report illegal dumping, help bag up the daily mess and try to reduce the fire risk around encampments. The city wasn’t doing its job, Stefanie Keenan had told me, so she was spending her own money to protect herself and neighbors. And she still is.

Galicia didn’t get the protection he needed, despite multiple contacts with police and city offices — by him, relatives and neighbors —regarding the empty dwelling next door to his on North St. Andrews Place. Galicia said squatters were in and out of the house, with periodic fighting and drug use. Police would come, he said, but when they left, the trouble would return.

Galicia was preaching at his church in South L.A. when flames engulfed his home, where he lived with an extended family of 10.

“Eighteen years,” he said of his time in the house. “And in 10 minutes, you have nothing.”

I followed him into the house, with its charred walls, ceiling and flooring. Galicia wore a somber expression, as if still suffering from the shock, and he saw new evidence of trespassers, along with some fresh graffiti.

Galicia told me, as he told The Times’ Seamus Bozeman in July, that he intends to rebuild. But his insurance settlement won’t cover the cost of rebuilding, and he’s still paying $2,000 a month on the mortgage, plus $6,200 for temporary lodging in a rented house.

Meanwhile, as he struggles with a crushing financial problem he did not create, he’s aware that millions are being spent on homelessness without significant progress.

Aerial view of Larchmont home belonging to Pastor Juan Galicia that was destroyed by a fire that began at a vacant property next door.

(Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)

“I don’t understand,” Galicia said.

A spokesperson for City Councilmember Hugo Soto-Martínez told me his office became aware of Galicia’s issue in January, but because of paperwork and the complexity of legal records, could not track down the owner of the adjacent property before the fire.

In L.A., people trip and fall in droves and successfully sue the city for millions. I wondered if Galicia might have a liability case against the city, but two attorneys told me going after the next-door property owner could be more fruitful.

In a Sept. 5 press release, Bass said she was directing city crews to clean and secure nuisance properties citywide. OK, fine, but what took her so long?

Bass also said she had earlier signed legislation initiated by Councilmember Monica Rodriguez to speed the process of cracking down on negligent property owners and to hit them with stiffer penalties.

Those fines ought to go into a fund to assist Juan Galicia and others like him.

Between 2018 and 2024, according to the L.A. Fire Department, homelessness was a factor in about one-third of all fires in the city.

“I feel for these people, I really do. I’m not unsympathetic,” Jon Manzanares told me in Studio City. “But by the same token, we need to do something constructive and not have these encampments that start fires.”

With less than two months to go before the election, it’s on Bass and Raman to convince voters they can make a difference.

The finger-pointing is useless.

steve.lopez@latimes.com