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May 15 (UPI) — The Democratic Republic of Congo declared an Ebola outbreak on Friday as 65 people have died from the disease in the country’s eastern region.

There have been about 246 cases reported, many of them in the Ituri province’s small mining towns of Mongbwalu and Rwampara. The Africa Centres for Disease Control and Prevention said in a statement Friday that it is meeting with DRC, Ugandan and South Sudanese leaders to prepare a response to the outbreak.

Uganda and South Sudan border the Ituri province.

Africa CDC said that the DRC’s national research laboratory has detected Ebola in 13 of 20 samples it has tested.

There have been 16 prior Ebola outbreaks in the DRC since 1976 when it first identified the virus within its borders. Vaccines are available for the Zaire strain. Africa CDC said that early testing indicates the current strain is not the Zaire strain.

“Africa CDC stands in solidarity with the government and people of the Democratic Republic of the Congo as they respond to this outbreak,” Dr. Jean Kaseya, director general of Africa CDC, said in a statement. “Given the high population movement between affected areas and neighboring countries, rapid regional coordination is essential.”

The mining towns where the outbreak is centered experience a lot of inbound and outbound traffic, raising concerns about the disease spreading further.

Ebola is a severe illness with a high fatality rate in humans, reaching as high as 90% in some cases, the World Health Organization says.

Infection can be spread by direct contact with a person who is infected or object surfaces that are contaminated with bodily fluids from a person who is sick or has died from the disease.

The Ebola virus can incubate between two and 21 days. Symptoms include fever, fatigue, malaise, muscle pain, headache and sore throat, before progressing to vomiting, diarrhea, abdominal pain, rash and symptoms related to impaired kidney and liver functions.

There were 64 cases of Ebola reported in the DRC last year, with 45 deaths, a 70% rate of fatality, the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention said. That outbreak occurred from September to December in the remote Bulape health zone in the Kasai province, which has a relatively low population density.

KEY WEST, Fla. — Ruthie Browning dove into the calm, blue water off Key West, Fla., expecting to see “a big, old rock with stuff growing all over it.”

She was on a pilgrimage with other Black divers and community members, visiting sacred sites including one where a British slave ship — the Henrietta Marie — sank 326 years ago.

The vessel had delivered 200 enslaved people from West Africa to Jamaica and was heading back to Britain in 1700 — near the peak of the trans-Atlantic slave trade — when it was swallowed up in the churning waters of New Ground Reef where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Gulf of Mexico.

A concrete marker at the site memorializes the people on that ship.

As Browning and her group prepared to dive in early May, the water was calm. The marker, 20 feet below, was visible from the glassy surface. “I thought I’d look at it, pay my respects and that’ll be that,” she said.

But something unexpected happened. Tears filled her eyes. She gently told herself: If you can be quiet, maybe they will speak.

Staring at the monument, which is now a small living reef covered in corals and sponges, she felt her ancestors’ words: “My daughter, we’re so glad you’re here.”

Overwhelmed, Browning lingered by the marker bearing the words: “Henrietta Marie. In memory and recognition of the courage, pain and suffering on enslaved African people. Speak her name and gently touch the souls of our ancestors.”

She felt submerged in gratitude.

“Without their stamina, their spirit and survival, I wouldn’t be here today. None of us would be here today,” she said.

Pilgrimages aren’t meant to be easy

For the pilgrims in Key West, the gathering was an act of devotion, a quest for connection with their roots and for spiritually nourishing generations to come. They had tried to dive to the marker last summer, but the water was too choppy.

“The ancestors were not smiling down on us then,” said Jay Haigler, master diving instructor with Underwater Adventure Seekers, the world’s oldest Black scuba diving club. “This year was different.”

Such a pilgrimage was never meant to be easy, said Michael Cottman, who has written two books about the Henrietta Marie and was part of the National Association of Black Scuba Divers that installed the marker in 1992.

Cottman believes the site contains “spiritual turbulence.”

“Even if it wasn’t carrying enslaved people, it embodies the oppression of our people,” he said.

The group organized an annual pilgrimage in the 1990s, but it didn’t continue. The latest trip was spurred by an underwater interview project proposed by Stanford University anthropologist Ayana Omilade Flewellen, who serves on the board of Diving With a Purpose, a Black scuba diving nonprofit dedicated to documenting slave shipwrecks.

The submerged interviews also helped her connect as a pilgrim, Flewellen said. “I felt a kind of tenderness in my heart.”

The spiritual experience helped her process a traumatic history rooted in death and suffering.

“It’s hard to attach your life with this history,” she said. “The only way I could do that was turn toward what the divers were experiencing on this pilgrimage. That’s where it all bloomed and blossomed.”

Ancient ritual at African refugee cemetery

The pilgrims also gathered on land. At Higgs Beach on the south side of Key West, they visited a memorial and burial ground for 297 African refugees who died in 1860 after being rescued by the U.S. Navy from three slave ships — Wildfire, William and Bogota. Over 1,400 refugees were housed by the government in a compound and provided food and medical care, said Corey Malcom, the Florida Keys History Center’s lead historian.

While many were sent back to Africa, hundreds died due to the horrific conditions on the ships, he said.

Largely forgotten for decades, the grave site was discovered by historians and geologists using ground-penetrating radar. In 2010, a large pit containing 100 more bodies was located at a community dog park across the street. The area is now fenced off, Malcom said.

On Saturday, pilgrims met at the cemetery and held an emotional libation ceremony, a sacred, ancient ritual rooted in Afro-Caribbean spiritual tradition. One by one, group members tearfully thanked their ancestors and poured white rum on the beach. The clear spirit is believed to act as a messenger, inviting ancestral souls for their blessings.

“To honor your ancestors and the road they’ve traveled is very, very important because we’re all connected,” said Addeliar Guy, one of the elders and an avid diver.

Underwater monument represents a living history

Joel Johnson trained for weeks for his first open-water dive at the Henrietta Marie site. Johnson, the president and CEO of the National Marine Sanctuary Foundation, said what surprised him as he approached the monument was the vibrancy surrounding it. Fish darted among the corals that swayed with the currents; shells rested on the sandy bottom.

Conservation and protecting these habitats also preserve the history below the waves, Johnson said.

“This was not a place of death, but a place of life,” he said. “I didn’t feel like I was grieving for my ancestors. I felt like I was in the stream of history, recognizing that I’m a part of that. It made me happy.”

While underwater, Michael Philip Davenport, president of Underwater Adventure Seekers, was inspired to create art showing ancestors emerging from the monument.

“Their spirituality is still in that space,” he said. “I was feeling their lives and their tragedy.”

Dr. Melody Garrett, an anesthesiologist, started training with Diving With a Purpose in 2011 and has gone on missions to find the Guerrero, a Spanish pirate ship that wrecked in 1827 while carrying 561 enslaved Africans.

“A pilgrimage like this is so important now more than ever because there is an effort to cover up, rewrite and change history,” she said. She cited the Trump administration’s moves to remove references to slavery and Black history at National Park Service sites and federal museums, labeling it as divisive “anti-American propaganda.”

For Garrett, seeing these pieces of history gives her a strong sense of identity as an American, as the nation prepares to celebrate its 250th birthday.

“Black people have been here since before this country’s inception, longer than many other people have,” she said. “This is our country.”

Exhibit displays shackles used in slave trade

Remnants of the Henrietta Marie’s wooden hull are embedded at the site under layers of sand. The shipwreck was discovered in 1972 by treasure hunter Mel Fisher, but it wasn’t until 1983 that hundreds of intact items were recovered. Only a few slave ships were found out of the 35,000 used to transport over 12 million enslaved Africans; most vessels were intentionally destroyed to hide the illicit trade.

The artifacts, which occupy an entire floor of the Mel Fisher Maritime Museum in Key West, include over 80 sets of iron shackles, many of them child-size.

When Kory Lamberts first walked over wooden planks in the exhibit, they unexpectedly creaked.

“It was visceral,” he said. “It took me to a place. It also tells me that these were young people — children. These are baby shackles. There’s no sugarcoating it. The truth really hits you.”

While in Key West, Lamberts — who runs a nonprofit to make aquatics more equitable — said he brought back fish from the Henrietta Marie site, which he imagines would have absorbed the DNA of the ancestors. The group ate that fish for dinner the night after the dives — like a sacrament.

“I don’t practice a faith, but isn’t this what people are doing every Sunday at church?” he asked. “I wasn’t just bonded with this site through the experience of being there, but at this molecular level with a full circle moment of connection with myself and my history.”

Bharath writes for the Associated Press.

Storms are common in northern India from March to June, before the annual monsoon rains arrive.

Duststorms, heavy rain and lightning have killed at least 96 people in the northern Indian state of Uttar Pradesh and damaged homes and other structures, officials said.

According to them, more than 50 people were injured in these weather-related incidents across several districts of Uttar Pradesh, India’s most populous state, on Wednesday.

Storms are common in northern India from March to June, before the annual monsoon rains arrive.

Officials said many deaths were caused by falling trees, collapsing structures and lightning. Police and disaster response teams used chainsaws and cranes to clear fallen trees from roads and railway tracks in several districts.

Narendra Srivastava, an administrative official, said emergency teams were deployed across the affected areas and that homes, crops and power infrastructure were widely damaged, particularly in rural parts.

In Prayagraj district, residents were in panic as strong winds tore through neighbourhoods.

“The storm came suddenly, and the sky turned completely dark within minutes,” Ram Kishore said. “Tin roofs were flying, and people ran indoors. We could hear trees falling throughout the evening.”

In neighbouring Bhadohi district, Savitri Devi said her family narrowly escaped after strong winds damaged their mud house. “We rushed outside when the walls started shaking because of the wind,” she said. “Our roof collapsed moments later. We spent the night at a relative’s house.”

Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath ordered officials to complete relief operations within 24 hours and for authorities to provide emergency aid and compensation to affected families.

President Zelenskyy says rescue operations continue after Russia used ‘more than 1,560 drones’ during its overnight attacks.

Russia launched a barrage of missiles and drones targeting Ukraine’s capital Kyiv, killing at least three people and wounding 40 others, Ukrainian authorities have said.

The Ukrainian military said on Thursday that the overnight strikes hit six districts of Kyiv and another six in the surrounding areas. Deputy Prime Minister Oleksii Kuleba said attacks had targeted ports in the southern Odesa region and railways.

In a post on X, President Volodymyr Zelenskyy said rescue operations were continuing following an attack on a nine-storey building in Kyiv after Russia launched “more than 670 attack drones and 56 missiles against Ukraine”.

“In total, since midnight yesterday, Russia has used more than 1,560 drones against our cities and communities. These are definitely not the actions of those who believe the war is coming to an end,” he wrote on Thursday.

“It is important that partners do not remain silent about this strike. And it is equally important to continue supporting the protection of our skies,” Zelenskyy added.

The mayor of Kyiv, Vitali Klitschko, said 40 people were wounded in the attacks, including two children, while Ukrainian emergency services said three people had been killed.

Reporting from Kyiv, Al Jazeera’s Audrey Macalpine said people are still feared trapped under the rubble of the building.

Macalpine said it was one of Russia’s largest attacks of the war, “in a single 36-hour period just by sheer number of drones”.

The attack comes as a setback for efforts to end the war after United States President Donald Trump raised faint hopes for peace by brokering a three-day ceasefire between Kyiv and Moscow last week, and Russian leader Vladimir Putin suggested the war could be winding down.

The truce – put in place as Putin presided over a scaled-down military parade in Red Square to mark the anniversary of World War II victory – was marred by allegations of violations by both sides.

Ukraine and Russia launched long-range drone attacks immediately after it ended on Tuesday.

The Kremlin has poured cold water on the idea that Putin’s vague comments, issued Saturday, about the war “heading to an end” could mean a softening in Moscow’s position.

On Wednesday, it repeated its demand that Ukraine fully withdraw from the eastern Donbas region before a ceasefire and full-scale peace talks can take place.

Kyiv has rejected such a move as tantamount to capitulation.

Cost: $21 to $27 for patio chairs. $32 to $36 for cushioned loveseat. Parking rates below the building range from $10 to $12.

Next film: “Saved!” on May 14, 8:15 p.m.

Other films: “Twilight,” “Josie and the Pussycats,” “Past Lives,” “10 Things I Hate About You.”

Food options: Outside food and drinks are not allowed. Concession stands carry popcorn, nachos, pretzels and other snacks. Full bar with cocktails, beer and wine.

Dog-friendly? Pets not allowed.

Things to note: Bring-your-own-blanket policy for cold nights. Age requirements vary; most showings are 16+, but select films are 18+ and 21+. If weather conditions become too extreme, showings may be canceled.

After watching his mother perform in a production of “A Raisin in the Sun” at Compton Community College when he was 9 years old, Anthony Anderson knew appearing on stage would be his life’s work. Over the next handful of years, he enrolled in programs across Los Angeles to achieve that dream. Then, one morning after finishing a class at the Southern California Regional Occupational Center in Torrance, Anderson saw a Post-It note on a bulletin board that caught his attention. The note informed aspiring artists about a newly formed arts school. To be admitted, they had to submit an audition tape.

“I ripped it off the board, and I brought it home to my mother, and I said, ‘Mom, if I can get into this school, can I go here?’” Anderson says. “She said, ‘If you can get into that, yes.’”

Months later, Anderson received a letter informing him that he had been accepted into the inaugural class at the Los Angeles County High School for the Arts.

Founded in 1984 and opening its doors to students in 1985, Los Angeles County High School for the Arts is located on the campus of Cal State L.A. It was established to provide students (currently 550) with conservatory-level arts training and college-prep academics within the public education system. LACHSA isn’t associated with LAUSD; instead, it partners with the Los Angeles County Office of Education, which provides funding to support it.

“I felt it to be very important that I was in an environment where other students had the same passion as I did for the arts, in particular, theater,” Anderson says. “Being around other students who had the same passion and drive that I had as an artist was very influential.”

Over the years, LACHSA has featured a who’s who of alumni across various disciplines, including musicians Phoebe Bridgers and Haim, actors Jenna Elfman and Belissa Escobedo, and visual artists Robert Vargas, Tomashi Jackson and Kehinde Wiley. For the past seven years, the school has been ranked as the top public high school for the arts.

Drew McClelland (second from right) with students from LACHSA’s Cinematic Arts Program and actor William H. Macy (far right).

(Courtesy of LACHSA)

While the school’s accolades focus on the arts, LACHSA also aims to give its students experiences that extend beyond the program. Days are structured so that students take academic classes in the morning and arts in the afternoon. With this format, they meet and get to know classmates from other disciplines.

Former “SNL” cast member Taran Killam points out that this also promotes the school’s social and economic diversity, acting as a mini-college experience.

“It’s such a melting pot, but you have this beautiful, focused bonding,” he says. “It’s a rare thing for kids to know, but LACHSA students are ambitious. It’s very unifying when your background is so disparate and so diverse. It’s what makes it special, and you can’t get this experience in a traditional school.”

Lara Raj attended several arts-focused high schools as she moved during her childhood. With that in mind, the member of the girl group Katseye cites LACHSA as having a major influence on her artistic development. During her time at LACHSA, Raj took music, fashion and acting classes, and says its music tech class was her favorite. There, she learned how to create beats and write songs.

“I developed my songwriting and fell in love with it through those classes,” Raj says. “I was excited to go to school every day. And I hate school.”

Before attending LACHSA, singer-actor Josh Groban didn’t know a school specializing in the arts was an option. After bouncing around schools and realizing he needed a different education to express himself equally academically and artistically, he ended up at LACHSA. There, he found like-minded, artistically inclined outsiders.

Josh Groban, a former student of LACHSA, credits the institution with helping him find his voice.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

“I was a kid who didn’t quite know how to fit in,” Groban says. “Then at [LACHSA], I was surrounded by other students who, I think, didn’t know how to fit in either. We were there for the same reasons, which is that we felt like we needed the nourishment of the arts and being able to express ourselves on a daily basis.”

Half of LACHSA’s funding is provided by the state, with the rest provided by the LACHSA Foundation, a registered 501(c) (3). According to its executive director, Trena Pitchford, the foundation has invested $1 million each school year.

“People always ask me when I tell them I went to LaGuardia and to LACHSA if they were private schools,” Raj says. “I tell them it was created by people who are passionate about the arts and want to inspire kids.”

“There’s a part of LACHSA that I think is a discovery point for a lot of Los Angeles County, and even the nation,” Pitchford says. “There’s so much opportunity for the school, and they’re doing it on a limited budget. What would happen if they were fully funded? What would happen if the foundation had a $40 million endowment? That would fully sustain what they’re doing right now.”

LACHSA students posing in front of the entrance to the Greek Theatre

(Courtesy of LACHSA)

LACHSAPalooza, the culmination of the foundation’s two-year fundraising campaign to celebrate the first 40 years of LACHSA, will take place at the Greek Theatre on May 30. There, student artists will perform alongside Ozomatli, Jon B., April Showers and more. From a fundraising standpoint, the foundation has high hopes of raising $2.5 million.

“We have both annual goals in terms of investment as well as sort of big visions, big dreams of where we think LACHSA could go for the next 40 years,” Pitchford says. “We also hope to put LACHSA on the national stage.’

The honorees for the night are the late Pat Bass, LACHSA’s gospel choir director, retiring LACHSA theater department chair Lois Hunter, and Jerry Freedman, a longtime social studies teacher at the school.

For Anderson, who is serving as the night’s host, seeing Freedman recognized is very meaningful.

“He was there from the school’s beginning,” Anderson says. “He was there when I started, and he’s still there and is still beloved by the students 40-plus years later. I’m looking forward to honoring him.”

As an arts-based school in the long-standing entertainment capital of the U.S., LACHSA can educate and enable the next generation of artists to discover their voices in the backyards of production companies, studios and record labels.

“The freedom that a LACHSA student gets on the campus to discover who they are is exciting,” Pritchard says. “It’s very innovative, very creative, and it’s forward thinking, future forward. It’s an exciting and thrilling place to be.”

Alumni agree. Without LACHSA and, in turn, a focused public arts education, pursuing a career in the arts would have been more difficult and more costly.

“It helps develop souls to be fully fledged human beings who feel like they can go off into the world and be the best versions of themselves,” Groban says. “We all felt like we were free to be who we wanted to be.”

“Specialty-focused high schools like LACHSA, be it arts or any other topic deserving of protection, because it is a gathering place for exceptionally talented, ambitious, driven kids,” Killam says. “And aren’t those the kind of people we want to be cultivating in society?”

Vice President JD Vance said Wednesday that the Trump administration is deferring $1.3 billion in Medicaid reimbursements to California over concerns the state is allowing “fraudsters” to drive up costs to taxpayers, including by pushing unnecessary medications on unsuspecting patients.

“There are California taxpayers and American taxpayers who are being defrauded because California isn’t taking its program seriously. But also, you have people who’ve been prescribed medications that they don’t even need,” Vance said. “Sometimes they’ve had drugs put into their bodies that they don’t need because fraudsters have actually encouraged false prescriptions and false administration and medications.”

Vance, standing alongside Dr. Mehmet Oz, the administrator for the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services, said the administration is also sending letters to all 50 states informing them that if they do not “effectively and aggressively prosecute Medicaid fraud in their states,” they will see federal funding cut off as well.

“We want California to get serious about this fraud,” said Vance, who President Trump named his “fraud czar” last month.

Oz called out what he said was widespread fraud in hospice services and similar in-home care programs nationally — and particularly in the Los Angeles region — and announced a six-month moratorium on new Medicare enrollment for hospices and home health agencies.

“A third of all these programs in the entire country are in Los Angeles. Ask yourself, how is that possible? It’s not,” Oz said. “They’re not that many people dying in Los Angeles. We’re not talking about California, just Los Angeles.”

He said he and others in the administration determined that “at least half of the hospices, in the entire area around Los Angeles, are fraudulent,” and had shut down 800 of them that last year had “charged the federal taxpayer $1.4 billion,” which “will no longer be paid.” That is a major increase from the 450 providers the administration said it had suspended as of last month.

The announcement was the latest attempt by the Trump administration to highlight and rein in fraud in federal healthcare benefits programs, particularly in blue states. The actions were met with immediate push back from California officials.

“We hate fraud. But that’s NOT what this is,” Gov. Gavin Newsom’s office posted on the social media site X. “Vance and Oz are attacking programs that keep seniors and people with disabilities OUT of nursing homes. Pretty sick.”

Newsom’s office said that the growth of In-Home Supportive Services placements in California was “simple,” and due to California “keeping more people OUT of far more expensive nursing homes!”

Such services cover assistants who help people with daily tasks such as bathing, laundry or cooking; provide needed care such as injections under the direction of a medical professional; and accompany them to and from doctor’s appointments. A 2020 report by the California state auditor found that nearly three-quarters of IHSS caregivers assist a family member.

Newsom’s office wrote IHSS care costs $30,000 a year, while nursing home care costs $137,000 a year. “SAVING TAXPAYERS: $107K per person,” it wrote.

California Atty. Gen. Rob Bonta also criticized the administration’s moves.

“Once again, California appears to be targeted solely for political reasons,” Bonta said. “The Trump administration is planning to defer over $1 billion in Medicaid funding for vital programs that helps seniors and people with disabilities remain safely in their homes.

“My team is carefully reviewing all available information. We have not hesitated to challenge unlawful actions by the Trump administration, and we will continue to act whenever Californians’ rights or access to critical services are threatened,” he said.

Democratic Sen. Alex Padilla also lashed out at the Trump administration.

“The Trump Administration is attacking California over claims that they can’t back up,” Padilla wrote on social media. “Let’s be real, this isn’t about fraud — it’s about punishing a state that didn’t vote for him. Political retribution plain and simple.”

Fraud in California’s hospice industry has been a problem for years.

Authorities in the state promised to crack down on the issue after a Times investigation in late 2020 revealed that unscrupulous providers were billing Medicare for hospice services and equipment for patients who were not actually dying — with the hospice industry in the state exploding in size.

California’s Medicaid program, known as Medi-Cal, is expected to cost about $222 billion for the budget year starting July 1, including both state and federal funding. Roughly 15 million Californians, more than a third of the state, are on Medi-Cal.

Vance, a potential 2028 presidential hopeful, has taken up his work as “fraud czar” with vigor, traveling around the country to drive home the idea that the Trump administration is working diligently to bring down healthcare costs by addressing waste, fraud and abuse that is rampant across the system.

He has said that waste and abuse is particularly prevalent in Democratic-led states such as California, New York and Minnesota.

“We have red states and blue states that go after fraud aggressively, but we also, unfortunately, have some states, mostly blue states, unfortunately, that do not take Medicaid fraud very seriously,” he said Wednesday.

Vance specifically threatened to cut off what he said is billions in federal funding for state-run fraud control units that are meant to prosecute people who abuse the system, but which he said aren’t doing the work. “This is a tool that we want the states to use, but unfortunately, a lot of states aren’t using these tools at all,” he said.

The focus on fraud comes against a backdrop of criticisms that other policy measures pushed by the administration have driven healthcare costs up or made it harder for people to access healthcare — including cuts to Obamacare subsidies and new work requirements in Medicaid, which are expected to strain hospitals around the country and led to millions of people losing healthcare coverage.

Democrats and Republicans have argued over who is to blame for rising healthcare costs, and Vance and Oz have clashed with California leaders before.

In January, Newsom filed a civil rights complaint against Oz after he posted a video accusing Armenian crime groups of carrying out widespread healthcare fraud in Los Angeles. In the video, Oz was shown driving around Van Nuys, saying about $3.5 billion worth of Medicare fraud had been perpetrated by hospice and home care businesses — and “run, quite a bit of it, by the Russian Armenian mafia.”

Newsom called Oz’s claims “baseless and racist.”

The administration previously launched investigations into potential healthcare fraud in at least five states — California, Florida, Maine, Minnesota and New York — and halted some $243 million in Medicaid payments to Minnesota over fraud concerns.

The Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services has also acknowledged using errant figures to justify a fraud probe in New York, deepening concerns in the administration’s methods for identifying problematic activity.

Vance said the deferral of funds to California and the letters warning other states to get serious is not about political retribution, but a wake up call. He said the Trump administration wants to help states root out fraud and abuse, including with new technologies — but can’t do so if they are not “willing to help themselves” first.

“We don’t want to turn off any money. What we want to do is ensure that people are taking fraud seriously. We want to protect Medicaid, we want to protect Medicare,” Vance said. “But we can’t do that if the states that are administering those programs are allowing those programs to be fleeced by fraudsters.”

The Associated Press contributed to this article.

Donald Gibb, the actor who played the hulking fraternity bro Ogre in “Revenge of the Nerds” and Ray “Tiny” Jackson in “Bloodsport,” has died. He was 71.

Gibb’s son Travis confirmed his father’s death to TMZ on Tuesday evening after he died earlier that day at home in Texas surrounded by family. Gibb, a former professional wrestler under the name “Don Gibb,” succumbed to “health complications,” according to his son.

A statement from the family, provided to People, described Gibb as a father, grandfather, great-grandfather, brother, uncle, friend and actor.

“Known for his larger-than-life presence on screen and his kindness off screen, he brought joy, laughter, and unforgettable memories to countless people throughout his life and career,” the statement said.

“Above all else, Donald treasured his faith and the people he loved,” it continued. “His strength, generosity, and spirit will never be forgotten by those who had the privilege of knowing him personally and by the many fans whose lives he touched over the years.”

“Bloodsport” star Jean-Claude Van Damme remembered Gibb in an Instagram story, posting a photo from 1986 and writing “Rest in peace, my brother.” He also reposted a reel showing himself and Gibb in the 1988 movie.

“Whether he was the lovable brute Ogre in Revenge of the Nerds or the fearless Ray Jackson in Bloodsport, Donald brought a heart as big as his frame to every role,” the caption on the reposted reel said. “Watching him alongside Jean-Claude Van Damme was the ultimate display of brotherhood on screen. In the clip, JCVD asks, ‘What took you so long?’ It’s a bitter-sweet reminder that while he’s gone too soon, his legacy in the martial arts and 80s cinema world is timeless. ‘Anytime, anyplace, anywhere.’”

A representative for Gibb didn’t respond immediately Wednesday to The Times’ request for comment.

Gibb had about 100 credits, including the sequels “Bloodsport” and the movie and TV sequels to “Nerds.”

Born Aug. 4, 1954, Gibb started his career in the early 1980s with uncredited roles in “Any Which Way You Can,” “Stripes” and “Conan the Barbarian.” His TV credits included episodes of “Cheers,” “MacGyver” and “The Young and the Restless.”

He acted into 2011, then tagged on one last credit, for the 2026 movie release “Hands.” According to IMDb, that filmed sometime in 2023 or 2024.

Brace yourself, Coronado. The hospitality maven who brought San Diego its most over-the-top maximalist hotel — the Lafayette in North Park — is back with another glitzy project, this time in the wealthy island city known for its traditional bent.

Opening Thursday, Baby Grand includes a 35-foot faux rock wall, a 20-foot waterfall, a Mediterranean restaurant that feels like a Greek ruin being consumed by a jungle and a hidden oyster bar full of crystal and mirrors. All of this, including the Spanish statuary, Moroccan fixtures and Murano glass, is squeezed onto an Orange Avenue lot that once held a 1950s motel. If Liberace had run away with an art historian, they might have landed here.

The idea was “to create this little mirage within the mirage that is Coronado,” said Arsalun Tafazoli, founder of CH Projects, the group behind a multitude of design-intensive establishments across San Diego including the speakeasy Raised by Wolves, the hi-fi listening bar Part Time Lover and the Middle Eastern restaurant Leila.

The Baby Grand hotel and its restaurant Night Hawk stands along Orange Avenue about a block from the Hotel del Coronado.

The patio dining area of Coronado’s new Night Hawk includes seating for about 150.

Baby Grand’s high-density, high-gloss environment, which cost about $17 million and took about five years to complete, will come as no surprise to those who have followed Tafazoli’s earlier ventures.

Asked about the design philosophy behind the 2023 renovation of the Lafayette — the company’s first hotel — Tafazoli had a simple answer: “More is more.”

The Baby Grand project, put together in collaboration with design studio Post Company, is cut from the same cloth, describing itself as a “polychromatic pastiche” on its website. The goal, Tafazoli said, is to enrich Coronado’s culture and give people a respite in an anxiety-ridden time. But “it is different,” he said. “I don’t know if it is going to be embraced.”

Getting the necessary city permissions “was definitely a struggle,” Tafazoli said. “Had I known how difficult this was going to be, I don’t know …”

In the days before the hotel’s opening, Tafazoli, 44, led a tour of the site. The entrepreneur, whose heritage is Persian, wore his hair in braids and a button-down Supreme shirt featuring Barack Obama.

The Baby Grand hotel’s guest rooms feature separate tub and shower.

“I have a very one-dimensional existence. I’m single. I have no kids. This is what I do,” said Tafazoli, who grew up in San Diego and studied at UC San Diego. He lives now in downtown San Diego’s East Village, where his company is based and where his first CH venture, Neighborhood, opened in 2007.

Though his company started with eating and drinking establishments, Tafazoli said, his goals were always to create and run hotels, “the pinnacle of hospitality.” As a child of divorce, he said, he may have a heightened awareness of when the energy feels right in a room and when it doesn’t. Creating social environments, he said, gives him some control over that. Moreover, he added later, “beauty is important to me, because it conveys care.”

To make the most of Baby Grand’s compact location (2/3 of an acre), the CH team has exported parking. Instead of leaving their cars on site, guests will hand keys to valets who will deposit vehicles in a Bank of America parking structure a block away. That move freed up space for not only palm trees, torches, tables, booths and 21 pieces of statuary from Spain, but also a little faux beach with a 4-foot-deep wading pool that can hold a handful of people.

“I can’t tell you how many iterations of sand were brought in and taken out,” Tafazoli said. “Sand is its own universe. You want local sand. But local sand was not conducive to that feeling.” So the sand is from Turkey.

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1. Guest shower in an en suite bathroom. 2. Hotel design touches include guest bathroom door handles. 3. Fiberglass clamshells serve as headboard in guest rooms.

The property’s main restaurant, Night Hawk, is Mediterranean, with cooking by open fire, a Greek ruins vibe and seating for about 150. The second restaurant lurks behind the lobby — a hidden oyster-and-Champagne bar that holds about 35 people, reservation only. The space, called Fallen Empire, features red mohair booths, built-in Champagne buckets, mirrored walls and chandeliers, sconces and lamps from the Italian glass-blowing island of Murano. The floor is a custom mosaic of sea creatures.

There are 31 guest rooms, beginning at $350 per night. Each is dominated by a custom-made clamshell headboard (fiberglass). Beds are surrounded by animal-print seating, parquet oak flooring, marble tables, mirrored cabinets and custom wallpaper. The rooms measure roughly 300 square feet each, nearly half of that space taken up by their elaborate bathrooms, each with separate tub and shower, sinks from Morocco.

Now picture all of that placed in the heart of Coronado (population 20,192), which sits next to Naval Air Station North Island and is known for attracting well-heeled retirees. The median home value is $2.5 million.

Up the block from the Baby Grand is the grand dame of San Diego County tourism, the Hotel del Coronado, which went up in 1888, completed a $550-million renovation last year and starts its rates north of $600. Another option is the Bower Coronado, also a dramatically upgraded motel that reopened in 2025 with prices similar to Baby Grand’s but a much more buttoned-down style.

This view from above at the Night Hawk restaurant space shows a stone booth, elaborately patterned cushion and table top.

All of those properties stand close to Coronado’s wide, sandy beaches — which means they all face challenges as waters are often fouled by the northward flow of untreated sewage from greater Tijuana. The longstanding problem has worsened in recent years, and Coronado’s Central Beach was closed to bathers on 129 days in 2025 because of unsafe bacteria levels. The U.S. and Mexican government say they have sewage-treatment projects in progress, with improvements expected by the end of 2027.

“We are, unfortunately, not marine scientists just a group of deeply overcaffeinated hoteliers with strong opinions about lighting, linen textures, and good design. So please check local water conditions before swimming,” Tafazoli wrote in a statement.

Asked his target market for the new hotel, Tafazoli said he was looking close to home.

“I see this as a staycation for locals” from San Diego County, Tafazoli said. “The big risk is that we don’t get locals and it doesn’t resonate with tourists who like the status quo.”

That said, Baby Grand and Coronado might be a better match than some imagine. Christine Stokes, executive director of the Coronado Historical Assn. and Museum, sees at least a few parallels to Baby Grand in local history, beginning with the historical association’s own building. From the 1950s into the 1990s, Stokes noted in an email, Marco’s Restaurant operated in the space, with a “Roman Room” bar — “a dark and immersive hidden gem where bartenders performed sleight-of-hand magic tricks.”

Guest rooms, including No. 103, are labeled with inscribed brass clamshells.

Then there was the Hotel del Coronado’s Circus Room restaurant, open from the 1930s into the 1960s. That was “an immersive environment, using specialized murals and striped tents on the walls,” Stokes wrote. It’s also where, in 1950, the manager of an L.A. TV station spotted a promising young piano player and decided to give him a chance on screen. The pianist’s name was Liberace.

However people respond to the particulars of the new hotel, Tafazoli said, he knows that the larger setting of Coronado is a special place.

From his office in San Diego’s East Village, “it’s a six-minute drive,” he said. “I come off that bridge, and I feel like I’m in a different place.” It’s amazing, he said, “to be so close and feel so far away.”

A city hearing concerning on-site alcohol sales provided the public a chance to air their opinions on the possible reopening of the Cinerama Dome and ArcLight Hollywood on Tuesday morning.

Though a final letter of determination is still to be issued, Tim Fargo, the associate zoning administrator in charge of Tuesday’s meeting, said he was “inclined to approve” the conditional-use permit under consideration. The permit would cover the Cinerama Dome, 14 adjacent auditoriums and a restaurant café with two outdoor spaces.

The Dome closed in March 2020 with the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic and in April 2021 it was announced that the venue would not be reopening. Film lovers in Los Angeles and around the world have since been hopeful the venue, seen by many as a symbol for Hollywood itself, could reopen.

During the meeting, Elizabeth Peterson-Gower, a land use consultant representing the owner and applicant Dome Center LLC, was asked if there was a timeline for reopening the theaters. She responded, “I too don’t have a schedule yet, but when I do, I’ll convey it to you.”

In a separate phone interview following the meeting Tuesday, Peterson-Gower referred to the approval of the conditional-use permit as a “milestone” in the process of reopening the theaters and added that ownership has noted the intense public interest around the Dome and the ArcLight and that “it will inspire a time frame in the near future.”

Throughout the meeting, Peterson-Gower referred to the success of the Blue Note jazz club that opened on a corner of the property in August 2025.

“What it proves to me is that the ownership cares greatly,” Peterson-Gower said after the meeting. “That’s a big undertaking and a big statement in favor of the fact that ownership care what’s there.”

Numerous other voices were heard throughout the hearing as well. Ted Walker, planning deputy for Council District 13, where the theater is located, said, “Too often we see [historic-cultural monuments] around our city sitting vacant. So we’re very supportive of anything to bring some life back into this. We know there’s a lot of love for the Cinerama Dome and we want to acknowledge the work of all the community members who are advocating for it. We believe resuming these operations will further enhance the vibrancy of Hollywood.”

Burbank City Council member Konstantine Anthony noted that he was a former usher at the Dome and also voiced support for the reopening.

More than 30 people provided public comment. Among those were Kat Kramer, daughter of filmmaker Stanley Kramer, director of “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World,” the very first film to play in the Dome in 1963, film critic Wade Major and Ben Steinberg, who has led a grassroots campaign to get the venue reopened.

The Blue Note Jazz Club undergoes construction near the Cinerama Dome on Tuesday, Aug. 5, 2025, in Los Angeles.

(Juliana Yamada / Los Angeles Times)

One commenter said, “Why have they kept it closed? Is this just a strategy to let it rot so that they can get building violations and just tear it down and build condos? There’s a lot of fear about what’s going to happen with this thing that people feel attached to. And to not answer questions over all this time has frankly been offensive.”

Another commenter said that the delays in reopening feel like ownership “keeping a bit of our heritage hostage from us.”

Even those who were asking for clear specifics from ownership were nearly all in favor of granting the conditional-use permit, which was the ostensible purpose of the meeting. As local preservation advocate Kim Cooper said, “I know that this has been hard and it has seemed like the citizens versus the ownership — that’s not what it is. People want to come together and help and bring this place back.”

Speaking after the meeting, Peterson-Gower noted her own history with the Dome, having been involved with many events there in the late ’80s and early ’90s when she was vice president of the Hollywood Athletic Club, located just a few blocks away on Sunset Boulevard.

“Everyone has a story about the Dome that’s lived here, even me,” she added. “I didn’t want to bring my personal life into the hearing, but I care passionately as well about it opening.”

While the final outcome of the hearing is still to be fully determined, all signs point to the permit being granted and the project being free to move forward.

“I was overwhelmingly pleased with the comments,” said Peterson-Gower. “I think that it shows that there’s a great historic use in a historic property and I think that people care passionately about it operating and are very, very proud of the property being here in Hollywood.”

BEIJING — The Trump administration has repeatedly framed the war in Iran as a quick, winnable fight, vowing to defeat the Islamic Republic “totally and decisively” — incomparable to the “dumb” wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

But from China’s perspective, the parallels are clear.

“You can blow everything up — destroy it all,” one Chinese official told The Times, describing the Americans, “but you don’t have a strategy.”

President Trump arrives in Beijing this week for talks with a Chinese government that is confident as ever in its ascendance on the world stage, taking stock of its leverage and still baffled the U.S. administration chose yet another costly war in the Middle East.

China has watched as the United States, over seven weeks of fighting an outmatched enemy, has depleted nearly half of its stockpiles of high-end munitions — including its THAAD and Patriot batteries — and fired its Army chief of staff, among other Pentagon leaders, who had warned of critical shortages.

Marco Rubio, Trump’s national security advisor and secretary of State, has said the military operation that started the war known as Operation Epic Fury “is over.”

But the Strait of Hormuz, one of the world’s most vital commercial waterways, remains effectively shuttered. Iranian attacks in the region continue. And talks between Washington and Tehran have failed to reach a diplomatic agreement to bring a definitive end to the conflict.

“The Chinese have high regard for the operational proficiency of U.S. forces, but they recognize that, thus far at least, the Trump administration has not achieved its core objectives in going to war with Iran,” said David Ochmanek, a former deputy assistant secretary of Defense now with the Rand Corp.

The war has given Beijing an opportunity, Ochmanek said, “to double down on the claim they have made for the past year and a half that the [People’s Republic of China], not the U.S., is a force for global stability.”

The war has allowed China to demonstrate some diplomatic prowess. An initial ceasefire reached between the United States and Iran last month was only clinched after Beijing pressured Tehran to agree. And China’s advocacy for an open strait — rejecting Iranian attempts to impose a toll system — while opposing the U.S. war itself has allowed Beijing to maintain leverage with both sides.

It has also inflicted costs. Allies of Beijing noticed when the government did not leap to the defense of Tehran at the start of the war. And China has its own vested interest in a free and open waterway, where nearly 50% of the country’s crude oil imports pass through each day.

Building up to the start of the war and throughout its initial weeks, Washington diverted significant military assets from Asia — where Trump’s own national security strategy says they are needed most — to the Middle East.

The USS Abraham Lincoln was redirected from the South China Sea, along with scores of advanced missile interceptors from South Korea and Japan and nearly the entire U.S. inventory of long-range air-to-surface missiles in the Pacific.

Policy experts at the Pentagon were brought in to discuss a potential invasion of Kharg Island, the jewel of Iran’s oil industry, to draw lessons from planning a defense of Taiwan, according to a Defense official, who was granted anonymity to speak candidly. A Marine expeditionary unit was sent from Okinawa to the region for the potential operation.

Chinese officials and analysts have been candid in their assessments of U.S. hard power, impressed by a military they acknowledge remains the best in the world.

But Beijing sees a persistent flaw in U.S. strategy: the belief that military strength alone can reshape political realities, a view further weakened by the pressures on a democratic government whose public grows impatient with wars that drag on beyond days or weeks.

China’s autocracy is free from accountability to the public — and anyway has confidence that Chinese public opinion would be on its side if it were to launch a major military operation against its main target, Taiwan.

But there are lessons of caution to be learned from the Americans, as well.

Over the last year, the Taiwanese Navy has been practicing the rapid deployment of cheap and domestically produced smart mines for the sea — a potential bulwark against enemy blockades of ports and hostile invasion forces.

It is the type of asymmetric warfare that has so far frustrated the U.S. military in the Strait of Hormuz, protracting a war that Trump vowed would last a month or less.

Taiwan, too, would confront Beijing with political realities that military force cannot erase. Nearly 90% of the Taiwanese people oppose a Chinese takeover, and about 60% say they would resist it at all costs.

“Chinese analysts see two things at once,” said Craig Singleton, senior director of the China program at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies. “They are impressed by U.S. military reach, precision and operational capability, but they also see a familiar pattern of American power struggling to translate battlefield success into a durable political outcome.”

That matters for Taiwan, Singleton said, “because China’s own military modernization has borrowed heavily from the American model, relying heavily on joint operations, high-tech precision strikes, decapitation concepts and information dominance.

“If the world’s most experienced military can still struggle to convert military pressure into political success,” he added, “Beijing has to ask whether the [People’s Liberation Army] could do better in a far more complex Taiwan scenario.”

Clave Especial is finally taking a break.

In the last two months, the corrido tumbado band from Salinas, Calif., performed at the South by Southwest music festival in Texas—and made headlines by singing a narcocorrido; spoke to Latino students at Cornell University in upstate New York; and even embarked on a impromptu 10-hour road trip to show their support for Juan, a contestant from Mexico on one of MrBeast’s latest challenges who has become a viral sensation.

In fact, the trio— lead singer Alejandro Ahumada, guitarist Leonardo Lomeli and tololoche player Rogelio Gonzalez — felt so compelled to make the pilgrimage to the North Carolina grocery store where Juan has been sequestered for months, that they ditched all press events for their latest EP “Afterafter,” released on April 30, in order to meet and serenade him. The band even awarded a $5,000 scholarship to his son, Angel.

“Why? Because it felt so right,” said Ahumada. “His story connected with us, because we also come from hardworking parents that really gave it all for us.”

As the rush of East Coast travel wore off, Clave Especial returned to Salinas to throw a huge homecoming bash. “It’s like a full-circle moment,” said Ahumada of their May 4 performance at the Salinas Sports Complex.

They joined a video call from their childhood bedrooms to discuss “Afterafter,” a five-track project set to a fiery tempo — 140 BPM to be exact — that is nostalgic for summer days and the never-ending after-parties they bring. The songs were selected from their vault, they said, which includes a long list of tracks that didn’t make the cut for “Mija No Te Asustes,” the band’s 2025 critically acclaimed debut that featured co-signs by Fuerza Regida, Edgardo Nuñez and Luis R Conquirez.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

What was it like to perform back home in Salinas?

Alex: That’s actually the second time that we come back as Clave Especial. The first show was at the Fox Theater, which was a sold-out show. People were asking us, “Hey when are you guys coming back?” We decided to do it now at the Salinas Sports Complex.

Jumping to the EP, how did “Afterafter” come to be?

Alex: It was more like a fun concept that we kind of had in mind. We were actually working towards an album at a writers camp in Ensenada. It was at the beach. Then we jumped around to Miami, Puerto Vallarta. We caught ourselves jumping around beaches, a lot of parties. We want to give people like a summer EP, something they can slap during the summer when they’re partying.

If “Mija No Te Asustes” is an album about this confident boss man calling the shots, how would you characterize “Afterafter”?

Alex: I think it’s that same guy from the first album, he’s still living it up. In “Mija No Te Asustes” there’s some songs like “Como Capo” that introduce that vibe to this EP, so we just continued that wave. It was our biggest song yet. We knew that people liked us apart from the corridos like “Rápido Soy,” “No Son Doritos,” but I think with “Como Capo” we discovered that people like other sounds and lyrics. That’s what we tried to continue in “Afterafter.”

Musically, how would you describe the sound of this EP?

Leo: One thing about us, when we get in the studio, we play a lot in the tempo 6/8s, this upbeat speed. We always hit the BPM at 140 BPM — that’s the Clave Especial essence.

One of the songs that caught my interest was “Scary Movie,” because it reminded me of a corrido-inspired “Thriller” (by Michael Jackson). It also connects the past album because there’s a phrase where you say “Mija, no te asustes.” Tell me the backstory of that spooky song.

Alex: That’s funny, because I’m going to watch the Michael Jackson movie today. That song was actually composed by someone from Street Mob from Ensenada. I think that song was already in the vault.

Leo: That song was tailored for [the past] album. The [ad lib] was an Easter egg.

I saw that you were all recently in North Carolina at the grocery store where Mr. Beast is doing a challenge. There’s one Mexican dad named Juan competing for the million-dollar prize. You guys went to see him and also gave his son a scholarship. Why was it important for you guys to show up?

Alex: Basically we were in [New York] having dinner. We had some press the next day but we had to cancel on them. We commented on Mr. Beast’s video, and the comment got a lot of likes, we’re like “oh shoot, this is dope, this has a real impact on the Mexican community.” His son had swiped up on us, thanking us for supporting his dad.

We saw that Juan told his son to leave the competition ‘cause he wanted to keep going to school. I think we’re one of the few bands in the industry that went to school. I have my bachelor’s degree from Fresno State. It was something that really resonated with us. We had also just come off a panel there at Cornell University so everything just set the tone. We saw the map. It was 10 hours away, obviously a drive, but this opportunity’s never gonna come. We’re from Cali and this is on the other side of the country and we’re here now. Let’s show that the Mexican community is very powerful, united. Let’s go show some support to Juan and his kid. Hopefully he wins!

The last time we chatted was at the Rolling Stone showcase at SXSW. I didn’t get a chance to talk to y’all afterwards, during the end of your set, you sang a cover of Los Alegres del Barranco’s “El Del Palenque” which venerates the narco leader El Mencho, who was killed by Mexican forces just weeks prior. Why was it important for Clave to sing that song specifically?

Alex:  We just like the song. At the end of the day it’s just music. It’s storytelling. It’s corridos. That’s what corridos is all about, and that’s why I got into the music scene. We just like the song. We’re from Jalisco, from Michoacán. It always turns up the crowd, so we did it for the people. People want to hear corridos. We’ve been seeing the censorship going on, but at the end of the day I don’t think that’s the problem. It’s a lot deeper than that, and music is just music, we’re just storytelling, singing music, having fun on stage.  I don’t know if we had it in our set list or not, but I think we had just played a song prior to that that had the same tones. I was like, keep it going, let’s play this one next. Nothing deep.

So it wasn’t planned?

Alex: No, it wasn’t. Afterwards I was like, “Damn, I sang that.” But, eh, who cares?

Do you guys ever get worried when you sing corridos? Or is that something that you’re able to manage being from the U.S., which provides a layer of protection?

Alex: There’s a famous dicho: El que nada debe, nada teme. Like at the end of the day we don’t owe anybody anything. We do music, we’re here by our own sacrifice. People that know our story know that.

WASHINGTON — A new Immigration and Customs Enforcement policy requires members of Congress to seek advanced approval in order to speak with detainees during oversight inspections at detention facilities.

It’s the latest twist in a months-long effort by ICE to restrict such visits by lawmakers, which have skyrocketed amid the Trump administration’s mass deportation campaign.

California Reps. Mike Levin (D-San Juan Capistrano) and Sara Jacobs (D-San Diego) learned about the new policy when they made a surprise visit on Monday to the Otay Mesa Detention Center in San Diego.

ICE allowed them to enter, Levin said, but when the members asked to speak with detainees, local personnel handed them a memo outlining the new policy — dated the same day and signed by acting ICE Director Todd Lyons.

In it, Lyons calls the visits disruptive and resource-intensive because they pull staff away from law enforcement duties. Lawmakers sometimes request to speak with a particular kind of detainee — for example, people held longer than 90 days — and Lyons said meeting such requests takes up too much time.

“This is an unsustainable burden for ICE employees and a hindrance to ICE operations given the exceptional growth in congressional visits,” he wrote.

Moving forward, members must identify detainees by name at least two business days in advance of a visit and provide a signed consent form from each detainee.

The Department of Homeland Security and ICE did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

Levin said the new policy effectively defeats the purpose of unannounced oversight visits.

“I think it’s a deliberate effort to make sure we don’t hear from people in ICE custody,” he said.

Democratic House members sued the Trump administration last July after they were repeatedly denied access to immigrant detention facilities in California and across the country.

Under federal law, funds appropriated by Congress cannot be used to prevent a member of Congress from entering or inspecting a detention facility operated by or for Homeland Security.

Monday’s unannounced visit was Levin’s first to the Otay Mesa facility since a federal judge in February blocked a previous Trump administration policy requiring members of Congress to give seven days notice before visiting ICE detention centers.

The administration appealed, and on Friday an appellate court in Washington denied the administration’s request to restore the seven-day policy while the case proceeds, saying the government hadn’t provided enough evidence that the visits are harmful.

That win for the lawmakers could be short-lived — the panel of judges who denied the administration’s request also wrote in their order that the members of Congress “have no standing to maintain this lawsuit, so the government is very likely to succeed on the merits of its appeal.”

In the memo on ICE’s new policy, Lyons noted that in the 10 fiscal years before 2025, ICE facilitated roughly 45 congressional visits to detention centers each year.

After Trump took office, the agency facilitated more than 150 visits in fiscal year 2025. As of May 11, ICE had facilitated about 200 congressional visits since the start of this fiscal year.

Levin said the increased visits by himself and other members have become necessary because Homeland Security has slashed the vast majority of staff at the Office for Civil Rights and Civil Liberties, as well as the Office of the Immigrant Detention Ombudsman.

“The volume Lyons is citing is a direct consequence of his own department dismantling all the alternatives,” Levin said. “They gutted the internal oversight and then complained that the external oversight is too active, then issued a memo to restrict it. All of that only makes sense if the goal is no oversight.”

During previous visits, Levin said he would ask for detainees who met specific criteria, such as those held in a unit of the detention center that was the source of complaints to his office. Those detainees would write their names on a sheet of paper if they were interested in speaking with him.

Barred from speaking with detainees, Levin inspected what he could at Otay Mesa on Monday. Levin said he drank the facility’s water (it tasted like regular tap water) and tried the food — chili, salad, corn, chips and cake that won’t “win any culinary awards, but it was fine.”

At one point, Levin said he saw a detainee using a tablet and asked how it works. An employee interjected and reminded him of the new policy, he said.

Observation is a necessary part of any inspection, Levin said, but you don’t really know what’s going on without talking to people in a way that’s unplanned.

The facility held 1,008 ICE detainees — 864 men and 144 women, as well as others in U.S. Marshals Service custody, Levin said. Nearly a third of the detainees were from Mexico, with smaller numbers from Guatemala, China and other countries. On average, they had been detained 130 days.

Levin said he sent the ICE memo to Rep. Joe Neguse (D-Colo.), who is the main plaintiff in the lawsuit over the oversight visits, and lawyers in the case are now reviewing its legality.

Eighteen people have died so far this year in immigrant detention facilities, leaving 2026 on track to be the agency’s deadliest year in more than two decades. Last year, 32 people died in detention facilities.

Since Trump returned to the White House, reports from detention centers have highlighted issues of overcrowding, insufficient medical care and widespread use of force.

Friends, motorists, fellow Americans: The road ahead is far from straight. But it will take us through eight states and dozens of small towns, past Muffler Men and Patel motels, beneath the bright lights of Tulsa and Tucumcari, up close to Edward Hopper’s “Nighthawks” and Angel Delgadillo’s barber chair.

In other words, it’s Route 66, an American artifact that turns 100 in November and seems to contain more curiosities and paradoxes than the Midwest has cornstalks.

To see all that up close and catch America’s Main Street making ready for its centennial summer, I drove the entire stretch — from Chicago to Albuquerque in one trip, then Albuquerque to Santa Monica in another, a combined 17 days on the road.

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Even before that first day of driving brought me to Springfield, Ill., I’d realized that more days would have been better. As traveler Leonidas Georgiou of Greece told me, “This is a lifetime journey.”

You quickly see that this 2,448-mile route is actually a medley of rural highways, small-town main streets, frontage roads and inescapable bits of Interstate 40. You roll from Midwest farmland to Southwest desert to the Pacific, rising and falling between sea level and 7,000 feet. The roadside signs and buildings, restored and ruined, cry out for more than a drive-by snap. And people are happy to see you, because Route 66 is what keeps some of these towns alive.

Beginning with your first miles — and a cup of coffee at Lou Mitchell’s diner in Chicago — you meet all sorts of travelers. A mother and daughter from New York. The California couple who just retired from the Air Force. The European cop who persuaded his mom to come along, then had her sleep in the car to save money. The “roadies,” many of them retired, who return every year. Some come for the scenery, some for the signage, some for the conversations.

Depending on whom you ask, this might be the most famous highway in the world. It is the inspiration for a short, happy song that’s lasted 80 years (Bobby Troup’s “[Get Your Kicks on] Route 66”) and a long, sad book that’s lasted 87 (John Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath”). Then again, if you were born in this century, you probably know the road’s story best from the 2006 Disney-Pixar movie “Cars.”

As the miles go by, you realize that Route 66 hasn’t been strictly American for a long time. Many Route 66 merchants and hoteliers say that most of their customers are travelers from abroad. Beyond that, many Route 66 entrepreneurs are from families that came to the U.S. in the last 50 years. I met a restaurateur from Lebanon, one motel owner from the Netherlands and four more motel owners, all named Patel, whose families arrived from India after 1965.

Route 66 west of Seligman, Ariz.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

“You never know what language or accent you’re going to hear,” says Rhys Martin, Tulsa, Okla.-based manager for the National Trust for Historic Preservation’s Preserve Route 66 initiative. “You’ve got new business owners. You’ve got unique cuisine. You’ve got this cultural diversity. You’ve got the African American experience. It’s more complicated than just a trip back in time.”

And this year is especially complicated.

Hundreds of small businesses along the route have been investing in centennial upgrades and celebrations, including a 19-day national caravan that begins June 6 in Santa Monica. But 2025 was slow on 66, in part because many Canadian visitors stayed away after President Trump proposed taking over their country.

1.) Views of the Chicago skyline from Navy Pier. 2.) Millennium Park, Chicago. (Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

Now, on the brink of summer, soaring gasoline prices could keep many Americans home, and President Trump’s America-first rhetoric and nonresident fees might drive more international travelers elsewhere.

“We all worry about that,” says Terri Ryburn, owner of Ryburn Place Gifts & Gab in a 1930s gas station in Normal, Ill.

“We need new roadies,” says Anna Marie Gonzalez, co-owner of the Aztec Motel & Creative Space in Seligman, Ariz. “And the roadies need to be American this year.”

Now my rented Ford Escape SUV is rolling and my windshield is full of rural Illinois. Water towers, grain elevators, flags on barns. Black and white cows.

The skyline view from Chicago’s Navy Pier is half a day behind me, as are the crowds around the big silver bean in Millennium Park and the great American artworks in the Art Institute of Chicago (where “Nighthawks” hangs).

Experts say that about 85% of the old highway is still drivable. But some states post more signs than others. And everywhere, people steal signs.

Ah, but not these signs. One for a barn sale off Stripmine Road. A warning that Funks Grove has sold out of pure maple syrup. Somebody selling deer pee to hunters.

When I cross the state line, I face a billboard pitching “Uranus Fudge Factory, Missouri’s No. 2 Attraction.”

After I pass the exit comes the sequel message: “Uranus is behind you.”

The Wagon Wheel Motel stands along Route 66 in Cuba, Mo.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

The Route 66 timeline starts in November 1926. That’s when state and federal transportation officials embraced the idea of connecting scores of cities and small towns with one long, paved road.

As I pull over for a barbecue dinner in tiny Cuba, Mo., the 90-year-old Wagon Wheel Motel pops up like a slideshow illustration of that time. The stone-walled motel looks unchanged in decades, but sleepy.

“Never closed,” says a sign in the window with a phone number. “If office locked we are close by.”

The Rockwood Motor Court in Springfield, Mo., is a window into the same era. Built in 1929, my $77 room is compact and the plumbing is delicate, but all the vintage vibes are present. Phyllis Ferguson, desk clerk, owner and “old building hugger,” is full of tips on roadside businesses and where to stay, because “I know these little tourist courts are getting fewer and farther between.”

Boots Court motel opened in 1939 to capitalize on Route 66 traffic in Carthage, Mo.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

In Carthage, Mo., at Boots Court, desk clerk Jason Shelfer shows me a splendidly restored 1939 room where Clark Gable slept and tells me he never appreciated the reach of Route 66 until now.

“When people from Brazil come to Carthage, Missouri,” Shelfer says, “something magical is happening.”

And there’s another side to this magic: 66 can also be invisible up close. Not just because of missing signs, but because it has aliases everywhere. It’s Jackson Boulevard in parts of Chicago, Garrison Avenue in Carthage and Main Street in Galena, Ks., where 18-year-old cashier Kassidy Kell welcomes me into Gearhead Curios.

“Before my job,” she confesses, “I had no idea what the thing was with Route 66.”

It was John Steinbeck who called 66 the Mother Road. But if the Mother Road has a father, it’s probably Cyrus Avery, a Tulsa businessman and big wheel on the Oklahoma Highway Commission in the 1920s. Avery, who now has his own plaza in Tulsa, campaigned for a Chicago-Los Angeles route through his hometown. Little did he know what was coming.

The Cyrus Avery Centennial Plaza features a bronze sculpture called “East Meets West,” just off the now-closed Cyrus Avery Route 66 Memorial Bridge in Tulsa, Okla.

(Mike Simons / For The Times)

Within a decade, drought and Depression had forced legions of Dust Bowl migrants from Oklahoma and beyond on desperate journeys west, using Route 66.

A decade beyond that, the end of World War II in 1945 filled the road again, this time with happy travelers.

That postwar era is what many people now think of as a simpler time, and perhaps a better one. But segregation and “sundown towns” were still in place along much of the route. For travelers of color, a carefree road trip would have been impossible. And for many Native Americans, the roadside proliferation of cowboy/Indian caricatures would have been nothing to smile at.

But these were years that reshaped the look of Route 66. Hundreds of motels, shops and gas stations rose along the road, often designed in bold geometry and bright colors.

Mary Beth Babcock at her shop Buck Atom’s Cosmic Curios in Tulsa, Okla. In the background is her giant, Stella Atom.

(Mike Simons / For The Times)

Flash forward now to Tulsa’s Meadow Gold District, a.k.a. “land of the giants.” In 2018, retailing veteran Mary Beth Babcock took over an old gas station, dubbed it Buck Atom’s Cosmic Curios on 66, and soon opened more shops nearby.

Then, to get attention and make drivers smile, she put up a few “muffler men” — roadside fiberglass giants. She started with Buck and Stella Atom, a space cowboy and cowgirl who loom over 11th Street, looking to the past and future.

“Americana!” says Babcock. “Road trip! Who wouldn’t want to do that?”

Near the east edge of the Texas panhandle stands the most elegant gas station you’ll ever see: the 1936 U-Drop Inn and Tower Station in Shamrock, which drips with Art Deco style. (No, you can’t get gas there. But you can eat at the cafe inside or charge your Tesla in back.)

In Groom, stopping for gas, I spy the largest cross I have ever seen — 190 feet high and 110 feet wide. Nearby, I glimpse a crooked water tower — built to attract tourists and billed as the Leaning Tower of Texas.

Sorry, Groom. I’m not stopping.

The fastidiously restored U-Drop Inn, a Streamline Moderne filling station and cafe in Shamrock, Texas, is one of the architectural standouts of Route 66. It doesn’t sell gas, though.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

I reach Amarillo just in time, grab paint cans and hustle out to the field where a line of 10 old Cadillacs stand half-buried. As the sun sets, they throw 50-foot shadows while the scent of spray paint fills the air.

This is Cadillac Ranch, an art installation from the 1970s where visitors are free to add their own paint, whatever they like. Mine says “Read Something.”

Next comes Tucumcari, N.M., one of the few places to sleep between Albuquerque and Amarillo. Because of that, it used to get thousands of road-trippers. They’d slowly roll down the main drag, choosing favorites from a riot of snappy names and caricatures lit in gleaming neon.

“They tell me it was like driving into a little Las Vegas,” says Gar Engman, owner of Tee Pee Curios.

But I-40 changed everything.

In 1956, President Eisenhower called for a better interstate highway system. By the mid-1960s, wider, faster interstates started opening, flanked by chain hotels and restaurants. After I-40 bypassed Tucumcari in 1981, and train service dropped off as well, Tucumcari crashed. Just about every town along 66 has a version of this story, especially in New Mexico and Arizona.

Visitors to the Cadillac Ranch art installation in Amarillo, Texas, are allowed to spray-paint the 10 Cadillacs half-buried in the ground there.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

So is Tucumcari a ghost town? Not exactly. Many buildings stand empty and the Apache Motel’s vintage sign rests flat in a parking lot like a fallen soldier. But several motels are clearly doing fine, as is Tee Pee Curios. At night you still see a great set of signs. Most dramatic is the Blue Swallow Motel with its bird in flight, cursive letters and promise of “100% refrigerated air” — maybe the most photographed sign on 66. But you can’t ignore Motel Safari, the Roadrunner Lodge and La Cita restaurant, which wears a red sombrero and serves a fine Frito pie.

In Newkirk, N.M., four turkeys cross the road, leaving me groping for a punch line.

In Santa Rosa, N.M., I tiptoe into the Blue Hole, an artesian well that’s always 62 degrees, then tiptoe out again.

Turkeys on Route 66, Newkirk, N.M.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

In Albuquerque, I roll past many blighted blocks on Central Avenue, then jog 65 miles northwest to sample the art and wealth of Santa Fe.

In the farmers market there, I give public poet William Curius $20 to pound out a Route 66 poem on his Royal typewriter. In 20 minutes, he comes up with a solid effort, but it’s nothing compared to his answer when I ask his age.

“I don’t identify with age. This is how you die. Counting each year.”

In Petrified Forest National Park — the only national park directly on the route — I hike among red rocks and howling wind.

By the time I reach Williams, Ariz., several people have told me that the European travelers know more about Route 66 than the Americans do. So when I see four guys from Greece on the sidewalk, I try that idea on them. Alex Andros, age 30, nods immediately.

“If you come to Greece,” he says,”you probably know more Greek mythology than us. So that makes sense.”

Now we arrive at Seligman, Ariz. It’s tiny, with a population south of 800. But in the lore of Route 66, Seligman is big. Because of Angel Delgadillo.

By 1985, though the roadway was still mostly intact, Route 66 was officially obsolete, decommissioned as a federal highway. Starved for visitors, Seligman was dying. But Delgadillo, a barber with deep roots in the town, had an idea. He and his wife, Vilma, rallied business people from nearby towns to seek historic status for their stretch of Route 66. After they prevailed, they started a statewide organization and set a national movement in motion.

Angel & Vilma Delgadillo’s Original Route 66 Gift Shop on Route 66 through Seligman, Ariz. (Mark Lipczynski / For The Times)

Scenes from Route 66 in Williams, Ariz. (Mark Lipczynski / For The Times)

The Delgadillos’ business, now a gift shop, endures on Seligman’s main drag, as do Vilma and Angel, who celebrated his 99th birthday in April. Two daughters help run the shop, which includes an old barber chair where you can sit for a selfie.

The westernmost stretch of 66 in Arizona is a driver’s dream and a magnet for motorcycles. Those 158 miles make up the longest-surviving continuous stretch of Old 66, beginning just east of Seligman, veering away from the railroad tracks, cutting through Kingman, twisting and turning through Oatman and the Black Mountains, eventually rejoining I-40 at the state line.

Then it’s time to cross the Colorado River. Roar through Needles. Pause at the Roy’s sign in Amboy for dusk. Crash for the night in Barstow.

At San Bernardino’s Wigwam Motel, I wind up chatting with a mother-daughter duo of Canadian travelers.

“I was against coming down,” admits Sharon Prinz, 75, of British Columbia.

1.) The stretch of old Route 66 between Kingman and Topock in western Arizona is known as “Arizona Sidewinder” for its 191 turns, often without guardrails. The old mining town of Oatman, known for its roaming donkeys, is on the way. (Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times) 2.) The Magic Lamp Inn in Rancho Cucamonga. (David Fouts / For The Times) 3.) Foothill Drive-In sign on the campus of Azusa Pacific University. (David Fouts / For The Times)

“It’s a timing thing,” says Wendy Prinz, 51, who talked her mom into coming. “If you put off something for a year, you might never get the chance.”

The end is near, and I’m feeling like a marathoner at Mile 25. Creeping along Foothill, Colorado, Sunset and Santa Monica boulevards, I scan the scene for old signs. Rancho Cucamonga’s Magic Lamp Inn! Azusa’s Foothill Drive-In! (But there is no drive-in, just the sign.)

And then, at dusk, it appears: the Santa Monica Pier and the sign declaring I’ve reached the “end of the trail.”

All those miles. Yet already, I’m making a mental list of stops to add and detours to try next time.

A sign marking the end of Route 66 on the Santa Monica Pier.

(David Fouts / For The Times)

“It’s so easy to use up all your time and end up running behind,” says Ian Bowen, manager of the pier’s 66 to Cali kiosk. “It took me six years to do the whole road.” And then, he adds, “you become part of the community.”

And you see how, in so many ways, the road is one long small town. When Brenda at the Midpoint Cafe in Texas sends a guest westward with a coconut cream pie for Robert and Dawn at the Blue Swallow Motel, Robert and Dawn thank her on Facebook (“It’s like a hug in a box”) and scores of roadies applaud. When Angel Delgadillo turns 99, West Side Lilo’s Cafe is ready with carrot cake. After Beth Hilburn adds a giant outside her Hi-Way Cafe, Mary Beth Babcock heads over from Tulsa to Vinita to say hi.

And when a rookie roadie finishes his first 66 trip, he has to wonder: Who will be out there this summer? Will it be enough to keep this fragile recovery going?

If this is the story of America’s Main Street, what’s the next chapter?

The snow was flying sideways and he had no jacket, but this lumberjack did not shiver. He stood about 25 feet tall, ax in hand, wearing a red hat and rictus grin. And he was made of fiberglass.

I stood at his feet on the Northern Arizona University campus in Flagstaff, full of the satisfaction that comes at having accomplished something truly trivial: At last, I was face to face with the original Muffler Man.

Stories, photos and travel recommendations from America’s Mother Road

Easter Island has its stone-faced monoliths. China has its terra-cotta warriors. And we Americans have these roadside giants, also known as Paul Bunyans, Uniroyal Gals and most commonly, Muffler Men. Manufactured in Los Angeles, they first appeared on the highways of North America in the early 1960s as an advertising gimmick, often promoting car lots or car parts. Now they’re rising again, a battalion of restored and replica specimens, beloved by road-trippers, kitsch aficionados, artists, preservationists and savvy entrepreneurs.

“To me, they’re kind of instant friends,” said Amy Inouye, the designer and artist who rescued L.A.’s most iconic Muffler Man, Chicken Boy, a chicken-headed statue that stands atop her gallery in Highland Park. “They’re really tall and they just want to be accepted for who they are.”

The Northern Arizona University campus in Flagstaff includes the first oversize fiberglass Muffler Man, who has long been outfitted as a lumberjack.

These figures are especially plentiful along Route 66 this year as it turns 100 — there was a “pre-centennial frenzy” in the words of roadsideamerica.com, which coined the term “Muffler Men” and tracks them on a map. Nobody’s certain how many figures were made during the golden age of Muffler Men, but since 2020, the tally of giants has climbed above 250, including “a few dozen” rediscoveries since 2010, according to Doug Kirby, the co-founder and publisher of the site.

“Just in the last year or two, all these Muffler Men are being added,” he said. In addition, more than a dozen giants are currently in transition — that is, getting reconditioned or relocated.

1.) Cigars and Stripes BBQ in Berwyn, Ill., features a Muffler Man smoking a cigar and holding a jumbo bottle of barbecue sauce. 2.) The Gemini Giant stands along Route 66 in Wilmington, Ill.

On a recent westbound journey from Chicago on Route 66, I started seeing them almost immediately.

First, on Ogden Avenue in the Chicago suburb of Berwyn, there was the Cigars & Stripes Muffler Man. He stood on the roof of the Cigars & Stripes BBQ Lounge, brandishing a chicken wing and a fridge-size bottle of barbecue sauce while chewing on a stogie.

Next, in Wilmington, Ill., came the Gemini Giant, who stands 23 feet tall above a tiny park. Made for a Wilmington diner in 1965, he was auctioned off for $275,000 in early 2024 and placed in his current location later that year. He wears a clunky silver space helmet and holds a rocket in his hands.

I had come across a few Muffler Men before this trip, including Big Josh, who looks down upon Joshua Tree from the Station gift shop on State Route 62. But now I was paying more attention.

At first, I learned, these giants were all men, conceived around 1962 by a Lawndale entrepreneur named Bob Prewitt and made popular from the early 1960s through the mid-1970s by a company in Venice called International Fiberglass.

Made from a standard set of molds and held together by steel frames, most Muffler Men are assembled from three or four pieces. Besides those figures holding mufflers and tires, others were outfitted as cowboys, Indians, lumberjacks (often known as Paul Bunyans), astronauts, chefs, dentists, golfers, hot dog vendors, race-car drivers, pirates and service-station attendants. Then there were the jug-eared goofball characters, which some scholars of the art form call halfwits, while others prefer snerds.

As interest in this kind of advertising grew, female giants followed, including Uniroyal Gals and Rosie the Riveters. Oversized animals, including dinosaurs, bulls, roosters, hens and seals, also multiplied.

Juni Peraza, 25, works at the Meadow Gold Mack retail shop on 11th Street in Tulsa, Okla. She said she has only recently realized the possibilities that come with 11th Street being part of Route 66.

All that action faded in the 1970s. But in about 1989, the seeds of a new Muffler Man era were sown.

Kirby, Mike Wilkins and Ken Smith, who had worked together on the 1985 book “Roadside America,” were building a database for a follow-up project when they realized, “Hey, wait, this configuration of statue we’re seeing in a lot of places,” Kirby said. “We decided we’d better start keeping track.”

The first few they saw were holding mufflers. Thinking of the old nursery rhyme “Muffin Man,” and a Frank Zappa song of the same name, Kirby decided to call them Muffler Men.

When the roadsideamerica.com website launched in 1996, Muffler Men were part of it. By 2000, Roadside America had uncovered their origin story and interviewed Steve Dashew, former president of International Fiberglass. And readers had embraced the giants in a big way.

This fiberglass Rosie the Riveter figure went up on 11th Street in Tulsa in 2025.

“It was like a religious epiphany for some people. For years, they were driving past these things,” Kirby said. “As soon as they realized it was part of an uncharted network across the country … it’s like your third eye has been opened.”

Ken Bernstein, principal city planner for Los Angeles Office of Historic Resources, calls Muffler Men “monumental and distinctive representations of midcentury car culture, especially along auto-centric corridors where it was important to catch the eye of passing motorists.”

New giants, known as custom jobs, are being steadily manufactured now. There’s an entire economic community emerging around their restoration, replication, sales, transport and display, including companies like (Re)Giant and sculptor Mark Cline’s Enchanted Castle Studios. (To confuse matters, many Southern California mechanics woo customers by welding together mufflers to make human figures. Those creations, too, are often called Muffler Men.)

The American Giants Museum in Atlanta, Ill., created in 2024 by Bill Thomas of the Atlanta Betterment Fund and collector-historian Joel Baker, is devoted to the fiberglass figures. The museum, open April through October, includes four standing Muffler Men, with two more expected around Memorial Day.

Because the giants stand in the open air, visitors who show up after hours — as I did — can ogle them any time.

Atlanta, Ill., is home to the American Giants Museum, which celebrates the Muffler Men and Uniroyal Gals that were common roadside advertising features in the middle 20th century.

“I love history. I love anything to do with cars and old advertisements. I think it just takes people back,” said Lee Woods, 55, who jumped on the Muffler Men bandwagon about five years ago and owns the museum.

Woods and his wife, Diane, who have a fleet of tow trucks in Hot Springs, Ark., were collecting old porcelain gas station signs, gas pumps and old cars in 2021 when, on a drive through Illinois, they laid eyes on the Gemini Giant.

“I told my wife I would love to have one of them things to represent our tow company,” Woods recalled.

Before long, they had hired someone to build a custom tow-truck-operator Muffler Man. And before that Muffler Man was done, Lee Woods had bought another one — a Paul Bunyan in Oklahoma. Then in 2023 he got a hold of a Muffler Man Mr. Spock from Rainbow Neon in Salt Lake City. Now Woods has eight Muffler Men in Arkansas.

“Sometimes I get carried away, my wife says,” Woods said.

Last fall, he bought the museum, where he collaborates with Baker, who is founder of the American Giants website, creator of a Giants YouTube series and serves as a Muffler Man broker, consultant and transportation specialist.

“When people see these things, they think they’re the coolest thing out there,” Woods said. “Today we’ve had people from six different countries here.”

1.) Cowboy Bob, who is about 20 feet tall, plays guitar and wears a bolo tie, is one of several oversize fiberglass mascots along 11th Street in the Meadow Gold District of Tulsa. 2.) Meadow Gold Mack, a friendly lumberjack, is mascot for a shop of the same name on 11th Street in Tulsa. 3.) A Muffler Man near Gearhead Curios in Galena, Kan. 4.) The 2nd Amendment Cowboy is a fiberglass giant that stands at the entrance to a trailer park near the art installation Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo, Texas.

From here, the giants seemed to come fast and furious. One in Galena, Kan. Two in Vinita, Okla. (which has since added a third). Five in Tulsa’s Meadow Gold District (including one with an 8-foot-long guitar).

Then in Weatherford, Okla., came a 30-foot astronaut. In Amarillo, a “2nd Amendment Cowboy” with a pair of big pistols at his feet. In Gallup, N.M., a giant on the roof of a used car lot.

By the time I’d reached Flagstaff, my count was 18.

Then came my snowy moment with the original Muffler Man, whose nickname is Louie. Experts agree that he was produced in about 1963 and sent to a Flagstaff cafe with a lumberjack theme (and yes, that cafe stood along Route 66).

Louie stood there until the cafe closed more than 10 years later. Then he was donated to NAU and stationed by the ticket office of the university’s Walkup Skydome. Another lumberjack stands inside.

But after Louie, I hit a drought — no more giant sightings in Arizona and none on the Route 66 alignment I followed into Southern California.

This seemed wrong, because there are so many giants along the byways of Southern California and because this is the land of their birth. Besides Big Josh, there’s the Paul Bunyan in Mentone, the empty-handed Muffler Man known as Kevin on Sherman Way in Van Nuys. There’s the flag-wielding Porsche Muffler Man in Carson (who previously served in the same spot as a club-brandishing Golf Man). And there are plenty of others.

It didn’t seem right to end the journey without another sighting. So I made my way to Highland Park to meet the one who rules the roost.

More specifically, I headed for 5558 N. Figueroa St., which was on the path of Route 66 for several years in the 1930s and which is the home of Chicken Boy.

Blessed with the customized head of a chicken, the body of a Muffler Man and a bucket in his hands (for eating chicken?), Chicken Boy stood for years atop the Chicken Boy fried-chicken restaurant on Broadway downtown, inspiring writer Art Fein to label him “L.A.’s Statue of Liberty.”

After the restaurant was shuttered in 1984, Inouye swooped in to rescue Chicken Boy and place him in protective storage — for years, as it turned out.

The fiberglass statue known as Chicken Boy stands on the roof of artist, designer and gallerist Amy Inouye’s studio on Figueroa Street in Highland Park.

In October 2007, after she and longtime partner Stuart Rapeport had bought the Highland Park studio space and pulled permits, Inouye put Chicken Boy back together again and set him up on the roof. There he remains, sharing space with a billboard, visible up and down the block between Avenue 55 and Avenue 56.

If a nomination by L.A. preservationist Charles J. Fisher goes through, Chicken Boy could become the first Muffler Man declared a city historic-cultural monument. And if you drop by the Future Studio Gallery on a Saturday between noon and 3 p.m. or 4 p.m., you’ll likely find Inouye, now 74, along with a trove of Chicken Boy T-shirts, patches, pencils and ceramic treasure boxes.

But seeing Chicken Boy is its own reward, especially after seeing so many of his fiberglass cousins. I got there on a balmy afternoon, beheld Chicken Boy’s beak gleaming in the sun, and knew my mission was complete.

Ian Bowen is manager of the “66 to Cali” shop/kiosk on the Santa Monica Pier. Many travelers go to the kiosk for the Route 66 “passports” and certificates of completion.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

Beyond the merry-go-round and before the Ferris wheel on Santa Monica Pier, Ian Bowen does business in a snug kiosk overstuffed with souvenirs, guidebooks and replica highway signs. The whole structure measures about 77 square feet. But the idea behind it sprawls for miles and keeps Bowen talking for hours on end: Route 66.

The 66 to Cali kiosk is owned by Dan Rice, who started the business in 2009 after years of travels on the Mother Road. But Bowen, 35, has been managing it for 10 years, making sales, offering advice and hearing travelers’ tales, which almost always come with surprises. He calls himself “a bona fide nerd about Route 66.”

“It took me six years to do the whole road and finish my last stretch in Arcadia, Oklahoma,” Bowen said between customers one recent night. Rather than cover more than 2,400 miles in a single trip, he has done what many American “roadies” do: biting off one chunk at a time. Before you know it, he said, “you become part of the community.”

That became obvious as Bowen flipped through the photo albums he keeps in the kiosk. There’s Harley Russell, ribald proprietor and performer at the Sandhills Curiosity Shop in Erick, Okla. There’s Fran Houser, the late, widely beloved proprietor of the Midpoint Cafe in Adrian, Texas. And there’s Bowen getting a haircut from Angel Delgadillo, the Seligman, Ariz., barber, now 99, who kicked off a resurgence of interest in Route 66 in 1987 with a call for historical recognition.

This is not the career Bowen planned for; he studied to be an industrial designer. But now that he’s in the business of celebrating Route 66, he sees it, and other highways like it, as a launching pad for independent businesses, a lifeline for small towns and an antidote to the isolation of contemporary society.

“The old roads aren’t just about nostalgia,” Bowen says on his website. “They’re about creativity, honest work, investing in ourselves and our communities, and the notion that effort is rewarded.”

For those considering a Route 66 trip, Bowen has advice of all kinds.

Want an old-school meal along the route in Santa Monica? Bowen will point you toward Bay Cities Italian Deli & Bakery, which opened in 1925.

A lunch spot near Elmer’s Bottle Tree Ranch in Oro Grande? Cross-Eyed Cow Pizza, said Bowen, is just down the road.

The backstory on Bobby Troup’s song “Route 66?” Bowen can tell you that Nat King Cole recorded it in early 1946 in a studio at 7000 Santa Monica Blvd. And that address, now occupied by the Jeffrey Deitch art gallery, is actually on Route 66.

Whatever your itinerary, Bowen urges a loose schedule, leaving plenty of room for discoveries and unplanned conversations. Otherwise, “it’s so easy to use up all your time and end up running behind,” he said.

One recent Friday, Leonidas Georgiou, 36, stepped up to the kiosk, brimming with enthusiasm.

Georgiou, who lives in Athens, only learned about Route 66 last year “from an influencer on Greek TikTok.” But once he heard about it, he acted fast. Georgiou plotted a U.S. trip, recruited his mom to ride shotgun and picked up a rented Mazda SUV in Chicago. They made the drive in 23 days, with detours to Las Vegas and Monument Valley and a stop at the Walter White house (from “Breaking Bad”) in Albuquerque.

The varying weather and landscape, Georgiou said, made it feel like a four-season trip. Several times, in cities where hotels seemed too pricey or too sketchy, he and his mom slept in their SUV. Before Bowen could speak up, Georgiou added that he’s a police officer in Athens, and that he chose their spots carefully. Georgiou’s mother, who didn’t speak much English, nodded in affirmation.

“Instead of spending $40 each and getting bedbugs, it’s better to sleep in the car,” Georgiou said. And in the larger picture, he said, it was important to give the trip all the time it needed.

“This is a lifetime journey,” Georgiou said.

Bowen nodded and smiled. Another 66 traveler, another set of surprises.

Also known as Sky City, Acoma is a Native community of earthen homes perched atop a 357-foot-high mesa. It has been occupied for roughly 1,000 years by the Acoma Pueblo tribe, which is independent of the nearby Navajo, Zuni and Laguna, with its own language and about 5,000 enrolled members.

Thanks to revenues from their Sky City Casino and hotel along Interstate 40, the Acoma also have a large, handsome Haa’ku Museum and Sky City Cultural Center next to the historic mesa. There, outsiders can gather for escorted tours of 60 to 90 minutes, mostly walking. It’s $30 per adult. Photography, binoculars and note-taking are closely restricted, and outsiders are generally forbidden from the mesa except on tours.

My group of 18 travelers was led by guide Gail Toribio, 27. After a quick bus ride up a steep road built in the 1950s, we found ourselves on top of the mesa, facing one massive church, about 500 homes and several pottery stalls that materialize during tours. The views were spectacular, the pottery was full of painstaking detail, and it was fascinating to see the ancient and modern elements together in the hilltop homes. But the biggest thing and most astonishing story on the mesa is the San Estévan del Rey Mission.

When Spanish troops and missionaries showed up in the 16th century, they forced labor and Christianity upon Native groups, often slaughtering and maiming those who resisted, including many Acoma. By the 1640s, forced labor had produced the church on the mesa, its 40-foot-long ponderosa pine beams dragged from Mt. Taylor, more than 30 miles away. Somehow, when the area’s tribes rose up in the Pueblo Indian revolt of 1680 and killed most of the Catholic priests in New Mexico, the church endured. And over time, Toribio told us, most Acoma families settled into a sort of dual faith, combining their traditional beliefs with Catholic rituals, including Christmas.

After the church, we walked among two-story homes that were here long before the first Europeans showed up. (Only a handful of the homes are still occupied full time.)

“I was actually raised up there,” potter Gwen Patricio, 52, told me back at the visitor center. “No electricity, no running water. They asked the elders if they wanted electricity, but they said no.”

Maya Hawke sits at a picnic table in Griffith Park with an iced tea and a small notebook and happily reports that she still likes her new record.

“Every other album cycle I’ve done, by the time I got to the point where the album came out, I hated it,” says the 27-year-old singer and actor. “I was just exhausted by the internet and by being public, and I wouldn’t want to post about it. So I kind of tried to build this rollout where it could be enjoyable. And it seems to be working.”

On this recent morning, she’s about a week and a half from releasing “Maitreya Corso,” a set of deep-thinking folk-pop songs about love and art and how the two intersect; to help drum up interest in the LP, Hawke’s fourth, she’s on tour playing intimate live gigs like the one she did last night at the Troubadour, where she was accompanied by Christian Lee Hutson, with whom she made the record.

Hutson, who’s known for his work with Phoebe Bridgers, is also Hawke’s husband: After collaborating on her 2022 album “Moss” and 2024’s “Chaos Angel,” the two were married this past Valentine’s Day in Hawke’s hometown of New York. (You may have seen the pictures in People magazine of the couple on the street with Hawke’s parents, Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman, and her castmates from “Stranger Things.”)

As we talk, Hawke wears the same vintage Beastie Boys T-shirt she had on at the Troubadour; when we’re finished, she’s got a flight to catch to Denver for her and Hutson’s next show.

I was struck last night by the intense eye contact between you and your husband.
I’ve never played guitar before onstage, and so I think a lot of that is me being nervous and wanting to keep rhythm. I’m looking at his eyes but also at his hands. His chordal shapes are different than mine but I’m following the rhythm to make sure I’m staying in the pocket.

Why didn’t you play guitar before?
I’ve been playing since I was 11, but I reached a point where I was getting better a lot slower than my brother was or than other people in my life. You pick up the guitar to play and then a bunch of guys sit down next to you and they’re like, “Oh, can we jam?” And you’re like, “I don’t know if I can jam. I was trying to write a song and now you’re noodling all over me. You know what? I’ll just put it down.” Later, when I started making music professionally, I met all these extraordinary musicians, and I thought: Why would I play guitar when I’m not as good as you are? Then I really hated doing shows.

Because of that?
I’m not a dancer — I don’t want to be a pop star and do dance moves. I don’t have a big Adele voice. And standing up there and just singing — I was like, I should be at a poetry reading. So I made myself a promise that if I made another record I would have to play guitar and write songs that I can play.

It’s funny: You were both super locked-in during the songs, but then between them your banter was extremely loose.
I wanted to build a show that was a concert I would want to go see. I’m weird — I don’t love concerts, but I do I like it when people talk. I can hear the record at home — what I don’t get at home is a sense of the person.

Who would you say are some of music’s great between-song talkers?
Hmm.

I think Adele might be the best I’ve seen.
She’s really good. I saw her once when I was younger — I had a year where my dad took me to see all the biggest women of that year. I remember thinking: When I leave the theater, I’m filled only with joy and no jealousy because I could never do what she’s doing. That’s a gift from God, and I’m not in competition with that gift.

But after she hits you with that, she’ll just freestyle for three or four minutes.
That’s what I want too — I want to see some humanity, especially these days when everybody is being force-fed so much perfection and so much unattainable grace.

There are a tremendous number of words on this record.
It’s very verbose.

Why?
I love words — lyrics are my favorite part of songs. One of the first songs that got written for this record was “Devil You Know,” which was like an experiment where I wrote this poem in free verse. I’ve been in a fight with my husband about free verse versus poetic form. He’s pro-free-verse, I’m anti-free-verse.

What’s your beef?
My beef is: Free verse is great — I wish you could have spent a little more time making it rhythmically sound.

To you it feels like —
Like a first draft. The confines of a structure make your brain work in a different way: How do I get this idea across in a sonnet or a villanelle? But I tried writing this free verse thing, and I really liked it and wanted to write more things like that. Normally, I love the arrow of a Willie Nelson lyric, which is: What’s the simplest way I can say the most complicated thing? And I have some of that on this record, like in “Bring Home My Man.” But I also was like, What’s the most complicated way I can say the simplest thing?

OK, speaking of that: I read the essay you had this philosopher Justin Smith-Ruiu write about the album. I understood probably 11% of it.
I’m obsessed with him. I read his Substack religiously — it’s called the Hinternet. He’s just a brilliant genius, and I was like, I don’t know what he’s gonna say, and I don’t know if it’ll make sense to anyone, but it’ll make sense to me.

Honestly, some of the songs might also have gone over my head. How important is it to you that the listener grasps everything that’s going on in your music?
Zero percent important. I want people to take from it what they take from it. One of the coolest things in my life has been putting out songs and having people form crazy personal attachments — sometimes communal attachments, where all the people think it’s about the same thing and they’re all wrong. That’s so much more interesting to me than if they just thought it was exactly what I thought it was.

How do you listen to the songs you love? Are you trying to figure out where they came from?
Yes, but I don’t care if I’m right. I’ve had many a debate about what [Elliott Smith’s] “Say Yes” is about — gone through the lyrics with friends and been like, “Wouldn’t you say that this supports my theory?” But it doesn’t matter to me what it is. It’s just fun to try to connect all the dots.

Maya Hawke and Christian Lee Hutson in New York in March.

(Ilya S. Savenok / Getty Images for Tibet House US)

Break down the chronology of your and Christian’s relationship. You made this record not as married people but —
As engaged people.

How did that compare to the previous album?
When we made “Chaos Angel” we were maybe in a slightly uncanny valley of being friends who were in love but not together at all. But our working dynamic has always been pretty amazing, even from when we met doing “Moss.” Christian was really the person who made me want to play guitar and write music. He was like, “What do you mean your music isn’t good enough? Why, because you didn’t go to jazz school? I didn’t go to jazz school.” That kind of belief really shaped my journey from “Moss” until this record.

Are you the type of person who needs a facilitator?
I really enjoy support and encouragement, and I often need permission.

I wonder why.
Just a couple of weeks ago, I was talking to someone, and I was like, I want to spend less time with this person, but I want them to want to spend less time with me. I don’t want to be the one to draw the boundary — I need their permission to draw a boundary between us. My therapist was like, “We can work on that.”

Is this classic child-actor people-pleasing stuff?
I wasn’t a child actor.

When did you start?
I did my first audition at 15 but I didn’t get the part. Then I didn’t end up working until I was 18.

I’d argue that at 18 the world still sees you —
As a young person, yeah.

But I take your point.
I don’t know what it has to do with. It’s not exactly people-pleasing. There’s definitely an oldest-sibling thing I have a bit. I’m very interested in sibling-order theory. I think it’s extremely influential to who people are — better than astrology, for sure.

You’re older?
I’m oldest of five. Generally, when I meet eldest siblings, there’s a kind of interesting energy of someone who both needs to be in charge and needs a lot of permission.

Has anything changed about the way you and Christian collaborate since you got married?
We’re really happy, and we’ve been really happy. It’s awesome that we were friends for a long time first. When I got into relationships in the past, I would kind of pick the person that liked me the least. I didn’t like myself very much, and I thought that someone who didn’t like me must be a genius and that I could overcome my inherent ineptitude by getting them to like me. And in order to get them to like me, I would transform myself into becoming a person that they would like. Then we’d have a very happy couple of months until I got bored of not being myself. What being friends with someone first did was that it made it very hard to trick them.

Some of these new songs seem very clearly to be about the two of you.
Totally. A lot of this record is about how much I learned about what love really is — what it could be and how to be good to another person. My ideas about those things really transformed in the last couple of years.

As a child of divorce, were you ambivalent about marriage?
I think if anything it was the reverse. I wanted to get married twice in my life. Once was when I was 18 years old, and it was definitely mental illness: I want the nuclear family that I didn’t have, and I want it now. Then I was kind of neutral on whether or not I would get married. Then I met Christian, and I was like, “I don’t know if I’m ready to be in this kind of relationship, but you’re my person.” And we stayed in each other’s lives until it ended up being the right time.

Plenty of people find their person without wanting to have a wedding.
Are you a romantic?

I’m not sure I know.
When I was younger, I imagined myself in a sort of French marriage where we both cheated on each other but didn’t talk about it and had a lot of mutual respect. But I didn’t find a French marriage — I found my best friend. You know what a piece of s— I am and you still love me? I wake up every morning still happy to see you? That’s a miracle — we gotta have a party.

Last thing: Did finishing “Stranger Things,” which had defined the structure of your life for so long — did that change the way you think about making music?
It’s changed the way I think about everything. Basically, from about four months before the show wrapped until a year after that, I was pretty freaked out.

Because you knew a big change was coming?
Because I didn’t know how I would be reborn out of it. Even when I was resentful of being like, “I’m booked, and I can’t do this other thing that I want to do,” the show was so grounding. I was really lost without it. I’m not freaked out about it anymore, but I’m in a renegotiation of the structure of what I want my life to look like.

Do you feel some kinship with your former castmates on that?
Everyone freaked out in different amounts and at different times and to different degrees of wanting to talk about it. But we all collectively had a very, very intense time moving through the last season.

You’ve got upcoming acting projects —
I didn’t actually die like I thought I was going to.

But did the end of that job create space for music to play a bigger role in your life?
In some ways, it could become smaller. I had an ensemble part in a show that takes a year to film, which creates a tremendous amount of waiting-around time. I think that’s why so many “Stranger Things” actors have musical projects: You can’t film anything else but you can sit in your house with your keyboard. What I’ve really been feeling since the show ended was an invigorated desire to double down on acting. I’ll never not make music, but the music industry is difficult for me. I don’t know if it’s just that I was raised in the acting industry and I understand the things that are f— up about it better.

The music biz feels more opaque to you?
I struggle with some of the things that one should do in that industry to grow their project. When you’re promoting a movie, you’re on a team promoting an external item. When you promote a record, you’re doing self-promotion: “Buy my stuff. Do my thing. Put me on your chest.” It feels a little too “Look at me,” which isn’t my comfort zone.

Better start making those TikToks.
Yeah, I can’t. I really can’t.

BATON ROUGE, La. — Thousands of Louisiana voters have already cast early ballots for congressional candidates in what soon could be the wrong districts. Alabama’s primaries are a week away, but the state could force a do-over for voting on U.S. House races. A new congressional map in Tennessee upended races that had been underway for months.

Republicans’ rush to gerrymander congressional districts across several Southern states after a U.S. Supreme Court ruling hollowed out the Voting Rights Act is confusing voters and creating logistical headaches for local election officials. The changes are hitting while primary season is in progress.

The chaotic upheaval to an election season that could determine which party controls the U.S. House is the latest fallout from an intensely partisan gerrymandering battle initiated by President Trump last year to protect Republicans’ slim majority.

The Supreme Court’s decision last month severely weakening the Voting Rights Act required Louisiana to reconsider a map drawn in 2024 with two majority minority congressional districts that elected Black representatives. The GOP-controlled Legislature could eliminate one or both in a state where roughly 30% of the population is Black.

The ruling also encouraged Republicans in Alabama, Mississippi, South Carolina and Tennessee to consider eliminating four Democratic districts among them, three represented by Black lawmakers. Florida has a new map meant to cost Democrats four of their eight seats, out of 28.

In Louisiana, 66-year-old New Orleans resident Sallie Davis voted early last week. Her ballot allowed her to vote for Democratic U.S. Rep. Troy Carter, but a sign at her polling booth showed his race crossed off with a ballpoint pen. She was confused and frustrated — especially when a poll worker told her to go with what the sign seemed to convey. She’s now worried that her entire ballot will not be counted.

“I was supposed to believe a piece of paper with an X on it marking out the person I wanted to vote for,” she said, her voice breaking as she recounted her experience later. “I think I have been disenfranchised. I think my vote, that I just voted on, it’s not going to count or something. I think it’s illegal.”

Primaries postponed, deadlines compressed

Louisiana’s primary is on Saturday, and a week of early voting there began May 2, two days after the Republican governor declared an emergency and suspended congressional primaries to give lawmakers a chance to draw a new map.

Republican Secretary of State Nancy Landry’s office said nearly 179,000 primary ballots had been cast as of Friday, including about 53,000 absentee ballots returned by mail. She said the ballots included U.S. House races, but votes in those contests won’t be counted.

In Alabama, South Carolina and Tennessee, Republicans justified pursuing new maps by saying that electing more Republicans would better reflect their states’ conservative values. Alabama lawmakers passed legislation Friday allowing a do-over of congressional primaries.

Alabama’s primary is May 19, and voting in congressional races will occur then as planned, but with the old districts. Those votes would end up not counting if a court allows the switch to different districts.

Mississippi held its primaries in March, but a federal court has ordered it to redraw its state Supreme Court districts, and Trump is pushing Republicans to redraw the state’s four congressional districts.

A special session of its Legislature is set for May 20. Renovations of the House chamber will force members to meet at the Old State Capitol, where, decades ago, Mississippi lawmakers passed Jim Crow laws suppressing Black voting.

“Modern-day voter suppression relies on election administration errors and chaos, and that’s what we’re going to see play out in all of these states,” said Amir Badat, a Jackson, Mississippi, voting rights attorney and activist.

Tennessee continues yearlong fight

Tennessee was the first state to enact a new map since the U.S. Supreme Court decision, but Trump’s push for redistricting started in Texas last year. Democrats countered in California and tried but ran afoul of the courts in Virginia.

Before Tennessee’s GOP-controlled Legislature passed a new map last week, the state’s elections coordinator told county officials in a memo what that would mean: reprogramming election systems, retraining poll workers and possibly adjusting precinct boundaries, meaning some voters’ polling places could change.

Tennessee’s congressional primaries still will be held Aug. 6 as planned, and candidates have until Friday to qualify for the ballot. Those who qualified previously will get a pass if they can run in a new district with the same number.

In South Carolina, lawmakers could move all the state’s June 9 primaries to August, or just the congressional races. While mail balloting is limited because the state requires an excuse to do it, more than 6,800 mail ballots already had been sent to voters — with 260 returned — as of Friday, according to the state Elections Commission.

Holding a separate election for congressional primaries would cost $3 million and the time for preparations would be compressed, Conway Belangia, the commission’s executive director, told lawmakers Friday.

“It will be difficult, but it will be possible,” he said.

Activists see problems ahead for voters

Michael McClanahan, president of the NAACP’s Louisiana State Conference, is hearing “total confusion” as voters call him and ask, “Is there an election?”

“People say, ’I ain’t going to vote because the governor’s suspended the election,’” he said. “But he didn’t, he only suspended one aspect of it.”

In Alabama, Senate Democratic leader Bobby Singleton said he has been fielding calls from public officials who also are confused.

“These are the people who are the head of elections,” he said. “They don’t know what to do.“

Voting rights activists see problems that arose in Nashville, Tennessee, in 2022, when Republican legislators divided the state’s capital city into three congressional districts to take a seat from Democrats, as a harbinger of what Memphis voters could face this year. A state report said more than 3,000 Nashville-area voters were assigned to incorrect districts and more than 430 cast ballots in the wrong races in the November 2022 election.

“It’s going to be really hard for the election commissions to be able to keep up with this short timeline,” Matia Powell, executive director of the voting rights nonprofit Civic TN, said during a conference call Friday with other voting rights activists in the South.

Some fear confusion will lead to distrust and apathy

Anneshia Hardy, executive director of Alabama Values, which provides support to voting and civil rights groups, said people will lose trust in elections if they believe the rules can change every two years.

“Once people stop believing that the process is stable and fair, disengagement is going to increase, and that’s one of the biggest dangers here,” she said. “Democracy doesn’t just depend on voting systems existing but really on people believing that their participation matters.”

At least a few Democratic voters who went to the Louisiana Capitol on Friday to protest the gerrymandering expressed doubt about whether they still have a political voice.

Davis came to the State Capitol in Baton Rouge and had a bullhorn with her for a protest in which she yelled, “Whose vote? Our vote!”

David Victorian, a 79-year-old Vietnam veteran from Baton Rouge, said: “I’m concerned for the survival of the democracy that we’re supposed to be living in.”

Hanna and Brook write for the Associated Press. Hanna reported from Topeka, Kan. AP writers Jeffrey Collins in Columbia, S.C., and Kim Chandler, in Montgomery, Ala., contributed to this report.

When Kevin Hart announced in January that he’d licensed his name to Authentic Brands Group, the popular comedian was silent on a key detail: the future of his namesake media company.

Hart sold some ownership and oversight of his brand in exchange for an undisclosed sum of money and a stake in Authentic, a New York-based firm that manages the likenesses of Marilyn Monroe, Muhammad Ali, Shaquille O’Neal and David Beckham.

Hart used the partnership with Authentic to reset his relationship with the people around him and his company, according to six current and former employees. Hart’s employees say they worry that this deal marks the beginning of the end of Hartbeat, the comedian’s namesake media company that produces films, owns a network of short-form video channels and handles marketing for brands.

Though the announcement made no mention of Hartbeat, the agreement gave Hart money to buy out his private equity partner in the company over time and regain control of the use of his name, image and likeness. Hart’s endorsement deals, which had been a pillar of Hartbeat business, will now be handled by Authentic.

Once valued at about $650 million, Hartbeat has shriveled over the past few years. The company enacted its latest round of job cuts in December, firing the heads of its scripted TV division, as well as employees working across marketing, social media and brand partnerships, said the people. Earlier this year it let go the leaders of its podcast division and later sued them for breach of contract.

Hart has withdrawn from the company, leaving day-to-day management in the hands of a small group of executives. Staff meetings have been canceled. The development of new film and TV projects has slowed. A slate of new podcasts was pitched but never produced.

Hartbeat’s struggles reflected the challenging environment for many Hollywood production companies as media giants merge and cut spending. The company is also a cautionary tale in this age of the celebrity media mogul. Financial firms have plowed money into media companies led by high-profile figures, believing they could use their notoriety to build valuable businesses. Yet even seemingly successful ones have had a hard time.

Hartbeat, like many of its peers, has suffered from mismanagement and grappled with the tension between the needs of the star and his company. Hart, one of the hardest-working people in Hollywood, tired of subsidizing a company that relied so much on him

Hart declined to comment for this story, which is based on conversations with several current and former employees. On Sunday night, Hart, who hosted the widely viewed roast of NFL great Tom Brady two years ago, was the subject of his own roast on Netflix.

Building a Billion-Dollar Business

One of the most successful stand-up comedians and actors of his generation, Hart, 46, has always been entrepreneurial. In 2017, he started Laugh Out Loud, an online video comedy business that later grew to include branded entertainment. He also operated his own production company, Hartbeat Productions, that made programs for streaming services like Peacock, Quibi and Netflix Inc.

With Hollywood in the midst of a production boom, Hart watched his fellow celebrities get rich from their media enterprises. Reese Witherspoon sold her media company, Hello Sunshine, in a deal that valued it at as much as $900 million. Hart’s friend LeBron James raised money for his company, SpringHill, at a valuation of $725 million. Hart believed he could be next.

In late 2022, Hart merged his business interests under the Hartbeat banner and raised money by selling a 15% stake to the private equity firm Abry Partners. The deal valued the company at about $650 million.

The new business was predicated on three pillars: film and TV, short-form video and advertising. Hartbeat had a deal to produce movies for Netflix, a slate of podcasts for SiriusXM Holdings Inc. and original audio series for Audible. Hartbeat also developed relationships with advertisers such as Lyft Inc., Procter & Gamble Co. and DraftKings Inc.

While Hart would star in Hartbeat projects, the goal of the company was to develop projects and new business that didn’t involve its namesake founder. The company could leverage Hart to sell projects and secure broad programming partnerships. Hart would ask that Hartbeat be involved in producing his movies and any advertising campaign for which he was a spokesperson. His fees as a producer and brand ambassador would help pay the bills. The hope was he’d convince other celebrities to use Hartbeat as well. Thai Randolph, who had been running Laugh Out Loud, was named chief executive officer.

Hartbeat opened offices in New York and Atlanta and took over a 40,000-square-foot West Hollywood office once occupied by Oprah Winfrey. Hart redesigned the space and installed a world-class art collection.

The upper-level lobby featured a work by Ghanaian artist Serge Attukwei Clottey, while the conference room had a sculpture by Zimbabwean artist Moffat Takadiwa made of computer keyboard keys. A portrait of Kobe Bryant by Julian Pace hung outside a podcast studio.

Hart’s own office featured a dressing room, a series of paintings by South African artist Feni Chulumanco, multiple TVs and a desk from a prominent French designer. “He really has almost a full-service apartment in his suite,” Kai Williamson, who worked with Hart on the project, told Architectural Digest. Hart was interviewed for a story and also filmed an episode of the design magazine’s “Open Door” video series.

While Hartbeat expanded, Hollywood entered a recession. Economic uncertainty, rising interest rates and growing skepticism about the profitability of streaming caused major media companies to fire staff and pull back on buying new projects. Hartbeat was a little more insulated than most because talent like Hart could usually still get a project made. Still, producing projects without Hart in a starring role became more difficult.

Randolph left the company in late 2023 and was replaced by Jay Levine, who had spent much of his career at Warner Bros. Discovery Inc. Levine brought in a couple of other senior leaders with experience at major media companies.

A contingent of executives pushed Hart to scale back some ambitions, the people said. The company couldn’t afford to be working in so many different businesses at the same time, especially as areas like free, advertising-supported online video, and podcasts got more competitive. Hart was one of the most prolific and productive creative people in the world, starring in and producing movies, TV shows, comedy, short-form videos and advertisements. The point of the company was to relieve the stress on him, not add to it.

While Hartbeat closed its New York office, Hart was reluctant to scale back his vision or replace some long-time lieutenants. Levine negotiated his exit at the end of 2024 and was followed out the door by the company’s chief financial officer and chief content officer. Days before Thanksgiving, Hartbeat laid off about 20 people, nearly one quarter of its work force.

A year of chaos and conflict

In January 2025, Hart announced he would be the new CEO of Hartbeat and pledged to outline the firm’s strategy in the coming weeks. Instead, Hart went weeks and sometimes months without visiting the office, the people said, and empowered Jeff Clanagan and CFO Eric Stoneburner to run the company day to day. (Hart was on set to shoot at least a couple movies last year, in addition to his other work.)

A former concert promoter and movie producer, Clanagan had helped make Hart a major star. He had partnered with Hart to bring his stand-up specials to the big screen, producing shows such as 2013’s Kevin Hart: Let Me Explain, which grossed $32 million at the box office. Clanagan produced some of these specials under the banner of his own company, Codeblack Films, which helps promote, market and distribute video from Black creators.

Clanagan continued to operate Codeblack while serving in a senior capacity at Hartbeat, said the people. He pushed employees at Hartbeat to post its videos to the Codeblack channels as well, saying they could use the additional reach to raise awareness. The videos generated advertising sales for Codeblack.

Clanagan had employees at Hartbeat oversee Codeblack’s social media pages and asked to get those channels loaded into Hartbeat’s content management system. That gave Codeblack’s YouTube channels advantages over others because of Hart’s prominence and his company’s designation with YouTube. Employees raised concerns with human resources and the company’s lawyer.

Clanagan also became increasingly interested in video generated by artificial intelligence. He started a new app called Blktopia, a streaming service for Black viewers programmed with content from online creators and often made by AI. He urged employees to work on it, the people said. Clanagan initially responded to a request for comment and then retracted the text message.

Meanwhile, many of Hartbeat’s main businesses languished. Sales from the company’s YouTube channels fell and investment in new film and TV projects slowed. Hartbeat, once profitable, started to bleed cash. Hartbeat had hired Eric Eddings and Lesley Gwam to produce audio shows that didn’t involve Hart. While the pair developed a slate of projects, they never got approval to make them.

In mid-December, Hartbeat fired about a dozen employees, including some of those who were supposed to develop the podcasts. Eddings and Gwam then decided to start their own company and began trying to raise money. When Clanagan found out, Hartbeat fired them and sued for alleged theft of trade secrets and breach of contract.

A court approved a temporary restraining order but then rejected a preliminary injunction, saying Hartbeat had not demonstrated Eddings and Gwam had used proprietary information or trade secrets. The court said the request was “vague, ambiguous, and overly broad.” The case is ongoing.

Hartbeat also fired the heads of its TV division, Tiffany Brown and Mike Stein, who were in the middle of producing a TV show based on the film Barbershop for Amazon.com Inc. and a second season of the animated series Lil Kev.

The company made no official announcement explaining the cuts. The following week, senior leadership arranged a Zoom meeting. Hart remained off camera until it was his time to speak. He talked for a few minutes about changes at the company and took no questions. Hart changed his phone number in the weeks following the layoffs. (Some of his advisors had suggested he do this years earlier so that he wasn’t so available.)

A few weeks later, Hart announced the deal with Authentic Brands Group. Hart used some of the proceeds to buy out Abry Partners, freeing him to steer his brand deals to Authentic and outside of Hartbeat. A few of his employees and his publicist joined him at Authentic.

“This is a turning point for Hartbeat,” the company wrote in a subsequent email to employees, explaining that the deal would free Hart up to focus on what he does best, while allowing Hartbeat to stand on its own and grow beyond him.

“I know the past few months have been tough,” Hart wrote, adding that for too long the company had been too dependent on him. The email was said to be from “Kevin AKA Boss Man.” It was sent by Hart’s assistant.

Shaw writes for Bloomberg.

Hundreds protested in Mexico City on Mother’s Day to demand justice and accountability for missing loved ones. 130,000 people are registered as missing in Mexico, as of early 2026, which has been driven by organised crime and escalating violence.

The same tiny tungsten cubes that spray out of Israeli bombs, causing devastating internal injuries to people in Gaza are being found in wounded civilians in Lebanon, war surgeon Dr Tahir Mohammed says. He draws parallels between what Israel is doing in both places and describes the weapons as “indiscriminate”.