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WILLOWS — As hospital staff carted away medical equipment from abandoned patient rooms, Theresa McNabb, 74, roused herself and painstakingly applied make-up for the first time in weeks, finishing with a mauve lipstick that made her eyes pop.

“I feel a little anxiety,” McNabb said. She was still taking multiple intravenous antibiotics for the massive infection that had almost killed her, was unsteady on her feet and was unsure how she was going to manage shopping and cooking food for herself once she returned to her apartment after six weeks in the hospital.

But she couldn’t stay at Glenn Medical Center. It was closing.

The hospital — which for more than seven decades has treated residents of its small farm town about 75 miles north of Sacramento, along with countless victims of car crashes on nearby Interstate 5 and a surprising number of crop-duster pilots wounded in accidents — shut its doors on October 21.

McNabb was the last patient.

Registered nurse Ronald Loewen, 74, checks on one of the last few patients. Loewen, a resident of Glenn County and a former Mennonite school teacher, said the hospital closing is “a piece of our history gone.”

Nurses and other hospital workers gathered at her room to ceremonially push her wheelchair outside and into the doors of a medical transport van. Then they stood on the lawn, looking bereft.

They had all just lost their jobs. Their town had just lost one of its largest employers. And the residents — many of whom are poor— had lost their access to emergency medical care. What would happen to all of them now? Would local residents’ health grow worse? Would some of them die preventable deaths?

These are questions that elected officials and policymakers may soon be confronting in rural communities across California and the nation. Cuts to Medicaid funding and the Affordable Care Act are likely rolling down from Washington D.C. and hitting small hospitals already teetering at the brink of financial collapse. Even before these cuts hit, a 2022 study found that half of the hospitals in California were operating in the red. Already this fall: Palo Verde Hospital in Blythe filed for bankruptcy and Southern Inyo Hospital in Lone Pine sought emergency funds.

But things could get far worse: A June analysis released by four Democrats in the U.S. Senate found that many more hospitals in California could be at risk of closure in the face of federal healthcare cuts.

“It’s like the beginning of a tidal wave,” said Peggy Wheeler, vice president of policy of the California Hospital Association. “I’m concerned we will lose a number of rural hospitals, and then the whole system may be at risk.”

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1. Medical assistant Kylee Lutz, 26, right, hugs activities coordinator Rita Robledo on closing day. Lutz, who will continue to work in the clinic that remains open, said through tears, “It’s not going to be the same without you ladies.” 2. Rose Mary Wampler, 88, sees physician assistant Chris Pilaczynski at the clinic. Wampler, who lives alone across the street from Glenn Medical Center, said, “Old people can’t drive far away. I’m all by myself, I would just dial 9-1-1.”

Glenn Medical’s financing did not collapse because of the new federal cuts. Rather, the hospital was done in by a federal decision this year to strip the hospital’s “Critical Access” designation, which enabled it to receive increased federal reimbursement. The hospital, though it is the only one in Glenn County, is just 32 miles from the nearest neighboring hospital under a route mapped by federal officials — less than the 35 miles required under the law. Though that distance hasn’t changed, the federal government has now decided to enforce its rules.

Local elected officials and hospital administrators fought for months to convince the federal government to grant them an exception. Now, with the doors closed, policy experts and residents of Willows said they are terrified by the potential consequences.

“People are going to die,” predicted Glenn County Supervisor Monica Rossman. She said she feared that older people in her community without access to transportation will put off seeking care until it is too late, while people of all ages facing emergency situations won’t be able to get help in time.

Kellie Amaru, a licensed vocational nurse who has worked at Glenn Medical Center for four years, reacts after watching a co-worker leave after working their final shift at the hospital.

But even for people who don’t face a life or death consequence, the hospital’s closure is still a body blow, said Willows Vice Mayor Rick Thomas. He and others predicted many people will put off routine medical care, worsening their health. And then there’s the economic health of the town.

Willows, which sits just east of I-5 in the center of the Sacramento Valley, has a proud history stretching back nearly 150 years in a farm region that now grows rice, almonds and walnuts. About 6,000 people live in the town, which has an economic development webpage featuring images of a tractor, a duck and a pair of hunters standing in the tall grass.

“We’ve lost 150 jobs already from the hospital [closing],” Thomas said. “I’m very worried about what it means. A hospital is good for new business. And it’s been hard enough to attract new business to the town.”

Dismantling ‘a legacy of rural healthcare’

From the day it started taking patients on Nov. 21,1950, Glenn General Hospital (as it was then called) was celebrated not just for its role in bringing medical care to the little farm town, but also for its role in helping Willows grow and prosper.

“It was quite state-of-the-art back in 1950,” said Lauren Still, the hospital’s chief administrative officer.

When the hospital’s first baby was born a few days later — little Glenda May Nieheus clocked in at a robust 8 pounds, 11 ounces — the arrival was celebrated on the front page of the Willows Daily Journal.

But as a small hospital in a small town, the institution struggled almost immediately. Within a few years, according to a 1957 story in the local newspaper, the hospital was already grappling with the problem of nurses leaving in droves for higher-paying positions elsewhere. A story the following year revealed that hospital administrators were forcing a maintenance worker to step in as an ambulance driver on weekends — without the requisite chauffeur’s license — to save money.

In a sign of how small the town is, that driver was Still’s boyfriend’s grandfather.

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1. A customer walks into Willows Hardware store. 2. Cheerleaders perform during Willows High School’s Homecoming JV football game against Durham at Willows High School. 3. The press box at Willows High School’s football field is decorated with previous Northern Section CIF Championship wins.

Still, the institution endured, its grassy campus and low-slung wings perched proudly on the east end of town. Generations of the town’s babies were born there. As they grew up, they went into the emergency room for X-rays, stitches and treatment for fevers and infections. Their parents and grandparents convalesced there and sometimes died there, cared for by nurses who were part of the community.

“They saved my brother’s life. They saved my dad’s life,” said Keith Long, 34, who works at Red 88, an Asian fusion restaurant in downtown Willows that is a popular lunch spot for hospital staff.

Glenn Medical’s finances, however, often faltered. Experts in healthcare economics say rural hospitals like Glenn Medical generally have fewer patients than suburban and urban communities, and those patients tend to be older and sicker, meaning they are more expensive to treat. What’s more, a higher share of those patients are low-income and enrolled in Medi-Cal and Medicare, which generally has lower reimbursement rates than private insurance. Smaller hospitals also cannot take advantage of economies of scale the way bigger institutions can, nor can they bring the same muscle to negotiations for higher rates with private insurance companies.

Across California, in the first decades of the 20th century, rural hospitals were running out of money and closing their doors.

T-Ann Pearce, who has worked at Glenn Medical Center for six years, sits in the medical surgical unit during one of her last shifts with only a few remaining patients left to care.

In 2000, Glenn Medical went bankrupt, but was saved when it was awarded the “Critical Access” designation by the federal government that allowed it to receive higher reimbursement rates, Still said.

But by late 2017, the hospital was in trouble again.

A private for-profit company, American Advanced Management, swooped to the rescue of Glenn Medical and a nearby hospital in Colusa County, buying them and keeping them open. The Modesto-based company specializes in buying distressed rural hospitals and now operates 14 hospitals in California, Utah and Texas.

The hospital set about building back its staff and improving its reputation for patient care in the community, which had been tarnished in part by the 2013 death of a young mother and her unborn baby.

“We’ve been on an upswing,” Still said, noting that indicators of quality of care and patient satisfaction have risen dramatically in recent years.

Then came the letter from the federal Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services. On April 23, the federal agency wrote Glenn Medical’s management company with bad news: A recent review had found that Glenn Medical was “in noncompliance” with “distance requirements.” In plain English, federal officials had looked at a map and determined that Glenn Medical was not 35 miles from the nearest hospital by so-called main roads as required by law — it was just 32. Nor was it 15 miles by secondary roads. The hospital was going to lose its Critical Access designation. The hit to the hospital’s budget would be about 40% of its $28 million in net revenue. It could not survive that cut.

At first, hospital officials said they weren’t too worried.

“We thought, there’s no way they’re going to close down hospitals” over a few miles of road, Still, the hospital’s chief executive, said.

Especially, Still said, because it appeared there were numerous California hospitals in the same pickle. A 2013 federal Inspector General Report found that a majority of the 1,300 Critical Access hospitals in the country do not meet the distance requirement. That includes dozens in California.

Still and other hospital officials flew to Washington D.C. to make their case, sure that when they explained that one of the so-called main roads that connects Glenn Medical to its nearest hospital wasn’t actually one at all, and often flooded in the winter, the problem would be solved. The route everyone actually used, she said, was 35.7 miles.

“No roads have changed. No facilities have moved,” administrators wrote to federal officials. “And yet this CMS decision now threatens to dismantle a legacy of rural health care stability.”

Without it, the administrator wrote, “lives will be lost for certain.”

But, Still said, their protestations fell on deaf ears.

In August came the final blow: Glenn Medical would lose its Critical Access funding by April 2026.

The news set off a panic not just in Glenn County but at hospitals around the state.

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1. A bicyclist passes by Glenn Medical Center. First opened to patients on November 21, 1950, the center was called Glenn General Hospital then. 2. A member of the staff signs a farewell board on closing day at Glenn Medical Center on October 21, 2025.

At least three other hospitals got letters from the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid saying their Critical Access status was under review, Wheeler said: Bear Valley Community Hospital in Big Bear Lake, George L. Mee Memorial in Monterey County and Santa Ynez Valley Cottage Hospital in Solvang. The hospitals in Monterey and Big Bear Lake provided data demonstrating they met the requirements for the status.

Cottage Hospital, however, did not, despite showing that access in and out of the area where the hospital is located was sometimes blocked by wildfires or rockslides.

Cottage Hospital officials did not respond to questions about what that might mean for their facility.

Asked about these situations, officials at the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid said the law does not give the agency flexibility to consider factors such as weather, for example, in designating a critical assess hospital. They added the hospital must demonstrate there is no driving route that would make it ineligible based on driving distances included in the statute.

Jeff Griffiths, a county supervisor in Inyo County who is also the president of the California Assn. of Counties, said he has been following the grim hospital financing news around the state with mounting worry.

The hospital in his county, Southern Inyo, came close to running out of money earlier this year, he said, and with more federal cuts looming, “I don’t know how you can expect these hospitals to survive.”

“It’s terrifying for our area,” Griffiths said, noting that Inyo County, which sits on the eastern side of the Sierra, has no easy access to any medical care on the other side of the giant mountain peaks.

‘This is the final call’

In Willows, once word got out that the hospital would lose its funding, nurses began looking for new jobs.

By late summer, so many people had left that administrators realized they had no choice but to shutter the emergency room, which closed Sept. 30.

Helena Griffith, 62, one of the last patients, waves goodbye as patient transport Jolene Guerra pushes her wheelchair down the hallway on October 20, 2025.

Through it all, McNabb, the 74-year-old patient receiving intravenous antibiotics, remained in her bed, getting to know the nurses who buzzed around her.

She became aware that when they weren’t caring for her, many of them were trying to figure out what they would do with their lives once they lost their jobs.

On the hospital’s last day, nurse Amanda Shelton gifted McNabb a new sweater to wear home.

When McNabb gushed over the sweetness of the gesture, Shelton teared up. “It’s not every day that it will be the last patient I’ll ever have,” she told her.

As McNabb continued to gather her things, Shelton retreated to the hospital’s recreation room, where patients used to gather for games or conversation.

With all the patients save McNabb gone, Shelton and some other hospital staff took up a game of dominoes, the trash talk of the game peppered with bittersweet remembrances of their time working in the creaky old building.

Registered nurse Ronald Loewen, 74, looks out the window on closing day at Glenn Medical Center on October 21, 2025. Loewen, who grew up and attended school in Willows, had four children delivered at Glenn Medical, two of them survived, and took care of former classmates at this hospital, says the hospital closing is, “a piece of our history gone.”

Shelton said she is not sure what is next for her. She loved Glenn Medical, she said, because of its community feel. Many people came for long stays or were frequent patients, and the staff was able to get to know them — and to feel like they were healing them.

“You got to know people. You got to know their family, or if they didn’t have any family,” you knew that too, she said. She added that in many hospitals, being a nurse can feel like being an extension of a computer. But at Glenn Medical, she said, “you actually got to look in someone’s eyes.”

The building itself was in dire shape, she noted. Nothing was up to modern code. It didn’t have central air conditioning, and it was heated by an old-fashioned boiler. “I mean, I have never even heard of a boiler room” before coming to work there, she said.

And yet within the walls, she said, “It’s community.”

Bradley Ford, the emergency room manager, said he felt the same way and was determined to pay tribute to all the people who had made it so.

At 7 p.m. on the emergency room’s last night of service, Ford picked up his microphone and beamed his voice out to the hospital and to all the ambulances, fire trucks and others tuned to the signal.

He had practiced his speech enough times that he thought he could get through it without crying — although during his rehearsals he had never yet managed it.

“This is the final call,” Ford said. “‘After 76 years of dedicated service, the doors are closing. Service is ending. On behalf of all the physicians, nurses and staff who have walked these halls, it is with heavy hearts that we mark the end of this chapter.”

Nurses and other staff members recorded a video of Ford making his announcement, and passed it among themselves, tearing up every time they listened to it.

In an interview after the hospital had closed, Ford said he was one of the lucky ones: He had found a new job.

It was close enough to his home in Willows that he could commute — although Ford said he wasn’t sure how long he would remain in his beloved little town without access to emergency medical care there.

Rose Mary Wampler, 88, waits to have blood drawn at the lab beside a cordoning off, signaling the closure of the hospital side of Glenn Medical Center, on October 22, 2025. Wampler lives alone across the street from the hospital.

Rose Mary Wampler, 88, has lived in Willows since 1954 and now resides in a little house across the street from the hospital. Her three children were born at Glenn Medical, and Wampler herself was a patient there for two months last year, when she was stricken with pneumonia and internal bleeding. She said she was fearful of the idea of driving more than 30 miles for healthcare elsewhere.

She looked out her window on a recent afternoon at the now-shuttered hospital.

“It looks like somebody just shut off the whole city, there’s nowhere to go get help,” she said.

Glenn Medical Center patient Richard Putnam, 86, closes the window in his hospital room. A month shy of it’s 75th year, the hospital closed on Oct 21, 2025.

(Christina House/Los Angeles Times)

Times photographer Christina House contributed to this report.

DES MOINES, Iowa — Pessimism about the country’s future has risen in cities since last year, but rural America is more optimistic about what’s ahead for the U.S., according to a new survey from the American Communities Project.

And despite President Trump’s insistence that crime is out of control in big cities, residents of the nation’s largest metropolitan centers are less likely to list crime and gun violence among the chief concerns facing their communities than they were a couple years ago.

Optimism about the future is also down from last year in areas with large Hispanic communities.

These are some of the snapshots from the new ACP/Ipsos survey, which offers a nuanced look at local concerns by breaking the nation’s counties into community types, using data points like race, income, age and religious affiliation. The survey evaluated moods and priorities across the 15 different community types, such as heavily Hispanic areas, big cities and different kinds of rural communities.

The common denominator across the communities? A gnawing worry about daily household costs.

“Concerns about inflation are across the board,” said Dante Chinni, founder and director of ACP. “One thing that truly unites the country is economic angst.”

Rising optimism in rural areas, despite economic anxiety

Rural residents are feeling more upbeat about the country’s trajectory — even though most aren’t seeing Trump’s promised economic revival.

The $15 price tag on a variety pack of Halloween candy at the Kroger supermarket last month struck Carl Gruber. Disabled and receiving federal food aid, the 42-year-old from Newark, Ohio, had hardly been oblivious to lingering, high supermarket prices.

But Gruber, whose wife also is unable to work, is hopeful about the nation’s future, primarily in the belief that prices will moderate as Trump suggests.

“Right now, the president is trying to get companies who moved their businesses out of the country to move them back,” said Gruber, a Trump voter whose support has wavered over the federal shutdown that delayed his monthly food benefit. “So, maybe we’ll start to see prices come down.”

About 6 in 10 residents of Rural Middle America — Newark’s classification in the survey — say they are hopeful about the country’s future over the next few years, up from 43% in the 2024 ACP survey. Other communities, like heavily evangelical areas or working-class rural regions, have also seen an uptick in optimism.

Kimmie Pace, a 33-year-old unemployed mother of four from a small town in northwest Georgia, said, “I have anxiety every time I go to the grocery store.”

But she, too, is hopeful in Trump. “Trump’s in charge, and I trust him, even if we’re not seeing the benefits yet,” she said.

Big-city residents are worried about the future

By contrast, the share of big-city residents who say they are hopeful about the nation’s future has shrunk, from 55% last year to 45% in the new survey.

Robert Engel of San Antonio — Texas’ booming, second most-populous city — is worried about what’s next for the U.S., though less for his generation than the next. The 61-year-old federal worker, whose employment was not interrupted by the government shutdown nor Trump’s effort to reduce the federal workforce, is near retirement and feels financially stable.

A stable job market, health care availability and a fair economic environment for his adult children are his main priorities.

Recently, the inflation outlook has worsened under Trump. Consumer prices in September increased at an annual rate of 3%, up from 2.3% in April, when the president first began to roll out substantial tariff increases that burdened the economy with uncertainty.

Engel’s less-hopeful outlook for the country is broader. “It’s not just the economy, but the state of democracy and polarization,” Engel said. “It’s a real worry. I try to be cautiously optimistic, but it’s very, very hard.”

Crime, gun violence are less a concern in urban America

Trump had threatened to deploy the National Guard to Chicago, New York, Seattle, Baltimore, San Francisco and Portland, Ore., to fight what he said was runaway, urban crime.

Yet data shows most violent crime in those places, and around the country, has declined in recent years. That tracks with the poll, which found that residents of America’s Big Cities and Middle Suburbs are less likely to list crime or gun violence among the top issues facing their communities than they were in 2023.

For Angel Gamboa, a retired municipal worker in Austin, Tex., Trump’s claims don’t ring true in the city of roughly 1 million people.

“I don’t want to say it’s overblown, because crime is a serious subject,” Gamboa said. “But I feel like there’s an agenda to scare Americans, and it’s so unnecessary.”

Instead, residents of Big Cities are more likely to say immigration and health care are important issues for their communities.

Big Cities are one of the community types where residents are most likely to say they’ve seen changes in immigration recently, with 65% saying they’ve seen a change in their community related to immigration over the past 12 months, compared with only about 4 in 10 residents of communities labeled in the survey as Evangelical Hubs or Rural Middle America.

Gamboa says he has witnessed changes, notably outside an Austin Home Depot, where day laborers regularly would gather in the mornings to find work.

Not anymore, he said.

“Immigrants were not showing up there to commit crimes,” Gamboa said. “They were showing up to help their families. But when ICE was in the parking lot, that’s all it took to scatter people who were just trying to find a job.”

Hispanic communities are less hopeful about the future

After Hispanic voters moved sharply toward Trump in the 2024 election, the poll shows that residents of heavily Hispanic areas are feeling worse about the future of their communities than they were before Trump was elected.

Carmen Maldonado describes her community of Kissimmee, Fla., a fast-growing, majority-Hispanic city of about 80,000 residents about 22 miles south of Orlando, as “seriously troubled.”

The 61-year-old retired, active-duty National Guard member isn’t alone. The survey found that 58% of residents of such communities are hopeful about the future of their community, down from 78% last year.

“It’s not just hopelessness, but fear,” said Maldonado, who says people in her community — even her fellow native Puerto Ricans, who are American citizens — are anxious about the Trump administration’s aggressive pursuit of Latino immigrants.

Just over a year ago, Trump made substantial inroads with Hispanic voters in the 2024 presidential election.

Beyond just the future of their communities, Hispanic respondents are also substantially less likely to say they’re hopeful about the future of their children or the next generation: 55% this year, down from 69% in July 2024.

Maldonado worries that the Trump administration’s policies have stoked anti-Hispanic attitudes and that they will last for her adult child’s lifetime and beyond.

“My hopelessness comes from the fact that we are a large part of what makes up the United States,” she said, “and sometimes I cry thinking about these families.”

Beaumont, Parwani and Thomson-Deveaux write for the Associated Press. Parwani and Thomson-DeVeaux reported from Washington. The American Communities Project/Ipsos Fragmentation Study of 5,489 American adults aged 18 or older was conducted from Aug. 18 – Sept. 4, 2025, using the Ipsos probability-based online panel and RDD telephone interviews. The margin of sampling error for adults overall is plus or minus 1.8 percentage points.

Koreatown resident Scott Lyness was well aware that the city of Los Angeles was looking to tackle its food waste problem.

While bicycling to work, he saw the growing number of green trash bins popping up on curbs. He read the notice sent to his home instructing residents to expect green bins to be delivered at some point.

Still, Lyness was not prepared for what came next: 13 green bins deposited earlier this month outside the apartment building he manages on New Hampshire Avenue.

That’s on top of the three bins that the city delivered the previous week at a smaller building he also manages next door, and the two green bins that those properties were already using.

Lyness, 69, who works as a project manager at USC, said the two buildings don’t have anywhere near the room to store so many full-size cans — and don’t generate enough organic waste to fill them. He’s tried to have his tenants contact city offices to say they don’t need them. He said he’s even thought about throwing them into the street.

“Our neighborhoods are being inundated with green waste bins,” he said.

City officials are working furiously to get Angelenos to separate more of their food waste — eggshells, coffee grounds, meat bones, unfinished vegetables, orange peels, greasy napkins — to comply with SB 1383, a state composting law passed in 2016. They’ve even implemented Professor Green, an online chatbot that can help residents decide what can and can’t go in the green bin.

SB 1383 requires that 75% of organic waste be diverted away from landfills by the end of the year and instead turned into compost. Food and other organic waste sent to landfills is a significant source of methane, a potent greenhouse gas. Methane has a global warming potential about 80 times greater than carbon dioxide over a 20-year period.

To reach that goal, crews from L.A.’s Bureau of Sanitation have deposited huge numbers of 90-gallon green bins in front of some apartment buildings, including duplexes, triplexes, fourplexes and larger buildings that have been grandfathered into the city’s curbside trash collection program.

Scott Lyness, 69, stands near green waste bins outside the apartment building he manages in Koreatown.

(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)

Residents are already familiar with the green bins, which were long reserved for lawn clippings and other yard waste but now are the destination for food scraps as well.

Most large apartment buildings in L.A. have been spared from the recent round of green bin deliveries, since they participate in recycLA, the city trash franchise program that relies on private waste haulers.

Sanitation officials say that Angelenos who prefer smaller, more manageable containers should fill out a form to get a 30- or 60-gallon replacement. They point out that the bins are part of a much larger effort by the city to reach its zero-waste goals and “lead on sustainability.”

Most of the green bins’ contents are taken to a facility in Bakersfield, where the resulting compost can be used by farmers, said Heather Johnson, a sanitation spokesperson.

“While some may find [the bins] inconvenient at the moment, in the short term they will result in more diverted waste and cleaner air,” Johnson said in an email.

Despite those serious intentions, Angelenos have been poking fun at the “Great Green Bin Apocalypse of 2025,” as journalist and podcaster Alissa Walker framed the situation on Bluesky. Walker recently shared a photo showing what appeared to be 20 green bins in front of one property, right next to a discarded sofa.

“This one is probably my favorite,” she wrote. “I like how they lined them all up neatly in a row and then left the couch.”

Green organic waste bins outside an apartment building in Koreatown.

(Kayla Bartkowski/Los Angeles Times)

After Walker urged others to send in pictures, Silver Lake resident Tommy Newman posted a photo on Bluesky showing eight bins outside an eight-unit building, just south of Sunset Boulevard.

“Unless they are running a juice bar in there, how could they possibly create this much organic waste on a weekly basis?” wrote Newman, who works at a county housing agency.

Over on X, another observer summed up the absurdity in a different way. “LA gave every multi family unit a green bin due to a bureaucratic fever dream about composting,” the person wrote. “I have 5 personally.”

In recent months, L.A.’s sanitation agency has sent teams of “ambassadors” into neighborhoods to educate residents about the need to throw food in the green bins.

That means keeping food out of the 60-gallon black bins where residents have been accustomed to dumping most of their garbage, which ultimately winds up in landfills. Recyclable items, including glass and aluminum, will continue to go into blue bins.

The changes were also spelled out on fliers sent out by the city last summer, with a clear warning in all capital letters: “Unless we hear from you immediately, we will deliver a 90-gallon green container to your residence.”

Lyness saw those alerts and knew about the change. But he contends that most people would have missed the news or thrown the fliers away. Depositing an inordinate amount of bins around town is just not the way to encourage people to properly dispose of their organic waste, he said.

The city’s new food-waste program, which is projected to cost $66 million a year, is one reason the City Council approved a huge increase in trash fees earlier this year, in some cases doubling them. Each 90-gallon green bin costs the city $58.61, tax included, though residents are not being directly charged for the recent deliveries.

Sanitation officials say they have delivered more than 65,000 green bins across the city, with 4,000 to go. For residents waiting for them to be removed or replaced with a smaller bin, only 1,000 orders can be carried out in a regular workday, those officials said.

Around the corner on North Berendo Street, Lyness’ neighbor Lucy Alvidrez agreed that the green bins were troublesome while dragging in her black bin Thursday afternoon.

“They sure got carried away with it,” she said, pointing across the street to an apartment building with about two dozen green bins on its front curb.

Alvidrez, 69, who has lived in the neighborhood for two decades, never had an issue with trash collection until the city dropped off four green bins, one for each unit in her building. She was more fortunate than Lyness: sanitation workers took two of the bins back, upon request.

Alvidrez said she would prefer that the city “spend our money feeding the homeless” instead of purchasing bins that no one needs, she said.

A dozen green organic waste bins occupy a street in Koreatown..

(Kayla Bartkowski/Los Angeles Times)

Nearby, Lyness opened a neighbor’s green bin, which was filled to the brim with trash that wasn’t compostable and should have gone in a black bin. If no one knows what to put in the green bins, nothing is going to improve, he said.

“It’s trash,” he lamented. “It’s all trash.”

The California Supreme Court rejected a 1st Amendment challenge to a state law that protects the rights of gay and transgender people in nursing homes and forbids employees of those sites from using the wrong pronouns to address a resident or co-worker.

The ruling, handed down Friday, holds that violations of the LGBT Long-Term Care Residents’ Bill of Rights are not protected by the 1st Amendment because they relate to codes of conduct in what is in effect a workplace and a home.

“The pronouns provision constitutes a regulation of discriminatory conduct that incidentally affects speech,” the court ruled.

The opinion reversed an appeals court ruling that held provisions in the 2017 law relating to patient pronouns and names could impede an employee’s freedom of speech. Five justices signed on to the main opinion; two signed on to a concurrence. There were no dissents.

“All individuals deserve to live free from harmful, disrespectful rhetoric that attacks their sense of self, especially when receiving care necessary for their continued well-being,” Atty. Gen. Rob Bonta said in a written statement commending the ruling. “State law prohibits discrimination and harassment in the workplace. I am glad that the California Supreme Court agrees with us on the importance of these protections and has affirmed their constitutionality.”

The group challenging the law, Taking Offense, asserted in its lawsuit that the provision mandating that long-term care facilities use people’s chosen pronouns amounts to “criminalizing and compelling speech content.”

Taking Offense described itself in court documents as a group opposing efforts “to coerce society to accept transgender fiction that a person can be whatever sex/gender s/he thinks s/he is, or chooses to be.”

The court ruled that the LGBT Long-Term Care Residents’ Bill of Rights “will be violated when willful and repeated misgendering has occurred in the presence of a resident, the resident hears or sees the misgendering, and the resident is harmed because the resident perceives that conduct to be abusive.”

The LGBT Long-Term Care Residents’ Bill of Rights is enforced by a section of California’s Health and Safety Code. Penalties can range from civil fines to criminal misdemeanor prosecutions — the potential for criminal penalties was a major element of Taking Offense’s argument. The court’s decision noted that other protections for long-term care facility residents have long carried both civil and criminal penalties.

“It seems apparent that the Legislature does not intend for such criminal penalties to be imposed except as a last resort, in the most egregious circumstances,” wrote the decision’s author, California Chief Justice Patricia Guerrero.

The opinion made comparisons to other free-speech decisions with similar elements, such as the 1995 U.S. Supreme Court decision holding that the the Irish-American Gay, Lesbian and Bisexual Group of Boston could not force St. Patrick’s Day parade organizers to include them.

“By contrast, the present case does not involve any analogous creative product or expressive association,” Guerrero wrote, concluding that the California law is instead regulating people’s conduct.

Duara writes for CalMatters.

Nov. 6 (UPI) — Former Justice Department paralegal Sean Dunn is not guilty of assault for throwing a sub sandwich at a Border Patrol agent in Washington, D.C., a federal jury ruled Thursday.

The jury deliberated a misdemeanor assault charge against Dunn on Wednesday and Thursday before rendering its verdict, NBC News reported.

Dunn accosted Border Patrol agent Greg Lairimore in the capital’s U Street area, swore at him called him an unwelcome “fascist” before throwing a footlong sub sandwich that struck him in the chest.

The Border Patrol agent was there as part of President Donald Trump‘s federal law enforcement surge to thwart crime in the nation’s capital.

Lairimore testified that the sandwich “exploded” when it hit his chest, but photos showed it was still wrapped while lying on the ground after striking him.

The case was tried in the U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia, where a grand jury earlier rejected several potential felony charges against Dunn.

U.S. Attorney Jeanine Pirro proceeded with the misdemeanor assault charge against Dunn and agreed to hold a jury trial upon the request of Dunn’s attorneys.

Attorney General Pam Bondi earlier cited Dunn as an example of the “deep state” in Washington and fired him from his DOJ job.

The incident went viral as video footage circulated on social media and inspired murals and other depictions of a masked Dunn preparing to hurl a footlong sub sandwich like a quarterback would throw a football.

Some people also dressed in costumes intended to mimic Dunn, and many Washington-area homes featured skeletons dressed similarly to Dunn during Halloween.

Southern California Edison has cut power to hundreds of thousands of its customers this year, more than ever before, as it attempts to stop its electric lines from sparking wildfires.

The utility has told communities in fire-prone areas in recent weeks that they should expect more of the power shutoffs than in prior years and that the outages could last for longer periods of time.

The Rosemead-based company said it had lowered the wind speed that triggers the blackouts, and added tens of thousands of customers to the areas subject to them, after the devastating Jan. 7 Eaton fire. The inferno, which killed 19 people in Altadena, ignited in high winds under an Edison transmission line.

“You should be ready for the power to cut off at any moment,” Ian Anderson, a government relations manager for Edison, told the Moorpark City Council at an October meeting. He urged residents to buy generators and said the utility doesn’t reimburse customers for spoiled food and other losses if it believes the blackouts were required by “an act of God.”

“But PSPS is not an act of God,” responded Moorpark Councilmember Renee Delgado, using the acronym for public safety power shutoffs. “It’s a choice SCE is making.”

For more than a decade, California utilities have used the shutoffs to stop their equipment from sparking fires. The intentional outages have become so established in California’s wildfire prevention plans that Edison now faces lawsuits saying that it failed to shut off some of its lines before the Eaton fire.

Yet in recent months, the utility has heard a chorus of complaints from communities including Moorpark and Malibu that it is blacking out customers even when the winds are calm. And the utility often has failed to warn people of the coming outages, making it impossible for them to prepare, according to filings at the state Public Utilities Commission.

“You guys have put us into a Third World situation,” Scott Dittrich, a resident of Malibu, said at a Sept. 30 meeting that the city had with Edison to address the shutoffs.

Kathleen Dunleavy, an Edison spokeswoman, said the company recognizes that “any power outage is a hardship.”

But the outages are needed because they have prevented fires in dangerous weather, she said. “Our commitment is to keeping our communities safe,” she added.

This year, Edison has cut off 534,000 customers to prevent fires, according to data it filed with state regulators. That’s almost four times the 137,000 customers subject to the blackouts in 2024.

Under state rules, utilities can use the outages only as a measure of last resort — when the risk of electrical equipment igniting a fire is greater than the dangerous hazards the blackouts cause.

Disconnecting a neighborhood or city can cause far more than just inconvenience.

Traffic lights no longer work, causing perilous intersections. During a Dec. 10 outage in Moorpark, a utility truck failed to stop at a nonworking light on State Route 118, crashing into a sedan. The driver was injured and had to be extracted from the truck by emergency responders, according to the city’s report to state regulators.

The shutoffs also leave residents who have medical problems without the use of needed devices and refrigerators to store medications.

And they can cut off communication, stopping residents from getting evacuation warnings and other emergency messages.

During the Eaton and Palisades fires, the power shutoffs, as well as outages caused by wind and fire damage, “significantly disrupted the effectiveness of evacuation messaging,” according to a recent review of Los Angeles County’s emergency performance.

In the last three months of last year, Edison received 230 reports of traffic accidents, people failing to get needed medical care and other safety problems tied to the shutoffs, according to the company’s reports.

Dunleavy said Edison turned off the power only when staff believed the risk of fire exceeded the outages’ consequences.

Nonetheless, Alice Reynolds, president of the Public Utilities Commission, told Edison last month that she had “serious concern” about how the utility was leaving more customers in the dark.

Reynolds wrote in a letter to Steve Powell, the utility’s chief executive, that records showed that the company de-energized not just a record number of residential customers in January, but also more than 10,000 crucial facilities such as hospitals. The longest blackout lasted for 15 days, she said.

“There is no question that power outages — particularly those that are large scale and extended over many days — can cause significant hardship to customers, jeopardizing the safety of customers with medical needs who rely on electricity and disrupting businesses, critical facilities, and schools,” she wrote.

Reynolds said she would require Edison executives to hold biweekly meetings with state regulators where they must show how they planned to limit the scope and duration of the blackouts and improve their notifications to customers of coming shutoffs.

Powell wrote back to her, acknowledging “that our execution of PSPS events has not always met expectations.”

“SCE remains committed to improving its PSPS program to help customers prepare for potential de-energizations and reduce the impacts,” he wrote.

Since 2019, Edison has charged billions of dollars to customers for wildfire prevention work, including increased equipment inspections and the installation of insulated wires, which it said would reduce the need for the shutoffs.

Just four months before the Eaton fire, at an annual safety meeting, Edison executives told state regulators that the utility’s fire mitigation work had been so successful that it had sharply reduced the number of shutoffs, while also decreasing the risk of a catastrophic wildfire by as much as 90%.

A year later, at this year’s annual safety meeting in August, those risk reduction estimates were gone from the company’s presentation. Instead, Edison executives said they expected the number of shutoffs to increase this year by 20% to 40%. They added that the average size of the areas subject to the outages could be twice as large as last year.

The executives blamed “below average rainfall and extended periods of high winds” for increasing the risk that the company’s equipment could start a fire.

“The weather is getting more difficult for us,” Jill Anderson, Edison’s chief operating officer, said at the meeting.

Some customers have questioned whether the utility’s increasingly unreliable electricity lines should be solely blamed on the weather. They say the shutoffs have seemed more and more random.

The Acton Town Council told the utilities commission in January that Edison was blacking out residents when dangerous conditions “do not exist.”

At the same time, the council wrote, Edison had cut power to neighborhoods served by wires that had been undergrounded, an expensive upgrade that Edison has said would prevent the need for the shutoffs.

Edison’s Dunleavy said that although the Acton homes in those neighborhoods were served by underground lines, they were connected to a circuit that had overhead lines, requiring them to be turned off.

“We try to reroute as much as possible to minimize disruptions,” she said.

At the Moorpark City Council meeting, residents spoke of how the repeated outages, some lasting for days, had caused children to miss school and businesses to close their doors and lose revenue.

The residents also spoke of how their electric bills continued to rise as they had spent more days in the dark.

Joanne Carnes, a Moorpark resident, told Anderson, Edison’s government relations manager, that her last monthly bill was $421.

“Why are we paying more than a car payment,” she asked, “for a service that is not able to provide power?”

When much of Altadena burned in January, it affected not just the city’s homes but also its businesses. Popular local shops went up in flames just like everything else, and work-from-home artisans — displaced from not just their residences but also their work spaces and all the materials contained within — were suddenly without a place to live or a place to work.

On the Westside, the Palisades fire, also in January, tore through Pacific Palisades and Malibu, forever changing the fabric of these tight-knit neighborhoods and small businesses. Although rebuilding efforts are underway, progress and construction are expected to take several years as residents and business owners deal with permit approval, insurance hindrances and inflation.

Even now, local businesses that remain have struggled to regain a foothold.

With the giving spirit in mind this holiday season, we’ve put together this list of gifts from Altadena, Pacific Palisades and Malibu businesses, all of whom were affected in some way by the Eaton and Palisades fires. Purchase one of these items and you’ll spread good cheer (and good money) around areas that still need all the help they can get.

If you make a purchase using some of our links, the L.A. Times may be compensated. Prices and availability of items and experiences in the Gift Guide and on latimes.com are subject to change.