“You are so lucky! You live in Hollywood!” That has been the most common response when I respond to the question, “Where do you live?” In 1985, my father had been connected to a dental laboratory through my late Oaxacan uncle. My father’s new boss at the laboratory owned a building and rented him a unit—#8—a 2-bedroom on the second story on Gower St. My father’s siblings, my mother, and my mother’s cousin lived happily crammed in that small apartment. My uncle and his girlfriend gave birth to their first born in that small two-bedroom apartment in May of 1986, so the family looked for a bigger space. They found and rented a house in Los Angeles off 11th Street, which is where my sister was born in 1987.
But my Salvadoran parents would move back to Gower Street in 1988 with their toddler daughter, where I was born in 1991. My mother and the other women neighbors mostly worked in housekeeping. My mom started as a housekeeper at a hospital and was a JAFRA Cosmetics Supervisor. Her comadres cleaned homes or worked at grocery stores. The husbands served the community by making deliveries, and my father learned about dental technician work thanks to my late Oaxacan uncle, who married my father’s eldest female cousin. They were my parents’ backbone as they found the courage to immigrate to the United States.
Gower Street was not only our residence, it was also our safe haven, the street in our pueblito that taught us to love diversity. Down the street lived our Guatemalan neighbors, across the street our Mexican neighbors, and on Beachwood Dr. lived our Thai godsister. Our building consisted of Salvadorans, Mexicans, Koreans, and one American veteran who served in WW2. We attended different schools since some of us went to LAUSD schools while others went to private schools. At the end of our school days, we’d come out to play and our neighbors would come visit. It would be like ten of us who, on the daily, would play cops and robbers, freeze-tag, escondelero (hide and seek), colors, hopscotch, or Chinese jump rope. I remember thinking we were so cool because we would climb the roof of the parking lot or climb over the laundry room to get to the other side and hide in challenging spots. We were always safe and looked out for each other, but loved the thrills of climbing and being chased as we ran for safety or hid up there as our parents demanded us back inside because the streetlights came on after sunset.
The compadres and neighbors would help each other find “casas” (homes to clean), or my mom would help their family members get a job at the hospital she worked at. My mom had a growth mindset and from the position of a housekeeper she was promoted to the linen department as a supervisor. She later took a second shift as a laboratory courier when she developed an interest in phlebotomy. Both of my parents worked overtime regularly to sustain our household as well as to support their siblings in El Salvador, and as a consequence they shared limited time with us during the week. But on the weekends my father would dedicate his time to us, and would take me and my sister, neighbors, and cousins in his red Toyota trokita (pickup truck) for rides in the neighborhood, to the park, or to grab a bite somewhere. Our favorite street was Normandie Ave north of Melrose Ave. Back then, it was legal to ride in the camper, so my dad would tell us to get ready as he would go down the hills on Normandie, which we came to think of as a free street amusement ride.
One of my fondest memories of Gower street aside from playing games outside and getting “minutas”—mostly known as “raspados” in the Mexican culture ( a combination of shaved ice and Latin/Central American flavored syrup such as nance, tamarind, mango, bubble gum, cherry, grape, vanilla and lime)—was when my mom would take us with our neighbors for walks in the neighborhood and treat us to a Thrifty ice cream at The Gower Gulch on Sunset Boulevard and Gower St. After her long day at work, my mom would invite us on walks by saying, “ponganse los zapatos cipotas que vamos a ir a caminar,” which meant “girls put your shoes on, we are going for a walk.”
As a 1st generation American, adapting to two languages was a challenge, and as the youngest, they would find it funny for me to say “pluto.” Pluto was one of my favorite Mickey & Friends characters, and when we would walk down the block, my neighbors and family would lovingly roast me by asking me to say Pluto. I would mispronounce it by saying “puto,” which is an offensive word in Spanish. Everyone would crack up, and it would set the tone for the walk as we passed by the little houses on Gower St. and approached Sunset Bronson Studios.
My parents were and have been trusted neighbors in the community who continued their faith in Catholicism and became the godparents of 19 children throughout the years, which is why we were able to merge cultures and become spiritual sisters with my Thai god sister. She and her best friend who lived in our building did their first communion together and became my parents’ god children and my sisters and my godsister. They would join us with their families on these walks, as would my aunts when they lived with us. As time passed, my parents paid forward the help they got from my aunt and uncle by supporting two more aunts to migrate and come live with us in our one-bedroom apartment.
First, my mom’s cousin came to live with us in our tiny apartment in 1993. In 1994, she was impregnated, and during the Northridge earthquake, she fainted. The story goes that the older kids helped the younger kids in the building keep safe as we sat on the driveway, while the adults helped my aunt get out of the apartment and also helped the elderly Koreans upstairs to come down safely. Race did not matter as we were a unit and despite our differences we all looked out for each other. Months later, my little cousin was born in November 1994, and later they moved when my aunt was pregnant again and formalized her relationship to make her own home. In 1995, my dad’s prima immigrated and came to live with us. She became our nanny, and pretty much everyone else’s as well. My parents allowed her to care for other children since they couldn’t pay her a full salary.
In 1997, my parents decided to move to a 2-bedroom apartment down the street off of Fountain Ave, about a mile away from Gower St., and left our original apartment to my aunt, who had moved there with her son. The landlord was very nice and helped my aunt by renting the apartment for the same price my parents were paying for it. It helped my aunt reduce her expenses and allowed us to continue to visit and play all the fun games with our childhood neighbors in that apartment complex. The parking lot was our favorite spot!
As we entered the year 2000, my childhood friend/ brother/middle school classmate also moved into the neighborhood when his family purchased their dream home across the street from our building. Welcoming the year 2000 on New Year’s Eve came with a unique Hollywood experience. For the first time, the Hollywood sign lit up with fireworks, and there my friend was, an eight-year-old boy having such a magical and beautiful experience. My friend was fortunate to grow up on Gower St and even become the life of the party in a number of Hollywood clubs. But as time passed and he grew, the neighborhood changed. Those beautiful homes with the best hiding spots for escondelero were being sold. My bro’s family was consistently receiving offers from investors to buy their home, once even offered $2,000,000 in cash to buy out, but his family refused to sell and still does.
In a way, one might say the gentrification of Hollywood was probably inevitable. Gower St. was safe for the most part and always well-lit. It was also a street you took for a close and direct view of the Hollywood sign. Today, Sunset Blvd has transformed immensely since our childhood and continues to evolve.
Gower St. also taught me about heartbreak, my first heartbreak. In 2005, my aunt made the decision to move out of the neighborhood to Oregon with her 3 sons. That day was one of the hardest days of my life! As we arrived at the block, the large U-Haul truck invaded the driveway. We entered the empty apartment and all sat on the bedroom floor. The walls were bright, and the sunlight did not shine. Despite the brightness, it felt dark. The pain of knowing we weren’t going to see each other daily tore my soul apart. All of us kids knew that nothing would be the same anymore. Everything was loaded in the truck, everyone was squished in the front like sardines, and off went my aunt with her family of five towards the northwest. That was the end of our childhood era, and it was the most painful experience as I started a new chapter at Hollywood High School.
As time has passed, our former apartment building remains strong, as has my best friend’s home, but Gower St. has changed infinitely. My neighbors bought their forever homes in other neighborhoods, the little houses on Gower St. and Fountain Ave were demolished, and town-homes were built. My Thai god sister’s family was evicted from Beachwood Dr. and their little home was demolished as well. I lost my sense of self and did not know how to process the grief. I simply felt out of place and as if we never belonged. With time, I’ve reconnected with Hollywood through my love for street art and community-building, which is how my Instagram page @hollywoodsights came to life. It’s a page dedicated to the immigrant working class community, to remind Hollywood natives that Hollywood is for everyone and forever will be. So, when people tell me “You’re so lucky, you live in Hollywood” I say, yes I am grateful to have been raised and to continue to live in this beautiful part of Los Angeles.