Forced from his residence in an old Victorian house to make way for a redevelopment, Tim Gilbert said he was wandering Koreatown in November looking for a place to live when he ducked through a hole in a fence into a vacant lot and found himself alone.
He set up camp, and as other followed suit, began to build a little community: Toward one corner of the 15,000-square foot lot, Gilbert erected a pickleball net he said he found near Wilshire Boulevard. Behind the net, where people volley from time to time, is a small garden of tomatoes, cannabis and onions that he tends to. There are at least two barbecues, one propane, one charcoal.
“When you are kind of going through something that is a rough time, you look for ways to keep your spirits up,” Gilbert said.
The encampment is one of the thousands in Los Angeles that are both ephemeral refuges from the dangers of sleeping alone and a constant frustration for the people nearby who pay rent and mortgages and want their neighborhoods clean. The little extra pleasures on Manhattan Place make it unique — the green grass that comes with winter rains, grilling hamburgers, recreational sport.
Neighbors lodged complaints about the encampment, including concerns over fires after encampment residents appeared to have broken into a street light and attached an extension cords to receive power.
Others cited drug sales and concerns over personal safety.
Adalberto Aguirre, 72, lives across the street in a building he has called home for 34 years and said residents of the encampment constantly yell and fight at night, making it difficult to sleep.
Sometimes, he said, the occupants will shout at him and other neighbors unprovoked.
“It’s terrible,” Aguirre said.
Another neighbor, Christine Pak, 30, said there’s constant broken glass on the sidewalk in front of the encampment, making it dangerous to walk her dog.
After the sun sets, she said she sees what look like drug deals, with people popping into the encampment for only a few minutes, before they leave.
There needs to be more affordable housing built for the homeless, Pak said, but “I don’t think it’s right for them to camp at a property that’s not theirs.”
On a visit to the encampment last week, trash was strewn between roughly 10 tents and makeshift shelters. The grass was brown. Flies swarmed a piece of excrement.
The site previously was the site of several housing units that were demolished in 2022, city records show.
Officials have said it has been difficult to remove the encampment, because the land is private property.
A spokesman for Councilwoman Katy Yaroslavsky, who represents the area, said their office “has been working to move the city bureaucracy to act on this for several months” and the Department of Building and Safety is now in touch with the property owner and working to clear the lot.
“It’s completely unacceptable,” Yaroslavsky said in a statement. “Private property owners put entire communities at risk when they let vacant or abandoned properties spiral out of control, and the city bureaucracy makes things worse by moving far too slowly.”
On Friday, a day after a story aired on ABC 7 that said reporters were threatened when visting the site, a homeless man walked past a KTLA news van and stopped near a small hole in a locked, tarped fence that serves as entry to the vacant lot.
Benito Saragosa said he stays on the street, not in the lot, but knows “good people” who live behind the fence.
“This is horrible living,” he said. But “where you do you want them to stay at?”
Before entering the encampment, a Times reporter and photographer stood outside and watched Gilbert and another resident, Tahj Banks, exit.
Gilbert, 43, said the encampment has been mostly peaceful, except for one alcohol-fueled fight, and he wasn’t aware of any visitors who were threatened or of any drug deals.
Banks, 36, said he moved into the lot not long after Gilbert. He said he became homeless, because of a combination of job loss and relationship problems.
They agreed to take The Times inside.
Banks showed off his canvas paintings, including a mostly black-and-white figure, in a graffiti art style, who is simultaneously smiling and crying.
“That’s me,” Banks said, wearing a red hat that had the words Ice Cream written in white letters. “There is a lot going on, a lot to handle and deal with.”
A short time later, a man in a white dress shirt walked through the hole in the fence and toward a tent.
“He does a lot of cooking,” Gilbert said. “He claims to be the owner [of the lot].”
A Times reporter told the man the city wants to remove the people living there.
“Who is also telling you that … is a criminal and a thief,” the man said. “I am the owner of the city of Los Angeles and the owner of this lot.”
According to real estate research firm CoStar, the lot is owned by Elk Development, which plans to build a 60-unit housing complex on-site. The company did not respond to an email seeking comment.
Gilbert and Banks said police officers told them they had to be out by Thursday, and anyone remaining would have their belongings thrown away and arrested.
They said they aren’t sure where they will go, but Gilbert said the city told them there are some beds available nearby.
Zach Seidl, a spokesman for Mayor Karen Bass, said encampment residents are being offered services and housing and the city “will address the safety and cleanliness issues” at the site, while working to “hold the property owner accountable for the related costs.”
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