Editor’s note: This is part of our “My LA” series — a look at how changing demographics are shifting culture in LA’s historic neighborhoods and communities — told by the people from those communities.

My family’s roots in downtown Los Angeles go back to the late 1930s. My grandfather Jesús, who everyone called “Jack,” immigrated from Zináparo, Michoacán just before the Great Depression. 

He worked the parking lots at the unemployment office, saving enough to open a small grocery store in 1941. In 1959, that store became our restaurant, La Luz del Día.

From a young age, I knew I wanted to work with my dad. It mattered to me to carry on what my grandfather built and what my father grew into one of the anchor businesses of Olvera Street. Today, I’m the third generation to run it.

Growing up, I did not think of Olvera Street as historic. For me, it was just home. 

It was where my family worked and where I played as a child. It’s where culture was part of daily life. I watched from the stairs as women pressed tortillas by hand and waited patiently for a warm one to be passed to me.

But, like many small businesses across Los Angeles, Olvera Street was hit hard by COVID and never fully recovered. Tourism disappeared overnight.. Many merchants fell behind on rent. Others, like La Golondrina, which had served the community since the 1930s, closed entirely. 

Even LA’s oldest taco shop, Cielito Lindo, is struggling. 

Twenty years ago, weekends meant lines out the door and crowded walkways. Today, there are afternoons when merchants sit outside their shops waiting for customers who never come.

Preserving Olvera Street

Olvera Street has always existed in tension between preservation and performance.

In the 1800s, the plaza was the town square of Nuestra Señora la Reina de Los Ángeles. But by the early 20th century, it had fallen into neglect and faced possible demolition.

Thankfully, for my family and the other small business owners who would follow, Christine Sterling led the restoration of this Mexican marketplace in 1930.

Immigrant merchants gave the area a new life, drawing locals and tourists to Olvera Street to try Mexican dishes, watch marionette shows and shop for Mexican goods. It became a place to share and preserve culture. 

Nearly a century later, that history feels especially relevant now.

What’s at stake

Last year was the first time in more than 60 years that my family couldn’t pay our full rent. As a father of two young children, it felt like I was failing them. I was heartbroken that I might not be able to give them the choice of continuing this legacy.

We made it somehow. But it’s been a never-ending battle.

Downtown still feels uncertain. Foot traffic is inconsistent. Costs keep rising. The slim margins that once sustained family businesses have become almost invisible. Like my grandfather Jack, many of the merchants on Olvera Street built businesses that stayed in their families for generations. Some have been here for decades. Every time another business leaves, it takes a toll. 

In an interview with CBS LA, Cielito Lindo owner Viviana MacManus noted that the area used to see more than a million visitors year. That number has dropped to under 300,000.

It’s the loss of stories, relationships and identity. Just recently, the world-famous Burro photo stand lost its space. What was once a 60-year-old institution now lives on only in photographs and memory.

Olvera Street was never meant to be static. It was envisioned as a living marketplace — a place where Los Angeles could encounter its cultural roots in real time.

But it’s a vision that depends on people.

It depends on the merchants who open their doors every day to cook, sell crafts and carry traditions forward. It also depends on people showing up to support them. 

Without them, all that will remain is adobe and brick.

Come down on a Saturday morning and walk through the plaza, past the musicians and dancing families. Let yourself slow down enough to notice what’s still here.

Have lunch at La Luz del Dia and order the carnitas tacos —The same tacos my family has been serving for generations.

Is your neighborhood changing? We want to hear your story. Whether you’ve lived on your block for forty years or four, we want to know: What does “home” mean to you right now?

Share a brief memory or a thought on how your neighborhood is changing with us at pitches@thelalocal.org. We’ll feature some of our favorite responses in our newsletter, and if your story sparks something deeper, we may reach out to commission a full-length piece (yes, we pay our writers!)