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.
Between the 10 Freeway and Koreatown lies a boxed-in neighborhood at risk of disappearing. Ever since the Santa Monica Freeway was built, Harvard Heights has been fragmented and in constant flux, threatening those who love it most — like me.
I’ll never forget Saturdays at Normandie Park, raspados from the street vendor who biked around Harvard Heights after school let out at Los Angeles Elementary, or the neighborhood’s adoration for Central American and Oaxacan food — the tapestry of people’s histories that has made Harvard Heights what it is.
To the outside world, the neighborhood is perhaps best known for its two-story Craftsman homes, built about 100 years ago, which are protected through the Historic Preservation Overlay Zone.
But growing up here was about the relationships my family built with vendors selling on the edge of a plaza from early morning to late at night. This is the LA I’ve known for 16 years. Lately, the neighborhood’s identity is in trouble as businesses and tenants face displacement by landlords and developers. These micro-entrepreneurs shape how people experience the neighborhood.
And frankly, since Western-Pico Discount World — a once-thriving swap meet — closed, people seem to think of Harvard Heights as nothing more than a street away from Koreatown lined with pretty houses.
Affordability is disappearing
If you pass Western Avenue and Pico Boulevard, you’ll notice the cool gray tones of the WSS store and, next to it, the Community Resource Center. You might not know that before it resembled the gray skies of a cloudy LA day, it was bright orange and pine green — the beating heart of Harvard Heights.
Western-Pico Discount World officially closed in 2014, but it lives on as a memory of my childhood, where I’d spend time observing people and window shopping.
The swap meet had everything: a Korean merchant who spoke fluent Spanish and could fix your phone. You could buy your estrenos — new shoes, clothes, even backpacks. Get a haircut for $15. Tint your car windows. Grab churros from the street vendor who was always posted outside. Pick up poultry or meat from the butcher, then strike up a conversation while ’80s salsa played in the background.
As everyday goods become less affordable for low-income communities, the swap meet has faded into memory — a place that once felt like it belonged to working-class people. These businesses rarely get the cultural recognition they deserve for serving their communities for decades, partly because there’s almost never news coverage when such a significant community space closes.
But I’ve often wondered: what happened to the vendors of my favorite swap meet?
The merchants at the Washington Square Discount Mall, about a mile southwest of Arlington Heights, have answers to that forgotten story.
A history of shady evictions
“They always gave us a contract every year,” a former merchant there named Martha told The LA Local. Martha didn’t want to use her full name for privacy reasons.
“Suddenly, for two years, they didn’t give us one. But since we’d been working there for 24 years, we never imagined anything would happen,” Martha said.
She sold party supplies and has continued to do so at her new location. She’s been part of the community here for more than 30 years.
Martha was among the first merchants at the Western-Pico Discount World. Then one day, she said, every merchant was given less than 30 days to pack up and find somewhere else to sell.
“What we were told is that the swap meet’s owner died and left it to his son, who owned an auto parts store, and the son rented out the whole place to a single business so he could make money for his auto parts store,” Martha explained.
Now, almost 10 years after the closure, her new location, the Washington Square Discount Mall — at the intersection of Washington Boulevard and 10th Avenue — has survived economic hardship, still carrying the story of merchants surviving with little to no protection.
Throughout our conversation, Martha described how each merchant had to find new ways to support their families. Some could no longer keep selling. One Korean merchant moved back to Korea because he couldn’t find other work while on a work visa and in the process of getting his residency. But some merchants can still be found at the Washington Square Discount Mall.
Martha has persevered through years of uncertainty and continues to serve communities across Arlington Heights. Years ago, she helped families prepare for baptisms. Today, she helps many of those same families prepare for weddings.
In the past 10 years, I’ve watched discount stores shut down, limiting the community’s access to cheap, everyday goods. Just recently, a discount store at Normandie and Pico closed, following its neighbor, Papa Cristo’s. Many of those now shuttered stores used to provide jobs for community members.
I remember the Payless ShoeSource at the intersection of Venice and Western avenues, where students could find affordable shoes or get part-time work. The nearby former Fallas Paredes site is now a Speakeasy Fitness that has turned Western Plaza into a hub for fitness culture. But it’s not the culture I grew up with.
The lived experiences of poor, working-class families continue to be overlooked in favor of profiting off Harvard Heights’ historic homes. It would be nice if the preservation policy that protects those homes also protected the community from immigration raids, street vendor harassment or eviction notices. In a perfect world, it would somehow protect us from the kinds of mental health issues that directly contribute to the unhoused crisis.
Who wouldn’t want to live in a two-story Craftsman preserved for more than a century, just steps from Koreatown and Downtown LA? Around the corner from the 10, you can be anywhere in the city in under 30 minutes. Maybe not the renters across Harvard Heights, who continue to feel the impact of gentrification as property owners continue to commercialize the historical significance of these homes.
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!)
