Business
In Colorado Springs, a Club Q hero and his wife become local leaders
A photo of me hangs on the walls of the Atrevida Beer tasting room.
It’s from 2018, when I was there to profile owner Jess Fierro. At the time, she was one of the few professional Latina brewers in the country.
Although I’m more of a bourbon guy, I loved her story. She and husband Rich, two San Diego kids, fell in love, then weathered his multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan as an Army officer.
Seven days. Seven states. Nearly 3,000 miles. Gustavo Arellano talks to Latinos across the Southwest about their hopes, fears and dreams in this election year.
Once he got out and they settled in Colorado Springs, she said it was his time to follow her. A former cosmetologist, she had adopted brewing as a hobby while he was stationed in Germany. It turned into a passion, then a mission.
She won a Vice TV reality series, using the prize — a distribution deal — and the attention to open Atrevida (Spanish for “daring”) in a small strip mall with a stunning view of the Rockies. She immediately earned accolades, and not just for beers with Mexican flavors — tamarind, Mexican chocolate, chile. Atrevida’s slogan — “Diversity, it’s on tap!” — and Pride flag out front struck a chord with people looking for community in a deeply conservative and evangelical city.
“If you can’t stand in allyship with folks when no one’s looking,” she told me in 2018, “then what kind of person are you?”
I found the quote in one of my old notebooks. My story never published, because my mother was dying of cancer. But I promised the couple that I would return one day.
On a muggy Saturday afternoon — Day 4 of my road trip through the Southwest looking for the political soul of Latinos in a presidential election year — I found a radically transformed brewery.
It was twice as big, and there were more beers than ever. I remembered all the plaques and clippings celebrating Jess’ success. Now, there were new awards. One for “La Familia Valiente” — the Brave Family. Another that deemed Rich “Warrior of the Year.”
If you can’t stand in allyship with folks when no one’s looking, then what kind of person are you?
— Jess Fierro
On Nov. 19, 2022, a gunman stormed Club Q, Colorado Springs’ only LGBTQ+-friendly nightclub, killing five people and injuring 25. The Fierros were there to see a friend of their daughter, Kassy, perform in drag. Among the dead was Kassy’s boyfriend. The toll would have been worse if Rich hadn’t helped subdue the gunman. The national media anointed him with a label he immediately rejected: hero.
Atrevida was swarmed with orders for T-shirts and other memorabilia — a blessing and a curse for the Fierros, because what happens when the nation wants to think of you as anything but your business?
After finishing a delicious strawberry cream ale, I went to the back to greet Jess. The small fermenting tanks from my last visit had been replaced by much larger ones that she was planning to return because their tops wouldn’t open without hitting the ceiling. Rich was busy strapping down a kegerator on the back of his immaculate brown El Camino.
The couple were going to serve Atrevida suds at the summer gala for the Colorado Springs Hispanic Chamber, which calls itself the Concilio. She is the group’s chair, and he is also deeply involved. The Fierros still get requests to speak about their lives and that tragic night at Club Q. They might not like to be called heroes, but they gladly wear the label of leaders — and they want to inspire other Latinos to do the same, even as they’re still learning.
“This is one of those scary rungs of the ladder that I’ve been able to mount,” said Jess, 47. Strong in voice and direct in temperament, she wore thick-framed glasses and a shiny red dress. Rich, also 47, in knee-length shorts and socks, blemish-free Nike Cortezes and a black Atrevida tank top, looked like a defensive lineman ready to kick it at the beach.
“So now I have to be that voice for representation in the areas that I’m at, because that’s where our community needs to be,” she continued. “You have to be loud and proud. It’s not enough to show up and say you’re here for the causa. You have to know why you show up.”
The Concilio gala was at a private country club within the Cheyenne Mountain Resort.
Lowriders lined the parking lot leading to the clubhouse, where the party would spread out next to the swimming pool and a small lake. A youth mariachi band and a baile folklorico troupe performed; a covers band played Chicano favorites such as War and Earth, Wind and Fire. Food and tequila stands offered free samples.
Small-business owners are the lifeblood of communities. A 2023 U.S. Treasury report showed that Latinos owned a quarter of all new businesses nationwide — proof of a people yearning for more. The shindig at first seemed like any other Hispanic chamber of commerce event, with people handing me business cards like dealers at a blackjack table.
But pride radiated like I’ve rarely seen. Colorado Springs is only 18% Latino, so the Concilio mixer felt like a family reunion, in spite of the location.
During introductions, an announcer pronounced “mariachi” as “marishi” and misgendered legendary East L.A. rockers Los Lobos “Las Lobos.” Country club members, almost all white and middle-aged and tanned, looked on quizzically from poolside lounge chairs.
“We need to show ourselves that we can lead,” said Julissa Soto, vice chair of the Concilio. She came to the U.S. from Mexico 27 years ago in the trunk of a car and now sits on the Colorado public health department’s Health Equity Commission. She jokes that she went “from nada to Prada.”
“I knew this country was not built for us,” she said. “That’s why we all need to step up. When you’re doing something, what goes around comes around, and people see it.”
The Concilio is nonpartisan, and its board members include both Republicans and Democrats. El Paso County, where Colorado Springs is located, has become more liberal as it has diversified but is still resolutely red. More than 50% went for Trump in 2020.
The Fierros are registered Democrats who plan to vote for Kamala Harris, but they don’t consider themselves partisans. This year, Atrevida hosted a taco truck run by a vocal Trump supporter, drawing complaints from some regulars.
“I told them, ‘Go talk to him, and go eat some great tacos,’” Rich said. His grin was almost as wide as his shoulders. “You don’t have to agree, but we do have to learn from each other.”
He and Jess pointed people out. There went a former Orange County public defender who’s now on the Colorado Springs City Council. That guy runs a great restaurant. She’s a professor. He’s a small-business owner.
We were at the Atrevida booth, where workers and friends handed out rainbow-colored wristbands with the brewery’s name.
Suddenly, Rich got up. “I’m going to go fanboy,” he said.
As the Fierros slowly moved through the crowd, they kept getting stopped. There were hugs, there was small talk, there were thanks for their actions during the Club Q massacre. The couple acknowledged everyone but kept moving.
He finally reached a VIP area, where Emilio Rivera — most famous for his roles in “Sons of Anarchy” and its spinoff, “Mayans M.C.” — was signing autographs. The actor didn’t know who Rich was, at first.
“Last name Fierro, like steel,” the brewery owner said as Rivera signed his Mayans M.C. T-shirt. It finally clicked, and the actor’s mood changed.
“I got to ask you a personal question,” Rivera said to Chip Law, a friend of the Fierros who also survived the Club Q massacre along with his wife. “How are you, mentally?”
“We take care of each other,” Law responded.
I knew this country was not built for us. That’s why we all need to step up.
— Julissa Soto
“On 9/11, all of us went to war,” Rich said. He gestured at his friend and referenced the date of the massacre. “On 11/19, we went to war.”
He now works for U.S. Space Command, the Department of Defense branch charged with safeguarding American interests in outer space. He travels around the country to talk to students about joining the program. The day after the Concilio shindig, he was flying to San Diego for a weeklong trek through Southern California schools.
“I’ve always wanted to do education — that was my [college] major,” he said while Rivera continued to greet fans. “But I just cussed too much, so I could never be a teacher. But now, I can. These kids get so excited. No one else from the federal government is talking to them. But we believe in them.”
I mentioned that what he was doing was hero—
“Nope, nope,” he interjected, shaking his head in disagreement.
I clarified that I wasn’t going to call him a hero. But what the couple are doing — stepping up in Colorado Springs, in brewing, leadership and now in education — is heroic, and more Latinos need to follow their lead.
“It’s not about stepping up,” he said. “It’s about showing up.”
His wife joined us as more people approached. One of her former cosmetology students asked for advice on how to start his own salon. Someone invited her husband to talk to students. The Fierros smiled and networked, and networked some more.
I hugged them and took off, as even more people waited to talk about joining the Concilio.
Next time, I promised, my wife — a small-business owner herself — will join us. And I won’t introduce them as Jess and Rich Fierro, Club Q survivors and heroes.
They’re Jess and Rich Fierro, local leaders. We should all follow their lead.
Business
Wildfires Will Deepen Housing Shortage in Los Angeles
Each of the homes burned in the Los Angeles fires is its own individual calamity.
Collectively, the losses — whether in the hundreds or, as is far more likely, in the thousands — will weigh on the city’s already urgent housing shortage.
Fires are still raging, and with 180,000 people under evacuation orders as of Thursday morning, the degree of displacement in the city and its surrounding areas will take time to assess. For the time being, evacuees are holing up in public shelters in Los Angeles County, with friends or family members or in hotels.
But in the coming weeks and months, people whose homes are gone will have to find more stable accommodations while they rebuild. That will not be easy in a metro area that, as of 2022, already had a shortage of about 337,000 homes, according to data from Zillow. The number of homes on the market in Los Angeles was 26 percent below prepandemic norms as of December, according to Zillow.
“One of the biggest challenges ahead will be getting people who lost their homes into permanent, long-term housing,” Victor M. Gordo, the mayor of Pasadena, said on Wednesday. Pasadena, which is battling the Eaton fire, has already lost hundreds of homes.
The area’s tight rental market is likely to become further strained as many of the thousands of displaced residents turn to rental units, while figuring out their next move. The median rent for a one-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles, as of Jan. 7, was more than $2,000, according to Zillow.
“You’re going to have a positive shock in demand, and a negative shock in supply, so this automatically means prices go up in the rental markets,” said Carles Vergara-Alert, a professor of finance at IESE Business School in Barcelona, who has studied the effects of wildfires on housing markets.
Any uptick in rental costs would affect tenants across the region, beyond those displaced by the fires, Dr. Vergara-Alert said.
Jonathan Zasloff, who lost his home in Pacific Palisades this week, teaches land use and urban policy at the University of California, Los Angeles law school, and is acutely aware of how his search for interim housing could affect the broader market.
Dr. Zasloff is staying with his brother for the time being, while a friend is putting up his wife and daughter. They evacuated their house, which they had lived in for almost 15 years, around noon on Tuesday, before the official evacuation order was issued for the area. That evening, Dr. Zasloff realized the severity of the crisis when he was watching television and saw a reporter standing on his fire-ravaged block.
His insurance agent told him it could take two to three years to rebuild his house. His family might try to find a rental in West Los Angeles near UCLA in the meantime, he said.
There aren’t many rentals in that part of the city, Dr. Zasloff said, so students and other renters could be displaced as he, and people like him who lost their homes, move in.
“It’s very possible that this event is going to cause a big increase in homelessness, even though the people who got pushed out of their homes are people of means,” he said.
California has been in the grip of an affordable housing crisis for a decade. Both state and local lawmakers have passed a raft of new laws that aim to make housing cheaper and more plentiful by making it easier to build. In Los Angeles, for instance, Mayor Karen Bass signed an executive order that streamlines permitting for projects in which 100 percent of the units are affordable. In response to state housing reforms, there has been a boom of backyard homes — called accessory dwelling units, or A.D.U.s — that homeowners often rent out for extra income and that have added to the housing stock.
Still, both the city and state remain well behind their housing production goals, and affordability has only continued to erode. The number of apartment units approved by the city of Los Angeles, for example, dipped to a 10-year low in 2024, according to data from the Los Angeles Department of Building and Safety compiled by Crosstown LA, a news site. That downturn in building permitting has raised concern about roadblocks to new housing unit creation.
“This is a place that had massive affordability challenges last week, and after this week it’s going to be that much more challenging,” said Dave Rand, a land-use lawyer at Rand Paster & Nelson in Los Angeles, who also serves on the board of directors of a statewide affordable housing organization.
After the fires are extinguished and the recovery begins, Mr. Rand said, there is hope that the common cause of rebuilding can be a catalyst for tackling affordability challenges by continuing to make it easier to build housing, particularly affordable rental housing, at a faster pace.
“This is such a devastating event that hopefully it rocks the system to the point where we can get real reform,” he said.
The Los Angeles City Council has aimed to build nearly half a million new units by 2029. But many people trying to rebuild all at once after the fires could lead to higher costs, and slow down the overall production of housing, said Jason Ward, a co-director of the center on housing and homelessness at the RAND Corporation.
A longstanding construction labor shortage in Los Angeles does not help. Andy Howard, a general contractor who has worked across the city for three decades, including in the areas affected by the fires, said many of the subcontractors he work with in the past have left California since the pandemic. And there are not enough young people entering the industry.
The fires are “going to make it worse,” Mr. Howard said. “It’s going to drive the cost up, for sure.”
Business
For Hollywood workers, L.A. fires are the latest setback as productions halt
As the market for documentaries and other content slowed and work dried up in Hollywood, producer Kourtney Gleason was already worried about making the mortgage payments on the home she bought last year with her boyfriend.
Now, as raging fires have halted film and TV production in Southern California and many in the industry have lost homes, she’s terrified that the entertainment business will be set back yet again. Though she’s been in the industry for 12 years, Gleason is now reluctantly looking at restaurant jobs to get by.
“The industry in the town is so fragile that every little thing becomes a bigger bump in the road,” she said. “Another bump that will push things back from getting ramped up.”
The destruction of the fires only compounds the difficult lot for many of Hollywood’s workers. Still reeling from the pandemic, they faced financial hardship during the dual Hollywood labor strikes in 2023, then were hit with a sustained slowdown in film and TV production that has driven many to rethink their careers in the industry.
“A lot of the below-the-line workers were already under an incredible amount of pressure,” said Kevin Klowden, executive director of the Milken finance institute. “For Hollywood workers, it becomes one more blow.”
The sheer scope of the region’s multiple fires means that nearly every echelon of Hollywood has been hard hit.
The Palisades fire, which has burned more than 17,200 acres and destroyed numerous homes, businesses and longtime landmarks in the Pacific Palisades area, is home to many Hollywood stars, studio executives and producers. Actors such as Billy Crystal and Cary Elwes lost homes in the blaze.
Across the region, the Eaton fire has now burned at least 10,600 acres in the Pasadena and Altadena areas and destroyed many structures. The San Gabriel Valley is home to many of the industry’s more modest or middle-class workers, who were already financially harmed by the production slowdown and relocation of shoots to other states or countries.
The fires could rank as one of the costliest natural disasters in U.S. history. A preliminary estimate calculated by AccuWeather, the weather forecasting service, put the damage and total economic loss at $52 billion to $57 billion, which could rise if the fires continue to spread. J.P. Morgan on Thursday raised its expectations of economic losses to close to $50 billion.
Many affected homeowners reported the insurers had dropped their policies, as some of the biggest insurers have stopped writing or renewing policies in high-risk coastal and wildfire areas. The complications with fire insurance, combined with the region’s problems with housing affordability and supply, will only be exacerbated by these fires, Klowden said, leading some to reconsider whether they can stay in California.
“It adds up,” he said. “How many more people decide they can’t afford to stay?”
Hollywood workers had been holding onto hope that 2025 would be a better year for work, perhaps closer to the levels they saw before the pandemic.
But with yet another disaster, “it feels like it’s just another weight that’s been placed,” said Jacques Gravett, a film editor who has primarily worked in television on such shows as “Power Book IV: Force” on Starz and “13 Reasons Why” on Netflix.
Gravett was out of work for 13 months between the pandemic and the strikes, and said he’s concerned about how already struggling workers will be able to absorb the financial blow from the fires.
“At least when you’re working and something happens, you have resources to get you by, and a lot of people don’t have the resources now,” said Gravett, who is co-chair of the Motion Picture Editors Guild’s African-American steering committee. “Now we’re faced with another tragedy for those who’ve been displaced. What do you do?”
The effect of the fires on industry workers could give lawmakers a push to approve Gov. Gavin Newsom’s proposed increase to the state’s film and TV tax credit program, which aims to lure production back to California and increase jobs in the Golden State, Klowden said.
“Right now, the industry desperately is waiting on the incentives to be expanded,” he said.
In the near term, discussions about new projects are already hitting a wall. Gary Lennon, showrunner of various “Power” spinoffs, including “Force,” said an agent told him there will likely be a temporary pause before anyone wants to talk about new ideas.
“Buyers and meetings for pitches being sold will take a hit for a moment,” Lennon said. “People are focused on what is immediately happening in front of them.”
Even before the fires, he said he was already getting two to three calls a week from production designers, editors, costume designers and others looking for work.
But once the industry is ready to ramp back, he said he thinks it will move quickly.
“So much has happened recently, I think production will start right away again because people do need to work,” Lennon said. “And that’s a good thing.”
Business
Paul Oreffice, a Combative Chief of Dow Chemical, Dies at 97
Paul F. Oreffice, who as the pugnacious head of Dow Chemical grew and diversified the company at the same time that he rebuffed Vietnam veterans over Agent Orange, argued that the chemical dioxin was harmless and oversaw the manufacturing of silicone breast implants that were known to leak, died on Dec. 26 at his home in Paradise Valley, Ariz. He was 97.
His family confirmed his death.
Mr. Oreffice (pronounced like orifice) spoke in staccato, fast-paced sentences, and they were often deployed in pushing back against environmentalists, politicians and journalists during an era, the 1970s and ’80s, when the environmental movement was gaining force by focusing on toxic chemicals in the air and water.
Under his 17-year leadership, which included the titles of president, chief executive and chairman, Mr. Oreffice weathered intense controversies.
His public relations instinct was for confrontation, not conciliation. He had an intense dislike for what he perceived as government meddling in business, which he traced to his having grown up in Italy under Mussolini. “I’ve seen what overgoverning can do,” he told The New York Times in 1987. “I was born under a Fascist dictatorship, and my father was jailed by it.”
Mr. Oreffice took the reins of the Dow USA division in 1975, when its public image was tainted from campus protests of the 1960s that had vilified the company as a maker of the incendiary agent napalm, which was widely used in Vietnam.
When Dow pulled out of apartheid South Africa in 1987 under pressure from shareholders, Mr. Oreffice said: “I’m not proud of it. I think we should have stayed and fought.”
In 1977, when Jane Fonda lacerated Dow in a speech at Central Michigan University, not far from Dow headquarters, in Midland, Mich., Mr. Oreffice canceled the company’s donations to the school, writing its president that he could not support Ms. Fonda’s “venom against free enterprise.”
Instead, Mr. Oreffice financed the campaigns of anti-regulation politicians. And he sued the Environmental Protection Agency for surveilling Dow’s sprawling Midland plants from the air when the company refused an on-site inspection.
The case made its way to the United States Supreme Court, which in 1986 ruled against the company, at the time the No. 2 American chemical maker after DuPont. (The companies merged in 2017, then split into three companies.)
In 1983, Rep. James H. Scheuer, Democrat of New York, disclosed that Dow had been allowed to edit an E.P.A. report on the leakage of dioxin, one of the most toxic substances ever manufactured, from the Midland plants into the Tittabawassee and Saginaw Rivers and Saginaw Bay.
E.P.A. regional officials told Congress that their superiors in the Reagan administration ordered the changes to comply with demands made by Dow. Mr. Oreffice, appearing on NBC’s “Today” show, offered a sweeping dismissal.
“There is absolutely no evidence of dioxin doing any damage to humans except for causing something called chloracne,” he said. “It’s a rash.”
His statement brushed aside evidence that dioxin was extremely hazardous to laboratory animals and had been shown in some research to be linked with a rare soft-tissue cancer in humans.
One former Dow president, Herbert Dow Doan, a grandson of the company founder, told a public relations publication, Provoke Media, in 1990 that Mr. Oreffice’s style was not one fine-tuned to mollify critics. “The reason is part ego, part pride,” he said. “Paul is inclined to push his line to the point where some people say he is arrogant.”
There is no question that Mr. Oreffice’s strength of will also uplifted Dow’s businesses, which through the 1970s were overly dependent on basic chemicals like chlorine. When a glut of low-priced petrochemicals flooded the global market in the early 80s, he aggressively reshaped Dow by diversifying into consumer products, such as shampoos and the cleaning fluid Fantastik, and by moving into foreign markets. By 1987, Dow posted a record profit of $1.3 billion (about $3.5 billion in today’s currency).
At the same time, a class-action lawsuit on behalf of 20,000 Vietnam veterans and their families against Dow and other makers of Agent Orange was further tarnishing the company’s image. The suit, filed in 1979, charged that dioxin in Agent Orange led to cancer in combat veterans and genetic defects in their children.
Dow argued that it had made Agent Orange at the request of the government and was not responsible for how it was used. But in 1984, the company and other makers of Agent Orange, without admitting liability, settled the lawsuit for $180 million, with the proceeds going to veterans and their families.
In another controversy, Dow Corning, a joint venture between Dow Chemical and Corning Inc., released documents in February 1992 showing that it had known since 1971 that silicone gel could leak from breast implants it made.
Tens of thousands of women had sued the company, claiming their implants had given them breast cancer and autoimmune diseases. Dow Corning agreed to a $3.2 billion settlement after the company had been driven to file for bankruptcy protection.
In 1999, an independent review by an arm of the National Academy of Sciences concluded that silicone implants do not cause major diseases.
Paul Fausto Orrefice was born Nov. 29, 1927, in Venice. His parents, Max and Elena (Friedenberg) Oreffice, moved the family to Ecuador in 1940 as Mussolini declared war on Britain and France. Paul came to the U.S. in 1945, entering Purdue University with fewer than 50 words of English at his command.
He graduated with a B.S. in chemical engineering in 1949, became a naturalized citizen, and after two years in the Army went to work for Dow in 1953.
“When I walked into Midland, Mich., this was ‘WASP’ country, and I was a ‘W’ but I wasn’t an ‘ASP,’” he told The Washington Post in 1986. “I spoke with an accent and combed my hair straight back, which just wasn’t done.”
Mr. Oreffice represented Dow in Switzerland, Italy, Brazil and Spain before being called back to the Midland headquarters in 1969 and appointed the company’s financial vice president. He became president of Dow Chemical U.S.A. in 1975 and was then promoted to president and chief executive of the parent Dow Chemical Company in 1978. In 1986, he added the title of chairman.
To the astonishment of many observers, Dow poured millions of dollars in the mid-1980s into a public-relations campaign to improve its image, including a new slogan, “Dow let’s you do great things.”
Under company rules, when he reached age 60, Mr. Oreffice stepped down as president and chief executive in 1987. He retired as chairman in 1992.
He is survived by his wife of 29 years, Jo Ann Pepper Oreffice, his children Laura Jennison and Andy Oreffice, six grandchildren and one great-granddaughter.
In retirement, Mr. Oreffice pursued a passion for thoroughbred racehorses, investing in Kentucky Derby starters and spending summers at a home in Saratoga Springs, N.Y. He was a partner in a Preakness Stakes winner, Summer Squall, and a Belmont Stakes winner, Palace Malice.
In 2006, he published a memoir about rising from an immigrant with little English to a corporate titan, titling it “Only in America.”
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