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A Bastion of Los Angeles Hippie Culture Survived the Flames

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A Bastion of Los Angeles Hippie Culture Survived the Flames

In Topanga Canyon on Saturday morning, suspended midair from an electricity line, hung the smoldering top of a utility pole. The pole itself had burned away. Its remaining crosspieces resembled a crucifix on fire. By the time Bob Melet videotaped this eerie scene, firefighters had managed to halt the advance of flaring patches that elsewhere had been whipped into infernos.

Barely 100 yards from the front door of Mr. Melet’s store, Melet Mercantile — a destination for fashion and interior designers who for decades have tracked Mr. Melet’s idiosyncratic tastes — lay the fire line at Camp Wildwood, a disused summer camp established in the 1920s and later turned into a resort and community center by two locals, Julia and Oka Stewart. To its west and along the Pacific Coast Highway, almost everything was torched.

“The canyon is a funnel that comes right past my doorstep,” Mr. Melet said by phone from a friend’s apartment in Corona del Mar, his evacuation point. “If it had reached me, it would have wiped out the entire town.”

The fact that it had not represented the miraculous survival of an ecosystem as fragile and anomalous as it is naturally untamed. An eccentric holdout of a countercultural ethos that once went a long way toward defining the Southern California lifestyle, Topanga lies at the western limit of an extensive system of canyons resembling a series of Cyclopean knife cuts slashed into the Santa Monica mountains.

Others among the 28 canyons — Laurel, Beachwood, Runyon — may be better known beyond the Los Angeles basin, largely for their place in rock ’n’ roll history and lore. While gradually over the decades those places succumbed to the irresistible forces of gentrification, Topanga Canyon has clung to its wildness, its renegade spirit and the durable aura it retains of a one-time redoubt of bootleggers and drug runners. Bisected by a single winding mountain road, Topanga straddles the mountains and links the sprawling suburbs of the San Fernando Valley with the blue vastness of the ocean.

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“One of the things we’re proudest of in Topanga is the strength of the community,” said Stefan Ashkenazy, a long time resident of the canyon. By some standards, Mr. Ashkenazy’s exclusive hotel complex, Elsewhere — built on 39 hilltop acres of what was once a vacation ranch for the Howard Johnson family — could be seen as a harbinger of gentrifying forces. That it is not owes to his efforts to keep the hotel’s vibe communitarian and local (he has offered free lodging to the area’s ad hoc firefighting teams that call themselves Heat Hawks), and its imprint light upon the land.

“Believe me, I know how lucky we are to have this holdout,” said Mr. Ashkenazy, who also owns the four-star Petit Ermitage hotel in West Hollywood.

For Emmeline Summerton, a self-taught social historian whose Instagram account, Lost Canyons LA, has become an addictive source of Los Angeles history and lore, the story of Topanga Canyon is one of improbable survival — a thoroughly wild place less than an hour’s drive from the city’s business center.

“I’m not sure how much people outside Los Angeles know about it,” she said, referring both to the canyon itself — populated by coyotes, rattlesnakes, and mountain lions — as well as a community that has long worn its ornery countercultural reputation as a badge of pride.

“There is the local, small community and a very rural feeling,” Ms. Summerton said, one still largely under the influence of the first wave of New Age pioneers. There were free-love naturist hide-outs like Elysium Fields and Sandstone Retreat, she explained, along with Moonfire Ranch, a 60-acre sanctuary established in the late 1950s by Lewis Beach Marvin III, an animal-rights activist and heir to S & H Green Stamps, a once popular grocery store reward system.

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“It was very much about people living off the grid, with solar and rainwater collection,” Ms. Summerton said, and about a tolerance for oddballs and eccentrics that hung on long after a succession of real estate booms permanently altered the character of other, less remote canyons. “A lot has changed and there’s a new breed of hippie-type people out there, influencers and wellness entrepreneurs, so, yes, it’s more exclusive and expensive than in the past,” she added. “But it’s still the one canyon where you get a sense of what it has always been.”

By this she meant a refuge for renegades and outsiders, for artists like Neil Young, who wrote his landmark solo album “After the Gold Rush” at his house there; for storied ’60s groups like Canned Heat, whose members once worked as the house band at the Topanga Corral club (which burned down not once but twice); for Linda Ronstadt in the days after she quit Stone Poneys, the folk rock trio, to go solo and make music with musicians who would later form the Eagles; for the American actor Will Geer to create an open air amphitheater set in a hillside and call it the Theatricum Botanicum, a name derived from a 17th century English botanical text.

To this day in Topanga Canyon there remains an itinerant community informally known as the “Creekers,” whose members live off the grid in encampments set along creeks in the hills behind the disused Topanga Ranch Motel; residents who ride horses to do their marketing at the Topanga Creek General Store; and naturists hiking canyon roads clad in little besides sun hats and sneakers.

This, of course, was before the wildfires.

Gone on the first day of the Palisades fire was the Reel Inn, a beloved Malibu fish joint opened in 1986 by Teddy and Andy Leonard at the base of Topanga Canyon. Also gone was Cholada, a bustling Thai restaurant whose takeout was both a staple of coastal dining and the source of catered meals for the art world honchos that regularly decamp to Los Angeles for the annual Frieze art fair. Gone, too, were the Topanga Ranch Motel, a bungalow style motel complex built in 1929 by William Randolph Hearst to house railroad workers, and the Malibu Feed Bin, a holdout from an era when this stretch of the California coast was still largely agrarian.

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Entire hillsides and washes were reduced to ashes and, later that same afternoon so, too, was an entire stretch of multimillion dollar homes improbably perched oceanside where the canyons meet the water along Pacific Coast Highway.

“If you’re ever going to use the word surreal,” Mr. Melet said of the devastation, “it was surreal.”

What seemed almost miraculous, given the surrounding destruction, was that the fires failed to reach the Theatricum Botanicum, and left unscathed the Inn of the Seventh Ray, whose dining tables are set on stone terraces by a creek side and whose gift shop is filled with crystals and mystical arcana.

“So far Topanga has mainly been spared,” the actress Wendie Malick said by phone from her ranch set on a ridge above Topanga.

“The winds were in our favor,” she added. “Though we’re not out of the woods yet. Things can change on a dime.”

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And, indeed, the cyclonic winds — biblical, raging, like nothing in memory — started up again on Monday.

“The fires didn’t get to us last week,” said Nick Fouquet, a French American designer whose Western-style hats are favored by celebrities including Tom Brady, Rihanna, J. Balvin and LeBron James. When the first alert came last week, Mr. Fouquet raced up the coast from his business’s headquarters in Venice to the geodesic dome in Topanga that he calls home and, aided by a band of locals pumped out his swimming pool to soak his house and its surroundings.

It was a scene being repeated throughout the canyon, Mr. Fouquet said, neighbors on a mission of “house triage,’’ putting out small burns before they could grow. Videos Mr. Fouquet sent this reporter from the early days of the fire showed crimson flames crowning a ridge less than a quarter-mile from his property line. “The wind, the firefighters, a myriad of factors have been on our side,” said Mr. Fouquet.

Among those factors were the triage efforts of a tight knit community that stayed put despite evacuation orders and that banded together — as it has consistently across the decades when the canyon was visited by the wildfires, earthquakes, mudslides and rockfalls that are a fact of life in a seismically unstable coastal desert perched at a continent’s edge.

“Topanga always felt like the ugly stepchild no one cares about,” Mr. Fouquet said, while acknowledging the role in his current reprieve of both firefighters and fate. “We’re used to doing things for ourselves.”

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President Trump to add his own name to the Kennedy Center

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President Trump to add his own name to the Kennedy Center

President Donald Trump stands in the presidential box as he visits the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington, D.C, on March 17, 2025.

Jim Watson/AFP via Getty Images


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Jim Watson/AFP via Getty Images

The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts will now have a new name — the “Trump-Kennedy Center.” White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt announced the news on social media Thursday, saying that the board of the center voted unanimously for the change, “Because of the unbelievable work President Trump has done over the last year in saving the building.”

Shortly after the announcement, Ohio Democrat Rep. Joyce Beatty, an ex-officio member of the board, refuted the claim that it was a unanimous vote. “Each time I tried to speak, I was muted,” she said in a video posted to social media. “Participants were not allowed to voice their concern.”

When asked about the call, Roma Daravi, vice president of public relations at the Kennedy Center, sent a statement reiterating the vote was unanimous: “The new Trump Kennedy Center reflects the unequivocal bipartisan support for America’s cultural center for generations to come.”

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Other Democrats in Congress who are ex-officio members of the Kennedy Center Board, including Sen. Chuck Schumer and Rep. Hakeem Jeffries issued a statement stating that the president is renaming the institution “without legal authority.”

“Federal law established the Center as a memorial to President Kennedy and prohibits changing its name without Congressional action,” the statement reads.

Earlier this year, Trump installed himself as the chairman of the center, firing former president Deborah Rutter and ousting the previous board chair David Rubenstein, along with board members appointed by President Biden. He then appointed a new board, including second lady Usha Vance, White House Chief of Staff Susie Wiles, Fox News host Laura Ingraham and more.

Trump hinted at the name change earlier this month, when he took questions before becoming the first president to host the Kennedy Center Honors. He deferred to the board when asked directly about changing the name but said “we are saving the Kennedy Center.”

The president was mostly hands off with the Kennedy Center during his first term, as most presidents have been. But he’s taking a special interest in it in his second term, touring the center and promising to weed out programming he doesn’t approve of. His “One Big Beautiful Bill” included $257 million for the building’s repairs and maintenance.

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Originally, it was called The National Cultural Center. In 1964, two months after President Kennedy was assassinated, President Lyndon Johnson signed legislation authorizing funds to build what would become the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts.

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How one L.A. immigrant’s quest spawned generations of Christmas tree sellers

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How one L.A. immigrant’s quest spawned generations of Christmas tree sellers

It’s mid-November, a full week before Thanksgiving, and the progeny of Francisco Robles, a Mexican immigrant who peddled watermelons in East L.A., have converged in West Covina to commemorate the 76th year of the family’s seasonal business: selling fresh Christmas trees around L.A. from the forests of the Pacific Northwest.

Francisco and his wife, Lucia, left Mexico for a better life in the early 1900s, so it’s hard to imagine what they would make of their thoroughly Americanized descendants today. One of them is looking for a place to plug in her electric car; another is zipping around the large lot on a motorized scooter; and a third is carrying a large, elaborately framed photo of their mother, “the Queen of our hearts,” who died on Mother’s Day, so she can be part of the family photo commemorating the 2025 tree season.

The Robles’ 76-year-old grandson, Louis Jr., is keeping track of today’s Christmas tree delivery from a folding chair, wearing horn-rim glasses, slacks and a white, open-neck dress shirt. But most of his family — his three adult children, their spouses and a few of his grandchildren — are casually dressed in red “Robles Christmas Trees”-themed sweatshirts or holiday leggings, laughing and posing for cellphone photos under a huge red-and-white striped tent in the parking lot of the bustling Plaza West Covina mall.

Louis Robles Jr., 76, right, listens as his children go over an inventory list of Christmas trees delivered to his son Gabriel Robles’ lot at Plaza West Covina on Nov. 19. Gabriel stands at his father’s left, beside his wife Kathy Robles. His sister, Lorraine Robles-Acosta, far left, looks over paperwork about the trees that will next be delivered to her lot in Montebello.

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All the pumpkin patch trimmings from October have been put away — the petting zoo, towering inflatable slides, Cyglos and other rides — and now the family is setting up Christmas decor and stands for the trees that will soon be delivered.

It’s a far cry from the dusty streets where Francisco Robles sold his watermelons from a truck more than a century ago. By the end of this day, the massive 53-foot-truck will have delivered its icy bundles of Nordmann, noble and silvertip firs — what Louis Jr. calls “the Cadillac of Christmas trees” — to all three of their lots in Eagle Rock, Plaza West Covina and the Montebello mall.

The Robles family is eager to get the Christmas tree lots going. Sales were slower than usual at their pumpkin patches this year, a slump they blame on Immigration and Customs Enforcement raid concerns among their large Latino customer base.

Antonio Villatoro, left, closes a hatch after moving trees.

Antonio Villatoro, left, closes a hatch after moving trees, while Javier Vasquez, looks on at Robles Christmas Trees run by Gabriel Robles at Plaza West Covina.

A display wall at Robles Christmas Trees features a painting of Santa and a smaller image of the Grinch.

The Robles family adds festive decor and places for photos to their Christmas tree lots such as this wall at Gabriel Robles’ business at Plaza West Covina.

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Members of the Robles family talk carefully about ICE and immigration. They are business people and deeply religious — Louis Jr. is an assistant pastor at the Living Word Apostalic Church in El Monte, where they attended as a family for years — and they want to keep their politics private.

“But we are not fearful,” said Gabriel Robles. “We’ve lived here all our lives, born and raised here, and we’ve been through so much. I believe this ICE issue is another moment in time. It will pass like COVID happened and passed, and we can stand whatever they throw at us. Los Angeles is a melting pot of immigrants. We’re all unified together, no matter who is in office, and you can’t get rid of us. We are the fabric of L.A.”

Getting the family together in mid-November is unusual because, from October through December, the Robleses are juggling the family business with their other jobs: Gabriel Robles, operator of the Robles Pumpkin Festival and Christmas Trees in West Covina, is an insurance broker; his wife, Kathy, is a homemaker who manages their books. Gabriel’s older sister, Lisa Nassar, operator of Cougar Mountain Pumpkin and Christmas Trees in Eagle Rock, does security screenings at Disneyland (“I keep Tinker Bell safe,” she says, laughing). Her husband, Sam Nassar, is a counselor at Mt. San Antonio College. Lorraine Robles-Acosta is a massage therapist who does lots of work for her church; her husband, Joseph Acosta, is a drug and alcohol counselor. Together, they run the Robles Pumpkin Patch and Christmas Tree Farm in Montebello.

It’s a grueling schedule, but they cling to Louis Jr.’s motto — “We’ll sleep in January” — because this business is in their blood. Not all of the younger generation of Robleses is as gung-ho about the family business as their parents are. But Gabriel and Kathy’s sons, Roman, 21, and Mason, 19, are already devising plans to improve the family’s presence on social media, and the couple’s art-loving daughter Loren, 15, set up the acrylic paints for pumpkin painting.

A family holding a portrait of a woman.

The Robles family’s late matriarch, Madalene Robles, smiles from a portrait held by her husband, Louis Jr., so she can be part of the family photos commemorating the start of the 2025 Christmas tree season on Nov. 19 at their son, Gabriel Robles’ lot in West Covina. Madalene Robles died on her birthday, May 11, which also happened to be Mother’s Day, her favorite holiday.

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Louis Jr.’s children, Lisa, Stephen, Gabriel and Lorraine, played among the trees in their father’s tree lots, first in Monrovia in 1973, Louis Jr. says, then in Rosemead and Pico Rivera. Louis Jr. purchased a small trailer with a tiny space heater to sit on the lot so the kids could eat and rest there while he and his wife sold trees.

“That trailer was so cold at night,” said Lisa, shivering with the memory.

In those early years, when Louis Jr. worked all day at a produce warehouse with his dad before spending his evenings at his Christmas tree lot, he and Madalene used the tree money to create magical Christmases for their children.

“I remember waking up to mountains of presents under the Robles’ tree,” Lorraine said dreamily, “and Mom wrapped every single gift.”

When they were older, Lorraine and her siblings helped set up and sell the trees. They’d chase after the few scalawags who tried to steal them, and ultimately they lobbied Louis Jr. to let them have their own lots, which over time expanded from selling a few pumpkins on straw before Halloween to big pumpkin patch extravaganzas with petting zoos, art activities, inflatables and rides. (Stephen, who lives in San Diego, stepped away from the seasonal business.)

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Detail of the deep green, upright needles on a silvertip fir, a specialty of the Robles tree offerings.

The Robles family considers silvertip firs, with their sturdy open branches and graceful form, to be the Cadillac of Christmas trees, said Gabriel Robles. They used to be plentiful, but they’re harder to find these days, he said, because they require altitude and cold to thrive.

Inflatables like bounce houses and giant slides were Gabriel’s innovation, and so popular he insisted on adding them to his Christmas tree lot too. His dad warned against the idea, but Gabriel said he was determined. He set them up at his lot and they did well for a few days. But then it rained, and his father’s logic became apparent. The inflatables never dried, Gabriel said, and the cold and mud made them even less appealing to visitors. “I still have customers to this day who say, ‘Please put the inflatables out again,’ but they don’t understand they take forever to dry.”

The Robles family is dismissive about big-box competitors (“They’ll never replace the tradition and environment you get at our lots,” said Lisa), and they collectively hiss at the mention of artificial trees.

“My dad has been worried that artificial trees get nicer and nicer, but it hasn’t really changed our sales,” Gabriel said. “The No. 1 reason people come to our lots is the fragrance. They want that fresh pine smell throughout their home, and fake sprays don’t cut it.”

Two men surrounded by christmas trees.

Worker Jonathan Tovar, foreground, who helps with general operations, and Roman Robles, 21, background, whose father Gabriel Robles runs the lot, arrange trees while inventory is being unloaded.

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The Robles family hand-select their trees every year from the farms in the Pacific Northwest. (The names of the farms are secret to keep competitors away, Gabriel said.) After the trees are delivered, the family sprays them with water every night and keeps them shaded from the sun so they don’t dry out. “That’s the secret of our success,” Gabriel said.

Louis Jr. said the biggest part of his family’s success has been adding fresh ideas to expand the business that come from each passing generation, starting with his dad, Louis.

Francisco and Lucia Robles and their five L.A.-born children lived on Brooklyn Avenue in East L.A. All three of their sons went to war for the United States, and two never came home, one lost in World War II and the other in the Korean War. Their third son, Louis Robles, served in WWII, right out of high school. He entered the Army’s 101st Airborne Division and earned a Purple Heart as one of the paratroopers who, at age 20, dropped into German-occupied France on D-day, June 6, 1944.

A dark-haired man in a wet heavy coat leans against the door of a truck laden with firs. next to a boy in a flannel shirt.

Paratrooper and produce wholesaler Louis Robles Sr. supplemented his income in 1949 by selling Christmas trees in L.A. In this family photo from 1955, Robles, then 31, pauses by his Robles Produce truck preparing to drive a load of fir trees from snowy Washington to his lot in Lincoln Heights. The boy at left is unindentified.

When he returned from the war, Louis joined his father selling produce, but he had bigger ideas, Louis Jr. said of his dad. He didn’t want to sell from a truck; instead, he went into the wholesale business, selling watermelons and oranges from a stall at the old Central Wholesale Produce Market at 8th Street and Central Avenue in downtown L.A. He married Elena Ramirez, who helped at the warehouse, keeping the books, and they had four children: three girls — Gail, Priscilla, Denise — and a boy, Louis Jr.

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Then, in 1949, the same year his son was born, Louis Robles had another idea: Watermelon sales slowed in the winter. Oranges were plentiful year-round, but he needed another crop that could fill the income gap. He noticed how people went to the railyard in December and bought Christmas trees off boxcars, so fresh they still had ice clinging to their branches. Packing them in snow was how trees were kept fresh during transport from the Pacific Northwest.

Inspired by this, Louis Sr. found a vacant lot in Lincoln Heights and started selling Christmas trees. Being the innovator he was, he didn’t want to rely on other people’s choices for his trees. So he researched tree farms in the Pacific Northwest and visited them himself, selecting his own trees and, for a while, even driving his warehouse’s Robles Produce truck up north to transport them himself.

A smiling woman in sunglasses, red sweatshirt and white beanie carries two small, bundled up Christmas trees.

Lisa Nassar helps unload small Christmas trees at her brother Gabriel Robles’ Christmas tree lot at Plaza West Covina on Nov. 19. The 53-foot-long truck filled with trees from the Pacific Northwest stopped at Nassar’s lot first in Eagle Rock that morning, and would continue on to their sister Lorraine Robles-Acosta’s lot in Montebello.

Eventually, Louis Sr. bought his own produce warehouse, and Louis Jr., always a helper after school and on weekends, joined the business right after graduation. The younger Robles married his high school sweetheart, Madalene Maldonado on Jan. 4, 1969 — after the busy holiday season, of course — and they immediately started a family. Although she helped at the warehouse, Madalene’s main interest “was being a homemaker; raising her children and being a good wife,” Louis Jr. said.

Louis Sr. was considered by his family to be a taskmaster. He was generous about giving out jobs, but he didn’t tolerate people standing around at work. Laughing, Lisa said anytime you saw him coming, you grabbed a broom and started sweeping. “I still carry that mentality — there’s always something to do, even if it’s just pushing a broom,” she said.

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Louis Sr. instilled that work ethic in all of his family growing up. “Grandfather was the first one out on the floor, always working and moving, and he took people up with him,” Gabriel said. “He really believed if he succeeded, you were going to succeed. It wasn’t about a handout, it was a hand up.”

Christmas trees wrapped up standing tall.

Workers unloaded trees at Robles Christmas Trees run by Gabriel Robles.

Louis Sr. was well-respected by his creditors and so beloved by his employees that they insisted on filling his grave themselves after his sudden death in 1984. But the senior Robles never attended any of his son’s games in high school, Louis Jr. said, and he missed many family activities because of work.

“That was his blind spot. He always put business first,” Louis Jr. said. “I decided I wanted a balance — I would take care of business but I would also take time to go to my children’s games.”

Louis Sr. was such a force of nature, no one was prepared when he fell in December 1984. Because this was the family’s busy season, he insisted on working despite a bad cold that turned into walking pneumonia, Louis Jr. said. He told his family he would rest in January.

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He almost made it. Shortly before Christmas Louis Robles had a stroke, then a heart attack and, on Dec. 27, at age 60, he died.

Two standing men in bright red shirts flank a silver-haired man sitting in a chair, wearing a white dress shirt.

Gabriel Robles, right, consults with his father, Louis Robles Jr., while Gabriel’s son Mason, left, checks his phone during the first delivery of this year’s Christmas trees at his West Covina lot.

Louis Sr.’s death, so unexpected, required Louis Jr. to take over the business himself, but it also cemented his vow to put God and family first. “I remember playing in the all-stars game in baseball and looking for my dad, and he wasn’t there, and I thought, ‘I’m not going to do that to my kids,’” he said.

Gabriel laughed, saying: “My dad was so much into my basketball games, I got kind of embarrassed.”

Eventually, the watermelon and produce business became too competitive, and Louis Jr. sold the warehouse around 2012. By then, Robles Produce was debt-free, he said. His children were working, getting married and established in their own homes, and he’d been ordained as a pastor in 1999 and was deeply involved in his church. But the family pumpkin patch and Christmas tree business remained a constant.

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“It does get in your blood,” said Lorraine’s husband, Joseph, with a laugh. “I got my blood transfusion when I married my wife.”

Today, Louis Jr. acts as an advisor and consultant to his children’s three pumpkin patches and Christmas tree lots. They meet to discuss pricing and inventory, but the siblings run their own lots with each a little different from the other. There are disagreements, of course, Gabriel said, “but in the end, the thing that makes us so successful is we’re united — if someone goes against us, we’re a united front.”

A family photo in front of a truck with an open gate full of christmas trees.

Louis Robles, 76, center, of El Monte, poses with three generations of his family: son Gabriel Robles, of Fontana, far left, with his daughter Loren, 15, wife Kathy, and two sons sitting up top, Mason 19, left, and Roman, 21, Louis’ daughters Lisa Nassar, of Upland, right, Lorraine Robles-Acosta, of Pomona, and Lorraine’s husband Joseph Acosta, far right, at Robles Christmas Trees in West Covina. Gabriel’s sons say they are eager to continue the family business. “I’ve been bitten by the bug,” said Mason.

It’s not clear how many of Louis Sr.’s seven great-grandchildren will continue the family business, but Gabriel’s sons, Roman and Mason, say they’re on board. Both have opted to skip college for a hands-on business course, soaking up whatever they can from their father and grandfather.

“Our great-great-grandfather started with nothing, and now we have this. And every generation we’ve built it higher,” Mason said.

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“Not many kids my age are blessed to have a family business to learn from,” said Roman. “I want to do something more with my life than just showing up.”

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Kumail Nanjiani opens up on his regrets, critical failures and embracing fear : Wild Card with Rachel Martin

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Kumail Nanjiani opens up on his regrets, critical failures and embracing fear : Wild Card with Rachel Martin

A note from Wild Card host Rachel Martin: Here’s my theory about Kumail Nanjiani: He is not a person who is afraid of his feelings. I think he’s the opposite of that kind of person.

Kumail has made his emotional life part of his comedy – whether it’s his deep and abiding love for his wife (as told in the hit movie, “The Big Sick”), his obsession with his cat or the anxiety that grips him in the middle of the night – Kumail’s brand of comedy is often about how we feel our way through living.

His new standup special is on Hulu and it’s called “Night Thoughts.”

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