Despite Yucaipa voters passage of Measure S, the one-percent sales tax override that was on the ballot in November, Yucaipa city officials are moving to cancel the Five Winds Country Music Festival scheduled for October 2025.
In making his pitch to Yucaipa’s voters to give approval to Measure S, the architect of that initiative, then-City Manager Chris Mann, said it would, among other things, preserve the city’s commitment to cultural events, a reference to performances at the city-owned-and-operated Yucaipa Performing Arts Center and other events such as the Five Winds Country Music Festival, which has been held on an annual basis since COVID restrictions ended.
In not so many words, Mann suggested that events such as the Five Winds Country Music Festival, which has been held, variously, at the Five Winds Ranch, located on properties spanning from 37186 Oak Glen Road to 37254 Oak Glen Road or at El Dorado Ranch Park, would continue to be held.
Those events are on occasion modestly subsidized by the city.
In the case of the Yucaipa Performing Arts Center, the venue generally turned a profit or broke even. In some cases, operations with regard to certain performances ran at a deficit.
In the case of the Five Winds County Music Festival, billed as a celebration and spectacle of music, dance, art, and community spirit, acts such as Chris Janson, Rodney Atkins, Adam Doleac, Frank Ray, Russell Dickerson, George Birge, Dillon Carmichael and Drew Baldridge performed. Continue reading
Mid-Year Budget Review Turns Up Chino’s $6.3 Million General Fund Deficit
With a new finance director in place and a full year after their city’s voters approved Measure V, a one cent per dollar sales tax override to redress municipal economic challenges, the Chino City Council was blindsided this week with the revelation that the city’s general fund is $6.3 million in the red.
The gloomy news was unleashed by Kim Sao, who last month replaced Robert Burns as the director of finance in the 94,498-population city.
In the staff report and documentation relating to an item on the agenda for the Tuesday April 1 meeting titled “Fiscal Year 2024-25 Midyear Budget Review” and “Midyear Budget Adjustments for Fiscal Year 2024-25” was a memo from Sao to City Manager Linda Reich which contained what in retrospect may have been a forewarning, although it was leavened with other data that did not seem to presage any type of fiscal crisis.
The action this week came slightly less than two-and-a-half months after the city council approved the mid-term budget on January 21.
Staff went over the budget with a fine-tooth comb thereafter, with an analysis of the deviations from the projected spending that were turned up.
According to Sao, it was learned that there was to be a “decrease [to] the general fund revenues estimate by $3,420,211 and all other funds by $12,839,480 for a total decrease of $16,259,691.” Continue reading
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April 4 SBC Sentinel Legal Notices
ORDER TO SHOW CAUSE FOR CHANGE OF NAME
CIV SB 2503850
TO ALL INTERESTED PERSONS:
Petitioner Keena Blythe filed with this court for a decree changing names as follows:
Ke’Nea Shelice Blythe-Sherrod to Ke’Nea Shelice Blythe
THE COURT ORDERS that all persons interested in this matter appear before this court at the hearing indicated below to show cause, if any, why the petition for change of name should not be granted. Any person objecting to the name changes described above must file a written objection that includes the reasons for the objection at least two court days before the matter is scheduled to be heard and must appear at the hearing to show cause why the petition should not be granted. If no written objection is timely filed, the court may grant the petition without a hearing.
Notice of Hearing:
Date: APRIL 28, 2025
Time: 9:00 a.m.
Department: S29
The address of the court is Superior Court of California, County of San Bernardino, 247 West Third Street, San Bernardino, CA 92415
IT IS FURTHER ORDERED that a copy of this order be published in the San Bernardino County Sentinel in San Bernardino County California, once a week for four successive weeks prior to the date set for hearing of the petition.
Gilbert G. Ochoa
Judge of the Superior Court.
Filed: March 7, 2025 by
Eric Iturraide, Deputy Court Clerk
Keena Blythe
Telephone No: (909) 636-3070
Email address: keena.blythe@gmail.com
Published in the San Bernardino County Sentinel on March 14, 21 & 28 and April 4, 2025.
ORDER TO SHOW CAUSE FOR CHANGE OF NAME
CIV SB 2503479
TO ALL INTERESTED PERSONS:
Petitioner MARIBEL CABRAL filed with this court for a decree changing names as follows:
GIA ALEXANDRA CABRAL to GIA ALEXANDRA ALVAREZ
THE COURT ORDERS that all persons interested in this matter appear before this court at the hearing indicated below to show cause, if any, why the petition for change of name should not be granted. Any person objecting to the name changes described above must file a written objection that includes the reasons for the objection at least two court days before the matter is scheduled to be heard and must appear at the hearing to show cause why the petition should not be granted. If no written objection is timely filed, the court may grant the petition without a hearing.
Notice of Hearing:
Date: April 17, 2025
Time: 8:30 a.m.
Department: S35
The address of the court is Superior Court of California, County of San Bernardino, 247 West Third Street, San Bernardino, CA 92415
IT IS FURTHER ORDERED that a copy of this order be published in the San Bernardino County Sentinel in San Bernardino County California, once a week for four successive weeks prior to the date set for hearing of the petition.
Gilbert G. Ochoa
Judge of the Superior Court.
Filed: March 5, 2025 by
Abrianna Rodriguez, Deputy Court Clerk
Maribel Cabral
Telephone No: (626) 484-8069
Email address: bel8088@gmail.com
Published in the San Bernardino County Sentinel on March 14, 21 & 28 and April 4, 2025.
Read The March 28 Sentinel Here
New Fiction By Mike Rivera In This Week’s Sentinel
Daisy Chain
By Mike Rivera
I had to leave work early. If I had stayed, I might have driven my fist through the computer monitor—or worse, through my boss’s nose. As I headed home, I noticed what a beautiful spring morning it was. I had forgotten what it was like to be out at this time of day. The air smelled just as I remembered from childhood. What was that smell? Sagebrush? Eucalyptus? I took a deep breath.
My old elementary school was just a couple of miles off the freeway, so on impulse, I took the exit.
Driving past the abandoned drive-in theater, I felt a twinge of nostalgia. Mom used to take my brother Mark and me there to see Disney movies. She always dressed us in pajamas because she knew we’d fall asleep on the way home. Now, the big outdoor screen was falling apart, its once-proud structure reduced to a crumbling relic. The enormous lot where cars once gathered was cracked and potholed, repurposed now as an outdoor flea market. My wife likes to go there and pick up “bargains”. I think it’s just a bunch of old junk.
I pulled into the school parking lot. The squat beige buildings were still there, now used as an adult education center. The asphalt play yard bore the faded white outlines of forgotten games. Then I saw them—the tiny white daisies dotting the grass playfield.
I remembered recess, sitting in the grass, weaving daisy chains with my friends. We would pick a daisy, push a thumbnail through the stem to make a small hole, then thread another daisy through it. Over and over, linking them together into delicate chains.
Without thinking, I sat down in the grass and started picking daisies, linking them just as I had all those years ago. A gentle breeze brushed my face, carrying that familiar scent again. Whatever it was, it smelled like home. I took another deep breath, lay back, and closed my eyes. The grass was cool and slightly damp from the rain a few days ago, but the sun warmed me just enough to make it perfect.
How had my life gotten so complicated? How had I filled it with so many things I didn’t enjoy? From the moment I woke up to the moment I went to bed, it seemed like everything I did was for someone else—my boss, my wife, my kids, the house. I never did anything for myself anymore.
A loud bell jolted me awake.
I sat up in shock. That bell—it couldn’t be. But then I heard the rush of feet, laughter spilling across the playground. I blinked. Had they turned this place back into an elementary school?
I was still trying to process it when a kid came running straight toward me.
“Hey, Mike! How’d you get out here so fast?”
I froze. The voice. The face. It was Danny—my best friend from childhood. But that was impossible. Danny was dead. He had joined a gang in high school and was stabbed in a fight.
A surge of adrenaline shot through me. My heart pounded. I looked down at myself and nearly fainted. My hands were small. My body—pre-adolescent. The mole on my left forearm, the one I had removed years ago, was back, but it was small—just like when I was a kid.
“What the fuck?” I gasped. The voice that came out of me wasn’t my adult voice. It was the voice of a boy.
Danny stopped in his tracks. His face twisted in confusion. “What’s wrong, Mike?”
I felt dizzy and sat back down in the grass before I collapsed.
Danny crouched beside me. “Are you sick?”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. My mind refused to make sense of what was happening.
Danny grabbed my arm and pulled me up. “I better take you to the nurse’s office. You don’t look so good.”
I let him pull me, my legs moving on autopilot. Kids ran and played all around us, their voices a chorus of youthful energy. They looked familiar, their clothes distinctly from the 1960s.
As we walked, another boy ran up to us.
“Hey, where are you guys going?”
Ray. My other best friend. We used to do everything together.
“I think Mike is sick,” Danny told him.
“Yeah, Mike, you don’t look so good.” Ray peered at me with concern.
I opened my mouth again—still nothing.
As we neared the nurse’s office, a memory hit me. I had always hated that nurse. She was a bitch who never seemed to like kids. Ha! Maybe she liked her job as much as I did!
“Hey, Danny,” I finally managed. “I don’t want to go to the nurse.”
Danny hesitated. “You sure? ‘Cause you really don’t look so good.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Just give me a minute.”
I sat down on a green wooden bench in the breezeway. Danny just stared at me.
After a long silence, he sighed. “Well, I can’t stand here all day. I’m missing out on recess.”
“Okay,” I said.
Danny ran off toward the playground. I stared down at my hands. Small. Stubby fingers. I looked at my shoes—black tennis shoes with big white rubber toes.
The recess bell rang, signaling the end of playtime. As kids filed back into their classrooms, a teacher noticed me. Her expression was one of concern. She started walking toward me.
Panic gripped me. I didn’t want to try explaining anything—I wasn’t even sure I could—so I bolted.
I ran out of the school yard and across the street to the orange grove. I found a loose section of chain-link fence, pushed it open, and slipped inside. The scent of orange blossoms filled my nostrils. That was another smell that reminded me of home.
I sat beneath a tree, my back pressed against the rough bark, and I cried. The sobs that came from me were small, high-pitched—childlike. It was so strange, yet so familiar.
I stayed there for what felt like forever, trying to figure out what to do next. Should I go “home”? What would I even say? Hey, Mom, I’m actually a 42-year-old man trapped in my childhood body! Yeah, that would go over well.
The final school bell rang, and I peeked out from the grove. Kids were streaming out of the school. How was that possible? It was still only mid-morning. Maybe it was a short school day.
I spotted Danny and Ray and left the orange grove to meet them.
“Hey, Mike!” Danny called. “You weren’t in class. Did you go to the nurse’s office?”
“No.”
“Then where were you?”
“I, uh… I just hung out in the orange grove.”
“You played hooky?” Danny’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, I just didn’t feel like going back to class.”
A school bus rumbled past.
“There goes your bus home,” Ray pointed out. “How are you gonna get back?”
I remembered that Mom worked afternoons at this time when I was a kid. She wouldn’t be home anyway. Even if she was, I had no idea what I’d say to her.
“Danny, can I walk with you to your house?” I asked.
“Sure!”
We started walking. The silence stretched awkwardly.
After a while, Ray asked, “So what did you do in the orange grove all by yourself?”
I hesitated, then noticed Kyle’s house as we passed. Kyle was the “bad kid.” His parents did drugs. He once told me he’d stolen some Playboy magazines from his dad and hidden them in the grove.
“I, uh, looked at Playboys,” I blurted.
Both boys stopped dead in their tracks.
“You what?!”
“Playboys?!” Ray’s voice cracked.
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “Kyle hid them in the grove. I found them and started looking at them.”
Ray’s eyes lit up. “Let’s go back and find them again!”
Danny hesitated. “I can’t. My mom or stepdad will kill me if I’m late again.”
Ray groaned. “Your stepdad’s an asshole.”
“I know,” Danny said quietly.
We walked the rest of the way to Danny’s house in silence.
Danny’s house was a small, weathered wooden structure, set apart from the newer stucco homes where Ray and I lived. It had once been part of a farm, but now the land was just overgrown with tall grass.
As we stepped inside, Danny called out, “Mom, I’m home.”
No response.
The only person in the kitchen was his stepdad, slumped at the table in a dirty white tank top, a beer in his hand. He barely acknowledged us.
Danny hesitated.
“Good thing you got home, kid,” his stepdad muttered. “I was thinkin’ about getting out the strap.”
The air in the room felt heavy. I swallowed hard, feeling the tension between them, the same tension I had seen all those years ago but had been too young to fully understand.
Ray broke the silence. “Hey Danny, let’s go out back and see the rabbits.”
His stepdad waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, go on. Your mother walked to the liquor store. I’m takin’ a nap.”
Danny’s backyard was different from ours. There were no toys, no patio furniture—just dirt, patches of tall grass. There were a few broken down hutches, some with of rabbits in them. I never really knew why they kept rabbits.
Ray opened a hutch and picked up a rabbit, stroking its fur absentmindedly. “We should figure out a way to make money, you know? So we can go to the movies, or the arcade and ride go-karts. Maybe we could fix up these hutches, get more rabbits, and sell ‘em.”
Danny and I just listened. Ray was always planning some scheme to make money.
After a while, Danny walked up to the house and peeked through the window. He came back quickly. “My stepdad’s asleep. You guys wanna walk to Old Man Page’s Market and get a soda?” He looked down. “I got some money.”
I don’t know why, but that hit me. I had never thought much about it as a kid, but now, seeing Danny offer up his own money when he had so little, it meant something.
“Sure,” I said. We started walking and, on impulse, I draped an arm over his shoulders. Something I never would have done at twelve. He really needed a hug, but twelve-year-old boys don’t hug each other.
As we walked, Ray started talking. “I heard Old Man Page shot a guy who tried to rob his store.”
Danny’s head snapped up. “Old Man Page? No way.”
“Yeah,” Ray said. “I guess some guy thought it’d be easy to knock over the old man’s store, but the old man pulled out a gun and shot him!”
Page’s Market was a relic from another time—just like the old man himself. His house sat behind the store, both buildings old and peeling, the paint worn away by years of neglect.
As we walked in, the old man shuffled up to the counter. He didn’t say anything—just stood there, waiting for us to pick something out.
I grabbed a pack of Smarties, the cheapest thing I could find. Danny got a soda from the fridge in the back and walked toward the counter.
“Aren’t you getting anything, Ray?” Danny asked.
“Nah, I’m good,” Ray said. He didn’t want to take Danny’s money either.
We left the store and started heading back.
Suddenly, Ray ran ahead of us, bent down, and grabbed something off the ground.
“Hey! It’s a twenty-dollar bill!”
Danny ran up to Ray and grabbed his hand, eyes wide. “Twenty bucks? You lucky dog!”
They stared at it for a moment, then Ray grinned. “Let’s go to the arcade and ride the go-karts!”
Without hesitation, we turned and ran toward town, laughing as the excitement built.
I couldn’t believe this was happening. Here I was, a kid again, racing toward an arcade to spend the afternoon with my best friends.
This had to be a dream.
But it felt real.
And dreams always feel real when you’re in them.
I decided I wouldn’t question it anymore. However long this lasted, I was going to enjoy it and I wasn’t going to waste it worrying.
At the arcade, we spent the next hour racing go-karts. The roar of the go-kart engines, the vibrating metal steering wheel under my hands, the rush of the blacktop under me—it was all so vivid. Danny’s kart was ahead of me, and I could smell half-burned gasoline fumes. The teenagers that worked on the track didn’t know how to keep them tuned. Danny kept looking back, swerving back and forth to block me from passing.
I could have passed him. I always beat him as a kid. But this time, I let him win.
Funny how, when you’re twelve, beating your friends at everything feels like the most important thing in the world. But now, I realized—this was what really mattered. These moments. The friends you have when you’re twelve years old.
Danny crossed the finish line and turned back to me, grinning like a maniac. “Loser!” he yelled, laughing in his best evil villain voice.
I just watched him, taking in his face. I missed him.
After the go-karts, we played pinball and skeeball, teasing each other mercilessly. We laughed so much I almost forgot I wasn’t supposed to be there.
I forgot that I was 42 years old.
That I had a job I hated.
That I had a mortgage I could barely afford.
That I had two kids—not much younger than Ray and Danny—whom I didn’t spend enough time with.
When the money was gone, we walked back to Danny’s house. The sun had started to dip in the sky.
Ray glanced at the streetlights. “I gotta get home before they come on,” he said.
I watched him walk away, knowing that in a few years, he’d move across the country and I’d never see him again. I heard he did well for himself—started a business renting heavy equipment. I hoped he was happy.
Danny and I walked up to his porch. As we neared the door, I heard shouting inside. His mother and stepdad were fighting again.
Danny sighed. “I gotta go in.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
But as he turned to go inside, I reached out and grabbed his arm.
“Danny,” I said, my throat tightening. “I’m sorry.”
He looked confused. “Sorry for what?”
I didn’t know how to answer.
I was sorry I hadn’t done more to save him. Sorry I hadn’t seen the warning signs. Sorry that, in just a few years, he would be dead.
I swallowed hard. “Listen… just don’t join any gangs, okay?”
Danny gave me a look like I had lost my mind. “Gangs? What are you talking about?”
I hesitated, then shook my head. “Nothing. Forget it.”
His brow furrowed. “You’re acting weird, man.”
“Just… don’t let your stepdad get to you. You’re better than he treats you, so fuck him, okay?”
Danny’s face softened. “Yeah, sure.” He shrugged. “I gotta go.”
He stepped inside and closed the door.
I stood there for a moment, the screen door resting on my back, listening to the muffled sounds of arguing. It must have been awful for Danny.
Then I turned and walked back toward the schoolyard. Somehow, I knew I couldn’t go home. I didn’t belong here, at least not forever.
I walked back into the empty schoolyard and sat down on the grass where this whole thing had begun. Somehow, I knew I had to get back to the same spot. It was as if I was following some kind of internal command. I sat there for a while staring at the buildings painted with the orange glow of a setting sun. Everything looked so new and fresh, unlike earlier. It was exactly how I remembered it as a kid. But this wasn’t going to last.
I sat there for a while thinking about the day: Ray’s face when he found the money, Danny’s laughter after winning the go-kart race, the way we all teased each other on the walk back to Danny’s house. I picked up the daisy chain I had left on the ground and squeezed my eyes shut, at the same time I squeezed the daisies in my hand. I didn’t want to let this time go.
The quiet breeze and the sweet smell of orange blossoms gave way to the sound of traffic and the smell of car exhaust. I opened my eyes and there was the school, looking older and more dilapidated. I looked around. The orange grove was gone. Now it was a tract of homes.
I looked down at my hands. They were older. I could see my left hand with its wedding ring, still clutching the daisies. I opened my hand and the daisies were still there. I dropped my face into my hands and started to cry again, this time the sobs of a grown man. I sat there crying, and each time I opened by eyes I half expected to see Danny and Ray coming toward me again, but they never did. They would never be here again.
I pulled myself together and walked back to the car. I turned the key, and the engine roared to life. On the drive home I thought about the time I had just spent with Ray and Danny. Maybe the best moments in life aren’t so much about what we achieve, but who we spend them with.
When I walked through the front door, my wife was washing dishes, “Another long day at work again?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“I got you something,” she said with a smile. “It’s in the bedroom. I know you’ve been stressed at work so I thought you could use a little cheering up.” I walked up to her and pulled her into a hug and gave her a long kiss on the forehead. She pulled back a little surprised. “Are you ok?” I nodded; my throat was too tight to speak. She melted back into my arms. “Well,” she said, “maybe after the kids are in bed, I can do even more to cheer you up.”
I stepped inside the bedroom and saw it on the wall—an old collage frame filled with pictures.
At the top left, a picture of us on our wedding day. Then a picture of our honeymoon. Then pictures of the birth of Breanna, our first, then Blake. The images flowed from left to right, top to bottom, a timeline of our life together.
And wrapped around the images on the frame was a chain of daisies.
At the bottom, the words:
“Links of Love Build a Life.”
A lump welled in my throat. I ran my fingers along the daisies. “Where did you get this?”
“I know, it’s old! But the kids picked it out for you this afternoon at the flea market. For some reason they insisted you’d like it. It’s the first day of spring break and they got out of school early so they went with me.” I turned to my wife, really seeing her. I thought about Danny, and I felt so lucky to have had my life, then and now.
“Are you sure you’re, OK?”
“Yeah, I am. I really am. I just needed this reminder.”
Major Setback In Getting The Gold Line To Montclair By Decade’s End
Action taken this week by the Los Angeles County-based transportation funding authority most closely identified with the revival of Southern California’s once-thriving rail commuting system virtually assures that the Gold Line light rail system will not be in place by the time of the 2028 Los Angeles Olympics.
The Metro Gold Line Foothill Extension Construction Authority Board on March 26 rejected Kiewit Infrastructure West’s $994 million bid to complete the extension of the Gold Line by 3.2 miles from its current terminus in Pomona to the Montclair Transit Center, which lies just east of the Los Angeles County/San Bernardino County border.
The Gold Line is the premier rail commuter system in Southern California, consisting of a lower or southern reach that runs between Union Station in downtown Los Angeles and east Los Angeles and an upper or norther reach which runs from Union Station through the foothill communities of San Gabriel Valley to Pomona.
The Gold Line represents a generation-and-a-half leap in technology over Southern California’s most pervasive but poorly utilized Metro=Link rail transportation system.
Because of its more frequent arrivals and departures on dual tracks that flow simultaneously in eastward and westward, the gold Line attracts a significant ridership which is useful in alleviating the gridlock on Southern California’s freeway system, in particular the 60, 10 and 210 freeways.
There is an intention to extend the northern reach of the Gold Line, referred to as the Foothill Gold Line, from Pomona through Claremont and across the divide between Los Angeles County and San Bernardino County to Montclair, perhaps by the summer of 2028, in time to allow tourists who will attend the Los Angeles Olympics that are to take place over the course of 14 days at that time, to stay overnight at hotels and motels in and around Claremont, Pomona, Montclair, Ontario, Chino, Upland, Rancho and Cucamonga. Those attending the Olympic games as spectators will be able to utilize the Gold Line, public transportation or the extensive parking lot at the Montclair Transit Center to travel to the Olympic games without contributing to the gridlock on the freeways and get to the competitive events on time, it was hoped. That was contingent, of course, on the Gold Line extension to Montclair being in place by Summer 2028.
A further bonus to the completion of the Gold Line to Montclair by 2028 was that it would have further sped the timetable to extending the Gold Line to Ontario Airport, perhaps so that milestone would be reached by 2033. The connection to Ontario International Airport would further the goal of relieving pressure on the freeway system, as many air travelers into Southern California would consider flying into Ontario International Airport rather than Los Angeles International Airport. The immediate connection to Los Angeles via the Gold Line, would, it was theorized, greatly diffuse traffic congestion.
Moreover, the extension of the Gold Line to Ontario would facilitate the further extension of the Gold Line east, through Rancho Cucamonga, Fontana, San Bernardino, Redlands, Yucaipa and eventually, perhaps before the 22nd Century, Palm Springs.
The 9.1 mile extension of the Gold Line from Azusa to Pomona, which took some six years to complete, from 2019 until January of this year, cost $806 million in 2019 dollars. The planned 3.2-mile extension from Pomona to Montclair will cost, in relative terms, when considering the distance, much more, roughly three times as much per linear mile. In 2024 dollars, that work was to cost $994 million, based on Kiewit Infrastructure West’s bid.
It was that escalation in the construction costs that gave the Metro Gold Line Foothill Extension Construction Authority Board pause when, during a closed-door executive session on Wednesday, it took up a discussion of Kiewit’s proposal to complete the next major phase of the system.
That discussion had been prompted by numerous considerations, one of which was the unanticipated expense contained in Kiewit’s bid.
Construction Authority CEO Habib Balian recognized and had stated publicly that the Pomona-to-Montclair was going to prove more expensive than the just-concluded Azusa-to-Pomona leg of the line, at what was anticipated to be 180 percent to 190 percent of the cost of the previous phase. In this way, the construction on the 3.2-mile stretch was projected to run to somewhere between Construction Authority CEO Habib Balian recognized and had stated publicly that the Pomona-to-Montclair was going to prove more expensive than the just-concluded Azusa-to Pomona leg of the line, at what was anticipated to be 180 percent to 190 percent of the cost of the previous phase. In this way, the construction on the 3.2-mile stretch was projected to run to somewhere between $510,171,000 to $538,515,000. After advertising for proposals,, the Gold Line Construction Authority received only one bid, from Kiewit, which had partnered with the Gold Line Construction Authority on the previous phase. The $994 million was startling, at roughly 189.7 percent of what it anticipated, even considering inflation.
In the weeks running up to last week’s action, the board had taken stock of a number of factors that might result in an escalation of the cost.
Ken Simonson, the chief economist of the Associated General Contractors of America, had briefed the board on factors that would push the cost of construction going forward into the stratosphere. Beginning in 2025, a host of pressures will act on the American economy and the building sector, according to Simonson, not the least of which is President Trump’s effort to reposition the United States in the world and to reassert itself as an economic power. Without weighing in one way or the other about whether Trump will be successful, Simonson said short term increases in prices will inevitably result from the president’s actions.
“Construction is more dependent than most industries on imported materials and foreign-born workers. Imposition of tariffs and limits on immigration or expanded deportation measures will drive up costs, snarl supply chains, slow projects, and potentially lead to project cancellations,” Simonson told the board. “Construction spending and employment will continue to increase at a moderate rate. But there is much more uncertainty about which market segments and geographic areas will thrive or dive in ’25.”
It is not likely that the Trump Administration, given its stated goals and commitments, will reduce the costs of carrying out construction, Simonson said.
“The Trump administration can enable faster and more efficient construction of infrastructure and private structures through selective repeal of regulations and better streamlining and coordination of project reviews and approvals.” Such cost reductions could only come about, Simonson said, if “the administration allow waivers from tariffs or immigration restrictions for construction projects that otherwise would be unduly delayed or cost-burdened.” He was not confident that would come about, Simonson said.
During the March 26 closed session, the board, considering the higher costs and risk of financial overcommitment in conjunction with the light-rail project, it voted, “unanimously and with regret” to reject Kiewit’s $994 million bid, which was something approaching 54 percent higher or approximately $350 million more than the $645.45 million the authority had estimated design and construction of the project should run and for which the authority had set the project’s budget.
A practical outcome of the Metro Gold Line Foothill Extension Construction Authority Board’s March 26 vote is that the eventual extension of the light rail travel system into San Bernardino County will not come before the end of the current decade.
The Gold Line is considered by those most knowledgeable about transportation issues in Southern California to be the best option there is to overcome the legacy of Alfred P. Sloan, the president of General Motors from 1923 and then the chairman of the board of General Motors from 1937 until his retirement in 1956.
Sloan systematically pursued policies aimed at buying up and ultimately closing down the commuter rail and street car systems in the United States’ largest cities and metropolitan areas. This included forcing the ultimate demise of the Los Angeles/Southern California Red Car Line, which featured trains serving what was then nearly the entirety of Los Angeles County, northern Orange County and eastern San Bernardino County, from Santa Monica all the way east to Mentone and Redlands.
Efforts to replicate what existed with the Red Car Line in Southern California with MetroLink have failed, as ridership on the system, with trains on a single track that run for the most part at a frequency of no more than one per hour at a fare of $9, is sparse at best and often nil. The Gold Line, on the other hand, which runs on two separate tracks dedicated to passenger transport alone from Downtown Los Angeles to Pomona, uses lighter cars and more fuel-efficient engines, with staggered departures and arrivals of as little as every eight minutes for a fare of $2. The Gold Line is thus heavily used, and its cars are near their carrying capacity on most runs.
The Gold Line Construction Authority is contemplating rebidding the project, perhaps as early as June of this year. Tacitly, the authority has conceded that the completion of the line to Ontario International Airport is not going to occur for a decade or more.