Los Angeles — On July 22, 2025, community organizers, neighbors, and advocates of historic preservation gathered in Echo Park to celebrate a significant victory: 68-year-old lifelong resident Lupe Breard retained ownership of her cherished Queen Anne Victorian home at 1553 Ewing Street. Breard faced eviction after developers with NELA Group acquired the property in 2018—but a growing coalition, with support from the LA Tenants Union and pro bono legal aid, rallied around her cause.
Built around 1895, the three-unit home—known as the “Queen of Elysian Heights”—is one of the earliest structures in Echo Park. Its historical importance runs deep: it once housed the Arechiga family, the final residents of Chavez Ravine displaced in the late 1950s for Dodger Stadium’s development. The family’s forced removal is considered a painful chapter of systemic displacement in L.A.
Breard, a collector of vintage memorabilia, has lived in the home for over 60 years, raised three children there, and carried on the legacy of her late mother, who purchased it in 1975 for $18,500. “I love the walls. I love the staircase. I love walking out on the balcony at night when you can see the stars,” Breard said, recalling memories from childhood.
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The legal battle escalated in 2022 when NELA Group—branded as a family-run investment firm—bought the property for just over $1.2 million. Breard’s sister, 73-year-old Sarah Padilla, and two others were left in the will; but Lupe wasn’t named, prompting the eviction attempts.
With eviction looming, Breard teamed up with the LA Tenants Union (LATU), organizing yard sales featuring her vintage goods to both raise legal funds and galvanize community support. In November 2022, the city approved her application to designate the home as a Los Angeles Historic-Cultural Monument—a milestone in the struggle, even though monument status protects buildings, not tenants.
A jury initially sided with the developer in January 2024, setting the stage for Breard’s eviction. But her renewed legal team successfully contested the eviction, pointing out flaws in the three-day notice—the judge overturned the eviction on March 5, 2024, marking a rare judicial win.
Sunday’s event was framed as a joyful reprieve rather than subdued relief. LATU volunteer Lupita Limón Corrales, reflecting on the tense months of organizing, said, “Things have been so crazy in L.A., with the recent ICE raids and in our organizing, that we have to be really intentional about having days like today where we celebrate.” It featured Latin music, yard‑sale vendors selling Breard’s collectibles and LATU shirts, and heartfelt speeches about the role of grassroots advocacy in protecting cultural heritage.
Breard’s son Wesley, who also testified in court, spoke of his mother’s resilience: “My mom is not materially empowered … and it’s like she’s been under siege throughout this whole eviction process,” he said.
This outcome underscores the power of community organizing in the face of rapid neighborhood change. Echo Park, once a diverse working-class area home to Latinos, Japanese‑Americans, and African‑Americans, is now experiencing fierce gentrification. Nationwide, just about 4 % of tenants facing eviction receive legal counsel—Breard’s access to representation sets her apart.
Her victory is emblematic of wider efforts in L.A. to defend long-term residents against displacement driven by investors and rising property values. As one LATU volunteer, Phoebe Unterman, noted: “What Lupe is dealing with is unfortunately pretty ordinary… there are houses like this all over L.A. where people are struggling and being supported by their communities.”
While Breard has secured her home, the legal standing of her sister, Sarah Padilla, remains uncertain. Parties involved are reportedly exploring options such as transferring the property to a community land trust, a nonprofit model that could ensure long-term affordability and occupant rights.
Furthermore, the designation process to confer official historic building status has begun, which could extend protections to the structure itself and prevent destructive redevelopment. The ruling also opens a civic dialogue about protecting “living history”—both the physical house and its tenants.
Lupe Breard’s story is both poignant and powerful—a testament to the bond between memory, place, and community. In her words: “I love Los Angeles, it’s my home,” and “this is happening to so many people… nobody even looks at them.” Her victory is more than individual—it’s a beacon for grassroots action, tenant rights, and cultural preservation in a changing Los Angeles.
