A Note of Grief—and of Hope

After 97 Years, the Palisadian-Post is Closing

By ALAN SMOLINISKY | Owner

You hold in your hands the final regular issue of the Palisadian-Post. After 97 years, this pillar of our town will be no more. Our reporters have chased their last stories. Our presses have printed their last copies. Our corner newsstands have opened for the last time. After the unimaginable sorrow and destruction of the past year, losing this beloved institution feels like a final blow.

Even as I write these words, I can’t believe it. The Pali Post has always been here.

The Pali Post was here when my parents came to town in 1975. They were Argentine immigrants who moved to America with nothing, and while they’d been in the country for a few years, they truly found what they were looking for when they found the Palisades. They put down their entire savings on their very first home on Seabreeze Drive. They put down roots by starting their family in that house. They put this community at the center of their lives. And for the next five decades, they read every word this paper printed.

The Pali Post was here when my sister and I were growing up. I read it every week—my parents had to read it after I was done. The feel of the newsprint, the noise it makes when you turn the page—there’s nothing like it. From a young age, I knew it brought our town together. I heard retirees gossiping about The Mr. and Miss Palisades contest that my mother organized for over two decades. I saw families line up to buy their copy on Thursday mornings after getting coffee in the village. I saw kids flipping through the Sports section looking for coverage of their Little League games, just like me. Everyone found something to love, every week.

The Pali Post was here when I moved back after college. I subscribed immediately, and when my girlfriend and I started talking about marriage, I told her I couldn’t live anywhere else. We got married and published our wedding announcement in the Pali Post. Soon after, we started our own family in town. We built our forever home, and like my parents, we’ll never leave.

The Pali Post was still here in 2012, even as other newspapers had started to close. It was struggling, so I bought it. I love the Pali Post because I love the Palisades. This paper is our town in miniature—committed, conversational and a little bit quirky. It’s the definition of a community paper, uniting people across the many divisions that define our time.

But now the Pali Post will no longer be here.

This is the hardest decision I’ve ever made. It’s all the harder because we nearly survived. Everyone knows that newspapers have struggled. Everyone knows that many have shut down from coast to coast. But at the Pali Post, we kept going strong for so long.

We got up to 6,200 subscribers—a huge feat for a town like ours. Some years, we broke even. Most years, we lost money. But every year, we did incredible work. The investigative takedown of Denton Jewelers. The hard-hitting exposé on the Ruthless Ryderz motorcycle club. But the best thing we ever published came out every week since our first issue in 1928—Two Cents, always there on page two.

This time last year, we still had a future. But it burned up in the fire, like most of the town. We lost the few businesses that still bought advertising. They were either destroyed or had no customers. Worst of all, we lost the one thing we can’t do without—our readers. The Palisades became a ghost town in the wake of the fire. Subscriptions basically fell to zero. It’s completely understandable. But you can’t print a newspaper nobody reads.

Many people knew this was coming. I’ve been floored by the letters of support we’ve received in the last year. Longtime readers even sent us donations—a few bucks here, a hundred-dollar bill there. That community spirit, that deep generosity, speaks volumes about this special place we all call home. And it says something profound about our shared future.

Pacific Palisades has never been defined by a paper. We’re defined by our people, who are just as committed to the town as ever. By the grace of God, my home was one of the few that didn’t burn down. We’re not going anywhere. My daughter and I recently drove through the Alphabet Streets and counted 40 homes under construction. People are coming back, slowly but surely. And make no mistake: We are not just rebuilding the Palisades—we are forging a stronger, more resilient town than ever before.

So, even as I’m filled with grief, I’m filled with hope. We’ll rebuild our homes and our businesses. We’ll welcome a new generation of families to town. And maybe, in time, we’ll restore this treasured institution. A town like ours needs a newspaper.

Today, however, this is goodbye. But today is also a day of gratitude.

To the entrepreneurs and owners who came before me—thank you for giving our town this gift.

To the generations of reporters who walked the beat—thank you for holding the powerful accountable and bringing joy into so many homes.

And to all our readers—past and present—thank you for 97 years of partnership. You were the best part of the Palisadian-Post. Newspaper or not, you will continue to make Pacific Palisades the best place anyone could ever live.