I see by the morning newspapers UCLA failed in its quest to hire a first-tier educator as Chancellor. Instead, they appeased the Elmer Fudd crowd, the bean-counters. They hired a balmy bloke from the University of Virginia, Gene Block, the Provost, who has spent all 28 years of his professional career in little, ol Charlottesville. A hundred miles south of Washington, Charlottesville is the same size as Culver City, 40,000. It is doubtful, far from clear, whether a lifetime in Tiny Town, Va., prepared him for prime time in Westwood. Mr. Block appears to be a serious 58-year-old biologist. But after digesting one teaspoon of his politically dictated approach to academics, one may conclude he is definitely not a serious educator. He thinks he is coming to the University of Diversity. The Elmer Fudd imagery sprang up yesterday in the noxious fumes of Mr. Blocks opening utterances following his confirmation as Chancellor. To hell with education. To hell with learning. What is important at university, said Mr. Block, is the color of the faces in a classroom. Both in the desks and at the blackboard. Silly me. I thought boys and girls went to college with a thirst for acquiring knowledge. Mr. Block certainly straightened me out. He actually said attracting non-white students and non-white faculty members was his No. 1 priority. Was he hired for a gig on the Comedy Network? Sadly, he was only being candid. He sounded as if he were hiring envelope-lickers for a Democratic Party candidate. Dutifully, Mr. Block mouthed the Democratic Party lines about racial and gender diversity. He spoke as if his invisible Democratic handlers were standing behind him, twisting a giant windup key protruding from his spine. That, boys and girls, is why Gene Block, New Yorker by birth and Stanford alum, is the new Chancellor. There was a great deal of talk yesterday about his scholarly research, a favorable impression that soon blew up when the old boy began mouthing inanities about diversity. Mr. Blocks hiring is this weeks reminder that the quality of leadership, and therefore education, on contemporary college campuses has sunk to the comic strip level.
The Gospel (of Christmas), According to Matthew, Ridley-Thomas, Luke and John
Unlike mothers with 10 children or an octopus facing cosmetic surgery, a bigots work is never done. Just received my electronic Christmas card from Mark Ridley-Thomas, the former City Councilman, the former state Assemblyman, the freshly elected state Senator and lest we forget newly ordained as a creative interpreter of the New Testament. Never let it go unsaid that bending history, just a little, to be politically correct, is below the Senator. This is a hallowed tradition in Sacramento for Americas highest paid legislators. For the first time in his multi-office career, Mr. Ridley-Thomas will be representing Culver City. Perhaps our towns historic relationship with cinematic fiction inspired the senator to create a trendy fiction, a sui generis Christmas card, his very latest manipulation of tradition. In these final hours before Christmas, it should be noted that Sen. Ridley-Thomas, as every voter knows, shares a name with one of the 4 famous authors of the Gospel. No, we are not talking about Matthew, Ridley-Thomas, Luke and John. The imaginative Mr. Ridley-Thomas has built his lengthy career upon the catchy, if not euphonious, motto, Tradition Stinks. Ever hip and fashionable, he pioneered the notion of a strictly modern Los Angeles male politician attaching his wifes name to his own real one to create a fetching bowl of linguistic linguini. So the idea flopped. Maybe it did not take off the way, say, i-pods or computers or cellphones did. But picky, picky. How many of your friends still drive Edsels? Not every colossally clownish concept clicks.
With a Corruption Eruption Looming, Is Pedersen the Right Chief for the Job?
“Now we’ll see what Don Pedersen is made of” — a City Hall official this morning.
Unlike a certain other heavy-landing police chief in Culver City history, the still-new Chief Donald Pedersen astringently keeps his own counsel. The soul of privacy, Mr. Pedersen makes less news than a resident who died 50 years ago. If he were on fire, who would know? In Mr. Pedersen’s insulated world, where discretion is the No. 1 value, he does not officially become on fire until he says so. And he ain’t tooling around town trumpeting himself. He is too busy putting out more fires around the department than he had been warned about. There is not enough time left to worry about himself. Unlike his immediate predecessor, John Montanio, he is not the walking, talking, smiling, shmoozing glad-hander. More like the committed ditchdigger, he slings his shovel over his shoulder, reports for work punctually every morning. Professionally, discreetly, he executes his duties, tidily, and returns home to his young family. “Purity” and “altar boy” are ways that he has been described.
Evaluating a Council Member on a Night of 3 Strikes
There is much to like and admire about City Councilwoman Carol Gross. Not one stitch of it was on display at last nights City Council meeting. She may have set back public relations for the Council which needs an image-shaper by 20 years. If Oscar lived in Culver City instead of Hollywood, he would have dived into chilly Ballona Creek and drowned himself. For her performance last night, Ms. Gross deserves a public repudiation by one single courageous colleague. Do I see a hand? This was a misstep that she never should allow to dim in her memory. The arrogance, the extraordinarily high-handed way in which she looked down from her throne upon the groveling, ground-hugging, barely worthy peasants who obsequiously begged to keep The Jungle nursery in Culver City should have shocked me. But I have seen this scenario before. There must be kings who are more humble. I can argue and have, publicly that for 6 years Ms. Gross has been the most valuable player on the City Council, the most savvy, the most knowledgeable, the most involved, the most dedicated, perhaps the most effective Councilperson. If the woman possesses an ounce of compassion, though, she has done a better job than the CIA, the FBI and the Culver City Police Dept. of keeping it masked. She raised a son of whom I only have heard good. As the only girl in the City Council mix against a gang of boys who grew up before it was cool to be feminist-deferential, she has faced, and conquered, a tougher challenge than any or all of the boys. With victory or success as an elected official, however, comes a matching quantity of responsibility to the public. The activist Efrem Violin was as sterling as Ms. Gross was not when he told the City Council last night, you work for us. We dont work for you. We put you up there. We can remove you. If anyone on the City Council considered himself rebuked by Mr. Violin, I missed it. Tis the pity.
Why the Common Good Must Prevail on South Sepulveda
When my colleague Frederik Sisa was preparing his 2-part essay defending the residents and property owners who are protesting the redevelopment of South Sepulveda Boulevard, he found cause to chuckle. Pretty funny, said he, that the he, the unswerving liberal, was adopting the position usually occupied by conservatives. (At the top of this page, he argues it is better to allow long-standing businesses to continue to operate than to vote for redevelopment because too many people will be harmed.) I, often to the right of center, was assuming the traditional liberal stance, maintaining that while some parties are a cinch to be damaged by the project being planned by developer Bob Champion, the greater good is at stake. Upon reflection, Mr. Sisas response actually may be more traditionally liberal than surprising. Liberals often feel the pain of a single victim. The logic of proportion almost never seems to be an issue with them. History is littered with examples of liberals who have sought to halt a massive project because one person is going to suffer. (Remember the foolish American girl who tried to star down a bulldozer in the West Bank several years ago?) It is a strongly appealing formulation, rising to the defense of a single vulnerable property owner or a small group of property owners. Allowing a single person to block far-reaching communal progress, however, does not make sense. Were a single person to be granted such power, Mark Salkin and Rich Kissel might be selling caves instead of condos for their real estate companies.
A Raggedy Legacy from the Vera Era in 2 Letters: R and V
File this under Policy Gone Awry: As the unappointed gatekeeper for City Hall Gaffes, let us begin this morning with one of the shabbier legacies from the late era of former City Councilman Albert Vera. One year ago this week, the lady and gentlemen of the City Council adjusted their stern visages and, in stentorian tones, issued what sounded to a select group of residents like a scary, bone-chilling — not to mention bonehead — declaration. Henceforth, or at least starting pretty soon, the Council said, recreational vehicles would have to find a new place to sleep overnight. The oversized vans no longer would be allowed to blight the darkened curbsides of Culver City streets. A roar went up from RV owners. Delays were won. Soon it was 3 months later. Mr. Vera, on his way out of office, became a hero to RV owners. He announced that if he could be granted a tiny spot of time, by thunder he would find a safe, convenient ground where suddenly homeless recreational vehicles could huddle after dark. Said he had a plan. Said he had a couple prospective sites. In response to direct questions, the sites never were identified. Did they exist outside of Mr. Vera’s imagination? I don’t know. But as he spoke, I heard and smelled the baloney cooking in the background.
Put Down Your Guns We Are Surrounded and Outnumbered
As a worshipper of tradition, I empathize with the angriest and the loudest of the residents who virulently protested the South Sepulveda Boulevard project last night at El Rincon School. In a private, cozy way, they have had this wonderful enclave to themselves for all of the years they have lived in their once inexpensive homes. I know how special the neighborhood is. I spend an hour there every early morning. Additionally, my cobbler is there. My dry cleaner is there. My barber is there. Most of them were at the meeting. I dont want them to go away, to be forced out. Being able to walk to your favorite beauty parlor when you dont quite have enough money for the full bill is the quintessence of good living. So is being able to stroll over to any of several low-key, low-cost restaurants, offering a variety of cuisines, at any hour. What the developer Bob Champion tried to convey to the 285 out of 300 who were truly angry was that this no longer is 1950. Point No. 2, and this was crucial, it is of little consequence in this updated world what a single resident or a cluster of neighbors think, no matter how passionately the convictions are held.
Why the New Super and the School Board Are Wearing Holiday Smiles
School Board President Saundra Davis said that the new Superintendent is entering the School District at a most propitious time. In spite of all of the clashes between people that you constantly hear about, said Ms. Davis, the business of our schools gets done. We complete our agendas, our business, efficiently and on time. We dont have any really troubling major issues in the District. The one big issue she will have to address is teacher contract negotiations. Otherwise, there is not anything that really is pressing. This may be the first time in five years that five consecutive sentences have been formed without at least peripheral criticism of persons or policies in the School District. With Christmas a scant three weeks from today, it looks as if the hirers and the hiree will be beaming their way through the holiday season. Dr. Myrna Rivera, who is finishing the closing-out chores at her LAUSD office in Gardena, recently became Dr. Myrna Rivera Cote when she married. At this writing, she is within days of signing a several-year contract that will be the best of her life. When public salaries are toted up in Culver City, she will stand alongside the best- paid.
Covered in a Sheet of Shame, a Firefighter Harms His Fellow Blacks
The harm of the trumped-up racism case brought against the city of Los Angeles by black firefighter Tennie Pierce is that his nonsense claim desensitizes the public for the future. Sadly, his playacting will innoculate the greater community against showing sympathy for valid victims of discrimination. For this, the greedy Mr. Pierce should be pilloried by right-thinking blacks across Los Angeles, which, I judge, should be in the 80 percent range. Do not discount the powerful tentacles of public opinion to reverse egregious wrongs. Those strong winds recently killed off O.J.s latest lucrative scam. Last week, the enormous influence of public opinion drove Mayor Villaraigosa no moral giant to veto Mr. Pierces $2.7 million gift from the Los Angeles City Council. The Pierce case speaks volubly to the imprecision of the state of public dialogue. When a tasteless, pedestrian prank, a mere clubhouse joke, is taken $2.7 million seriously by the arrogant arbiters of City Hall, you know that the wrong crowd just like hot air has risen. Six slugs on the City Council Herb Wesson, Bernie Parks, Jan Perry, Tom LaBonge, Eric Garcetti and Janice Hahn have deliberately, permanently poisoned the formerly clear definition of racism. The Six Slugs should be held accountable for committing a sin against true victims of racism. In both the South and the North, cemeteries full of dead black adults and children, tortured but unbowed in life, serve as eloquent testimony to the nature of unmanufactured racism. It is possible that somewhere in this city this afternoon, a black man or woman will be unacceptably mistreated by a white or brown bigot. In the present racially aroused climate, created by the lying of Mr. Pierce and by the insecurity of his woman lawyer, a legitimate victim would have no chance of prevailing. In more civilized times, the boobery of the 15 stooges on the City Council would be punished for wasting their supposedly valuable time on a case that is worth less than one can of dog food, if you will forgive the exquisite satire. When totaled up, there is less moral courage among the 15 Council members than there is in one bully who beats up smaller kids.
Fred of Brotman Needed to Vent About Disappearing Co-Workers
Everything about Fred is true except that Fred is not his real name. A longtime, fairly invisible employee of the Brotman Medical Center, one week after Thanksgiving and less than a month before Christmas, he is feeling depressed. He has a loving family waiting for him at home. And he is confident that he will retain his job through this set of owners just as he has weathered other changes of ownership. But too many of his friends around Brotman are going away via layoffs. Fred and I sat down at a coffee shop close to the hospital, but not so near that we could be easily spotted. In a society swirling with odious accusations, he was not mad, just down. He felt in need of reassurance. He wanted to talk, but he said he didnt want to vent. Fred is plain, and Fred is working class. No sophistry here. On this early evening, there were more worry lines on his aging face than hairs on his equally aging head. Understand, Fred began, there are no bad guys in the story I want to tell you. If you are going to blame anyone, I guess it would be the calendar. Some of the clerical staff was laid off recently. More secretaries are going to go, I am certain. Perks we used to get no longer exist. A dollar-eighty for coffee that used to be free. Sometimes nurses, who work 12-hour shifts, are told not to come in. Theyre not needed. You cant afford many of those when youre raising a family. What the new owners are doing is tightening up. I dont blame them. Its not their fault, not really.