Making and Keeping a Promise
The more radical skeptics still were howling in protest at the end of the sweaty, emotional 3-hour meeting in the packed cafeteria of El Rincon School. Largely a gray-haired crowd, most of the speakers described themselves as long established residents. Nearly as many confessed, in bursts, that they were petrified down to their toes by the scary prospect of having an ambitious developer flip their cozy, but admittedly declining, neighborhood upside down. Tears flowed. Tempers roared. But Mr. Champion, while compassionate, never surrendered one inch of complete command of the program, though he surely must have been tempted to walk out on the emotionally shakiest neighbors who behaved abysmally. Scrupulously, he fulfilled his promise to answer in depth, openly and publicly, every question in the room, some 10 times or more.
Where Did the Villain Go?
Developers have a worse reputation in this town than used-car salesmen or Communists. Numbers of the fury-consumed neighbors, with their fists at least figuratively doubled, were spoiling for a roll in the dirt. What they got, however, was the refreshing reverse, an urbane, middle-aged man with confessed flaws who put his arms around their don’t-touch-me-shoulders and proposed, “Let’s talk this over like civilized neighbors.” Morphing magically from villain into hero, the slender, sunburned Mr. Champion emerged as an almost-folksy, shirt-sleeved, open-faced ambassador of industrial strength goodwill.
Winning a Close One
Convinced he had to sell himself as much as the densely detailed data and broad landscaping strokes of strategy, Mr. Champion appeared to succeed. The margin was so thin, though, you could only squeeze one strand of emaciated noodle into the narrow space between victory and defeat.
Cosmetic Surgery or More?
For the last 50 years or so, the modest, strictly working-class, blue-collar west side of South Sepulveda Boulevard, from Sawtelle to Jefferson, has been dominated by neighborhood-friendly mom-and-pop businesses that traditionally have made American small towns beloved in life and mourned in death. Equally undeniable, the two-block strip has been in steady, irreversible retreat, relegating it to the eyesore category in a community as redevelopment-oriented as Culver City. Change, on a massive scale — Mr. Champion stated repeatedly, and several residents willingly agreed — is inevitable. Choosing a hard-faced utilitarian approach, Mr. Champion told the crowd their options were two. As a single entrepreneur in charge of the entire complex, he said, I can develop the space in a flowing, attractive, orderly manner. But if you resist my plans, he said, it is undeniable that single, smaller-time developers will drift into the neighborhood, building separately, without coordination, and the result will be a smeary-faced hodge-podge of ugly smudge.
Herewith some of the developer’s more salient points:
- No single-family homes will be involved or affected.
- Once started, the largest architectural makeover in modern Culver City history could be accomplished within 5 years.
- Teardown and rebuild of the first of two phases of the 13 acres and 100-plus businesses on the west side of South Sepulveda Boulevard could begin as soon as 15 months from today. Twenty-four months would be needed for completion.
- Phase II could start in 36 months and also be completed within 24 months.
- It is too early, he said, to say how many uprooted businesses will be compensated or even to give a ballpark figure of how much they will be compensated. If approvals are granted him by City Hall, he estimated he will begin negotiation with business/property owners in 7 or 8 months.
At the end of the evening — when El Rincon officials said it was time to douse the lights — Mr. Champion promised the crowd they would meet and huddle again. It was not clear how many thought that was a capital idea.
