As the jolting realization of leaving public office tiptoed forward this afternoon, Alan Corlin, the soon-to-depart Mayor of Culver City, enjoyed a ringing golden hour at the 28th Mayor’s Luncheon at the Vets Auditorium.
It was not accidental that the popular Mr. Corlin’s farewell drew one of the largest crowds, at least 325 guests.
Tall, stately, handsome and gifted with a stentorian voice, he looked and sounded the part — a serious politician in command of his ambitious, wing-flapping, muscle-flexing community.
And now, the most tantalizing challenge of Mr. Corlin’s professional life is at hand.
In his mid-50s, he is just hitting his political stride when it is time to blow out the candles — temporarily anyway.
With his health and his former energy restored, and his talent unflagging, Mr. Corlin is all dressed up this spring in search of somewhere to go.
But the Somewhere has to be identified.
More than perhaps anyone else on the City Council, he inhales politics, and he is supremely comfortable on the political stage.
Smoother and more confident than when he came to power eight springtimes ago, he has everything lined up professionally except the precise destination.
A Power Couple
A little after 12 o’clock today, they made a striking political couple as they strode across the front of the Auditorium — the rangy and equally ambitious Los Angeles City Councilman Bernie Parks, and Mr. Corlin.
It would have made a nice picture, a better painting.
Both tall, spare, stick-straight and not bashful about taking charge. They could have walked off a motion picture set.
Mr. Parks, who at 63 has a few years on his friend, is locked into a sizzling race with state Sen. Mark Ridley-Thomas for Yvonne Brathwaite Burke’s seat on the County Board of Supervisors in June.
Mr. Parks did not just happen to wander into Culver City this afternoon.
After getting better acquainted with the former LAPD Police Chief during negotiations over the Expo rail line that is coming to Culver City, Mr. Corlin endorsed Mr. Parks for Ms. Burke’s chair.
A Few Words
Although this was a day about trappings and nostalgia as much as accomplishment, Mr. Corlin delivered a well-received 25-minute speech.
Every outgoing mayor talks about the accomplishments of City Hall during his tenure, and they were impressive during the Corlin regime.
But there is almost nothing he enjoys more than a fun tale, and this is one he opened with, while his older brother Dr. Richard Corlin was sitting a short distance away.
Sidle up for a Story
“I was interviewed by the Times a few weeks ago, and one of the questions I was asked was when did I know I wanted to be a politician. I know the exact moment that thought came into my mind. I was five years old. Richard and I were playing on the lawn in front of our house. We were playing with one of my toys—a water-propelled rocket. When these rockets are let loose, they are propelled by a rather forceful stream of water.
“It was great fun. Richard would load it with water. Richard would pump it up with compressed air. Richard would aim the rocket. Richard would activate the firing mechanism. Well, actually, Richard had all the fun. All I did was to position myself on our neighbor’s lawn, direct Richard where to stand and catch the spent rocket as it fell back to earth.
“On one particular afternoon, my grandfather was walking by on his way to his weekly Pinochle game. Dressed in his finest wool suit and snappiest felt hat, smoking a disgustingly smelly stogie, he was quite a sight. He was standing near Richard. So, naturally, I directed Richard to a position almost exactly in front of my grandfather.
“My grandfather had a temper the size of Cleveland, and nobody ever wanted to get him upset. His temper was so outstanding that after seeing Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, one of my cousins said my grandfather looked and acted just like Grumpy. Naturally, that is what we all called him. To this day, I remember what my grandfather said seconds after Richard pulled the trigger on the launch mechanism sending the rocket cascading into the air trailed by a geyser of water. Grumpy was soaked to the skin. Even the stogie was extinguished.
“Even though I was the architect of the calamity by placing Richard directly in front of my grandfather, I was totally immune from the tirade that my brother was now receiving. It was at that exact moment I knew I would someday be a politician.”
Background Music
Even a humdrum Corlin day is incomplete without a punchline. While Mr. Corlin was storytelling, Council colleagues Scott Malsin and Steve Rose stood up in the background and stealthily donned vivid yellow rain gear in order to act out the scene the mayor was describing. To protect themselves from the water thrown off by the almost-exploding rocket, Vice Mayor Carol Gross and Fire Chief Jeff Eastman opened umbrellas.
The rocket was launched, but no one was sprayed.
The Mayor’s Luncheon is a lighthearted break that is by and for City Hall — and those who love it.
Stars in the Sunlight
In the noonday sun, all of the stars came out to the Vets Auditorium.
This was 90-year-old Culver City in regal robes, with 10 of the community’s most important personalities arrayed across the stage, with five former mayors of fairly recent vintage seated directly below them.
City Manager Jerry Fulwood, who was funny again, one more time, in introducing Mr. Corlin, anchored one end of the Special Guests Table, and Mr. Eastman the other.
In between were the three City Council members who are term-limited next month, Ms. Gross, Mr. Rose and Mr. Corlin along with two Council holdovers, Mr. Malsin and Gary Silbiger. The table filled out with City Treasurer Crystal Alexander, City Clerk Christopher Armenta, Rabbi Zachary Shapiro of Temple Akiba and Police Chief Don Pedersen.
The five former mayors were Richard Marcus, Ed Little, Ed Wolkowitz, Jozelle Smith and Paul Jacobs.
The School District was represented by Supt. Dr. Myrna Rivera Cote, and School Board members Jessica Beagles-Roos and Scott Zeidman.
The balance of the 325 guests were branded as either unspecial or just plain pedestrian.
