One of the last courtly gentlemen in Congress before the era of hyper-partisanship dawned, Julian C. Dixon, 66 years old, died unexpectedly 10 years ago this morning, and his adopted hometown, Culver City, remembered.
Perhaps 200 of the prominent and the pedestrian class assembled at 10 o’clock this morning at the Julian Dixon Library.
In a spirit of old-fashioned, chatauqua-type collegiality, they came together secondarily to observe a landmark anniversary of his death and primarily to thank his widow Betty and son Carey for being able to publicly draw on his political/mediation/character/legal talents the last 28 years of his life.
This was one of those once-a-decade moments when someone arguably out-eloquents the No.1 orator in Los Angeles politics, Mr. Dixon’s friend, County Supervisor Mark Ridley-Thomas.
Marital Memories
Betty Dixon shined brightest at the microphone, reflecting silkily and softly on the character traits of her husband, who spent six years in the state Legislature and the final 22 in Congress.
Everyone who dies may yearn to be memorialized as Mrs. Dixon did her late husband this morning:
“Julian was much different from the kind of politicians we see today,” she said.
Even though he held lofty positions in Congress — he was chair of the House Ethics Committee during the bombastic hearings leading to the ouster of colorful Texas Congressman Jim Wright — Mr. Dixon was quiet and self-effacing, his widow said.
While it is commonly said that the most vulnerable patch of land in America is between a politician and a television camera, that did not suit Mr. Dixon’s personality.
“You rarely saw Julian on television,” she said.
“He never sought attention or acclaim. He believed that if everyone did his job, there would be plenty of acclaim to go around.”
Mr. Dixon, said his friends and onetime colleagues, left deep imprints in certain areas — Mr. Ridley-Thomas called him a “visionary” regarding light rail and subway transportation in Los Angeles, in literacy, in advancing the cause of African-American culture, in winning the lasting esteem of many colleagues.
But the cornerstone of his life, they agreed, was the sturdy, unbending strength of his character.
There were lighter moments. The emcee was a County Librarian, Margaret Donnellan Todd, who encountered insurmountable pronunciation difficulties when she was obliged to introduce ladies and gemtlemen with longer or tougher names than two syllables. The venerable political deputy Ed Johnson was one of the few whose name sailed through her microphone unharmed.
If only former Mayor Ed Wolkowitz and his wife, former School Board member Marla Wolkowitz had stayed home on Pronunciation Day, the County Librarian would have compiled a stronger record. Former School Board member Jessica Beagles-Roos’s name also mystified the lady.
Former City Council member Paul Jacobs’s name didn’t fool her. Neither did that of former LAUSD School Board member Rita Walters, City Manager John Nachbar, Interim Supt. Patty Jaffe, historian Julie Lugo Cerra or Culver City Mayor Chris Armenta, City Councilman Mehaul O’Leary. And finally, former Councilman Steve Rose did not twist her tongue.
She explained that Culver City’s first library was born in 1915 at the Pacific Electric Depot and arrived at its present Overland Avenue, near Jefferson, address in 1971.
The library was named for Mr. Dixon one year after he died.
U.S. Rep.-elect Karen Bass (D-Culver City), who is off to Washington this afternoon, said she had heard so many stories about Mr. Dixon she felt compelled to conduct her own research.
“As I prepare to go into Congress,” she said, “I plan to be a student and see if I can contribute a portion of what he did.”
