A high-profile, slick-stepping job-switcher, Mr. Ludlow has held, arguably, two of the most influential positions in town within the last three years. It is a horse race whether his rise or fall was faster. He was a ballyhooed City Councilman, the next Messiah, for just a few minutes before a sudden death last year brought him back to his old employer, the powerful County Federation of Labor. In a glamourous/sad move, he was crowned the chief executive of the Fed weeks after Miguel Contreras dropped dead on a day in May. Admittedly, I have waited longer for the stoplight at Irving Place and Culver Boulevard than he has worked at either job. Picky, picky. Just past forty years old today and armed with a bulletproof Boy Scout image, Mr. Ludlow is forced, odiously, to change jobs again, trading delicious celebrity for likely obscurity.
Mr. Ludlow’s swift, tidy departure from the City Council, before he could even leave fingerprints, brought at least one benefit. It unexpectedly resuscitated the flagging career of former Assembly Speaker Herb Wesson. He could have crawled to victory in winning Mr. Ludlow’s seat.
Cleanliness Is Next to What?
Down to the judge’s final statement last Friday, Mr. Ludlow has behaved in lockstep to his ivory pure image. Never is a moral hair out of place. Cleverly, he has mouthed only the pristine plasticity of his public relations advisors without ever drawing back the curtain on why he dived into the sleaze pool.
Practically every recent account of his commission of political suicide has contained a variation of the following closely scrubbed repentance: “This is another step in accepting responsibility for the judgement in error I made.”
Mr. Ludlow misdirected the union funds three years ago when he was running for the City Council. I continue to be baffled by how smoothly he pulled off his very public backward jump last year, from the City Council to the Federation, without letting on about the earlier shenanigans. If he is the choirboy we are told, he missed nights of sleep. If he slept well, he may not be a choirboy after all.
Mr. Ludlow has acknowledged that he conspired with the president of the Service Employees International Union, Local 99, to shift something more than $36,000 in union funds to his City Council campaign in ’03 to pay six people. Listed as union workers, they were actually working for the Ludlow campaign. For this, the punishment to date is close to $200,000 in fines plus two more conditions: For thirteen years he is prohibited from holding a union leadership position and for four years, he may not run for elective office. Further, he must forfeit his political career.
Not an Accident?
All that is evident is that he did not fall. He leaped. Why he chose to risk driving his career into a ditch is mostly unknown, but not entirely. He left a fat clue or two. Brashly, Mr. Ludlow did what his mother warned him against: He hung out with bad guys. Some of their oiliness was bound to rub off. Clearly, it did. The leadership of the County Federation of Labor probably could make a whole career for one priest if it was honest when its members went to confession. The labor lineup plays unyielding hardball with businesses across Los Angeles County. Few merchants have the courage, or the bad judgment, to say No to union organizers.
The media has reacted predictably. Suddenly incurious, the Los Angeles Times mutely has concluded that Mr. Ludlow has suffered enough by being caught. It has chosen not to pose any probing questions. Because Mr. Ludlow is black, the Los Angeles Sentinel stoutly defended him — as a victim, of all things. This is like blaming a one-car accident in Kansas City on the weather in Memphis. Television and radio reporters are averse to asking questions. And so, the cream of Los Angeles journalism has determined that Mr. Ludlow’s indiscretion bears the moral weight of a parking ticket even though it blew his career. Boys, this is not how you win a Pulitzer Prize.
