Still deeply rooted in social action

It's been almost 30 years since his first protest, and he's still a fixture at political events in Los Angeles, protesting with placards, speaking at Santa Monica City Council meetings and walking thousands of miles cross-country -- all for a cause.

He's Jerry Rubin, and he's not afraid to hug a tree in public.

On a recent afternoon, in fact, Rubin visited Palisades Park in Santa Monica and wrapped his arms around the tree that marked the site of his wedding 25 years ago. He also attached a sign to it promoting his Treesavers organization.

"We need to continue to plant the seeds of peace," said Rubin, as he walked away. "Every time a tree dies, I'll be back to help put another up."

But Rubin's real passion at the moment is for 54 ficus trees in downtown Santa Monica. The city wants to remove them as part of an $8-million beautification project, but a court order has temporarily blocked the power saws. Rubin has suggested that he may chain himself to a ficus to keep the city from carrying out its plan.

The showdown would be just one in a very long string of protest moments.



Troubled youth

Rubin will turn 65 this year. But the first half of his life gave no hint of the activist to come.

Born on Dec. 11, 1943, to Abraham and Betty Rubin in Philadelphia, he was the second of three boys. His parents separated when he was 6, and the Rubin brothers spent six months in a foster home until Betty Rubin got sole custody of her children.

Though Rubin recalls his childhood as "enjoyable," a downward spiral started in middle school, where he was bullied, he says, primarily because he is Jewish. He started experiencing epileptic seizures at age 12. His inability to cope with the bullying and his health problems led to excessive truancy in high school, eventually landing him in a youth detention home.

"I don't blame anyone; if anything, I'll just blame myself for being dumb," Rubin said. "I was so defiant and rebellious on one hand, but then felt so inferior on the other."

A high school dropout, Rubin worked a series of odd jobs in Philadelphia. At age 23, he came to Los Angeles, following his brother Marty.

But Rubin soon fell in with a crowd of habitual drug users -- heroin, angel dust, crystal meth -- and would live much of the next 12 years in a haze that included 18 hospitalizations, five suicide attempts and the use of a toy gun in an attempted robbery of a Hollywood shoe store. (A decade later, Rubin lobbied lawmakers to outlaw toy guns that resembled real weapons.)

In 1978, after the deaths of two good friends, Rubin stopped using drugs, he said. Then he started taking classes at Santa Monica City College, where another student gave him a ticket to a "No Nukes" concert at the Hollywood Bowl in the summer of 1979.

"It was the moment of change," Rubin said. "I don't know how it happened, but I realized I wasn't doing anything with my life."

In the land of reinvention, Rubin, who is often confused with the Vietnam-era protester of the same name who died in 1994, declared himself a peace activist, crusading against nuclear weapons, development of wetlands, Ralph Nader's 2004 presidential bid, the opening of a Hooter's restaurant and the ficus removal in Santa Monica, where he lives.

His first hunger strike was in 1981, when he walked nearly 200 miles from Santa Monica to the Diablo Canyon nuclear power plant on California's Central Coast. At the time, he was on probation for smashing a piece of cake into the face of Edward Teller, the "father of the hydrogen bomb," at a UCLA speaking engagement.

In 1986, Rubin was one of 400 people who made the 3,300-mile trek from Los Angeles to Washington, D.C., to rally support for global nuclear disarmament.

Views are mixed on the effectiveness of his tactics; critics say they are more publicity stunt than change agent, but he has his fans.

Marcia Hanscom, an environmentalist based in Playa del Rey, recalls Rubin's water-only hunger strike in 1997 to persuade DreamWorks executives to discuss their development plans at Playa Vista.