Vista Political Veteran Playing a Loud Tune : Watchdog or Misfit? Von Haden’s Civic Stamina Hard to Match

If Lloyd von Haden had his druthers, he’d spend most all his days tending the 2 hilly acres surrounding his modest home and devote the evening hours to playing violin in a local string quartet.

For the 72-year-old Von Haden, bliss means harvesting fruit and nuts from his vast orchard, tinkering with his solar water distillery and joining his wife and two friends in a homespun rendition of a favorite composition by Mozart or another musical hero.

During the last seven years, however, Von Haden has been distracted from such idyllic pursuits by the rough and tumble world of Vista politics, serving the city as a councilman.

Like the man himself, Von Haden’s tenure has been anything but ordinary.

While most of his council colleagues have opened their arms to developers espousing promises of a better Vista, Von Haden has turned his back on such advances, steadfastly opposing the subdivisions and other projects he believes will destroy the city’s bucolic ambiance.

Von Haden’s stand has been a difficult one to defend--and it has won him plenty of enemies. Developers dislike him, city staff members are irritated by his seemingly meddlesome questions and fellow council members express exasperation over his dogged opposition to growth.

Time after time, Von Haden sounds the alarm over an increase in density or a proposed new condominium project--and time after time he loses, invariably on 4-to-1 votes.

In a city that spends more than $50,000 annually to woo developers and their dollars, Von Haden is a veritable misfit.

“If Mr. Von Haden had his way, Vista would revert back to the way it was 30 or 40 years ago and not mature and expand the way other communities have,” Mayor Mike Flick said. “But fortunately, he is no longer getting his way and he no longer has much influence. This city is moving forward despite his best efforts to stop us.”

Not everyone, however, agrees with the mayor’s assessment. While Von Haden loses nearly every battle in the council chambers, he often wins on the streets. The councilman, a piano tuner by trade, has sparked numerous successful referendum drives to halt controversial developments or reverse council decisions, and he has even sued the city over projects he opposed.

Von Haden also commands a large and loyal following; in 1982, he was reelected by the largest margin of votes in the city’s history. Recently, supporters honored Von Haden at a council meeting, awarding him a plaque that thanked the councilman for being “Vista’s watchdog for growth and expenditures.”

Even his political opponents admit he has successfully slowed the city’s growth rate. Councilman Ed Neal blames him for costing Vista “millions and millions in developer fees,” while Councilwoman Goria McClellan speculates that Von Haden may be the single most powerful person in Vista.

“Every time Lloyd loses a vote or gets knocked down by his foes, he gets stronger,” McClellan said. “It’s the old underdog theory. The people--and I mean a lot of people--love him.”

Von Haden, a slight man with large, elfish ears, twinkling eyes and a wide smile that looks as if it could melt the resolve of the fiercest adversary, seems virtually unaware of all the passion--pro and con--he inspires.

More likely, he just isn’t much interested. While many politicians seem concerned about their reputation and its impact on their prospects for reelection, Von Haden doesn’t think much about his image in town. That’s something of an irony, because his is perhaps the most distinct image of any politician in Vista’s history.

“Lloyd is an original--he’s the exact opposite of your typical suave, smooth-talking politician,” said Cortleigh Goff, a community activist whose daughter used to clean house for the Von Hadens. “He’s selfless, unassuming and has incredible integrity. He’s the kind of guy who gives people like me the feeling that, ‘Yes, Virginia, there is a politician who cares about you, the voter, the man on the street.’ ”

Unlike the slick-haired, suit-and-tie look of colleagues Neal and Mayor Flick, Von Haden sports casual, short-sleeve shirts and clean but worn slacks. In fact, so modest are his dress and appearance that an unfamiliar eye might easily mistake him for a custodian or an avocado farmer.

“Sitting up there on the dais next to Flick, you’d think Lloyd was a storekeeper from Kansas City or something,” said Patsy Filo, a longtime fan. “But we like that, because it’s as if he’s one of us.”

Still, friends and opponents alike say that Von Haden’s country charm and gentle manner mask a determination and political savvy that should not be underestimated.

“He’s a bulldog,” McClellan said. “He gets hold of an issue and he perseveres. You know, it takes an awful lot of fortitude to stand up there knowing you’re going to get battered back down every time,”

McClellan, a 13-year council veteran, first discovered Von Haden’s apparently infinite supply of civic stamina during the years preceding his election victory.

“Lloyd had a habit of walking in with his sleeping bag and plopping down in the front row,” McClellan recalled. “When we saw that, we knew we’d had it.”

Von Haden’s heritage is as intriguing as his public performance. In the mid-1800s, one of his German forefathers was caught stealing military secrets and ordered beheaded by officials of the state. Fortunately, a relative of the accused was a reasonably powerful land baron in the region, and stepped in to influence the case.

As a result, Von Haden’s ancestor kept his head and was smuggled aboard a ship bound for America in a big box marked “crackers.” Other Von Hadens followed soon after. The clan took advantage of government land grants and settled in Wisconsin.

In 1913, Lloyd Von Haden was born to a farmer and his wife in Pepin, Wisconsin, a town he describes as “a nice little spot near Minneapolis where the Mississippi River widens.” His father expected his son would take over the family business. But the boy’s interests lay elsewhere, and he left home to major in music at the University of Wisconsin.

“My father, a devoted businessman who could sing a simple tune only if he had enough beer in him, was rather disappointed,” Von Haden recalled.

Playing piano at fraternity parties for $7 a night, Von Haden worked his way through college, eventually earning a masters degree in music. The university also afforded Von Haden his first encounter with politics: He ran for president of his dormitory, and lost.

Upon graduating, Von Haden toyed with the idea of taking a teaching job at $100 a month, but decided instead to scoot south to Miami, where he played string bass on the nightclub circuit.

“It was a good move,” Von Haden said. “Down there, they paid me $100 a week.”

When he tired of that, Von Haden signed on with Fleischer Cartoon Co.--originator of “Popeye” and other classics--as a film editor. There he met and married Selma--”the boss’s daughter.”

In 1939, the company relocated to New York City and the Von Hadens went along. But the couple found the Big Apple a dirty, suffocating place and resolved to head west. They set out for California in 1944.

After a brief stop in Los Angeles, where Lloyd worked as an editor for MGM Studios, the couple and their first daughter arrived in Vista, where Von Haden began giving piano lessons. Initially, they lived in a house trailer parked on their property. But the cramped conditions got old quick, so Von Haden bought a World War II-era Army barracks at an auction and the family moved into that.

The barracks was home for 12 years.

Back then, Von Haden recalled, Vista was “one big orchard,” an undiscovered town where “my daughters could ride their horses for miles without running into a fence.” Life was pleasant and peaceful, with Von Haden tuning pianos and playing bass with the San Diego Symphony.

Then one day, something jarred the Von Hadens’ world: A developer won approval from the city to build a tract of duplexes down the road from the family’s home. Von Haden was driven to action.

“Here we were out in the country and they wanted to put duplexes in. It was absurd.”

Mustering support from other area residents, Von Haden piloted a successful referendum drive to halt the project. Thus began his crusade.

It has been a lonely one.

Historically a semi-rural bedroom community overlooked by the industrialists streaming into North County, Vista has become eager in recent years to tap the economic boom, hoping to use developer dollars to inflate a paltry lineup of municipal services.

As Rod Bradley, president of the Chamber of Commerce, puts it: “We’ve got to get impact fees from developers to improve our deteriorated streets, solve our traffic problem and boost other services. Bringing in a healthy balance of development is the only way we can assure a better quality of life here.”

Von Haden admits he opposes residential growth, explaining that, “If you put too many rats together they’ll eat each other, and people are much the same way.” But the councilman insists that he is not against intelligent industrial and commercial growth. His opponents scoff at such a statement.

“Hey, let’s call a spade a spade,” said Councilman Neal, a contractor who makes no effort to hide his disdain for Von Haden. “His antics and the opposition he generates to projects have run developers right out of town. He’s bringing this city to its knees, and before long he’s going to turn Vista into a slum.”

Recently, Von Haden has split with his colleagues over another issue: redevelopment. Most council members agree that like its neighbors, Vista should use redevelopment revenue to revitalize the city’s aging, sorry-looking downtown.

But Von Haden, who led a drive that killed redevelopment plans in the city 10 years ago, believes downtown merchants should shoulder the financial burden for any improvements through assessment districts and private investment.

His opposition has succeeded in placing the redevelopment question on the November ballot. It has also sparked angry words from Flick, who has called Von Haden “anti-everything,” determined to “bring this city to a standstill” and “unwilling to offer any solutions of his own to very genuine problems.”

Although contemptuous of national politics--”I’m a member of the Democrats but only because they’re not quite as bad as the Republicans”--Von Haden’s interests clearly transcend local issues. Indeed, he’s quick to express strong, occasionally unorthodox opinions on most topics of the day.

A fervent peace activist, Von Haden condemns the superpowers and other countries for their nuclear weapons arsenals--”You shouldn’t be able to kill 1,000 people that easily”--and advocates international conversion to economies “not solely preoccupied with war preparation.”

He believes the nation’s tax system is inequitable and should be overhauled so that fees better match services rendered, and he has designed a “preferential” voting system--a voter casts ballots for two candidates to “better express the majority”--that is a hybrid of several European models and his own ideas.

As for religion, Von Haden does not embrace any organized faith, although he and Selma occasionally attend services at the Vista Unitarian Church and send money to the Quakers.

But the councilman does believe spiritual matters “are the most important of all our activities. It’s just that I can’t feel religious between 10 and 11 on Sunday mornings.”

Anchoring Von Haden’s philosophy of life are the writings of economist Ralph Borsodi, who advocated decentralism--the theory that people are happier, more productive and better off when organized on a small scale.

“Borsodi said that just because some things have to be done on a large scale doesn’t mean everything does,” Von Haden said. “Take food production. It’s better to have small farms, individual gardens, rather than these massive, miles-long operations. Another idea of Borsodi’s was that you should get out into the country and take care of yourself.”

The Von Hadens practice what they preach. Until the council began consuming most of his time, Von Haden, a vegetarian, maintained a garden that produced nearly all the food the family needed.

Wary of the additives and impurities in tap water, Von Haden built a solar still, a fascinating gizmo that “gets all the gook out.” Water is poured in a steel tank covered by a sheet of glass, and when the sun comes through and warms the water, the moisture rises, hits the glass, condenses and then runs into a little collecting trough.

The water is popular with many of the Von Hadens neighbors, who routinely drop by to trade home-grown produce for a few bottles of the brew.

He belongs to a panoply of liberal political groups--”If it’s working to preserve our natural resources, prevent war or make the world a better place for people we’re probably a member”--and frequently digresses from council matters to expound on a provocative book or article he read on some worldly topic.

Last year, despite the vehement opposition of some of his council colleagues, Von Haden helped a group of residents form a sister cities program designed to establish ties with a community in the Soviet Union.

Von Haden does not intend to run again when his term expires in 1986, believing that “permanent politicians” make for bad government. But his retirement from council politics will be anything but inactive.

Indeed, Von Haden will take on a monumental task, one certain to dwarf his battles over growth in Vista. Not surprisingly, it’s a pursuit that’s downright iconoclastic.

“I plan,” Von Haden confided with a grin, “to rewrite the Ten Commandments.”