Forget Signs--What’s Your Area Code?

There is a building in Pasadena where they make new area codes for Southern California. If you call directory assistance, the operator will not admit this building exists. Its number is unlisted. But somewhere in the dungeons of this Pac Bell office, right now, a new area code is being planned for L.A.

Not all of L.A., of course. Just certain parts. Once again, the city has outgrown 213 and some neighborhoods must be marked for exile to a new number, a new identity. Eventually, in the next three or four years, a visitation will take place in the dark of night. Whole blocks, small cities, will be taken away, never to see 213 again.

This is not happy news, I know, and thus far the phone company has kept it secret. Those of you who survived the 818 split in 1984 probably thought you were safe. Well, you are not. This thing could hit anyplace, snatch anyone’s 213. It won’t be pretty.

If you don’t understand the repercussions, think of it this way: there are only three area codes that mean anything in this country. They are 212 in Manhattan, 202 in Washington, D.C., and our own 213. Everyday, from dawn to midnight, 212 gets on the horn to 213 and vice versa. In turn, both 212 and 213 light up the fiber-optics to 202. These three form the supreme troika of codes; they run the country, and you’re either in this troika or you’re out. Soon, a big chunk of L.A. is going to be out.

And who’s to blame for this new split? Not Pac Bell, as tempting as that might be. No, it’s us. It’s the auto phoners, the faxers, the modem users, the multiliners. We are eating up phone numbers so fast that even the 818 break-off did not suffice. So we must make a sacrifice to our phone greed, a sacrifice of neighborhoods.

And the issue, of course, is which neighborhoods.

Take a look at a map of 213 and you will see how hard the choice will be. Compared to this, the 818 thing was easy. With 818, Pac Bell simply ran the boundary down the ridgeline of the Hollywood Hills. Everyone to the north was out. There was such a logic to it that the whining of the 818’ers was fruitless.

This time, there’s no geography to use. That means the company has to make its decision on cultural grounds. Should the Westside be lopped off? Just picture the wailing. Or should downtown become the cultural amputee, cut off from its telephonic roots?

In truth, Pac Bell could go after the smaller players, like East L.A. or South-Central. There’s one major problem with this strategy: it would leave the company vulnerable to the charge that Latinos and blacks had been gerrymandered out of the code, leaving 213 to the rich whites. As I say, this could get ugly.

And there’s the matter of the new number itself. This country has been gobbling area codes so fast that only a few remain available. The phone company won’t reveal these numbers, but that’s OK. We’ve made our own calculations, based on the arcane rules of area code formation. The list of possibilities looks pretty much like this: 310, 410, 903, 909, 910.

In my mind, there’s only one choice. The numbers ending in 10 are entirely too friendly for L.A. They’re codes for the suburbs. And 903 is nowhere, a nebbish. That leaves 909, a great code. Nine-Oh-Nine has dark power, it’s a sort of Darth Vader number. Nine-Oh-Nine could carry on the struggle with New York.

All of which leads me to my modest proposal. As we know, show biz has always existed as a separate community in L.A., a world that’s hidden and unavailable to the minions. Swell. Let’s recognize that, draw a circle around the show biz neighborhoods and give them this new power code, 909. Then the rest of the city, with the old 213, could disengage and go its own way.

Think of it. Outside the perimeter of 909, real people would matter once again. Historians, plumbers and algebra teachers could get reservations at restaurants. When someone slapped a cop, they’d just go to court and take their medicine with no fuss. Newspapers, spared the celebrity fever, would have more space to print stories about lost dogs.

As for the new 909’ers, they would hate it at first but soon adjust. Here would be a universe all their own, uncluttered by the rest of us. Only the trade papers would be circulated, no need to read other news. Only white limos would purr down the streets.

So consider carefully, Pac Bell. This plan has possibilities and, after all, someone has to get the ax. Brood on it.