COLUMN ONE : Malathion Foes Begin to Swarm : Public opposition to Medfly spraying has suddenly grown from neighborhood grumbling into an organized political movement.

Actress Rue McClanahan of the hit television series “The Golden Girls” was shooting a new movie in Norwalk last month when she first heard the ominous whup-whup-whup of helicopters above her.

McClanahan and most of the film crew were inside a building at the time, but she winced at the bitter smell of malathion swirling around her in the night.

A few weeks later, McClanahan stood defiantly at a noisy protest in downtown Los Angeles with actor Jon Cypher of “Hill Street Blues” and 150 other demonstrators, singing to the tune of “Frere Jacques”: “Malathion, malathion, fills the air, they don’t care. . . . “

Not to be outdone by just two celebrities, the organizers of a demonstration a week later in West Los Angeles called in six cast members of the television show “Cheers,” including Ted Danson (Sam the bartender), Kirstie Alley (Rebecca the bar manager) and Rhea Perlman (Carla the waitress).

The cast spoke to the crowd, mugged for the TV news cameras and then took off, leaving a gaggle of gas-mask clad demonstrators to march on to Westwood Village.

“Now it’s really taking off,” crowed Michael Bell, an organizer of the event. “I’m feeling flush at this point. Stars are sexy. They give us entree, like a skeleton key to power.”

In a town where a protest isn’t a protest until Hollywood turns out, the opposition to malathion spraying has blossomed into a potent force, replete with ample supplies of sign-waving demonstrators, political backing and, of course, celebrities.

Just two months ago, the complaints about spraying were barely an annoying buzz around the ears of state officials engrossed in their aggressive air campaign to combat the 372-square-mile Medfly infestation--the largest in Southern California’s history.

At the time, the only public official who took a stand against spraying was Monterey Park Mayor Pat Reichenberger, who peppered fly eradication officials with a barrage of complaints. At one demonstration in Orange County last month, just two people showed up.

But in just the last few weeks, public opposition to malathion spraying has grown from a grumbling neighborhood affair to an increasingly organized political movement.

State officials fear that this increasingly visible movement of celebrities, politicians and neighborhood protesters could force an end to spraying and allow the pesky Medfly to spread throughout the state--a disastrous prospect that they say would result in up to$200 million in crop losses, higher fruit prices and millions lost because of quarantines on California fruit.

Isi Siddiqui, assistant director of the state Department of Food and Agriculture, conceded that every time the helicopters take off for their nighttime forays, the state inches closer to losing the hearts and minds of the public below.

“Our hope is that before it gets there, we will be able to eradicate this thing and get out of L.A.,” he said.

Siddiqui believes that the Southern California Medfly war will be over by June.

But for opponents of aerial malathion spraying, who maintain that the pesticide, even in minute doses, can cause neurological damage, diarrhea, rashes and a host of other ailments, the spraying has already gone on for too long.

Southern California demonstrations in the last month have drawn up to 150 people, talk of a fruit boycott to protest the spraying is building and a savvy coalition of grass-roots groups has even set up a toll-free malathion hot line: 1-800-GO-TOXIN.

City councils in Monterey Park, Duarte, Huntington Beach, Garden Grove, Westminster, Brea and Cypress, as well as the Los Angeles and San Marino school boards, have taken formal action in just the last two weeks demanding an end to malathion spraying or urging the state to rely on alternatives.

Orange County, Garden Grove, Huntington Beach and Westminster filed suit against the state Thursday, seeking an injunction against malathion spraying in their cities that night. A Sacramento judge rejected the request, but the cities vowed to continue filing suits until the spraying stops.

“I knew it was an uphill battle,” said Marilyn Wiczynski, Garden Grove’s deputy city attorney. “But we’re not going to stop.”

In what has been the most serious political attack to date, state Sen. Art Torres (D-Los Angeles) unveiled two bills Tuesday that would effectively stop the state’s aerial campaign by banning repeated malathion spraying and requiring proof of the safety and effectiveness of the pesticide.

While the bills face certain warfare in the Legislature, Torres said at least it sends a signal to spraying supporters and state bureaucrats that the easy days of spraying are over.

“This marks the end of our quiet frustration and resignation,” said Torres, chairman of the Senate Toxics and Public Safety Management Committee.

The anger over malathion spraying is nothing new to California.

Veterans of the 1980-82 Medfly war in Northern California recall helicopters being shot at by disgruntled homeowners, Red Cross evacuation centers being set up to shelter spray zone refugees, and even some residents sobbing in the street for fear of what malathion might do.

That infestation--still the largest in the state’s history--spread to over 1,496 square miles in eight counties and required as many as 24 sprayings in some spots.

Siddiqui, a veteran of that earlier Medfly war, said 17 cities officially banned aerial spraying over their turf during that infestation. The state went ahead and sprayed anyway.

The city of San Jose went so far as to ban state helicopters from its airport. The state then shifted its takeoffs and landings to a Catholic cemetery and kept the location secret for security reasons.

“I’ve seen demonstrations with 5,000 people,” said Siddiqui, adding that he has received only about 175 letters complaining about the current spraying program--a minor outcry compared to the Northern California Medfly war.

But Siddiqui’s boss, Food and Agriculture Director Henry J. Voss, said he is always concerned that the opposition could stop the spraying. With at least six more months of spraying to go, Voss said, there is plenty of time for outrage to build.

“Every time we do this, the temperature goes up,” he said.

The department maintains that malathion is safe in the minute doses used in aerial spraying. In fact, state officials say, it’s safer than a standard pet flea collar.

The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency and the state Department of Health have both cleared the use of malathion for aerial spraying, saying that the amount used--about 2.4 ounces per acre--poses no significant danger to humans, Siddiqui said.

Malathion is a pesticide commonly used by the agricultural industry and home gardeners to kill such insects as aphis, red spider mites, mealybugs, leaf hoppers, fleas and houseflies. The warning label on a bottle of malathion spray cautions users not to swallow or inhale the pesticide in concentrated form.

But its defenders say that it is one of the safest pesticides in existence and, when diluted to the level used in aerial spraying, is harmless to humans.

In 1981, B. T. Collins, then director of the California Conservation Corps, tried to drive that point home by drinking a glass of diluted malathion.

The mere mention of Collins’ performance today evokes sighs of pity from anti-malathion protesters. “God, I hope he wasn’t planning on having children,” one said recently.

The passage of nine years has only intensified opposition to aerial spraying, which took place in parts of Southern California in 1980, 1981 and 1982 and again in 1987, 1988, 1989 and now 1990.

Opponents of aerial malathion spraying say that while people may be willing to accept occasional fly wars, four straight years have been enough to raise doubts about the efficiency and safety of the sprayings.

Since the discovery of a single Medfly in Elysian Park last July 20, about 50 cities have been sprayed, some as many as four times, according to eradication program spokeswoman Anita Brown.

Affected areas are now sprayed every 21 days, but that will jump to every 15 days in April, and then every seven days in June if the infestation continues. State officials figure that some cities may be sprayed as many as 12 times by the end of June.

“I think the state has got to come through and say that there is a deadline,” said Pasadena Mayor William Thomson. “If they don’t do that, we, like a lot of other cities, will reach the saturation point and say, ‘No more.’ ”

Rising out of this sticky malathion goo has been a veritable alphabet soup of protest groups, such as Safe Alternatives to Fruit Fly Eradication (SAFE), Citizens Against Urban Spraying (CAUS), Residents Against Spraying Pesticide (RASP), Coalition Against Malathion and Garden Grove Residents Against Malathion Spraying (GGRAM).

A cadre of veteran activists from a variety of causes celebres have jumped into the fray.

Carol Rosin, a speaker at several rallies, was one of the leading opponents against the Star Wars space defense system; Phyllis Rabins, a CAUS member, has been a perennial gadfly in the battle to clean up the Operating Industries landfill in Monterey Park, and SAFE’s Michael Bell is a longtime animal rights activist.

But many demonstrators had never been involved in an issue before they saw the tiny malathion drops on their cars or heard the thundering flights of helicopters overhead.

Jean Hinsley, a Norwalk housewife and a sales representative for a fashion company, said it was only after she got sick after a night of spraying that she launched into her campaign against malathion. Hinsley polled 100 households in her neighborhood to see if they suffered from the same problems, and later organized a demonstration on a busy corner of Rosecrans Avenue. Only 20 people showed up.

“It felt futile,” she said. “At the time, it was a little discouraging. Lonely would be an accurate term.”

Monterey Park Mayor Reichenberger, who declares that she is no environmentalist and is proud to be a smoker, said she became involved after her son felt ill after one night of spraying.

She had received “just a couple of complaints” from constituents before then, but she felt angry enough to start her own campaign.

“I just felt so strongly about it,” she said. “I had never paid much attention to it before.”

Reichenberger has become one of the more visible figures coordinating the political opposition to malathion spraying.

Since she became involved, the mayor has appeared before 15 city councils (including her own, which passed a resolution Monday demanding an end to malathion spraying), 35 neighborhood groups and appeared on television four times.

At least six cities have passed measures against spraying since Reichenberger began her campaign in November. Officials in West Hollywood, Los Angeles, Pasadena, Norwalk, Monrovia, Burbank, Anaheim and Laguna Beach are also considering various actions in the next few weeks. As a sign of the building momentum, even cities that haven’t had a single drop of malathion fall on their soil, such as Pomona, have jumped in.

“If they can’t prove it’s safe, we don’t want to be guinea pigs down here,” said Pomona Mayor Donna Rice, who has already sent a letter of protest to the state.

Resolutions and ordinances are only symbolic gestures since the state’s authority to spray under a state of emergency declared last August by Gov. George Deukmejian overrides any local authority.

But if there is one area where the opposition has managed to score a victory, it is in the battle of the television cameras.

The pro-malathion forces are led by publicity-shy Los Angeles County Agricultural Commissioner Leon Spaugy and state Food and Agriculture director Voss, who are about as visible as a Medfly in deep winter.

But bring out Ted Danson or Kirstie Alley--now you’ve got a media event.

“We bring them out for the same reason People magazine puts them on the cover,” said Doretta Zemp, the head of Coalition Against Malathion. “Let’s face it, sports and entertainment people are like royalty in this country.”

Zemp said she managed to get six members of the “Cheers” cast at Tuesday’s West Los Angeles demonstration because of John Ratzenberger, who portrays Cliff the mailman on the series. The actor has been a longtime supporter of environmental issues and markets a biodegradable packing material called Eco-Pack.

A few days before the demonstration, Ratzenberger asked one of the show’s assistants to call Zemp. “You have any celebrities?” the assistant asked.

Zemp jumped at the chance. “It’s what the general public wants,” she said. “They want a king and queen.”

Many of the celebrities have a longstanding involvement in environmental issues. Consider Danson, who founded the American Oceans Campaign, an environmental group advocating the protection of the oceans and sea life.

Danson told the anti-malathion rally: “I’m not really here to make a huge statement today. I’m here to educate myself. (But) something does not feel right. You have to admit it’s a little strange that you have to run out and cover your pools and your sandboxes and tape your windows.”

But regardless of their backgrounds in environmental issues, the value of the celebrities, Zemp said, is that they are simply listened to, as Cypher proved at Sen. Torres’ press conference Tuesday at Huntington Drive Elementary School in El Sereno.

After Torres announced his two bills to stop repeated aerial sprayings, several speakers, including Cypher, took center stage before the television cameras.

“As Chief Daniels, I know a lot about cover-up,” he said in a stern, cop-like voice. “I charge them (state officials) with covering up the information you will hear today.”

The crowd of about 100 parents, schoolchildren and community activists broke out in cheers.

Cypher, whose Mt. Washington neighborhood has been sprayed several times, was followed at the microphone by a series of other speakers who decried the dangers of malathion and the insensitivity of the state.

As they spoke, signs proclaiming, “Stop Poisoning Us!” or “Boycott California Fruit!” bobbed lazily above their heads; children milled around the schoolyard toting orange-and-black paper Medfly masks.

After the last speaker finished, Torres was presented with his own Medfly mask and the assembled reporters and camera crews began to pack up their equipment.

Just as the crowd started to dissipate, Cypher suddenly burst out in a deep, booming, theatrical voice, chanting: “Just say no to oranges! Just say no to oranges! Just say no to oranges!”

Everyone turned to look.

Then the crowd erupted: “Just say no to oranges!”