The Effort to Destroy Coliseum

The Great Coliseum Teardown caper is a perfect example of a muddled political system in the Los Angeles Basin.

The Coliseum Commission wants to save the 67-year-old Coliseum by destroying it, replacing the stadium with something modern, equipped with more expensive seats and pricey corporate boxes. The beneficiary of this--plus at least $30 million in cash--would be Al Davis, a k a Raider Al, owner of the Raiders football team.

A Times Poll published Monday showed most residents have enough good sense to be against the demolition. A total of 54% said they were opposed. That makes sense. The Coliseum is a well-loved symbol--the home of both the 1932 and 1984 Olympics. The earlier games provided a psychic and economic salve against the Great Depression; the 1984 Games still are heralded as a rare civic moment when everything in this complicated metropolis seemed to work.

The Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum Commission, however, tends to be immune from public pressure--and sometimes even common sense.

That’s because of the way it was formed in the 1920s. Needing to finance a new stadium, civic backers--as resourceful as politicians today--concocted a complex governing body composed of appointees from the city, the county and the state. The state got dealt in because it ran the old agricultural district fair at Exposition Park, adjacent to USC, where the Coliseum was built. To prevent any single government level from grabbing control, each was granted the opportunity to appoint an equal number of members.

There are many other such special agencies in the region, created to perform specific jobs. One of the most successful is the South Coast Air Quality Management District, which is forcing the basin to clean up air pollution. A well-known failure is the Southern California Rapid Transit District.

Failure or success, all have something important in common. Boards are appointed by elected officials from the state, the county or various cities. That means the public has no direct control.

To understand why the Coliseum Commission wants to tear down the Coliseum, you have to go back to January. Although the Raiders were out of the playoffs, Raider Al was still playing, faking Sacramento and Oakland into outdoing each other with outrageous offers. He wanted a smaller stadium, with highly profitable boxes.

The commission did not want to lose the Raiders, even if they haven’t been much of a team in recent years. The Lakers had abandoned the commission’s Sports Arena, and the Rams had moved to Anaheim. Losing another team would make the body even more of a civic laughingstock.

Despairing, the commission turned over management of the stadium, and the nearby Sports Arena, to Spectacor Management Group, which runs the stadium in Philadelphia, and MCA Inc., the local, and politically influential, entertainment conglomerate.

These companies proposed the teardown and remodeling. They would finance it and pay Davis millions for remaining in Los Angeles. Granted the Coliseum was in bad shape. But one main motive was to please Davis. The other was to add to the revenues of the private operators, who would make more money from a new stadium.

It was a deal put together in secret. On Jan. 9, when a public vote was scheduled, the commission first met behind closed doors and apparently made its final decision; reporters and preservationists trying to save the Coliseum waited outside. Finally, the commissioners emerged and, without comment, walked to the adjacent public hearing room.

You wouldn’t recognize most of them, especially the most important one--Richard Riordan, the chairman and a Los Angeles city representative. He is quiet, gray-haired and pleasant. Unknown to many, he is one of the most powerful men in town. When the supervisors are in trouble with property negotiations, or Mayor Tom Bradley requires help, or when Archbishop Roger Mahony needs worldly advice, they call Riordan. Next to him was the incoming chairman, Matthew Grossman, a state appointee, and an unknown quantity. They whispered frequently during the public meeting, with Grossman nodding as Riordan talked.

The open meeting was a charade--a fairly brief discussion followed by a unanimous vote. The highlight was an improbable statement from a Spectacor representative that ticket prices might be reduced as a result of the expensive project.

It all was a noteworthy example of the dangers of these special agencies. The next time a government body wants to take such a drastic action, we at least should have a chance to vote against the people who made the decision.