Goodby, Supervisor Pedro

Goodby, Pedro.

I know, his name is really Pete, Los Angeles County Supervisor Pete Schabarum. But cynics have been calling him Pedro since last year, when he plucked Latino ancestry from a previously unpublicized branch of the family tree, apparently in an attempt to fit in better with the increasingly Hispanic electorate of his San Gabriel Valley district.

Sadly, the revelation about his Mexican grandmother couldn’t save Schabarum’s job. Federal Judge David Kenyon rejected Schabarum’s plea for protection as a “Hispanic individual” and performed radical surgery on the 1st District’s boundaries. Schabarum already was talking about retirement. The judge merely made it certain. On Tuesday, another supervisor will be elected and sworn in on March 8.

So, Pete-Pedro, this is goodby from me, your fan for more than 40 years.

The first time I saw Pete Schabarum, he was a star running back for UC Berkeley’s Rose Bowl football teams. I was a junior high school student and a fanatical Cal fan, taking the long bus trip from East Oakland to Berkeley on Saturdays to watch the Bears. Even by the standards of those pre-steroid days, Schabarum was small. But he was a mean, straight-ahead kind of runner, tough enough to terrorize that generation’s Trojans and Bruins.

I was expecting the two of us would get along great when we ran into each other at the County Hall of Administration many years later, after Schabarum’s election to the Board of Supervisors. Fan meets boyhood hero. What could be better?

Somehow, it didn’t work out. Fanship and reporting don’t have much in common. I found that out soon after Schabarum took office. I’d written a story about how some fat-cat contributors threw him a victory luncheon. As political sins go, it wasn’t much. But I wrote the story with great enthusiasm, and the next day the television crews were at the Hall of Administration to follow up.

We reporters followed Schabarum down the short hallway from the supervisors’ chambers to their private elevator. Pete didn’t want to talk, and backed into the elevator, looking very mad. A television reporter pushed me into the elevator--and into Pete. I don’t know why. Maybe he was looking for action footage at 11. For a second, I feared Schabarum might slug me. Pete just glared.

Later, our relationship mellowed. Or as mellow as it could be, given Pete’s personality. For Pete’s modus operandi is bullying. He treats everybody as if they were linebackers for the opposing team. My reporting MO is to never let an attack go unchallenged. Conflict was inevitable.

Whenever I wrote something he didn’t like, he told me. If I thought he was out of line, I told him. At one point, Rita Dimond, his press secretary, was determined to patch things up between us. I went up to his office for the big peace meeting. He opened by saying a story I’d written was dead wrong. I replied that he was wrong. Pretty soon, we were swearing at each other.

That didn’t end the meeting. The only people Pete hates worse than people who disagree with him are those who won’t fight back. So before I left the office, we’d settled things, much to Dimond’s bewilderment and satisfaction.

We had a lot of other fights. Pete was always getting mad at various members of The Times reporting staff and refusing to speak to them. When that occasion arose, Pete inevitably offered to talk to another reporter, one he might find more agreeable. Pete, I’d say, we can’t let you pick your own reporter. Anyway, I knew he’d never find a reporter he liked.

You can see I have mixed emotions about Pete’s departure. Reporters collect characters. Pete is valuable merchandise. I feel like a salesman who’s lost his most popular model.

I’m saying that even though our last contacts haven’t been pleasant.

When I was given this column, Pete said he was pleased. You’re going legitimate, he said. Instead of slanting your news stories, you can come right out and express your far-left point of view.

I thanked him and went away thinking our relationship had entered a new, more positive phase. I was wrong. He hated my columns. I saw him at a political dinner last year and he gave me a look far more sour than the food warranted. I figured it must be me, and so I didn’t go near him.

The last time I heard from Pete was in December, after I had written that the power of the county supervisors was overrated.

He sent me a Xerox of the column with a piece of yellow stickum paper attached. On it he wrote:

“To Bill Boyarsky,

Another example of your grossly exaggerated ability as a journalist.

Pete Schabarum” Goodby, Pedro. This time you get the last word.