MWD Chief ‘s Style Stirs the Waters at Changing Agency : Management: Carl Boronkay’s aggressive leadership is being challenged by the drought and foes on the board.

Carl Boronkay is tilting back in his chair, carefully eyeing one of his bosses across a table set with salads, sourdough and iced teas. The two men are talking water policy, a delicate topic in California’s fifth straight year of drought. It is clear they disagree.

Boronkay, who runs the agency that delivers water to 17 million Southern Californians, tests an argument, deep voice booming out. His adversary, a senior member of the agency’s board of directors, begins to respond, but Boronkay interrupts, spouting out a new barrage.

A sheen of sweat gathers on the director’s brow. A vein pulses in his temple. Just shy of the boiling point, he rises in exasperation, shakes his head and walks away. Boronkay watches him go and gives a weak smile, chagrined yet oddly satisfied.

“My predecessor liked everything smooth, everything calm,” the general manager says, as if to explain the tense exchange to those remaining at the lunch table. “But I’m not like that. . . . I do seem to enjoy a good fight.”

These days, Carl Boronkay seems to be trading punches wherever he goes.

As chief of the Metropolitan Water District of Southern California, Boronkay’s mission is to meet the water needs of half the state’s population, a burgeoning, diverse clientele scattered in more than 225 communities from the desert to the sea. This would be a titanic task in any era. Today, the demands are unprecedented--and the foes are multiplying.

His customers are cranky, weary of drought and annoyed by the inconveniences of water rationing. Northern California farmers--whose water Boronkay aims to divert to his thirsty urban patrons--are mad as well, viewing him as a selfish, crafty bully whose maneuvers will spoil their rural way of life.

Even at home, in the familiar corridors of the MWD’s Los Angeles headquarters, the general manager is ducking bullets. The 51-member MWD board, for years a sleepy bunch that rarely challenged Boronkay’s aggressive leadership, has awakened, and a flock of newcomers are agitating for a piece of the power. Accustomed during his seven-year tenure to a board with unswerving faith in his judgment, Boronkay now is often on the defensive--and has even become acquainted with defeat.

“Carl has an authoritarian style, and he’s used to a passive, timid board, one that he can drag along behind him,” said Tim Brick, an MWD director representing Pasadena. “The board is changing now. There are people who want to be players. That has been a threat to Carl.”

And so at 61--an age when many senior executives are mapping retirement plans--Boronkay is suddenly on the hot seat. Is he worried? Heavens no. True to form, the general manager claims to be exhilarated by the process, and appears calm and confident amid the chaos.

“This job is terribly stimulating, an unending challenge,” Boronkay said recently from a high-backed leather chair in his wood-paneled office. “The issues and personalities are changing, but I’m simply fighting harder . . . I still enjoy coming to work.”

To most Californians, Boronkay’s name is probably about as familiar as the county tax assessor’s. The drought has brought a splash of spotlight his way, but water for the most part remains a resource taken for granted by the populace. Even now, during one of the driest years in the state’s history, few stop to wonder who is responsible for keeping their pipes full.

Powerful Post

In the insular world of water, Boronkay is a man to be reckoned with. With the exception of Gov. Pete Wilson and the state director of water resources, David Kennedy, few can equal his influence in California’s water fraternity.

“Regardless of its leadership, Metropolitan is the major player, the major-domo in statewide water,” said Tom Clark, general manager of the Kern County Water Agency. “Beyond that, Carl has been a very skillful and effective advocate for Southern California.”

Carl Kymla, who has worked with four general managers as an MWD board member, calls Boronkay “the best we’ve ever had,” crediting him with recruiting “top-flight people” and bringing “a new dimension to water management at a time when that’s just what we needed.”

E. Thornton Ibbetson, a 33-year veteran on the MWD board, agreed: “He’s the kind of general manager you always hoped to find--strong, decisive, dedicated.”

Others lament that there has been no significant expansion of the Southland’s water supply during Boronkay’s watch at MWD. In fact, unless reliable new sources of water are found soon, shortages in the booming region may become routine--possibly before the end of the decade.

“We have not developed the water supplies to protect us against a fifth year of drought,” said Mike Madigan, an MWD board member from San Diego. “That’s the responsibility of a lot of people, but also, by definition, it is the responsibility of the person who holds the title of general manager.”

Judging by his public persona, Boronkay appears to bear his considerable burdens as if they were weightless. A lawyer by training, Boronkay is savvy, articulate, bright and nimble on his feet. Witty and personable, he cloaks his supreme self-assurance in self-deprecation, a technique that can soften up the steeliest opponent.

His image accentuates this effect. The briefcase is plain and black, the office spacious but decidedly modest for a man who makes $180,000 a year: walnut furnishings, brass fixtures and a single painting, a pastoral scene.

Square-rimmed, tortoise-shell glasses give his jowly face an owlish, avuncular look, reminiscent of a college professor. His walk is almost a shuffle, and his shoulders hunch forward a bit, in a weary, semi-slouch.

However, Boronkay’s eyes may be the most telling characteristic. Flashing through his spectacles, they betray a sharp tongue and incisive mind.

“You talk to Carl and he comes across like such an aw-shucks kind of guy, like a poor, old lawyer with a fading memory,” said Gerald Meral, executive director of the Planning and Conservation League in Sacramento. “But he knows exactly what he’s doing. I wouldn’t want to play poker with him.”

Behind Boronkay’s public image lurks a very different man, say some of the 1,900 employees who work for him. Stern. Impatient. Inflexible. Mercurial. “It’s important to catch Carl in a good mood,” remarks one longtime MWD staffer who is among Boronkay’s admirers, “or you could be in for a very unpleasant experience.”

“Meetings with Carl can be like an inquisition, with him playing judge, jury and prosecutor,” says another veteran MWD official. “I personally believe there are division directors here who are virtually paralyzed because they are so preoccupied with trying to anticipate what Carl would like or think.”

Some present and former board members also find fault with his adversarial--some use the word imperious-- style. “Carl is heavily into control, and he is absolutely certain he is right all of the time,” said Christine Reed, who represents Santa Monica on the board. “We frequently have to remind him that some of us have worthy opinions, too.”

Others resent his body language, which includes reclining in his chair, smirking or even leaving the room when he tires of what he may consider needless debate during board sessions.

“The smirk represents an exercise of power for Carl, and it really marginalizes you,” said Robert Gottlieb, a professor of urban planning at UCLA and a former MWD board member. “It’s a signal to others that whoever is speaking has gone off half-cocked, is an ignoramus. . . . This is very demoralizing.”

Those who have tried to psychoanalyze the general manager suggest that his sizable ego and strong style may stem from the fact that he is, as his wife, Lenore, puts it, “a totally self-made man.”

Born in the Bronx at the onset of the Depression, Boronkay grew up in a poor family, living in a crowded tenement. His mother at one time kept the family afloat by selling fruits and vegetables from a pushcart. His father was beset by ill health and worked odd jobs when he could.

Carl stood out among the five Boronkay children, recalls younger brother Irving, a retired schoolteacher who lives in the San Fernando Valley. He was “the calm, handsome and rational one. . . . We always knew Carl was going to make something of himself. I, of course, was very jealous.”

The family moved West when Boronkay was 12, to East Los Angeles, where the children attended Roosevelt High School. Boronkay went on to UCLA.

He dabbled in psychology, anthropology and even premed courses, and then settled on sociology, intending on a career in social work. After graduation, his plans abruptly changed.

“My girlfriend heard that UCLA was opening a law school, and so she got me an application and suggested I fill it out,” Boronkay said. “It was clear she wasn’t going to marry a social worker.”

In fact, Boronkay wound up marrying someone else. Lenore, his wife of 37 years, is a retired elementary school teacher. The couple have two grown children and live comfortably--but not at all lavishly--in the hills of Tarzana.

After serving in the Army, Boronkay worked for a small law firm before moving on to the state attorney general’s office, where he etched an impressive record that ended with a stint as chief of the public resources section. The law proved a perfect fit for Boronkay, who delights in word games, debate and outsmarting opponents. Indeed, despite his accomplishments as MWD’s general manager, Boronkay regards his opportunity to argue before the U.S. Supreme Court as the high point of his professional life.

That episode came in 1982, when Boronkay was MWD’s general counsel, and the case involved efforts by five Indian tribes to take more water from the Colorado River, a key source for Southern California. Boronkay won the case, and a framed copy of the court’s opinion, paired with a photograph of the justices presiding that year, is one of the few items decorating his office wall.

He has another souvenir as well: “I still have the suit I wore that day . . . black pin-stripes,” Boronkay confides, recalling the event with obvious nostalgia. “I suppose I make too much of it, but it was a terrific experience.”

An Outsider

Compared to his colleagues at similar agencies around the state, Boronkay is, in a sense, a fish out of water. Traditionally, the levers of power in his world have been manned by engineers--technicians who worked their way up from the pump house and are well-versed in the mysterious language of “firm yield” and “evapotranspiration.” Boronkay is an outsider in this hydrologic brotherhood--and to some, the worst kind of outsider: a lawyer.

“I have very close friends in the engineering profession who take umbrage that the leadership of a water agency is in the hands of a lawyer,” Boronkay concedes. “I don’t have the traditional approach to water development, with new facilities as the beginning and end of it. . . . But I am perhaps more open-minded to new ideas.”

His supporters could not agree more. Boronkay’s skills, they say, are perfectly suited for a time when the typical solutions to water shortages--the construction of new dams and canals--have become virtually impossible to achieve.

He became general manager in 1984, a difficult time for MWD. Two years earlier, the state’s voters had defeated the Peripheral Canal, a facility that would have allowed for increased imports of Northern California water and was seen as crucial to the Southland’s future water security.

“When Carl came on he realized we couldn’t sit around and hope (the canal) would happen someday,” said Myron Holburt, a retired assistant general manager of MWD. “He knew we had to look for other ways to get reliable water.”

Under Boronkay’s leadership, the MWD embarked on efforts that seemed exotic by industry standards, programs that dramatically broadened Southern California’s water sources. Among them are the “banking” of water in aquifers for use in dry years; the lining of federally owned irrigation canals to prevent seepage and divert the water saved for urban use; and payments to MWD member agencies that clean up their contaminated ground water, thereby reducing demand on imported supplies.

The tour de force of the Boronkay era, most experts say, is an agreement reached in 1990 with the Imperial Irrigation District, a massive consumer of Colorado River water for agriculture. Under the agreement, achieved after six years of negotiations, MWD is paying for $220 million in improvements to Imperial’s water distribution system. In exchange, MWD will get the water conserved through that effort--an estimated 106,000 acre-feet a year.

Compared to MWD’s total supply, that amount is of little consequence. Because the accord represented a rare permanent transfer of water from farmers to the city, it was widely hailed as one of the most important breakthroughs in California’s arcane water structure in decades.

“That deal was the first of its kind . . . and it required a tremendous amount of political sophistication and patience,” said Assemblyman Richard Katz (D-Sylmar), a frequent Boronkay critic.

On a less tangible level, Boronkay is applauded for participating in ongoing negotiations with environmentalists and agriculture, a landmark effort aimed at finding compromise remedies for California’s long-term water problems.

“Carl has shown a willingness to collaborate with unusual partners when the need dictates it,” said Thomas Graff, senior attorney with the Environmental Defense Fund. “That is a quality his predecessors--many of whom simply viewed environmentalists as the enemy--did not have.”

Building bridges with such allies has led Boronkay to keep a feverish travel schedule. The general manager spent about $40,000 traveling last year, taking more than 50 out-of-town trips to lobby legislators in Sacramento and Washington, negotiate with adversaries and attend conferences.

While some directors criticize his absences from Los Angeles, others believe the travel is vital to MWD’s future. Boronkay says he does not enjoy the hectic pace but believes face-to-face negotiations are “part of what’s necessary to do this job.”

Although most describe his legacy as impressive, some board members lament that Boronkay has been unable to make progress toward what many see as the key goal--completion of the State Water Project. The sprawling network of dams, reservoirs and aqueducts funnels water from northern rivers to the Southland, supplying more than half of the region’s needs. Since the defeat of the Peripheral Canal nine years ago, no new facilities have been added to the vital system.

“He should have been pushing, pushing, pushing on the State Water Project,” argues Mike Nolan, a former board member. “He failed in that mission. We blew it . . . and today we have people on mandatory rationing.”

Aims at Farmers

In his quest for new water supplies to offset the permanent shortages looming in Southern California’s future, Boronkay has recently trained his sights on the state’s farm industry. Agriculture consumes 80% of California’s usable water in a normal year; Boronkay believes it is time for the farmers to give some of it up.

“We all like farmers, we grow up drawing crayon pictures of farmers,” he said. “But there is no way 17 million people are going to be denied water while farmers are spraying it on alfalfa and rice. . . . I’m laying it on the line . . . because if we don’t get moving, we could be in real jeopardy.”

This posture--and Boronkay’s support for controversial state legislation that would streamline water transfers from country to city--has quickly won Boronkay enemies across the rice fields of Northern California. More important, some observers believe it may backfire, arguing that the general manager’s aggressiveness has alienated agriculture and eroded budding support for voluntary water transfers in the farm industry.

“It’s as if he’s telling the rest of the world that we are the 800-pound gorilla and we’re going to roll over you,” said Clark, the Kern County Water Agency chief. “That, of course, confirms all their worst suspicions of L.A. . . . I really question Carl’s judgment on this.”

Meanwhile, Boronkay has begun to encounter turbulent waters right in his own front yard. A cadre of new--and newly invigorated--board members, their public profile heightened by the drought, have begun openly challenging Boronkay and his staff, turning once-tranquil meetings into acrimonious debates.

Some directors are grumbling about the manager’s high-visibility style, complaining that he takes stands on controversial matters in the press and at public meetings without soliciting input or approval from the board.

“I believe Carl has trod on the policy-making mandate of the board,” says director Brick, who nonetheless supports many of Boronkay’s positions on the issues.

Director Reed agreed: “It sometimes seems like he wants us to go away and sit in a hole.”

In fact, Boronkay says he has been misjudged, that he welcomes the change: “We are at a period of, not turmoil, but certainly nervousness and rethinking. We have disagreements. I think that’s healthy. . . . That shows the board is independent, that individual members are doing their thinking. As long as it’s in good faith, I don’t mind.”

Boronkay’s good friend, Robert Will, confirmed this assessment.

“Carl seems to be thriving,” said Will, MWD’s lobbyist in Washington. “Sometimes we’ll sit down and share a beer and he’ll give a big sigh and indicate that he gets a little tired now and then. But for the most part, he’s turned on and ready to go.”

Profile: Carl Boronkay Here is a look at Boronkay, the general manager of the Metropolitan Water District of Southern California, which serves 17 million people from Ventura to San Diego. Age: 61

Hometown: New York City

Current Position: Has been general manager since 1984. One of highest paid public officials in Los Angeles County, with salary of $180,000 a year. Manages 1,900 employees and annual budget of $780 million.

Education: Bachelor of arts degree in sociology, law degree from UCLA, master of laws degree from USC.

Career highlights: Worked in the state attorney general’s office, ending career there as chief of public resources section. Also, served two years in U.S. Army, concluding as an intelligence specialist.

Family: Boronkay and his wife, Lenore, have two grown children.

Interests: Enjoys reading, travel and classical music.