The Twisted Tale of a Beastly Battle of Innuendo and Smears
Oh, pity that Halloween has come and gone because here’s a sordid little tale, a horror story of the sort Stephen King might conjure up were he a chronicler of suspicions and conspiracies.
This column is marginally about cats and dogs gone to the hereafter and the people who loved them--which, some may remember, was the subject of one of the horror writer’s novels and later a rather gory movie. More to the point, though, this is the twisted tale of a pet cemetery that critics complain has become downright beastly.
At first blush, the Los Angeles Pet Memorial Park is a tranquil oasis nestled in the dry hills of Calabasas, a Valhalla for dear departed Fido and Puss. It’s just down the street from Hidden Hills, a heaven on Earth for rich humans, rockers and stockbrokers who live along meandering roads named after the rustic mountain men who opened up the West but would be stopped cold at the front gate today.
Some 40,000 animal Loved Ones--including Hopalong Cassidy’s horse and the Little Rascals’ dog Spot--have found their Happier Hunting Ground in these shady acres. But the critics say the humans who run the place need a good swat with a rolled-up newspaper for mismanaging the final resting place of their beloved pets.
“It is just a pet cemetery,” said one dissident who asked that his name not be used because he fears retribution against his girlfriend’s dead pets. “It’s not like running the Hilton Hotel . . . They just keep the place clean and keep the records in order. It is about as easy as a paper route, but they are making it into something like Watergate.”
Most of the complainers asked that their names not appear in print because they fear vindictive managers might take it out on their pets’ remains. Park officials call such claims hogwash but nonetheless refuse to talk about the controversy.
“I will only say the cemetery went through some very difficult times,” said Dennis Polen, the park’s attorney and one of the founding members of SOPHIE--Save Our Pets’ History In Eternity--the group that now runs the cemetery.
The group trying to reform the park’s board of directors is called SOS--which stands for Save Our SOPHIE (not to be confused with other activist groups named SOS, such as Save Open Space or Save Our Shores). In a bitter campaign last summer, SOS tried to wrest control of the board from the SOPHIE mainstream.
It was a battle of innuendoes and smears.
Both sides bombarded cemetery clients with newsletters in BIG, bold, italic type warning in sometimes hysterical tones that disaster was imminent, the end near unless their side was elected to the board of directors.
Disaster, in this case, means development.
The SOPHIE side sent out a flyer featuring a photograph of a bulldozer near the park and the headline: “Are Developers Behind the Save Our SOPHIE Organization of Calabasas?”
Other mailings included:
“SOS means DANGER. . .Danger to SOPHIE.”
“BOARD FINALLY DISCLOSES SOPHIE IN ‘DIRE STRAITS.’ ”
Mailings are generously peppered with words like “frivolous” and “false,” “defamatory” and “malicious.”
One woman in SOS said she so distrusts the park manager that when her 16-year-old golden retriever, Mandy, died earlier this year, she arranged to have it buried on a day she knew the manager would not be around. She changed the date of burial three times to work around the manager’s schedule.
“No way was I going to sob over my dog’s grave with her around,” Sherrie Sachs said. “It was like planning for Desert Storm so I could have my private moment without her on my back. . . . I’ll never get over that for the rest of my life.”
It was not always like this.
In 1986, the SOPHIE-ites were hailed as heroes for buying the 64-year-old park from the Los Angeles chapter of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and saving it from development.
But six years later, critics complain, SOPHIE leaders have become autocratic and territorial--like mastiffs standing guard over their turf.
Opponents of the board claim it relies too heavily on high-priced attorneys and accountants to handle day-to-day operations.
For example, one critic contended, the park manager once called on an attorney to order a neighbor to take down a sheet hung on the cemetery’s fence to dry.
Yes, directors admit, the cemetery’s legal fees are unusually high. But there are reasons.
In 1990, directors contend in a newsletter, Hidden Hills officials were getting too cozy with a developer who wanted to build on the cemetery’s boundaries. All that grading and dust and construction would disrupt the cemetery’s operation. So, they claim, the SOPHIE board members fought to stop the development.
A year later, another legal challenge was mounted to prevent a company located next to the cemetery from hogging Old Scandia Lane, the tiny road that provides access to the park.
Then there was the most divisive battle of all. A former SOPHIE board member sued the current board to review the organization’s books, claiming she had been denied access. About the same time, the organization’s books were audited by the Internal Revenue Service. That august agency found no malfeasance, but the whole episode cost SOPHIE about $17,000 in legal and administrative fees.
SOS leaders claim those are just excuses and continue to demand changes from the SOPHIE board. “If something stinks, there is usually a reason,” Sachs said.
And so the battle goes round and round, like a dog chasing his tail. Or in this case, spinning in his grave.
