Snyder Navigates Tough Political and Legal Straits : City Hall: Ex-councilman under investigation remains upbeat--and influential--through three rocky decades.

Art Snyder, the irrepressible black hat of Los Angeles City Hall, has few illusions about his reputation. He is only half joking these days when he tells his friends in city government: “I can endorse you or your opponent, whichever would do the most good.”

Investigations, scandal and an aura of political intrigue have been familiar companions in the long public career of the lobbyist and former councilman, whom authorities are probing for alleged involvement in a campaign money-laundering network.

Although no charges have been filed--and Snyder denies the allegations--the investigations by the state Fair Political Practices Commission and the city Ethics Commission have again cast a cloud over one of City Hall’s most colorful and controversial figures.

But the resilient, redheaded attorney, who as a teen-ager ran with a Lincoln Heights street gang, has navigated difficult political and legal straits before--always managing to prosper and wield clout through three rocky decades around City Hall.

“I think he is a legend,” said former Councilwoman Pat Russell, who sat next to Snyder in the council chambers. “He is somebody who goes to the edge. It’s part of his personality.”

“I think he loves controversy; enjoys the enmeshment in it,” said Steve Afriat, a lobbyist and former City Hall aide who has worked with Snyder on fund raising.

In his first extended interview since news of the investigations broke, the consummate political insider said he has been a magnet for controversy and inquiries because he is “interesting . . . dynamic” and takes a full-throttle approach to whatever he is doing. But he adds: “No way am I going to do anything against the law.”

Sipping coffee in his 37th-floor corner office high atop Bunker Hill--where the view spans the landscape of his route from barrio poverty to City Hall power and corporate towers--Snyder appeared unruffled by the latest chapter in his stormy political odyssey.

“I’ve become accustomed to it. . . . I’ve been willing to stand taller than anyone else, even if that means attracting lightning,” said the 60-year-old Snyder.

Like the current investigations--which he declined to discuss--Snyder’s troubles often have come at the crossroads of money and politics.

A former City Hall aide who captured an Eastside Los Angeles council seat in 1967, Snyder was a promising young star and a leading fund-raiser when questions about his ethics and tactics first arose. In 1975, a taxpayers group sued--and won a repayment to the city--after Snyder used a historic, city-owned residence in Barnsdall Park for a political reception.

A few years later, Snyder was removed as chairman of the council’s Planning Committee after disclosures that he invited lobbyists and others with business before his panel to a series of “informal” fund-raisers at his home. Soon after, Snyder was removed as the city’s representative on the South Coast Regional Coastal Commission amid similar allegations.

Federal investigators began poking into his fund-raising activities in the late 1970s and early ‘80s, Snyder and other sources said, though nothing came of it.

In 1982, Snyder was fined $14,000 by the FPPC--a record penalty at the time for a local official--for violating conflict-of-interest and financial disclosure laws. Among the charges: Snyder failed to report $142,000 in outside income, including rent payments that he had collected from a large Eastside anti-poverty agency for which he had voted to grant public funds.

Elsewhere along the way there was a string of car accidents in city vehicles, misdemeanor drunk driving charges and ugly divorce and child custody battles that generated well-publicized allegations that Snyder had abused his wife and daughter. Snyder denied the allegations, and prosecutors never filed charges.

Looking back, Snyder maintains that he did nothing improper--that he has been a victim of selective enforcement, a bitter ex-wife and manufactured controversies over vague and shifting standards of ethical conduct. Even the $14,000 penalty settlement he signed in 1982, admitting guilt in the conflict-of-interest case, was “simply and only a case of FPPC blackmail,” he said last week.

A lesser chain of scandals would have toppled many politicians. But Snyder, who learned Spanish and became a savvy infighter for his district as its demographics shifted to heavily Latino, beat back two recall elections. The last was just months before his 1985 resignation after 18 years on the council--when he bid a teary-eyed farewell to his colleagues, saying the toll of all the pressure was too great on his new wife.

But on the fast track of politics, Snyder views controversy and scandal as pit stops, not pileups.

“He’s got a real thick skin, you can get up and say anything you want (in a debate) about him or his client,” one longtime council aide said. “The next day, he’s back there smiling.”

Russell recalled fretting on her way to a council meeting several years ago after one particularly bad patch of publicity involving Snyder. What would she say to her seatmate? Then the back door to the council chambers swung open.

“He walks in big as life, smiling, with two reporters at his side,” Russell said. “My rehearsed speech of sympathy and understanding was down the drain.”

The bad guy image does not trouble him, Snyder said. “I don’t really care about it one way or the other. I’ve never insisted people like me.”

Snyder launched his law and lobbying practice with typical bravado and controversy. He sent eyebrow-raising letters to council members boldly pledging assistance in tapping his “major” clients for campaign contributions.

Since then, he has unabashedly used his access at City Hall on behalf of those clients, including prominent developers and cab companies. He is a fixture in the council chambers, where he often slips into restricted areas to buttonhole members.

Other times, he roams the halls, darts between offices and committee hearings and works the phones, servicing friendships and pitching his clients’ cases.

He often requires a bonus, in addition to his basic fees, if he wins a tough lobbying case, and brags about a 90% win rate at City Hall. He also boasts--and many in and out of City Hall agree--that he is a master of the arcane inner workings of city agencies and peculiarities of 15 council offices.

“I’m just very good . . . very persistent,” he said.

Bill Christopher, a former city planning commissioner and leader of a large coalition of grass-roots neighborhood groups, has butted heads with Snyder but confesses a “grudging respect” for the man.

“He knows how the city works and how the system works as well as anyone around town. He puts that knowledge to work for his clients.”

He also plays hardball. When one client, a downtown building partnership, became embroiled in a controversy over its plan to create a new hub for the garment industry, Snyder hired private inspectors to check opponents’ buildings for city code violations.

“Whatever you’re going to do, do it as hard as you can,” Snyder said.

That includes raising funds for City Hall politicians, who often must make crucial decisions on his clients’ projects.

“He wants to be No. 1. He wants to raise more money than anybody else,” said Afriat, the City Hall lobbyist.

Snyder said he has no idea how much he has helped raise for council members over the years. “All that I could,” he said with a grin.

Records and interviews indicate that the total could be in the hundreds of thousands of dollars, and nearly every city politician has benefited.

Today, Snyder is near the top of the list of key lobbyist-fund-raisers who city elected officials call for help in rounding up campaign donors. If they do not call, Snyder approaches them and volunteers his help.

In the current investigations, state and local authorities are probing allegations that Snyder’s prodigious fund raising may have included a scheme to recruit numerous individual contributors, who were secretly reimbursed.

A dark and complex behind-the-scenes portrait of improper fund-raising activity, allegedly involving Snyder, his law firm and several associates, emerges from nearly 100 pages of court documents filed by state and local authorities conducting the probes.

“The evidence appears to show a web of money-laundering emanating from the offices of . . . (Arthur K.) Snyder Law Corporation,” involving Snyder and other key employees, the court papers claim. Witnesses and banks records indicate that one employee of Snyder’s firm was given bundles of $100 bills to improperly reimburse herself and others that she recruited to make contributions, the records state.

And investigators suspect that Snyder, his firm and some business associates are the source of the laundered money. Money-laundering, any scheme to hide the source of campaign funds or get around contribution limits, can violate state and local campaign laws.

Snyder’s attorney strongly disputes that any evidence provided by investigators ties Snyder or his firm to illegal money-laundering. Snyder declined to discuss the investigation during an interview other than to discount it as a “virtually nonexistent” concern to him.

Critics contend that campaign contribution “rainmakers” such as Snyder often bolster access for special interests by bringing in large campaign sums.

“(It) attests to Snyder’s power and influence that . . . the council persons are calling him” for help in raising campaign funds, said Ruth Holton, acting executive director of California Common Cause, a citizens watchdog group. “I’m sure if Snyder calls some of the elected officials, he gets his calls returned.”

Snyder and council members deny that he gets special treatment because of the money he brings in. “I’m a ( council ) veterano ,” Snyder said. “I don’t have to buy access. . . . I’m not trying to turn contributions into votes.”

Downtown Councilwoman Rita Walters is among those who have put out the call to Snyder. As a result, she received several thousand dollars in contributions from Snyder’s clients, relatives and associates in her 1991 campaign.

Walters, like other council members, said she turned to Snyder because she needed contributions to be competitive, and he delivers them. It is the system; you live and die by it, council members say.

“Some folks call it dialing for dollars,” Walters said. “You’re calling the world, trying to raise enough money. It’s embarrassing the amount these campaigns take.”

Walters said she hoped “it was an interest in good government” that prompted Snyder to be a major fund-raiser for her.

However, after first raising funds for Walters, Snyder quietly approached Robert Gay, her opponent, as the election neared and it appeared that Gay had a chance to win.

Gay recalled the phone conversation with Snyder. “I’ve got some checks here,” Snyder said, according to Gay. “I’ve got about $5,000. . . . Send somebody over.”

Snyder simply wanted to “dump some money over here and just hedge (his) bets,” Gay said.

Snyder said he could not discuss his Walters-Gay fund-raising activities because they figure in the money-laundering investigation.

More recently, Snyder said he agreed to collect contributions for three council members running for mayor--Joel Wachs, Mike Woo and Nate Holden. But to avoid embarrassment to the candidates, he suspended the efforts after news of the investigations broke.

Snyder is viewed warily by many, but it is one measure of his influence that few will allow their names to be used when speaking frankly about their uneasiness with the ex-councilman. And when they go on the record, their criticisms are measured.

Councilman Marvin Braude said he has stopped taking Snyder’s contributions because he and Snyder often are at odds on issues, and “I do not feel comfortable.” Councilwoman Joy Picus recalled sending back a batch of Snyder campaign checks, all from people she did not know.

Snyder also can be ingratiating and disarming.

“Art is everywhere,” said another council member. “When (Council President) John Ferraro was in the hospital, Art was there. When somebody has a death in the family, Art sends a note. When there is a birth in the family, Art is there.”

Snyder does seem sentimental about the City Council and its members--the focal point of most of his adult life. Discreetly avoiding names, he will note that some council members still drop by the office to chat about politics, or even their personal lives. Others may call just to go to movies, he says.

“They are my friends,” Snyder said. “I don’t have other friends.”

Each day, he proudly wears the late Councilman Gilbert Lindsay’s 50-year city service lapel pin, which Lindsay presented him in his final ailing years.

Picus said: “Art is very loyal to council members and the council as an institution.”

It is the Snyder paradox.

He professes a deep reverence for the City Council and fancies himself--by his own terms--a “senior statesman,” “the keeper of the tradition” and “a member of the fraternity.”

And yet, Snyder arguably has been responsible for bringing as much bad favor on the body as any political figure in recent times.

One council member said that more than anything, it was Snyder’s aggressiveness in seeking access, his manner of conduct in City Hall that troubled him most. “I just don’t like his style.”