The Way to This City’s Heart Is Through Its Stomach

About this time of year when the tantalizing scent of freshly cooked spareribs starts drifting through the neighborhood near Western Avenue and 85th Street, it means that Herman Walton is having his annual barbecue.

As usual, this year’s parking lot feast attracted scores of neighborhood residents and City Hall types--from the janitors to the mayor--who came to mingle and munch some of Walton’s down-home cooking.

The barrel-chested, 57-year-old chef is a popular figure, darting between customers under the big tent on the parking lot of the Office, a neighborhood bar where the extravaganza is staged each year. Before earning his reputation on the grills, he was the security guard who sat outside Mayor Tom Bradley’s office. “Anybody who wanted to see the mayor had to come through me first,” said Walton, now retired.

After 13 years, flyers announcing the barbecue are seen as a sure sign that spring has arrived at City Hall.

“It’s an annual event and I try to come down whenever Herman puts on the barbecue feast,” said Bradley, who showed up like clockwork this year, ate one dinner and purchased two others to take on the road. “My only complaint is that you forget about your diet and go hog wild.”

The lines of hungry customers began forming shortly before noon. The menu wasn’t fancy. A $7 meal offered a choice of either spareribs, chicken or hot links with potato salad and green peas on the side, and sweet potato pie for dessert.

But for Walton, the key to a successful barbecue lies in the tangy red sauce, a Texas secret passed down from his father.

“The sauce is the boss,” boasted Walton, dressed in a long apron with words finger licking good emblazoned on the front. “Everybody loves my sauce. That’s my secret. Even my family doesn’t know what I put in it.”

But the secret of his sauce is not the only thing Walton is tight-lipped about. The man who for years stood watch at the entrance to the mayor’s office is not very forthcoming about the comings and goings of the city’s top politician.

“I want my barbecue to be a place for people to get away from business,” he said. “Good ribs and politics don’t always mix.”

Walton has not always been able to keep his dinners out of the political fray.

Two years ago, he recalled, several campaign staff members for then-City Council candidate Mark Ridley-Thomas ate dinners and asked Walton to pick up their tab and write it off as a campaign contribution. After all, the mayor was throwing his support behind Ridley-Thomas.

“This is my barbecue, not the mayor’s,” Walton said he told them. “That money is coming out of my pocket.” Later, Ridley-Thomas apologized and paid for the meals, Walton said.

For many, this year’s barbecue held a special meaning because it is the last one Bradley will attend as mayor. It could also be the last one for the many Bradley appointees at City Hall.

Like many in the mayor’s office, Vallee Bunting, a spokeswoman for the mayor, said she is looking for a new job. But a new job, she said, will not deter her from attending next year’s feast.

“It’s a very social event,” she said. “A bright spot on the calendar. A chance to listen to great blues, eat great barbecue and to see people in another context besides working. That won’t change.”

This was the third barbecue for Bob Hayes, an official with the Board of Public Works, who said he too intends to keep coming. “It’s a ritual,” he said. “Herman is a special personality, and his barbecue is great. I only wish I had a bib.”

This year’s barbecue took place a week after a federal jury convicted two officers of civil rights violations in the Rodney G. King beating. In fact, the March, 1991, beating has dominated the discussions at the last three barbecues.

Before the verdicts were announced, Walton had contemplated canceling the event, fearing the potential of another civil upheaval. “I’m glad the verdict is over and everything is quiet and calm,” he said, echoing the sentiments of many at the barbecue.

Philip Depoian, special counsel to the mayor and a regular at the annual barbecue, said he thought about last year’s riots while preparing to go to this year’s event.

“The riot broke out a few days after the barbecue and we were wondering if the bar was burned down in the fires,” said Depoian, who sat at a table with his wife, Julie, and 6-year-old daughter, Katie. “We were happy to see that everything was fine.”

To Walton, all the talk of politics and office gossip is secondary. The way to a city’s heart, he believes, is through its stomach.

“Good barbecue brings people together,” he said. “It can bring people together, all different races, colors and creeds.”

“Besides,” he added, “It’s all about fun and friends.”