The Immense Clout of Willpower

Norton Halper showed how someone can beat City Hall with nothing but sheer determination, intelligence and courage.

Halper, who died last month, did not shower politicians with campaign contributions and free meals. Retired and in bad health, he operated from his modest Hollywood home as a gadfly, rousing officialdom from complacency by focusing an unforgiving spotlight on grandiose and destructive schemes. The project he hated most was close to home, a Hollywood redevelopment plan he felt was a giveaway to moneyed property interests at the expense of small-business people and owners of modest dwellings.

The redevelopment plan collapsed, as did the political career of its leading proponent, former Councilman Michael Woo, who lost for mayor in June. Halper and his colleagues in the anti-redevelopment movement were on Woo’s tail from the moment he announced his candidacy, attacking him as a lackey of campaign-contributing Hollywood land developers. That wasn’t why Woo lost, but it sure didn’t help him sell the reform plank in his platform.

For the past few years, Halper called me several times a week with tips, criticisms, gossip and suggestions for columns. At first I was put off by his manner but soon realized his value as a guide through the forest of city government .

As I thought about Halper after his death, I saw he was more than a news source. His life illustrated how a powerless person can challenge the mighty.

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Halper understood that the gadfly’s first task is to influence public opinion. I was just one of several reporters on his phone list. I wasn’t always receptive to his tips because his obsession--redevelopment--seemed too complicated for a column I hoped would be entertaining enough to pick up a few readers.

Undiscouraged, Halper would lug piles of documents to our meetings at a Denny’s in Hollywood. I’d say, “Norton, this is too complicated. I can’t deal with it in 800 words. I write about people.”

I think Halper was somewhat disgusted by my obtuseness. He didn’t understand that a daily newspaper reporter must translate issues into language simple and interesting enough to attract the attention of readers who don’t share the activists’ knowledge and enthusiasm.

Eventually, Halper figured me out. He called one day promoting a story on another redevelopment project he opposed, this one in North Hollywood. As usual, I was resistant. Too limited, I said. Nobody in Pasadena cares about North Hollywood. But he persisted. He told me about an elderly couple, the man a retired movie stuntman, who were being forced to sell their house to the redevelopment agency. They were great characters, he said. Their house was like an old movie museum. “I’ll meet you there Saturday morning,” I said.

The couple’s plight illustrated one of Halper’s central objections to redevelopment--tearing down solid, older residential neighborhoods to make way for large commercial developments of often dubious value. The beneficiaries of these plans were often tied into the city’s political powers through contributions and other means. Their projects were so well greased with clout that opponents had little chance to object.

As I talked to the couple, Halper didn’t have much to say and I noticed he was pale. He asked our hosts if they had something sweet for him to eat. His diabetes was acting up and he was feeling faint. They gave him a candy bar and, after eating it, he felt better.

Diabetes cost Halper one leg and, a few years later, another. But the loss of his legs didn’t stop him. He got an electric-powered wheelchair and special controls on his car.

Soon after his last amputation, Halper began doing a weekly interview show on Continental Cable. I was on his first show and watched him struggle onto the set, accepting only minimal help. A couple of months ago, I was on his show again. With all his health troubles, Halper had mastered two artificial legs, and he walked to his seat. His persistence with the cable TV show was another way Halper made his presence known. He had prominent politicians as well as neighborhood activists on. In his shows, he went beyond redevelopment, focusing attention on the entire city government process. He became more than a gadfly. He was a force in city government.

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Halper died the week I went away on vacation. Tuesday was my first day back at work and I missed his customary phone call.

Even though I had begged and warned him not to call me on Tuesdays, a day I wrote, the phone would ring at 8:15 a.m. “Good morning,” he’d say, in a tone that would not take no for an answer. “Norton, I can’t believe you’re calling me today,” I always replied, mad. “I can’t talk.” He’d press ahead, ignoring my anger.

When I didn’t get the call Tuesday morning, I felt I’d lost something. Los Angeles had too.