BLINDSIDED / ORANGE COUNTY’S FINANCIAL CRISIS : The Unthinkable Fall of the Golden Orange

It was clean, wide-open and full of promise. A pristine sprawl of red-tiled affluence and sunny self-confidence, embodying everything Los Angeles was not.

The first time I cruised down the San Diego Freeway in 1983 to visit Orange County, a rush of words and images came to mind: Orderly. Focused. Sober.

You couldn’t help but think that anything seemed possible here because it was free from the urban baggage and complexities of its neighbor to the north. There was plenty of land to be developed, much of it still beautiful, and if there were countywide problems, fiscal health was not one of them.

How could it be, in a place so rich, so relentlessly frugal? The notion of Orange County filing for bankruptcy and going belly up in the bond market was laughable. A nightmare for other communities to ponder, but not the Golden Orange.

“This is the second chance for Southern California,” a Newport Beach businessman told me back then, proudly showing off the marina’s glitter and sparkle. “We’re not going to mess it up. This isn’t New York or L.A.”

Last week, the unthinkable happened. Stung by a $1.5-billion loss in the bond market that seemed to increase daily, Orange County officials circled the wagons and told the world that, for now at least, they can’t pay all their bills. Like a rube, the county that prided itself on sturdy, conservative values lost its shirt in the Wall Street casino. Overnight, it has become a target of nationwide scorn.

What happened to the Orange County I knew, not so long ago?

Comeuppance is a word we’re hearing a lot these days, a feeling that the region’s fiscal Waterloo is somehow punishment for having had it so good, and for so long. You live on the margins, you die on the margins, as they say in the bond market. But there are human consequences here: How do you gloat about just desserts to parents and children whose schools may be in jeopardy?

Above all, how do you tell folks who have lived their version of the California dream that the wolf is at the door?

Anyone who appreciates Orange County can’t help but celebrate its strengths . . . and worry about its future.

At the end of “Manhattan,” Woody Allen conjures up an old love affair with random, vivid memories. It’s no different for me when I remember the best of Orange County: Empanadas in Santa Ana and pho bo in Little Saigon. Sunrise at Huntington Beach with surfers and sea gulls. Pickup basketball games near the water in Laguna Beach, and the Christmas bedlam of South Coast Plaza.

You don’t see these images in news stories about the bankruptcy, and the national media are largely to blame. For years, they’ve reduced the place to hollow cliches and institutions. Birthplace of Richard Nixon. Home to the John Birch Society. Land of Disney and Farm of Knott’s Berry. The real Orange County is something else. Somewhere else. Locals have known this for years, rightly insisting that they are different than the stereotypes would have you believe.

And why not? Los Angeles big shots seem tired compared to Orange County’s entrepreneurs. Impatient and creative, they’ve built a community where money breeds success, a middle-class theme park where Mercedeses clog the fast lane.

Disneyland and Anaheim Stadium might draw huge crowds, putting Orange County on the map, but the county is also a haven for private moments, a shrine to the almost sensual joys of seclusion. Here, people build walls around master-planned communities and enjoy the good life undisturbed. Windows open onto quiet patios, not the street, and daily life is not public life.

It was that way from the beginning. When the first rush of residents came pouring into Orange County after World War II, there was a brash confidence to the place, a beguiling immunity that seemed to hold trouble at arm’s length. Thousands came here, shedding the past for a piece of the suburban rock.

They cruised down newly designed freeways, filling up subdivisions and packing shopping centers as quickly as they could be built. Fueled by the 1980s economic boom, Orange County rocked with good times and steady growth. There were steaks on the grill and cappuccinos on the beach. The county was prospering even as the recession kicked in, its fiscal health unquestioned.

Did people see danger signs on the horizon, like a widening income gap between rich and poor or a fiscal imbalance between richer cities in the south and older towns in the north? They didn’t seem to worry much. When reporters dug up a raft of problems, like S & L shenanigans and the growth of fraudulent boiler room operations, Orange County residents shrugged them off.

Sure, there were hidden slums in Garden Grove, ugly gang wars and other reminders that social problems could not be ignored forever. But the subdivision walls stood tall, keeping the bad news out. Until last week.

Today, the region’s fiscal meltdown is big news on front pages and TV screens around the world. It has jolted Orange County’s confidence like an 8.7 aftershock and unleashed a feeding frenzy, especially on the East Coast.

Here in New York, where I now live, revenge is sweet. The first blast of winter this week was no match for the chilly contempt many feel for Orange County, and it’s not hard to understand why. The Big Apple has long been accused of fiscal irresponsibility--call it the Lourdes of liberal excess--yet now the shoe is on the other foot. And some folks couldn’t wait to pounce.

“Orange County, California, one of the richest, most conservative Republican counties in America, woke up yesterday morning more broke and foul-smelling than Democratic New York City at its worst,” wrote columnist Juan Gonzales in the Daily News. Other U.S. municipalities have invested their public funds wisely and more cautiously, he noted, “but not smart Orange County. . . . The Republicans in California, it seems, could learn from New York.”

Take a deep breath, Orange County. There may be some truth here.

Part of the rebuilding process will be to learn from past mistakes, and New York City’s near-brush with bankruptcy in the 1970s sparked major reforms to guard against runaway, risky investment policies. Just as they did after the Los Angeles riots, Gotham officials responded quickly to the Orange County debacle this week, insisting that it couldn’t happen in their back yard.

“New York City does not engage in this practice,” said City Controller Alan Hevesi, flanked by other big shots. “The investment practices that are at issue here are not normal practices in the finance industry.”

Well, nothing is normal when the nation’s fifth-largest county declares bankruptcy. History is being written as the crisis unfolds, and if grass-roots outrage is any indication, it will be tough for state, county and local officials to duck responsibility for the disaster. Heads will certainly roll.

But when we total up the losses, the story won’t just be about money or politics. It will be about people and how their lives are changed forever by this past week. When I think about the folks who live in Orange County, a rush of words and images come to mind: Resourceful. Patient. Resilient.

Bankrupt is not one of them.

Josh Getlin was a reporter and editor in the Times Orange County Edition from 1983 to 1987.