For City Manager, Hot Seat Keeps Getting Hotter : Thousand Oaks: Many praise Grant Brimhall as a master strategist. Others accuse him of being a schemer.

Everyone seems to recognize Grant Brimhall’s vision except Grant Brimhall himself.

Friends credit him with guiding Thousand Oaks from a tentative, bungalow-and-picket-fence suburb to a proud, telegenic city. Foes condemn him for the same feat.

Whether they tout him as a superb strategist or slam him as a sneaky schemer, however, Thousand Oaks residents tend to describe the city manager as a serious planner who has molded their city to suit his notion of livability.

Brimhall himself demurs.

In his 16 years as the city’s top bureaucrat, Brimhall says, he has simply carried out council orders. He has crafted budgets, sure, and lobbied for funding, and worked with developers, and negotiated deals and wooed big businesses. Yet he has done it all in consultation with, and under direction from, the public’s elected representatives.

“I know who makes the decisions here,” he says. And all those theories that the city’s real power rests in his sweeping corner office are plain “silly--an affront to council members.”

Despite his efforts to punt to the council, Brimhall has long intrigued those who keep tabs on Thousand Oaks government.

Cool, with a sly wit and stunning energy, the 57-year-old city manager wins heavy praise for his brains, his diligence, his creativity and the Raggedy Ann costume he wore to work one Halloween.

With his slick black hair and tidy suits, Brimhall always looks composed. But he has a temper. “When you make (what Brimhall considers) a wrong decision, you know you’re on the outs with him,” former Planning Commissioner Greg Cole said. “He gives you the silent treatment.”

Or worse. Other colleagues recall the city manager occasionally exploding in intimidating rages--or cracking snide, off-color jokes at opponents’ expense.

Devoutly religious, Brimhall usually repents such gaffes immediately, and apologizes with overwrought effusiveness. Former Councilwoman Madge Schaefer remembers Brimhall appearing in her office carrying a ruler and urging her to slap his hand for an offensive remark.

Generally, however, Brimhall is known as a charmer.

He can talk fluently about landfills, traffic flows, Disney movies, municipal bonds, homeless shelters and body surfing. He always remembers to inquire about a sick mother, or praise a talented child. He is also famous--or perhaps infamous--as a tough negotiator who scraps and scrapes to make sure Thousand Oaks gets a fair shake in Ventura County politics.

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“He’s given his life blood for the city,” said former county Chief Administrator Richard Wittenberg, who clashed with Brimhall on many issues, from redevelopment funds to social services. “It’s not just a job with him. It really is a major part of how he sees the world: (making sure) Thousand Oaks is successful.”

But successful by whose definition?

Critics accuse Brimhall of eroding their long-cherished, low-key lifestyle as he plots to shove Thousand Oaks into the big time with a star-studded theater, a championship golf course and jarring flashes of modern architecture. They describe him as a master puppeteer who pulls strings and shuffles scenery to create a city that matches his personal vision.

As their No. 1 example, Brimhall bashers point to the Civic Arts Plaza.

The council picked the site, approved the price tag and selected the architect. Yet Brimhall helped piece together the controversial $86-million financing plan that pulled money from various city accounts and drained some reserves. Relying heavily on debt, the financing made the Civic Arts Plaza possible--and many residents uneasy.

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“He is the ringleader,” businessman Dave Anderson has concluded. “He is the machine.”

In another disputed financial maneuver, Brimhall helped arrange for the city to purchase part of Broome Ranch by stripping $1 million from the municipal golf course fund. Technically, that money can be used only to maintain or build golf courses. And indeed, Brimhall suggested converting the flat, grassy plain of Broome Ranch into a golf course to raise money for park maintenance.

To Councilwoman Judy Lazar, Brimhall was merely doing his job: coming up with creative proposals for the council to debate. “That’s why we have a paid administrator,” she said. “To think that the City Council alone knows best what to do is foolish.”

And former Councilman Lee Laxdal added that Brimhall’s ingenious financing strategies allow the city to make the most of its resources. “Grant finds money like a pig finds truffles,” he said admiringly. “He finds money, and he gets it for our city.”

Yet some sense a conspiracy.

Environmentalists and slow-growth activists complain that Brimhall works too closely with developers, fine-tuning questionable projects to make them politically palatable.

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The city manager said he confers with some developers to “articulate up-front what (city staff) would be willing to do to help, and to make sure they have a good clean application.”

Thousand Oaks’ vocal anti-growth activists would prefer that developers take their lumps along with everyone else. If they show up at a hearing unaware of city building codes, so be it. Better luck next time.

Of course, many residents want new development to succeed. They look forward to a Target discount store in Newbury Park. They await a multiscreen movie theater. And they love the amenities Thousand Oaks offers already: the first-class library, the teen and senior centers, the Civic Arts Plaza.

If Brimhall finessed the system to make these cultural centers possible, they are simply grateful.

“Grant’s vision has always been to make this a livable community with a low crime rate and a strong financial base,” architect Francisco Behr said. “If he’s manipulating people to do that, so what? . . . When it comes to understanding complex issues, the city manager and staff know more of the facts and details. . . . In many ways, Grant’s in a better position (than the council) to pass judgment on what’s important for the future of our city.”

Yet Brimhall insists he has no grand scheme for Thousand Oaks.

Indeed, Brimhall’s most searing visions have nothing to do with boutiques on Thousand Oaks Boulevard or red-tile roofs on the Dos Vientos Ranch. They focus, instead, on memories of far-off miseries.

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Eyes vacant with recollection, Brimhall can still recount in numbing detail his encounter with two filthy, barefoot girls in rural Florida more than three decades ago. As a young Mormon missionary, Brimhall visited them to proselytize and ended up listening to their tangled tale of incest, illiteracy and despair. As they spoke, a new U.S. fighter jet zoomed overhead.

The contrast between the mighty technology above and the hopeless lives below forever haunts Brimhall. It reminds him, he says, of government’s always awesome powers and occasionally mixed-up priorities.

The image of Brimhall as a spiritual missionary seems to clash with his public persona as an aloof wheeler-dealer. But citizens, employees and church members say Brimhall--father of six and grandfather of eight--still retains an ardent zeal to counsel and comfort.

A Mormon bishop and regional representative to Salt Lake City, Brimhall spends 10 to 15 hours each weekend on church business. “You feel uplifted” after talking with him, said Gary Snyder, leader of a Mormon congregation in Thousand Oaks. “You come away feeling a much better person.”

When he retires in 2 1/2 years, Brimhall hopes to resume missionary work with his wife, Avis.

Until then, however, he has plenty to keep him busy in Thousand Oaks.

In the next two years, Brimhall must try to pay off Civic Arts Plaza debts by selling or leasing the boarded-up former city hall at 401 Hillcrest Drive. He is also seeking a developer for the 11-acre site next to the new auditorium. As always, he will try to boost the city’s job base by attracting new businesses. And daily he must supervise 532 employees.

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To keep the bureaucracy churning, Brimhall insists on tight control. All staff reports must pass through the city manager’s office before landing on a council agenda.

And any time a council member calls City Hall with a question, Brimhall requires the staff member who responds to write a memo detailing the conversation. That way, he says, if one politician orders up some research, Brimhall can pass the new information on to the other four to be fair.

Even former Councilman Frank Schillo, a Brimhall fan, deemed this policy a bit excessive. “I would suspect,” he said, “that all council members don’t like the idea of it.”

Overall, however, Schillo said he has found Brimhall sensitive and responsive to the council. “I never felt pushed by him,” Schillo said. “Never.”

Indeed, arm-twisting is hardly Brimhall’s style. But some critics say he applies pressure in more subtle ways.

Two City Hall sources said Brimhall and his assistants routinely meddle in staff reports, scrubbing out controversy and massaging information to make certain projects look more appealing.

Sometimes, they said, reports disappear into the bureaucracy and then emerge in the weekly council packet utterly altered--with the original author’s name still, misleadingly, printed across the bottom.

Aware of such allegations, Councilwoman Elois Zeanah has repeatedly complained that objective analyses are “filtered” to reflect Brimhall’s biases. “His preferences are really shaping policy,” she said.

Brimhall defends his procedures as necessary--not to tamper with data, but to make sure council members receive all the important details.

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A public-works analysis of the need for new sidewalks, for example, should also include the city attorney’s assessment of liability risks, the police department’s take on safety issues and the finance director’s views on funding sources. The city manager’s office, Brimhall said, can pull all those elements together.

Slanting information “is something I hope we could convince people we don’t do,” Brimhall said.

Unconvinced, Zeanah has proposed that each professional analyst submit a separate report, rather than letting the city manager tie the information into a single packet. But Assistant City Manager MaryJane Lazz said individual reports could contain incorrect information that would mislead the council.

“The only editing our department does is (to ensure) accuracy and put (an individual report) in the context of the city as a whole,” Lazz said. “That is exactly what it’s our job to do.”

Ultimately, of course, the city manager’s job is defined by the five bosses who sit in the high-backed council chairs and put their names on the ballot every four years. Brimhall has survived in the post for 16 years by satisfying an ever-shifting group of politicians.

At least, satisfying most of them.

Though Brimhall says he tries to serve all five council members, he needs support from only three to save his job. And through the years, several politicians have accused the city manager of catering to the majority.

“(At) the very beginning, Grant had prided himself on . . . serving all five masters equally,” said former Councilman Larry Horner, who voted to hire Brimhall in 1978. “But as the political climate became more hostile, he tended to lean toward the majority more, especially on a project he felt endeared to.”

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In her four years as a minority council member, Zeanah says, the city manager’s office has slighted her in ways both petty and serious--from failing to act on her request for official Thousand Oaks stationery to blocking some of her research initiatives.

Brimhall and his staff have become much more attentive to her needs, Zeanah said, now that the council has stalemated with a 2-2 split--until a special election in June to fill a vacant seat. “He does take sides,” she concludes. “He can and does use the resources of the city to either hinder or help council members.”

For his part, Brimhall likens his job to standing in a boxing ring with both hands tied behind his back--an easy target, a perfect scapegoat. Wearily, he insists he tries to serve all his bosses well.

His mantra: maintain professionalism.

Occasionally, however, Brimhall’s poker face slips. At a hearing in September, 1993, a resident accused Councilwoman Lazar of violating the public trust by aiming to convert Broome Ranch into a golf course.

“You called me a liar and I resent that,” Lazar sputtered.

Equally furious, Brimhall backed her up: “I do too,” he snapped.

Recognizing that such partisan flare-ups are dangerous, Brimhall sometimes slips out of his seat at the council dais and fumes silently in a back room, letting his anger diffuse far from the television cameras. When personally attacked, he may write or call his detractors to defend himself. But he rarely responds in public.

Only a few subjects have set him off. When one citizen characterized the Mormon church as a “cult” two years ago, Brimhall angrily defended his faith. And when another dismissed homeless people as parasites in a May, 1993, meeting, the city manager delivered a passionate, surprisingly personal rebuttal:

“I lived in a homeless situation with my brothers and sisters and parents until we were able to find a house,” he said quietly. “We didn’t steal anything. We didn’t cause anyone any trouble. We . . . contributed to society.”

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Aside from the brief period of homelessness, the Brimhall family lived frugally on a ranch in tiny Taylor, Ariz., with neither electricity nor hot water. Brimhall described his father, a schoolteacher, and his mother, a librarian, as “rather poor as to the things of the world.”

The youngest of 12 children, Brimhall worked odd jobs during high school: in an emergency room, a pathologist’s laboratory, a dentist’s office. His shrewd bargaining skills may stem from his high school days, when he desperately needed dental work but could not pay for it. Cannily, he cruised town and found the most run-down dental office--then offered to work on the yard in exchange for free fillings.

As a teen-ager, Brimhall dreamed of becoming a doctor, but felt impossibly queasy at the sight of blood. He next thought of teaching, but concluded he lacked the patience. Then he set his sights on a career in the Air Force--only to fall from a construction site and break his back and neck in eight places.

When he cast about for a new career, he remembered a lesson his father had taught him years earlier. Logan Brimhall had secured federal funding for a dam near his desert community. At first, the Lone Pine Dam was reviled as “Logan’s Folly.” Within a year, however, it was revered as a source of water, jobs and prosperity.

“I heard a lot of stories about that,” Brimhall said. “It got me hooked on the fact that government can make a difference.”

So government it was. At Brigham Young University, Brimhall received both bachelor’s and master’s degrees in recreation administration, aiming for a job as a parks director. After graduating, he landed in the deputy city manager’s chair in Claremont in 1964. He moved on to become city manager of Glendora in 1969, then jumped to Thousand Oaks in January, 1978.

The post has clearly boosted him out of poverty.

Brimhall now earns $129,168 a year, the highest base salary of any local public official in Ventura County.

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On top of his base, Brimhall receives $19,375 a year in deferred compensation--money set aside to earn interest until his retirement. He can take 10 weeks off each year to indulge his passions for skiing, body surfing and relaxing at his family’s Arizona ranch. And if he fails to use all his vacation time, he can trade 10 days a year for cash.

As added perks, Brimhall drives a city-provided car (a beat-up 1991 Plymouth Voyager), and can charge the gasoline used for city business on a city credit card. When he retires, he will receive full health benefits at no personal cost. He will also be able to cash in all unused annual leave upon retirement.

Even with this package, Brimhall lives modestly. His one-story house in Lynn Ranch is designed for kids: a wide-open living room floor, an outdoor trampoline, and three big-wheel bikes lined up on the walkway.

Devoted to his family, Brimhall has always insisted that council members leave him alone at least two nights a week. He reserves Fridays for “date night” with his wife. And Mondays are “family nights.”

Still, Brimhall manages to put in about 60 hours a week at the office. Few tasks escape him.

“It was raining (last month) and Grant was actually outside straightening the carpets at the door,” said Catherine Hazeltine, a management assistant in the city’s finance department. “He’s very busy and he has a lot of things to do, so you’d think he would walk on past, but he didn’t.”

Far from it: Brimhall was so concerned about the problem that he later researched buying a different-sized doormat that would lie flat in storms. The episode, friends said, was vintage Brimhall.

“The best way to describe Grant is that he really cares,” Assistant City Manager Lazz said. “He really cares about the city, he really cares about his employees, he really cares about the community.”

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Grant Brimhall Profile

Name: Grant R. Brimhall.

Age: 57.

Family: Wife, Avis; five daughters; one son; eight grandchildren

Education: Bachelor’s and master’s degrees in recreation administration from Brigham Young University; master’s and doctorate in public administration from University of Southern California.

Career: Deputy city manager, Claremont, 1964-69; city manager, Glendora, 1969-78; city manager, Thousand Oaks, 1978-present. Bishop and regional representative to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Salt Lake City.

Hobbies: Skiing, body surfing.

Quote: “Thousand Oaks is so filled with energy, with energetic people, with energetic ideas--it’s amazing to me. I’d go nuts in a town that was stagnant.”