Protest Greets Riordan in Owens Valley

Los Angeles Mayor Richard Riordan waded directly into his city’s oldest, most passionate feud Wednesday, joining a group of local leaders on a trip to the Owens Valley, the farming community Riordan’s predecessors stealthily bled dry of water a century ago so that they might build a modern city.

So long and bitter has the dispute been that Riordan’s appearance Wednesday marked the first time that a Los Angeles mayor has visited the Inyo County seat since the construction of the aqueduct that formed the basis of the rift. That aqueduct was completed in 1913, forever transforming the city that got the water and the valley that lost it.

So determined has Los Angeles’ effort been to dry the Owens Valley and bring the water south that dust clouds now pollute the air and frighten the residents who remain. The dust blows off what once was Owens Lake but now is a dry lake bed covering 110 square miles.

The Los Angeles officials also got helicopter views of the valley and the major DWP projects in it, including the long, broad stretch of the dry lake bed, a desiccated reminder of the water that used to pool at the end of the Owens River.

But the day was not just a social occasion or an aerial tour for the mayor. The city of Los Angeles and the air quality officials in Owens Valley remain at odds over how to proceed with the dry lake bed, and Riordan used his visit to sound out his counterparts about the problem and recommendations for how to cure it.

So far, the two sides appear far apart. Air quality officials have proposed a variety of measures to knock down the dust in a 35-square-mile area of the lake. All told, those measures would require the city to give up 51,000 acre-feet of water annually, about one-seventh of Los Angeles’ total draw from the Owens Valley.

City officials are concerned that those estimates are based on questionable research and have not agreed to the request.

The proprietary quality of that hesitation is based on something more than just what the law calls “water rights.”

At the aqueduct’s christening, William Mulholland, the legendary Department of Water and Power chief, turned to the mayor of Los Angeles as the water streamed down the canal and said: “There it is. Take it.”

Los Angeles has taken that water ever since, so it was not surprising that Riordan’s welcome in the Owens Valley drew some testy reactions. Several dozen protesters gathered for his arrival, politely but impatiently awaiting the man whose office represents the water empire they detest. Some carried signs deriding “King Riordan.”

“I’ve seen a lot of devastation, a lot,” said 66-year-old Stan Matlick, who, like his father and grandfather before him, has fought the DWP. Like many who gathered Wednesday, he complained that the water department’s power in the valley is so all-encompassing it has made residents feel as if they live in a colony of Los Angeles.

“I don’t like these people,” Matlick said of the DWP. “I don’t like their tactics.”

The crowd chanted and waved signs as the van carrying Riordan approached. But the mayor deflected the group’s anger. Moments after arriving, he crossed under a barricade erected to keep the demonstrators out of a private barbecue party. He took a few questions, got a short lecture from one man and agreed with the demonstrators that it was important to “work out a solution to some of the many legitimate gripes that people have here.”

Joking with one protester, a retired DWP worker, Riordan said: “I’ve got bad news for you. Your pension program is being looked at.”

The roots of this struggle date to 1904, when Los Angeles leaders--on Mulholland’s advice--began eyeing the Owens Valley as a water source for the city and particularly the San Fernando Valley, where some of those leaders owned considerable real estate holdings. Working with a few locals, the DWP secretly bought up land and withdrew it from agricultural production.

When residents caught on, the battle was joined. It unfolded over decades, peaking in extraordinary bursts of intensity and violence.

There was the Owens Valley lawman who shook down the Los Angeles city clerk buying up land and water rights. There was the near-lynching of one man who worked behind the scenes for the city of Los Angeles. And in 1924, there was the series of dynamite blasts that ripped holes in the aqueduct and launched an insurrection among valley residents.

That particular chapter ended only after an armed confrontation was narrowly averted.

Throughout, Los Angeles leaders have remained steadfast--Mulholland for the rest of his life referred to Owens Valley residents as “dynamiters.” The city leaders have never wavered from their insistence that the water is more badly needed for Los Angeles residents than valley farmers.

Several residents said the dust is a serious health hazard. Ann Capodanno, who has lived in the valley for more than 30 years, complained of sinus problems. Vernon Rea, a five-year resident, said he has started getting summer colds. Others expressed alarm at studies showing arsenic and cadmium in the dust.

In fact, Rea carried a sign addressed to the mayor: “King Riordan. Add a little arsenic and cadmium to that barbecue sauce to get authentic Owens Lake taste.”

Spying the sign, Riordan yelled to the crowd: “What I want to know is who promoted me to king?”

The visit by the mayor was largely social. With him were Council President John Ferraro, council members Ruth Galanter and Cindy Miscikowski and other L.A. officials.

Richard Knox, who grew up in the Owens Valley, left to work for DWP and has returned to become a DWP critic, said: “It’s time for Los Angeles to do the right thing.”