Run El Toro Airport? Hey, No Problem

“Next applicant, please.”

A man in a lime-green, double-breasted Edwardian suit took his place in the high-backed velvet chair and faced the five Orange County supervisors. On his way in, he passed a woman in her mid-40s, wearing a stylish peach-colored pantsuit. She wore a lapel pin with the insignia, “Be Kind,” and when he saw that, he smiled. He felt that much closer to getting the job.

“Good afternoon, Mr.--” board Chairman Chuck Smith said, trying to read the man’s name on his application.

“Soprano,” the man said pleasantly. “Michael Soprano.”

The supervisors straightened in their chairs. The visitor sensed their discomfort. He liked that. “You wouldn’t by any chance be one of the Sopranos?” Todd Spitzer asked.

“If you’re talkin’ ‘bout who I tink you’re talkin’ ‘bout, then, yeah, I am,” the man said.

“Are you connected--I mean, related--to Tony Soprano?” Spitzer said.

“He’s my uncle,” the man said.

“And Junior?”

“You mean Tony’s uncle? Yeah, he’s my great-uncle or somethin.’ He calls me Punk.”

“So you probably knew Richie . . . “ Spitzer asked.

“I knew him well . . . Until my Aunt Janice whacked him, dat is.”

Tom Wilson fainted dead away and was revived only after Spitzer splashed him with a glass of water and used his handkerchief as a cold compress.

“Are you sure you’re in the right place?” Cynthia Coad asked, reddening and barely getting the words out.

“Yeah, da way I get it, da papers said you need somebody to manage an airport or somethin’ like dat. One of my cousins heard about it and he calls me up like two or three in the mornin’ and he says, Hey, how’d you like to manage an airport in California?’ I says, ‘Hey, I never managed no airport before,’ and he says, ‘Hey, so what? What could be so tough about doin’ dat?’ So, here I am.”

‘When I Want Somethin’, I Get It’

The supervisors remained as motionless as deer sniffing a wolf pack. The applicant had seen that look before. It was usually right before he got something he wanted.

“In your own mind,” Wilson asked haltingly, “and meaning no disrespect whatsoever, do you feel you have the qualifications for the job?”

“No problem. Da paper says you want somebody who’s--I think I got dis right--goal-oriented. I di’nt know what goal-oriented meant but my cousin Johnny tol’ me it means somebody who knows what dey want and dey know how to get it. Dat’s me. When I want somethin,’ I get it.”

“So you would describe your management style as assertive?” Smith asked, brightening the more he heard. A strong airport supporter, Smith had developed serious doubts in recent months that an airport at El Toro would ever be built.

“Yessir, I would say I’m very, very assertive--if dat means dat if somebody gets in my way, I walk right tru ‘em.”

Smith pictured Soprano meeting airport opponent Larry Agran for coffee. He felt like bursting into song.

“Do you feel you are good in working with people who don’t share your views?” Wilson asked.

“I feel dat is one of my most important strinks,” the man replied. “Over da years, me an’ da boys have worked wid a number of people who don’t see eye to eye wid us. I would say in most cases, dey came ‘round to seein’ tings our way.”

“If I could ask a follow-up question, Mr. Soprano,” Wilson said, “how do you reach consensus with them?”

“Me an’ some friends usually take ‘em for a car ride, out to a nice place in-a country, and just talk to ‘em in a real nice tone-a voice.”

“Excellent methodology,” Smith said. “Not that it matters, but have you ever administered a large public project before?”

“Yeah, I’ll never forget a job we once had in Buffalo with the Carmelo brothers. It cost us about six guys, but we got da job done on time.”

“The Carmelo Brothers?” Wilson said. “I’m not familiar with them. Is that a firm in the Buffalo area?”

“Not no more,” the visitor said, staring straight at Wilson, who fainted a second time.

“As you may or may not know, we’ve had a number of false starts on the airport,” Jim Silva said. “We can’t afford any more setbacks.”

The visitor looked straight at Silva. “Hey, no problem.”

A buoyant Chuck Smith looked at his fellow supervisors. “I think we’ve found our El Toro manager. And he’s given us our new advertising slogan.”

“Which is?” a glum Todd Spitzer said.

Smith beamed.

“El Toro Airport? Hey, no problem.”

*

Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821 or by e-mail to dana.parsons@latimes.com