A Snowball’s Chance in L.A.

It’s a little before 5 p.m. on a Tuesday night inside Los Angeles City College’s student center. There are seven people seated in auditorium chairs who’ve come to tonight’s program. That’s neither particularly good nor bad--unless you are one of the mayoral candidates on stage eager to get your message out.

“It gets discouraging,” says Leonard Shapiro, one of the candidates who spoke that night. “But you meet some interesting people. You meet some nuts, too, though.”

This is a glimpse of what it’s like to run for mayor of Los Angeles with little media coverage, no campaign funds and no chance of winning. But this is also what it’s like to forge ahead anyway, determined to make a point, determined to reshape the race, and determined, in a city of more than 3 million people, to matter.

LACC’s first mayoral forum in January was, by all accounts, a rousing success. Opened by former Democratic presidential nominee Michael Dukakis, the January night attracted three of the six leading candidates and an audience of 150. The next two forums, devoted to the remainder of the field--a number that was as high as 25 at one point--did not go so well.

Here, at this second forum in February, seven candidates greet a crowd of about 50. In deference to the proceedings, Ms. PacMan and the other handful of pinball and video arcade machines are silent, as are the room’s television sets. The candidates launch into their opening statements in which they recite a stock litany of office-seeker goals: halt wasteful spending, improve city services and listen to the people. Still, a few things stand out.

Garment worker Wendy Lyons, a candidate representing the Socialist Workers Party, announces a highly ambitious platform: organize a national revolution and install a new American government modeled after the one Cubans have enjoyed for decades under Fidel Castro. It was unclear what role, if any, Castro might play in the proposed government.

There is technology consultant James Wiley, 40, a plain-spoken, modest man dressed in a cowboy hat and Wrangler jeans. He’s upfront with the crowd: “I know I’m not capable of running a front office.”

Steve Mozena, a 40-year-old former morning radio talk-show host from Arizona, fires the first shot in an undeclared, but unremitting, war on the media. (On his Web site, https://www.mozena.com, the candidate who compares himself to the cartoon character “Underdog” proudly recounts sending local TV news directors raw chickens “to symbolize they’re all super chickens” for their unfair news coverage of the mayor’s race.) “Call the media and tell them there are more than six candidates. Everyone deserves a voice, don’t you think?” asks Mozena.

One person responds, “Yes.”

The candidates are then given two minutes to answer questions from moderator and LACC administrator Fred Piegonski. It quickly becomes clear that the candidates, though amateurs, have nearly all mastered the essential skill of the professional politician: Never directly answer a question. Rather, reroute the inquiry to a topic, preferably a self-serving one, as quickly as possible.

Candidate Dante Rusciolelli, whose business card identifies him as a “stand-up comic/actor/writer,” is asked to talk about Proposition A, a bond measure on the April 10 ballot that would fund infrastructure improvements at community colleges. Rusciolelli, 30, doesn’t seem terribly knowledgeable about Prop A but tells the home crowd their campus “is rundown.”

“It’s in a rundown neighborhood,” he continues. “I’m still wondering if my car is going to be there when I get back.” (It was.)

As Rusciolelli talks, a Mozena campaign worker quietly distributes lollipops--in honor of Valentine’s Day. Within moments, much of the audience is sucking away at their candy.

Meanwhile, a kaleidoscope of views are offered. Mozena observes that the LAPD’s image would improve if it adopted “less militaristic” uniforms. Lyons later counters that the LAPD is beyond reform since officers “serve and protect the ruling class,” and reiterated the need for revolution.

Joe Smith, a 50-year-old businessman, stresses that he is a “humanitarian” who has never wanted “any pats on the back” or “merit awards” but has nevertheless received many of both.

Eric Wickland, 53, an urban planner, characterizes the city’s mass transit system as one that does a superb job delivering “the people who use mass transit to all the places they don’t need to go.” (This remark provokes a relative avalanche of applause, meaning three or four people clap loudly.)

Joe Shea, 54, editor of the online daily newspaper the American Reporter, quotes Times columnist Al Martinez as saying “a statue should be built to Joe Shea.” (Close. In a 1997 column, Martinez wrote: “They ought to build a statue to guys like Joe Shea . . .” for his role in fighting crime and cleaning up his Hollywood neighborhood.)

If the forum were a script, the next move would be called a plot point--something that forever alters the course of a story. In response to a question about pollution, Wiley declares 50 minutes into a 90-minute forum: “I’m not a candidate, no more. I’d be more comfortable being out there with them,” and he steps down into the audience.

The half-dozen other candidates take the unexpected departure in stride. Besides, before Wiley’s seat gets cold, Shapiro--who wasn’t slated to speak until the third forum--emerges from the audience to occupy the vacant chair.

“I’ve been covering the city for 18 years,” said Shapiro, an 81-year-old self-described gadfly and heart-bypass patient with an outstanding set of lungs. “I know where the bodies are buried.”

As the forum lurches toward its end, the question about the elephant in the room rears its head: Why are you running when you aren’t going to win?

“I beg your pardon,” shoots back the burly and energetic Shea. “I’m going to be the next mayor of Los Angeles. That’s a fact.” Of course, if Shea is elected and gets his way, the Los Angeles he’ll govern will be much smaller. He, unlike the other six major candidates, favors Valley secession.

Afterward, LACC student Thongchai Santijaroennon, who sat through the entire forum, offers this Goldilocks-like take on why he attended. “I didn’t really pay attention,” says the 25-year-old Los Angeles resident who was studying for a physics exam. “Some places are too quiet to study. Others are too noisy. It was good to have some noise here.”

*

The LACC’s final mayoral event later that month draws the smallest crowd of the three campus forums. Seeking to boost the numbers, Piegonski lobbies a couple of students in the activity center to remain and watch democracy unfold. “We’d love to have an audience,” he says.

The students smile at the invitation but soon pack their books and leave. The night’s high water mark would be less than 20 people.

In opening remarks, LACC President Mary Spangler confronts the poor turnout head-on. “There are fewer people in the audience than the last two sessions,” she admits. “But I think the university has an obligation to provide information to the public.”

She promptly leaves the auditorium after her remarks. But Alejandro Morales, president of the LACC’s Associated Student Body government, stays put after his. “I’m disheartened [by the low turnout],” he says. “But I still feel it will be a good night.”

Good, maybe. Unusual, certainly.

Unlike Shapiro--who decries the media, the MTA, the mayor, overcrowded jails, the proliferation of homelessness, and government waste, to name a few--Charles “Duke” Russell is a single-issue candidate. The retired electrician for television’s “General Hospital” wants sports programs at local community colleges and high schools reinstated. It is virtually the only topic the easygoing shortstop for the LACC’s 1946 baseball team would speak about the entire evening.

“Sports programs have prevented riots and won wars,” says Russell, 75, who has since dropped out of the race. “It’s just a tragedy to lose them.”

Meanwhile, candidate Sandra Bush-Noble, 44, a health-care consultant, introduces herself by revealing a very personal problem. “I’m a mentally ill functioning addict,” she says. Later, she talks about a plan to revitalize Hollywood that somehow features Elvis and Jesus.

Everyone in the room, including her fellow candidates, listen politely.

Initially, candidate Kwame Boateng, a naturalized U.S. citizen originally from Ghana, a teacher and consultant, sounds like a flag-waving candidate if ever there was one. He recounts the horrors of government soldiers suppressing basic freedoms in his native country. He praises “America, America, the land of the brave, the land of the free” and thanks it for “letting me enjoy democracy.”

But then Boateng, 39, talks about his experience with a darker side of America. There is political terrorism in his adopted country, too, he says. An election official is trying to bar him from seeking political office, he says with scant elaboration.

“There is no power on this earth that can prevent me from participating in the civilized democratic process,” says Boateng, whose name doesn’t appear on the final mayor’s ballot.

The final candidate, Francis Della Vecchia, proposes a Web-cam to capture every move of the mayor. Smacking vaguely of political porn, the idea is to open a public window into the activities of the city’s leader. He’s even established his own Web site for the task should he win: https://www.watchthemayor.com.

“I represent the average person,” said Della Vecchia, a 35-year-old actor and small-business owner who probably does represent more of the average people in Los Angeles than the other candidates.

Later, it becomes clear why he has no hope of being mayor. He wants to demolish one of the great pillars of modern Los Angeles--its consumerist “throw-away” culture. And he wants to replace it with an environmentally sensible one. “Why aren’t there solar panels on every building in Los Angeles?” he asks earnestly.

Perhaps it’s because of the size of the crowd, but there’s almost no applause during the evening. Maybe it has something to do with the small numbers or maybe it’s the topics discussed. But the audience does produce a couple noises. Very loud ones in fact.

About a half-hour into the forum as Smith speaks about providing food for the homeless, a young man snores so loudly that a security officer has to nudge him awake. The man, looking slightly embarrassed, gathers his things and leaves.

A little more than a half-hour later, it happens again. This time, an older man--also on a couch--snores as Della Vecchia criticizes the city’s homeless policy. Again, a security guard gently shakes him to consciousness.

When the college’s forums are over, the candidates are understandably disappointed by the lackluster turnouts and their exclusion from debates that feature the six front-runners.

“I have no illusions about winning,” says Shapiro, who received about 5,000 votes running against Richard Riordan and Tom Hayden in the last mayoral election. “But if we’re qualified, we should be entitled to the same considerations as the other candidates.