Getting in a Shot at Illegal Course Could Score Some Political Links

It was the perfect eight-iron shot, the ball soaring high and true. I wish I could tell you where it landed, but I had to stroke it from Pacific Coast Highway, over a fortress wall, and onto an illegally constructed private golf course.

Malibu ought to just go ahead and put “Keep Out” signs at the city limits. First it was David Geffen who blocked public access to the beach, and now it’s TV mogul and billionaire Jerry Perenchio who won’t let me onto his golf course.

For those who missed Ken Weiss’ stories in The Times, here’s the dope:

Twenty years ago, Mr. Univision got permission to build a 10-acre park between PCH and one of his several properties in gated Malibu Colony.

Why several houses within a stone’s throw of each other? Perenchio must like having himself as a neighbor. But his main hangout is the Bel-Air mansion from TV’s “Beverly Hillbillies.”

So I guess life does imitate art, and here’s the story of the bubbling crude.

After getting the OK for his park, Perenchio decided to go with a golf course instead. He blames it on his golf-loving wife, and claims he “was led to believe” by California Coastal Commission staff that it would be “OK.” So he built the golf course, and because of the high fence, most people didn’t know it existed until a year and a half ago.

First off, what kind of guy sets his wife up to take the fall? Sooner or later -- probably in his sleep -- a man’s gonna pay for that.

Secondly, environmentalists are screaming that Perenchio’s Pitch-N-Putt has fouled Malibu Lagoon with fertilizer and chemical runoff for two decades. And the lagoon spills into Surfrider Beach, where surfers and swimmers have complained of health problems for years.

“Millions of dollars have been spent to clean up that lagoon, and not until we discovered the golf course did we realize it could be part of the problem,” says Marcia Hanscom of the Wetlands Action Network. She wants Perenchio to pay for the cleanup of the lagoon and give the golf course to the public for use as wetlands.

So how do the high and mighty get away with this sort of thing?

It can’t hurt that Perenchio has slipped a cool $1 million to Gov. Gray Davis since 1999, or that his golfing buddies include ex-L.A. Mayor Dick Riordan, or that he sent a team of 10 lawyers, lobbyists and other assassins to last week’s Coastal Commission hearing. The commission postponed a decision on Perenchio’s request for an “after-the-fact” permit.

As a declared candidate for governor, I figured Perenchio would be writing me a check any day now, so he’ll be sure to keep some juice in Sacramento. I called his office to say I was coming by for a round of golf, and to see if he’ll host a fund-raising tournament for me. I’m not as greedy as Davis. Half a million will do.

When I didn’t hear back from Perenchio, I headed out to the links with my caddy. Malibu resident Susan Tellem says she’s sick and tired of moguls treating Malibu as if it’s their own private resort.

I couldn’t scale Perenchio’s wall, which is so high it blocks the view of the coast from PCH. There’s also a chain-link fence outside the stone wall, creating a moat effect, as if Ft. Knox is in there. So Tellem and I cut through the lagoon toward the beach, golf clubs in tow, to look for a back door to the links.

As we made our way, a teacher was leading a nature walk. He stopped next to signs warning that swimming in the lagoon is unsafe and that mussels are unfit for human consumption. Eat them, he warned 15 horrified students, and you’ll gasp for air before collapsing.

“The best thing you can do,” he said, “is vomit out what you can.”

I looked toward the nearby golf course, which has an un-permitted septic system. We may never know how much plant and wildlife has been sacrificed to fine-tune Mrs. Perenchio’s backswing.

Tellem and I walked past the “Private Beach” sign and strolled the shore, because despite the claims of Malibu’s movie stars and high rollers, wet sand is public sand. We made our way into the colony and came upon one of Perenchio’s compounds, where two gardeners said the boss was gone and the golf course was private.

Yeah, I said. But I called for a tee time.

The gardener wouldn’t budge, so we tried the shack at the entrance to the Colony. One of the guards claimed he knew nothing about the golf course that was 20 feet away. He dialed Perenchio’s office, and one of the paranoiacs there must have asked what I looked like.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” the guard said, giving me the once-over.

We found two more Perenchio employees who said I’d have to tee it up elsewhere. I explained that as governor, I’d be in there checking out any water contamination by executive authority, so they might as well get it over with.

No luck.

I dropped a Titleist 8 in the rough at the intersection of PCH and Cross Creek, and my caddy said it looked like an eight-iron from there. As motorists looked on, my first shot burped across the road. But my mulligan was a thing of beauty.

It leapt off the club and cleared the moat, climbed the sky over the corner of the contaminated lagoon, and sailed into the rarified air above the forbidden paradise.

Tiger Woods, eat your heart out.

You can keep the Titleist, Jerry. But let’s get the fund-raiser going. I’m on my way to Sacramento, and half a million bucks will make it easier to remember my friends in Malibu Colony.

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Steve Lopez writes Sunday, Wednesday and Friday. Reach him at steve.lopez@latimes.com