In the trunk of his battered 10-year-old Ford sedan, Larry Gross stores half a dozen scarred yellow folding chairs. The chairs, strewn among volleyballs, softball equipment and long-discarded papers, are essential equipment for a man who spends much of his life arranging and attending meetings.
Gross is a professional organizer, a man whose career is measured in meetings. He sets up his chairs everywhere in the tiny city of West Hollywood, in the dingy church office where he works, in the clean, well-lighted offices of City Hall, in cramped apartment common rooms and in sparsely furnished election headquarters.
What he accomplishes at those meetings often has immediate impact on the fortunes of the 16-month-old city. With the aid of a small band of young leftist activists and a loyal army of elderly Jewish tenants, Gross has built a potent grass-roots version of a political machine and become the city’s most commanding power broker.
Formidable Power Bloc
In the process, his Coalition for Economic Survival has transformed itself from a Los Angeles-based fringe pressure group with limited successes in rent control and street demonstrations into West Hollywood’s most formidable power bloc. No other organized group in the city wields as much influence or inflames as much controversy.
The coalition and its supporters have elected two of the city’s five council members–both of whom face reelection on April 8–and are priming for a third. Some of its volunteer members have wangled key appointments to the city’s commissions. Others have been hired in policy-making posts in the city’s fledgling bureaucracy.
“West Hollywood is (the coalition’s) oil gusher,” said Ron Stone, who led the city’s incorporation movement. “They’ve dug holes all over Los Angeles, but they never struck deep until they came to West Hollywood. They worked hard here and they deserve the rewards.”
The coalition’s primacy has alienated many of those who are accustomed to holding power. Landlords are roused to fury by the mere mention of Larry Gross’ name. Businessmen worry that the coalition’s continuing dominance will cost them profits. Rival politicians are jealous of the group’s clout. Even some council members seethe privately at the coalition’s refusal to compromise on minor political issues.
“CES is run by a very small group of people,” said Tony Melia, an insurance man who chairs a faction of moderate businessmen challenging the coalition for political supremacy in the April election. “They are a mystery to us all.”
Grist for Criticism
Nearly every move that the 34-year-old Gross makes as director of his coalition becomes instant grist for criticism: Passing folded notes to Mayor John Heilman and Councilwoman Helen Albert (both coalition members), Gross is accused of controlling their votes. Taping a flag over his office desk, he is branded a Communist (Gross described the flag, which has been taken down, as a United Farm Workers banner; his enemies say it was a hammer and sickle). Shaving his wispy beard and wearing suits instead of flannel shirts, he is said to be cleaning up his act for public consumption.
“People set me up as the enemy all the time,” Gross said. “They do it out of fear and envy. They really don’t have the foggiest notion of what CES is all about.”
Gross’ Hold on Coalition
Their obsession with Gross is hardly unwarranted. About 13 years after he founded the coalition with a group of peace activists and leftist leaders, Gross is the only original member left. Organizers and volunteers have come and gone, leaving because of “activist burnout,” because they needed a better-paying job or because of personal or philosophical conflicts. But Gross remains.
Although ostensibly a democratic organization, the coalition has remained securely in Gross’ control. His partisans say he is central to CES because of his natural leadership abilities; former members and enemies attribute his endurance to Machiavellian political cunning. But in the end, many who have watched Gross say he remains in control of the coalition because he simply is the coalition.
“Our success all trickles down from Larry,” said Jacqueline Balogh, the coalition’s membership director. “Without him, CES wouldn’t exist.”
Gross is a lean, fox-faced man who has a closet athlete’s fascination with competitive sports and a weakness for interrupting his organizing activities to attend Dodger and Laker home games.
He tries to keep his private life shielded from public scrutiny. “I don’t like the focus on me,” he said in a recent interview. “It’s the organization and what it has accomplished that’s important.”
Friends and former acquaintances say Gross lives in a sparsely furnished rented duplex in Echo Park. Five years ago, he made barely $500 a month at his job. These days, he makes more, but declines to reveal a figure. He still drives his decade-old Ford despite its growing list of automotive maladies.
His voice bears traces of a Queens accent that becomes thicker when he excitedly addresses crowds. “The landlords are trying to say rent control is not an issue in dis campaign!” he roared to an enthusiastic hall filled with senior citizens early this month. “The reason is dey don’t stand for strong rent control!”
Odd Man Out
The accent is one of the few facets of Gross’ activist life style that he has not polished. His is a career that began at Forest Hills High School in New York, where Gross found himself odd man out among fellow students in the late 1960s. “I was the only radical on campus,” he said.
He is the son of divorced parents. His father, a trade school teacher, lives in Miami; his mother, a volunteer with the Simon Wiesenthal Center, lives in Los Angeles, not far from West Hollywood. Both were influences on his burgeoning activism, his father as an active union member, his mother as a Holocaust survivor.
“What she went through outraged me whenever I thought about it,” Gross said.
Often joining older college students in peace marches at Central Park and other anti-Vietnam War activities, Gross graduated from high school with few prospects. He took a job as a clothing store salesman, but in 1972, came to Los Angeles to visit his mother, who had moved here.
Extending his stay by taking political science classes at Los Angeles City College, he became active in local efforts to drum up support for the impeachment of President Richard Nixon. Drifting between activist groups, Gross in 1973 became involved in new union of peace and civil rights organizations which was protesting Nixon’s cuts in social service budgets.
The umbrella group became the Coalition for Economic Survival. “They had a little flat on Vermont Avenue with a small file cabinet in the back,” said Rosa Factor, an early coalition volunteer. “It was real small-scale. Larry was a lot different in those days. His hair was long and frizzy, hippie-style.”
Strong Points
The group’s forte was picket line protest and street theater. Demonstrating against high milk prices in 1974, coalition organizers toured inner-city shopping centers, urging a boycott. Gross and his fellow activists spoke from the back of a pickup truck, where they mounted a purple papier-mache cow named “C. Brunel Cow” after then-state Agriculture Secretary C. Brunel Christensen. At a later demonstration, protesting a Pico-Union expansion of a Pep Boys warehouse complex, Gross and his followers marched to the chant: “Manny, Moe and Jack! We want our buildings back!”
At first preoccupied with consumer issues such as rising bus fares and utility costs, the coalition managed to win favorable coverage in newspaper and television reports. They had little influence, however, on the commissions which made the decisions.
Skyrocketing rents that accompanied Los Angeles’ real estate speculation fever in the late 1970s gave the coalition a ready-made issue. “We cut our teeth on rent control,” said Norman Chramoff, a former coalition member who now works in West Hollywood’s rent control administration. “That’s when CES membership grew and grew.”
The new members were senior citizens, outraged that their rents were doubling and tripling, often in the span of a year. After learning to live on fixed incomes, many elderly tenants became afraid that they would be evicted from apartments where they had lived for years.
Remembering the horrors of the Depression, many seniors feared a return to poverty. “Anybody who lived through the Depression can’t imagine how scared we were,” said Martha Newman, a woman in her 60s who is an ardent coalition supporter. “CES saved us from that.”
Limited Victories
The coalition promised relief from the surging apartment rental rates. In a series of political confrontations with landlords, the coalition won limited victories. Although it did not get the strong rent protections it wanted, the coalition did help push a moderate rent control law (4% annual rent increase) through the Los Angeles City Council. In Los Angeles County, the coalition pressured supervisors, but was only able to help pass an even weaker rent law in 1979 (7% annual increase).
In November, 1983, a coalition-sponsored referendum failed to persuade county voters to adopt a tougher rent control law. Because of overwhelming support among senior renters, the referendum did well in West Hollywood–passing there by a 5-1 ratio–but it was not enough to keep rent control alive. That vote, which led to the expiration of county rent control in 1985, set the stage for West Hollywood’s incorporation battle.
By that time, the coalition had made deep inroads into the city’s elderly community (estimated at 40% of the area’s population). Those inroads proved crucial in the 1984 incorporation election.
Gross estimates that 2,000 of the coalition’s 5,000 members are in West Hollywood. Political observers of all stripes in West Hollywood agree that in an election year campaign, the coalition can command upwards of 2,000 votes–a significant block among West Hollywood’s 19,000 registered voters.
“West Hollywood is sort of our flagship,” Gross said. “We have a tremendous opportunity here.”
The city’s elderly tenants also provide the coalition with much of its financial support. At coalition meetings, organizers pass around empty fried chicken buckets, which are often returned brimming with cash and checks.
Several allegations of discrepancies in the coalition’s finances were reported to county officials last year. But Candace Beason, a prosecutor in the county district attorney’s investigative division, said her department has declined to investigate them. “They were relatively minor complaints,” she said last week. “The case is closed.”
Since its incorporation victory in November, 1984–in which two coalition members, Heilman and Albert, were elected to the council and the coalition aided the election victories of council members Alan Viterbi and Valerie Terrigno–the coalition has worked to consolidate its power.
New Headquarters
Late last year, the group moved its headquarters from a cluttered office on Pico Boulevard in Los Angeles to a cluttered office in the Crescent Heights Methodist Church in West Hollywood. Working at night, amid old metal desks and boxes sagging with files, coalition organizers quickly felt at home in the new city.
But, as with nearly everything they do, coalition organizers found themselves under attack, this time just for moving into West Hollywood. Landlords, Republicans and businessmen tried to pressure church leaders and city officials to evict them but the CES has stayed put.
The coalition–and Gross, in particular–are under constant fire. During the 1984 incorporation election, he was branded a Communist by Jewish Defense League activist Irv Rubin. Rubin claimed then–and maintains today–that he has “inside information” proving that Gross visited Cuba as a guest of Fidel Castro.
Gross labels the charges “the ravings of the far right.” Despite continued whisperings about “hidden agendas,” landlords and other political enemies of the coalition have never proved their claims.
But at least half a dozen former coalition members say they were invited by some coalition organizers to attend Marxist study meetings and similar functions. One former member, Mark Siegel, who is now chief deputy to Los Angeles Councilman Joel Wachs, said that he was asked several times to join a Marxist study group. He declined.
“The thing is, (CES) was such a loose group,” Siegel said. “There were all kinds of philosophies floating around there. We certainly weren’t being directed from Moscow.”
Both Gross and Heilman also admit that some members have been philosophical Marxists. “But we have Republicans among our steering committee people, too,” Gross said. “We even have one person who sells Amway products. Should we throw them out for that? I don’t think it really matters.”
‘I’m Scared’
“Of course it matters,” argues Tony Melia, who heads West Hollywood for Good Government, the group opposing the coalition in the April elections. “We want officials who choose for us, without any hidden agendas. If the rumors I hear are true, then I’m scared.”
Gross and his followers have also been portrayed as dogmatic and unwilling to take part in the compromises that are the basic components of small-town politics. “That is my one real gripe with them,” said Councilman Stephen Schulte. “There’s no middle ground to them.”
To that criticism, Heilman responds: “I don’t call that being dogmatic,” he said. “We stand for certain principles. Why should we deviate from them?”
Arguments over covert Marxism and political rigidity, however, mask the nature of the real power struggle in West Hollywood. Perceived as the most influential organization in the city, the coalition’s apparent clout is envied by groups that have had less sway with the City Council.
“At least until this election is over, they (the coalition) have the appearance of the most-organized political entity in town,” Schulte said. “One doesn’t confront them lightly.”
Those who do can expect to become enemies. When Melia unveiled his Good Government group earlier this year, he portrayed it as a rival of the coalition for political clout in West Hollywood. Gross immediately branded the group as a “front for the landlords.”
While it is indeed probable that the landlords would prefer victories by Good Government candidates in the April election, Gross immediately set into motion “an us-versus-them situation,” according to community activist Bob Conrich.
Black and White
“They have no gray areas,” Conrich said. “Larry’s convincing his elderly constituency that the landlords are waiting behind every corner to gouge them. It’s an effective political tactic, but it’s dishonest and it sets this city up for the same situation in every election. Larry will set someone up as a tool of the landlords and then try to knock them down.”
Such was the case earlier this month, when coalition organizers filled a hall at Plummer Park with senior citizens and raised the threat that the city’s rent control ordinance was in danger. “This election is going to be a big battle,” Gross said. “They have the money. They had it last time. But we have the people.”
It has been harder for the coalition to bring out their people when the heat of an election has cooled. During last year’s rent control battle, landlords far outnumbered tenants at public hearings on the proposed law.
Still, in rent control votes and in pressing for an affordable housing policy with the city’s interim growth ordinance, the coalition lived up to its reputation. On other votes, though, without obvious backing of its elderly constituents, the coalition has found itself sometimes limited in its influence over council decisions.
That became embarrassingly obvious to coalition organizers when the council refused to exact concessions from the Pacific Design Center in return for a planned major expansion. Heilman and Albert, backed by coalition lobbyists, pushed for fees that would have paid for a day-care center and provided seed money for a community development corporation. But in the end, the two council members gave up their fight.
Close Votes
The coalition has even had trouble getting some of its members appointed to city commissions. In close votes in recent months, the coalition’s candidates for posts on the city’s Transportation and Human Services commissions were defeated and the coalition even was unable to prevent landlord leader Grafton Tanquary from winning a spot on the Affordable Housing Task Force.
Schulte, Melia and a number of other political observers say such defeats indicate a lessening of the coalition’s clout. “I don’t think they loom as high on the horizon as they did six months ago,” Schulte said. “They haven’t kept up the pressure.”
But Gross and other coalition members say those defeats were minor ones, offset by gains achieved in a less obvious area–political organizing among the city’s 89% tenant population. The coalition is trying to win more allies among the apartment dwellers for future elections.
In recent months, Gross and his fellow organizers have shown up weekly at apartment buildings scattered throughout West Hollywood for “house meetings,” small receptions where they explain the new rent control law to tenants and answer questions about other concerns.
Last month, Gross showed up at one building to explain the details of the city’s new rent law to six tenants. As a radio faintly played “The Poet and Peasant Overture,” Gross set up his folding chairs and waited for his small audience to arrive.
The meeting lasted just over an hour. The conversation did not get beyond the level of after-dinner chat. But in the eyes of many West Hollywood political observers, the coalition’s dependence on such seemingly insignificant meetings may provide the key to its future influence.
“They do the groundwork that no one else in West Hollywood is willing to do,” said Councilman Viterbi. “They’re out there all the time, making new contacts, renewing old ones. No one else in this city has the patience or the manpower to do that. As long as they keep it up, they’ll be a force to reckon with.”
Comments on the Coalition
Incorporation leader Ron Stone: “West Hollywood is (CES’) oil gusher.”
Rival coalition leader Tony Melia: “CES is run by a very small group of people. They are a mystery to us all.”
Councilman Stephen Schulte: “At least until this election is over, they (CES) have the appearance of the most-organized political entity in town. One doesn’t confront them lightly.”
Councilman Alan Viterbi: “They do the groundwork that no one else in West Hollywood is willing to do.”
