No sympathy for Polanksi - The director as fugitive sexual predator

It was here in Santa Monica that director Roman Polanski told the State of California what he thought of our criminal justice system. Despite the fact that he’d pled guilty to a felony, he decided it wasn’t worth living here if his address was going to be the state prison in Chino instead of the Chateau Marmont. So he ran away. He’d been a fugitive from American justice since 1978, but Swiss authorities picked him up over the weekend and are holding him for possible extradition. I hope he’ll return to our humble local courthouse to finish the process that was started thirty years ago and be sentenced to 20 years in prison for what he’s done.

Before we get to his crimes, let’s address the things his defenders always bring up. First, because of improper contact with a Prosecutor, the judge in his case reneged on a secret deal to sentence Polanski to probation. Second, Polanksi survived the Holocaust and his wife and unborn child were brutally murdered by the Manson family. The Polanski camp brings up the first point as a reason to justify his fleeing the country and staying on the run for three decades and they bring up the second point as a way to encourage pity. That garbage doesn’t work with me because I don’t think the fact that he was an acclaimed director means he should have final cut privilege when it comes to his prison sentence, and because I’ve read the transcripts of the grand jury testimony, Polanski’s guilty plea, and his motion for dismissal – and I have no sympathy for the devil.

In 1977, Roman Polanski the film director was going to shoot photos for Vogue and was introduced to an aspiring young actress who was willing to pose for him. Polanski knew the girl was only 13, but when they went down the street from her Sherman Oaks home to take some pictures, he asked her to pose for topless photos because there was “no embarrassment” when she changed in front of him. He said topless photos of 13-year-olds are “acceptable in Europe” and he didn’t realize they were “objectionable here.”

For their next photo shoot he took her to a house on Mulholland Drive, but the light was supposedly no good (and the house was crowded). So he took her down the street to Jack Nicholson’s house where the light was the same, but the place was empty. He had her pose with full champagne glasses, which she then drank. He had the drunken teenager remove most of her clothing and get in the jacuzzi. He gave her a piece of a 300mg Quaalude and told her to go lie down in a bedroom where he had his way with her. According to Polanski, “I told her to rest in the bedroom. I went to the bedroom. She never objected…I withdrew before climax.”

Of course, that’s not how the survivor of this sexual assault remembers it. She says she told Polanski to stop, though she didn’t fight him because “there was no one else there” and she “had no place to go.” Also because he was her only way to get home and she was “dizzy” and “having trouble with my coordination, like walking and stuff.” In the room with that drunken, heavily sedated teenager was a 44-year-old predator who went down on her, raped her, sodomized her, then dropped her back at her mother’s house like nothing happened.

He was arrested and charged with rape by use of drugs, lewd and lascivious act upon a child under 14, perversion, sodomy, and furnishing a controlled substance to a minor – and it was an open-and-shut case. But the girl’s family (with the help of a large settlement) wanted it to go away and Hollywood wanted Polanski back behind a camera; so the judge agreed to a secret plea deal (probation in exchange for pleading guilty to the lesser charge of unlawful sex with a minor) before changing his mind and informing Polanski’s lawyers that he would be sentenced to prison, then deported. Realizing he was going to spend the next decade being treated the way he treated his victim, but without the jacuzzi, booze, and pills, Polanski fled.

As the home of America’s skin trade (modeling, stripping, and porn), L.A. is the front line of a war in which no little girl is safe. On one side there are the people who defend, protect, and enable sexual predators like Polanski, Officer Ian King from the LAUSD police department, and Thomas Beltran from our own Lincoln middle school. On the other side are those of us who have sisters, daughters, and nieces we want to protect. There is no middle ground – you’re either on the side of innocent children or you’re on the side of the predators. So I don’t care how good his movies are, Hollywood needs to stop defending a man who used his status in the business to drug and rape an 8th grader, then used his wealth and French citizenship to avoid paying for his crimes.

Getting to the bottom of things at St. John's - Where is the CEO?

I’ve heard the expressions “crap flows down hill” and “good cop/bad cop” thousands of times, but I never understood them until last week. Oddly, it was the Sisters of Charity of Leavenworth Health System who brought those phrases into focus at the monthly meeting on the progress of the decade-long construction project at St. John’s.

After the August meeting to get “input from the community,” I wrote about five people connected to this project – three from St. John’s (CEO Lou Lazatin, Mission & Ethics VP LaTisha Starbuck, and Marketing & Business Development Director Greg Harrison) and two from the Shane Miller Company (President Shane Miller and Project Executive Jake Keshishyan). Four of these people attended both that meeting and the one last week, but Lou Lazatin was a no-show. Twice.

I have to recognize the night-and-day difference between the two meetings – at least in terms of the jobs that LaTisha and Greg did. Last month, the only reason anyone even knew a meeting was taking place was because a neighbor made copies of a notice and delivered them door-to-door. This month, anyone who signed in at the previous meeting was sent a notice and an agenda in the mail. Last month’s meeting was scheduled at 3pm, while this month’s was at a more convenient 7pm.

Neighbors voiced concerns about delivery trucks and ambulances at the last meeting, now there is a commitment to structured delivery routes and both the Fire Chief and the EMS Director made promises that were very reassuring coming from the top. And the hospital even provided the Administrator On-Call’s number to get immediate attention paid to any neighbor’s concerns at any time (310-829-5511). That was the “good cop” portion of the program.

Last month, I wondered what an “Owner’s Representative” like the Shane Miller Company does. The hospital says they know how to provide patient care, not how to deal with the general contractors, subcontractors, vendors, and various city, county, and state agencies associated with a real estate development project. That’s where people like Shane Miller enter the picture. He’s the bad cop. It’s his job to say and do the things the hospital (read: Lou Lazatin) won’t. One of the most important things Lou Lazatin won’t say is that the reconstruction of Saint John’s Health Center after the 1994 Northridge earthquake has turned into a real estate development project.

Real estate developers – the deep-pocketed dealmakers with the best lawyers, the most influential politicians, and all the time in the world to beat up or wait out the other side – are not to be trusted. In this case, Saint John’s hired Harding, Larmore, Mullen, Jakle, Kutcher, & Kozal to draft and negotiate its infamous Development Agreement with the city of Santa Monica (good luck finding it on-line, by the way – it’s like the document doesn’t exist), somehow got the votes of every member of the City Council (except Mike Feinstein), and bought itself 17 years of development rights in heart of Mid-City at one of the worst traffic choke-points in Santa Monica.

Because of the mind-blowing 29,000 new daily car trips in an early Environmental Impact Report, the Development Agreement committed Saint John’s to constructing 422 subterranean parking spaces. Their lawyers will say the language calls for the hospital to make “every reasonable effort” or its “best effort” to construct those parking spaces; but as far as I’m concerned, if the Sisters of Mercy say they’re going to do something, that should be the same as a commitment.

When asked why the spaces are nowhere to be found in the construction plans, Shane Miller said the hospital intends to ask for a 10-year deferment – eleven years after promising to deliver those parking spots. If that deferment is granted by our City Council, planning for the construction of the spaces won’t begin for another 8 years. I asked Shane if that meant that a child born when the Development Agreement was finalized would have gone through McKinley Elementary, Lincoln Middle, SaMoHi, and be ready to graduate from Santa Monica College before a single one of those parking spaces had been provided. He said he wasn’t going to answer that question.

No meeting would be complete without a blatant lie, and Jake and Shane didn’t disappoint. A design flaw makes it all but impossible for the hospital to pump its sewage into the city pipes, so it’s drained into trucks and hauled away. For at least 8 hours every week while the trucks are being filled, the entire area reeks of sewage (the students at McKinley have recess less than 200 yards away). Jake said the hospital’s pumps aren’t designed to work with the city system. Shane confirmed they actually are, but the flaw is too expensive to fix. So the goal is to “mitigate” the impact on the neighbors of pumping sewage into trucks twice a week, every week, forever.

Meanwhile, Lou Lazatin’s crap flows downhill into our community and onto our kids and she doesn’t have the decency to show up and answer for it.

Running off at the mouth - Joe Wilson & Fuzzy Zoeller

By now, I’m sure you’ve heard about South Carolina Congressman Joe Wilson and his outburst during our president’s address to a joint session of Congress last week. When he screamed, “You lie!” in the otherwise silent House chamber, Wilson brought the insanity of this summer’s town meetings on health care reform into the most hallowed hall of our great republic and simultaneously became the most famous heckler in America. It’s not the ideal way for a Republican member of Congress to become a household name, but it’s better than Idaho Senator Larry Craig and his “wide stance” in the Minneapolis airport men’s room.

In the past week, any of a number of my fellow columnists have taken on this subject; decrying the death of civility while comparing Joe Wilson’s behavior to Serena Williams’ profanity-laced tirade directed at a US Open referee or Kanye West’s interrupting Taylor Swift’s VMA acceptance speech. For me, these comparisons miss the mark because unlike those two black entertainers, Joe Wilson belongs to a demographic (middle-aged southern white guys who are members of Congress) known for good manners. A much better example to look to is that of former professional golfer Fuzzy Zoeller and the comments he made about then soon-to-be-first-time-Masters-champion Tiger Woods at Augusta National Golf Club one Sunday back in 1997.

At the time, Zoeller was a popular, well-liked PGA tour pro who had been the 1979 Masters champion. Woods was on his way to his first major championship with a twelve-stroke margin of victory over a field that really didn’t challenge him that weekend. Tiger had not yet come to dominate professional golf, but it was generally accepted that it was just a matter of time before he would. In other words, a young, untested black guy was coming into this venerable bastion of southern whiteness and was poised to take it over (sound familiar?). Needless to say, not everybody was comfortable with the idea.

That’s when Zoeller, who had finished his round of golf and had begun enjoying some rounds of cocktails, made 18 seconds of commentary that will haunt him for the rest of his life. Speaking to a TV reporter, he said, “That little boy is driving well and he's putting well. He's doing everything it takes to win. So, you know what you guys do when he gets in here? You pat him on the back and say congratulations and enjoy it and tell him not to serve fried chicken (at the champions dinner) next year…or collard greens or whatever the hell they serve.” Then Zoeller sauntered off to refresh his Mint Julep or whatever the hell they drink.

In the days and weeks that followed, the community of PGA tour professionals (at least the ones who would comment publicly) unanimously condemned Fuzzy’s comments, though most defended him as a good guy. More importantly, Zoeller’s main sponsor, Kmart, cancelled his endorsement deal saying, “Regardless of the context, (the comments) are contrary to Kmart's longstanding policies that insure our words and deeds are without bias.” For his part, Fuzzy Zoeller dropped out of a tournament he had played in for more than 20 consecutive years because the controversy was a distraction from the business of playing golf.

Compare that response to Joe Wilson’s Republican colleagues and the real problem begins to emerge. Initially, they tried the “moral equivalence” argument by saying that Democrats had hissed and booed President George W. Bush when he addressed a joint session and no apologies were made. Now they’re saying Wilson’s calling White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emmanuel to apologize to President Obama is enough contrition and that he doesn’t need to make an additional apology from the House floor. I say if Fuzzy Zoeller had enough respect for a PGA golf course not to tee it up while he was the center of controversy, Joe Wilson should have the same respect for the House chamber and should only enter it in order to apologize to that august body for his unprecedented breach of decorum. Emboldened by this lack of leadership in his party, Joe Wilson has flatly refused to make such an apology.

Throughout the last seven days, the chronicles of South Carolina Joe have actually made me more hopeful, not less hopeful, for the future of our government because despite the fact that 25% of the people surveyed in a recent Gallup poll approve of Wilson’s behavior (with 6% claiming to be “thrilled” about it), almost 70% disapprove. And even though Wilson has raised some $700,000 in campaign contributions in the last week, his likely opponent has doubled that total and raised almost $1.5 million – showing that the people of South Carolina are voting with their dollars over a year before they cast their ballots, and sending their soon-to-be-ex-Congressman the message that the House Republican “leadership” doesn’t have the courage to send: you were wrong.

Praising the people behind the pier - Santa Monica pier's centennial

Seven years ago, I made the decision to leave New York City for Los Angeles. I had never been to Southern California before, but I'd just put the finishing touches on a brilliantly sharp and grabby script complete with compelling characters, smart dialogue and a brand-spanking new approach to traditional themes that will have anyone hooked within the first four pages. I knew I needed to be in L.A. in order to sell it, but I didn't know what part of the "City of Angels" I wanted to call home — until I visited my friend Katie's house on Second Street near Marine. After one trip on a beach cruiser bicycle through the jasmine-scented streets to Bay Cities Deli and eating my first Godmother sandwich, I knew that Santa Monica was the perfect place for me. Three years after moving here, I can't believe how lucky I am — how lucky we all are — to be able to celebrate the 100th birthday of our beloved pier today.

Truth be told, we're lucky we even have a pier in the first place. It took the vision of a Danish wood carver turned amusement entrepreneur named Charles I.D. Looff to put it all together some 90 years ago. His ornate wooden horses took their first rides in the summer of 1916 and though the "Looff Pleasure Pier" wasn't finished, the crowds that gathered that Fourth of July weekend were prescient predictors of the pier's popularity. Thanks to Looff's vision, the Santa Monica Pier has given our city's residents and visitors countless hours of fun, relaxation, and recreation — and has given the world Hot Dog on a Stick, the inspiration for Popeye the Sailor, and the first beach volleyball doubles tournament. It was also the home of the original Muscle Beach, the first American home of Cirque du Soleil (returning this fall with "Kooza"), and features the first-ever solar-powered Ferris wheel.

Our pier also stands as a testament to democracy in the classic Greek sense of the word (people power). In 1973 when the City Council planned to build a 35-acre island offshore with a high-rise hotel, convention center, and restaurants connected by a causeway that would essentially have replaced the pier, so many protesters showed up that the meeting had to be moved to the Santa Monica Civic Center. The residents of this town saved the pier that night and two years later, approved a ballot measure that made it illegal to make any major changes to the pier without first putting it to a vote by the people, not the City Council.

Ten years later, between January and February of 1983, came the most momentous month in the life of the pier during which no fewer than five storms collaborated to do more than $6 million in damage — and dump an enormous construction crane into the bay. That fall the Pier Restoration Corp. (PRC) was founded. It's important to understand that the magic of the pier doesn't just happen — and that it's the current PRC and its incredibly dedicated staff that make everything that happens on and around the pier possible. If you've ever grooved at the Twilight Dance Series, flown at the Trapeze School New York, taken your kids for the rides and games in Pacific Park and the arcade, or even just enjoyed a kissing moment with your sweetheart, the PRC is the reason. Our stoic (but never staid) pleasure pier is their baby and we're all fortunate that they let us baby-sit whenever we want.

I'm happy I took the long way to get here because it makes me appreciate our fair city and our incredible pleasure pier that much more. My hometown of Boston has the family-friendly Central Wharf and the New England Aquarium, but the rest of the city's waterfront seems to be suffering from an identity crisis. New York City has Coney Island (iconic home of Nathan's hot dogs and a wooden roller coaster called "the Cyclone"), which is miserable to visit between October and May. San Francisco has the Embarcadero and the crossroads of the world that is Fisherman's Wharf, but there is nothing to do except spend money.

None of these places can hold the proverbial candle to what we've got here. The pier is open 365 days a year and has activities aplenty for any budget — even zero dollars. Thanks to the dedication of Ben Franz-Knight and the great people at the PRC and the hard work of the people who groom the beaches and clean the bike paths and direct traffic into and out of the parking lots, we can all enjoy the last great pleasure pier on the West Coast. So as you partake of the festivities tonight, make sure to take the time to thank those amazing orange-vested, blue-shirted, and white-shirted people for their work. We don't always see their faces and we don't typically recognize their contributions, but we'd definitely miss them if they weren't there.

Not so neighborly - Saint John's Health Center vs. Mid-City Santa Monica

For the past two years, my roommate and I have shared a two-bedroom apartment on a nice, quiet block in Mid-City. A few weeks ago, he told me he’d be moving out. More accurately, he told me he was moving in with his brother who had been couch surfing with us for two months (while supposedly looking for a place for himself and his “friend from college”). As it turns out, there was no friend, it was all a lie, and I was on the horns of a dilemma. I didn’t want to move, but I couldn’t swing the rent by myself. Nobody I knew was looking for a roommate situation and didn’t want to live with some stranger I found on Craigslist or West Side Rentals.

I liked the apartment, I love the area, and I really love my neighbors. Well, not all of them. There is one incredibly lousy neighbor on 23rd street who actually helped me make the eventual decision to move to Sunset Park. This neighbor is probably the biggest landowner in the area with a property that spans the entire block between 20th and 23rd Streets and Santa Monica Boulevard and Arizona Avenue. I’ve lived in Boston, New York City, San Francisco, and Los Angeles and I’ve never seen a property owner show less regard for its neighbors or its community than this one. Of course, I’m talking about Saint John’s Health Center.

In a transparently disingenuous, half-hearted attempt to get “input from the community,” Saint John’s recently held a meeting to discuss the next phase of its decade-long construction project and the abatement and demolition of the South Tower. And to ensure a limited turnout, they scheduled the hour-long meeting at 3:00 in the afternoon on a Thursday.

The community was represented by about a dozen good people and by me, your friendly neighborhood columnist. Saint John’s sent their Director of Marketing and Business Development, Greg Harrison, and the Mission and Ethics VP, LaTisha Starbuck. From the construction side, the Shane Miller Company (listed as the “Owner’s Representative,” whatever that means) sent Project Executive Jake Keshishyan and President Shane Miller. Believe me when I tell you, I did my best to stay cool.

Jake went over the schedule for the next year or so – starting with the South Tower abatement this October through to the beginning of the North Lawn and entry plaza work next May. Then a guy (whose name I didn’t get) talked about the abatement process. Contractors use the word “abatement” because when they say “toxic waste removal,” people tend to freak out. The guy informed us the three-month process would involve getting rid of the building’s insulation, at which point I wanted to know if there were any toxic or hazardous materials in the building. He said there weren’t, then went on to talk about the removal of lead and asbestos. I was confused.

“I thought you said there were no hazardous or toxic materials,” I said. “Now you’re saying there’s lead and asbestos.”

“Well there’s lead, but there’s no lead,” the guy responded.

“I don’t understand that.”

“There’s lead in the building, but not in the insulation,” he explained.

At that point, my BS antenna was activated, so I asked if an environmental impact study had been done. Both Jake and the guy gave me that blank stare that kids give you when you catch them in a lie, then looked at Shane Miller (who was sitting in the front row and hadn’t yet identified himself) to rescue them. He turned to me and said, “No.”

I was still cool, though I could tell where this was going. So I asked if they at least had a plan to re-direct traffic out of the parking garage at 20th or their new ER on Arizona Ave. Their answer was no – and I could feel my face getting hotter when I heard it. After the rest of my neighbors got fired up, I asked my final question. “Do any of you live in Santa Monica?”

“I do,” replied LaTisha Starbuck with a totally straight face. “Well, I live in Santa Monica, six miles outside the border.” That was even more confusing to me than “there’s lead, but there’s no lead,” so I let ‘em have it – then went to find an apartment as far away from Saint John’s as I could get.

Jake and Shane should be ashamed of themselves for claiming to care about the community, but doing nothing to stop construction workers from pilfering parking spaces on a daily basis. LaTisha should be ashamed of herself for lying about where she lives when the word “Ethics” is in her job title, and Greg should be ashamed of himself for his dismal failure in publicizing the meeting when he’s supposed to be a marketing professional.

Most importantly, Saint John’s should be ashamed. When your mission statement says, “We will in the spirit of the Sisters of Charity, reveal God's healing love by improving the health of the individuals and communities we serve, especially those who are poor and vulnerable,” then there is no excuse for endangering the health of that community with your sewage and toxic waste. I’m talking to you, Lou Lazatin.