They always say never to meet your heroes, but there I was in 2019 in an office building in downtown Los Angeles about to interview Gloria Molina.

As a child, when I was a child,

she was one of the few politicians I knew by name, and the only one who wasn’t a white Republican male. My relatives in East Los Angeles spoke reverently of her efforts as a member of the state assembly in the 1980s to stop the construction of a prison there.

When Molina became the first Latina on the LA County Board of Supervisors in 1991, my mom proudly told me she was a history writer we should aspire to be, even though we lived in Anaheim.

In college, I found more reasons to respect Molina. Her days as a student activist in college, which turned into advocacy on behalf of Mexican women who had been sterilized without their consent at the Los Angeles County-USC Medical Center in the 1960s and 1970s. Her wars against male politicians who despised a lady who wouldn’t wait in line or keep her mouth shut. As a reporter, I learned about her influential list of disciples, who proudly called themselves Molinistas and who helped shape modern LA,

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nonprofit leaders

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community activists

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and former

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and Antonio Villaraigosa.

Molina was one who used her power to fight for those who had none. Whose career has never been caught on fire in a container fire of corruption or ego like that of too many of her Eastside colleagues. She was what a Latino politician should be and what too few ever become.

We met at the California Community Foundation, the influential non-profit organization that gives grants to community groups. I interviewed her for a podcast about Proposition 187, the 1994 California ballot initiative that tried to wreak havoc on illegal immigrants, but instead inspired a generation of Latinos across the state to enter politics and turn Los Angeles and California into the super blue entities they are today.

Our conversation was in a nondescript room. A purple streak on the side of Molina’s hair was by far the most colorful thing there was. Before we started I admitted that my family admired her but I tried to temper my enthusiasm, after all I had an assignment.. She was really touched and then went on with business.

For the next hour, I witnessed the same no-fools-suffering crusader who inspired and antagonized the LA political scene for decades.

Molina spoke about the racist backlash she received for speaking out against Proposition 187. She made no apology for her criticism of younger Latino activists for waving the Mexican flag during anti-

Prop.

187 rallies, claiming it alienated on-the-fence moderates. She denounced the US Senator.

ator

Dianne Feinstein’s feeble salsa opposition to the proposal with such force that it aired after the podcast,

Feinstein’s office complained to me that Molina was dishonest.

Although I had seen and heard Molina on television and radio many times before, it was great to see her perform. She was funny. She was not apologetic. She was regal, but not overconfident. She was everything I made her and more.

I ran into her a few more times over the next few years, most recently when I moderated a 2021 LA Times panel discussion celebrating the 40th anniversary of Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher Fernando Valenzuela’s historic rookie year. We vowed to get together and talk, but our schedules never matched.

Sadly, I don’t think I’ll get a chance to chat with her again. Hours ago, Molina posted on Facebook that she has been battling terminal cancer for the past three years and is now preparing for a transition in life.

You should know that I am not sad, wrote the 74-year-old grandmother. I am truly thankful for everyone in my life and proud of my family, career,

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and the work we have done on behalf of our community.

The news hit me like a punch. Of all our political leaders, I would not have expected her to leave us too soon. I fully expected her to live out the rest of her years as the lioness of LA politics, enjoying a world where the Eastside boasts a Latina Assembly member (Wendy Carrillo), a Latina state senator (Maria Elena Durazo) and a Latina (Hilda Solis) on the all-female Board of Trustees.

The bad news immediately made me think of my mother, another force of nature brought down by cancer before her time. Mami never really cared about politics, but Molina always resonated with her. At first I thought it was just because they were Mexican women. Later I realized that Mami saw someone who, like her, was accustomed to being underestimated and happily defied macho expectations. Although Mami never cursed, I once made her laugh and nod in agreement when I asked if she thought Molina was a

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a tough woman.

Having said all that, I was never under the illusion that Molina was perfect. Some of my LA friends felt she could have been more radical and didn’t line up to support her when she tried to impeach then-Councilman Jose Huizar in 2015. I was especially unhappy with her in 2008, when regulators passed rules that allowed Taco trucks to park in one spot for more than an hour, under threat of fines and possible jail time. Molina voted in favor, arguing she was responding to complaints from East LA residents and business owners. (A LA County Superior Court judge eventually overturned the ordinance.)

That was one of the few times she misinterpreted Latino LA. But when Grand Park downtown, a project Molina advocated for years, opened in 2012, food trucks were on hand. If the worst thing I can say about a politician is that she should have loved taco trucks more, then that’s a great career.

Villaraigosa, who was the best man at Molina’s wedding, called her “a wonderful woman, a pioneer and a warrior” who “always fought for her community.”

The two spoke earlier Tuesday.

“It was so hard for me to be on the phone because she’s like my big sister,”

Villaraigosa

said

after speaking with Molina on Tuesday morning

. “She was so strong. She told me she had a great life. Then she said how proud she was of me, and I couldn’t take it any longer. She was comforting me then.”

He plans to visit her

later

waiting their turn this week in the procession of people wanting to say goodbye before it’s too late.

As Molina prepares for the fate that awaits us all, I still have so many things I want to ask her about her life, legacy, and the current state of LA politics. At least I hope so

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reaches her, so I can tell her this:

Gloria, you were always one

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. LA wants to miss you.