This feels like a turning point in Los Angeles life. Two of L.’s towering figures

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Late 20th century philanthropist Eli Broad and Mayor Richard Riordan have died in recent years; another pioneering figure, County Supervisor Gloria Molina, passed away earlier this month. A new batch of

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The members of the Council have just sat down. other

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In the most recent mayoral election, voters chose Karen Bass, who represented a break from City Hall culture, over a candidate, Rick Caruso, who felt like one of those bygone days.

But what about those bygone battles, the police battles of the eighties and

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The 1990s, the reinvention of cultural institutions, the battles over taxes and the environment and schools? Much of that history slips away along with the lives of those who made it.

Fortunately, a new memoir from one of the most significant and recognizable figures of modern Los Angeles arrives just in time. Zevs Los Angeles: From Boyle Heights to the Halls of Power, the autobiography of, well, Zev, returns to the period when Los Angeles became what we know today: vast and complex, multi

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racial, exciting, divisive and much deeper than meets the eye. Zev Yaroslavsky left a lasting mark on LA for decades

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council and the

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superiors, and his thoughtful reflections ensure that his memoirs take pride of place in the history he helped write and now help us understand.

It is both timely and necessary, filling a void left by other memoirs. Broad’s autobiography, for instance, is serious and reflective and surprisingly self-deprecating for a man who rarely was, but it lies somewhere between a memoir and a guide to success in business. Riordan produced a memoir

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also, but it mainly stands for the observation that what makes a good mayor is not always a good writer; it’s just bad.

However, Yaroslavsky has what it takes. Aided by former Los Angeles Times writer Josh Getlin, Yaroslavsky manages the twin stories of his own life and the wider LA story. The result is satisfying on every level: a thorough history, an insightful analysis of power and a sincere reflection on a life of service. (A word of disclosure: I have known Yaroslavsky for decades and wrote about him for The Times and others; Getlin is an old and valued colleague. Still, I believe my appreciation and knowledge of both co-authors on balance strengthen my judgment here. )

The book covers a broad landscape, fitting for a civil servant who did the same. Yaroslavsky first became known for his UCLA student activism and his vigorous defense of Soviet Jews, a cause he recounts with verve in Zev. Those chapters alone make the book worth reading, a look at a failed empire that, in the face of its newfound aggression, once again feels relevant.

Yaroslavsky still needed an adult

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haircut when he ran for Los Angeles City Council in late 1974, but he was quick to act when a vacancy opened up on the

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council. Yaroslavsky jumped into the special election race. His press conference, in front of Canter’s Deli, was sparsely attended by mostly indifferent media. Even his wife, who would soon become almost as famous as he was, was busy that morning and skipped her husband’s moment. Nevertheless, in the months that followed he walked around the district, handing out flyers and winning, to the surprise of many.

Suddenly, the squalid activist was a member of the governing body of the country’s second-largest city. Tom Bradley, L

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The austere and imposing mayor suggested that Yaroslavsky invest in some suits now that he was part of the establishment. Yaroslavsky replied: I may be part of the establishment, but the establishment is not part of me.

True enough. Yaroslavsky’s youth, intelligence and independence all served him well in his early years when he was engaged in the careful construction of an office. In his memoirs he describes that process in its secrecy: selecting personnel, looking for reliable colleagues and staying close to the needs of the voters. His retelling is an examination of what it means to build power, and also a reminder that it is not primarily showmanship. In any case, at the local level, sustainable power goes to those who deserve it. Yaroslavski deserved it.

He also had a knack for attracting the right enemies, none more defining than Police Chief Daryl F. Gates.

The young councilman and veteran chief fought over cops spying on elected officials, over the use of chokeholds, over police shootings. They fought, most memorably, over Gate’s stubborn refusal to leave office, even after the beating of Rodney King and the riots the following year. Gates once called Yaroslavsky a snot-nosed kid, but the councilman had the last laugh: By the end of 1992, Yaroslavsky was still standing and Gates was gone.

As the book progresses and Yaroslavsky moves from the council to the

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supervisors, it charts the mysterious contradictions of LA’s transformation. For example, how could the same leadership that brought the 1984 Summer Olympics

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to Los Angeles almost failed to build the Walt Disney Concert Hall, the city’s most important building?

Yaroslavsky’s account of those episodes provides new insight, revealing some of the hidden figures in each: the vital role of Councilman Bob Ronka, the upcoming effects of Prop. 13 in 1978, the clash of egos over Disney Hall. (Here, Jaroslavsky mentions the efforts of Andrea Van de Kamp, the hall’s indispensable figure, who is all too often overlooked because she was the only one not to demand credit.)

In my opinion, the achievement that best sums up Yaroslavsky’s contribution is the work he and his staff have done to protect the Santa Monica Mountains. It took more than a decade to put packages together, get approvals, and win participation. It required nurturing allies and a willingness to make enemies. It took time and almost unimaginable patience. The story of how it happened is as bureaucratic as it gets, but Yaroslavsky’s methodical portrayal underscores its significance: Only a dedicated official with decades of experience and persistent attention could have protected those mountains that give Los Angeles a connection back to its prehistoric times. Indeed, it could only have been done by Zev.

This, of course, is Yaroslavsky’s account and captures such initiatives from his point of view. Some will disagree with some of his conclusions and the numbers he singles out for praise or criticism. But the memoir makes no claim to omniscience. It is subjective but clear and penetrating.

If Zevs Los Angeles is a story of power and influence and great personalities, and it is, then it is also a story of love. Yaroslavsky’s love for this city and region defines his memoir, but what really animates it is his love for his wife, the bubbly Barbara Yaroslavsky, who was a true partner to Zev in life and work. Her death in 2018 was a shock to the Los Angeles leadership, and her funeral brought that community together as few other modern events have. Her story

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lives in this moving and important book.

Yaroslavsky’s memoirs are a tribute to Barbara, but it is a gift to all of us.

Newton

, a former columnist and editor-in-chief of The Times, is an author and editor of Blueprint magazine at UCLA. He is a regular contributor to CalMatters.