
Photo by Rich Schmitt, Staff Photographer
Saving the Santa Monica Mountains would have been enough, or stopping oil drilling on the coast, or eliminating smoking in public places. Any one of these would have been enough. But Marvin Braude did them all, as friends and colleagues attested at his memorial Monday at University Synagogue in Brentwood. Dignitaries offering their respects included the mayor and members of the City Council, city attorney, chief of police, a state senator, a county supervisor, former colleagues, constituents, and his two daughters and their families. The diminutive man who faced down giants in his 32-year career representing the 11th City Council District passed away on December 7, nine months after his wife Marjorie. He was 85. Praised for his farsightedness and dogged persistence, Braude enjoyed repeated re-election victories, before term limits, which afforded him years to pursue ideas that were way ahead of his time. Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa chose to describe Braude’s legacy in the context of the Jewish belief in tikkun olam, repairing the world. “We all have responsibility to repair the world through social action,” Villaraigosa said. “Few leave a greater legacy to this than Marvin Braude.” An unlikely politician, Braude had already started several businesses and sold his data systems company to Xerox by the time he decided to run against incumbent councilman Karl Rundberg in 1965. The issue was the threat to extend the proposed Beverly Hills Freeway across the San Diego Freeway, with a bridge across Mandeville Canyon. He and his wife Marjorie, who had moved to California and settled in Brentwood in 1952, were avid cyclists and hikers in the Santa Monica Mountains. Braude devoted much of his career to protecting these areas from exploitation and was a major force behind the creation of the National Recreation Area. Certainly for Palisadians, Braude’s 20-year effort to stop Occidental Petroleum from drilling oil along the local beaches remains a precious legacy. His colleague on city council for 19-1/2 years Zev Yaroslavsky cited their collaboration to control real estate development and to stop coastal oil drilling in the city as “the most fulfilling experiences of my own public service career. “Our successful battle in 1988 to stop an insidious oil drilling scheme….would have been impossible without his longstanding and often lonely crusade.” In his commitment to the environment, Braude eschewed the internal combustine engine, electing to ride his bike in the Palisades’ annual Fourth of July parade, and commuting downtown in his EV electric car. Indeed, Braude was unflappingly independent. His daughter Ann, who was 9 years old when her father entered politics, conveyed his philosophy. “Daddy was convinced that given research and access to the best information available, he could determine what was right.” Senator Sheila Kuehl commended Braude for leading by example. “His calm, methodical approach to laying the groundwork, coupled with building support, was his way of getting it done.” Despite the protracted battles and frequent defeats, Braude seldom gave up. His 20-year effort to ban cigarette smoking from public offices began in 1973 when he took on the tobacco industry and ended with the citywide ban on smoking in the early 1990s. For Braude there was no time like the present. “This was his primary lesson,” said Charlie Britton, who served as his deputy from 1965 to 1982. “People tend to wait until the weather will get better or until the birds begin to sing, but Braude believed that you start. He was that intuitive political entrepreneur who was willing to make an investment in things and build support.” Braude was also a champion of citizen participation, recalled his colleague Terry Cooper, a professor of public policy and development at USC, where Braude was a “distinguished practitioner in residence” after he retired from city government in 1997. Cooper, who was an organizer for the United Methodist Church in the Pico-Union area of Los Angeles, recalled a telling city council meeting he attended in the 1960s. “Speakers from the area, which is made up of mostly by poor Latinos, Asians and gangs, and slum housing, appeared before the council to testify. While the council in those days tended to brush these people off, Braude protested. ‘No, give them more time. They need to be heard.’ “In 1996, when a resolution was first introduced to form city neighborhood councils, there were seven signatures, and Braude’s was at the top of the list,” Cooper added. “‘I want to see this system allow more time for people to be heard,’ Braude said.” Neighborhood councils were adopted in charter reform in 1999. Braude considered his city his backyard; he was always at home in the city of Los Angeles,”Ann said, adding that her mother and sister got his attention on the weekends, while his colleagues and staff shared him weekdays. “I often wonder how his staff put up with him,” she quipped. Certainly his longtime deputy Cindy Miscikowski, who succeeded him in the 11th District, knew him well. “Marvin was not the typical, back-slapping politician,” she said. “He walked a unique course. Known for being sartorially challenged, she said he distinguished himself with his wardrobe selections’often hopelessly matched jackets and pants’and abstemiousness. “When he invited you to lunch, it was often to share his brown bag lunch in his office: granola, powdered milk, topped off with a cup of Postum. “He was proud of his family and eager to praise Liza’s paintings or Ann’s books, and Marjorie’s accomplishments in developing a domestic violence task force.” The couple met and fell in love while attending University of Chicago. Marvin was studying political science and economics, while Marjorie was in the middle of her medical training. They honeymooned in Yosemite, which sparked their love of California and its natural beauty. Marjorie, practiced psychiatry in Brentwood, sponsored a conference on domestic violence in 1994 and led the Los Angeles Domestic Violence Task Force. In the last few months before his death, Braude somewhat diminished in health, enjoyed spending time with his grandchildren, baby Benjamin Braude Adler, who was named after Marvin’s father, and Emma, who soon learned her place in the family. “You are Emma and I am grandpa Marvin,” he would repeat and repeat. With no models nor mentors himself, Marvin Braude was a mentor to many, and in his memory is the source of many lessons.