We didn't go clubbing, get thrown out of any bars or go home with women on our arms and lampshades on our heads.
S. Lo and Slim Jim finally hooked up Friday at lunch, but my get-together with the Los Angeles mayor wasn't exactly the one-on-one encounter I had in mind. His people told me to meet him at the Dalmatian-American Club of San Pedro, a hangout for Croatian club members and their friends.
I hadn't heard of the place, and assumed Hahn, a San Pedro resident, was having me killed. Three days after I showed up, they'd find my body floating in the harbor.
Not only does the Dalmatian-American Club exist, but everyone in blue-collar San Pedro was there despite the rain. So was a truckload of politicians who eagerly bellied up to long tables in the cavernous social hall on the harbor's edge. Hahn delivered the Pledge of Allegiance, and then family-style platters were passed neighbor to neighbor. It was a cozy small-town scene at the southern tip of the nation's second-largest city.
Antonio Villaraigosa, gunning for Hahn's job, shook hands with everyone in the joint. I think he was trying to pass himself off as Croat. When he and I go to La Serenata in Boyle Heights in the next couple of weeks, Villaraigosa told me, there won't be a crowd. It'll just be the two of us, the wine list, and my expense account.
I'm getting off a little cheaper on Tuesday morning with Bob Hertzberg. We're walking from his house in Sherman Oaks to a Korean doughnut shop, and then driving to Art's Deli on Ventura Boulevard. Bob likes the salami and eggs, and at lunch, he has a special stash of pickles brought out from behind the counter.
I still say you can learn more about a candidate watching him eat than watching him make a speech, but like I said, I didn't have the mayor to myself Friday. It was me, Jim and 101 Dalmatians.
Slim Jim said he quickly dismissed the idea of meeting me alone in a quiet hideaway or letting loose in a night on the town. He said he preferred "a safe place with lots of witnesses."
His sister, Los Angeles City Councilwoman Janice Hahn, was one of them. She sat across from us, asking if I could please start calling her Slim Janice, and wondering why a guy who seems fairly nice could be so mean to her brother.
Mean? Hey, I just call them as I see them.
