The Los Angeles city councilman wanted to preserve an old bridge. He called "Don Raul." A young politician running for office needed votes. He walked up the stairs of a dreary beige apartment and paid a visit to "Don Raul." The environmentalists wanted the city to build a park on an old rail yard. They got a well-placed assist from "Don Raul" -- the soccer guy.
Some who know Raul Macias, 55, say he deserves the title "don" not just as a simple sign of respect, but because of the political clout he built on an unlikely base: the soccer fields of northeast Los Angeles.
In the late 1990s he took over a ragtag team of children and wound up creating a league. He scraped for soccer fields, and with every field he got -- like a politician plucking up a district -- his ranks grew.
"There's two things that Latinos on a regular basis attend," said Miguel Luna, a former Heal the Bay coordinator who joined Macias as environmental program director last year. "Church and soccer."
Macias began to turn out big crowds for all manner of causes.
"There's nothing like bringing 300 uniformed kids and their parents to make politicians salivate," said Lewis McAdams, a poet and environmental advocate for the Los Angeles River.
There were critics. But even the jibes testified to how far Macias had come.
Some called him "El Cardenal," comparing him to an important religious figure -- though not in a good way, he says. After all, it wasn't just any soccer coach who, fairly or not, could also be likened to a cacique -- a town boss.
Macias, a native of Guadalajara, arrived illegally in Los Angeles in 1976. He washed dishes in Chinatown and became a garment worker. Then, taking advantage of his training as a fabric maker in Mexico, he started his own textile factory. He became an American citizen.
One day, about a dozen children appeared at the factory. They asked if Macias would sponsor their soccer team.
Macias said yes, on the condition that they show up in their uniforms each Monday and report on how they did.
The first week, the report was not so good: a 7-0 loss in Lincoln Park. Over the next two months, lopsided losses piled up.
"You guys don't try. . . . I wouldn't stand losing so much!" a fed-up Macias said one day, raising his voice.
