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RACE AGAINST THE MACHINE
Tonia Reyes Uranga is campaigning door-to-door for the 54th Assembly District with passion in her heart and potted plants in her hands, but will it be enough to beat Bonnie Lowenthal and end the 16-election winning streak of Long Beach’s First Family of politics?

PHOTO by SUSAN SABO
Huge swaths of unrolled butcher paper hang from the walls of the Tonia Reyes Uranga for Assembly campaign headquarters, like political tapestries scrawled with names, addresses, phone numbers and appointments. They’re held up by thick, smudgy asterisks of tape and the desperate hope that all that processed wood pulp and chicken scratch calligraphy will translate into more than a big haul to the recycling bin the day after the June 3 primary.
“It’s very exciting,” gushes Caitlin Price, a 19-year-old junior college student, standing amid a few (mostly silent) volunteers—the exception: the woman who’s confounded to frustration by how to make cold calls—and a hodgepodge of used office furniture. This is Price’s first-ever taste of political action, and she commutes daily from the San Fernando Valley for it, listening to all-news station KNX both ways. “I’m very optimistic about our campaign,” she pronounces. Her enthusiasm threatens to get infectious until she mentions that she still holds out hope for Hillary, too.
Outside, Tonia pulls into the parking lot in a shiny pickup truck she’s borrowed from her son. It’s a few days before Mother’s Day, and she needs the vehicle to deliver 3,000 potted flowers to prospective women voters. She’s running late, but she parks the truck carefully. “The last thing my son told me was, ‘Take care of my baby,’” Tonia laughs, although in a way that shows she knows he was serious. “I’ve got to wash and fill it before I bring it back, too.”
The (once) Tonia Reyes and her husband, Roberto Uranga (a Long Beach City College trustee) have three kids in college, and they raised them in the 54th Assembly District she’s campaigning to represent—on the blue-collared, rust-belted, racially-mixed west side of Long Beach, where she’s lived since she was a teenager. That’s 40 years, now, and she’s spent the last six of them as a member of the City Council. “It’s a nice district with severe issues,” she summarizes, then can’t resist adding, “some crazy issues.”
The 54th Assembly District—and most of its craziest issues: economy, trade, transportation, environment and health—is wrapped around the ports of Long Beach and Los Angeles. “Monsters of the world,” Tonia calls them, meaning their implications reverberate beyond the borders of Long Beach, Signal Hill, San Pedro, the four cities on the Palos Verdes Peninsula, Avalon and parts of Los Angeles County. “They go outside the state and the country, too. They’re monsters of the world.”
Tonia slides out of the pickup truck and climbs the stairs to her second-floor headquarters. She’s dressed for flower delivery—a black T-shirt embossed with the logo of the Pile Drivers Union, Local 2375, with blue jeans and brown boots, although a delicate gold cross hangs from a thin chain around her neck, too. But the plants aren’t ready to go—yet. Caitlin’s got some explanation for that. Tonia looks a bit stressed for a second, then buys it. “Thank you, mija,” she says with motherly affection.
There’s a bright side to this delay, of course: a rare opportunity to sit down. Tonia finds a couple of swivel chairs and takes a load off, although cautiously—they don’t seem all that stable.
“I feel good, but I wouldn’t feel otherwise,” she says, exhaling a deep breath that at first seems to be taking measure of the moment, but involuntarily becomes an assessment of her campaign. “The numbers look good when we make calls. But you never know until Election Day.”
Yeah, well, see . . . that’s the thing: Sometimes you kinda do know—such as when the election is around Long Beach, and when the ballot has a candidate named Lowenthal. On 16 election days during the past 16 years, the record for Alan, Bonnie, Suja and Daniel Lowenthal in races for State Senate, State Assembly, City Council and Superior Court judge is a sweet 16-0.
Bring that up, and Tonia tries a playful swagger. “I guess their time is up!” she quips. But she knows it’s no joke. The Lowenthals’ ongoing and expanding legacy—they’ve become perhaps Long Beach’s most significant family dynasty since the Bixbys—presents the most problematic obstacle to her candidacy.
“The question is: How can you run against this machine?” she reflects soberly. “I don’t really have an opponent. It’s not Bonnie vs. Tonia—it’s the Lowenthals vs. Tonia. I’m running against the ex-husband senator, the daughter-in-law council member, the son who’s a judge. It’s a political machine. I’d call it a David-and-Goliath thing, except that Goliath was at least a distinct, living thing.”
It’s not exactly standing-room-only at Jongewaard’s Bake N Broil. The people who are eating get to sit down, but the lunchtime rush has created a waiting list, and most of the people on that list are milling hungrily in the restaurant’s narrow aisles. Bonnie Lowenthal’s not going anywhere, though—no matter that she’s got her day planner packed as ever with City Council duties and assembly campaign activities, and she makes a you-gotta-be-kidding face when somebody suggests eating somewhere else. “For some things, a little wait is just what it takes,” she says, in a voice equally flavored by her New York roots and her therapist training, a manner that sounds simultaneously like a mantra and a pronouncement. In this case, it also shows that she knows Long Beach, where nobody ever bails on Bake N Broil.
Bonnie Lowenthal has been here since 1969. She came down from San Francisco with her husband, Alan, a young psychology professor who’d just landed a job at Cal State Long Beach. Her arrival completed a cross-country odyssey that began in New York when she was still Bonnie Adler, the daughter of Eastern European immigrants, and touched down for four years at the University of Wisconsin in Madison. There was no tradition of political activism in her family. “My parents worked all their lives. My father finished seventh grade, then sold newspapers to support his widowed mother and his sisters so they could go to high school,” she says. “My focus had been going to school and developing a career.”
Four decades later, however, people recognize Bonnie Lowenthal—her trademark glasses, gray bob haircut and faintly boho jacket—as she’s finally rewarded with a booth at Bake N Broil. Her last name has become synonymous with local politics. The Lowenthals are sometimes called the Kennedys of Long Beach.
Bonnie is accustomed to hearing comparisons like that. She chuckles at a reference to the Clintons—“You’re stretching,” she says—but it’s clearly not a favorite subject. “I want to be known for the work I have done, not only for my last name,” she pleads. Then again, when listing her attributes to potential donors, Lowenthal’s campaign website extols her “unbeatable name ID.”
So far, that part’s unarguable:
• Alan Lowenthal is 6-0 in two races for the Long Beach City Council in 1992 and 1996; three for the state assembly in 1998, 2000 and 2002; and one for the state senate in 2004.
• Bonnie Lowenthal is 5-0 in two runs for the Long Beach Unified School District’s Board of Education in 1994 and 1998; and three for the First District on the City Council in 2001 (when she left the school board to run for Jenny Oropeza’s unexpired Council seat), 2002 and 2006.
• Suja Lowenthal, Alan and Bonnie’s daughter-in-law, is 4-0 in two campaigns for the school board seat Bonnie once held (2001, 2002) and two runs for the Second District on the City Council (2006, 2008). Suja announced her initial candidacy for the school board less than 24 hours after Bonnie won her City Council seat in 2001, and suddenly abandoned her run for re-election in 2006 to run for the City Council when Dan Baker resigned in a conflict-of-interest scandal—clearing the way for an easy win by a guy named Michael Shane Ellis.
• Daniel Lowenthal, Alan and Bonnie’s son and Suja’s husband, is 1-0 after a 2006 run for L.A. Superior Court judge. When Suja was recently appointed to the Metropolitan Water Board, he administered the oath of office to his wife.
• Josh Lowenthal? He hasn’t run for office. Yet. But he publicly considered a candidacy for school board earlier this year when the chamber of commerce was trying to recall Michael Shane Ellis—yes, the guy who won his seat when Suja dropped out—and was mentioned by the Long Beach Business Journal as a possible candidate for the City Council, if his mother makes it to the State Assembly.
“It’s a family of public service, and I’m proud,” Bonnie says. “But all of the Lowenthals are different people. We all have our own personalities, distinct interests and styles.”
Indeed, the irony to the Lowenthal’s winning streak is that Bonnie and Alan divorced in 1991, a year before it began. She’s never explained why she kept the last name, but acknowledges that it is an advantage in her run for the assembly.
“Name ID is very important, without a doubt,” Bonnie says. “But I’m well known in my own right, based on raising my kids in Long Beach, my involvement as a parent when I sent them through the public schools, and my 14 years of public service on the school board and the City Council. People are not going to be voting for me based on my name alone. They’ll think of my integrity and my honesty.”
Lunch has arrived, and Bonnie would like to enjoy it. “I would prefer that you not write about me and Alan,” she says. “That’s not what I want this story to be. This shouldn’t be a story about my family. This should a story about me running for the assembly—me and my opponent. Period.”
Maybe it should be—it probably would be—but there’s such a long record of the Lowenthals working together: endorsing one another, contributing to one another’s campaigns and pulling political strings that look an awful lot like bloodlines.
And then there’s this: If Bonnie Lowenthal wins the 54th Assembly District seat, the Lowenthal family will represent perhaps the most crucial area of Long Beach—the part that includes the port, with its myriad issues, rich fund-raising possibilities and concentrated influence and power—on three different levels of government: Suja on the City Council, Bonnie in the State Assembly and Alan in the State Senate.
“Honestly, that never occurred to me,” says Bonnie. “I’ve never thought about it that way. I hope people judge me on other terms.”
In a senatorially handsome room of thick, rich wood and meticulously kept file cabinets—the Hon. Alan Lowenthal leans back in an oh-so-cushy chair in his Paramount field office and allows the magic to come back to him.
“My goodness,” he says, “I haven’t even thought about these things in so long.”
It’s been more than a quarter of a century since Lowenthal was the Brillo-haired Cal State Long Beach psychology professor who helped generate a dynamic era of activism in Long Beach, a movement that spanned race, class, age and sexual orientation. As president of Long Beach Area Citizens Involved—its clumsy acronym, LBACI, was pronounced “Libachi”—he forged an alphabet-soup coalition with organizations like the NAACP, LAMBDA and LULAC.
“Our central theme, the question we kept asking ourselves, was: How do you empower people?” recalls Lowenthal, energy flooding into his voice. “We never thought about electing anybody. I certainly never thought about going into elected office myself.”
That was a long time ago—so long that Tonia Reyes Uranga and Bonnie Lowenthal were allies, fellow foot soldiers in fights against excessive force by the police, exploitive zoning practices that permitted cracker-box apartments in historic neighborhoods—and more transparent government. Alan was at the center of it all. He was Bonnie’s husband, yes, but he was something of a mentor to Tonia, too.
“I love Alan—I knew him before I met my husband,” says Tonia, who still includes a photo of herself with the senator on her campaign website. “We were so successful working together that we got him, me and Bonnie elected. I supported Alan in every race he had. I defended him when the Latinos were getting ready to redraw the lines to create a Latino-majority City Council district—to redistrict him out of his house. I mean, we’ve been through the wars.”
But Bonnie and Tonia are politicians now, and the six years they’ve spent together on the Long Beach City Council—representing districts that adjoin one another on the city’s west side—has created some animosity. It hasn’t affected their shared sense of the issues: healthcare, education, transportation and the environment, as they’ve said several times in separate interviews. As Election Day approaches, however, just about anything else they say about one another drips with disdain.
Bonnie tends to make her comments covertly, either totally off the record or in carefully parsed asides about one position or another that her “opponent” is taking. Tonia shoots from the lip so freely that it’s hard to be sure she knows her words will appear in print. When you assure her they will, she shrugs: “Sure, why not? People have seen me in action. They know where I stand. They know I don’t put up with a lot of crap.”
These differences in style are not without substance. In fact, both candidates say that their contrasting approach to the issues they share is one of the most important things for voters to consider.
“For me, it’s all about building consensus through relationships,” says Bonnie. “I was a psychotherapist for 35 years, so it brings me inner rewards to understand someone and promote their well-being. I try to listen to the feelings behind people’s words and how we can come together to achieve something that’s called win-win.”
Tonia doesn’t buy it.
“I’ve been to Sacramento, and it’s not about building consensus,” she says. “It’s about saying passionately what you believe in and finding allies and advocates who believe the same. A consensus-builder gives up certain things. What are you going to give up? Classroom size? Medicine for seniors? Consensus is nice, but this governor [Schwarzenegger] is taking no prisoners. We need a leader; Bonnie’s a psychologist. ‘Getting along’ just means you’re going to give something up.”
Speaking of surrender, how about that tough anti-pollution bill at the Port of Long Beach—the one that permitted virtually unlimited port expansion, so long as there was no net increase in toxic emissions—that Alan Lowenthal was fighting so hard to get through the state legislature . . . until, suddenly, he isn’t anymore?
“The real leadership, in terms of running the port, is the City Council—whether it knows it or not,” the senator explains. “Because the Harbor Department is an agency of the city, and now with the change to the city charter, the City Council can remove harbor commissioners, too. The power that both Bonnie and Suja have on the port right now as members of the City Council is greater than any influence Bonnie will have if she ends up going to Sacramento.”
Speaking of surrender, Tonia wonders whatever happened to confrontational grassroots activism, anyway.
“There’s nobody out there anymore,” she says, getting up from her chair and moving toward those potted flowers.
“The public is being shortchanged—and it’s helping to shortchange itself. “This idea of having three Lowenthals with control of the port is the most dangerous scenario we could possibly have. The essence of democracy is discussion, friction, conversation pros and cons, getting things on the table to see if you’re going to get the position that accurately reflects the community. If you have one family controlling the Port of Long Beach, we don’t have the benefit of an airing of issues, a diversity of opinion. They have no reason to listen to anybody else.”
Tonia considers those flowers and the gimmickry of political campaigns.
“People look at Alan with rose-colored glasses and the memory of those old days in the neighborhoods. But, c’mon, he’s a senator,” she says. “I’m not saying it couldn’t happen to me. It’s easy to get sucked in. If I win, everybody will want to be my friend. Where are the people jabbing us?”
Tags: 54th Assembly District, bonnie lowenthal, Long Beach, politics, Tonia Reyes Uranga

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