"I like Emanuel a lot," Garcetti tells L.A. Weekly. "He's a good guy."
But Pleitez, who calls Garcetti's dramatically different upbringing in Encino "charmed" — his father is former district attorney Gil Garcetti — says Garcetti "touts his Hollywood renaissance, which, quite frankly, has pushed thousands of families out of those areas. To me, it's not something to be proud of."
PHOTO BY TED SOQUI
Pleitez finance director Richie Serna: "We're a scrappy group."
PHOTO BY TED SOQUI
Isabel Bravo, left, the candidate's mom, is a cafeteria worker who supplements her income
selling chips
and soda.
Related Content
More About
Both Greuel and Garcetti chose the middle-class San Fernando Valley for their campaign headquarters. Pleitez set up his HQ in 94 percent Latino Boyle Heights, in an old meat market. His 30-person, full-time staff is a tight family — former strangers who live in two houses (one for men, one for women) on a shabby South L.A. street. Pleitez pays them only room and board plus a tiny stipend. Yet after he placed online ads at college career centers and on Facebook, more than 200 applications flowed in from Boston, New York, Washington, D.C., Florida, Texas, Michigan, Tennessee, Mexico — even North Korea, El Salvador and Spain. To stretch campaign dollars, the candidate and his wife, Rebecca, a women's health advocate, moved from their downtown L.A. apartment to his mom's in El Sereno, where she graciously insisted on sleeping on her own couch.
Such unexpected wrinkles speak to Pleitez's impatience with how the over-40 crowd runs Los Angeles — and spends its money. His campaign is an object lesson taught by the young to a middle-aged political generation accustomed to big staffs, extensive perks and massive, ongoing municipal deficits.
City Hall overspends by $24,600 per hour, a $216 million deficit. Hill, Pleitez's communications director, sees "a complete lack of basic, financial understanding," citing Greuel's "unbelievable" vow to hire more cops as city infrastructure decays. A near-fixation on costly police hiring by Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa and the City Council for the past 12 years has contributed to a 60-year backlog of unfixed streets.
Still, with Pleitez lacking name ID or money, says political analyst Jamie Regalado, "You could factor him into third or fourth place. But the top two is really stretching it."
Pleitez isn't ready to hear that. He saw boyhood friends slain by the gangs in his El Sereno neighborhood, yet members of the gangs themselves urged the studious boy to get out. And Pleitez did.
Now, with L.A. facing potential bankruptcy and Greuel and Garcetti repeatedly sidestepping pointed debate questions about how to cut City Hall costs or raise taxes, Pleitez says, "I feel the urgency to address these problems. ... This city has so much potential."
The morning after Pleitez and his staff celebrated his performance at a televised debate at UCLA's Royce Hall, Pleitez sits in his mom's cramped house near Sierra Park Elementary School in El Sereno, watching Despierta America on Univision. Little religious trinkets and statues sit on ledges above him. "I don't want to lose my Spanish," says Pleitez, who's in no danger of doing so.
He begins to retell a childhood memory, of his neighbors selling drugs from a nearby apartment — but hears a sudden rattling noise outside his mom's metal screen door. He stops midsentence, jumps up and takes a hard look outside.
No one is there. "Sorry," he says with a smile. "You gotta be ready. You never know if someone is taking something. You always gotta be ready."
Pleitez settles back into the couch.
He resembles character actor John Turturro, who co-starred in such Coen brothers movies as The Big Lebowski. Pleitez's build is thicker, but the Coen brothers probably could make a satisfying drama out of Pleitez's life. And the candidate has quirks, which the Coen brothers' characters are known for — for one thing, he's a horrible backseat driver ("You need to get in the right lane. Hold on, hold on. Actually, just stay"), although his "body man," Michael Serna, 22, calmly handles it with no fuss.
In the early 1980s, Isabel Bravo crossed the Mexican border, pregnant, to join her brother in South L.A. Pleitez's absentee, El Salvadoran father arrived roughly a year after Pleitez was born, and Isabel became pregnant with their daughter, Saray. Then he moved to Canada and out of their lives.
At 18, Pleitez found his dad in Montreal. "It was very unemotional," Pleitez recalls. "I felt like people make decisions for whatever reasons." His dad was afraid of deportation in L.A. and had rejected war-torn El Salvador. He told Pleitez that Montreal was safe for Salvadorans but he'd always meant to return to L.A. He never did.
Isabel — called "Mama Bravo" by Pleitez's team — moved to El Sereno, where friends she met through All Saints Catholic Church offered back rooms or garages in which the small family lived. By 9, Pleitez had moved at least 10 times around South L.A. and El Sereno. "I learned that other people are really caring," he remembers. "I learned from my mom to never complain."
Bravo, a cafeteria worker at Woodrow Wilson High School, who supplements her income by selling candy and soda outside her home after school, gets emotional about those years of deep poverty. She says they were so poor she couldn't qualify for Section 8 housing, which requires a modest rent be paid. Tears well up as the handsome, gray-haired woman recalls, "The most important thing for me was to get together and have something to eat." Speaking English and Spanish as daughter-in-law Rebecca interprets, she says of her son, "I never had money to buy [toys], and he never asked me. ... He was always happy."