Column: Hundreds mourn the loss of political giant Richard Alatorre

Even in death, Richard Alatorre still shines over Los Angeles, as I discovered this morning on the way to his funeral.

I exited the 101 Freeway at First Street in Boyle Heights, Alatorre’s birthplace, where he built a political machine for the Eastside that changed city and state politics forever.

Running parallel to my westward route toward downtown were the tracks of the Gold Line, part of a light rail extension to the Eastside that Alatorre pushed forward as chairman of the MTA board of directors.

As I crossed the First Street Bridge, I had a view of City Hall, where Alatorre made history in 1985 as the first Latino city council member in nearly a quarter century.

Downtown, I caught a glimpse of the Los Angeles Police Department — Alatorre helped to bring diversity to the police department’s upper ranks through an unusual alliance with longtime police chief Daryl Gates. Nearby was the former headquarters of this newspaper, which for years reported on allegations of nepotism and backroom deals against Alatorre.

Driving up Temple Street, I passed the old federal courthouse where prosecutors prosecuted Alatorre on corruption charges at the end of his political career, portraying him as a cautionary tale of an out-of-control politician. In 2001, Alatorre pleaded guilty to failing to pay taxes on what prosecutors said were bribes.

Soon after, Google Maps beeped to tell me I was nearing my destination: the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels, where Richard and his wife Angie had attended Mass every week for years and where his final Mass would also be held after he died of cancer last month at age 81.

The cavernous sacred space soon filled with people from every era of Alatorre’s career, with former employees performing one final task for their old boss by guiding people to their seats.

Titans of black political power in Los Angeles were there, including Assemblywoman Maxine Waters and former Los Angeles City Councilman Nate Holden, who witnessed Alatorre engineer the rise of Latino politics without neglecting Los Angeles’ black population.

Cultural leaders included Culture Clash member Richard Montoya, actor Edward James Olmos, former La Opinión publisher Monica Lozano, Mexican Consul General Carlos González Gutiérrez and John Echeveste, longtime director of LA Plaza de Cultura y Artes.

“This is starting to happen too often, isn’t it?” Echeveste said as he walked through the cathedral’s massive doors. “It’s like this whole generation is leaving us.”

So many mourners showed up that ushers ran out of funeral programs. Instead, people grabbed prayer cards with Alatorre’s photo on one side and his favorite saint, Jude Thaddeus, the patron saint of lost causes, on the other.

The line stretched almost to the door as people signed the guest book. In front of me stood Los Angeles City Councilwoman Heather Hutt. Behind me stood Alatorre’s protégé, Richard Polanco, who represented him in the State Assembly.

Politicians from DC to Sacramento, from the Inland Empire to the Bay Area and all parts of Los Angeles filled 11 pews. Longtime Santa Ana Mayor Miguel Pulido recalled the advice Alatorre once gave him: “‘You can win, you can lose. But you have to fight hard to make a name for yourself.’ And that’s what I did.”

And then there were people like Marc Grossman, who took a civil rights course with Alatorre at UC Irvine in the late 1960s, which inspired him to eventually work for Alatorre in Sacramento and serve as Cesar Chavez’s longtime speechwriter and assistant.

“Richard and Cesar were very similar in one important way,” said Grossman, who helped Alatorre write his 2016 autobiography. “They recognized talent and could convince people that they could do more than they thought. For them, it was all about other people and what they could do, not what they could get out of them.”

Alatorre was a lifelong Los Angeles Rams fan, and the team’s official mariachi opened the service with a rousing rendition of the ranchera classic “La Feria de las Flores,” an Alatorre favorite. The opening lines perfectly summed up his uncompromising, fiercely proud nature:

I like the Cantarle in the wind
Why do I sing my songs?
And I tell you that I am fine
In all places

I like to sing against the wind because my lyrics fly. And I say what I feel, anywhere and anytime.

The service was presided over by retired Cardinal Roger Mahony, a rare public appearance. The two met in the 1970s when Mahony was bishop in Fresno and Alatorre was beginning his political career.

Alatorre’s desire to empower his constituents stems from a “deep connection with Jesus,” Mahony emphasized in his sermon, pointing out that the legislator is following Christ’s example and taking the side of people on the “margins” of society.

On one side of Alatorre’s casket were the flags of the United States, Mexico, the city of Los Angeles and the United Farm Workers. On the other side were funeral wreaths in cardinal red and gold honoring his beloved alma mater, USC, and a large photograph of Alatorre with his arms folded and a slight, confident smile on his face.

“Richard understood,” the cardinal continued, “that changes were taking place in people who had the will and willingness to continue on this path.”

George Pla, president of the Coliseum Commission and part of a group that regularly had breakfast with Alatorre at La Carreta in East Los Angeles, said in a brief eulogy, only half joking: “There is Subscribe [snot-nosed brats] in the state who don’t even know how they got elected,” even though Alatorre had paved the way for them.

Alatorre’s daughter Melinda praised him as a “great grandfather and a dog father.” His son Darrell boasted that his father was “a Mexican.”maynot Mexicantilt. Many Latino politicians should take this to heart.”

Luisa Acosta, chief of staff of the Alatorre City Council, once told her boss that she would accept a job as a television news anchor.

“He said, ‘Why do you want to read the news on camera when you could be helping to shape our community?'” Acosta recalled. “Richard didn’t just see our potential. He nurtured it. … Rest in peace, Boss.”

The eulogy was concluded by Willie Brown, a former mayor of San Francisco and longtime speaker of the California Assembly who came of age politically with Alatorre in Sacramento in the 1970s. Brown chose his friend to lead the 1981 redistricting exercise that forever changed the face of the state legislature.

“It all started with Richard Alatorre and no one else,” Brown said to loud applause. He praised Alatorre for his foresight in drawing boundaries and foreseeing that the demographics of Californians would change dramatically in the coming decades “if none of us were left.”

“When you pray today,” Brown joked, “you better ask Richard if he has a seat. Otherwise you won’t go to heaven.”

Alatorre’s volunteer pallbearers placed a United Farm Workers flag over his casket and Mariachi Los Rams led the procession out of the cathedral singing “De Colores.” Mourners marched through Cathedral Square and were greeted by the USC Trojan Marching Band before moving into a large reception hall on the second floor.

Postcards to be filled out with mourners’ fondest memories of Alatorre lay next to a condolence letter from Vice President Kamala Harris. People ate chips and pan dulce and admired photo collages of Alatorre’s life and career taped to poster boards that also featured Alatorre’s favorite sayings: “Let me begin by beginning…” “Oral.” “Chula.”

Maria D. Acosta and Cynthia Amador Diaz both wore “Viva Alatorre!” pins. Acosta, a former district director for the U.S. Department of Commerce in Los Angeles, said Alatorre helped her get into Catholic University in the late 1960s and get a job right out of college.

“We knew him in the [Eastside] as someone who always tried to help,” said Acosta, who lives in Pasadena. Diaz agreed, recalling how he helped a nonprofit she worked for during his time on the City Council.

“He picked up the phone, called someone in town and said, ‘Hey, these people need help,’ and then something was done,” the Monrovia resident said.

“He was a mentor to everyone,” Acosta added.

Nearby, Andrés Chavez, a grandson of Cesar Chavez and executive director of the National Chavez Center, greeted well-wishers, mentioning his grandfather’s famous speech in which he predicted that Latinos would one day be a political and economic power in California.

“My tata “I talked about it, but Richard made it happen,” Chavez said. He then shared with me a voicemail from Alatorre expressing his pride in Chavez and his career. The conversation ended with Alatorre saying, “I love you, brother.”

“You saw all the people in the cathedral that he cared for. And I’m part of the next generation now,” Chavez said. “We have an obligation to Richard to help, just like he did.”