Consider This from NPR - From utility man to one of California's foremost journalists

Episode Date: May 9, 2024

Louis Sahagún first arrived at the Los Angeles Times in his early twenties as a utility worker, sweeping lead dust around the printing machines.But it was the buzzing newsroom that inspired Sahagún to soon spend his lifetime writing stories about the undiscovered characters and corners of California.Now after 43 years, he's retiring from the paper, and reflecting on what motivated him to cover a side of the Golden state that remained unknown to many.For sponsor-free episodes of Consider This, sign up for Consider This+ via Apple Podcasts or at plus.npr.org.Email us at [e-mail] more about sponsor message choices: podcastchoices.com/adchoicesNPR Privacy Policy

New York City may have the Hudson River, Paris may have the Seine, London the Thames, but Los Angeles? You know what we got? We got a concrete ditch filled with trash and smelly water. If you get closer or if you fall in that water, that smells like dirty socks and it'll be somewhat unnerving. Lewis Sahagin knows that firsthand because he went kayaking down the L.A. River as a reporter at the L.A. Times. And he fell into the water multiple times. And I don't resemble a reptile or a lizard, a Gila monster at this point. That didn't happen. That's good. This urban river is just one of thousands of subjects that Sahagin has chronicled in his 43 years at the LA Times, a reporting journey that's taken him to unusual places all over the state of California and beyond.

He's now 74 years old, and last month, Louis Sahagin retired. And when we asked him where we should meet to talk about his life, his work, he chose this river right here. After all, the L.A. River is one of the recurring main characters in his stories. It is a real river that's been straightjacketed in concrete, and that occurred in 1938 after a historic flood. A lot of people died. A lot of property was destroyed as L.A. was burgeoning.

So the city fathers and the people who were moving in said, OK, this cannot ever happen again. Sahagin says the L.A. River's transformation from a wild, rambunctious river into a concrete channel has been a century-long story of environmental battles, gentrification, and displacement. Like when Latino families like his were told to move to make way for improvements to the river's waterways. Sahakin grew up not far from here, at a ranch along a tributary of the LA River, where his parents were farm workers. It was teeming with wildlife. There were clouds of tadpoles, just fleets, you know, frogs leaping out of the grass. My uncles were shooting waterfowl, you know, and

we were having them for dinner. And how did growing up on a ranch with your family in that area, how do you think that shaped your relationship with nature? Those memories of all of that wildlife and all of that natural kind of excitement, in a kind of a way, throughout my career, 43 years as a reporter, I've been chasing those diminishing scenes, looking for patches, remnants of those memories, what their fate might be in the way of more development. Today, Sahagin's byline is one of the most recognizable in California. But, you know, his first actual job at the L.A. Times was not reporter.

Well, I heard of an opening for Utility Man. I got the job. I had worked in factories. I dropped out of junior college. Consider this. Lewis Hagen went from Utility Man to one of California's foremost journalists. Hear how he chronicle the untold stories of his home state over 43 years at the L.A. Times. From NPR, I'm Elsa Chang. It's Consider This from NPR. Lewis Sahagin first arrived at the L.A. Times in the 1970s. He had dropped out of junior college and got a job as a utility man at the L.A. Times, sweeping up lead dust around the newsprinting machines. But it was the environment of the buzzing newsroom that fascinated him decades ago.

Even the other utility men and women, the floor sweepers, they were exciting. They were an incredibly diverse group. You know, they were talking about Nietzsche, you know, the philosopher. They were talking about Zen and the Dodgers. He was electrified to be working alongside people like that, people who inspired him to go back to school and get a degree. So Hagen eventually worked his way up to copy messenger. And then one day, he strolled into the office of the paper's book editor. His name was Digby Deal. He said, Lewis, what makes you think you could come in here and review a book for the LA Times, please?

Dang! And I said, what have you got to lose? And he said, all right. And he took the biggest goddarn book off the shelf and he slid it across his desk and he said, Lewis, what do you know about the sea bai of Africa? And I said, much as the next guy. He said, that's the right answer.

Now, it was the beginning of 200 book reviews. Can I ask, why did you start with book reviews? Of all the places in the paper that you could start as a novice writer, book reviews seems kind of intimidating. I wasn't a novice writer. I was just an opinionated utility man. I had no dream or desire of being a journalist. None. Zero. I just wanted to... Express an opinion in writing. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Give me a book. Let me review it. It was really that outrageous, outlandish.

I feel like every time I see some untold story about some corner of California that I have never heard of, I don't even have to look at the byline. I just know it's going to be your name at the top of that story. What is it about California that has kept you here for all these decades as a writer? In part because I grew up with working-class Chicano parents. In an odd way, I felt I was writing dispatches for people like those I grew up with, and I was taking them to places that I never got to go. Owens Valley, you know, cyanide heat bleach mining in remote corners of the Mojave. And,

you know, these are things that my mom and dad, hey, I read your story. Hey, man, that was great. That was the applause I was looking for. Oh. Well, Lewis, when you look back on your more than four decades writing about this state, what do you want your legacy to be? The legacy is that if there is one, is that I got to chronicle the tug of war between wildlife and humans in one of the largest and fastest growing and most influential regions of planet Earth. I'm very proud of that. And I want to give you an example of that struggle. It's not the longest story. It's not the most prize winning. But when it comes to pride, it's this one. I got to tell the world that desert tortoises did not evolve in the desert. They evolved when things were more moist, and they adapted to the desert. Today, in the midst of historic drought,

some female tortoises are laying more eggs than they are physiologically capable of laying without dying. It's a genetic Hail Mary pass into the future on behalf of the species. If I think about it too much, I get tears in my eyes. Those tortoises, female tortoises are my heroes. I remember you wrote that. Yeah.

I got to tell the world about that. And that kind of a thing makes, yeah, I'm proud of that. I can tell you love still to tell stories. What made you decide to leave the LA Times? It's just time. There comes a time when you, I believe, you have to step out of the way. You just should. Now, I'm not used to it, I have to admit.

But I'm not living on deadline for the first time in 43 years. Hallelujah. It got so bad, even recently, if I'm buttoning a shirt in the morning, I would be thinking, okay, there's one second lost, there's two seconds lost, three seconds lost. I know that feeling so well. Yeah. No. okay, so it's time to put on the brakes. So how do you plan on spending your time? I bought an e-bike. A what bike? An e-bike.

Oh, an e-bike. I actually bought one when I got it. I found myself. It was so exciting and so fun. I started singing out loud. I think I was singing the Rolling Stones' Under My Thumb out loud uncontrollably. And I know that, yeah, and I know there were residents, you know, people watering their

lawns, covering their children's eyes. Don't look at him. He's crazy, you know. So I've got a knee bite. But do you plan on riding it along the LA River? Oh, yeah. That was Louis Hagen, lifelong Angeleno and staff writer at the L.A. Times for 43 years. This episode was produced by Janaki Mehta and Mark Rivers. It was edited by Christopher Intagliata. Our executive producer is Sammy Yenigan. And one more thing before we go. You can now enjoy the Consider This newsletter. We still help you break down a major story of the day, but you'll also get to know our producers and hosts and some moments of joy from the All Things Considered team.

You can sign up at NPR.org slash Consider This newsletter. It's Consider This from NPR. I'm Elsa Chang.