For California residents, seeing a Louis Sahagún byline usually meant they were set to read a story that would teach them something new about their own state.
But the recently retired L.A. Times reporter didn’t start his 43-year career in the editorial department. Sahagún recalls responding to a job posting for a utility man.
“Well, I heard of the opening for a utility man, for a floor sweeper. I got the job, I had worked in factories, [and] had dropped out of junior college.”
After sweeping floors for a while, he became a copy messenger in the editorial department. Then one day, he strolled into the office of the paper’s book editor. As Sahagún recalls,
“His name was Digby Diehl. He said, ‘Louis, what makes you think you could come in here and review a book for the L.A. Times, please?’ And I said, ‘What have you got to lose?'”
After his initial assignment writing a review of “the biggest goddarn book on the shelf”, Sahagún produced nearly 200 book reviews for the Times. What followed next was a career that followed the growth of a journalist, and a city.
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A rapidly changing Los Angeles
Sahagún soon turned to covering the city of Los Angeles – and his journalistic reputation was cemented when he and other Latino journalists at the L.A. Times won the 1984 Pulitzer Prize for their reporting on Latino communities in East L.A.
He also documented how drastically the city he grew up in changed into what it is today, with the interests of development and wildlife coming head to head.
Take for example, Sahagún’s chronicling of the L.A. River. The native Angeleno grew up along one of its tributaries, living on a ranch with farm worker parents. His reporting has described the river’s transformation from a rambunctious waterway into a straightjacketed concrete channel as a long tale of environmental battles, gentrification and displacement. In fact, his own family was told to move to make way for improvements to the river’s waterways.
Sahagún says his background inspired him to keep searching for stories and subjects in the margins. And in recent decades, his reporting pushed beyond L.A., into more unknown corners of California.
“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, [like] the Owens Valley, [or] remote corners of the Mojave. And, you know, my mom and dad [would say], ‘Hey, I read your story’ ; Hey, man, that was great.’ Yeah, yeah, that was the applause I was looking for.”
A look back, and a look ahead
Sahagún says his memories of growing up surrounded by nature motivated him in his documentation of modern-day Los Angeles.
“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, you know, more development today.”
As for why he has chosen to retire now?
“It’s just time,” Sahagún says. “There comes a time 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.”
For more on Sahagún’s epic Californian legacy, listen to the full episode by tapping the play button at the top of the page.
Transcript:
AILSA CHANG, HOST:
New York City may have the Hudson River. Paris may have the Seine, London the Thames. But Los Angeles – you know what we go? We got a concrete ditch filled with trash and smelly water.
LOUIS SAHAGUN: If you get closer…
CHANG: Yeah.
SAHAGUN: …Or if you fall in that water, that smells like dirty socks.
CHANG: (Laughter).
SAHAGUN: And it’ll be somewhat unnerving.
CHANG: (Laughter).
Louis Sahagun knows that firsthand because he went kayaking down the LA River as a reporter at the LA Times, and he fell into the water multiple times.
SAHAGUN: And I don’t resemble a reptile or a lizard…
CHANG: (Laughter).
SAHAGUN: …Or a gila monster at this point. That didn’t happen.
CHANG: That’s good.
This urban river is just one of thousands of subjects that Sahagun 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 Sahagun 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 LA River is one of the recurring main characters in his stories.
SAHAGUN: It is a real river that’s been straitjacketed in concrete, and that occurred in 1938 after a historic flood. A lot of people died. A lot of property was destroyed as LA was burgeoning. So the city fathers and the people who were moving in said, OK, this cannot ever happen again.
CHANG: Sahagun says the LA River’s transformation from a wild, rambunctious river into a concrete channel has been a centurylong 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. Sahagun grew up not far from here at a ranch along a tributary of the LA River, where his parents were farm workers.
SAHAGUN: 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.
CHANG: And how did growing up on a ranch with your family in that area – how do you think that shaped your relationship with nature?
SAHAGUN: 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 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, you know, more development.
CHANG: Today, Sahagun’s byline is one of the most recognizable in California. But, you know, his first actual job at the LA Times was not reporter.
SAHAGUN: Well, I heard of an opening for a utility man. I got the job. I had worked in factories. I dropped out of junior college.
CHANG: CONSIDER THIS – Louis Sahagun went from utility man to one of California’s foremost journalists. Hear how he chronicled the untold stories of his home state over 43 years at the LA Times.
(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)
CHANG: From NPR, I’m Ailsa Chang.
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CHANG: It’s CONSIDER THIS FROM NPR. Louis Sahagun first arrived at the LA Times in the 1970s. He had dropped out of junior college and got a job as a utility man at the LA Times, sweeping up lead dust around the news printing machines. But it was the environment of the buzzing newsroom that fascinated him decades ago.
SAHAGUN: 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.
CHANG: He was electrified to be working alongside people like that, people who inspired him to go back to school and get a degree. Sahagun eventually worked his way up to copy messenger, and then one day, he strolled into the office of the paper’s book editor.
SAHAGUN: His name was Digby Diehl. He said, Louis, what makes you think you could come in here and review a book for the LA Times, please?
CHANG: Dang.
SAHAGUN: And I said, what have you got to lose? And he said, all right. And he took the biggest God-darn book off the shelf, and he slid it across his desk. And he said, Louis, what do you know about the Sibhayi (ph) of Africa? And I said, as much as the next guy. He said, that’s the right answer. Now, it was the beginning of 200 book reviews.
CHANG: 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.
SAHAGUN: I wasn’t a novice writer. I was just an opinionated utility man. I had no dream or desire of being a journalist.
CHANG: Really?
SAHAGUN: None, zero.
CHANG: Oh.
SAHAGUN: I just wanted to…
CHANG: Express an opinion and write.
SAHAGUN: Yeah, yeah. Give me a book. Let me review it. It was really that outrageous, outlandish.
CHANG: I feel like every time I see some untold story about some corner of California that I’ve 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?
SAHAGUN: In part because I grew up with, you know, working-class Chicano parents. In an odd way, I felt I was writing dispatches, you know, 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 heap leach mining in remote corners of the Mojave. And, you know, these are things my mom and dad – hey. I read your story. Hey, man. That was great. You know, that was the applause I was looking for.
CHANG: Aww (ph). Well, Louis, when you look back on your more than four decades writing about this state, what do you want your legacy to be?
SAHAGUN: 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…
CHANG: I remember…
SAHAGUN: Female tortoises are my heroes.
CHANG: I remember you wrote that. Yeah.
SAHAGUN: I got to tell the world about that, and that kind of a thing makes – yeah, I’m proud of that.
CHANG: I can tell you love still to tell stories. What made you decide to leave the LA Times?
SAHAGUN: 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.
CHANG: Hallelujah.
SAHAGUN: It got so bad. Even recently, if I’m buttoning a shirt in the morning, I would be thinking, OK, there’s one second lost. There’s two seconds lost…
CHANG: (Laughter).
SAHAGUN: …Three seconds lost. I mean…
CHANG: I know that feeling so well.
SAHAGUN: Yeah. No. OK. So it’s time to put on the brakes.
CHANG: So how do you plan on spending your time?
SAHAGUN: I bought an e-bike.
CHANG: A what bike?
SAHAGUN: An e-bike.
CHANG: Oh, an e-bike.
SAHAGUN: 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.
CHANG: (Singing) Under my thumb…
SAHAGUN: 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.
CHANG: (Laughter).
SAHAGUN: You know? So…
CHANG: It’s fine to sing.
SAHAGUN: I’ve got an e-bike.
CHANG: But do you plan on riding it along the LA River?
SAHAGUN: Oh, yeah.
CHANG: That was Louis Sahagun, lifelong Angeleno and staff writer at the LA Times for 43 years. This episode was produced by Jonaki Mehta and Marc Rivers. It was edited by Christopher Intagliata. Our executive producer is Sami Yenigun. 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/considerthisnewsletter.
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CHANG: It’s CONSIDER THIS FROM NPR. I’m Ailsa Chang.
