As a resident of Claremont, I can vote in person at any Vote Center in Los Angeles County, near or far. Theoretically, this could mean Catalina Island or Saugus, maybe with a picnic lunch or an overnight bag, but let’s not get carried away. Claremont or Pomona is fine.
Big elections, though, call for something more grand. Four years ago, that meant Bunker Hill’s Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, which is on L.A.’s Grand Avenue. My vote for president was cast under a chandelier. That seemed suitably momentous.
This time the election also saw me back on Grand Avenue. I voted at the Chandler’s Music Center neighbor, the Ahmanson Theatre. I liked the setting’s symbolism.
The presidential election has had high drama, reversals of fortune, a gun going off, the surprise entrance of a new lead character (a woman!), confrontation, music and dancing, over-the-top dialogue, garbled line readings, improvisation and comedy, or at least farce.
If Campaign ’24 were on stage at the Ahmanson, would any audience believe it?
Now, obviously I could have voted at home and mailed in my ballot or dropped it off. That would have been more efficient. Call me old-fashioned, but I like voting in person.
My friend Stephanie does too. She votes on Election Day and brings her two kids, ages 10 and 13, so they can witness.
The trappings have changed. There’s no curtain around the booth. There’s not even a booth. But showing up is part of a great tradition. Participating makes me feel American.
And with an election this big, I wanted to go big too. Thus: a day trip to DTLA.
My plans did not proceed smoothly. I went to the Claremont Metrolink station Saturday morning and was about to buy a ticket from the machine when a station announcement declared that trains would not run at all that weekend due to track maintenance.
So much for that. I went home. Ehh, it was a gloomy, chilly day anyway.
Sunday, when it was bright and sunny, I opted for Plan B. (Note: Not the birth control pill, which is available at least through Jan. 19.)
I drove to Azusa to board the A Line light rail. For $1.75 I could have gone all the way to Long Beach. Instead I got off at Union Station, took the subway to Pershing Square and walked to Grand Central Market’s G&B Coffee for coffee and a scone.
A friendly young barista observed me reading a newspaper, expressed surprise that newspapers are still printed and wondered where I’d got one. Informed that they are delivered to my house, her eyes went wide.
Rather than ride the Angels Flight funicular up to Bunker Hill, I took the stairs, 153 steps in all. That’s good exercise, plus they gave me the opportunity to think about Millard Sheets’ famous painting of the scene in 1931, from the top of Bunker Hill looking down.
The climb put me on Grand Avenue, panting. At Disney Hall, I detoured to climb its 60 steps to the lovely little rooftop garden, where staff was setting up for a reception, and then down the stairs on the other side.
Passing by the Broad and the Chandler, I entered the Music Center plaza.
I’ve spent a fair amount of time at the Music Center over the years, generally for operas at the Chandler. That’s one reason voting there in 2020 was such a treat.
Another reason I like the Music Center: Its architect was Welton Becket, whose firm designed the surprisingly similar Pomona Civic Center in the same era, the 1960s. I feel right at home either place.
In the Ahmanson’s lobby, election staffers confirmed my identity, gave me a ballot and directed me to the bank of touchscreen voting machines.
Opening up my sample ballot as a reminder, I got to work.
Since this was a theater lobby, on the opposite wall were posters for upcoming productions at the Ahmanson or neighboring Mark Taper Forum. Among them: “Once Upon a Mattress,” “Stephen Sondheim’s Old Friends” and “American Idiot.”
Any connection between “American Idiot” and one or more presidential candidates will be left to your imagination.
Ballot choices reviewed, I cast my ballot, collected my “I Voted” sticker, took some photos on the plaza and hoofed it to lunch. That was at Perilla LA, a modern Korean takeout spot near the Eastside Deli, and ranked No. 42 on the L.A. Times’ LA 101 list of best restaurants.
My lunch box of cod and a selection of banchan was enjoyed in the courtyard, the noontime warm and sunny. You could feel that all was right in the world. Saturday’s gloom would not have had that effect.
After lunch, I walked downhill a mile to Philippe The Original for dessert, carrying my tray upstairs to one of the small dining rooms.
The sun streamed through the windows as a dozen people, family and friends, caught up at the next table. I ate a baked apple, an underrated Philippe offering, and read.
From there I walked to the A Line’s Chinatown station and rode back to Azusa. While I like Metrolink, there is something to be said for the A Line‘s frequent service, where you’re not forced to time your day to the reality of trains that can be 90 minutes or more apart.
All in all, it was a satisfying outing from start to finish. It made an event out of voting in the most consequential presidential election since, well, the last one. Although this one does feel like more of a crossroads than most, a gauge of which way we’re headed as a nation, toward darkness or light.
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There was one moment, right after voting, that I skipped over earlier, figuring we should get right to lunch.
While leaving the Music Center at street level, my eye was caught by an exit sign painted on the wall inside the parking garage. I stepped inside to take a photo.
An arrow pointed left, back where I’d come from. The message read “Exit to Hope Street.”
It’s only a sign, but a sign is also what I chose to take it for. I headed back toward Hope, into the light.
David Allen writes Wednesday, Friday and Sunday, more reason to turn the page. Email dallen@scng.com, phone 909-483-9339, like davidallencolumnist on Facebook and follow @davidallen909 on X.