The Vicodin Thieves. Chip Jacobs
his German heritage. Whether that blarney was a symptom of a delusional personality or a fanciful one, it helped him compartmentalize his life with slick divisions. Even longtime family friends had little inkling of his wild side, or the fact that he had done semi-pro boxing or battled health problems.
One characteristic he was unable to deflect from public consumption was the sexual appetite that incessantly put him in hot water. He acknowledged to a family friend that he had little restraint over his urges around a pretty face, and that when his “hormones percolated” he was a slave to them. “Light and dark,” this friend used to describe him. “Light and dark.”
Arkansas’ weather and backward climate helped propel him West back to Southern California. He returned almost broke, but with his love of politics and patriotism intact. At first, he stayed with friends until he had saved enough money to rent in South Pasadena, the quaint city of Craftsman homes that had been Alhambra’s arch-enemy for decades over the Long Beach Freeway controversy.
If he lived cheaply, he dreamed expansively. Ballreich, in early 1989, hooked arms with failed Alhambra Council candidate Allen Co in a novel bid to boost voting rates and political participation within the city’s Asian American community. It was a prescient move by a wily tactician; Asian Americans today comprise sixty percent of the town’s population. Ballreich told the media at the time that he was shocked at the level of prejudice towards them among whites and the surge of Asian businesses since he had left in 1979. Someone, he said, had to prepare the city of about 90,000 for a multi-ethnic future once its white-bred past slipped away. Co, who later served on the South El Monte Council, did not return phone calls.
Ballreich’s interests crackled beyond the coming minority-majority. In 1988, he and Merrill Francis, a longtime Alhambra lawyer and civic leader, launched a political consulting business called Pegasus after the mythical flying horse. Their gimmick: Francis, the Democrat and Ballreich, the centrist Republican, would bring a spectrum of campaign experience to their clients. Together only a few years, they mostly ran local council and school board races, generally with little success, branching out to manage then-Councilman Michael Blanco’s losing bid for California Insurance Commissioner.
Though creeping towards middle age, Ballreich was devoted to outdoor exercise, either running or playing tennis practically daily, Francis said. But there were issues. Though few knew it, Ballreich had gone back to Arkansas to have laser heart surgery performed. His autopsy report did reveal coronary blockages.
Francis said he has difficulty recollecting Ballreich’s murder because it coincided with the death of his first wife and his mother. Some memories remained un-dimmed. “Steve was very approachable and there was an excitement about him—a sex appeal. He made a strong impression.” At the time of his murder, Francis said, his partner was still a “ladies man with a pretty active social life.” Among other women he was dating was a youngish one who worked in the court system, Francis added. He did not know if detectives interviewed her. Authorities did disclose to Francis that Ballreich’s answering machine tape had given them promising leads. They said the murder had the earmarks of a professional job, what with shots to his face and heart area.
During their years together, Francis said Ballreich spent part of it traveling around the country promoting a patriotic cause for a man who later refused to pay him. Though angry about being stiffed on that job, Ballreich routinely took chances that almost no one else would, be it with spec assignments, pranks, or women half his age. It was as if he required the adrenaline kick to keep him interested. “Steve was a natural risk-taker,” Francis said. “He’d bet beyond his paying capability. One time he put up the pink slip on his car on a prize fight… What I’m seeing [today] is that he was a like a piece of quartz shining through many facets.”
Francis, now seventy-two, spoke at the funeral and tried assisting police. He does not subscribe to conspiracy theories that others whisper suggesting that Ballreich’s murder was politically motivated. “That scuttlebutt didn’t mean anything,” he said. “But there is disappointment that there hasn’t been retribution for whoever killed him.”
Ballreich’s allegiance to Clinton was as strong as ever after he re-migrated from the South. He told many in 1991, including Francis, that he would not only support the Arkansan for President but would raise money for him. If Ballreich was on the Clinton team, it is news to some of the ex-Presidents key advisers. Los Angeles lawyer John Emerson, who was involved with Clinton’s 1992 campaign to win the California primary, said he didn’t know who Ballreich was. Linda Dixon, assistant manager for volunteer and visitor services for the Clinton Foundation, parroted the same line. “I’ve been with President Clinton twenty-three years and I’ve never heard his name before,” Dixon said. “I’m only speaking for myself.”
Ballreich’s Young Republicans chums kept in contact with him to the end. Over drinks, they razzed him about how a died-in-the-wool conservative could champion a liberal-tilting Southern Democrat. When the needling stopped, these same longtime acquaintances noticed that while Ballreich was still the impulsive, flirtatious guy he’d always been, he had a more serious bent to him, a sort of world-weariness.
DIFFERENT MASKS
His death was quick, brutish, and well orchestrated. Residents who heard the shots summoned Alhambra police. Witnesses relayed they had seen a dark, 1970s-era Camaro flee the scene. Fear clenched Marguerita Avenue in the following days. The nearby elementary school—the same one Ballreich attended in the 1960s—went into lockdown after someone reported a prowler lurking. It was not the last suspicious sighting, not with a cunning murderer running free.
Police discovered Ballreich lying face up with what the coroner’s office described as “massive open head trauma.” The second wound came from a gunshot that struck him in the upper, left side of his back and exited through his chest, leaving behind a grisly, seven-inch gash. Either blast was lethal. Police extracted gunshot residue from the scene.
The coroner’s office reported three salvos were fired, but only described two of them. Ballreich, it said, appeared to have been “walking on the sidewalk” when the gunman pulled up. This may be critical. While he was an avid runner, he was wearing underpants, not an athletic supporter, at the time he died. Some have speculated whether that meant he was meeting somebody under the pretext of exercise. No drugs were detected in his system. Overall, the autopsy determined that Ballreich had been healthy except for coronary occlusions. Still in his wallet was his old Arkansas driver’s license.
Detectives mulled the possibility street gangs were involved. Four days before the murder, a twenty year old gang member had been killed about a mile away. They also interviewed members of the Lincoln Club, a Republican political action committee that Ballreich volunteered at and advised. Before he died, he had counseled the PAC about its donations and involvement with various campaigns.
The Sheriff’s Department interviewed Lincoln Club employees at the PAC’s El Monte offices, a former worker there confirmed. Nerves were already on edge at the small organization after employees complained about a bizarre series of petty crimes directed at them. Staffers had reported a slashed tire, a tampered car gas tank, a stolen purse and signs of an intruder at one of their houses, among other unexplained events. Suspicion fell on a recently fired employee—a woman who had known Ballreich well.
Bill Ukropina, a volunteer with the Lincoln Club and former chairman of its Pasadena branch, said he was unaware that the homicide investigation touched the group. Nor, he said, was he aware of Ballreich’s personal issues. “I never saw any side of Steve other than a cordial, professional one,” Ukropina said. “He was such a talented guy. He made excellent presentations. He brought a lot to the world, a lot to the community. I miss him.”
Ultimately, the Sheriff’s Department decided both the Lincoln Club and roving gang violence probably had nothing to do with what happened to him. It was not clear why detectives ruled them out. Perhaps other avenues were more fruitful. Ballreich’s landlady, a longtime friend, had watched him rush out of his South Pasadena apartment on the November 1991 afternoon that he was shot. “The day Stephen died, he’d come home, and all of a sudden left in great haste,” said this source. “He peeled rubber out, like it was some big emergency. If he was upset and in a hurry, somebody