More than 200 people packed the pews of Dolores Mission Church in Boyle Heights on Wednesday, but all had one question on their minds.

Where was Kevin de Leon?

It was 5pm and the discussion was about to begin. Opponent Isabel Jurado was in the parish hall talking to reporters from the Boyle Heights Beat.

where was he?

As it turned out, the LA City Council member had just parked his car in the parking lot.

He remained in his white electric SUV, chatting with election consultants while other staffers gathered nearby. When he finally got out of his car, he walked inside the school building for a few minutes before walking across the street to the historic church.

Over the past two years, de Leon has said he has learned lessons from the racist City Hall audio leak that upended Los Angeles politics and ruined — but didn’t sink — his career. I’ve insisted on anyone who can help me.

In the recording, he mocks black political power and plots to get revenge on his opponents, including former City Council President Nury Martinez, former City Councilman Gil Cedillo, and former Los Angeles County Federation of Labor President Ron Herrera. did.

The conversation, uncovered by the Times exactly two years ago Wednesday, captured a portrait of De Leon, as political insiders had known him for years. He’s a man with a big chip on his shoulder and an ego as big as General Sherman’s tree.

Since then, he has been trying hard to reinvent himself as the city’s Papa Warbucks, handing out Christmas presents to children and groceries to needy families.

Well, he was 10 minutes late.

When De Leon stopped for a photo on the church patio, I thought to myself: He was just like the old Kevin. He sees himself as a picaresque hero in a novel that exists in his mind, forcing the rest of us to deal with it.

When he finally entered the church, his supporters roared and shouted his name. They booed Jurado, but her supporters fired back with “I sa bel!”

Father Brendan Busse welcomed everyone and then invited church volunteer Delmira Gonzalez to speak.

“This is a church, a sanctuary, and we want that to be respected,” she told the audience in Spanish before explaining the ground rules. No cheers, applause, or boos. Do not speak while the candidate is speaking.

The two sat at the table above the altar. Next to de Leon was a statue of the Virgin of Sorrows, the church’s namesake, with her hands clasped and her face frozen in misery. Jurado was next to a painting of Maria del Camino (Virgin of the Way), the patron saint of the Jesuits who run the Dolores Mission.

They simultaneously took sips of water as the host began speaking.

This will be the last time they agree on anything.

Jurado, who was wearing a surgical mask due to the recent coronavirus outbreak, gave a one-minute opening statement that allowed him to return to the Dolores Mission, where he participated in two candidate forums during the primary. He said he was happy.

“Unfortunately, some people were absent,” she playfully criticized de Leon.

He wasn’t playing.

“There is a clear difference in this campaign,” de León replied in Spanish. “I have dedicated my life to public service for the well-being of our people. My adversary has so far done nothing to benefit our people.

“I made a mistake,” he admitted after a few seconds. “But I won’t lie. And the other person…”

he grinned. “She lied a lot.”

In previous weeks, candidates raced through the 14th District in their own Lincoln-Douglas debate, but it was even more vitriolic.

Mr. Jurado, a Highland Park native, promised to free the East Side from corporate influence and the scandals that have cursed the area’s lawmakers for decades.

Mr. de Leon has raised more money and Mr. Jurado has more prominent endorsements, but they focused on their accomplishments in City Hall during his first term and in the state Capitol over the past decade. He fired Jurado as a dilettante whose ties to the Los Angeles chapter of the Democratic Socialists of America made her a danger to public safety.

Throughout his 18 years in office, Mr. de León has positioned himself as a champion of progressives against conservatives. That night, he took a page out of Donald Trump’s playbook and criticized Jurado.

He accused her of lying six times, citing mostly specific examples. He mentioned socialism four times. He spoke almost entirely in Spanish and said:Nuestra Gente” — Our People — at least 29 times implied that his opponent, the daughter of Filipino immigrants, was unable to care for a mostly Latino audience.

He mocked those who kept bringing up the audio leak scandal, declaring that he had made progress even as the wound “scabbed over” and “kept scratching, scratching, scratching.”

He claimed that Jurado fabricated a recent COVID-19 diagnosis, citing “community members” who allegedly saw her at the Glendale Galleria. He even brought up the fact that Jurado, who was eight months pregnant at the time, did not vote in the 2008 presidential election and therefore was unable to elect “the first African-American in the history of the United States.” barack obama. ”

His face became more and more sweaty until he looked like a sinner in a confessional.

“To this day, you haven’t lifted a finger to help me.” Nuestra Gente” De Leon later said in Spanish as the host continued to ring the bell to signal time was up. “You just come with me. Kejas [complaints] y quejas y quejas y quejas y quejas”

A short silence passed. “Kehonah” he finally muttered. People who complain.

Despite the admonitions of Father Busse and church volunteers, his supporters, many of them men who had gone from debate to debate like Deadheads, laughed and made a fuss. De Leon never tried to calm them down.

The barrage of fire shook Jurado. She frequently exceeded her time limit. She kept shouting, “Go Dodgers!”, quoting a line from Saint Oscar Romero. It failed, as her supporters followed the rules and remained largely silent, even as they pumped their fists and brought up De Leon’s San Diego roots. She talked about a pipeline of jobs from schools to unions to combat youth violence and having city workers monitor broken street lights and parking meters. The plan looked good, but it failed to gain support against de Leon’s blitzkrieg.

When the city council member isn’t insulting his opponents, he’s touting accomplishments like investments in parks, tiny homes for the unhoused, and affordable housing projects, and he’s doing nothing for his constituents. This was an effective rebuttal to Jurado’s criticism. His quip that “results matter, not ideology” was clever.

Had he stuck to his record, de Leon might have convinced me that he had indeed become a changed politician. Instead, his voice sounded like a man’s, which was heard around the world in leaked audio. A man who was furious that people didn’t think he was “incredible” (the word he used to describe his first term).

Here’s a man who once launched a campaign against Sen. Dianne Feinstein and showed enough promise and ambition to run for mayor in 2022. But now he’s starting to wonder if someone lied about his COVID-19 diagnosis.

Jurado and de Leon shook hands at the end of the 55-minute debate. She went outside to speak to supporters. At last he had the altar to himself.

De Leon flashed a million-watt smile as he hugged the tearful worshipers and posed for photos with them. I waited in line to see if De Leon, who had been prevented by staff from attending the opening night party in March, would take questions.

When I commented on his barbed tone, he said, “It was a lively discussion.”

When I asked him what he thought, he replied: “I think we talked about issues that are important to the community here in Boyle Heights. I think we demonstrated what we really do.”

What about him calling Jurado a liar?

De Leon smiled even wider.

“Oh, we can sit around and go through all this if you want. Trust me.”

The believers built a blockade around him and the man walked into the courtyard to enjoy some more love.

“He was the enemy,” South Pasadena resident Jorge H. Rodriguez said of the debate, as someone pointed at me and whispered, “He’s the enemy.” “They both got their point across, but Kevin has more experience.”

De Leon told reporters as supporters chanted his name from afar. Suddenly, 34-year-old Stephanie Luna confronted him.

“Why haven’t you issued a real apology for the tape?” asked the lifelong Boyle Heights resident. He ignored her as the person in charge escorted him to the parish hall. Luna followed until the door closed.

Then she went to the front of the church. Members of Black Lives Matter Los Angeles were protesting there and waited for de Leon to return to his car.

His fanboys taunted them, got in their faces and yelled “Kevin!”

“It epitomizes the kind of person Kevin is,” Luna said when asked about meeting him. “How can we get voters to vote when we are running away from them?”

Then I saw the parking lot. De Leon’s car was gone. The Artful Dodger of the East Side snuck out into the night.