Ryan Brooks is a busy man. He carves out time in his crowded schedule to meet for a drink downtown. The members-only spot on the 10th floor is full of dark wood, good Scotch, and the sounds of Frank Sinatra. He’s dressed exceptionally well in a grey suit with a purple and white tie and shiny brown shoes. He stands, exposing his tall frame, the midday light glancing off his cleanly shaven head. He extends a big hand my way with an even bigger smile behind it.
We talk over red wine while he speaks of his life with the intonation and eye contact of a politician without addressing me like a constituent. He puts people at ease infecting everyone with his charm and swagger. The intimidating stature and baritone voice give way to his innate affability. He brims with positivity; being otherwise, he says, is too much energy.
He lets off a cavernous, bellowing laugh, pushes his glasses back up his nose and continues a story about one of his biggest mentors, former mayor Willie Brown. Ryan became City Manager of San Francisco at 28, eventually spending two terms on the Public Utilities Commission. “You get your Ph.D. from Willie Brown,” he says. But Ryan had the wherewithal in place long before.
Born on an Air Force base in Turkey, his family would later settle in Hacienda Heights. Ryan, then in third grade, was the only student with an afro, a unique hairstyle for the community east of Los Angeles. He played the trumpet for three years, but felt more capable on the basketball court and football field. He came into his own around eighth grade when he and a friend organized and hosted a talent show. The bug had bitten him, and Ryan’s power to connect and communicate was born.
He had busy, but supportive parents. His father, Bob, set the standard of a staunch work ethic, holding two jobs for much of Ryan’s upbringing. Bob loaded freight in the mornings 90 miles north and came home in the evenings to clean a hospital. He wanted better things for the family and put in the work to do so. Ryan’s mother, Carol, became a registered nurse, and his father would ultimately put himself through school to become a physician’s assistant. Despite hectic schedules, “they always seemed to be home,” he says. The Brooks house was an open one, which his parents encouraged. It wasn’t until Ryan had kids of his own that he realized playing host is the quickest way to get to know the people around you.
He eagerly wears many hats; inactivity seems negligent to him. Ryan coaches basketball for the oldest of his two sons, is senior VP for Government Affairs at CBS—a position he’s held for 13 years—and brings trade to California through the International Relations Foundation. “I’m still figuring out what I want to do,” he says with a laugh. Until then, he’ll continue to keep as many membership cards as possible while soaking up positive examples.
He turns the table and asks questions about me, not because he’s being polite or to fill silence, but because he wants to know.
We talk of the importance of civic duty because he has seen the good municipal politics can bring to a progressive city. He remembers his father yelling at the TV during the presidential debates before the young politico wrote President Reagan to ask for an explanation of his policy. Ryan still has the response. Having felt the power of dialogue in government, he never forgot it.
Participation, he believes, is crucial. He has no patience for those who exercise their First Amendment right to complain without filling in the circles on the ballot. As for Ryan, he’ll stay busy in politics, municipal and otherwise. He’ll raise his children with the same love and support he had, and he’ll continue to move and shake until he can do so no longer.
