by Peter Weinberger

Claremont’s legal setback in December 2016 did not end the water fight. It changed it.

Before Los Angeles Superior Court Judge Richard Fruin ruled Claremont hadn’t made a compelling case to rule in favor of an eminent domain takeover of Golden State Water’s system, the local debate had centered on whether the city could run it better. After the ruling, the questions became more painful: should Claremont appeal? How much more should taxpayers risk? Had city leaders been overconfident? And how much did residents deserve to know about the legal advice that led the city into court?

The City Council’s first answer was to keep going. On January 31, 2017, the council voted unanimously to appeal Fruin’s ruling. Mayor Sam Pedroza became emotional during the meeting, saying no one was taking the decision lightly and that he was proud of Claremont. Supporters argued the city was obligated to honor the will of voters, who had overwhelmingly approved Measure W in 2014.

That argument carried real weight. The public had not been passive. Residents had written letters, attended hearings, packed meetings, and urged the city to pursue local control. To many supporters, quitting after one adverse ruling felt like abandoning a decadelong civic effort.

But the risks were becoming clearer.

By early 2017, Claremont had already spent roughly $6.14 million on the water acquisition effort, including legal fees, pretrial studies, environmental review, and trial expenses. Golden State Water was also seeking reimbursement for its legal fees. The city’s appeal plan called for spending up to $450,000 initially, including $400,000 for the appellate firm Horvitz & Levy to review the record and search for legal errors.

David Axelrad, the appellate attorney hired by the city, gave council members and residents an important reality check. An appeal, he explained, was not a second chance to retry the case; it was a review of whether the court had made legal errors. He also described the city’s position as unusual. In many eminent domain cases, a public agency’s resolution of necessity carries great weight. But in this case, because Claremont sought to take a public utility, the city had only a rebuttable presumption that the taking was a more necessary public use. Golden State had overcome that presumption at trial.

That explanation raised a difficult question: had Claremont’s leaders, attorneys and supporters fully understood how hard this case would be?

Some residents urged the city forward. The late Marilee Scaff, who had studied the issue for decades and helped write the League of Women Voters’ directive that energized the local control effort, said the city knew from the beginning that the process would be complicated. Others argued the judge had failed to appreciate the public interest and had given too much weight to corporate arguments.

Critics saw the same moment differently. Jim Belna, a longtime opponent of the takeover, argued residents deserved to know the city’s real chances on appeal. His point was not simply that Claremont had lost, it was that taxpayers were being asked to keep funding a case after a judge had rejected the city’s core arguments.

Then came another blow. In February 2017, Judge Fruin ordered Claremont to pay nearly all of Golden State Water’s legal fees, totaling about $7.4 million. Combined with the city’s own legal costs, the financial consequences were staggering. What had begun as an effort to control water rates had become a multimillion-dollar legal liability.

In October 2017, the city dropped its appeal and settled with Golden State Water. The agreement required Claremont to pay $2 million by the end of 2017 and annual interest payments of $234,040 over 12 years. The remaining $5.85 million owed to Golden State would be forgiven if the city did not adopt another resolution of necessity during that 12-year period.

In practical terms, the settlement bought Claremont out of deeper financial exposure. Mayor Larry Schroeder later said appellate review showed the city had only a “slim chance of success.”

Schroeder also defended the city in a November 2017 viewpoint, writing the council had acted transparently, held more than 15 public meetings, disclosed risks and costs, and never guaranteed victory.

That defense is important. City leaders did not invent public anger over Golden State Water. They were responding to years of resident frustration, repeated concerns about escalating rates, and a landslide approval of Measure W. Schroeder also argued that comparisons to Ojai and Felton were misleading because those cases involved water districts, not cities, and neither resulted in the same kind of adverse eminent domain judgment Claremont received.

Still, the criticism did not disappear. Some residents believed the city had relied too heavily on Best Best & Krieger, the law firm that advised and represented Claremont during much of the fight.

Then editor Kathryn Dunn put the concern plainly in an October 2017 Courier column. Claremont, she wrote, had “a confidence problem.” Maybe city leaders had too much confidence in their attorneys. Maybe they had too little confidence in taking a slower route. Either way, she wrote, “I can’t quite figure out how Claremont botched this so badly.”

That may be the lasting question.

Was the city overconfident? The fairest answer is yes, but not because the goal was foolish. Public ownership of water is a legitimate policy position. Many communities operate municipal water systems. Claremont residents had every right to question whether Golden State’s rates, service, and accountability served the public interest.

City leaders appear to have allowed the strength of the political mandate to blur the weakness of the legal path. A 71% vote showed residents wanted Claremont to try. It did not mean the city had proved it could win. The court required a disciplined legal record, clear factual findings, and convincing evidence that municipal ownership was not just preferable, but necessary.

The judge concluded Claremont did not meet that standard.

That does not make the water fight meaningless. It revealed how strongly residents felt about local control. It forced public discussion about water rates, utility regulation, and accountability. It also showed the danger of transforming a popular cause into expensive litigation without making sure the legal foundation is strong enough to carry the weight of public expectations.

Ten years later, Golden State Water still operates Claremont’s system. Residents still pay the bills. The city still lives with the financial and political memory of the case. And the lesson remains relevant far beyond water: when public frustration is real, leaders have a duty to act. But they also have a duty to tell residents, plainly and early, when the law may not be on their side.