He preened, he hugged, he shook hands and hobnobbed with legends and politicians. Los Angeles City Councilmember Kevin de León was in full campaign mode two days before Tuesday’s election, when voters would decide whether he deserved a second term.

The setting wasn’t a restaurant or a neighborhood street: It was the VIP section of a dedication ceremony in Boyle Heights for a towering set of murals featuring the late Dodgers ace Fernando Valenzuela.

Wearing a satin Blue Crew jacket, De León emceed the one-hour-plus program attended by hundreds of baseball fans. Outside the fenced-off area where he held court, workers in neon yellow vests emblazoned with “Kevin de León Cleanup Crew” handed out bottles of water. Nearby, an electric truck bore in Spanish the legend “Courtesy of: Councilmember Kevin de León.”

He led chants and cracked jokes and introduced a parade of speakers — among them Councilmember Monica Rodriguez, actor Edward James Olmos and East LA Community Corporation president Monica Mejia — who thanked him for helping spearhead the mural, along with playwright Josefina Lopez and artist Robert Vargas.

That wasn’t enough credit for De León. Just before a giant tarp dropped to reveal one of the murals, he told the crowd that what they were about to see was “my gift to all of you, to all of Boyle Heights and to all of L.A.”

From a distance, I stared with a mix of pity and disgust. It wasn’t surprising that De León was there, because his Eastside district includes Boyle Heights. But I figured he had enough sense to offer a few words and sit down like all the other dignitaries, not squeeze a pseudo-rally out of a ceremony meant to honor a recently deceased icon.

Hubris was the engine of De León’s 18-year political career. It propelled the child of Guatemalan immigrants from an impoverished upbringing in San Diego to community activism in L.A. to stints in Sacramento as an assembly member and state senator before he landed at City Hall in 2020. He gained enemies along the way but also followers who cast him as a Dickensian hero willing to fight for the neediest.

Kevin de León, then in the state Senate, ran for the U.S. Senate in 2018 and lost to incumbent Diane Feinstein.

(Mark J. Terrill / Associated Press)

Hubris was also his downfall. On Friday, De León conceded to his opponent, tenant’s rights attorney Ysabel Jurado, in a historic defeat that will be felt for years in L.A. politics.

“While the results of this election did not go our way, I respect the decision of the voters and our democratic process,” De León said in a statement on Instagram. He congratulated Jurado “on a well-fought campaign” and wished her “success in leading our district forward” — a stark contrast to the campaign, when he and his surrogates painted her as a dangerous socialist unfit for office.

De León never recovered from his role in the 2022 City Hall audio leak that captured him laughing as others mocked Oaxacans, trashed political opponents and schemed on how to check Black political power in L.A. to ensure the spread of Latino power.

De León continued on the council despite repeated calls to resign and ran for reelection despite warnings he wouldn’t be able to win.

His loss will cause further teeth-gnashing among the region’s Latino political class, who had already cast Jurado’s rise as little better than a civil rights violation. The political novice will be the first Filipino American on the council.

Protesters demand the resignation of Kevin de León at a 2022 L.A. City Council meeting.

(Ringo H.W. Chiu / Associated Press)

Latinos make up nearly half of L.A.’s population but will hold only four seats on the 15-member council after De León’s departure. That a non-Latino will represent the Eastside, the cradle of Latino politics in the city, for the first time in nearly 40 years, is particularly galling to some Eastside residents and especially politicos.

Even before Jurado’s win, California Atty. Gen. Rob Bonta’s legal team had questioned whether the council’s district maps provide sufficient representation for Latinos, singling out two districts on the Eastside, including De León’s, as potential areas of concern, sources told my colleagues Dave Zahniser and Dakota Smith.

But what De León’s supporters don’t get is that the Latino Power strategy that long fueled Eastside politics is over — and their guy’s campaign proved it. In the wake of the audio leak scandal, the incumbent wrapped himself in latinidad like a tamale snug inside a corn husk — and he still lost.

Then-L.A. mayoral candidate Kevin de León tours the Olive Fresh Garden Marketplace in North Hollywood in 2022.

(Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times)

His office sponsored a World Cup final watch party at Pershing Square and consistently handed out free food to residents in Latino-majority neighborhoods. At a debate at Dolores Mission last month, De León talked almost exclusively in Spanish and kept referring to his constituents as nuestra gente — our people — to imply that Jurado could never understand Latinos and their needs.

Spanish-language radio ads paid for by the Latino Victory Fund called the council member el mero mero — the big boss man. A series of mailers designed like comic books featured mariachi musicians holding a “Re-Elect Kevin De León” sign as the cartooned council member nabbed copper wire thieves, cleaned up graffiti and carried boxes for homeless people as they moved into apartments. In another mailer, De León posed with firefighters in front of the iconic Virgin of Guadalupe shrine at the Ramona Garden housing complex in Boyle Heights and talked to voters at Mariachi Plaza.

Other mailers funded by political action committees touted De León as someone who wanted to “preserve Latino culture,” who was “a champion for our community” and “a symbol of this great generation of strong Latino leaders.” A text message from De León’s campaign included a grainy photo of Jurado and warned that “Forty years of Latino representation is threatened.”

De León even earned an endorsement from beyond the grave from his council predecessor, Eastside political titan Richard Alatorre. A mailer featured a letter in Spanish from Alatorre’s widow, Angie, disclosing that Richard had supported De León’s campaign and stating, “We should ensure that Latino leadership continues being important.”

None of this Hispandering worked. While De León doubled down on ethnic solidarity, Jurado and her team focused on a ground game that tied the Highland Park native’s story — daughter of immigrants who lacked legal status, teenage mom who went on food stamps, adult who had to move back in with her father — to that of Eastside residents. She easily won, with the latest vote count showing her at 56% to De León’s 44%.

It didn’t have to end this way. If De León had resigned in the wake of the audio leak, or decided to not seek reelection, he could have left with egg on his face but nevertheless walking tall after an impressive career of service to Latinos.

Kevin de León gesturing near a statue of Our Lady of Sorrows during a debate with Ysabel Jurado at Dolores Mission in Boyle Heights

(Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times)

He was an architect of the massive marches against Proposition 187 in 1994 — protests that birthed a generation of Latino activists and politicians. He was the first Latino leader of the state Senate in 130 years, with enough political cachet to stage serious runs for U.S. Senator and L.A. Mayor. He sponsored the bill that turned California into a sanctuary state and helped pass important legislation on climate change and clean energy.

Those achievements will rightfully fill up the majority of De León’s biography. But history will now also remember him as the Joe Biden of the Eastside — someone who stayed way past his expiration date, ended his political career with a whimper and cost his base their political power because he refused to leave.

That was the De León on display at the Valenzuela mural unveiling. He remained on stage in the VIP section long after the ceremony ended, chatting up Dodgers broadcasting legend Jaime Jarrín and others, instead of trying to mix with the crowd.

Some supporters went up to him to take photos, but the council member posed from his side of the barricades. It was as if he knew his time in power would soon be over, and he wanted to bask in the moment as long as possible.

I lingered to see if we might chat. After about half an hour, I realized it wasn’t going to happen.

As I walked back to my car, I turned back for one last look at De León. His cleaning crew was sweeping up litter from the street while their boss talked and talked and talked.