All the while, David Werby and his Grosvenor Buses were hidden from view. It wouldn't have done to have a private bus line owner looking so interested in a politCR>ically motivated audit of Muni.
The TWU's Larry Martin says Werby, one of Mayor Jordan's fund-raisers, has been gunning for Muni business for years. In the early days of the Jordan administration, Martin says, Jordan and Werby were constantly pressing Muni into giving up the monopoly rights on some of its lines.
Weakening the TWU would cause the downtown CEOs to wet themselves in delight, because the TWU is the only union strong enough to bring the city to its knees. Unlike the other city government unions, the TWU is not prohibited by law from striking. If -- and when -- the drivers go out, the city would come to a screeching halt. The baseline comparison of discomfort is not the 11-day newspaper strike in November 1994, but the Loma Prieta earthquake.
"The TWU is the Holy Grail for us in the old left," Calvin Welch says. "They are the only ones who can shut down the city with a strike. That gives them tremendous leverage. If [the Committee on Jobs] can get rid of the TWU, all they have left to deal with are midgets."
Surely, the chamber and the COJ will suggest the independent transit district as a possible alternative to a tax measure. In attempting to focus the debate on a downtown Muni tax, the TWU and its liberal allies would be well-advised to consider the success of Shorenstein and other downtown property owners in the 1994 campaign.
These interests have already purchased a right to whisper in Willie's ear. A review of Brown's campaign contributions reveals that fully one-eighth of his $2 million in donations -- $260,000 to be exact -- came from downtown property owners, their tenants, and the relatives of tenants and owners. And the influence downtown wields in Brown's big tent goes beyond money. Doug Shorenstein, the CEO of the Shorenstein Co. and field marshal of the COJ, went to great lengths to organize COJ members behind Brown's campaign, corralling those CEOs who still felt some loyalty to Jordan.
"Doug is owed," admits Welch, a supporter of a downtown Muni tax.
But, he quickly adds, others are owed, too. He and land-use attorney Sue Hestor claim to have helped amass $50,000 for Brown in two separate fund-raising events. Add that to the field work and money provided by the TWU, and the scales of influence are balanced, Welch says.
"What Brown wants is to have me, Larry, and Doug agree on a package," Welch says.
Asked how likely the chances are of a cordial compromise, Welch pauses.
"Well, we'll see."
And if the stalemate grows sour, if the COJ gets too insistent in avoiding a tax assessment or going after the Muni drivers' contract, Larry Martin already has a counterattack planned.
"We have pictures of where all [COJ CEOs] live," he says. "We have a little sheet of paper telling us how much they make. When I put that out to the public, I am almost sure I won't have too many problems. All I'm asking is to sit down around a table with them and see how we can resolve this thing. If not, we know how to play with it. I know politics pretty well. We convince the voters that if these people make so much money why don't we tax 'em. I bet they pass it when I show 'em how much their great big houses cost in those neighborhoods with those fences. I got all that stuff for them if they want to play some games."
And there's one final tactic Martin is reserving for Shorenstein and crew if negotiations break down.
"I'm going to take the bus out there with poor folks and take a picture in front of their houses," he says. "I know where to find them.
