The Revolution is Canceled

Over the weekend, Peskin has pushed his campaign into full swing with a big volunteer drive. In less than two weeks, the candidate has already grown more confident. He has polished his delivery. Once again, he begins by telling the group about his morning swim in the bay, and this time he gets to the punch line a little quicker. He has streamlined his speech, and made it more lyrical. He still sounds sincere, only a little more prepared, until someone asks him what he thinks about rent control. Peskin appears flummoxed for a moment, then begins a roundabout explanation that ends with a gulp and an almost guilty-sounding "I'm for it."

Outside on the deck, as an orange full moon rises over the bay, I ask him if he's afraid that Ammiano's endorsement will hurt him. He brushes the question aside. "I've also been endorsed by Clint Reilly and Carole Migden," he says. "I enjoy Ammiano's support, but he is just one of many."

Then he, too, unsheathes that word so popular in this election. He says he considers himself an independent. His views differ considerably from Ammiano's on a number of counts, he says, from fiscal matters to the public financing of campaigns. "I fully expect that Ammiano, at times, will be pissed at me."

He waves to his wife, Nancy, talking with a few guests inside the house. The two have always worked together. He says when things get confusing on the campaign trail, he looks to Nancy as his moral compass. "I'm married to a woman who knows very well what's right and what's not right."

How does she feel about him running for office?

"Don't ask her about it," he says.

After the party, he drops off Nancy at their flat, and we go to the South End Rowing Club, where Peskin got his start as an activist, fighting for cleaner water standards in the bay. We step out onto the pier, where the club launches its boats. The moon has risen high in the sky. "This is where I jump in," he says.

He knows a negative ad campaign is coming his way, he says, and he wonders aloud about what his competitors will use against him. They might paint him as a gadfly or, worse yet, an Ammiano supporter. He recalls that a planner once accused him of acting in a threatening manner after a contentious hearing. "Maybe they'll say I assaulted the guy," he says, musing over the prospect.

Though it's only August, the campaign has already begun to take on a different complexion. The threats have become more real. The points of reference have become blurred.

"We'd better head back," he says. "I'm already in trouble with Nancy."

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Into the Fire

District elections will undoubtedly alter the makeup of the Board of Supervisors for the better. For one thing, the city will see some new faces. Mayor Willie Brown has handpicked an unprecedented six members of the board, granting him a majority that undermines the entire concept of checks and balances in city government. Many of Brown's appointees will probably win re-election, but one or two might lose, which will at least loosen Brown's hold on the city's legislative branch.

Come November, it's likely the city will elect a more "independent" Board of Supervisors, but it will hardly resemble the broad cross section of interests the drafters of this new system had promised voters in 1996. The new electoral reform appears to have also fallen short of its pledge to remove money from the equation. Independent expenditures will play a dominant role in the coming races, and make them more bloody than ever before. "We didn't anticipate this four years ago, and to be truthful, it takes some of the fun out of these races," says Arthur Bruzzone, who now hosts a public policy television show. "You know, when you put something like this together, you have such high hopes. But things never turn out the way you thought they would."

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A few days later, Peskin is facing the deadline for filing candidate's papers. It's getting close to 5 o'clock. Peskin has been up late completing his financial disclosure statement, and he's a little slap-happy.

As we speed through the Broadway tunnel on our way to City Hall, he turns on the CD player, coincidentally set at one of his favorite songs. It's called "Cold Missouri Water," about 13 fire jumpers who died fighting a wildfire in Montana. The fireman who survived escaped by deliberately scorching the earth around him, creating an oasis that burned him but protected him from the bigger flames.

"Why do I feel like I'm heading to my own funeral?" Peskin says, only half kidding. He steps harder on the gas. "Hell, what do you say we blow this whole thing off and drive up to the Headlands."

But no such luck. The Department of Elections is overflowing with candidates and political operatives, talking loudly and stinking of sweat. Edward Epstein, the Chronicle's City Hall reporter, sidles from person to person, notebook in hand, looking for a catchy quote.

Matt Gonzales, a young public defender, looks a bit pale as he stands outside the door. He has entered the race for supervisor in the Haight-Ashbury. "I just hope I can stay true to what I believe," he says earnestly. "I'll do all right as long as I don't get pushed away from my message."

Epstein smiles nearby. "They all start out so optimistic," he says to no one in particular, as Peskin disappears into the teeming crowd.