By Erin Sherbert
By Howard Cole
By Erin Sherbert
By Erin Sherbert
By Leif Haven
By Erin Sherbert
By Chris Roberts
By Kate Conger
In San Francisco, bureaucrats under the mayor's control took $13 million from a state fund earmarked to preserve "safe neighborhood parks, clean water, clean air, and coastal protection," $5 million of which was to be used for "high priority, urgent, unmet needs, in the most heavily populated and most economically disadvantaged areas," and instead used the money to pay for a PGA golf tournament, in the name of earning profits for the city.
Facilities the state fund was intended to pay for -- such as playgrounds, recreation centers, and local parks -- languish in filth and disrepair. Neither the PGA nor the city could point to an economic impact study showing a net benefit to San Francisco as a result of the golf tournament.
Three weeks after the event, neither the city nor the PGA could say whether the tournament itself made any profit -- an important point, given S.F. city government was supposed to receive half of all net tournament revenues.
Environmental groups that backed a 2000 state ballot initiative creating the parks fund complained that the money had been misused. So did local parks advocates.
Last week, I spoke with Rose Dennis, assistant to the managing director of the city's Recreation & Park Department, about the aforementioned complaints regarding misused tax dollars and the Oct. 4-9 World Golf Championship at Harding Park.
"My background is working with kids and open space, more so than the advocates. I've picked kids up from a wheelchair and wiped the shit off their ass. Having been there and been down that path, I don't think [the complaints are] true. I'll be working this week at the Yerba Buena Gardens Family Festival. I don't suppose your paper is covering that, is it? What did you say your name was? Brad?" Dennis said. "From a civic standpoint, the thing was a huge success."
At any other place or time, this situation, combined with Dennis' peculiar line of defense, would seem sufficient for a negative media storm. Not in San Francisco.
The San Francisco Chronicle, along with local television stations, earlier this month heaped praise on the city's handling of the PGA tournament, with the Chron devoting the top of its front page to declaring the event a civic triumph.
This juxtaposed government mismanagement and adulatory press coverage associated with the PGA event appears to be merely a recent example of how the warm and forgiving media glow surrounding our mayor seems to envelop everything under Gavin Newsom's command.
City departments, programs, and political deals under the mayor's purview spawn debacles, fall into chaos, blow up into controversy, slide into decay, or fail in other ways, yet local, state, and national media cover San Francisco as if it were a well-oiled version of Camelot.
It's no accident. There's method acting behind this madness.
The city two years ago elected a government leader with absolutely no interest in politics or policy. Yet Mayor Gavin Newsom is a savant at maintaining a celebrity image and earning the fond media coverage that goes along with it.
While the mayor has allowed problems, such as the PGA-parks fund diversion scheme, to play out without paying significant attention, Newsom has applied frenetic energy and thought to his status as a famous man. The result seems to be a looking-glass world, where the worse things get in city government, the higher the mayor's public stature seems to become. This is a great accomplishment, one that has required a certain type of hard work.
To wit: Our mayor seemed to drop everything Oct. 19 to rush to Pier 7, where police believe a woman drowned her three children. He told reporters, "I'm sick to my stomach," then left. The mayor's crime-scene stunt paid off: Newsom's quote traveled worldwide as part of a made-for-tabloid-TV mom-drowns-kids yarn.
Beyond such periodic Gavin Newsom media stunts there exists a continuous stream of People magazine-style items in local and national media involving the mayor's personal life. They're so frequent and inconsequential as to seem prosaic. But the fact is, they're weird when you consider they're not about an image-managed Hollywood actress, but a midsize city mayor. One column in last week's San Francisco Examiner, for example, claimed the mayor's erstwhile wife slept at his house recently. Chroniclecolumnists reported last week on an argument Newsom's former wife allegedly had at a party, as if it were news. We see items like this in the local press every week.
They're pitched to reporters for a reason: For a celebrity, such as Paris Hilton, say, or Gavin Newsom, success and failure are gauged in units of pure attention.
Gavin Newsom has been preparing for the role of celebrity political lightweight all his life.
Growing up, Newsom insinuated himself into the status of an informally adopted scion of the famous Getty family, a clan keenly attuned to the demands of the public eye. His work life prior to politics consisted of putting a marketing burnish on Getty-funded business projects, which included some restaurants and a wine store. When Willie Brown appointed Newsom supervisor in 1996, he became known as the politician who never read legislation crossing his desk, who was unable to and uninterested in cutting deals with his colleagues, and who wrote and passed very little significant legislation. However, Newsom was better than any of his peers at chumming around, off the record, with news reporters. And he looked exquisite on TV in a suit and hair gel.