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During a recent interview with local newscaster Barbara Taylor, a thinner, softer-voiced, more nattily besuited Supervisor Chris Daly than I'm used to displayed the sort of subtle paranoid schizophrenia and megalomania that separates the great politicians from the merely good.
Daly said he would be a contender to take down our seemingly unconquerable mayor in next year's elections, if only his opponents in last month's Board of Supervisors race hadn't tarred him as an irresponsible radical.
The District 6 supervisor doth protest too much; he, not his opponents, made his own bones as a wanton crusader, and the reputation's served him well. Although business associations, the cops' union, and others spent a fortune last month trying to tar Daly as an extremist brigand, like rock to scissors, Daly's reputation as a people's martyr smashed the attempted smear.
Rather than campaign smears, this Daly persona has its roots in events the city has long forgotten, but which remain very much with us.
The story began with Daly's arrest at a 2002 summertime protest demonstration, and ended this month with an agreement to put a coffee kiosk in the lobby of a law school. The saga's bang of a beginning and whimper of an ending provide a good primer on how things work in San Francisco, where the public seems to embrace symbolic gestures and lose track of policy details.
The yarn also suggests that when it comes to using hoopla to useful effect, the District 6 supervisor, if not in quite the same league as our publicity-hound mayor, certainly deserves to be a contender.
Brian Bassinger, the enthusiastic director of AIDS Housing Alliance/SF, is particularly bubbly the first Monday afternoon in December as he describes a new business venture that will bring his 3-year-old nonprofit group into a new dimension. It's the last chapter in a four-year saga that began with Daly's arrest at a sit-in protest.
"We want to be providing a coffee experience. Specialty coffees. And, especially because we're an AIDS organization, promoting good health or healthier alternatives is important. So we want to have fair-trade coffees, organic coffees, fresh juices, and organic snacks," Bassinger said.
Bassinger's describing a coffee kiosk he'll soon be running in the lobby of the classroom building at U.C. Hastings College of the Law located in the Tenderloin. It will allow him to earn money to fund his housing-aid programs, while employing AIDS patients receiving Social Security benefits who are allowed to earn up to $620 a month without losing their government stipends. He got in a bit of apparent tit for tat after his group ended its participation in four years of protests against a proposed Hastings parking garage.
A core value of the Housing Alliance "is creating appropriate employment for people with AIDS," Bassinger said, adding that the kiosk would help him do just that.
For David Seward, Hastings' CFO, the coffee kiosk ties the last loose string in a four-year tangle that began with a sit-in protest involving Daly at the school's McAllister Street campus.
Daly had joined a protest organized by the Tenderloin Housing Clinic, an $8 million-per-year nonprofit run by political insider Randy Shaw that sought to prevent Hastings from replacing with a parking garage what had been 85 apartments on school property. The activists wanted Hastings to build new apartments then and now a scarce commodity in the city instead of the garage.
A police officer, who had arrested Daly during the protest, told a reporter that the supervisor had threatened his job. Daly denied it, saying he had merely been trying to cooperate with an arresting officer who had him in a painful hold. Despite the denial, the public parable had already been told. Daly was an advocate willing to risk jail, even be a victim of police brutality, if it meant fighting for the people of San Francisco's right to housing.
Though he received dozens of column inches of jeers from newspaper writers, Daly was on the right side of an important cause. The law school planned to build a money-making 885-space garage, Seward told me back in 2002, thanks to parking lease contracts the law school would sign with other State of California office buildings in the neighborhood. Because construction on state-owned property doesn't have to go through the normal S.F. permit process, the usual local anti-development protests didn't seem to present a problem.
Whether or not the protesters had legal standing, they had a good point. Making room for an additional town's worth of automobiles in the city's densest neighborhood, the neighborhood where more people get around on foot or wheelchair than anywhere else in the city, seemed like it would create more congestion, pedestrian deaths, and smog. Building apartments for students or faculty instead would have eliminated thousands of automobile trips through the Tenderloin, meanwhile, while incrementally helping to ease housing demand citywide.
John Burton, then the president pro tem of the state Senate, agreed, and threatened to slash funding for U.C. Hastings if they proceeded with the plan. And for a while, the garage was dead.
Hastings' CFO Seward was uncowed, however. The garage was conceived as an important moneymaker for the school, and if it took more politicking to build it, that's what Seward would do. He assembled a "blue-ribbon committee" of downtown swells headed by Jim Haas, who as chairman of a group calling itself "Civic Pride" had lobbied for increased parking in the mid-town area.