Perhaps Wiener was destined to write the anti-nudity ordinance.
Scott Wiener grew up as a tall, lanky, unathletic, closeted Jewish boy in what his longtime political strategist David Latterman calls "the yee-haw part of south Jersey." In 1997, after graduating from Duke University and Harvard Law School, he headed to San Francisco, a place where, as Wiener puts it, "you can go and be who you are."
J. P. Dobrin
Those close to Scott Wiener say he's not "too uptight or too serious. ... He is very comfortable in his skin and very comfortable with other people."
Joe Eskenazi
Upon being sworn in as a supervisor in 2011, Scott Wiener realizes he is too big
for his desk.
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Just who Wiener is is open to debate. He does not make himself easy to know. Wiener is a remarkably controlled individual; friends and colleagues of two decades who have been by his side as he suffered setbacks as a high-profile gay activist and politician say they've never seen him lose his composure or even raise his voice. Wiener has, extremely publicly, been betrayed by his so-called political friends; his actual friends are largely nonpolitical. Wiener tightly compartmentalizes his life. He politely requested SF Weekly not contact his family back East. The one close friend who spoke with us is his former law school roommate, Adam Cohn. Wiener, Cohn says, is not the social misfit he is portrayed as — though Wiener has lugged hardback Robert Caro biographies of Lyndon Johnson to the beach as summer reading. "When they first meet Scott, people make the mistake of thinking he's too uptight or too serious. But he's not," says Cohn. "He is very comfortable in his skin and very comfortable with other people."
The supervisor's friends enjoy a side of him that evidently isn't on display for his colleagues on the board. Fellow supes say they can't recall Wiener ever cracking a joke. Wiener's staffers note he's an insomniac who has been known to send out cogent and grammatically correct policy-related text messages at midnight, 3, and 6 a.m. Wiener's board colleagues know this. Says one, "There's no spouse. No kids. No movies. No book club. No Warriors. No nothing. This is it. Morning, noon, night. It's all he does. And he loves it."
Wiener does not deny this (though he does have a fondness for schlocky horror films). He admits to working 80 hours or more, seven days a week, with up to a dozen events to attend every weekend. "I have been dumped by people not willing to be a politician's spouse," he says. "That's fine. It's not for everyone."
The supervisor's prorated hourly take puts him well behind a city janitor. He is earning far less than he did as a city attorney, which, in turn, was far less than he did as a private litigator ("My mother says I'm downwardly mobile"). When asked what, after all of this toil, he hopes his legacy will be, he does not rattle off the iconic accomplishments of his predecessors: Healthy San Francisco, the minimum wage ordinance, paid sick leave. Within seconds, Wiener is touting his measures to simplify the city's regulations for operating restaurants or secondhand shops, or the proposed widening of the sidewalks on Castro — "a dream of the community for 15 years."
Between cranking out work texts in the wee hours, perhaps Wiener is dreaming about pavement. While the supervisor himself is larger than life, his chosen policy areas are not. But that works in his favor. Right now, San Franciscans aren't complaining.
"Things have reached the point — and not only locally — that the average Joe Citizen longs for someone quiet, competent, and with a capacity to govern and solve problems. Someone who shies away from the big issues and actually gets things done," says S.F. State professor emeritus Rich DeLeon, the dean of local political scientists. The first decade of this century featured large-scale San Francisco social policy changes — and high-decibel politics. Wiener offers neither of these, and, for good or ill, that's what today's San Franciscans reward. Despite the overt machinations of powerful political sharks and a persona as tantalizing as dry oatmeal, Mayor Ed Lee easily fended off all challengers. Lee and Wiener are not political twins — but "he gets it done" is an attractive mantra to affix to oneself these days.
"The window of major policy revision is mostly closed. Now it's moving from outward-looking to inward-looking," continues DeLeon. "I think San Francisco seems to be happy with its more pragmatic, business-oriented, jobs-oriented agenda and the kind of people who can work with that."
Wiener can work with that. The tall young man riding shotgun in Peskin's car would struggle to be elected in the San Francisco of the day. Peskin's raison d'être of preserving neighborhoods and extracting concessions from developers resonated with a populace wary of the rampant corruption, displacement, and uncontrolled development of the Brown years. But those voters have, in large part, been offset by affluent newcomers amenable to Wiener's quality-of-life politics and policies friendly to both development and business. Growth isn't a dirty word for them. They are growth.
Wiener looks forward to the 2,000 or so housing units slated to sprout in his district between Castro and Octavia alone (making him the rare pro-development supe unafraid to push for construction in his own district). Residents settling in San Francisco due to Wiener's land-use policies are likely to be amenable to such policies. Along with a growing tally of residents in District 8 and citywide, they'll ask why the city shouldn't cater to business coming off a recession. Why shouldn't the city ease businesses into those vacant storefronts — and panhandlers or obnoxious exhibitionists out of the public spaces?