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Profiles in Power: Brown and ‘Big Daddy’

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Three decades ago, a thin young man wearing a briefly fashionable Nehru jacket and a very wide grin showed up in the back row of the Assembly chamber. “Who’s that?” a reporter asked. “That’s the guy who beat Eddie Gaffney,” I said.

Edward M. Gaffney, 78, a former Shakespearean actor first elected to the Assembly from San Francisco in 1940, was a sweet gentleman best known for two things. Each March, he’d put on a green derby and lead the Assembly in celebrating St. Patrick’s Day. And he was always a reliable vote for Speaker Jesse M. Unruh, whenever the “Big Daddy” needed one.

For the record:

12:00 a.m. Dec. 22, 1995 For the Record
Los Angeles Times Friday December 22, 1995 Home Edition Part A Page 3 Metro Desk 2 inches; 46 words Type of Material: Correction
Willie Brown--Thursday’s Capitol Journal column inaccurately stated the committee assignment given to Willie Brown by former Assembly Speaker Jesse Unruh. Unruh appointed Brown chairman of the Legislative Representation Committee. Brown later was appointed Revenue and Taxation chairman by Speaker Leo T. McCarthy.

But an upstart black lawyer, backed by the political machine of then-San Francisco Assemblyman Phillip Burton--Unruh’s perceived rival--beat Gaffney in the 1964 Democratic primary.

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It took only a few moments after being sworn in for Willie Lewis Brown Jr., 30, to establish his own identity, beyond being the guy who had beaten lovable old Eddie. On his very first vote in the Legislature, Brown refused to support Unruh’s reelection as speaker.

“Because he had supported my opponent [Gaffney],” Brown told me Monday, just as adamant in his defiance as he had been 31 years ago. Unruh had treated him like “a Republican” he wanted “to destroy.”

Brown’s one-man rebellion landed him in Unruh’s doghouse, which was the smallest office available and the worst committee assignments.

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But both Unruh and Brown were survivors. Unruh also was a teacher and Brown a student. One lesson “Big Daddy” taught was, “If I’d killed all my enemies yesterday, I’d have no friends today.”

Ultimately, Unruh recognized that Brown not only was brash, he was brilliant. He wanted him on his side. So he gave Brown his first big legislative break, appointing him chairman of the powerful Assembly Revenue and Taxation Committee.

“I learned everything Jess had,” Brown says.

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Brown learned “how to get inside the minds of members and manipulate them,” says a Capitol veteran who worked with both men.

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Unlike Unruh, Brown had many years to perfect his skills. He had time to learn through humiliation, like when fellow Democrats rejected him in his first speakership bid in 1974.

Brown’s mentor then was Speaker Bob Moretti, who had run for the gubernatorial nomination. Moretti waited too long--until he had lost the election and his influence--before trying to hand off the speakership to Brown. One thing he learned from that failure, Brown told a “last” Capitol news conference Monday, was to ring up the votes when you’ve got them. He should have forced a vote “before Moretti went in the tank.”

Another thing he would have done differently over the 31 years: Never allow then-Senate leader David Roberti to be in charge of raising money for a 1990 anti-term limits campaign mailer featuring Ronald Reagan. Roberti couldn’t raise the money and the Reagan piece never was mailed. “I would have assumed responsibility and there would not have been term limits,” Brown said. “And I would still be here.”

“I’m sad frankly,” said Brown, now the San Francisco mayor-elect. “I thought I would spend my entire life in one spot . . . in the halls of the Legislature.”

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Like him or not, you can count on one hand the Capitol politicians who have matched Brown’s impact on California the last three decades. Unruh certainly is one of them.

Unruh reigned as speaker for seven years in the 1960s. That was a record before Brown surpassed it, ruling for 14-plus years until last June.

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They had many similarities. Both came out of hardscrabble Texas, dirt poor with little to lose. They hungered for power--to be somebody--and weren’t afraid to take risks to achieve it. Neither could be scripted; both spoke their minds. Each was intimidating, but engendered intense loyalties. They were great pop psychologists.

They also were different. Unruh, at 300 pounds, was more physically threatening and sometimes crude, particularly when he had several too many. Brown was a smooth talker and, although flamboyant, a relative straight arrow who might sip a glass of fine wine.

Inevitably, historians will try to compare them. Who was the best?

That can’t be answered. They reigned in different times--Unruh with a Democratic governor and presidents, Brown mostly with Republicans; Unruh in boom times when voters respected government; Brown during an anti-tax revolt amid cries of “throw ‘em all out.”

Unruh enacted more public policy. Brown was better at protecting Democratic majorities.

For certain, this is the end of an era. The Capitol never again will see the likes of a Willie Brown--just as it won’t a Jesse Unruh.

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