Coarse and Cantankerous, Burton Had a Soft Spot for Downtrodden

The invite was irresistible: “Any [bleeping] questions left? Final Burton news conference 10:30 a.m. Tuesday ... “

It would be San Francisco Democrat John Burton’s last news conference as Senate president pro tem, the second most powerful post in the Capitol. He’d begun his lawmaking career 40 years earlier as an assemblyman, had risen to Congress, resigned to clean up a cocaine habit, returned to the Legislature, and in 1998 was elected by his Senate peers to be their leader.

Now, at 71, he was being termed out.

Burton’s most important legacy can be summed up in four words: He helped the poor. They included welfare moms, children, the aged, blind and disabled.

“This drives my engine. What’s more fun than helping somebody who can’t help themselves?” he told 30 reporters and 11 TV crews, most of them drawn by the prospect of tart-tongued entertainment.

For people who worked around Burton -- other lawmakers, lobbyists, staffers, the news media -- there’ll unfortunately be another legacy besides the four-word epitaph heralding his work for the poor. It’ll be his four-letter expletives that often made communication difficult, especially for reporters seeking a printable quote for a family newspaper.

Part of the problem was that Burton had little patience for most people. There’d be brief temper outbursts -- usually nothing particularly personal, just the venting of internal steam. He couldn’t sit still for very long. Colleagues learned to adapt. It got so that when he’d storm out of a “big five” meeting with the governor and legislative leaders, the others would just roll their eyes and wait for him to gently return.

Burton could be charming and a flirt, especially with a pretty woman or someone he felt could be useful. Or he could be downright rude and insulting, brushing off someone with a barrage of bleeps.

He also was not always Mr. Good Government. He was not above ramrodding measures through the Legislature with virtually no public scrutiny, especially if it helped preserve the political status quo.

Burton could be brilliant or bullish or benevolent -- and often all three.

But there was never any doubt about where he stood -- on most issues and especially the poor. Helping him help the poor was the price other politicians paid for doing business with Burton.

He made Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger back down on proposed program cuts for the poor. He forced Gov. Pete Wilson to restore previous cuts.

Burton carried legislation creating a state income subsidy for the aged and disabled, and Gov. Ronald Reagan signed it. He masterminded the only override of a Reagan veto, keeping state mental hospitals open.

In short, Burton is an old-school, bleeding-heart liberal. And as he tried to explain the genesis for this Tuesday, tears appeared. He choked up and barely got the words out.

“My father probably,” he said, pausing between words. “It’s kind of goofy, but I remember walking down Market Street [in San Francisco] and they had, in the terms of those days, blind people.

“They could be either playing the accordion, selling pencils, selling lilac ... and he’d always put money in the cup. And I’d ask him what he was doing and he’d say, ‘Never pass a blind man without putting something in his cup.’ ”

His father, Burton continued, was a doctor who made house calls and wouldn’t charge the poor. “He’d tell them to go buy the kid some shoes.”

Burton’s older brother, the late Phillip Burton, preceded John into the Assembly and U.S. House and became a legendary crusader for welfare moms and the working class. Phillip established the powerful Burton political machine in San Francisco, whose charter members included future mayors George Moscone and Willie Brown.

Now, John Burton’s departure from Sacramento signals not only the end of a long legislative era -- and the full implementation of term limits -- but the final termination of a San Francisco political era.

Burton thought about running for mayor, he said, but concluded that he was too soft to balance budgets by cutting services for poor people.

“I am not a gutsy guy,” he said. “I would not want the choice between screwing this group of people -- you know, the general assistance people -- or closing an AIDS clinic. I’d end up shooting myself or somebody else. I am really, despite what people think, an absolute wuss.”

To many, that may not sound Schwarzenegger-like. But the two became good buddies.

Conversely, Burton and fellow Democrat Gray Davis were a bad match. Neither really respected the other. It went beyond the Senate leader being a liberal and the governor being a centrist. Burton was a committed idealist; Davis seemed devoid of core beliefs. In the end, Davis’ caving in to liberal legislators, including Burton, helped get him recalled.

And there was a personality problem.

He and Schwarzenegger “are both bull [shooters],” Burton said. “Arnold is just more fun. I say things to Arnold that Gray would think was an insult. Arnold will just laugh it off and throw one right back at ya.”

Any advice for this governor? “It’d probably be: ‘If you’re in a group of more than seven people, dip your tongue in your brain before you speak.’ You know, he gets in front of a crowd and it’s like somebody snorting up two lines of cocaine. He’s off ... “

Burton now will begin raising private money for homeless kids. “It’s very easy to make a difference in the lives of children. A trip to the zoo that they’ve never had. Up into the mountains. A ride on the bay ... “

He also might try being a model of clean language.

George Skelton writes Monday and Thursday. Reach him at george.skel ton@latimes.com.