Sausaged

You Are There as Funding for the San Francisco Water Transit Authority is Passed into Law

“People will sleep better not knowing how their politics and sausages are made”.
                                                                    Bismarck

Editor’s note: this article originally ran in October, 2000. As WTA releases its plan for expanded regional ferry service we thought it appropriate we run it again.

It hasn’t been easy getting the San Francisco Water Transit Authority up and running.

Strong and well-organized opposition has been active from the start. Environmentalists (worried about emissions), bus and BART advocates (jealous of their funding) and the Metropolitan Transportation Authority (frantic at losing its death grip on Bay Area transportation planning) have all weighed in against ferries and the WTA.

Indeed, Senate Bill 428 which created the Authority last year barely squeaked by and then only thanks to the formidable backing of a Blue Ribbon Task Force admiraled by the powerful Ron Cowan and uber-politico Mayor Willie Brown.

Yet SB 428 only established the Authority as an entity. Getting money to do anything was another matter. But, thankfully, $12 million was put in this year’s budget to begin planning a comprehensive regional ferry system. It was approved by the Legislature – and then just as quickly - line item vetoed by the Governor.

The Governor explained to incensed ferry supporters that it was simply a technicality. He had told the Legislature that he wanted to pay for the Authority out of a special fund called the Public Transportation Account. It seems someone at the Legislature simply forgot about it and instead used the General Fund instead to pay for the Authority.

Prissy though it may seem of the Governor to snatch away $12 million simply because it came out of one pot of money instead of another (doesn’t it all come from the same place in the end?), what was done was done.

So ferry advocates rebanded to seek inclusion in what is known as a “technical correction bill”. Such a bill’s sole purpose is to act as a carryall of corrections and adjustments to other bills. Staffers colorfully refer to them as “carcasses” and whisper that their use is sharply on the rise. The reason, they say, for so many sloppy laws filled with silly oversights is term limits. Lawmakers can’t stay around long enough to learn the craft of legislating for themselves, let alone pass it on to others. The institutional memory of our legislature has Alzheimer’s disease.

Ferry advocates were indeed fortunate to get their “correction” restoring the $12 million (this time from the proper account) included in a technical correction bill sponsored by the omnipotent Senator John L. Burton. A Burton bill is called a “juice bill”, meaning powerful political mojo is involved. It has far greater chances of success than one sponsored by a lesser legislator.

But as this was being arranged – it took all summer – ferry supporters were taking hits on several fronts. MTC, though publicly philosophical, remained surly regarding the Water Transit Authority and promoted statistics designed to put ferry service in the worst possible light as a public transportation option. Environmentalists, lead by the feisty and press savvy Russell Long of the Bluewater Network, kept lobbing bombs. Ron Cowan, having achieved his goal of creating the Authority, stepped aside, creating a leadership vacuum while Charlene Johnson got up to speed after being appointed by Governor Davis as President of the Authority.

It is customary to leave technical correction bills until the very end of the legislative session, the better to wield maximum political leverage over supplicants desperate for some kind or the other of relief or reward.

And so it was that Marina Secchitano called me to say she wasn’t going to take any chances: she would personally go to Sacramento on the last day of the session — would stay all night if she had to – to make sure nothing went wrong with our technical correction juicer.

Marina is a triple threat ferry supporter: in her principal capacity she is Regional Director of the Inlandboatmen’s Union (odd that name, given it’s leader is a woman). The IBU is made up of ferry and tugboat crewmembers. Marina also was appointed by the State Senate to one of the eleven places on the Water Transit Authority Board. And finally she serves on the board of directors of Friends of a Regional Ferry Service, publishers of Bay Crossings.

Marina is all heart and guts, besides being a dear friend, and I simply couldn’t let her go alone. So I cancelled my plans and off we went together to Sacramento.

Driving to Sacramento is mind deadening. I amuse myself watching Marina keep two cellular phones in constant use. I watch a crop duster work, its fuselage looks just like a yellow flashlight.

Arriving in Sacramento, we go first to the offices of top lobbyist Kathleen Snodgrass. She had agreed to help out on a pro bono basis, there being no budget to pay her. We get a copy of our bill, which had been written just that morning, and head off to the Capitol Building to find the responsible staff person, Brian Kelly.

Brian works for Senator Burton. He’s a tall, engaging and immediately likable fellow who is in equal parts energetic and knowledgeable. He fairly well terrifies us by asking, “Say, I’m glad you’re here. What is the Water Transit Authority, anyway?”

Flabbergasted, we stutter out a 30-second, Cliff Notes version of the Authority’s mission. Even that, Brian makes us clearly to understand, is vastly overstating our case on this, the last day of the legislative session. Brevity and alacrity is all. We take a note.

“We might have a problem with the Reps”, Brian continues, meaning the Republicans. “There’s a Budget hearing in a few minutes. If anyone at all objects, funding for WTA is gonna come out. Can you testify?”

Information overload. Adrenalin flood. Room spins. But Marina says that, yes, she’s a member of the Authority and will testify if necessary. Brian smiles reassuringly and asks us to wait outside.

About ten minutes later Brian bolts out of his office. “We’re on”, he says, jogging past. We gallop after him, flying down flights of back staircases, through staff-only doors and suddenly we’re in a hearing room. The Assembly members are already seated at the dais. There are just a few lobbyists and they immediately form a clutch around Brian. They talk intently with serious looks on their faces.
The meeting is called to order. We learn that the meeting is being held for the sole purpose of evaluating our bill, the “carcass”, Senate Bill 1662. That makes me very uneasy. Assemblyperson Torlakson, Chairman of the Transportation Committee, approaches the podium and begins, “This bill contains important corrections for transportation pro-“.

“Move to consider”. Someone on the panel has cut Torlakson off. Before Torlakson even finishes folding his papers the motion has been seconded and unanimously passed.

Brian is beaming. “Now it goes to the Assembly floor, and assuming no amendments there we’re home free because it’s set in the Senate”.

“Can we go home now?” I ask Marina. Brian thinks we can but Marina is determined to stay until the bill passes at least through the Assembly.

Marina says we will go to the “Gate”. The Gate is where lobbyists wait like expectant parents as the special interest bills they have been hired to promote wend their way through the legislative process.
We take an elevator down to the Gate. The doors open to reveal pandemonium. A mosh pit of hundreds of lobbyists fills the hallways in every direction.

Lobbyists are not what I expected. First off, they hardly look prosperous (although I’m sure in fact they are). Up close they look and dress more like airline ticket counter agents. The even have the same “I’m resigned to the beating I know you’re going to give me and I just don’t care any more” expression that airline ticket people have. Many have the florid, flushed face of a tippler, an occupational hazard I’m sure. One in particular had both a drinker’s face and an artificial tan, a most upsetting combination. I thought lobbyists would repulse me; instead I felt sorry for them.

Legislative staff people are very friendly and eager to help. I’m certain such solicitous behavior is mandated, much like how Safeway orders its clerks to make eye contact and thank you by name. The effect is gratifying on one level, discomfiting on another. A little voice in me wanted to say (just like I want to when at Safeway), “Go ahead and call me an asshole. I know you want to”. Legislative staff people are hard working, over-stressed, under-appreciated and deeply dedicated people with impossible jobs. I felt sorry for them, too.

All eyes are glued to TV screens hanging from the ceiling everywhere. A sound effect, a kind of jingle, indicates a vote is in the process of being taken and I thought to myself I am backstage at the taping of the world’s richest game show.

When one speaks of the “Gate” they refer to a hallway area adjacent to two back doors, one to the Assembly chamber and the other to the Senate chamber. Fittingly, this is where the figure of speech “back door deal” comes from.

The gates themselves are unimpressive. They look like you’d pick up a UPS package there. A velvet rope keeps people away, and behind it stands a security man, earphone, coiled wire disappearing in the suit, our culture’s fetish for signaling the proximity of power. The security person is more like a doorman at Studio 54. His most important chore is to take lobbyists’ business cards (notes scribbled on back) to members in the chamber. Occasionally, a member deigns to stroll out of the chamber in response to one of these missives. This sends a frisson of excitement through the lobbyist pack. They surge forward until, with an imperious flick of the hand, the member waves away most and beckons forward a chosen few.

Marina and I settle in for the long wait. It feels like being trapped overnight in an airline terminal. There are no windows; just corridors jammed with sweating, highly anxious lobbyists.

The noise makes reading impossible. I try listening to a book on tape; too noisy even for that. With no options left, I watch the game show.

A man that looks very much like Mr. Rogers, and even sounds like him, presides over the Assembly. He is the Speaker Pro Tempore; the actual Speaker is too important to perform the actual functions of Speaker. Every once in a while, Mr. Rogers steps down and someone else presides for a time. This is to allow Mr. Rogers to speak on behalf of his own bills.

It’s almost Noon and things are moving fast. A bill will be called. Its details appear on a scoreboard above the Speaker. The Clerk reads a one-sentence summary. The TV picture switches to the member advocating the bill under consideration. The member says something like “Thank you Mr. Speaker and fellow members. This bill helps children. I urge an “Aye” vote.” That’s about it.

The members, without exception, do the same interesting thing when finished speaking. They grab the flexible horse neck-shaped microphone and whip it away forcefully, using the full length of their arm, adding a scowl for flavoring. It’s a violent maneuver with an unmistakably macho message. I thought it funny because, frankly, most of the members are pretty geeky looking. These are the folks that got pushed around in school; they seem to be compensating for it now.

When voting begins the TV screen goes to an electronic scoreboard. A green square alongside each member’s name lights up to indicate a “yes” vote; a red square indicates a “no”. The legislative version of Jeopardy music plays as members vote. The Speaker announces the outcome and in the same breath calls up the next bill. From beginning to finish, consideration of a bill commonly takes less than a minute. All are passing by wide margins.

Late in the afternoon, bored to tears, we remove ourselves to a bar across the street and, over a beer, continue to watch the session. We can do this because the bar is wired with the same closed circuit televisions that the Gate has. Grizzled veteran lobbyists kid each other with jocky, alcoholic banter. One yells out as a member advocates for a bill, “No reading!” It seems that Assembly rules require extemporaneous advocacy without resort to prepared comments. If this is true, the rule is routinely flouted. Members are not only reading their comments from a script, most are pretty clearly seeing the comments for the first time. They squint, scratch their heads and puzzle over the pages in front of them.

We return to the Gate. Marina meets a friend who gets us into a private party being held in the office of Assemblyperson Lou Papan. A plaque outside Papan’s office door identifies him as “Dean of the Assembly”. I wonder how this can be. Mathematically, there must be many Deans of the Assembly as no one is allowed to run for a third term. Perhaps it is because he transferred to the Assembly from the Senate when term-limited out so as to prolong his legislative career. At any rate, Papan is undoubtedly a Capitol favorite. Everyone breaks into a smile at the sight of him. He’s a kind of legislative Ed McMahon, given to making jokey little speeches on the floor that to outsiders seem wincingly empty-headed, but members and staff savor each chestnut as the height of humor and received wisdom. A well-catered party is in full swing in Papan’s office, staff and members alike having riotous good fun one moment, than out through the lobbyist throng, back to the floor the next.

We watch San Francisco Assemblyperson Carole Migdin advocate $30 million for San Francisco Airport with which to buy the Cargill salt flats and return them to their natural wetland state. It’s impossible to look at Ms. Migdin’s hair and not think “fright wig”. But her bill is serious business and of great importance to ferry riders. The purchase, designed to appease environmentalists blocking airport expansion plans, promises to restore natural tidal patterns to the South Bay. In time, this will permit resumption of ferry service to Alviso, a historical port located near the “Golden Triangle” formed by Routes 87, 101 and the Bay, home to hot high-tech companies like 3Com.

Assemblyperson Papan rises to ask one or two innocuous, and not altogether relevant, questions of Assemblyperson Migdin. She responds with rote legislator-ese along the lines of “I thank the gentleman for his remarks” but is clearly not amused. She’s all business. I don’t think I’d want to hang out with Carol Migdin. In fact, I think I’d rather be at a tax audit. But she gets her $30 million.
Hours pass. We get a strong hint that our welcome is worn out in Lou Papan’s offices. The corridor, now even more jammed with lobbyists, is stifling. We find refuge in Assemblyman Kevin Shelley’s office. His kind receptionist moves a TV so we can watch while sitting down.

It’s nearing 10:00 PM and the pace has picked up considerably. The Speaker cuts off the Clerk just one or two words into her one-sentence summary. Members barely get out “Thank you Mr. Speaker and…..” before the Speaker cuts them off, too. Many bills are now being dispatched – all favorably – in well under 30 seconds.

Suddenly, our bill, SB 1662, is up. I wake Marina, who is dozing next to me, and we both sit up excitedly. The truncated summary is given, the advocate gives a perfunctory exhortation and we are on the edge of our seat expecting Jeopardy music and a happy outcome. But wait: a Republican has risen in opposition!

This is wholly out of the pattern and most discombobulating. And then, our worst fears are confirmed: the member is speaking out against our very item.

“Members, I know we’re rushing to finish, but we need to be careful as we pass these bills late at night.” he begins. In my shock I fail to catch his name; he’s from the Los Angeles area. “This bill calls for spending $12 million on ferries for San Francisco. We got rid of ferries in the 1920’s and replaced them with bridges! We can’t be spending $12 million to fund antiquated ferries, especially when we know it costs three times as much to move people by ferry than it does by BART”.

Ferries were phased out in the late 1930’s, not the 20’s. The integrated rail and ferry system that bridges replaced, it is now realized, is far more efficient and environmentally friendly. BART is astronomically more expensive to build than are ferries.

It matters not a bit. The vote is taken and we fall far short of the required two-thirds. We’ve lost. I feel physically ill.

“My God, Marina, we lost”, I say reaching for my cell phone to report the news. “Shut up, put that phone away and follow me”, commands Marina.

She is up like a shot. One would never guess that less than a minute ago she had been sound asleep. Now, she is striding through the Gate like General Patton. The lobbyists, sensing her power and determination, part and make way for her.

Marina heads to the Clerk of the Assembly’s office. A printed list of who voted in favor and who voted against SB 1662 is already available. Marina snatches two copies, thrusts one at my chest, and marches out.

Now even two cell phones aren’t enough for Marina. She barks out a phone number and tells me to use my phone to page someone. I dial the number: it’s been disconnected. I can’t help but feel it’s an allegory.

Suddenly, labor lobbyists are arriving from all directions at a full run, responding to Marina’s summons. They don’t need to be told what has happened or what to do. They drop to their knees, throw business cards down on the floor and furiously write notes to be handed to legislators.

The lobbyist Kathleen Snodgrass is located in Assemblyperson Papan’s office. She grabs my copy of the tally sheet and starts circling names. “I can get him, I can get her”, she is saying, to no one in particular. I feel like I’m inside a kaleidoscope, everything swirling and changing.

I am sent for more tally sheets. When I ask the Clerk for a SB 1662 tally sheet the fellow behind me tells me he has been sent by his boss, an Assemblyperson, for the same thing. “What’s the problem with water transit, do you know?” he asks me. I somewhat frantically tell him nothing at all is wrong with water transit, urge him to ask his boss to vote for the bill.

I return to the Gate. I report my precocious lobbying efforts while at the Clerk’s office. Marina and the other hardened veterans could care less. Many more lobbyists have joined forces with us now. These new recruits aren’t at all interested in water transit but, since their items are contained in the same bill as ours, we’re all joined at the hip.

At this very moment, the all-powerful John Burton comes striding through the Gate. Without a seeming care in the world, bedecked in a shocking pink shirt and floral tie, this is a man that very much wants you to know that he could give a shit. He’s a proud, and very effective, rascal. “In politics and in trade, bruisers and pirates are of better promise than talkers and clerks”, said Emerson and John Burton is living proof. Knowing that he supports water transit – it’s his juice bill, after all – I summon the courage, like something out of Oliver Twist, to pipe up, “Mr. Burton, I’m here to support ferries for San Francisco!” He doesn’t even break stride or so much as glance in my direction. “Good for you. Hope it passes”. He’s gone.

There is life after death for SB 1662. It has been called back; a recount is underway. We watch red lights blink off and green lights take their place. We need 67 to win. To our exhilaration we’ve picked up 7 votes to get all the way up to 66. We stay there for what seems like forever. Then – 67! We’ve won!

The supremely effective lobbyist Snodgrass is still circling names on her tally sheet and writing out business cards and has to be told we’ve already won. General rejoicing. I feel like I’ve come back from the dead. Water transit for the Bay Area actually did.

We move en masse to the Senate side where the bill must now be considered. It is 11:30 and I learn that by law the Senate may only consider bills until the stroke of midnight. Some bills – perhaps many – are sure to not make the deadline. The realization terrifies me, but I am relieved to learn from a lobbyist wedged next to me that SB 1662 has been designated an “urgency” bill, meaning it, unlike the others, may be considered after midnight. The juice is flowing.

Senator Burton is the President of the Senate, and, like the Speaker of the Assembly, often finds it convenient to let others chair the session while be operates from the Senate floor. He is there now, and is calling up SB 1662. “The bill isn’t physically here, Senator”, says the presiding officer. “Don’t know why not, I brought it over myself”, cracks Burton. The Senators guffaw.

It is now 5 minutes to midnight. A bill is taken up that would provide land for a school in Tustin, a poor community down South. The democratic Senator from Tustin gives a passionate, but wisely brief, summary. The Republican Senator representing an adjoining, wealthier district rises in opposition. He talks in theatrically slow fashion, intentionally running out the clock so as to thwart the Senator (and school kids) from Tustin.

The Clerk announces the stroke of midnight. Silence falls in the chamber. The Senator from Tustin is white with rage, fulminating that his Republican opponent has done a most dastardly deed. The Republican is nonplussed. Senator Burton makes some philosophical remarks. The Tustin Senator, in tears now, acknowledges his defeat with a few remarks which, given the situation, I found incredibly graceful and moving.

Not so the jaded lobbyists all around me. “Trial lawyer theatrics”, snorts one, speaking of the Tustin Senator’s tears.

SB 1662, being an urgency bill, is one of only two left that can still be considered. With no time pressure any longer, the Senators now stretch out their remarks, enjoying hearing themselves, and each other, presumably, talk.

SB 1662 is no slam-dunk in the Senate, either. Here, too, it fails to muster the needed votes the first time out and a reprise of wild group card writing is required. It’s not nearly so frantic this time however, and SB 1662 passes easily when brought up a second time.

I am absolutely wired the entire drive back to the Bay Area, yet when Marina drops me off at my home in Alameda, I fall asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.

Later that same morning my wife, on her way to work, drops me at the ferry terminal where I had left my car. Bleary from lack of sleep, I turn on KCBS news radio. I listen to a report on a bill passed the night before (not SB 1662). I remember the bill. The KCBS report, at perhaps 90 seconds, is easily twice as long as the legislature needed to pass it into law.