Chapter Five
Conference at the Capitol Tamale Cafe
At noon, the same day as I'd passed the Mountain Lion
Bill, Alan and I walked across the Capitol Park to our lunch
meeting with a UCLA law professor who had flown up to testify
for our tax bill at the 3 p.m. hearing. We shared the walk
with half the working population of the Capitol; a thousand
or so people, but the grounds absorbed us all easily. The
Capitol building itself, like most State Capitols, is modeled
after the gold-domed building in Washington D.C. It's a blend
of 19th Century grandeur and 50's granite-faced additions.
The grays of the granite go well with the greens of the park
and you can get lost inside the labrinth of the Capitol's
cool tall halls just as you can lose yourself in the hundreds
of trees and succession of lawns in the park.
My son David wrote a Father's Day song for me in 1970,
the opening verse of which refers to the dome--
He was born on a prune ranch
and he dug his way to a Sacramento home
when he's not laying stone
for the barbecue pit
he's up reconstructing the Capitol Dome
Remembering the beauty of the Capitol Park brings a
feeling of peace, but also stirs up some longing. If I let
it, the longing could grow out of all proportion, 'welling up
from the depths of my soul'. I could work myself into a
lather over wanting to be back there, but I'd just be
fighting time. Then, in march 1970, I was 47; now I'm 80--I'd
still like to think 'the most important part of my life' is
ahead of me, but in a certain sense, it probably isn't. As
far as my opportunity to change the world is concerned, I've
probably had it. But then, "my son the writer" reminds me as
I say this, of the potential power of my book. "The Pen is
More Powerful Than the Treadmill"??
Still, I am a little jealous of the person I was then.
(I guess that's a standard reaction to aging). I don't think
I'd mind living that part of my life over again...this IS an
option in fantasy literature, at least. I'd have a chance to
hit the issues again--harder, with the confidence potential
I'd then only partially reached. And I'd cherish my friends a
little more along the way, and be the great father and
husband I wasn't. In short, what I long for is to surmount
(which means climb to the top of) the great wall of
expectation which I created for myself, and become the
perfect person I now imagine I might have been...if granted
the power to go back in time, I'm sure I'd also be given the
super powers I'd need for my mission...
Actually, I don't waste much time longing for lost
opportunities. It comes in (decreasing) phases.
I suppose if I wanted to go back to Sacramento badly
enough I might get the Assembly Sergeant-at-Arms to hire me
as a docent (docents are persons who conduct tours of
museums, opera houses, and other places of public interest).
I think I'd be better used conducting tours of the Capitol
grounds than running the elevator or serving coffee to the
Powers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, in this park there are 2900
botanical species, mostly native Californian, but there are
specimens from all over the world. There, is the Junipero
Serra Fountain, and There, is a plot of rare and unusual
hybrid camelias, and over here's the bench my uncle the
elderly Senator Coombs used to rest on when he fed the
squirrels. He was 80 when he retired from the legislature.
"These many long and crisscrossing sidewalks were where
my youngest daughter Jane and her friend Erin used to skate
when they came for a day's adventure at the Capitol. And,
here's another bench: it's where Assemblyman Willie Brown,
later Speaker and now Mayor of San Francisco, used to study bill
briefings during noon recess of Ways and Means Comittee
meetings (which he then chaired). I assume that in the rain
and the snow he sat somewhere else--in a private corner of
his office where he could shut himself off for periods of
time, say. I know personally how effective Willie could be as
Chairman of Ways and Means--I remember he would occasionally
cut an author's bill presentation short and explain it to us
better, and more quickly than was being done. At every
committee meeting he conducted he had read all the briefs on
all the bills, knew the arguments for and against; sometimes
I'm sure he knew the bills better than the authors
themselves. I'd known him for 16 years when he was Speaker
and knew he was smart as a whip but many other people didn't
know him this well. Because Willie indulges in what one might
call 'street talk', and because some people equate
intelligence with use of the 'King's English', a few have
underestimated Willie Brown's ability.
Continuing the 'docent' bit:
"This grass-covered area with the single bench is where
I sat in the center of a large circle of students having a
pow-wow when they marched on the Capitol in 1969, protesting
the Vietnam war.
"And here, is Tulupis Grandeflora, or the Big Tulip Tree
I used to look at out of the window of my diminutive second
story "office-with-a-view" in 1967. And here--this good-sized
oak with spreading branches--is a very special tree. In this
tree my son David and his girl Robyn happened to have their
picture taken when they were up on a limb kissing on a hot
summer afternoon. David had visited with me that day and on
the way home he told me that he and Robyn had climbed a tree
and someone carrying a camera had come over, seeming amused,
and asked in a friendly way for their names. He didn't tell
me about the kissing or the photograph. I learned of that*
the next morning when Janet called me on the phone to tell me
David and Robyn's picture was on the front page of the Bay
Area's most prestigous newspaper, The San Francisco
Chronicle.
________________
*As did we all.
The Chronicle might occasionally mention my activities
in a minor way buried in the center of the paper. I'd been
working my ass off for umpteen years and never came near page
one, while David and Robyn hit the jackpot by doing just what
comes naturally. Despite this goddamn irony I didn't feel
jealous. I was a little uptight, because as a controversial
legislator I preferred to appear personally traditional,
maybe even a little dull. Consequently, when family members
failed to follow the script, it made playing the lead a
little harder. Suppose I'd been defeated in the next
election--we'd never know if that was why. David and Robyn's
fame, it turned out, did no harm--just went down in family
history.
The chorus to David's father's day song goes:
I think he'll follow
in my footsteps (oh yeah)
when I'm leading up the treetrail
to the Future
I.E. I might make it to the front page of the Chronicle
sometime--or, a more general interpretation: that children,
if they lead full lifespans, always lead the way into the
future and are 'followed' in spirit by their parents.
Alan and I had pioneered tax reform ever since we hit
the Capitol in 1967. Our ideas were far more earthshaking
than the traditional pablum served by Reagan, or for that
matter than Jess Unruh's when he was Speaker. This year, we'd
spent hours working on the details in our offices, and The
Capitol Tamale Cafe, where we were headed for today's lunch
meeting, had long since become one of our conference rooms.
Back in 1967, Alan was 35, ten years younger than I.
I had the same crewcut I'd had in lawschool, and wore
relatively cheap storebought suits. My shirts were usually
white, my ties conservative, though sometimes I had a pretty
one. My favorite was sort of wooly-orange with white lines
running through it. People would look at it, and admire it,
and occasionally notice the small cloth label on it which
said 'Fabric Content Unknown'.
In 1967 Alan wore well-tailored expensive suits, the
ultimate in conservative good taste. His shirts were always
white. Anyone knowing us in 1967 might've said, "One comes
from a cow county and the other from Beverly Hills, but they
both look like the earnest young man applying for his first
job."
And in 1969, only a couple years later, here I was
'sporting long sideburns', no longer wearing a butch--and,
due to grow a beard in a couple more terms. At the time I
went to the Senate, Alan had started having his hair styled
and 'livened up'--actually, it looked good, once I got used
to it. In 1974, Alan joined me in the Senate, and by this
time we'd both gone whole hog and out of forty senators were
the only two with beards.
In the early 60's, at board meetings of the California
Democratic Council, Alan and I debated matters of policy as
seriously as if we'd been on the Supreme Court and had actual
power. In reality we were just two steps above Don Searle's
and my conversations at home in the early 50's. Now, in the
legislature, we may have still looked like beginners, but
even in '67 we knew the assembly wasn't just another board
meeting, and we had some knowledge of practical politics.
Legislators usually work alone, like hunters--80 hunters
in 80 offices. A bill belongs to its author just like a dog
belongs to one hunter--trained to point, flush and fetch at
one hunter's command-so, a bill is introduced, amended, and
set for hearing at the direction of its author. Co-authors
are usually just along for the ride with no power or
authority, but Alan and I piloted jointly.
Sharing ideals and sharing method are necessary to
cooperation between legislators. In January of '67 we shared
both and knew we'd be working together in Sacramento. We
didn't know our cooperation would become so close that the
words 'Dunlap/Sieroty' would be synonymous with quixotic tax
reform and the words 'Sieroty/Dunlap' would become a label
for Coastal Conservation. We were about to become a unique
pair--a true legislative partnership. I shared ideals with at
least ten other legislators and method with at least half of
them, but we didn't become legislative partners. The
difference lay in the fact that Alan and I were able to avoid
the almost inevitable ego conflict which made continuous
close cooperation between legislators impossible. Jess Unruh
said, "Politics is the art of taking credit."
It feels great to know that your name has been on the
front page of every major California newspaper in relation to
something you're proud of having done. You get the respect of
your fellow legislators, and you get publicity--you keep up
your public image as a winner, and this helps you get re-
elected. But the greatest value of publicity is 'for its own
sake'--it's like getting slapped on the back by your father
who says, "well done, son"--it's like a dozen curtain calls--
it's the greatest reward, the payoff. There's an awful ten-
dency to try to grab it all for yourself--to take whatever
you can get and not give any away by sharing credit with
other deserving legislators/people. There's also an awful
tendency to forget that publicity (the "art of taking
credit") is a sidetrack and not the main line. Doing things
which you can take genuine pride in ought to be foremost.
Alan's district was strongly Democratic and liberal, so
he didn't need publicity for job security. I didn't have it
so good; my district was blue collar lunch bucket Democratic
and not so liberal--some of my far out legislative activities
were best accomplished without publicity. I still personally
liked the limelight, and usually risked it. But along with
Alan I believed it was more important to try to get something
done than to bob and weave for credit and election. Alan's
part in this can't be minimized. He was generous both
dollarwise and personally. When we introduced our first
Coastal Conservation Bill we held press conferences over a
two day period in San Diego, L.A., Santa Barbara, San
Francisco, and Santa Rosa. Alan paid for most of our plane
transportation and hotel rooms out of his own pocket, and
when we made appearances in Northern California, my
bailiwick, he even pretended his sore throat was worse than
it was, so I'd have to do most of the talking and get most of
the press. Real generosity.
Alan was an idealist. Cynical colleagues would say,
"Sieroty's so idealistic he doesn't know when to come in out
of the rain." This is common language used by people who are
trying to put down someone better than they are. Contrary to
the criticism of his colleagues, Alan did know what the real
world was like, but he was willing to appear as an
uncompromising idealist if he thought it would enhance
change. Sometimes things happened because he wouldn't
compromise; sometimes his failure to compromise resulted in
inaction--nothing--zero. But nothing is sometimes better than
a bad bargain. You can always try again.
Alan was almost too good for the legislature, which had
its share of Machievellian opportunists and prima donnas.
Alan wasn't hunting for money--because he had it. He grew up
in a beautiful Beverly Hills mansion, with his family's real
estate interests scattered throughout the L.A. basin. Alan
didn't have to be centered under the Kleig lights all the
time--he wasn't a prima donna. I met his parents a couple of
times; their pride in Alan was genuine and obvious. I'm sure
they gave him personal as well as financial security; he
seemed as little interested in glory as he was in gold.
I don't mean to paint him as a saint; he had creature
wants and comforts like the rest of us. Though tall (he had
at least four inches on my 5' 9") he was a little heavy but
not fat. He had a sort of smooth full face and his hair was
rigidly combed when we first got to the Capitol. Alan almost
always had dessert when we ate out, rarely turning down the
cream puffs, choclate strawberry shortcake, cheesecake
mousse, or whatever else delicious was on the pastry cart at
the Tamale Cafe. By the time it rolled around I'd already had
my extra calories in a drink before lunch, or a couple
glasses of red wine with it.
During my 12 years at the Capitol my own
weight went up and down a lot, so I'm not really the
one to talk. If you've seen pictures of me you know I bounced
back and forth between being somewhat on the heavy side and
being just about right.( My weight was between 165 and 195,
depending on how hard I was working at holding it down.)*
With us at lunch that afternoon was the UCLA Tax Law
professor who Alan hoped would help us out as a witness on
our tax bill. As we sat down, the professor said, "I finally
read the details of your reform bill on the plane this
morning--I'm a law professor, not an economist, but I can
tell your bill would upset the Powers-That-Be in the business
world. It's got some good ideas but you don't really have a
chance, do you? You know more about your colleagues than I
do, but I sure know the Chamber of Commerce and Rotary club
bunch would be after your skins if your bill passes. Even in
Beverly Hills, Alan."
________________
*Since 1976 I don't have calories coming from alcohol and I
now get plenty of exercise. My weight hovers between 158 and
165, only slightly above what it was in 1943 when I went into
active duty in the Army Air Corps.
Sieroty responded, apologizing for not making it more
clear earlier, and definitely assuring the prof that we knew
our bill wasn't going to even get out of its first committee
let alone be passed by both houses and signed by Governor
Reagan. "But," Alan continued, "the bill is right in
principle and its policies need to be talked about seriously.
Most of our ideas aren't brand new but they haven't been
openly discussed and supported enough to catch fire with the
public." The professor said that he agreed with us in
principle, but that he wasn't sure it was wise to upset so
many applecarts all at once. I said, "All we need from you is
a few words attesting to the bill as a good lawyerlike job of
draftsmanship, that it's enforceable and legally calculated
to do what we say it does. You see, although we don't ask you
to literally endorse our economics, we'd like to use your
professional prestige to legitimate our innovation."
"It wouldn't be the first time I'd been used for a just
cause. I wanted to make sure it was just and was important.
Maybe you can tell me something about your general theory of
taxation?"
"Maybe I should tell you my 'Theory of Government'
first."
"All right."
I spoke to the Professor approximately as follows:
"To start things off, I could say something like:
government presents a way of distilling the best of humanity,
and institutionalizing it. Government also has to curb the
worst behavior--and not just classically recognized criminal
acts. Excesses of Capitalism have to be controlled too. The
representatives of Capitalism--Rotarians, Chamber of Commerce
people, others--have the money, and own the land and capital
goods. They pay the hucksters and the media to manipulate
public opinion. They call the shots, they have the
power...and if it weren't for government, Capitalists would
have all the power. There are degrees of membership in the
'Club of Capitalism', of course. And the adherents to the
Creed vary in their rabid application of it. Some may
consider Living ...Earning. Any points/dollars won in this
game must NOT be forfeit. 'Share only when you have
Everything'? One can forget ((or not learn)) other pleasures
and values while stockpiling up money. The more subtle values
aren't necessarily inate. Most people put off changing 'who
they are' until it's too late to significantly.
"As we've all been telling ourselves, there are a heck
of a lot more working men and women than there are wealthy
Capitalists, and the Constitution has given each one a vote.
And if working people voted as a unit, government would speak
for them. People who don't vote screw themselves--they
believe that government does't work or is Against Them--and
by not voting they make damn sure it's against them.
Statistics will indicate that 70 percent of those with an
annual income of $30,000 or more register and vote. For those
with an annual income of $10,000 or under, the figure is 25
percent voting. 'The Masses', of course, are in this second
second group, and have the power potential to control the
United States. This is why Reagan and other Republicans so
often say 'that government governs best, which governs
least'. The Republican party is the political standard bearer
for the forces of Capitalism and doesn't want the working
people, through government, labor unions, and consumer
organizations--through numbers--to exercise their power."
I might've continued my speech to the professor,
"Government can have a restrictive power, saying No-No to bad
capitalists when they exploit people and waste natural
resources, and can also have positive or creative powers--
creating Health, Education, and Welfare programs, for
example...creating food programs to prevent malnutrition and
mental and physical retardation in underpriviledged children,
and decent education programs to give them a chance to earn a
good living and lead productive lives. Programs such as these
benefit ordinary people more than the wealthy, who can buy
their own, if government isn't there.
"But, these things do cost a lot of money--so, my first
principle regarding taxes is that they be sufficient to raise
enough money. And in a highly populated, highly developed
country like the U.S., tax capital is an immense resource.
My second 'principle of taxation' is that we should get
a lot of the money from those who can afford to pay, the
wealthy. Though they earn more by far, their effort is not
necessarily greater than that of the teenager holding down
two jobs to buy a car, one at Burger King and one at Taco
Bell (and it could be less).
{invent chart or illustration demonstrating proper taxing of citizenry}
"The wealthy may argue that they should be taxed in the
same proportion as the poor or poorer but (as I say in more
detail later in this book) they benefit more from a number
of public services...and can give a reasonable amount to
government and still have plenty left for their luxuries.
"Admittedly, this is a way of using government in a
direction which tends to equalize wealth. However, it's
oversimplifying to say that all we want to do is soak the
rich; there's no need to punish the wealthy for their good
luck or their persistent enterprising. It's clear to me that
well-run Health, Education, and Welfare, are programs which
in the long run will benefit all society. All we need to do
is raise enough money so that government can do the job. We
aren't talking about handing out ice cream cones, or taking
tax dollars from the rich and casting them willy nilly into
the slums for people to pick up in their tin pails.
I noticed Mike Gage apparently leaving the restaurant
and called him over to the table. "Mike, this is Professor
Ernest Lernwell from UCLA--he's here to back us up on the tax
bill this afternoon."
"Did he bring his shovel to help you bury it?"
"Enough of your cynicism. As a matter of fact, I was
just gonna tell Alan and the Professor that I saw Unruh in
the can a little before adjournment--he said he was gonna
pick us up a couple of votes."
"Glad to have his help," Alan said.
Gage remained cynical and practical, "I'll bet. Count
'em when you get 'em."
"Have you had lunch, Mike?" Alan asked.
"Is that an offer?"
"Sure, join us."
"Actually, I brown-bagged it in the office before I came
over here--but I guess I could sit and watch you guys eat."
"You can watch," I said, "but don't touch."
"I'll sit between Alan and the professor--you're mean."
"That's the way it goes, Mike--the privileged class gets
the prize plates." Mike did not bother to challenge this.
"I've never liked how money separates people," the
professor said--"where they live, what they wear, what and
where they eat."
"We were just talking, Mike, about how Alan's and my
bill takes a step in the direction of equalizing things."
"And so is this the first step in your program? Taking
me to non-lunch?"
"You have to start somewhere."
"In Phase Two--I suppose the busboy and maitre d will
join us?"
"Like Martin Luther King..I have a dream," I said, "of
everybody eating at one big round table. And in a
philosophical sense, that's already the way it is. We're all
sitting together on the same big round world, all 'in the
same boat'--we just don't see we're sitting at the same
table."
"Bullshit," Mike said. "I can see we're sitting at the
same table."
"But don't be too sure you're gonna get the same food,
Mike."
"I didn't order anything."
"We have ordered or been ordered for--and according to
the order of things, you, Mike, will have one moldy biscuit
to eat; but that's not so bad, the professor doesn't have
anything at all. Nothing. I have a bowl of tomato-rice soup,
and an avocado sandwich with sprouts. And Alan, god bless
him, has steak and lobster; beautifully prepared potatoes au
gratin, asparagus with bernaise sauce, and a pot of the best
English tea. For dessert he will have demitasse, and a
meringue with ice cream and whipped cream."
"I don't believe it was entirely coincidental that you
picked me for that role, John."
"Okay, Alan, consider yourself well cast."
"All right, I'll accept my role. Get on with the action,
Mr. Playwright."
"The only further fact that we need to introduce is that
the four of us are all blind--four blind men sitting at a big
round table, each with only a vague sense of others being
present. We can smell something good coming from Alan's side
of the table--we can hear eating noises--but if we're blind,
nothing happens, except we eat. Mike eats his biscuit. I eat
all of my soup and sandwich. Alan with the bountiful repast
may eat it all or leave a little here or there. (Actually, in
keeping with his class, he would possibly only eat half.)
The professor, with nothing to eat, won't eat anything--I
don't know what he'll do--he may leave.
"And if we aren't blind--or if the blindfolds are
removed--my guess is that there'll be some sharing. I think
that Alan, if he's confronted, across the table--immediatly,
personally, with our plight, professor--would do something
about it. He wouldn't wait for the pickings from his plate
to be rooted from the garbage can later; he might more
energetically back programs to divide the meat
and potatoes in the kitchen. But you've got to remove the
blinders for this to happen. And the first situation--four
blind men--is more true to life--the rich and the poor, at
distant tables, do not percieve each other in any detail or,
usually, in any penetrating way.
"If Alan, as the lucky man at our round table, had
happened to order a light meal for dietietic purposes, he
wouldn't have had food to share, but he might've made a gift
of his jeweled watch or diamond tiepin, knowing it could be
converted to food--a lot of food."
Alan's and my tax program was a push, to try to do what
rich people might well do on their own if they really
understood the other guy's plight. I think they'd be willing
to settle for a BMW instead of a Rolls Royce and let the
difference in price go to worthwhile government programs.
This is putting government in the role of moral
overseer, of course--but it was never anything less than that
(a stoplight is a 'moral overseer' with an obvious
practical/protective function).
The 'four hungry men at a table' parable actually
occurred to me in 1984, sitting in a diningroom in Mendocino.
I was recently retired and working on this book. I lied about
the time and place, adding some lines to our dialogue
at the Capitol Tamale Cafe----but it is the kind of conversation
that could have happened at our lunch meeting thirteen years
earlier, particularly with Mike Gage or John Harrington
present to act as foils.