On June 14th, a day before Flag Day, Aaron Peskin celebrated his 60th birthday and rallied hundreds of supporters and dozens of dear friends along with a handful of family members, including his wife, Nancy Shanahan at Saint Joseph’s Art Society on Howard Street in San Francisco, a short, fraught walk from Market. Briefly, Peskin waved an American flag. The crowd included folks from Sonoma County and Berkeley, though it was attended mostly by San Franciscans. The event belonged to feisty former mayor, Willie Brown, dressed more smartly than anyone else, and who roasted Peskin to perfection. But the city, at least for that one night, belonged to Aaron, who is running for mayor and facing stiff competition from the incumbent, London Breed, and others.
Before I attended the party and roast, I spoke to Aaron’s campaign manager who told me I could attend as “a friend of Aaron’s, but not as a reporter,” and that “the event is off limits to all media.” When I shared her words to me with Peskin he said, “Don’t listen to my staff. Do whatever you want to do.” And when I told him I write for the AVA, he said, “I love the Anderson Valley Advertiser and Bruce Anderson.” He probably would not have offered such kind words to reporters from The Chronicle and The Examiner who have clearly slanted the articles they've written in an anti-Peskin direction. Apparently he rocks the boat, as he ought to.
In the crowd, I encountered friends I hadn’t seen in years, including environmentalist Ralph Benson and organic grape grower and winemaker, Bill Hawley at Random Ridge, plus new friends like photographer extraordinaire Colin Campbell and his wife Naomi Marcus, a journalist. The enthusiastic pro-Peskin crowd made me want to take back every barbed word I have ever written or spoken about the city that once belonged to columnist Herb Caen, who knew how to dish out kisses and slaps in about equal measure. No, I would not take back every word, but some of them.
Willie Brown played the boisterous crowd with all his many talents as a politician, satirist and a raconteur. That crowd was made up of folks with long hair and short hair, Afros and cornrows, bald, white haired and wearing wigs, some with beards both kempt and unkempt, chewing gum, picking their noses, laughing and drinking wine and beer from the no-host bar. I met jovial Emperor Norton—his most recent incarnation— wearing a gaudy uniform.
When I mentioned to Naomi Marcus that the evening seemed “chaotic,” she said, “yes, that’s typical of San Francisco political events.” Ralph Benson observed: “I don’t know how anyone can govern San Francisco; it’s such a complex place.” Just walking from the Van Ness MUNI stop to Saint Joseph’s tested my own street smarts. I had to ask directions a few times and didn’t always strike gold. Some sent me in the opposite direction I wanted to go.
“Aaron’s office is like a 7/11,” Brown said. “Open all the time, and nothing good ever comes out of it.” Lots of chuckles from the crowd. Brown added, “Peskin reads everything. I don’t deal with people who read.” He called Peskin a “whippersnapper” and remembered meeting him at the bohemian Caffe Greco on Columbus Avenue at 8 a.m. for coffee and when Aaron picked up the tab.
Brown recounted the many times that Peskin opposed him on critical issues, including a garage for parking vehicles on busy Vallejo Street. At Greco, Brown told Peskin, “If you don’t like the way I’m running the city, why don’t you run for office.” Years ago, Peskin ran for supervisor and won a seat. Now he’s the president of the board of supervisors and represents District Three, which includes Chinatown and North Beach, the Financial District, part of Russian Hill and Union Square. It remains to be seen if the citizens in Chinatown and North Beach can outvote the suits and the realtors in the Financial District and Union Square.
Peskin has pledged to build affordable homes for teachers, cops, firefighters and the middle class, create safe streets and end the corruption that’s rife in city government. He has been supported by many renters and opposed by some landlords. Elderly Chinese women seem to love him.
According to Wikipedia, Peskin “owns a 1,495-square-foot duplex in Telegraph Hill that he purchased for $800,000 in 2002 and that had a market value of $1,750,000 in 2022. He and his wife own other buildings in Telegraph Hill, which they rent. The combined market value of their real estate properties was nearly $7,000,000 in 2022.”
No, he doesn’t belong to the working class, but he seems to have the working class—and the middle class, too— in his heart. He can’t win without middle class voters. Aaron’s mother, Tsipora, immigrated long ago to California from Israel. She appeared on stage with her son. Not a word was said about Gaza, Jews and Palestinians. Peskin’s campaign manager would no doubt approve of that silence. When presented with a birthday cake that boasted 60 candles Peskin blew them all out. The crowd roared. Folks lined up for slices to eat with plastic forks. I went home satisfied without cake and with a button that reads “Aaron’s 60th birthday Roast & Toast,” and with a photo of him as a boy.
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