CHAPTER 1
âI Will Never Degrade the Spirit of Unityâ: Managerial Growth Politics and Police Professionalism
âI am going to warn you I am not accustomed to mincing words,â Mayor George Christopher thundered. Standing on the stage of the Commerce High School auditorium, San Franciscoâs chief executive looked down upon hundreds of seated San Francisco police officers. Five days earlier, on January 8, 1954, Christopher had taken the oath of office on the heels of yet another SFPD scandal. In this latest embarrassment, federal Treasury officials had raided a bar offering open gambling just one block from the Hall of Justice. Christopher entered City Hall aiming to assert the authority of his office with a department-wide assembly. âI do not intend to have anybody tell me or the [Police] Commission that something has been under their noses and they donât know anything about it,â he lectured. âVery frankly, if something is going on under your nose or under ours it means we are either blind or incompetent. And it means we are not fit to hold our jobs.â1
With Christopherâs election, San Francisco joined a growing wave of cities turning to managerial growth mayors committed to clean-government reforms and downtown redevelopment. These mayorsâincluding New York Cityâs Robert Wagner, St. Louisâs Raymond Tucker, Philadelphiaâs Joseph Clark, and Bostonâs John Hynesâpresumed that downtown growth served the interest of all citizens. Those citizens, Mayor Christopher believed, maintained a host of preexisting shared values. He accepted nominal class and religious pluralism in civic debate, but asserted that the primary purpose of government was to never âdegrade the spirit of unity.â2 The mayor believed that poor management produced factional rifts, and he proposed to avoid that pitfall by consolidating power in the hands of administrative experts from the business community. Christopherâs new Police Commission, for instance, consisted of a corporate lawyer and two former presidents of the cityâs Chamber of Commerce. These new officials, he promised, would institute a system in which police officers were âpromoted on merit, not by a mayor calling up someone and using his influence.â Christopher vowed that he himself would âadminister the big business of San Francisco . . . on a sound, constructive, business-like basis.â3
Christopherâs technocratic pledges thrilled the reporters crammed along the wings of the Commerce High School auditorium. The following morning, the San Francisco Chronicleâs front-page, top-of-the-fold coverage heralded Christopherâs fight against âinefficiency and corruptionâ as a generational sea change. When the assembly ended and the mayor and his police commissioners âinvitedâ officers to shake their hands, the Chronicle reported, âyounger officers in the department . . . went out of their way to stand in line and meet the officials.â4
In truth, many of the young officers seethed. Thomas Cahill, who subsequently served as Mayor Christopherâs police chief, recalled that officers who considered themselves honest felt that Christopher âwas casting reflections on them.â Sol Weiner, a three-wheeled-motorcycle officer, later characterized the speech as ârotten,â and Patrolman Elliot Blackstone remembered:
So Christopher got up, and he accused us all of being a bunch of thieves and crooks and everything else. But he said, âYou know Iâd be glad to work with you.â . . . And he made us all so mad. Then after he got done talking, we were all invited to come up on stage to shake hands with him. Well, I and two or three hundred of us at least turned around and walked out of there. We wanted nothing to do with this guy.5
It likely never occurred to either Christopher or the journalists to survey the rank and file for their perspectives. The mayor and his supporters all trusted that the cityâs common interests could be met through administrative, top-down reforms. Indeed, Christopher and his backers assumed that more than any other clean-government changes, police reform would convince the electorate of the efficacy and righteousness of managerial growth politics.
THE DOWNTOWN LEADERSHIP AND POLICE PROFESSIONALISM
Mayor Christopherâs efforts at police reform during the mid-1950s represented the culmination of a decades-old battle between San Franciscoâs downtown business leaders and the cityâs traditional machine politicians. Similar downtown-versus-machine struggles had been roiling in American cities since the turn of the century, as large-scale business interests sought greater influence in urban affairs and machine politicians struggled to retain their political and financial independence from downtown elites. In cities like San Francisco, machine officials employed their licensing powers to collect favors and graft from small-business owners, and they used their appointment powersâover institutions including schools, fire departments, and public works departmentsâto earn the votes of working-class residents.6
Through the first half of the twentieth century, downtown representatives attempted to bring their local governments to heel with clean-government reforms. In 1932 a group of San Francisco entrepreneurs, financial officers, and corporate executivesâserving such economic behemoths as Bank of America, Standard Oil of California, Pacific Gas and Electric, and the Bechtel Corporationâscored a major victory in their city when they shepherded through a new city charter ending mayoral appointments to the public works department and transferring licensing authority out of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors and into the hands of various appointees. (San Franciscoâs city and county lines are identical, so the board functions as a city council.) Because the 1932 charter retained the cityâs at-large election format, candidates for supervisor now saw little choice but to turn to downtown elites for help in funding their expensive citywide campaigns. For the next forty years, the Board of Supervisors rarely wavered as a representative of the downtown leadershipâs agenda.7
During the late 1940s, new potential crises and windfalls motivated San Francisco corporate elites to press for further influence in local politics. San Franciscoâs big-business leadership emerged from World War II alarmed that a downturn in local military spending and a concomitant rise in suburban and Sun Belt manufacturing threatened to drain San Francisco of its economic vitality. Through groups like the Chamber of Commerce, San Franciscoâs corporate representatives responded to this threat with a regional plan that called for City Hall to remake San Francisco into a financial and administrative centerâwhat one scholar termed the âbrains and heartââfor a Bay Areaâwide manufacturing economy.8
The federal Housing Act of 1949 opened the possibility for just this sort of transformation. Under the new law, the federal government offered to cover two-thirds of the costs associated with purchasing areas pegged for redevelopment. Moreover, it permitted cities to sell or lease the lands to private developers at below-market values.9 In order to tap the Housing Act subsidies, the city government simply had to prove that an area under consideration for redevelopment was blighted and that the government had plans to renew the land with projects serving the civic interest.
The managerial growth advocatesâ desire for new federal redevelopment dollars steered them into a final showdown with San Franciscoâs traditional machine politicians. In 1947 San Franciscans elected Elmer Robinson, a former member of the judiciary and a committed practitioner of machine politics. When Congress passed the Housing Act two years later, downtown officials implored Robinson to install a competent director for the new San Francisco Redevelopment Agency (SFRA). Instead, Robinson tapped a political hatchet man who filled the SFRAâs staff positions with other political cronies. Robinsonâs SFRA planners possessed neither the motivation nor the competence required to craft and submit redevelopment studies and plans. The various downtown redevelopment schemes thus floundered in what one scholar described as a web of âobstructionism and venality.â10
Managerial growth proponents recognized that although charter reform had created an obedient Board of Supervisors, one final unreformed institutionâthe San Francisco Police Departmentâallowed the mayor to maintain his independence. Police departments like the SFPD had been sustaining machine politics since their creation in the mid-19th century. Machine politicians doled out important positions in their police departments with the expectation that beholden officers would get out the vote and collect payoffs for the machineâs campaign war chest. A 1937 inquiry into SFPD corruptionâdubbed the Atherton investigationâfound that San Franciscoâs police served as âan organized and powerful electioneering forceâ that would solicit votes and âaid materially in raising campaign funds.â Indeed, the probe unearthed a vast network of payoffs linking officers of all ranks to the cityâs gambling, prostitution, and bail bond industries.11 The Atherton investigation estimated that the SFPD collected on average over one million dollars per year.12
Managerial growth advocates confronted this corruption with the concept of police professionalism. A product of the Progressive era, police professionalism followed the principles that reformers had already used to restructure other institutions underpinning the machine, such as schools. Professionalism advocates proposed to funnel police authority upward into the hands of an expert, nonpartisan police chief. This honest police leader, reformers assumed, would then use his autonomy to select and train officers dedicated to serving citywide interests through a vigorous campaign against crime. Police professionalizers were primarily concerned with the venal links between city officials and police department commanders, and they thus rarely offered specifics on what a professionalized police chief would do other than reject payoffs. Police professionalism, the legal scholar David Sklansky explains, was more of a âgoverning mindsetâ than a policy prescription.13
Following the Atherton scandal, San Franciscoâs Chamber of Commerce successfully lobbied for two charter amendments aimed at transferring power from district station captains to the chief of police. First, San Francisco increased the chiefâs oversight over district captains by joining a wave of cities (eventually including Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Rochester, Cincinnati, and New Orleans) consolidating police districts, reducing San Franciscoâs fourteen district stations to nine. Second, it followed the lead of other municipalities by transferring responsibility for so-called vice crimes (a formal SFPD category that included gambling, narcotics, and sex offenses) out of the district stations and into a new Bureau of Special Services. The twelve officers of Special Services operated as part of the Inspectors Bureau but answered directly to the chief of police.14
The Atherton reforms proved fleeting. The attempt to concentrate responsibility within the SFPD via the charter amendments meant little if the police chief did not then use his consolidated authority to crack down on payola. One observer noted that the centralization of authority over vice policing served simply to âcentralize collections.â Reformers understood that corruption persisted with the consent of the mayor: the 1932 city charter had granted the three-member, civilian Police Commission authority over SFPD policies, appointments, and disciplinary decisions, but the commissioners served at the mayorâs will and thus attended to his interests reliably.15
When Mayor Robinson took office in 1948, his Police Commission set out to create an SFPD arrangement conducive to the flow of favors and graft. The new administration appointed Michael Mitchell police chief, then immediately treated the SFPD leader as a straw boss. Robinson recognized that he could collect far more favors by bypassing Mitchell and personally doling out positions and authority along the two main branches of power extending from under Chief Mitchell. First and foremost, the police commissioners distributed prized positions within the Inspectors Bureau. The SFPDâs plainclothes inspectors enjoyed status and authority over uniformed patrol officers, and once inspectors were appointed, their positions were protected by their bureauâs tenure rules and Byzantine disciplinary procedures. As a result, the less motivated inspectors could spend their workdays thumbing through paperwork and keeping what one reporter charitably labeled âbankersâ hours.â Police commissioners racked up a multitude of favors for Robinson by transferring well-connected police officers to the bureau. Commenting on the active hand Robinsonâs commissioners played in inspector appointments, the chief of inspectors explained, âI work on the theory that if the Police Commission will give me even one man Iâve picked out myself for every two men who are assigned to me, Iâll get along fairly well.â16
Robinsonâs Police Commission cultivated a second line of influence through key appointments within the district stations. Police commanders usually desired positions atop the Northern, Central, Southern, and Mission Stations because these stations covered neighborhoods (such as the waterfront, the Tenderloin, the Fillmore, and North Beach) with high-profile crimes and high-reward payola. Police commissioners usually limited themselves to command-rank appointments and then allowed police captains to run their districts as their own personal fiefdoms. On occasion, however, commissioners meddled with patrol posts along payola-rich beats. One of the Robinson Police Commissionâs first acts was to replace a long-tenured patrolman assigned to the Broadway Street nightlife scene. Noting that Robinsonâs Police Commission was âusurp[ing]â Mitchellâs âfunction as Chiefâ âdown to the placement and transfer of ordinary patrolmen,â the San Francisco Chronicle pondered, âWhatâs behind all this manipulation in the Police Department?â17
By abetting police payola practices, Robinsonâs machine ran afoul of state and federal police agencies warring against organized crime. Outside law enforcement officials repeatedly targeted San Francisco gambling houses that they feared might become footholds for East Coast gangsters. To the consternation of state and federal officials, SFPD officers on the take withheld assistance from and actively interfered with external investigations. Following one bookmaking sting by state agents, a local newspaper jeered, âThe San Francisco Police Department was not informed of plans for the raid. Why? Apparently because the raiders wanted to succeed by surprise.â Mayor Robinson shrugged off these scandals and worked to roll back the meager postâAtherton investigation reforms. The mayorâs Police Commission sidelined the Bureau of Special Services by slashing the positions of all but three inspectors and returning vice policing back to the district stations.18
CHINATOWN ENTREPRENEURS AND POLICE PROFESSIONALISM
During the early postwar period, business leaders did not press their professionalization campaign any further than was necessary for cutting off payola to City Hall and consolidating their power over the SFRA. San Franciscoâs managerial growth proponents railed against the corrupt connections Robinsonâs administration maintained with the SFPD leadership, but the police reformers rarely explained how an inde...