Deputies Focus on Ousting Burke
The union is facing an uphill battle in trying to unseat the longtime L.A. County supervisor.
By Sue Fox, Times Staff Writer
Michelle Collins, an off-duty sheriff's deputy clad in
jeans and a denim jacket, spends her Saturdays knocking on
doors and ringing bells. Half the time no one answers, but
whenever a door cracks open, she unleashes her well-oiled
pitch: It's time for Los Angeles County Supervisor Yvonne
Brathwaite Burke to go.
Burke, 71, is up for reelection in the March 2 primary, as
are Supervisors Michael Antonovich and Don Knabe. All three
face little-known and poorly financed challengers for seats
they have held for a combined 44 years, but only Burke has
been targeted by the deputies' union for defeat.
"Yvonne Burke's been sitting in office forever," Collins
told one Hawthorne resident. "She's an old dinosaur who's
been hanging out for the last 10 years! Guy Mato is
committed to making a change."
The matchup between Burke and Mato, a 46-year-old Gardena
real estate executive new to politics, is a test of the
deeply entrenched power that county supervisors enjoy.
Sometimes dubbed the "five little kings," the Board of
Supervisors manages a vast government with a $17.1-billion
budget and nearly 93,000 employees. They preside over
massive districts that each serve about 2 million residents
â€" more than the population of 14 states. (By
comparison, presidential candidate Howard Dean served about
600,000 people as governor of Vermont.)
Anyone hoping to take on a sitting Los Angeles County
supervisor and win â€" a feat that hasn't been
accomplished in 24 years â€" needs plenty of
campaign cash and name recognition. The districts are so
huge that appealing to only one geographic area or interest
group probably won't cut it on election day.
Rousing voters is another challenge. Many of the people
most directly affected by county policies are either poor,
sick or in trouble â€" not the most reliable
voting bloc.
Supervisors rarely face muscular challenges at the polls.
In 2000, Antonovich, Burke and Knabe all ran unopposed for
reelection.
But during a contract dispute last fall, the Assn. for Los
Angeles Deputy Sheriffs set its sights on Burke, whom it
deemed inadequately supportive of law enforcement.
The union recruited Mato, a former deputy, to run against
Burke and promised to pump $500,000 into the race. On
weekends, dozens of deputies fan out through the district
to buttonhole registered voters and talk up their
candidate.
"Our county leaders have been insulated and unaccountable
for long enough," said one campaign mailer sponsored by the
deputies union. "This year, you have a choice!"
Still, most political observers consider Mato's bid a long
shot. "It's inconceivable that Yvonne Burke would be
defeated," said Parke Skelton, a veteran Los Angeles
campaign strategist. "Her poll numbers are astonishingly
good…. She's one of the most popular
officials around."
So far, Mato has yet to make much of an impression in the
2nd District, a diverse, urban area that stretches from
Carson to Culver City and includes Inglewood, Compton,
Gardena and part of South Los Angeles. He had raised less
than $20,000 in campaign contributions by mid-January,
including several thousand from family members.
Mato concedes that "99.99%" of his campaign depends on the
union's determination to overthrow Burke.
"Everyone says she's experienced, she's a three-term
incumbent and everything else. My response is, well, then
what has all her experience and power done for King/Drew?"
Mato said, referring to Martin Luther King Jr./Drew Medical
Center, the troubled county-run hospital in Burke's
district. "She's had 12 years."
At the county Hall of Administration downtown, some
political insiders don't seem to be taking the deputies
union candidate too seriously. "ALADS, yeah
… whatever," an aide to Burke said,
giggling.
Burke, who has raised $234,000 for her reelection, insists
she is vigorously campaigning.
She said she has attended community events from Crenshaw to
Culver City in recent weeks. She plans to send out mailers
and erect fluorescent green and blue billboards throughout
her district. She is also holding a Feb. 18 fundraiser at
the City Club on Bunker Hill.
"My attitude is: I don't take anything for granted," said
Burke, a former congresswoman. "So, I'll campaign."
Other county unions dabbled with the idea of taking on
Knabe, whose U-shaped 4th District hugs the county's
southern end. Opposition research found that the ideal
challenger would be a well-known white woman who could
raise at least $3 million for her campaign. There were no
takers who fit the bill.
Knabe's opponents this time around are Jayendra Arvindlal
Shah, a Long Beach physician whose sole recorded campaign
contribution is a $7,671 loan from the candidate himself,
and Joann Hillary McDermott, a business planning consultant
who has yet to report any funds raised.
Knabe, meanwhile, has raked in more than $528,000 for his
reelection campaign.
And in the vast northern reaches of the county, Antonovich,
a 24-year incumbent, also appears poised to glide to
another term. He has raised more than $600,000. One of his
challengers, a Pasadena foster parent named Linda Jordan,
has not reported raising any money, according to campaign
finance records. The other, Santa Clarita environmentalist
Lynne Plambeck, owner of a film recycling business, lent
her campaign $50,000.
"What I wanted to do when I ran this campaign was to offer
people a choice," said Plambeck, who challenged Antonovich
in 1992 and finished fourth with 10% of the vote.
"Antonovich ran unopposed in 2000, and to me this is not
democracy when you don't have someone on the other side,"
she said.
Critics have often complained that the supervisors are
virtually immune to challenge because it takes so much
money to compete against them. Until 1996, the county was
like the Wild West of political fundraising: There were no
restrictions on contributions to supervisors, who routinely
collected large donations and hoarded millions of dollars
for their campaigns.
Under a voter-approved reform measure, supervisors are now
limited to accepting contributions no larger than $1,000.
But that cap can be lifted if other candidates lend
themselves large sums of cash, making it difficult for even
a wealthy challenger to upset an incumbent.
The supervisors now face term limits, but the clock only
recently began running. None of the current lawmakers will
be termed out until 2014.
Other reform attempts have fizzled at the polls. A
five-member Board of Supervisors has governed Los Angeles
County since 1852, but county voters have repeatedly, and
resoundingly, rejected measures to increase representation.
Most recently, voters crushed a measure that would have
expanded the board to nine members in 2000.
For some people who are disgruntled with their supervisor,
even the chance to replace him or her on election day seems
to inspire mainly despair.
Take Barbara Wampole, a Santa Clarita Valley
environmentalist who has clashed with Antonovich over his
support for Newhall Ranch, the county's largest housing
development.
She despises his positions on just about everything, but
she's pretty sure she's stuck with him.
"It's like he runs everything out here," Wampole said.
"We're prisoners of a political system that we don't have
any idea how to change."
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