Cinema News: We need more champions for the powerless like John Burton

September 22, 2025 | View in browser

By George Skelton

Capitol Journal Columnist

John Burton was the unique sort of political leader we need much more of in today's hate-spewing politics.

First, he dedicated his life to fighting for a cause that earned him only personal satisfaction and absolutely no political gain: the powerless poor, particularly the aged, blind and disabled.

These aren't folks with any money to donate to political coffers. They're not members of unions harboring large piles of campaign cash. They don't volunteer to walk precincts before elections. Many can barely walk. They're not organized. More likely they live lonely lives. And they never heard of John Burton.

Burton — and only Burton — had these peoples' backs in Sacramento's halls of power for many years. And no one has taken his place.

Second, this bleeding-heart San Francisco liberal instinctively liked and befriended many political opposites with whom he developed working relationships to achieve his and their goals. He'd loudly denounce their conservative positions on issues but not them personally — in contrast to today's ugly, click-driven, opportunistic American politics.

Right-wingers? "I never held that against anybody," Burton writes in his recently released autobiography, "I Yell Because I Care: The Passion and Politics of John Burton, California's Liberal Warrior."

"Like, you never know when you might need a right-winger for something. And when you do, it's best to give them something in return. And it's even better when what they want is something you don't really care about. Sometimes, that's the way s— gets done in politics."

When it gets done, which is almost never these days in Congress. Things might get done in Sacramento — for good or bad — because Democrats wield ironclad control over all branches of government, unlike when Burton was a legislator during decades that required bipartisan compromise.

Burton was infamously foul-mouthed and often rude. But colleagues, staffers, lobbyists and reporters rolled their eyes and adjusted. OK, so you couldn't always quote his exact words in a family newspaper or on TV.

At heart, Burton was a softie and extrovert who genuinely liked people of all political persuasions. And they liked him because he was a straight shooter whose word was golden — the No. 1 asset for most anyone in politics.

Softie? Longtime Burton spokesman David Seback recalls this incident when the lawmaker was Senate president pro tem, the No. 2 most powerful office in the Capitol:

"There was a guy who was pretty severely disabled who would go with difficulty using crutches from office to office delivering copies of these multi-page conspiracy theory laden packets he put together to all 120 legislators. There were some typewritten parts, some handwritten, some xeroxed photos.

"One day John stopped him and said, 'From now on, you deliver one copy to my office.' After that, all the legislators got a copy of these packets stamped, 'Compliments of John Burton.'"

Most Capitol denizens — if they noticed him at all — probably dismissed this packet-carting conspiracy theorist on crutches as a sad kook. But he's the type who was Burton's purpose in life to help.

Burton, 92, died Sept. 7 at a hospice facility in San Francisco.

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The Times ran an excellent Page 1 obituary on Burton written by former Times staffer Dan Morain. It covered the bases well: A pro-labor lawmaker instrumental in shaping California politics over six decades on topics as varied as welfare, foster care, mental health, auto emissions and guns.

Burton was integral to a powerful political organization founded by his older brother, U.S. Rep. Phil Burton, that included two of John's closest pals: future San Francisco mayors George Moscone and Willie Brown. The organization kick-started the political careers of future U.S. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, Vice President Kamala Harris and Gov. Gavin Newsom.

John Burton left Congress in 1982 to fight cocaine addiction and remained clean and sober the rest of his life. He was reelected to the Legislature in 1988, ultimately chosen as Senate leader and termed out in 2004. Then he became state Democratic Party chairman for the second time.

When Burton died, I was recovering from an illness and missed out writing about him. That bothered me. So I'm doing it now.

I got to know Burton when he was first elected to the Assembly with Willie Brown in 1964. Both were fast learners about how the Capitol worked and ultimately each was elected leader of his house.

"Sometimes all it takes to succeed in politics is to make sure somebody has a nice view of Capitol Park and an extra secretary," Burton writes in his autobiography of rounding up enough of Senate votes to become leader.

In the entertaining book, co-written with journalist Andy Furillo, Burton writes extensively about "the neediest of the needy…. My district included a ton of single-room occupancy hotels south of Market Street that were filled with people who cooked off hot plates and had to go down the hall to the bathroom. They survived on their federal and state assistance checks."

Governors and legislative leaders of both parties routinely ripped off these poor folks' federal aid increases to help balance the state budget in tough economic times. Or they'd try to until Burton blocked them.

"For some people," Burton once told me, "it can be the difference between tuna fish and cat food for lunch."

Without calling up local TV — as most politicians would — Burton bought blankets and drove around San Francisco by himself handing them out to the homeless.

"We were brought up to be that way," Burton told me. "My old man [a doctor], he'd do house calls in the Fillmore, a Black area, at 2 in the morning. And if the family looked like it didn't have money, he'd say, 'Forget it. Go buy the kid a pair of shoes.'"

Thanks to Burton, the state was forced into buying lots of tuna fish lunches for the neediest of the needy.