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We could start with the premise that Yvonne (Ms. Empty of 1960 or so) Brathwaite Burke is a sterling candidate for Most Overrated Politician in Los Angeles County. Mayor I Love Me is a serious enough challenger for her to feel his breath. But in honor of her 16 years’ too late retirement, let’s award her the crown of ignominy.
She reminds me of a certain other political personality of her generation who was more heavily publicized than the Yankees. But when they sat down to tote up her achievements, there wasn’t anything there.
If, heaven forbid, Grandma Gutless is inducted into a Hall of Fame, the ceremony listing her accomplishments should be so abbreviated that you could double-park in front of City Hall and never get a ticket.
If they erect a statue to her service, it would be more accurate to sculpt a thimble that would fit comfortably on an infant.
Sly, questionably honest and ragingly uncaring, Princess Pompous may have the best political gig in Los Angeles, misleading voters from the beginning.
‘Pretty’ Good Motivation
Shoot, I would have voted for her 40 years ago because, as I recall, she was the prettiest politician in town. But, as especially happens with phony public figures, her looks went down one of those ghastly oil wells in the Hills that she is supposed to be overseeing but could not find with the help of 10 guide dogs.
A pity that so many people on Culver Crest, plus a million others who reside within the danger-drilling perimeter of the Baldwin Hills oil field, are counting on Ms. Burke make the crucial difference in creating enforceable drilling regulations — that actually will be enforced — in the name of keeping her constituents health and making sure they breathe pure air.
This, of course, is a fairy tale. The insufferably arrogant elderly woman has been of little professional use to anyone for years.
It is not clear whether she blew off last night’s important neighborhood meeting between Culver Crest residents and Los Angeles County officials because her skateboard shattered or because she was trying out strapped-in high chairs at the Home for Wayward, Wheezing Elderly Politicians Who Embarrassed Themselves.
Serious, savvy, frustrated residents could have been at least slightly mollified if you had shown up and issued even a wooden statement. You had nothing to lose, regardless of what you had said, and so much goodwill to gain. Even a cynical politician would have wired ahead that he was ill or there was a family affair he could not afford to miss — and dispatched a deputy.
Yvonne, Baby, for shame.
Your legacy should be the kind of tin cup that hoboes shlep around.
Critiques Are Scarce
The files of public criticism of Ms. Burke are virtually nonexistent, thinner than her moral sense of obligation to the misguided voters who have allowed her to ride a hollowed-out merry-go-round for decades. In her many years of what will pass for public service, the only non-teflon critique I remember came several years ago. The Los Angeles Times trapped her telling non-diet fibs about where she lived.
Last night’s Culver Crest meeting was not the 50th faceless meeting of the still-young month. It bulged with significance for people Ms. Burke is supposed to be protecting.
Why not send her home early, let her mail in her remarks at an overblown retirement dinner and, until Sen. Ridley-Thomas or Mr. Parks is seated as her successor, just let a smudged recent copy of the funny papers resting on her seat.
If anyone can tell the difference, raise your hand.
