“I Fought the Law” -- Dead Kennedys
“The Fields of Athenry” -- Pete St. John
Let me get this out of the way now: The “Twinkie Defense” is a myth, a term coined by court reporters to describe an improbable diminished capacity plea, and misunderstood by a lazy public. That said, let’s not mention it again.
Daniel James White -- or Dan to his friends and detractors alike -- surely had his virtues. And for most of his life, his virtues far outpaced his vices. In addition to his being a star athlete in high school, Dan had been the valedictorian of his high school class. After high school, he gave six years of his life to the U.S. Army, including service as a sergeant with the 101st Airborne in Vietnam. After returning to the states, Dan became a police officer, but resigned, it is thought, after filing a complaint against a fellow officer for beating a handcuffed black suspect. Dan proved his merit again upon gaining admission to San Francisco's Firefighting Academy. The SFFD had a long history of discriminating against black applicants. The department had sought to circumvent federal desegregation guidelines by accepting only those minority candidates they thought likely to fail in training. Not only did Dan graduate at the top of his class, he helped strugglingly African-American classmates with their studies in his spare time, thereby defeating racist mechanisms intended to ensure their failure. Later, as a firefighter, he was catapulted to fame for his rescue of a mother and infant from a seventh-story public housing apartment. Shortly thereafter, parlayed his accomplishments into a political career, winning election to the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, the city’s eleven member legislative body. That is when things began to go horribly wrong.
George Richard Moscone had become mayor in 1976 following a riotous election in which the decisive factor was the infamous People’s Temple, a leftist religious cult which would eventually follow its demented, malevolent founder Jim Jones into the grave at the same time Dan was mapping his own path to ruin. Moscone had wrestled political power from the grasp of monied interests, the police union, and conservative Republicans to throw open to the doors of city hall to the formerly dispossessed -- African-American, female, Asian-American, gay voters were embraced by the new administration.
Unfortunately, so too was the People’s Temple, at least until of the malignant Jim Jones and his most devoted followers decamped for Guyana as reports of unsavory misconduct began to circulate, but that is a story for another day.
Unfortunately, so too was the People’s Temple, at least until of the malignant Jim Jones and his most devoted followers decamped for Guyana as reports of unsavory misconduct began to circulate, but that is a story for another day.
Excepting his misplaced trust in Jim Jones, Moscone proved a superb mayor. Not only did recall efforts by the Old Guard fail completely, but Moscone helped transform the city into the liberal stronghold it is today. The election of 1977 brought into being a city government in which power was being contested by two Democratic factions -- liberals loyal to Moscone on one side, moderates siding with the mayor’s political foil Dianne Feinstein on the other.
Among those city leaders siding with Feinstein was Dan, newly elected to the Board of Supervisors. Dan had been elected from San Francisco's 8th District, one of the city’s more conservative regions. He had won his seat with the backing of the conservative police and firefighters unions and the support of middle class white voters unhappy with what they saw as the growing influence of gays,liberals, feminists, minorities, the nonreligious, and others formerly excluded from having a say in public affairs. While Dan did not share all the biases of his more bigoted constituents, he did see himself as a representative of traditional religious morality, and felt ill at ease among his less conservative city leaders.
Whatever unease he might have felt, Dan seemed to get off to a good start in city government. He bridged the divide between the two factions dominating city hall by befriending fellow freshman Supervisor Harvey Milk, an ally of Moscone, California's first successful LGBT politician and only the fifth openly gay candidate to win elective office in American history. Despite some initial political tensions, the two men worked well together. Milk was among the only three coworkers Dan invited to the baptism of the first of his three children. Later, he would convince Feinstein to collaborate with Milk on transportation issues.
Among those city leaders siding with Feinstein was Dan, newly elected to the Board of Supervisors. Dan had been elected from San Francisco's 8th District, one of the city’s more conservative regions. He had won his seat with the backing of the conservative police and firefighters unions and the support of middle class white voters unhappy with what they saw as the growing influence of gays,liberals, feminists, minorities, the nonreligious, and others formerly excluded from having a say in public affairs. While Dan did not share all the biases of his more bigoted constituents, he did see himself as a representative of traditional religious morality, and felt ill at ease among his less conservative city leaders.
Whatever unease he might have felt, Dan seemed to get off to a good start in city government. He bridged the divide between the two factions dominating city hall by befriending fellow freshman Supervisor Harvey Milk, an ally of Moscone, California's first successful LGBT politician and only the fifth openly gay candidate to win elective office in American history. Despite some initial political tensions, the two men worked well together. Milk was among the only three coworkers Dan invited to the baptism of the first of his three children. Later, he would convince Feinstein to collaborate with Milk on transportation issues.
From Left to Right:
Harvey Milk, Mayor George Moscone, and Dan White
For all his potential, Dan possessed a remarkable talent for making poor decisions, and it did not take him long to start on his march to ruin. Catholic Church officials expressed interest in establishing a mental health group home for severely troubled teen offenders in the very same southern San Francisco district that had elected Dan to office. Senior supervisors, included Feinstein supported the proposal. Dan did not want the facility in his district. Milk initially sided with Dan, but, after studying the project, thought it a boon both to the city and the youth it would service. He cast the deciding vote in favor of the Church proposal.
Dan never forgave Milk for what he deemed a personal betrayal. His bitterness seemed to gnaw at him. Henceforth, Dan cast a negative vote on every single initiative supported by Milk before the Board of Supervisors. He began to damn the city government as corrupt and irredeemable, alienating former allies and making new alliances impossible.
It seems likely that Dan was in the grip of harsh depression wrought by economic distress. Very possibly, political unease was merely the hook on which he hung his deeper fears. Dan’s finances were not good. A supervisor’s office meant a loss of income. Supervisors were prohibited from double-dipping as police officers or firefighters. Dan’s attempt to supplement his income with a baked potato stand at San Francisco’s newly opened Pier 39 failed dismally. He often neglected reporting to his office, and he dodged meetings with his constituents.
In November 1978, only months after taking office, Dan set in motion the tragedy that would forever link his name with that of Milk and Moscone as well as transforming him from victim to villain. On the tenth of that month, a despondent Dan gave Moscone his letter of resignation. Four days later, on the urging of a friend, he returned to the mayor and requested reappointment to the supervisor’s office he had just given up. Moscone was initially inclined to return Dan’s position, but, after consultations with other city officers, including Milk, raised questions about the legality of reappointment. he decided to reject Dan’s plea.
Dan did not take the rejection well. Armed with his police-issue .38 revolver and a pocket filled with hollow-tipped rounds, he avoided newly-installed metal detectors at city hall by climbing into a first story window. He traveled to Moscone’s office and demanded reinstatement. When the mayor declined, Dan drew his weapon and murdered Moscone. Dan then moved across city hall to the office of the man he thought most responsible for his distress, Harvey Milk. The murder of Milk was brutal by any standard. Dan fired five rounds into Milk’s body. Two of the shots were discharged with the barrel pressed against Milk’s skull. Dan had plans and ammunition enough for two additional intended targets, but, fortunately, neither crossed his fatal field of vision that day.
Dan never forgave Milk for what he deemed a personal betrayal. His bitterness seemed to gnaw at him. Henceforth, Dan cast a negative vote on every single initiative supported by Milk before the Board of Supervisors. He began to damn the city government as corrupt and irredeemable, alienating former allies and making new alliances impossible.
It seems likely that Dan was in the grip of harsh depression wrought by economic distress. Very possibly, political unease was merely the hook on which he hung his deeper fears. Dan’s finances were not good. A supervisor’s office meant a loss of income. Supervisors were prohibited from double-dipping as police officers or firefighters. Dan’s attempt to supplement his income with a baked potato stand at San Francisco’s newly opened Pier 39 failed dismally. He often neglected reporting to his office, and he dodged meetings with his constituents.
In November 1978, only months after taking office, Dan set in motion the tragedy that would forever link his name with that of Milk and Moscone as well as transforming him from victim to villain. On the tenth of that month, a despondent Dan gave Moscone his letter of resignation. Four days later, on the urging of a friend, he returned to the mayor and requested reappointment to the supervisor’s office he had just given up. Moscone was initially inclined to return Dan’s position, but, after consultations with other city officers, including Milk, raised questions about the legality of reappointment. he decided to reject Dan’s plea.
Dan did not take the rejection well. Armed with his police-issue .38 revolver and a pocket filled with hollow-tipped rounds, he avoided newly-installed metal detectors at city hall by climbing into a first story window. He traveled to Moscone’s office and demanded reinstatement. When the mayor declined, Dan drew his weapon and murdered Moscone. Dan then moved across city hall to the office of the man he thought most responsible for his distress, Harvey Milk. The murder of Milk was brutal by any standard. Dan fired five rounds into Milk’s body. Two of the shots were discharged with the barrel pressed against Milk’s skull. Dan had plans and ammunition enough for two additional intended targets, but, fortunately, neither crossed his fatal field of vision that day.
San Francisco Chronicle, 28 November 1978
Dan’s trial was largely considered a farce. The defense offered a plea of diminished capacity. Despite Dan concealing a handgun on his person, carefully avoiding metal detectors, and selecting his victims well before entering their offices, the jury concluded there existed no premeditated intent. Rather, Dan was sentenced to seven years in Soledad State Prison for voluntary manslaughter. He was paroled after serving five years. Anger erupted across the whole of California over the perceived leniency given Dan. The state legislature even abolished California's diminished capacity law.
Members of the San Francisco-based The Dead Kennedys were among those furious citizens angered by Dan’s light sentence. They expressed their outrage with a cheeky rendition of Sonny Curtis’s classic “I Fought the Law,” rewritten to reflect Dan’s point of view. Despite my earlier promise to shun the topic, this song does contain a “Twinkie Defense” reference, but I’m not to blame for that.
Members of the San Francisco-based The Dead Kennedys were among those furious citizens angered by Dan’s light sentence. They expressed their outrage with a cheeky rendition of Sonny Curtis’s classic “I Fought the Law,” rewritten to reflect Dan’s point of view. Despite my earlier promise to shun the topic, this song does contain a “Twinkie Defense” reference, but I’m not to blame for that.
“I Fought the Law” -- Dead Kennedys
Drinkin' beer in the hot sun
I fought the law and I won
I fought the law and I won
I needed sex and I got mine
I fought the law and I won
I fought the law and I won
The law don't mean shit if you've got the right friends
That's how this country's run
Twinkies are the best friends I ever had
I fought the law and I won
I fought the law and I won
I blew George and Harvey's brains out with my
SIX GUN!
I fought the law and I won
I fought the law and I won
Gonna write my book and make a million
I fought the law and I won
I fought the law and I won
I'm the new folk hero of the Klu Klux Klan
My cop friends think that's fun
You can get away with murder if you've got a badge
I fought the law and I won
I fought the law and I won
I fought the law and I won
I am the law so I won
But contrary to the lyrics, Dan neither wrote that book nor made a million. His post prison life was a short unhappy one. Two years after his release, on 21 October 1985, he took his own life by carbon monoxide poisoning seated in his car clinching family photos. He never publicly expressed any remorse for the two murders or the trauma inflicted on their loved ones. Perhaps he truly considered himself a martyr. The very last thing Dan heard before departing this mortal realm was loop tape playing of “The Fields of Athenry,” an Irish ballad of a man unfairly condemned to Australian exile after stealing food to feed a starving infant.
“Fields of Athenry” -- Pete St. John
By a lonely prison wall
I heard a young girl calling
Micheal they are taking you away
For you stole Trevelyn's corn
So the young might see the morn.
Now a prison ship lies waiting in the bay.
Low lie the Fields of Athenry
Where once we watched the small free birds fly.
Our love was on the wing we had dreams and songs to sing
It's so lonely 'round the Fields of Athenry.
By a lonely prison wall
I heard a young man calling
Nothing matters Mary when you're free,
Against the Famine and the Crown
I rebelled they ran me down
Now you must raise our child with dignity.
Low lie the Fields of Athenry
Where once we watched the small free birds fly.
Our love was on the wing we had dreams and songs to sing
It's so lonely 'round the Fields of Athenry.
By a lonely harbor wall
She watched the last star falling
As that prison ship sailed out against the sky
Sure she'll wait and hope and pray
For her love in Botany Bay
It's so lonely 'round the Fields of Athenry.
Low lie the Fields of Athenry
Where once we watched the small free birds fly.
Our love was on the wing we had dreams and songs to sing
It's so lonely 'round the Fields of Athenry.
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