The Mighty Boss

Slipping on a tan raincoat and battered fedora, Pittsburgh's Mayor David Leo Lawrence last week climbed into a borrowed Oldsmobile, drove through the steel city's uncertain October weather to campaign for reelection. Like the shrewd old political boss that he is, "King David" stopped at a funeral, hopped up Eleventh Ward followers to turn out the vote, popped up at rallies of the United Steelworkers and the Serbian Progressive Club. Like the latter-day apostle of civic progress that he has become, he never missed a chance to mention his "better Pittsburgh," with its smog-free air, rising skyscrapers, parks, bridges and elevated highways. At 68, running for a fourth term, crusty, cold-eyed Dave Lawrence is one of the last of the old city bosses. At the same time he is the dean of a new breed which realizes that a successful 1957-type politician must deal out as much progress as patronage if he wants to be reelected.

Lawrence is an honest, hard-working boss. He spends Sundays at his desk, flicks off unnecessary office lights, refuses to trade in his 1950 city Cadillac, and won't even use it in his campaign rounds. He is the most powerful big-city mayor in the U.S., has the say-so over almost 7,000 municipal jobs, keeps tight rein on a nine-man city council whose makeup is determined not so much by personal ability as by quotas, e.g., five Catholics, three Protestants, one Jew. In twelve years the council has never defeated a Lawrence proposal. His Republican opposition is weak and disorganized; Pittsburgh's top Republican businessmen like Lawrence's record of civic progress, have given precious little support to his opponent in next week's election, former Common Pleas Judge John Drew.

Bipartisan Burst. Dave Lawrence began his political schooling early. His teamster father was Democratic chairman of lower Pittsburgh's tough Third Ward. At 14 young Dave landed his first job: office boy to Democratic City Chairman William J. Brennan. Lawrence became Allegheny County chairman at 31, discovered that in Republican Pennsylvania the prestige was hollow. When Hyde Park's Franklin Roosevelt rolled into the White House, Democrat Dave Lawrence rolled into statewide power, dragging with him his own candidate for governor, Businessman George H. Earle.

Earle turned out to be a playboy governor; Lawrence, as secretary of the commonwealth, ran Pennsylvania. He made one impolitic mistake. In a burst of bipartisanship, he sanctioned appointment of a Republican attorney general, eventually found himself indicted on graft and corruption charges for passing out illegal contracts and "macing" state employees for political contributions. Cleared after two lengthy trials, Lawrence went home to Pittsburgh to recoup prestige. He engineered the election of two ineffectual Democratic mayors, finally in 1945 decided he could better handle the job himself.

Potent Arm. Mayor Lawrence appeared on the municipal scene just when Financier Richard K. Mellon (Mellon National Bank, Gulf Oil, Alcoa) and a platoon of lesser tycoons were preparing to rip their dowdy old city apart and rebuild it. Lawrence proved to be a valuable political ally. He ordered strict enforcement of smoke-control ordinances, pressured Democrats at Harrisburg and Washington to pass laws and approve appropriations that helped build new roads, bridges and dams. His reward: the business community's gratitude. Four years ago Lawrence's Republican opponent was not even invited to participate in the face-saving of a ground-breaking ceremony where Dick Mellon publicly put a potent arm around Dave Lawrence's shoulder.

Last week the Mellon arm was still there, all three Pittsburgh newspapers had endorsed his reelection, the machine was rolling, and Dave Lawrence was on the way to a fourth term. There were few who would say him nay, despite such displays of untidy municipal housekeeping as potholes in the streets and frequent scandal in the police department. For King David, on behalf of bosses everywhere, had tested a new proverb and proved its wisdom: in time of prosperity one towering skyscraper is the equivalent of 7,000 city jobs.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.