Gavin Newsom’s political story has always been a study in contrasts: a young entrepreneur whose first big break came from a billionaire family friend, and a boy raised by a single mother juggling three jobs to keep the lights on. That tension now echoes in California’s bitter fight over a proposed wealth tax on billionaires’ assets, a debate that hits close to home for a governor who sits squarely between privilege and precarity. For now, in this instance, he thinks the billionaires tax is “bad economics” and has vowed to defeat it. A closer look at his career shows billionaires have always been central to his story.
In the early 1990s, Newsom’s career began not at a campaign office, but in a wine shop on San Francisco’s Fillmore Street called PlumpJack, a venture he launched with backing from the Getty fortune. Oil heir and composer money/” href=”https://www.latimes.com/projects/la-pol-ca-gavin-newsom-san-francisco-money/”>Gordon Getty, a close family friend who once said he treated Newsom like a son—just as he had been treated similarly by Newsom’s father. In fact, to call Newsom’s father, William Alfred Newsom III, a lawyer for the Getty family would be an understatement. The future judge once hand-delivered $3 million to the Italian kidnappers of Getty’s grandson, in 1973, CalMatters reported, while noting deep ties also between the Newsom family and other San Francisco political royalty, the Browns and Pelosis.
That relationship went far beyond a single store. Getty invested in most of Newsom’s early businesses—wineries, restaurants, and hotels that steadily expanded the PlumpJack brand and turned the young entrepreneur into a multimillionaire long before he was sworn in as governor. Members of the Getty clan would later emerge as some of Newsom’s most reliable political donors, contributing hundreds of thousands of dollars to his campaigns. And yet Newsom’s story is not straightforwardly one of extreme wealth.
Raised by a mother with 3 jobs
After Newsom’s parents divorced when he was a toddler, he and his sister were largely raised by their mother, Tessa, a young single parent in San Francisco who, at times, worked three jobs—as a secretary, waitress, and paralegal—to support her children.
Family members recall their mother sleeping in the dining room of a small flat and renting out a bedroom to another family to make rent, even as their father—a politically connected judge who once managed the Getty family trust—exposed the children to a very different world. Newsom has said his mother taught him everything he knows about grit and hard work, even as he navigated his own struggles with dyslexia and a school system that often left him behind.
A wealth tax fight that cuts both ways
Those dual identities—billionaire-backed businessman and son of a hustling single mom—are colliding in California’s escalating fight over a proposed “billionaire tax.” The 2026 Billionaire Tax Act, championed by a powerful health care workers’ union, would impose a one‑time 5% levy on the assets of residents worth more than $1 billion, payable over several years and calculated on wealth held at the end of 2026.
Supporters say the measure is aimed squarely at the kind of extreme fortunes that helped launch careers like Newsom’s, promising tens of billions for public services they argue have been starved by federal tax cuts and rising inequality. Union leaders frame it as a moral corrective: In a state where billionaires buy oceanfront compounds, working‑class Californians crowd into spare rooms like the one Newsom’s family once rented out.
Newsom’s uneasy stance
Newsom has not embraced the proposal; he has become one of its most prominent critics. Calling the one‑time levy “really damaging,” “bad economics,” and a threat to California’s long‑term fiscal health, the governor argues a state‑level wealth tax could accelerate an exodus of billionaires and their businesses, eroding future income‑tax revenue that funds schools, health care, and social programs.
He has said he is open to a national conversation about taxing wealth, but insists California alone cannot afford to experiment when it already relies heavily on volatile income taxes from the rich. Behind the scenes, he has lobbied union allies to abandon the initiative, warning the backlash from nervous investors—some already moving money and operations out of state—could outlast any short‑term cash infusion.
For Newsom, the wealth‑tax battle is more than a clash of spreadsheets and slogans: It is a confrontation with his own origin story. The same billionaire class that seeded his first business and boosted his campaigns now stands in the crosshairs of a tax he says could hurt the state he governs, even as memories of a mother stringing together three paychecks shape his instincts about inequality and opportunity.
For this story, Fortune journalists used generative AI as a research tool. An editor verified the accuracy of the information before publishing.
