State Rep. Rod Blagojevich–affable, good-looking and with a legislative record of concern for social issues–had a lot going for him last fall when he set out to win a key endorsement from the city’s major independent political organization.
But neither he nor his relatives wanted to leave anything to chance in the hard-fought battle for the Democratic nomination in the North Side’s 5th Congressional District.
So they went about it the old-fashioned way: They bought it.
With a tactic that politicians have used before, Blagojevich locked up the endorsement from the Independent Voters of Illinois-Independent Precinct Organization by turning his supporters into dues-paying members of the group.
A day before the membership deadline, Blagojevich’s wife, Patti, showed up at the IVI’s doorstep with the paperwork and checks for about 60 new members. Two months later, Blagojevich won the group’s endorsement by a vote of 80-5.
For Patti Blagojevich, it was a nifty bit of political work, something worthy of her father, Ald. Richard F. Mell, the Democratic boss of the 33rd Ward and commander of a mighty organization of hundreds of regular Democratic precinct workers.
Dick Mell is not only Blagojevich’s father-in-law. He is also his political godfather.
It was Mell who hired the underworked lawyer for his aldermanic staff shortly after Blagojevich began dating Patti. And it was Mell who slated him and helped him win election to the legislature in 1992 and again two years later.
And it is Mell, with his battalions of electoral troops, who is Blagojevich’s greatest political strength as his congressional campaign against Republican incumbent Michael Flanagan enters its final days.
Yet, Mell is also one of Blagojevich’s greatest stumbling blocks.
The 5th District stretches from the suburbs south of O’Hare International Airport, through the city’s Northwest Side, all the way to the Lincoln Park lakefront, the bastion of Chicago’s liberal element.
Mell can crank out the vote for his son-in-law throughout much of the district, but, on the lakefront, he’s seen as the enemy. There, Blagojevich needed to counter the anti-Mell feeling with the IVI endorsement to certify his credentials as a valid independent.
Stacking the IVI vote, Blagojevich said, was designed to pre-empt a similar move by one of his primary opponents. “At least this shows I can organize without Mell, which is one of the raps I resent,” he said.
That unabashed use of political muscle is typical of a candidate who describes his campaign as a hybrid of modern and traditional politics.
Blagojevich (pronounced Bla-GOYA-vich) portrays himself as an issues-oriented, independent Democrat and has the record to back it up. At the same time, he relies on Mell’s operation and connections in the parts of the district where the machine still hums.
To take on Flanagan, the conservative Republican who toppled former congressional powerhouse Dan Rostenkowski in 1994, Blagojevich ran one of the most expensive primary campaigns for a House seat in the nation. He has a similar $700,000 budget for the general election.
One recent night began with a fundraiser in a fashionable Lincoln Park home where the well-heeled crowded in to listen as Blagojevich berated Flanagan’s opposition to abortion and gun control.
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From there, he dashed to the annual dinner of the 38th Ward Democratic Organization in a Northwest Side banquet hall where the emphasis was less on issues than connections. “I have one (committeeman) in the family,” Blagojevich stressed to the audience of political pros.
Straddling the gap between old and new politics isn’t easy. To make it work, Blagojevich downplays his years as a City Hall payroller and distances himself from heavy-handed tactics used by Mell campaign workers to squeeze contributions from city employees.
In Springfield, the 39-year-old Blagojevich was dismissed by foes as “Rep. Son-in-law.” And, without question, Mell has been a major factor in Blagojevich’s success. But the putdown glosses over the fact that Blagojevich actually has shown flashes of political skill and independence as a legislator.
With youthful enthusiasm, he has developed the reputation as someone who can champion issues such as gay rights yet work adeptly with some of the General Assembly’s most conservative members.
He has been a relentless advocate of truth-in-sentencing legislation to lock up violent criminals, and he also bucked Democratic leaders by supporting a property-tax cap in Cook County.
House colleagues call him energetic and affable.
“Rod is a coalition builder,” said state Rep. Judy Erwin (D-Chicago).
Even so, Blagojevich’s political talents might never have come to light without Mell.
The son of a Serbian-immigrant father, Blagojevich was raised on the Northwest Side. He earned a history degree at Northwestern University and a law degree at Pepperdine University in Malibu, Calif.
Blagojevich first sought out former Ald. Edward Vrdolyak (10th) as a political patron, trading on his father’s Yugoslavian-community connections. But the relationship didn’t click.
After two years in the Cook County state’s attorney’s office prosecuting traffic and criminal cases, Blagojevich was searching for a niche in private legal practice when he met Patti Mell in March 1988 at one of her father’s fundraisers.
Six months later, Mell put Blagojevich on his City Council payroll, and in 1990, Rod and Patti married.
Blagojevich stayed on the city payroll, with a short break for campaigning, until joining the legislature in 1993. The stint paid him about $83,000.
The specifics of what Blagojevich did for that money are elusive, and public records provide little clarification.
The issue is highly charged because federal investigators have questioned a handful of Mell’s office workers–all of whom have denied wrongdoing–as part of a sweeping probe into alleged City Council ghost payrolling, the time-worn practice of collecting a public paycheck but doing little or no work.
Blagojevich said he hasn’t been questioned, but Mell still has collected affidavits attesting to Blagojevich’s hard work.
What did Blagojevich do? It’s hard to pin down because of the slippery but legal system of City Council employment that lets people be paid by one committee and work elsewhere.
City records show that Blagojevich was paid by four separate council committees within two months in 1989. Records show he worked for the legislative reference bureau for 1 1/2 years.
William Donaldson, head of the Mell-controlled legislative reference bureau, an arm of the City Council that helps draft ordinances, said Blagojevich “did very good work” and filled a full-time position on his staff.
But Blagojevich says he never worked there, not even for a day. Instead, he said he always worked as a part-time aide to Mell out of the ward office, organizing community events and giving free legal advice to constituents.
The Mell affidavits describe how Blagojevich helped people out of legal jams involving traffic tickets and irate city inspectors, among other problems. Some grateful recipients of this taxpayer-funded assistance have donated to Mell’s ward fund and Blagojevich’s campaign fund.
While on the city payroll, Blagojevich also continued to build his private law practice. But he apparently hit an ethical snag.
Chicago’s ethics ordinance bars municipal employees from representing clients in legal cases against the city. Nevertheless, Blagojevich and his law firm took on the city in several personal-injury and worker’s compensation cases at the same time he was taking home a city check.
Blagojevich said the ethics prohibition was aimed at aldermen, not rank-and-file city workers. According to the corporation counsel’s office, however, all city employees are covered.
The issue would fall to the City Council’s Rules Committee, chaired by Mell, to investigate any violations.
Many city workers have pitched in for Blagojevich’s congressional campaign, among them Dominic Longo, a longtime Mell ally who was singled out for praise in Blagojevich’s victory speech on the night of the March primary. Only the day before, Longo signed in for his job in the city’s General Services Department, but did political work instead.
Longo has had an unusual career. After a federal conviction in 1984 for stuffing ballots in the 33rd Ward, he lost his job as a city truck driver. He stepped down last year as manager of vehicle operations at O’Hare amid allegations that he sold jobs and pressured drivers to buy tickets to political events. Longo has denied the charges, which are under investigation by the city’s inspector general.
Nevertheless, Blagojevich said he has found Longo to be “decent and honorable” in their personal relationship.
The contradictions in Blagojevich’s campaign were on vivid display one Saturday shortly before the March election.
In the morning, the candidate stopped at a Women for Blagojevich rally in Lincoln Park where state Rep. Carol Ronen (D-Chicago), now Blagojevich’s campaign manager, confidently asked supporters: “Does anybody see any political cronies here?”
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Nobody asked that question later in the day at an Asian-Americans for Blagojevich gathering at a campaign office in the western side of the district. As the meeting went on, Longo directed teams of campaign workers coming in and out the back door.
The high point of the day was Mell’s 33rd Ward bingo party for more than 1,000 senior citizens, a pre-election institution in Chicago. At Mell’s games, each candidate is expected to put up a prize as the price for being able to address the crowd.
When Blagojevich’s turn came around, he began to deliver an issue-oriented campaign speech. Suddenly, Mell grabbed the microphone from his hand and cut his son-in-law off in mid-sentence.
“Get to the punch line! He’s giving $200 to the next game!” the alderman yelled.
As the crowd cheered, Blagojevich took the microphone back and shouted with a laugh, “I’m not just a son-in-law! I’m making it $300!”