More Blago Blogging

Friends from out of state are wondering what we have in our water in Springfield that turns our politicians into crooks.

My theory is that you have to be just a little crooked to even think about going into politics, especially in Illinois where the Statehouse is regarded as one large trough consistently filled with taxpayer money that's free for the taking. Or so it appears once the new pols first step through the capitol building doors.

Perhaps it's something in the air, not the water. You get elected and somehow you become more susceptible to the bribery/fraud/theft germs that swirl around Springfield. Maybe it's like Legionaire's Disease or that sick building bacteria. Maybe it's just what happens to politicians when they get too close to someone else's money.

So what to do about Gov Blago? What to do, what to do?

He won't resign. That's a given. He doesn't think he's done anything wrong.

He probably won't shoot himself. While convenient for everyone (except his kids) I'm not advocating that idea. Although a Dr. Kevorkian seen walking up to the front door of the Gov's home would make for an interesting bit of news tape.

Asking the legislature to impeach Blago is a little like asking a third grade class to do it. They'll run around and poke each other and make a lot of noise but, ehhhh, it ain't gonna happen. I think there's been one impeachment proceeding in the last hundred years in Illinois. Not quite a glorious track record. Plus our lieutenant governor thinks it would be "bad" for the state. I'm not quite sure how it could be any worse than having our sitting governor arrested but maybe Pat Quinn thinks that an impeachment proceeding might bring other wrongdoing out of the woodwork. Such things have been known to happen during criminal trials; who knows what other schemes might come to light during an impeachment hearing. That ups what cops refer to as the "pucker factor" quite severely in Springfield. And we certainly don't want any puckered politicos.

Another and more practical issue for the impeachment crowd to consider, like a trial judge, the legislators will need evidence. Where's that going to come from? Surely not from the FBI or the U.S. Attorney. Never known as willing to share their toys, they are busily building their own criminal cases against The Hair.

Which leaves the untested maneuver that Attorney General Lisa Madigan has spoken of to all in televisionland who will listen; she could ask the Illinois Supreme Court to rule that Governor Blagojevich is unfit to govern. That might actually work but let's think politically for a moment. It's rumored Madigan, daughter of the Speaker of the House and perhaps the wisest man in Springfield, would like to be Governor herself someday. By getting rid of Blago, she places Pat Quinn in the office until the next election, giving him two golden years of experience he could use against her in 2010. Is she willing to place the state's well-being before her own political wishes?

Personally, I agree with my friend Mel that we guide our governor into a field somewhere and allow anyone who wishes to do so to throw rocks at him for an afternoon. Perhaps a couple knocks on the head would realign his brain cells into some semblance of order.

Other than that, we'll just have to wait and see. Who knows, there may be a real statesman out there who will come up with just the right idea.

In time for Christmas, perhaps?

Arrogant, Stupid or Both?

About six this morning, Robert Grant, the Special Agent in Charge of the FBI office in Chicago, called Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich to tell him there were two agents outside the door of his Chicago home with a warrant and that he should let them in.
Minutes later, the man whose hairstyle should have gotten him arrested years ago was in custody, charged in a seventy-six page federal complaint with, among other things, conspiring to sell the U.S. Senate seat vacated by President Elect Barack Obama.

U.S. Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald says the Feds moved now rather than waiting until their case was pristine because of the damage that could have been done to the state and to the senate .

Those of us who live here have known it for years, but could Illinois politics appear any dirtier to the rest of the world? Our former governor in prison for corruption and the man who was elected as a reformer facing charges. As SAC Grant put it, “"If Illinois is not the most corrupt state in the country it is certainly one hell of a competitor."

Grant says even the most cynical agents in his office were shocked and revolted as they listened to wiretaps of the Governor, among other things, allegedly plotting to force the Chicago Tribune to fire those editorial board members who called for Blago's impeachment.

Wow.

A Brad Thor or Vince Flynn novel couldn't be any more compelling.

I think a remark from the judge in the recent O.J. Simpson trial sums up ol' Blago pretty well. She said something about Simpson to the effect of, “At the beginning of the trial I wondered if you were arrogant or stupid. Now I realize you’re both.”

Could any politician appear any more arrogant than to try and sell the highest profile U.S. Senate seat or more unbelievably stupid than to be caught on tape saying, “The whole world is listening,” and then go on to discuss other allegedly felonious schemes designed to amass great personal wealth and power?

Our governor has been redefining the meaning of the word “arrogance,” since the beginning of his first term when he turned his back on his father-in-law Dick Mell, the old time Chicago pol who helped him get elected. Since then, he’s alienated not only the Illinois legislature but the citizenry, which shows in the paltry thirteen percent approval rating he scored in a recent poll.

Even now I doubt he’ll do the humble, honorable thing and resign. No, Ol' Blago won't fall on his sword for anyone. I predict his megalomania will lead him to attempt to fight the charges against him while retaining his office . . . unless the Illinois legislature votes to impeach him. It wouldn't even surprise me if he tries to fill Obama's senate seat, although legislators are reported to be drawing up a bill that would keep that from happening.

Whatever the case, this is all fascinating to me, especially in light of Blago and Senator Dick Durbin’s recent call for President Bush to pardon former Governor George Ryan, now imprisoned for influence peddling.

Hey, considering the overcrowding in U.S. prisons, maybe that’s not a bad idea.

Even better, move over George. Make room for The Hair.

Ken Pierce/ 1949-2008

My best friend for eighteen years was a guy named Ken Pierce.

For eight of those years, Kenny P. and I worked together. He was a lieutenant and then a captain on the sheriff's office (and later retired as Major). I was a deputy. We also lived in the same apartment complex where he found us each poolside accomodations for providing security.

On the street, we served the occasional felony warrant together, with him stepping in once to prevent me from arresting the wrong guy (note to self, written at the time, "remember to look at the age stated on the warrant face. Don't arrest the father by mistake. Especially when father is campaign contributor. Sheriff gets really pissed.")

We also got into a brawl or two. I remember Kenny had a downstairs neighbor who spun records on the overnight shift for a local radio station. The problem was, "Soulful Sunny, Yo' Midnight Honey" liked to pump up the volume of his tunes while at home as well. One evening, while Kenny and I were entertaining female company, "Soulful" must have broken off the volume knob. Kenny and I went downstairs, I thought, to politely ask Soulful to turn the music down.

We knocked on the door.

Soulful answered.

Kenny broke his nose.

Soon after, Soulful developed a love of Robert Goulet and Henry Mancini and Frank Sinatra.

In our early years on the sheriff's office, Kenny worked a second job at a local Pizza Hut. I was hanging out with him one night (though I could never get a freebie out of him) when a very drunk fellow decided he wasn't going to pay for his order. When Kenny insisted, the man muttered he was going to go home and get his gun and come back. At which time, my good friend produced his own pistol, a classic .357 Colt Python, from under the counter and offered it to the guy.

"Here, use mine. It'll save you some time and I'll be able to beat you to death with it when I take it away from you."

Bill paid without further argument.

Dean Forster, who was closer to Ken than any of his brothers, eulogized Ken by telling the story of how, when he was fifteen, he was already interested in law enforcement. He ran a protection racket in high school, charging fifty cents each to walk the weaker, younger kids home and protect them from the bullies. Of course, if a girl wanted him to walk her home, his "business" would be temporarily suspended.

Kenny was the kind of guy who would say anything or do anything he pleased and usually get a laugh. He's the only guy I know who could be caught in a gambling raid and talk his way out of it, all while munching on the chicken leg he told the agents was his sole reason for being in the joint in the first place.

He was my mentor in many ways. As a young guy, I never used the best judgment in the clothing I chose to wear. After six months of being referred to as "Koko the Clown," I agreed to let Kenny offer me some fashion advice.

"You can never go wrong with earth tones," he said. "And for god's sake, always line your tie up with your belt buckle." Advice I follow to this day.

I can think of more than one occasion when something he taught me, either in training class or on the street, probably kept me from getting hurt.

"Never give up your cover!" was one of his mantras. Not bad advice for day to day living, either, when you think about it.

He also taught me to laugh at some of the most inappropriate things and at some of the darkest moments. One of them was during an especially gruesome autopsy when he pretended to drop a piece of gum he was chewing into the cadaver, only to "retrieve" it and go on chewing.

Ken suffered from diabetes. In recent years, doctors amputated two of his fingers and part of his left leg (leading him to tell people afterward that he was planning to work for Long John Silver's restaurant as a pirate). He underwent heart surgery and required kidney dialysis three times a week ("Gives me more time to read," he told me).

Ken wasn't a great man by any means. His womanizing was legend and probably led more than one furious husband or boyfriend to claim Ken wasn't a particularly good man either. Although, for more than twenty years, he always returned to one woman. Deb Nordt was the "love of his life." I put that in quotes because he never said as much to me but he not only used the phrase in both of their obituaries but had it printed on their tombstone as well.

Debbie was as much a fighter as Ken was, in fact. For more than twenty years, she battled half a dozen forms of cancer until it finally took her down in 2006. If Kenny ever had a single regret in his life, I think it was that he never married her.

But Kenny Pierce was his own man in every way. In fact, a lifelong Sinatra fan, one of his favorite pieces was "My Way."

I was surprised no one thought to play it at his funeral. Then again, Ken chose his own music for the service. How long has it been since any of you heard, "Rock of Ages" or "The Old Rugged Cross" sung in church? Yep, that's what Kenny wanted. He also requested our friend, Joe Zima, to be sure and loosen his tie in the casket before the funeral so he wouldn't go through the afterlife choking. True story! And in the quiet, after the visitation, Joe complied.

At the graveside, I was again surprised to see just a simple tombstone. Ken always told me he wanted, "Pardon me for not standing" engraved there! I wasn't surprised, though, when, after the bagpiper played "Amazing Grace" and the bugler got through "Taps," that one of his fellow officers cranked up the University of Kansas fight song. Kenny was a huge fan of KU football and basketball.

I haven't shed any tears for my friend and I probably won't. Waste of time. He enjoyed just about every moment of his life and now, with Deb at his side once again, I'm sure he's having one heck of a time in death.

Go with God's Hand on your shoulder my old friend. St. Peter never had a better ass-kicker to help him keep things in order up there. And you've got the best seats ever for KU games!

The Limo Driver Who Did The Right Thing

So, as the story in the Chicago Tribune this morning goes, a bunch of Highland Park kids headed out to Homecoming hired an SUV limo driven by this guy named Lionel of the AnyTime Limo service in Addison. One of the kids asked to stop at his house on the way to the event, and got back into the car with a bag full of booze. When the driver found out, he tried to call the parents who were not available and, finally, after the kids' attempts to bribe him failed, Lionel the Driver called the cops.
And created quite a stir.
Let's see now. We have the "let's lower the drinking age" folks weighing in. We have parents saying, "Oh, come on it's homecoming." We have parents calling the owner of the company and threatening to sue.
So I called the owner of the company to offer him a pat on the back.
Turns out he's getting a lot of calls from people like me. Mixed in amongst them, of course, are the ones from the mouth-breathers and gutter slime who insult his and Lionel the Driver's Hispanic heritage.
It also turns out that Lionel the Driver is a former cop in Mexico City. Talk about a tough beat. For him to come here, take a job driving a limo, and then be the subject of outrage for following not only the rules set by his company but state law, jeez, that's got to feel like a real stick in the eye.
Except some people who call are offering him money because he did the right thing. Some people, like me, will now use Anytime Limo in Addison any time they need limo transportation.
Some people respect him for standing up for whats right and being a good example, not only to the kids he turned in, but anyone else who needs a role model.
Interestingly enough, this story hits at the same time as another college fraternity house death is being blamed on booze.
What's to say Lionel the Driver didn't prevent one of those by making his phone call?
Here's the bottom line as far as I'm concerned.
Parents who don't like what Lionel the Driver did can do the driving themselves next time. Why not? Most of them own SUVs just a little smaller than the ones provided by most limo services. Pile your kids and their friends into the back, give them whatever booze they want (hey, a couple in Deerfield only got a slap on the wrist for providing booze to minors last year and two kids died in that case) and you try to concentrate on getting where you're going.
Oops, sorry. That might mean you'd have to miss a cocktail party of your own. We wouldn't want that, would we?
Oh yes, don't let me forget one last point. Some folks argue that at least the kids decided to call a limo service instead of drinking and then driving themselves. Yep, a good choice and I can't fault 'em for it. And in this case the lesson they might learn, if they take a moment to think about it, is that the person they asked to take responsibility for them did so.
It's a shame we can't say as much for their parents.

What We Have Here...is An Incredible Career

I always wanted to meet Paul Newman. Of all the actors of my generation, he was my favorite. But it wasn't until just now, when I sat down to write this, that I realized I owe him one.

He's indirectly responsible for my love of reading, and writing, crime fiction.

Newman was the essence of cool. I first noticed him in Harper(1966), the cinematic take on Ross Macdonald's PI Lew Archer from Macdonald's book, The Moving Target. It was the beginning of that film, when he wakes up, finds no fresh coffee in his apartment and digs in the trash for some old grounds, that made Lew Harper human for many viewers. That opening, and Harper's affability, carried the movie for me.

Watching Harper led me to read The Moving Target. I was 13. It was the first adult novel I'd come across and much of the psychological meanderings didn't make sense but I liked the character. Lew Archer was dark, wisecracking and cynical. A noir-ish good guy who took as many lumps as he dealt out. I stuck with the Archer series, moving on to others when Macdonald died, and a lifelong love of hardboiled private eye mysteries was born.

I never read an Archer novel, however, without seeing Newman's face and hearing his voice delivering Archer's best lines.

What made Newman unique to me was his approach to character. I disagree with critics who claim Newman was always Newman in movies. That's how I regard Kevin Spacey or Tom Cruise or even George Clooney. They are always actors, portraying a role. Sometimes they carry it off. Sometimes not.

Newman always nailed the part, but never as an actor in front of a camera. He became Harper for me (both in Harper and when he reprised the role in 1975's The Drowning Pool). He became Cool Hand Luke and Butch Cassidy and John Rooney (the mob boss in Road to Perdition, 2002). He was Judge Roy Bean and Henry Gondorff and John Russell (with his arm crossed behind him as Hombre, 1967). And they were all fascinating because he was at their essence.

Some critics point to The Hustler's Eddie Felson or Butch Cassidy as his most memorable roles.

Others loved Cool Hand Luke ("What we have here . . .is a failure . . . to communicate!).

My favorite was Twilight where Newman is an aging private eye who takes on a case that twists in some of the same fashion as Harper but with far more likeable characters, including Gene Hackman as a dying friend and the incredibly lovely Susan Sarandon. As with the opening scene of Harper, Twilight introduces us to Harry Ross in most memorable fashion. It is a film about people and their base motivations, probably why I liked it.

So, I'm in mourning today. I always liked the world more with Paul Newman in it. I would have liked to buy him a beer. Or, at the very least, a salad.

Go with God's Hand on your shoulder, Paul. You gave us a remarkable life.

Upper left: Floodwaters from Salt Creek in front of a house in Addison. When I arrived they were within ten feet of the house. When I left, they were at the basement windows.

Middle left: Kids play on sand hauled into Addison neighborhood for bagging.

Middle: A Prospect Heights woman tried to drive through the floodwaters in her neighborhood and discovered she couldn't make it.

Bottom: Fire equipment at Sunset Meadows Park in Arlington Heights as fire divers recover the body of a man who went swimming in the floodwaters. The park had become a twenty-foor deep retention pond.

I took some water in my basement. Not worth photos. Just a lot of damaged carpet and a leak that seems to be hidden behind some built-in bookshelves. A little work for me, more work for a carpenter who will have to dismantle the shelves!

Welcome Back to Blogger World, Doug!

Been a little longer vacation from blogging than I planned to take. For those of you eagerly awaiting an installment, I apologize. I'll be adding a bit about some of the stories I covered over the weekend as I rejoined WGN to cover the Great Chicago (and Suburban) Floods.

Other promised blogs will take a little longer but we'll be back in business soon.

On the book front, sales of Every Secret Crime continue and several book signings remain. I'm particularly excited about my Wednesday appearance at the Book Cellar in Chicago and Thursday's visit to the Lake Villa Public Library. If you happen to be nearby, I hope you'll stop in and chat.

Photos coming shortly.