American Pharaoh
Page 67
For the first time in two decades, Daley did not attend the Cook County Democratic Organization’s annual dinner in May 1974.More than 6,500 of the machine faithful gathered in ten ballrooms at the Conrad Hilton. The guests, who had paid $100 each, initially exchanged rumors about whether Daley would appear. But the question was settled when his son Richard M. Daley rose and delivered a standard speech about “unity and cooperation” in his father’s place. Daley’s incapacitation prompted a flurry of speculation about whether he would seek a sixth term. In his absence, local politicians conjectured about Daley’s future, and their own. Jake Arvey, who had been eased out of influence by Daley, told reporters gathered at a reelection rally for Senator Adlai Stevenson III that Daley would not run again. But the Daley forces refuted the suggestions that the mayor’s career was drawing to a close. Apparently with Daley’s approval, Jane Byrne — the lace-curtain Irishwoman who had become a recent protégée — called a news conference to decry the “little men of greed” jockeying for power while the mayor recuperated. Byrne, whom Daley had appointed to be the city’s first commissioner of the Department of Consumer Sales, Weights, and Measures, condemned such talk as the “ghoulishness of political vultures” and called for it to stop. Daley stayed in near-total seclusion in Grand Beach, Michigan, about ninety minutes from Bridgeport. The Daley home there, fenced in and dotted with “No Trespassing” signs, was obscured from public view. Daley’s long absence from City Hall added to speculation that he would not seek reelection. Independent alderman William Singer, who had announced in October of 1973 that he would run for mayor, attracted enthusiasm and press coverage from those who thought he might be able to win if Daley did not run again. Blacks were also getting organized, looking for a candidate to run. The Reverend Jesse Jackson, president of Operation PUSH, announced a voter registration drive. Thompson, the bane of the Democratic machine, was also seen, at least by the media, as a potential Republican contender for City Hall. 22
Most damaging of all to Daley were charges that undermined his image as being personally honest. On July 11, 1974, the Chicago Sun-Times, working with the Better Government Association, published a story titled “$200,000 Nest Egg — Mayor Daley’s Secret Firm.” The investigation revealed that Daley and his wife were owners of a real estate company, Elard Realty, with assets of more than $200,000. The secret company Elard, an abbreviation for “Eleanor and Richard,” had been set up in 1957. In searching property records in Berrien County, Michigan, investigators discovered that in 1965, a year after Daley bought it, the Grand Beach home was transferred to the name of Elard. The property was valued between $70,000 and $80,000. Before long, reporters learned that Elard Realty also held several small plots in Chicago, including the mayor’s 11th Ward Democratic headquarters, valued at about $100,000, a cash bank account of about $40,000, and securities valued at $31,000. Daley had always presented himself as a man who never got too rich for Bridgeport. “I’m tremendously wealthy because I have a fine family,” he once said. “But financially speaking, I’m not a rich man. My salary is my major source of income.” During nearly two decades in office, Daley had only disclosed his finances once, during his reelection race in 1971. Those reports, limited to the years 1966 to 1969, showed that his income was only slightly above his $35,000 salary. But the situation appeared to be more complicated. Daley had at least one other source of income, from his second job as head of the machine. “What some people didn’t understand,” explained David Stahl, “was that in addition to being paid $35,000 a year for being mayor, he was also paid for being chairman of the Cook County Central Democratic Committee. I don’t know what [his salary] was, but that enabled him to live pretty well.” Thompson subpoenaed the financial records of Elard Realty, and Daley’s spokesman Sullivan refused to comment. He said Daley would answer questions at a news conference when he returned from his recuperation. The BGA added to the intrigue by disclosing that the president of Elard Realty was Peter Shannon, a longtime Daley friend and associate, who had received nearly $500,000 since 1972 for consulting on auditing work for the city. In the end, though, the Elard Realty flap went nowhere. Even the BGA, which called on Daley to explain his ties to the company, never alleged Daley had done anything illegal. 23
While Daley was in Grand Beach in August, President Gerald Ford appeared in Chicago to address a Veterans of Foreign Wars convention. Daley did not meet with him, the first time in nineteen years Daley had not greeted a visiting president, and it led to more rumors that Daley’s health was worse than was being reported. After seventeen weeks away from City Hall, Daley returned the day after Labor Day, and held one of the most heavily attended press conferences of his career. Reporters were given two handouts, one detailing the recent accomplishments of the administration, the other dealing with Elard Realty. The first question put to Daley, who was thinner and more subdued than before his illness, was whether he would run for a sixth term in 1975. “The doctor has said I should not try to work as hard as I did in the past and then see,” replied Daley. “We’ll try it and give you the answer later.” On the subject of Elard Realty, Daley explained that on the urging of lawyers, he and his wife had created the company to safeguard their personal property from lawsuits brought against the city and, by extension, the mayor in his official capacity. There were no illegalities, he insisted. If there were, Thompson’s office never found them, or at least did not bring an indictment based on them. 24
On October 9, Daley appeared in federal court to testify at Earl Bush’s trial. In his earlier deposition, he had denied any knowledge of Bush’s connection to Dell Advertising. It turned out that Bush had filed a statement with the city clerk indicating his ownership of Dell, but had omitted this detail in the copy he filed with Daley’s office. Daley praised Bush, but said he had insisted he leave City Hall when he found out about the arrangement. After his testimony, Daley slowly left the courtroom. He was greeted by reporters who gave him the bad news that Tom Keane had been convicted in his own trial. Daley’s bodyguards escorted him down the elevators to an official car that was waiting to take him home to Bridgeport. The next day, Alderman Wigoda was found guilty of income tax evasion and then, three days later, on October 11, Earl Bush was found guilty. After the three convictions were in, Thompson said: “I think it’s been an extraordinary week in Chicago.” Though Daley was not involved in Keane’s enterprises, the conviction of the number two man in his administration left him vulnerable to charges that he tolerated corruption. “Chicagoans have been asked for two decades to wink at the fix and shakedown on grounds that Chicago is the city that works,” said Alderman Singer, who was gearing up for his mayoral run. Keane, Wigoda, and Bush were all sentenced to prison. The voters, however, were not inclined to blame Daley, for the scandals, or if they did, they did not regard them as important. The Chicago Sun-Times published a poll revealing that 75 percent of city voters still thought Daley was doing a good job. 25
In early December, Daley traveled to Kansas City for the Democrats’ midseason mini-convention. After his embarrassing exclusion from the 1972 convention, the national party had been actively reaching out to Daley. In August 1973, the party selected Chicago as the official kickoff city for its national telethon, a formal gesture indicating that Daley and Chicago were once again in the mainstream of the party. In Kansas City, party chairman Robert Strauss kissed him on the forehead on network television, and presidential hopeful Jimmy Carter hailed Daley as a “tremendous leader” whose steward-ship had made Chicago “the best managed and governed city in the nation.” Back in Chicago, Daley announced to a luncheon of Chicago ward committeemen and Democratic officeholders that he would run for reelection to a sixth term. For the first time in his career, it was not a forgone conclusion. With his ill health, many politically active Chicagoans were convinced Daley would step down. 26
Despite all of his political and health troubles, the Republicans once again had a hard time finding a candidate to run against Daley. In the end, the party announc
ed it had selected Alderman John Hoellen, Daley’s longtime foe and the lone Republican left on the fifty-member City Council. Hoellen, a reluctant candidate, did not sound especially sanguine about his prospects. “I’m the best available, but not the best,” he said. As Christmas neared, on Sunday, December 15, Daley learned that his old friend Danaher had been found dead, of an apparent heart attack, in his room at the Ambassador West Hotel. Danaher, separated from his wife for six months, had been living in the hotel, waiting to go on trial the following month on corruption charges. Daley served as a pallbearer in Danaher’s funeral. 27
Daley began 1975 facing something he had never had seen in his twenty years as mayor: what appeared to be significant opposition in the Democratic primary. All three of his opponents were formidable candidates — hard-driving independent alderman Bill Singer, black state senator Richard Newhouse, and former prosecutor Ed Hanrahan, who was trying to stage a political comeback. Singer had been the first to enter the race, a full sixteen months before the election. Singer made the poor state of the city’s 584 public schools a central part of his campaign and vowed to visit every one of them. He blamed Daley for Chicago’s loss of 200,000 jobs, and vowed to start bringing jobs back to the city. Singer drew his heaviest support from the city’s two most liberal areas, the affluent lakefront and Hyde Park. He had put together a strong grassroots organization of reformers, and had raised about $600,000. Singer also had the endorsement of Congressman Metcalfe, who had disappointed many voters when he decided not to run for mayor himself. “Daley’s had 20 years to run this city,” Metcalfe said at a South Side appearance with Singer. “My neighborhood looks like it’s been hit by a bomb.” 28
Many blacks had hoped Metcalfe would run himself. Chicago’s black community had come a long way from the days of Dawson and the “silent six.” There was now a small but growing contingent of black independents, including South Side alderman Anna Langford and state senator Charles Chew. Months earlier, Metcalfe had taken some tentative steps toward running for mayor, and had even begun to raise money. When Metcalfe bowed out, Newhouse jumped in. Newhouse’s chances were diminished considerably as the black community splintered among three candidates. Newhouse had the endorsement of Jesse Jackson and PUSH. Daley had the support of John Johnson of Johnson Publications and the Chicago Defender. And he was still able to call on his traditional Dawson-style supporters. A group of 250 black ministers, the Volunteer Ministers Committee for the Reelection of Mayor Richard J. Daley, called on their followers to turn out for Daley. Urging other ministers to support Daley, Bishop Louis Ford said, “We believe he has the spirit of God, it moves him and revenerates [sic] him daily.” Singer had Metcalfe, and many of Metcalfe’s followers. Without the support of Chicago’s leading black media or its leading black congressman, Newhouse’s candidacy would be an uphill struggle. Finally, there was Ed Hanrahan. The black community was united in its hatred of him. Hanrahan had shown in the state’s attorney primary in 1972 that he still had a following among whites, although he was defeated two years later in a race for Congress. In the mayor’s race, Hanrahan had a chance to appeal directly to the white-backlash vote. Throughout the campaign, Hanrahan attacked Daley for his “arrogance of total political power.” 29
It was clear during the course of the campaign that Daley was by now a shadow of his former self. He had grown increasingly out of touch with the city and with the times he was living in. Singer introduced an initiative at the City Council to provide incentives to businesses to locate in Chicago. “Daley went ballistic,” Singer recalls. “Daley shouted at me, ‘Alderman, we shouldn’t have to pay anyone to come here. This is a wonderful city.’” But the race would not be decided on policy initiatives. Daley refused to appear on the same platform or in the same broadcast studio with his challengers. He limited his public appearances to uncontroversial statements in highly controlled settings. Several days before the primary election, 3,000 elderly voters were taken in city buses to the McCormick Place convention center to receive coffee, cookies, and Daley campaign paraphernalia. As he entered the vast room, the senior citizens sang a variation on “Honey” that went: “Loved you from the start, Daley; bless your little heart, Daley.” 30
The Chicago Tribune did not make an endorsement in the primary. The choice presented by the Democratic field, the paper said in an editorial, was “whether to stay about the rudderless galleon with rotting timbers or take to the raging seas in a 17-foot outboard.” The editorial was a break from the Tribune’s years of support for the mayor. But Daley professed to be unconcerned about the defection. “That’s for the Tribune to decide.” he said. Both Singer and New-house expressed delight with the paper’s position. “Now, everybody has deserted Richard Daley and has said that he is no longer fit to run the city,” Singer said. “That’s the most significant factor.” In the final days, it was clear that the race had, as a practical matter, narrowed to Daley and Singer. Daley continued to believe in the power of his machine, but he relied more heavily than ever before on television. Singer imported media consultant David Garth, fresh from his successful work on New York governor Hugh Carey’s campaign. Daley made Garth himself an issue, and used him to tar the East Coast–educated Singer. Daley warned of “carpetbaggers” with “striped pants and patent leather shoes.” The advantages of incumbency extended even to the battle for the airwaves. Daley was able to air, without cost, his traditional half-hour “Mayor’s Report,” a sort of travelogue starring gleaming Chicago, days before the primary election. 31
It was only on election day that it became clear how little of this really mattered. Daley won with 58 percent of the vote against Singer’s 29 percent, Newhouse’s 8 percent, and Hanrahan’s 5 percent. The mayor’s surprisingly large victory margin showed that rank-and-file Chicagoans were not particularly concerned by the corruption in City Hall and, in fact, rallied to Daley. “They couldn’t throw him out of office,” Singer said later. “They couldn’t vote against him.” The results of the election illustrated that even a popular and well-funded reformer like Bill Singer could not attract the middle-class majorities necessary for a victory. The failures of both Singer and Newhouse also showed how difficult it was to crack the machine’s grasp of the black wards. Most notable of all, it showed that Daley had once again managed to hold on to the black wards without making the kind of concessions to blacks that would hurt him — and had hurt him in 1963 — in the white wards. Daley carried all of the South Side and West Side black wards. In over thirty of the city’s fifty wards, he received more than 80 percent of the vote. 32
The general election was a mere formality. John Hoellen was so ambivalent about the race that he insisted on campaigning to retain his City Council seat at the same time. Hoellen, like so many Daley opponents before him, received virtually no support from his fellow Republicans. Daley carried all fifty wards and won the April 1 election with 78 percent of the vote. Hoellen’s strategy of running for city council at the same time as he ran for mayor was also a failure. Daley cut off services to the ward, and a machine Democrat took the seat Hoellen had occupied for twenty-eight years. “You can’t stop a Sherman tank with a flintlock rifle,” Hoellen said philosophically. With Hoellen now out of the City Council, the fifty-member body had no Republicans at all. 33
Daley was sworn in, for the sixth time, by his old friend Judge Marovitz. The two men looked gray and small in a City Hall crowd that was so big that many had to watch the ceremony on a television at a movie theater across the street. In May, for the first time in twenty years, Daley insisted that his birthday not be celebrated in City Hall. He was thinking less of himself these days and more of the next generation of Daleys. His desire to leave a political legacy to his sons appeared to play a role in his slating decision when John Kluczynski, Daley’s own congressman from the Southwest Side, died of a heart attack in January 1975. Since the district was a machine stronghold, Daley’s choice would be rubber-stamped in the May special election and head to Washington. Alderman Edwa
rd Burke of the 14th Ward, a politician in his thirties, was regarded as the front-runner for the nomination, particularly after Daley asked Burke to perform the very public act of serving as a pallbearer at Kluczynski’s funeral. This was generally regarded as a symbol of anointment. “I had visions of myself sailing on the waters of the Potomac,” recalled Burke. “As Daley was wont to do, he led me to believe that I was going to be the successor. He had a great way — when you went to him and entered your supplication, he said, ‘Oh, you would be a wonderful congressman. Do you think that is the best thing for you and your family?’” Just before the slating, Burke heard that Daley had tapped John Fary, a Polish alderman, for the seat. The speculation was that Daley had made this decision to please Polish voters. Burke and others interpreted the decision differently. For Daley, family came before everything. “There was a sense that he didn’t want to commit to making me a congressman and foreclosing the possibility that he could send one of his kids to Congress,” Burke said. “It was clear that John Fary was a temporary seat warmer.” 34