6/25/10
Finally, a deal has been struck; Walmart has agreed to pay the new hires in its proposed Pullman Park store $8.75, $0.50 over the minimum wage, and to give such workers a bump to $9.50 an hour after a year of decent performance. In exchange, big labor, in the person of Dennis Gannon, president of the Chicago Federation of Labor, has agreed to call of its aldermanic dogs, dropping its opposition to this second Walmart store in the city of Chicago and, as day follows night, allowing other stores down the line. Indeed, Alderman Ed Burke, our fair city’s aldermanic dean, labor’s man in the City Council, and quite a student of Chicago history, stated, in the wake of the agreement
“This is historic. This is the first time that the world’s largest retailer has actually engaged in a dialogue with its opponents.”
The first time Walmart has engaged in a dialogue with its opponents? Bear in mind that Alderman Burke, in addition to his other skills and attributes, is a man given to exaggeration now and again. But I digress.
Was it really the $8.75 an hour, far below the $11.50 Mr. Gannon had originally been seeking, that carried the day? Mr. Gannon, in announcing the deal, indicated that there was more to it than that:
“Take a look at the job market right now. Our communities need jobs. Take a look at food deserts. Our communities need...grocery stores. Take a look at no building and construction trade going on in Chicago. Thirty percent unemployment.”
Did these conditions suddenly develop overnight? Was Chicago the very picture of prosperity but then only in the last few weeks suddenly veered off Primrose Lane onto a fast route to becoming the next Detroit? Mr. Gannon’s oration sounds like it could have been cribbed directly from Mayor Daley’s continuing speeches and pronouncements in favor of Walmart’s efforts in Chicago, efforts that the Mayor has been supporting for at least the last two or three years.
I suppose that there may be nothing more to this episode. 50 cents an hour and a sudden realization by a labor leader, who is about as inside as anyone can get, that Chicago’s economic prospects do not rival those of Beijing may have been the reason an agreement was reached on the Pullman Park Walmart and the door to the city was opened wide for the guys from Bentonville. And I’m about to become the Socialist candidate for President of the United States and pick Lady GaGa (or whatever that comely yet talentless lady’s name is) for my running mate.
No, none of this emits a pleasant aroma for anybody who has followed Chicago politics for even the last year or so, let alone the last 50 or so, as has yours truly. The obvious question becomes “What was the real deal here?” I don’t know any more than what I read in the papers, but somewhere a deal was cut among some or all of the big players in the Walmart drama, including the Mayor, Dennis Gannon, Walmart, and Eddy Burke. The deal may have been so all-encompassing as to include some of the bit players in the Walmart drama, including Alderman Tony Beale (in whose ward this particular Walmart will be built), Alderman Carrie Austin (in whose ward another Walmart is scheduled to be built) and God only knows who else. Further, one suspects that the other sides of the real deal, when their outlines become public, or at least obvious, will have little directly to do with Walmart. But anyone who’s paying attention, and reads my books, will know what’s going on. And, depending on what gets exchanged for what, I’m not sure there will necessarily be anything wrong with such a deal.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
I DIDN’T SAY YOU SCRATCH HIS BACK AND I’LL SCRATCH YOURS
6/24/10
As I was cutting the lawn this morning, I heard a report on our local CBS news affiliate, Newsradio 78, that the Obama administration is denying charges that it put pressure on several big financial institutions, including Goldman Sachs, Citigroup, JP Morgan, General Electric, and Bank of America, to come to the rescue of ShoreBank, a Chicago based bank that serves primarily minority communities on Chicago’s south side, has long been a favorite of political types in Chicago, and that ran aground on the rocky economy and apparently slipshod lending practices. The rescue, announced in May, still has not taken place due to some, we are told, bureaucratic snafus. As ShoreBank spokesman Brian Berg put it on June 16, “It is not going as quickly as we would like, but we are working through it." But with the likes of Goldman and Citi working earnestly on this project, one thinks that somehow the deal will go down.
Charges that the President engaged, or would engage, in some Chicago style politics in order to save some of his Chicago pals and their bank have been flying around ever since it became apparent that ShoreBank would need help. Such charges became more vociferous when ShoreBank was (apparently) saved even as some other mid-sized Chicago area institutions, including Broadway Bank (the Giannoulias family bank) and Midwest Bank, were effectively shut down with their assets and deposits given to other institutions. The “experts,” mostly on the political right and almost exclusively not from Chicago, tell us that it is obvious that pressure was brought to bear on the aforementioned financial giants to rescue ShoreBank. Those “experts” clearly don’t understand Chicago politics, and thus are directed to my book, The Chairman, A Novel of Big City Politics and, even more saliently, to an earlier post of mine on $68mm of city related pension money’s finding its way to the money management business of Mayor Daley’s nephew, Bob Vanecko and Mayor Daley’s longtime pal, Allison Davis, “WE DON’T WANT NOBODY NOBODY SENT,” 6/12/09.
In that now seminal piece of last summer, I pointed out that I do not doubt the Mayor in the slightest when he says that he never talked to anyone on the pension boards, never pressured anyone on the pension boards, never had contact with anyone on the pension boards concerning directing the business to young Mr. Vanecko. Why? Because the Mayor didn’t have to ask or tell anyone on the pension boards that Bob Vanecko was his nephew and Allison Davis was his pal, and, with that knowledge in hand, it became obvious to everyone on those pension boards, who owe their jobs to political influence, the ultimate source of which sits in an office on the Fifth Floor of City Hall, what they were supposed to do. Simply put, people on the pension boards, and other contract ladling facades around this town, wouldn’t be there if they weren’t sufficiently politically attuned to know who the Mayor’s (or the Speaker’s or the Board President’s or the Finance Committee Chairman’s or the…) relatives and friends are and who thus should get, ahem, every consideration when it comes time to award contracts. That is how things are done in our fair city. Again, see The Chairman, A Novel of Big City Politics, Mark M. Quinn.
Contrary to the fantasies of the right wing corners of the media, Barack Obama is no cigar chomping Chicago pol; the guys that matter would never let that overly ambitious ingénue near the real action. But Mr. Obama knew that he had to play ball with such types (note his closeness with my former state senator, and senate president, Emil Jones, who could have come straight from central casting) if he wanted to have a career in politics. He also is smart enough, probably from his years spent (perhaps figuratively, but who know?) getting coffee for the likes of Mr. Jones, both to not do anything stupid, like directly telling people to do something in exchange for a favor, and to trust that certain people are smart enough to divine his intentions without having to ask.
So I have no doubt that no direct pressure was brought to bear on Goldman, Citi, et. al. to bail out Mr. Obama’s hometown bank, just as no pressure was brought to bear on certain pension boards to invest millions with mayoral nephew Bob Vanecko and Allison Davis. But the money somehow found its way to where it was supposed to go. Funny how that works, eh?
As I was cutting the lawn this morning, I heard a report on our local CBS news affiliate, Newsradio 78, that the Obama administration is denying charges that it put pressure on several big financial institutions, including Goldman Sachs, Citigroup, JP Morgan, General Electric, and Bank of America, to come to the rescue of ShoreBank, a Chicago based bank that serves primarily minority communities on Chicago’s south side, has long been a favorite of political types in Chicago, and that ran aground on the rocky economy and apparently slipshod lending practices. The rescue, announced in May, still has not taken place due to some, we are told, bureaucratic snafus. As ShoreBank spokesman Brian Berg put it on June 16, “It is not going as quickly as we would like, but we are working through it." But with the likes of Goldman and Citi working earnestly on this project, one thinks that somehow the deal will go down.
Charges that the President engaged, or would engage, in some Chicago style politics in order to save some of his Chicago pals and their bank have been flying around ever since it became apparent that ShoreBank would need help. Such charges became more vociferous when ShoreBank was (apparently) saved even as some other mid-sized Chicago area institutions, including Broadway Bank (the Giannoulias family bank) and Midwest Bank, were effectively shut down with their assets and deposits given to other institutions. The “experts,” mostly on the political right and almost exclusively not from Chicago, tell us that it is obvious that pressure was brought to bear on the aforementioned financial giants to rescue ShoreBank. Those “experts” clearly don’t understand Chicago politics, and thus are directed to my book, The Chairman, A Novel of Big City Politics and, even more saliently, to an earlier post of mine on $68mm of city related pension money’s finding its way to the money management business of Mayor Daley’s nephew, Bob Vanecko and Mayor Daley’s longtime pal, Allison Davis, “WE DON’T WANT NOBODY NOBODY SENT,” 6/12/09.
In that now seminal piece of last summer, I pointed out that I do not doubt the Mayor in the slightest when he says that he never talked to anyone on the pension boards, never pressured anyone on the pension boards, never had contact with anyone on the pension boards concerning directing the business to young Mr. Vanecko. Why? Because the Mayor didn’t have to ask or tell anyone on the pension boards that Bob Vanecko was his nephew and Allison Davis was his pal, and, with that knowledge in hand, it became obvious to everyone on those pension boards, who owe their jobs to political influence, the ultimate source of which sits in an office on the Fifth Floor of City Hall, what they were supposed to do. Simply put, people on the pension boards, and other contract ladling facades around this town, wouldn’t be there if they weren’t sufficiently politically attuned to know who the Mayor’s (or the Speaker’s or the Board President’s or the Finance Committee Chairman’s or the…) relatives and friends are and who thus should get, ahem, every consideration when it comes time to award contracts. That is how things are done in our fair city. Again, see The Chairman, A Novel of Big City Politics, Mark M. Quinn.
Contrary to the fantasies of the right wing corners of the media, Barack Obama is no cigar chomping Chicago pol; the guys that matter would never let that overly ambitious ingénue near the real action. But Mr. Obama knew that he had to play ball with such types (note his closeness with my former state senator, and senate president, Emil Jones, who could have come straight from central casting) if he wanted to have a career in politics. He also is smart enough, probably from his years spent (perhaps figuratively, but who know?) getting coffee for the likes of Mr. Jones, both to not do anything stupid, like directly telling people to do something in exchange for a favor, and to trust that certain people are smart enough to divine his intentions without having to ask.
So I have no doubt that no direct pressure was brought to bear on Goldman, Citi, et. al. to bail out Mr. Obama’s hometown bank, just as no pressure was brought to bear on certain pension boards to invest millions with mayoral nephew Bob Vanecko and Allison Davis. But the money somehow found its way to where it was supposed to go. Funny how that works, eh?
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
“I’M LOOKIN’ AT THE MAN IN THE MIRROR…”
6/23/10
Some of the things that are coming out of the Blagojevich trial are nothing new; e.g., that the RodMan is a hopeless megalomaniac and egomaniac. Some revelations we long suspected but are probably surprised at their sheer magnitude, most notably that Blago was not a good governor, didn’t get a lot done, other than preside over the continued slide of the Prairie State into de facto bankruptcy, and didn’t seem to spend much time at, or show much interest in, his job. These may be related, but there is always the chance that, given the level of the RodMan’s competence, he wouldn’t have been an effective governor or manager even if he gave his job his undivided attention.
But there is one thing that is coming out of the trial that surprises me and probably surprises most of you, i.e., that Blagojevich didn’t even like being governor. As the Chicago Tribune reported today (Wednesday, 6/23), Rod is on tape saying
“I’d like the get the (Rod’s and Patty’s favorite expletive) out of here (the governor’s office).”
about halfway through his second term in office.
A normal person might ask why, if the RodMan didn’t like his job, he sought reelection, or even election in the first place. Why didn’t he just stay in Congress? Maybe he didn’t like that job, either. Why didn’t he stay in the state legislature? Oh, yeah; he probably couldn’t wait to get the (coital act) out of there, either.
But Rod Blagojevich is not a normal person; he is a politician, a member of what has become our nation’s governing class. In fact, he is the prototypical modern politician. His being on figurative political steroids only reinforces this notion. He is, as is any modern politician (There doubtless are a few exceptions, which serve only to prove the rule until they succumb to the forces seemingly imbedded in their DNA that drive them to the foppishness that characterizes their profession.), the triumph of style over substance, of self over constituents, of naked ambition over competence, of self-interest over service, of solipsism over patriotism, of ego over decency. To Rod or to any of our public servants who differ from that nefarious narcissist only in degree, the particular office is unimportant and fulfilling its duties and serving those who put one in that office are completely inconsequential. An office is only a stepping stone on the ladder of self-gratification that characterizes the modern politician’s life. He, or she, is not there to do a job; he or she is on a mission, a mission to impose his ego on all of us, to get our attention, to convince himself that he is somehow a great man, or at least that his existence is somehow worthwhile.
Ladies and gentleman, snicker, or guffaw, at Mr. Blagojevich all you want. But he is not all that different from all the other people we elect. Because the American people cannot be bothered, busy as they are with such important matters as reality television, listening to the aural cow excrement we call music nowadays, American Idol, the more titillating aspects of “celebrities'” lives, 24 hour sports channels, moronic situation comedies, and prime time television in general, to do the work involved in self-government and thus routinely vote for the guy with the slickest commercials or the most media endorsements, we get what we deserve in our public officials.
Some of the things that are coming out of the Blagojevich trial are nothing new; e.g., that the RodMan is a hopeless megalomaniac and egomaniac. Some revelations we long suspected but are probably surprised at their sheer magnitude, most notably that Blago was not a good governor, didn’t get a lot done, other than preside over the continued slide of the Prairie State into de facto bankruptcy, and didn’t seem to spend much time at, or show much interest in, his job. These may be related, but there is always the chance that, given the level of the RodMan’s competence, he wouldn’t have been an effective governor or manager even if he gave his job his undivided attention.
But there is one thing that is coming out of the trial that surprises me and probably surprises most of you, i.e., that Blagojevich didn’t even like being governor. As the Chicago Tribune reported today (Wednesday, 6/23), Rod is on tape saying
“I’d like the get the (Rod’s and Patty’s favorite expletive) out of here (the governor’s office).”
about halfway through his second term in office.
A normal person might ask why, if the RodMan didn’t like his job, he sought reelection, or even election in the first place. Why didn’t he just stay in Congress? Maybe he didn’t like that job, either. Why didn’t he stay in the state legislature? Oh, yeah; he probably couldn’t wait to get the (coital act) out of there, either.
But Rod Blagojevich is not a normal person; he is a politician, a member of what has become our nation’s governing class. In fact, he is the prototypical modern politician. His being on figurative political steroids only reinforces this notion. He is, as is any modern politician (There doubtless are a few exceptions, which serve only to prove the rule until they succumb to the forces seemingly imbedded in their DNA that drive them to the foppishness that characterizes their profession.), the triumph of style over substance, of self over constituents, of naked ambition over competence, of self-interest over service, of solipsism over patriotism, of ego over decency. To Rod or to any of our public servants who differ from that nefarious narcissist only in degree, the particular office is unimportant and fulfilling its duties and serving those who put one in that office are completely inconsequential. An office is only a stepping stone on the ladder of self-gratification that characterizes the modern politician’s life. He, or she, is not there to do a job; he or she is on a mission, a mission to impose his ego on all of us, to get our attention, to convince himself that he is somehow a great man, or at least that his existence is somehow worthwhile.
Ladies and gentleman, snicker, or guffaw, at Mr. Blagojevich all you want. But he is not all that different from all the other people we elect. Because the American people cannot be bothered, busy as they are with such important matters as reality television, listening to the aural cow excrement we call music nowadays, American Idol, the more titillating aspects of “celebrities'” lives, 24 hour sports channels, moronic situation comedies, and prime time television in general, to do the work involved in self-government and thus routinely vote for the guy with the slickest commercials or the most media endorsements, we get what we deserve in our public officials.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
“OH, THE PLACES YOU’LL SEE…”
6/22/10
As I indicated on the next, or last, depending on your perspective, post, below is a segment from my upcoming sequel to The Chairman, entitled The Chairman’s Challenge, A Continuing Novel of Big City Politics.
Pete Sullivan is a bright young kid from the suburbs who went to law school with aspirations of a career not in the Machine politics of his uncle, which he so disdains, but, rather, in politics on a national level, in statesmanship, if you will. When things don’t turn out to be the bed of roses he anticipated, he accepts the help offered by his uncle, Fred Carey, a precinct captain in Pat Donahue’s 19th Ward Regular Democratic Organization and finds himself first clerking for a judge and then in a position for which Chairman Eamon DeValera Collins thought the young man supremely qualified.
Enjoy the beginning of the fifth chapter of The Chairman, A Continuing Novel of Big City Politics. You will be among the first to know when the book it is available. The Chairman, A Novel of Big City Politics is, of course, currently available at Anderson’s in Naperville, Bookie’s in West Beverly, other independent book stores throughout Chicagoland, Amazon.com, theirishbookclub.com, and, by order, anywhere books are sold:
CHAPTER 5
Pete Sullivan had graduated from law school only four years earlier. Like many of his fellow law students, he had his plans, or at least wishes that he had convinced himself were plans, and the law was at best ancillary to those plans. He would clerk for a federal judge for a few years and then go to work for a big law firm, hopefully having avoided most of the scut work demanded of new associates. He’d make the right contacts, schmooze the right bigwigs, and, after a few years at the firm, he would run for office.
Pete’s uncle, Fred Carey was an old time precinct captain in Pat Donahue’s 19th Ward Regular Democratic Organization, a vital cog in the workings of a key ward for the County Democratic Organization. Having made his living doing favors for people, and being especially fond of his bright young nephew, Carey stood ready to do what he could to help Pete realize his dreams, and never hesitated to tell Pete that he could always count on Uncle Fred. However, political machines, both in Pete’s mind and in those of most people in the upper class suburb in which he grew up and in the elite college and Ivy League law school he attended, were an anachronistic blight on democracy. The Machine of which his uncle was a part was the target of particularly vitriolic derision, perhaps because it was so effective and showed so much staying power. Though Pete didn’t like to think of his uncle as a Machine hack, he could only kid himself so much; he knew what Uncle Fred was and secretly disdained him for it. However, when Pete’s third year of law school was drawing to a close and no clerkship had been offered him, he was not at all ashamed about finally taking up his uncle on his offer of help. A week after graduating, Pete was working for Judge Arthur O’Donovan, a night school grad who had attained his seat on the federal bench by doing precinct work in the powerful 19th Ward Regular Democratic Organization.
The clerkship went well enough, but after two years it was time for step two. Letters of recommendation from Judge O’Donovan and Mayor Eamon DeValera Collins, whom Pete had met only twice, made his interview with the city’s largest law firm a formality. He was quickly hired as an associate. Pete had convinced himself, on little evidence, that, because of his clerkship, he wouldn’t have to go through the long hours and endless tedium that was expected of new associates. He was wrong. His job consisted of twelve to fourteen hour days, six or seven of them a week, doing stultifying research on arcane points of contract law. This wasn’t what Pete had in mind when he decided to go to law school.
Uncle Fred had heard about Pete’s unhappiness. There wasn’t much that Fred Carey didn’t hear about, or that Pete kept to himself. Having been around city politics his whole life, Fred Carey never missed an opportunity to do someone a favor, especially one that would have to be returned, knowingly or otherwise. He asked his nephew to lunch. Sensing the chance to escape his now dreary lot in life for an hour or so, or perhaps more permanently, Pete accepted with enthusiasm. They met at a deli just far enough away from Pete’s downtown office to allow unfettered conversation. After exchanging pleasantries, Fred got right to the point. “Pete, I understand you’re not happy at the firm, and the Mayor…”
Never having gotten over his youthful habit of responding when silence would have served him better, Pete said quickly “I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed the Mayor after he stuck his neck out for me.”
Fred leaned back and chuckled in his avuncular way. “No, Pete, that’s not it. What I was going to say is that the Mayor has been following your career. He’s impressed.”
Pete was startled. “He is?”
“Yeah, Pete. Ever since he met you, he’s liked you. He asks about you.”
“He does?”
“Yeah, he’s got an eye for young talent. If you’re unhappy and want to make a change, maybe you should sit down with the Mayor and talk about maybe doing something for the city.”
Pete was immediately elated, but then his idealism tugged at him as if it were a conscience. “That would be nice, Uncle Fred, but…”
“Pete, first, I’m ‘Fred’ now. Second, I know what you’re thinking. You don’t want to get involved with the political organization in this town. You think politics should be about something nobler. I’m not of the same opinion…”
“It’s not like that…”
“Don’t try to be nice, Pete; let me finish. I’ve been involved in politics my whole life and I think there’s nothing more noble than helping my neighbors, which is what I do. But I know things are changing, and so does the Mayor. Despite what you might think, the Mayor isn’t an old time Machine politician.”
“Oh, c’mon, Fred, I’m not naïve. He’s the head of the County Democratic Organization. He’s been in charge in the 15th Ward since I was a baby. Hell, he insists that people call him ‘Chairman.’ He’s a Machine guy. That’s why he’s Mayor.”
“Yeah, he’s got history…and he’s got smarts. He knows the old way of doing things is over. He’s from the Machine, but he’s no longer of the Machine. He’s trying to change things. He needs help, though. He needs smart, young, professional people to fill the big jobs to make the city work.”
The words “big jobs” were all Pete needed to hear to get over his hesitancy. “And so?”
“When can you sit down and talk with the Mayor?”
Pete met with Mayor Eamon DeValera Collins the next week in the Mayor’s palatial office on the 5th floor of City Hall. Pete was expecting a “getting to know you” chat. Instead, he was met by the Mayor and two other department heads, a man and a woman, both young and well educated, like Pete. There wasn’t an alderman or a political guy, other than the Mayor, in the room. It was all, to Pete’s mind, very professional, and not at all what he had expected. Within twenty minutes, the Mayor looked at his two department heads and asked “Well, what do you think? Do you think Pete’s the kind of guy we want for the job?”
“The job?” Pete thought. There had been no mention of any specific job. But he didn’t say anything.
Mike Adamski, the head of the Revenue Department and a Certified Public Accountant with a degree from the state university’s nationally recognized accounting department, didn’t hesitate. “Yes, Chairman…” He stopped himself. “…Mayor. I think Pete has what we’re looking for.”
Katherine Holloway, who headed the Human Relations Commission, and was a Wellesley graduate, chimed in. “Pete is the kind of guy, Mayor, that we need to head the Water Department. Our city is known for having the best drinking water in the country; we can’t leave this department in the hands of hacks and amateurs.”
Pete couldn’t contain himself. The idea of working with plumbing didn’t appeal to him, but he realized how big the prize was that was being offered him. “The Water Department! I would be so honored to head the Water Department, Mr. Mayor…”
“Well, then, Pete, subject to a routine background check and, of course, City Council approval, the job is yours. And I wouldn’t worry too much about either.”
Pete was beginning to see the advantages of Mayor Collins’ approach to government. Within two weeks, Pete was the head of one of the city’s largest and most important departments.
Pete had scheduled an 8:00 meeting on his first day on the job with the deputy assistant director of the Water Department, Terry Olivi, namesake and son of the late Terry Olivi, a state senator and ward committeeman in the ‘40s and ‘50s and a close ally of the legendary Bill O’Malley. At 7:30, Olivi called Pete to tell him he couldn’t meet at 8:00 but could meet at 2:00. Not wanting to start off on the wrong foot with one of his key deputies, Pete decided not to make an issue of it and considered taking advantage of the delay by arranging a meeting with Kate O’Brien, Assistant Commissioner of the department and, according to the organization chart, Olivi’s boss. But Uncle Fred had told him that Terry was more of a hands-on guy, the guy to talk to to see how things were going out in the neighborhoods and on the intake cribs in the lake. According to Fred, Olivi was the operations guy; Kate was the political point person. So it made more sense to Pete to speak with Olivi before speaking with O’Brien. He therefore spent most of the first day reading and shaking hands with his new employees while waiting for Olivi. Olivi didn’t show up at 2:00. Pete had his secretary call, but Olivi was out of the office. He arrived at 3:00.
“Sorry, boss,” was Olivi’s greeting. Pete detected a hint of ridicule in the word “boss.”
“You were supposed to be here at 2:00, Terry.”
“I had some urgent business in the field.” Olivi’s cell phone rang. “Hold on a second.” Pete couldn’t believe it. Here was his employee meeting his boss for the first time and he answers his cell phone! Olivi’s conversation consisted of little more than a collection of “Yeah”s, followed by a string of profanity.
“Sorry. That was important.”
“This is more important. I’m your boss. We have a lot to do to get this department running right.”
“Yeah, I know.” The phone rang again. Olivi held up his index finger and answered the phone.
“Put the phone down, Olivi!”
Olivi put his hand over the phone, glared at Pete and asked with outright contempt “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m your boss!”
“You’re MY boss? I’ve been run…I’ve been in this department longer than you’ve been alive. Who’s your Chinaman?”
Pete was taken aback. “My Chinaman?”
“Yeah, your Chinaman. Your rabbi.”
“I don’t have a rabbi; I’m Catholic!”
“Your clout, you idiot. Who got you the job?”
Pete answered the question before he stopped to consider that his underling had just called him an idiot. “My uncle, Fred Carey…”
“Yeah, I know Fred. He works for me.”
“He works for you? He’s not in the Water Department.”
“Like I said, he works for me…sort of.”
“He only set up the interview; the Mayor hired me.”
“Oh, yeah, he…” Olivi stopped himself. “The Mayor’s a friend of mine. Don’t be naïve, kid. Just do whatever it takes to look good. I’ll run the Department, like I have for twenty years.”
“Out of my office! And maybe you should start getting your resume together.”
“I don’t need a resume, kid. I know people.”
Things didn’t improve from there. Pete tried to have Olivi fired with no success. When Pete tried to come up with plans to modernize and streamline the Water Department, he was stonewalled at every turn. Everyone he spoke with, if they said anything, told him to “talk to Terry about it.” When Pete tried to go to the Mayor, his calls weren’t returned. It was as if he wasn’t there. Why was the city not accessing the expertise for which they paid so much?
As I indicated on the next, or last, depending on your perspective, post, below is a segment from my upcoming sequel to The Chairman, entitled The Chairman’s Challenge, A Continuing Novel of Big City Politics.
Pete Sullivan is a bright young kid from the suburbs who went to law school with aspirations of a career not in the Machine politics of his uncle, which he so disdains, but, rather, in politics on a national level, in statesmanship, if you will. When things don’t turn out to be the bed of roses he anticipated, he accepts the help offered by his uncle, Fred Carey, a precinct captain in Pat Donahue’s 19th Ward Regular Democratic Organization and finds himself first clerking for a judge and then in a position for which Chairman Eamon DeValera Collins thought the young man supremely qualified.
Enjoy the beginning of the fifth chapter of The Chairman, A Continuing Novel of Big City Politics. You will be among the first to know when the book it is available. The Chairman, A Novel of Big City Politics is, of course, currently available at Anderson’s in Naperville, Bookie’s in West Beverly, other independent book stores throughout Chicagoland, Amazon.com, theirishbookclub.com, and, by order, anywhere books are sold:
CHAPTER 5
Pete Sullivan had graduated from law school only four years earlier. Like many of his fellow law students, he had his plans, or at least wishes that he had convinced himself were plans, and the law was at best ancillary to those plans. He would clerk for a federal judge for a few years and then go to work for a big law firm, hopefully having avoided most of the scut work demanded of new associates. He’d make the right contacts, schmooze the right bigwigs, and, after a few years at the firm, he would run for office.
Pete’s uncle, Fred Carey was an old time precinct captain in Pat Donahue’s 19th Ward Regular Democratic Organization, a vital cog in the workings of a key ward for the County Democratic Organization. Having made his living doing favors for people, and being especially fond of his bright young nephew, Carey stood ready to do what he could to help Pete realize his dreams, and never hesitated to tell Pete that he could always count on Uncle Fred. However, political machines, both in Pete’s mind and in those of most people in the upper class suburb in which he grew up and in the elite college and Ivy League law school he attended, were an anachronistic blight on democracy. The Machine of which his uncle was a part was the target of particularly vitriolic derision, perhaps because it was so effective and showed so much staying power. Though Pete didn’t like to think of his uncle as a Machine hack, he could only kid himself so much; he knew what Uncle Fred was and secretly disdained him for it. However, when Pete’s third year of law school was drawing to a close and no clerkship had been offered him, he was not at all ashamed about finally taking up his uncle on his offer of help. A week after graduating, Pete was working for Judge Arthur O’Donovan, a night school grad who had attained his seat on the federal bench by doing precinct work in the powerful 19th Ward Regular Democratic Organization.
The clerkship went well enough, but after two years it was time for step two. Letters of recommendation from Judge O’Donovan and Mayor Eamon DeValera Collins, whom Pete had met only twice, made his interview with the city’s largest law firm a formality. He was quickly hired as an associate. Pete had convinced himself, on little evidence, that, because of his clerkship, he wouldn’t have to go through the long hours and endless tedium that was expected of new associates. He was wrong. His job consisted of twelve to fourteen hour days, six or seven of them a week, doing stultifying research on arcane points of contract law. This wasn’t what Pete had in mind when he decided to go to law school.
Uncle Fred had heard about Pete’s unhappiness. There wasn’t much that Fred Carey didn’t hear about, or that Pete kept to himself. Having been around city politics his whole life, Fred Carey never missed an opportunity to do someone a favor, especially one that would have to be returned, knowingly or otherwise. He asked his nephew to lunch. Sensing the chance to escape his now dreary lot in life for an hour or so, or perhaps more permanently, Pete accepted with enthusiasm. They met at a deli just far enough away from Pete’s downtown office to allow unfettered conversation. After exchanging pleasantries, Fred got right to the point. “Pete, I understand you’re not happy at the firm, and the Mayor…”
Never having gotten over his youthful habit of responding when silence would have served him better, Pete said quickly “I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed the Mayor after he stuck his neck out for me.”
Fred leaned back and chuckled in his avuncular way. “No, Pete, that’s not it. What I was going to say is that the Mayor has been following your career. He’s impressed.”
Pete was startled. “He is?”
“Yeah, Pete. Ever since he met you, he’s liked you. He asks about you.”
“He does?”
“Yeah, he’s got an eye for young talent. If you’re unhappy and want to make a change, maybe you should sit down with the Mayor and talk about maybe doing something for the city.”
Pete was immediately elated, but then his idealism tugged at him as if it were a conscience. “That would be nice, Uncle Fred, but…”
“Pete, first, I’m ‘Fred’ now. Second, I know what you’re thinking. You don’t want to get involved with the political organization in this town. You think politics should be about something nobler. I’m not of the same opinion…”
“It’s not like that…”
“Don’t try to be nice, Pete; let me finish. I’ve been involved in politics my whole life and I think there’s nothing more noble than helping my neighbors, which is what I do. But I know things are changing, and so does the Mayor. Despite what you might think, the Mayor isn’t an old time Machine politician.”
“Oh, c’mon, Fred, I’m not naïve. He’s the head of the County Democratic Organization. He’s been in charge in the 15th Ward since I was a baby. Hell, he insists that people call him ‘Chairman.’ He’s a Machine guy. That’s why he’s Mayor.”
“Yeah, he’s got history…and he’s got smarts. He knows the old way of doing things is over. He’s from the Machine, but he’s no longer of the Machine. He’s trying to change things. He needs help, though. He needs smart, young, professional people to fill the big jobs to make the city work.”
The words “big jobs” were all Pete needed to hear to get over his hesitancy. “And so?”
“When can you sit down and talk with the Mayor?”
Pete met with Mayor Eamon DeValera Collins the next week in the Mayor’s palatial office on the 5th floor of City Hall. Pete was expecting a “getting to know you” chat. Instead, he was met by the Mayor and two other department heads, a man and a woman, both young and well educated, like Pete. There wasn’t an alderman or a political guy, other than the Mayor, in the room. It was all, to Pete’s mind, very professional, and not at all what he had expected. Within twenty minutes, the Mayor looked at his two department heads and asked “Well, what do you think? Do you think Pete’s the kind of guy we want for the job?”
“The job?” Pete thought. There had been no mention of any specific job. But he didn’t say anything.
Mike Adamski, the head of the Revenue Department and a Certified Public Accountant with a degree from the state university’s nationally recognized accounting department, didn’t hesitate. “Yes, Chairman…” He stopped himself. “…Mayor. I think Pete has what we’re looking for.”
Katherine Holloway, who headed the Human Relations Commission, and was a Wellesley graduate, chimed in. “Pete is the kind of guy, Mayor, that we need to head the Water Department. Our city is known for having the best drinking water in the country; we can’t leave this department in the hands of hacks and amateurs.”
Pete couldn’t contain himself. The idea of working with plumbing didn’t appeal to him, but he realized how big the prize was that was being offered him. “The Water Department! I would be so honored to head the Water Department, Mr. Mayor…”
“Well, then, Pete, subject to a routine background check and, of course, City Council approval, the job is yours. And I wouldn’t worry too much about either.”
Pete was beginning to see the advantages of Mayor Collins’ approach to government. Within two weeks, Pete was the head of one of the city’s largest and most important departments.
Pete had scheduled an 8:00 meeting on his first day on the job with the deputy assistant director of the Water Department, Terry Olivi, namesake and son of the late Terry Olivi, a state senator and ward committeeman in the ‘40s and ‘50s and a close ally of the legendary Bill O’Malley. At 7:30, Olivi called Pete to tell him he couldn’t meet at 8:00 but could meet at 2:00. Not wanting to start off on the wrong foot with one of his key deputies, Pete decided not to make an issue of it and considered taking advantage of the delay by arranging a meeting with Kate O’Brien, Assistant Commissioner of the department and, according to the organization chart, Olivi’s boss. But Uncle Fred had told him that Terry was more of a hands-on guy, the guy to talk to to see how things were going out in the neighborhoods and on the intake cribs in the lake. According to Fred, Olivi was the operations guy; Kate was the political point person. So it made more sense to Pete to speak with Olivi before speaking with O’Brien. He therefore spent most of the first day reading and shaking hands with his new employees while waiting for Olivi. Olivi didn’t show up at 2:00. Pete had his secretary call, but Olivi was out of the office. He arrived at 3:00.
“Sorry, boss,” was Olivi’s greeting. Pete detected a hint of ridicule in the word “boss.”
“You were supposed to be here at 2:00, Terry.”
“I had some urgent business in the field.” Olivi’s cell phone rang. “Hold on a second.” Pete couldn’t believe it. Here was his employee meeting his boss for the first time and he answers his cell phone! Olivi’s conversation consisted of little more than a collection of “Yeah”s, followed by a string of profanity.
“Sorry. That was important.”
“This is more important. I’m your boss. We have a lot to do to get this department running right.”
“Yeah, I know.” The phone rang again. Olivi held up his index finger and answered the phone.
“Put the phone down, Olivi!”
Olivi put his hand over the phone, glared at Pete and asked with outright contempt “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m your boss!”
“You’re MY boss? I’ve been run…I’ve been in this department longer than you’ve been alive. Who’s your Chinaman?”
Pete was taken aback. “My Chinaman?”
“Yeah, your Chinaman. Your rabbi.”
“I don’t have a rabbi; I’m Catholic!”
“Your clout, you idiot. Who got you the job?”
Pete answered the question before he stopped to consider that his underling had just called him an idiot. “My uncle, Fred Carey…”
“Yeah, I know Fred. He works for me.”
“He works for you? He’s not in the Water Department.”
“Like I said, he works for me…sort of.”
“He only set up the interview; the Mayor hired me.”
“Oh, yeah, he…” Olivi stopped himself. “The Mayor’s a friend of mine. Don’t be naïve, kid. Just do whatever it takes to look good. I’ll run the Department, like I have for twenty years.”
“Out of my office! And maybe you should start getting your resume together.”
“I don’t need a resume, kid. I know people.”
Things didn’t improve from there. Pete tried to have Olivi fired with no success. When Pete tried to come up with plans to modernize and streamline the Water Department, he was stonewalled at every turn. Everyone he spoke with, if they said anything, told him to “talk to Terry about it.” When Pete tried to go to the Mayor, his calls weren’t returned. It was as if he wasn’t there. Why was the city not accessing the expertise for which they paid so much?
A(N ANCILLARY) LESSON FROM THE BLAGOJEVICH TRIAL
6/22/10
This morning’s (i.e., Tuesday, 6/22’s) Chicago Tribune, in its update on the Blagojevich trail, contained this tantalizing tidbit:
“(Blagojevich) pushed (chief of staff John Harris) to find financial firms doing state business who might be willing to take on Patti Blagojevich, WHO HAD RECEIVED A LICENSE TO BE A FINANCIAL ADVISOR.” (Emphasis mine)
Hmm…
As I outlined in my 6/9/10 post (I OWE, I OWE SO OFF TO EXTORT I GO), one of the many reasons that Rod Blagojevich found himself in trouble was that he and his wife Patti had spent themselves to a point at which they were broke despite a healthy six figure income and all the perks of the governor’s office. Financial desperation (accompanied, of course, by a huge and misplaced ego) led the RodMan to use his office as leverage in usually hare-brained money raising schemes designed to keep the profligate pair from financial ruin.
Now we learn that Patti Blagojevich, who had displayed such keen financial management skills in her personal life, has, or had, a license to be a financial advisor. So if you need advice on how to spend yourself into the poor house, I suppose she’s your gal.
The lesson? Be careful when someone calling himself or herself a financial advisor wants to help you with your money. There are plenty (well, at least a few) good ones out there, but the profession is populated with popinjays and politicasters peddling pap and presdigitation.
On another note…
John Harris may be nearing the end of his testimony in the Blagojevich case, but keep your eye on this guy. Given his background, he knows more about what really goes on in this city than anyone else who has so far appeared in this trial. See my 12/13/08 post “I TRUST THESE MEN WITH MY LIFE, SENATOR. TO ASK THEM TO LEAVE NOW WOULD BE AN INSULT.” But Harris still probably doesn’t know enough to cause real trouble for the people who really matter. See Chapter 5 of my upcoming book, THE CHAIRMAN’S CHALLENGE, A CONTINUING NOVEL OF BIG CITY POLITICS, part of which I will post on the blog. See my next (or last, depending on one’s perspective) post.
This morning’s (i.e., Tuesday, 6/22’s) Chicago Tribune, in its update on the Blagojevich trail, contained this tantalizing tidbit:
“(Blagojevich) pushed (chief of staff John Harris) to find financial firms doing state business who might be willing to take on Patti Blagojevich, WHO HAD RECEIVED A LICENSE TO BE A FINANCIAL ADVISOR.” (Emphasis mine)
Hmm…
As I outlined in my 6/9/10 post (I OWE, I OWE SO OFF TO EXTORT I GO), one of the many reasons that Rod Blagojevich found himself in trouble was that he and his wife Patti had spent themselves to a point at which they were broke despite a healthy six figure income and all the perks of the governor’s office. Financial desperation (accompanied, of course, by a huge and misplaced ego) led the RodMan to use his office as leverage in usually hare-brained money raising schemes designed to keep the profligate pair from financial ruin.
Now we learn that Patti Blagojevich, who had displayed such keen financial management skills in her personal life, has, or had, a license to be a financial advisor. So if you need advice on how to spend yourself into the poor house, I suppose she’s your gal.
The lesson? Be careful when someone calling himself or herself a financial advisor wants to help you with your money. There are plenty (well, at least a few) good ones out there, but the profession is populated with popinjays and politicasters peddling pap and presdigitation.
On another note…
John Harris may be nearing the end of his testimony in the Blagojevich case, but keep your eye on this guy. Given his background, he knows more about what really goes on in this city than anyone else who has so far appeared in this trial. See my 12/13/08 post “I TRUST THESE MEN WITH MY LIFE, SENATOR. TO ASK THEM TO LEAVE NOW WOULD BE AN INSULT.” But Harris still probably doesn’t know enough to cause real trouble for the people who really matter. See Chapter 5 of my upcoming book, THE CHAIRMAN’S CHALLENGE, A CONTINUING NOVEL OF BIG CITY POLITICS, part of which I will post on the blog. See my next (or last, depending on one’s perspective) post.
Monday, June 21, 2010
MEANWHILE, IN THE LAND OF GOOD GOVERNMENT…
6/21/10
This morning’s (i.e., Monday, 6/21/10’s) Chicago Sun-Times treated its readers to the tale of the DuPage National Technology Park, created with $34 million of your money at the insistence of such GOP small government types as Denny Hastert and Pate Philip. The “technology park,” yet another failed experiment in the industrial policy that the Republicans so despise unless such experiments are conducted in their districts and/or on their friends, boasts two buildings, one of which is vacant, on its 800 acres. Net job creation and technology developed are both quite close to zero. We also learned in the same article of Jack Tenison, the former Naperville city councilman (Such plebeian terms as “alderman” are not used out in these “better” areas, don’t you see.) who is now executive director of the tech park, for which he draws a salary of nearly $152,000 on top of his $6,000 car allowance and $118,000 pension for the years he spent on the payroll in Naperville. Besides not achieving much success in developing the park, Mr. Tenison seems to have an aversion to his office; he rarely, according to the report, comes to work. But who can blame him? Managing an empty “technology park” has to get boring, causing the hours to drag. Why not just stay in the house and tell everyone you’re “working from home”?
Mr. Tenison, though, with the type of humility seemingly endemic to our public servants, says he has done plenty for his generous compensation. As he so self-effacingly puts it:
“I don’t want to sound arrogant or anything, but I built the tech park. I built the infrastructure out there. I put in the fiber optics. I worked on the design. It’s not a job to me. It’s a passion. I’m always doing work.”
That doesn’t sound at all arrogant now, does it? The man’s an electrician, a wiring expert, a building contractor, a design genius. One wonders why, with his myriad skills and sense of perspective, he wasted all those years on the public payroll when a man of his talents could have made so much more in the private sector. Oh, yeah, I forgot: He is obviously devoted to public service.
In their defense, some of the pols out here, including Gerald Gorski, vice chairman of the airport authority, which is nominally in charge of the “technology park” and other members of the board, tried to zero out both Mr. Tenison’s position and the whole tech park subsidy, only to be muscled by Bob Schillerstrom, DuPage County Board Chairman who ran for governor on, of course, a small government platform, promising to clean things up in Springfield. Mr. Schillerstrom, warning that “Jack’s (Tenison’s) my guy,” vetoed the entire airport authority budget (not a bad idea at that, but for entirely different reasons) in order to protect his pal and former assistant in Naperville city government. Mr. Schillerstrom, displaying the type of courage seemingly imbedded in politicians’ genes, now has passed the buck, saying that Gorski and other members of the airport authority “…are able to handle the daily operations of their post” and blaming them for yielding to his pressure to keep Mr. Tenison in his sinecure.
Further evidence for two by now self-evident truths are contained in this comical tale. First, Republican officeholders, as opposed to most rank and file Republicans, are full of horse excrement when they try to tell us they are for small government. As I said in the first paragraph of this screed, they love big and growing government, as long as its growth is in their direction.
Second, the pols, and many of the people, out here like to cluck their tongues at the corruption in the great city to our east. But they continue to act like, and elect, legions of Vito Marzullo wannabes who have no trouble with lining their own pockets at public expense, making a career out of, er, feeding at the public trough, to put it nicely. At least with the corrupt pols who run Chicago, we don’t (or didn’t, more properly) get a lot of hypocrisy and high sounding rhetoric about good, open, small, and honest government. The aforementioned Mr. Marzullo once told a class at Harvard, “I entered politics to reward my friends and screw my enemies.” These popinjays in the western ‘burbs entered politics for the same reasons, but got to positions of power and self-enrichment by decrying the very politics that Mr. Marzullo so artfully and unabashedly practiced.
This morning’s (i.e., Monday, 6/21/10’s) Chicago Sun-Times treated its readers to the tale of the DuPage National Technology Park, created with $34 million of your money at the insistence of such GOP small government types as Denny Hastert and Pate Philip. The “technology park,” yet another failed experiment in the industrial policy that the Republicans so despise unless such experiments are conducted in their districts and/or on their friends, boasts two buildings, one of which is vacant, on its 800 acres. Net job creation and technology developed are both quite close to zero. We also learned in the same article of Jack Tenison, the former Naperville city councilman (Such plebeian terms as “alderman” are not used out in these “better” areas, don’t you see.) who is now executive director of the tech park, for which he draws a salary of nearly $152,000 on top of his $6,000 car allowance and $118,000 pension for the years he spent on the payroll in Naperville. Besides not achieving much success in developing the park, Mr. Tenison seems to have an aversion to his office; he rarely, according to the report, comes to work. But who can blame him? Managing an empty “technology park” has to get boring, causing the hours to drag. Why not just stay in the house and tell everyone you’re “working from home”?
Mr. Tenison, though, with the type of humility seemingly endemic to our public servants, says he has done plenty for his generous compensation. As he so self-effacingly puts it:
“I don’t want to sound arrogant or anything, but I built the tech park. I built the infrastructure out there. I put in the fiber optics. I worked on the design. It’s not a job to me. It’s a passion. I’m always doing work.”
That doesn’t sound at all arrogant now, does it? The man’s an electrician, a wiring expert, a building contractor, a design genius. One wonders why, with his myriad skills and sense of perspective, he wasted all those years on the public payroll when a man of his talents could have made so much more in the private sector. Oh, yeah, I forgot: He is obviously devoted to public service.
In their defense, some of the pols out here, including Gerald Gorski, vice chairman of the airport authority, which is nominally in charge of the “technology park” and other members of the board, tried to zero out both Mr. Tenison’s position and the whole tech park subsidy, only to be muscled by Bob Schillerstrom, DuPage County Board Chairman who ran for governor on, of course, a small government platform, promising to clean things up in Springfield. Mr. Schillerstrom, warning that “Jack’s (Tenison’s) my guy,” vetoed the entire airport authority budget (not a bad idea at that, but for entirely different reasons) in order to protect his pal and former assistant in Naperville city government. Mr. Schillerstrom, displaying the type of courage seemingly imbedded in politicians’ genes, now has passed the buck, saying that Gorski and other members of the airport authority “…are able to handle the daily operations of their post” and blaming them for yielding to his pressure to keep Mr. Tenison in his sinecure.
Further evidence for two by now self-evident truths are contained in this comical tale. First, Republican officeholders, as opposed to most rank and file Republicans, are full of horse excrement when they try to tell us they are for small government. As I said in the first paragraph of this screed, they love big and growing government, as long as its growth is in their direction.
Second, the pols, and many of the people, out here like to cluck their tongues at the corruption in the great city to our east. But they continue to act like, and elect, legions of Vito Marzullo wannabes who have no trouble with lining their own pockets at public expense, making a career out of, er, feeding at the public trough, to put it nicely. At least with the corrupt pols who run Chicago, we don’t (or didn’t, more properly) get a lot of hypocrisy and high sounding rhetoric about good, open, small, and honest government. The aforementioned Mr. Marzullo once told a class at Harvard, “I entered politics to reward my friends and screw my enemies.” These popinjays in the western ‘burbs entered politics for the same reasons, but got to positions of power and self-enrichment by decrying the very politics that Mr. Marzullo so artfully and unabashedly practiced.
LOOK WHO’S PULLING THE RICKSHAW NOW
6/21/10
The big news over the weekend, the weekend that, not at all coincidentally, preceded the weekend on which the G-20 meets in Toronto, was the decision by China to return to a “managed floating exchange rate” for its currency with two names. Don’t kid yourself; this return on the part of the Chinese to the approach to the renminbi/yuan that prevailed until 2005 does not mark “…the beginning of a new era,” as Li Daokui, a member of the Chinese central bank’s monetary policy committee put it. What we saw over the weekend was not a major shift in Chinese currency policy but, rather, a feint toward the G-20 and such economic illiterati as Senator Chuck Schumer and a small move to contain a domestic inflation rate that is getting out of control. China simply cannot let the yuan appreciate to a market clearing level.
The reason that the Chinese cannot let the renminbi appreciate appreciably has little to do with the balance of trade, the focus of discussion of the “experts” in the wake of the weekend’s moves. While I realize that life takes place at the margin, even big changes in exchange rates are not going to have a noticeable impact on the obvious advantages those who manufacture or assemble in China have over their counterparts in Europe or North America With, for example, Chinese autoworkers recently having received a raise to about $1.20 an hour, and working in factories that would not look at all out of place in Lansing, Marysville, Oshawa, Stuttgart, Munich, or Hiroshima, it isn’t the value of their currency that gives the Chinese a big advantage in trade. Further, since those who manufacture or assemble in China, whether domestic or foreign, import a substantial portion (in the case of car manufacturing, nearly half) of their parts, a stronger yuan will have some salubrious effects on the overall terms of trade. No, the “terms of trade,” properly understood, are not going to be affected much by a strengthening of the yuan.
The real reason that the Chinese cannot allow the yuan to appreciate, and the dollar to depreciate, is not an income statement reason (terms of trade), but, rather, a balance sheet reason, i.e., the nearly $1 trillion in dollar denominated assets held by the Chinese central bank and other Chinese entities. A sharp appreciation in the yuan against the dollar would have substantial consequences for Chinese wealth. That is why this weekend’s “big news” is not as big as it appears.
One could argue, with a great deal of justification, that one cannot put the genie back in the bottle, that once the yuan starts to move the pressure, and not only from speculators, but also from other natural market forces, will be irresistible. But the Chinese have a lot of money and a lot of brains, the former of which we gave them, and thus the ability to fight even market forces for protracted periods of time. Doubtless one of the tacks the Chinese will take in the “managed floating exchange rate” regime will be further, and probably heightened, browbeating of the U.S., to defend the value of its currency by applying both fiscal and monetary discipline, concepts that have become increasingly foreign on these shores as we have increasingly come under the influence of “experts” who have never made a legitimate dollar but who insist that the principles involved in actually making a living (frugality, sobriety, budgeting, restraint, reflection) are hopelessly dated relics of a benighted era. Though we won’t like being lectured by the Chinese on principles we once practiced but have long since forgotten, this further license for Chinese hectoring will be one of the beneficial byproducts of the sort of floating yuan. Since we can’t discipline ourselves, we need these lectures on fiscal and monetary sanity, especially when delivered by people with an assortment of cudgels that can be used to drive those lessons home.
So to the extent that the yuan floats, we will be subject to more lectures and punishments designed to get us to do what adults, sorely lacking in modern America, and especially in its public sector, should know to do without constant browbeating.
In former centuries, western colonialists forced the Chinese, often Chinese with far more mental horsepower than their colonial masters, to do menial tasks like pulling rickshaws (a term, by the way, which is a western bastardization of “jinrikisha”). In the post western binge world, the Chinese will be forcing us to do tasks that, while not necessarily menial, should have been obvious to us for years. Some will say this is poetic justice, but calling the newly turned tables by that term ignores an important difference. The colonialists forced the Chinese to do their bidding by force of superior arms. We, on the other hand, put the Chinese in charge by our own unrestrained spending and borrowing. To paraphrase a guy who shared the philosophy the Chinese still nominally, but laughingly, embrace, we, in this instance, bought the rope with which the Chinese can hang , or, hopefully, teach, us.
The big news over the weekend, the weekend that, not at all coincidentally, preceded the weekend on which the G-20 meets in Toronto, was the decision by China to return to a “managed floating exchange rate” for its currency with two names. Don’t kid yourself; this return on the part of the Chinese to the approach to the renminbi/yuan that prevailed until 2005 does not mark “…the beginning of a new era,” as Li Daokui, a member of the Chinese central bank’s monetary policy committee put it. What we saw over the weekend was not a major shift in Chinese currency policy but, rather, a feint toward the G-20 and such economic illiterati as Senator Chuck Schumer and a small move to contain a domestic inflation rate that is getting out of control. China simply cannot let the yuan appreciate to a market clearing level.
The reason that the Chinese cannot let the renminbi appreciate appreciably has little to do with the balance of trade, the focus of discussion of the “experts” in the wake of the weekend’s moves. While I realize that life takes place at the margin, even big changes in exchange rates are not going to have a noticeable impact on the obvious advantages those who manufacture or assemble in China have over their counterparts in Europe or North America With, for example, Chinese autoworkers recently having received a raise to about $1.20 an hour, and working in factories that would not look at all out of place in Lansing, Marysville, Oshawa, Stuttgart, Munich, or Hiroshima, it isn’t the value of their currency that gives the Chinese a big advantage in trade. Further, since those who manufacture or assemble in China, whether domestic or foreign, import a substantial portion (in the case of car manufacturing, nearly half) of their parts, a stronger yuan will have some salubrious effects on the overall terms of trade. No, the “terms of trade,” properly understood, are not going to be affected much by a strengthening of the yuan.
The real reason that the Chinese cannot allow the yuan to appreciate, and the dollar to depreciate, is not an income statement reason (terms of trade), but, rather, a balance sheet reason, i.e., the nearly $1 trillion in dollar denominated assets held by the Chinese central bank and other Chinese entities. A sharp appreciation in the yuan against the dollar would have substantial consequences for Chinese wealth. That is why this weekend’s “big news” is not as big as it appears.
One could argue, with a great deal of justification, that one cannot put the genie back in the bottle, that once the yuan starts to move the pressure, and not only from speculators, but also from other natural market forces, will be irresistible. But the Chinese have a lot of money and a lot of brains, the former of which we gave them, and thus the ability to fight even market forces for protracted periods of time. Doubtless one of the tacks the Chinese will take in the “managed floating exchange rate” regime will be further, and probably heightened, browbeating of the U.S., to defend the value of its currency by applying both fiscal and monetary discipline, concepts that have become increasingly foreign on these shores as we have increasingly come under the influence of “experts” who have never made a legitimate dollar but who insist that the principles involved in actually making a living (frugality, sobriety, budgeting, restraint, reflection) are hopelessly dated relics of a benighted era. Though we won’t like being lectured by the Chinese on principles we once practiced but have long since forgotten, this further license for Chinese hectoring will be one of the beneficial byproducts of the sort of floating yuan. Since we can’t discipline ourselves, we need these lectures on fiscal and monetary sanity, especially when delivered by people with an assortment of cudgels that can be used to drive those lessons home.
So to the extent that the yuan floats, we will be subject to more lectures and punishments designed to get us to do what adults, sorely lacking in modern America, and especially in its public sector, should know to do without constant browbeating.
In former centuries, western colonialists forced the Chinese, often Chinese with far more mental horsepower than their colonial masters, to do menial tasks like pulling rickshaws (a term, by the way, which is a western bastardization of “jinrikisha”). In the post western binge world, the Chinese will be forcing us to do tasks that, while not necessarily menial, should have been obvious to us for years. Some will say this is poetic justice, but calling the newly turned tables by that term ignores an important difference. The colonialists forced the Chinese to do their bidding by force of superior arms. We, on the other hand, put the Chinese in charge by our own unrestrained spending and borrowing. To paraphrase a guy who shared the philosophy the Chinese still nominally, but laughingly, embrace, we, in this instance, bought the rope with which the Chinese can hang , or, hopefully, teach, us.
Friday, June 18, 2010
“I’M INTIMATELY FAMILIAR WITH THE PROJECT, OR AT LEAST WITH THE MOST IMPORTANT ASPECTS OF IT. I KNOW HOW MUCH YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE ON IT.
6/18/10
Yesterday, most of the media and “leaders” of our two major political parties wrung their hands and otherwise expressed outrage and vituperation at Representative Joe Barton’s (R., TX) characterization of the demands that British Petroleum come up with $20 billion escrow fund, to be ladled out by the same types who do such a good job with your tax money, as a “shakedown.” But these same CYA practicing estimables seem to have completely ignored comments made the day before by Representative Tom Price (R., GA), who characterized the Obama’s demand for money not only as a shakedown but, more colorfully and correctly, as a “Chicago-style political shakedown.”
It is indeed unfortunate that so much attention has been focused on Mr. Barton’s comments while Mr. Price’s comments have been more or less ignored. Why? Because Mr. Price’s comments present yours truly with a golden opportunity to promote my books.
Those of you who really want to understand the nature of “Chicago-style shakedown politics” but don’t want to wade through some turbid tome by some outsider who hasn’t the faintest idea of how things work in this town would do well to read the following two books:
The Chairman, A Novel of Big City Politics, available at Amazon.com, theirishbookclub.com, independent bookstores throughout the Chicago area (most notably Anderson’s in Naperville, Bookie’s in Beverly, 57th Street Books in Hyde Park, Columbia College Book Store on Michigan Avenue, Book Stall in Winnetka, Townhouse Books in St. Charles), and by order anywhere books are sold.
The Chairman’s Challenge, A Continuing Novel of Big City Politics, which will be available later this summer, perhaps even more widely than The Chairman. Readers of the Insightful Pontificator will be among the first to know when this (perhaps even better than the original) book will be available.
Thanks.
Yesterday, most of the media and “leaders” of our two major political parties wrung their hands and otherwise expressed outrage and vituperation at Representative Joe Barton’s (R., TX) characterization of the demands that British Petroleum come up with $20 billion escrow fund, to be ladled out by the same types who do such a good job with your tax money, as a “shakedown.” But these same CYA practicing estimables seem to have completely ignored comments made the day before by Representative Tom Price (R., GA), who characterized the Obama’s demand for money not only as a shakedown but, more colorfully and correctly, as a “Chicago-style political shakedown.”
It is indeed unfortunate that so much attention has been focused on Mr. Barton’s comments while Mr. Price’s comments have been more or less ignored. Why? Because Mr. Price’s comments present yours truly with a golden opportunity to promote my books.
Those of you who really want to understand the nature of “Chicago-style shakedown politics” but don’t want to wade through some turbid tome by some outsider who hasn’t the faintest idea of how things work in this town would do well to read the following two books:
The Chairman, A Novel of Big City Politics, available at Amazon.com, theirishbookclub.com, independent bookstores throughout the Chicago area (most notably Anderson’s in Naperville, Bookie’s in Beverly, 57th Street Books in Hyde Park, Columbia College Book Store on Michigan Avenue, Book Stall in Winnetka, Townhouse Books in St. Charles), and by order anywhere books are sold.
The Chairman’s Challenge, A Continuing Novel of Big City Politics, which will be available later this summer, perhaps even more widely than The Chairman. Readers of the Insightful Pontificator will be among the first to know when this (perhaps even better than the original) book will be available.
Thanks.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
“I SAY WE BLAST!”
6/17/10
“Disarming people and leaving them naked, particularly where security is thin, you have to be pragmatic about this.”
Those were the words of British Major General (Okay, how many of you immediately think of Gilbert and Sullivan’s Pirates of Penzance whenever you hear the term “British Major General”? Just checking, and digressing, but doing so parenthetically.) Philip Jones used when explaining a new policy of allowing Afghan insurgents to keep their weapons if they sign on to the latest “peace” plan concocted by the Afghan “government.” Though on its face, the policy looks foolhardy, with even a moment’s reflection, it makes eminent sense; Afghanistan is not a place where one wants to be unarmed. To force those who want to cooperate to disarm assures a total lack of cooperation.
General Jones, clearly a more sound military man than the aforementioned Gilbert and Sullivan character, could just as easily, though, been talking about the streets of Chicago and Mayor Daley’s beloved gun ban that looks about to be deep-sixed by the Supreme Court. What sense does it make to prohibit otherwise law abiding citizens, three of whom in recent weeks have been able to dispatch armed home or business invaders to the next life because those citizens had the good sense to defy Daley’s law, from defending themselves from the armed thugs who control so many of this, or any, city’s neighborhoods?
One might argue that, given that the Chicago Police Department is, with the exception of its very highest echelon, perhaps the best police force in the country, security is not “thin” in Chicago. But the police can’t be everywhere and they, at least for now, lack the speed of, say, Flash or Superman. Further, the courts, given their continuing propensity to see criminals as sociology projects rather than, in most cases, unreformable blights on society with nothing but mayhem, or worse, to contribute, do nothing to make the typical cop’s job easier but plenty to make criminals feel more or less invulnerable. So, in many cases, the only thing that stands between the citizen and the designs of the latest sewer carp to land on his property is that citizen’s gun.
It makes no sense to force Afghans who want to cooperate with the “government” we installed to give up their guns; to demand that they surrender their weapons would assure only their utter vulnerability to the tender mercies of those who would never even dream of cooperation and thus continued defiance of allied forces by all parties to that convoluted conflict. Similarly, it makes no sense to force law abiding citizens of Chicago, or of this entire country, to give up their guns; to demand that they surrender their weapons assures only their vulnerability to those for whom laws mean nothing but a minor inconvenience in their pursuit of all manner of thuggery.
“Disarming people and leaving them naked, particularly where security is thin, you have to be pragmatic about this.”
Those were the words of British Major General (Okay, how many of you immediately think of Gilbert and Sullivan’s Pirates of Penzance whenever you hear the term “British Major General”? Just checking, and digressing, but doing so parenthetically.) Philip Jones used when explaining a new policy of allowing Afghan insurgents to keep their weapons if they sign on to the latest “peace” plan concocted by the Afghan “government.” Though on its face, the policy looks foolhardy, with even a moment’s reflection, it makes eminent sense; Afghanistan is not a place where one wants to be unarmed. To force those who want to cooperate to disarm assures a total lack of cooperation.
General Jones, clearly a more sound military man than the aforementioned Gilbert and Sullivan character, could just as easily, though, been talking about the streets of Chicago and Mayor Daley’s beloved gun ban that looks about to be deep-sixed by the Supreme Court. What sense does it make to prohibit otherwise law abiding citizens, three of whom in recent weeks have been able to dispatch armed home or business invaders to the next life because those citizens had the good sense to defy Daley’s law, from defending themselves from the armed thugs who control so many of this, or any, city’s neighborhoods?
One might argue that, given that the Chicago Police Department is, with the exception of its very highest echelon, perhaps the best police force in the country, security is not “thin” in Chicago. But the police can’t be everywhere and they, at least for now, lack the speed of, say, Flash or Superman. Further, the courts, given their continuing propensity to see criminals as sociology projects rather than, in most cases, unreformable blights on society with nothing but mayhem, or worse, to contribute, do nothing to make the typical cop’s job easier but plenty to make criminals feel more or less invulnerable. So, in many cases, the only thing that stands between the citizen and the designs of the latest sewer carp to land on his property is that citizen’s gun.
It makes no sense to force Afghans who want to cooperate with the “government” we installed to give up their guns; to demand that they surrender their weapons would assure only their utter vulnerability to the tender mercies of those who would never even dream of cooperation and thus continued defiance of allied forces by all parties to that convoluted conflict. Similarly, it makes no sense to force law abiding citizens of Chicago, or of this entire country, to give up their guns; to demand that they surrender their weapons assures only their vulnerability to those for whom laws mean nothing but a minor inconvenience in their pursuit of all manner of thuggery.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
“I HOPE TO STUDY FURTHER, A FEW MORE YEARS OR SO…”
6/12/10
Today’s (i.e., Saturday, 6/12’s) Wall Street Journal reports on the curious case of Alvin Greene, a heretofore unknown unemployed 32 year old battling felony obscenity charges who ran no visible campaign yet won the Democratic nomination to run for the U.S. Senate against Republican incumbent Jim DeMint. Making the story even more curious is that Mr. Greene, seemingly so destitute that he qualified for the services of a public defender in his ongoing obscenity rap, came up with $10,400 first from a personal checking account and, when that didn’t past legal muster, in the form a check with “Alvin M. Greene for Senate” hand-written in the upper left hand corner. Voting patterns also seemed peculiar (at least by South Carolina standards; see below), with Mr. Greene getting 75% of the vote in more than 300 precincts.
What was most salient to this observer, though, was a comment from South Carolina State Senate Minority Leader John Land (also a Democrat) who opined that the Greene case was “just the craziest thing I’ve ever seen in politics.”
Hmm…The craziest thing Mr. Land has ever seen in politics?
Apparently, Mr. Land has never spent much, if any, time in Chicago and has never read my book, The Chairman, A Novel of Big City Politics (available on Amazon.com, theirishbookclub.com, at independent bookstores throughout the Chicagoland area, and anywhere by order) and its upcoming sequel, tentatively named The Chairman’s Challenge and not available anywhere until later this summer.
Today’s (i.e., Saturday, 6/12’s) Wall Street Journal reports on the curious case of Alvin Greene, a heretofore unknown unemployed 32 year old battling felony obscenity charges who ran no visible campaign yet won the Democratic nomination to run for the U.S. Senate against Republican incumbent Jim DeMint. Making the story even more curious is that Mr. Greene, seemingly so destitute that he qualified for the services of a public defender in his ongoing obscenity rap, came up with $10,400 first from a personal checking account and, when that didn’t past legal muster, in the form a check with “Alvin M. Greene for Senate” hand-written in the upper left hand corner. Voting patterns also seemed peculiar (at least by South Carolina standards; see below), with Mr. Greene getting 75% of the vote in more than 300 precincts.
What was most salient to this observer, though, was a comment from South Carolina State Senate Minority Leader John Land (also a Democrat) who opined that the Greene case was “just the craziest thing I’ve ever seen in politics.”
Hmm…The craziest thing Mr. Land has ever seen in politics?
Apparently, Mr. Land has never spent much, if any, time in Chicago and has never read my book, The Chairman, A Novel of Big City Politics (available on Amazon.com, theirishbookclub.com, at independent bookstores throughout the Chicagoland area, and anywhere by order) and its upcoming sequel, tentatively named The Chairman’s Challenge and not available anywhere until later this summer.
LET’S SPEND LOTS OF MONEY, APPOINT A COMMITTEE, HAVE SOME MEETINGS AND TELL PEOPLE WE’RE WORKING ON IT
6/12/10
The Gulf oil spill, along with the last, or next depending on one’s perspective, post got me thinking about our approach in this country to problem solving and its ramifications for GDP.
The spill seems to have been brought under control, but maybe not. In any event, it seemed to take a long time to solve a problem that never should have occurred in the first place. At the same time, the site of the 9/11 attacks in New York City remains, for all intents and purposes, empty; it will still be years before a replacement for the World Trade Center is in place. On a larger scale, we still have a large, and some might argue growing, underclass that seems to be sinking into greater despair on a daily basis. In our inner cities, high school graduation rates are pitifully low. Even in our nicer suburbs, one wonders how much “education” high school graduates get.
The larger point is that in this overly politicized, bureaucratized, and regulated country, in which leadership has been replaced by sycophancy and pandering, we have a difficult time solving any problems or even getting anything done. To use an overly clichéd analogy, it has taken us longer in the first decade of the new millennium to replace the World Trade Center than it took us to put a man on the moon in the 1960s.
On the other hand, we have no difficulty, hiring people and spending money attempting to solve problems and get things done. And those in most cases unnecessary and futile expenditures are counted as additions to GDP. Kind of makes one think.
The Gulf oil spill, along with the last, or next depending on one’s perspective, post got me thinking about our approach in this country to problem solving and its ramifications for GDP.
The spill seems to have been brought under control, but maybe not. In any event, it seemed to take a long time to solve a problem that never should have occurred in the first place. At the same time, the site of the 9/11 attacks in New York City remains, for all intents and purposes, empty; it will still be years before a replacement for the World Trade Center is in place. On a larger scale, we still have a large, and some might argue growing, underclass that seems to be sinking into greater despair on a daily basis. In our inner cities, high school graduation rates are pitifully low. Even in our nicer suburbs, one wonders how much “education” high school graduates get.
The larger point is that in this overly politicized, bureaucratized, and regulated country, in which leadership has been replaced by sycophancy and pandering, we have a difficult time solving any problems or even getting anything done. To use an overly clichéd analogy, it has taken us longer in the first decade of the new millennium to replace the World Trade Center than it took us to put a man on the moon in the 1960s.
On the other hand, we have no difficulty, hiring people and spending money attempting to solve problems and get things done. And those in most cases unnecessary and futile expenditures are counted as additions to GDP. Kind of makes one think.
“LET’S SPEND IT, (BORROW) IT, SEND IT ROLLING ALONG”
6/12/10
This morning’s (i.e., Saturday, 6/12’s) Wall Street Journal featured a page A1 headline that read
“Consumers Tighten Belts
Surprise Drop in Spending Adds to Doubts About Recovery’s Strength”
One who read that headline in conjunction with the article that accompanied it could almost see the handwringing among the economic and financial experts. The idea seemed to be that if the consumers don’t spend, we’re doomed. Typical of the reactions to Friday’s reported 1.2% drop in May consumer spending was this one from Morgan Stanley economist David Greenlaw. “The report was a disappointment,” Mr. Greenlaw said with Wall Street’s customary circumspect understatement.
Baloney, I say.
Sure, according to the traditional (I would like to say “Keynesian,” but that term, in the hands of a few economic illiterati on the right, has taken on pejorative tones way out of proportion to the justifiable criticism Lord Keynes’ ideas would normally merit in sober, well reasoned discussion, but I digress.) C+I+G+X formulation for GDP, C is the critical component, composing something like 2/3 of this nation’s economic “output.” So simple arithmetic, and, some might say, common sense, indicates that if C is not robust, the economy, by conventional measures, will flounder.
However, there is something more at work here. For the last sixty or so years, and especially in the last thirty or so years, consumption has gotten entirely out of hand in this country. While people have been completely justifiably wailing and gnashing their teeth about the government’s spending money it doesn’t have, they have been doing precisely the same thing themselves. Note that following figures for household indebtedness as a percent of disposable income:
1952 36%
1985 69%
2007 132%
Only in 2009, in reaction to the financial meltdown, did the rate start to fall. It is currently at about 120-125%, almost (with a little arithmetical license) twice what it was in 1985 and nearly four times what it was in 1952. 1985, by the way, is not ancient history, and neither is 1952.
This trend simply has to be broken if the Republic is to continue as a going concern. At the expense of sounding trite, we cannot continue to eat the seed corn without eventually (which, in our modern society, comes much more quickly than it used to) starving.
For those who might concede my point but who also would quote Keynes’ wry observation “In the long run, we are all dead,” I might point out that even in the not so long run a reordering or Americans’ financial priorities might be essential to our economic survival. Note the following excerpt from this morning’s article:
“The surprisingly poor sales cast doubt on the durability of a rebound in consumer spending that had allowed economists to raise their forecasts for U.S. growth this year…”
Even if one is concerned with the “durability” of this particular recovery, and not the survival of our once great nation and robust economy, one ought to cheer the cutback in consumer spending. After all, how durable can a rebound in consumer spending be if consumers don’t build some savings that they can later, according to the American custom, frivolously pee away? A cynic might say that being broke never stopped Americans from spending before and a cynic might, as usual, be correct. But somewhere, somehow, somethin’s gotta give; one can’t spend what one doesn’t have, unless one is the federal government, forever. Can one?
This morning’s (i.e., Saturday, 6/12’s) Wall Street Journal featured a page A1 headline that read
“Consumers Tighten Belts
Surprise Drop in Spending Adds to Doubts About Recovery’s Strength”
One who read that headline in conjunction with the article that accompanied it could almost see the handwringing among the economic and financial experts. The idea seemed to be that if the consumers don’t spend, we’re doomed. Typical of the reactions to Friday’s reported 1.2% drop in May consumer spending was this one from Morgan Stanley economist David Greenlaw. “The report was a disappointment,” Mr. Greenlaw said with Wall Street’s customary circumspect understatement.
Baloney, I say.
Sure, according to the traditional (I would like to say “Keynesian,” but that term, in the hands of a few economic illiterati on the right, has taken on pejorative tones way out of proportion to the justifiable criticism Lord Keynes’ ideas would normally merit in sober, well reasoned discussion, but I digress.) C+I+G+X formulation for GDP, C is the critical component, composing something like 2/3 of this nation’s economic “output.” So simple arithmetic, and, some might say, common sense, indicates that if C is not robust, the economy, by conventional measures, will flounder.
However, there is something more at work here. For the last sixty or so years, and especially in the last thirty or so years, consumption has gotten entirely out of hand in this country. While people have been completely justifiably wailing and gnashing their teeth about the government’s spending money it doesn’t have, they have been doing precisely the same thing themselves. Note that following figures for household indebtedness as a percent of disposable income:
1952 36%
1985 69%
2007 132%
Only in 2009, in reaction to the financial meltdown, did the rate start to fall. It is currently at about 120-125%, almost (with a little arithmetical license) twice what it was in 1985 and nearly four times what it was in 1952. 1985, by the way, is not ancient history, and neither is 1952.
This trend simply has to be broken if the Republic is to continue as a going concern. At the expense of sounding trite, we cannot continue to eat the seed corn without eventually (which, in our modern society, comes much more quickly than it used to) starving.
For those who might concede my point but who also would quote Keynes’ wry observation “In the long run, we are all dead,” I might point out that even in the not so long run a reordering or Americans’ financial priorities might be essential to our economic survival. Note the following excerpt from this morning’s article:
“The surprisingly poor sales cast doubt on the durability of a rebound in consumer spending that had allowed economists to raise their forecasts for U.S. growth this year…”
Even if one is concerned with the “durability” of this particular recovery, and not the survival of our once great nation and robust economy, one ought to cheer the cutback in consumer spending. After all, how durable can a rebound in consumer spending be if consumers don’t build some savings that they can later, according to the American custom, frivolously pee away? A cynic might say that being broke never stopped Americans from spending before and a cynic might, as usual, be correct. But somewhere, somehow, somethin’s gotta give; one can’t spend what one doesn’t have, unless one is the federal government, forever. Can one?
Thursday, June 10, 2010
“I NEED THE JACKET WITH THE BLACK SEQUINS; I’M GOING TO A FUNERAL”
6/10/09
I sent the following letter to AutoWeek and thought my readers would enjoy it, primarily for its employment of the latest of my many OGCRs (Old Geezer Cultural References).
6/10/09
Roger Hart declares in your June 7 issue that
“…the cabin (of the new Volvo S60) can best be described as understatedly elegant…”
Almost directly to the left of that statement, on page 29, is a picture of the Volvo’s interior featuring “understatedly elegant” bright orange upholstery and door panel trim.
Has Liberace emerged from the grave to find work as AutoWeek’s interior design critic?
I sent the following letter to AutoWeek and thought my readers would enjoy it, primarily for its employment of the latest of my many OGCRs (Old Geezer Cultural References).
6/10/09
Roger Hart declares in your June 7 issue that
“…the cabin (of the new Volvo S60) can best be described as understatedly elegant…”
Almost directly to the left of that statement, on page 29, is a picture of the Volvo’s interior featuring “understatedly elegant” bright orange upholstery and door panel trim.
Has Liberace emerged from the grave to find work as AutoWeek’s interior design critic?
“I’LL GLADLY PAY YOU TOMORROW FOR A HAMBURGER TODAY”
6/10/10
This morning’s (i.e., Thursday, 6/10/10’s, page A8) Wall Street Journal reports that Fed Chairman Obsequious Ben Bernanke said that, given the size of our federal deficit ($1.4 trillion according to the CBO), it would be a good idea to have a deficit reduction plan in place but that we shouldn’t implement such a plan yet because the economy couldn’t take it. His words:
“We have a recovery under way now. So, in the very near term, increased taxes, cuts in spending that are too large would be…a drag on the recovery. At the same time, we need to convince markets that in the medium and longer term we have a sustainable fiscal path.”
The Fed Chairman, back when America was great, was the country’s lead central banker, charged with, and only with, managing the money supply in such a manner that inflation was kept in check. Unfortunately, over the last few decades, coincident with a sharp decline in the competence of those who have held the post, the Fed Chairman’s job has metamorphosized into economic czar, a repository of some sort of manifest wisdom whose every utterance must be treated with the deference formerly reserved only for popes who have served since Pius IX declared himself and his successors infallible. So now we have our economic czar telling us, in effect, that, yes, we have an unprecedented, gargantuan deficit that is clearly unsustainable and thus we should have a plan to bring it down. But we shouldn’t implement that plan yet because the economic recovery that is so celebrated on Wall Street and CNBC is far too fragile to withstand the rigors of fiscal discipline. But, yes, sometime in the future, when things get better, we should put that plan into place, yes sir.
And people wonder why I do not share the unrestrained bullishness, on either the market or the future of the Republic, that is so much the rage nowadays.
This morning’s (i.e., Thursday, 6/10/10’s, page A8) Wall Street Journal reports that Fed Chairman Obsequious Ben Bernanke said that, given the size of our federal deficit ($1.4 trillion according to the CBO), it would be a good idea to have a deficit reduction plan in place but that we shouldn’t implement such a plan yet because the economy couldn’t take it. His words:
“We have a recovery under way now. So, in the very near term, increased taxes, cuts in spending that are too large would be…a drag on the recovery. At the same time, we need to convince markets that in the medium and longer term we have a sustainable fiscal path.”
The Fed Chairman, back when America was great, was the country’s lead central banker, charged with, and only with, managing the money supply in such a manner that inflation was kept in check. Unfortunately, over the last few decades, coincident with a sharp decline in the competence of those who have held the post, the Fed Chairman’s job has metamorphosized into economic czar, a repository of some sort of manifest wisdom whose every utterance must be treated with the deference formerly reserved only for popes who have served since Pius IX declared himself and his successors infallible. So now we have our economic czar telling us, in effect, that, yes, we have an unprecedented, gargantuan deficit that is clearly unsustainable and thus we should have a plan to bring it down. But we shouldn’t implement that plan yet because the economic recovery that is so celebrated on Wall Street and CNBC is far too fragile to withstand the rigors of fiscal discipline. But, yes, sometime in the future, when things get better, we should put that plan into place, yes sir.
And people wonder why I do not share the unrestrained bullishness, on either the market or the future of the Republic, that is so much the rage nowadays.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
I OWE, I OWE SO OFF TO EXTORT I GO
6/9/10
Rarely do I get an opportunity, such as that presented by the Blagojevich trial, to wed two recurring topics/concepts of the Insightful Pontificator. Those two topics/concepts are, of course, Chicago politics and the shocking financial irresponsibility of broad swaths of the American public.
In their opening arguments, prosecutors argued that it was the crushing burden of personal debt that led the Rod-man on his spree of naked, blatant, insert hands directly into people’s pockets corruption. Prosecutors cited credit card debt and those oh so anodynely monikered “equity lines of credit” (second mortgages for those who see through all the marketing crap designed to make those who are broke feel financially sophisticated) that reached $200,000 in making this argument. They didn’t mention the million dollar plus home in Ravenswood or the completely unnecessary condo in Washington. All this on an income of far less than $200,000 before Patty Blagojevich took up her career as a conduit for funneling money to her corrupt husband (my words, not the prosecutors').
Such a heavy, self-imposed burden can lead people to take desperate measures, as the prosecutors allege our esteemed former governor did. But such fiscal frivolity, or worse, does even more far-reaching damage. On the societal level, such behavior has led us to eat the seed corn so carefully husbanded for decades by prior generations’ fiscal prudence, the type of fiscal prudence that enables those fathers and mothers to finance purchases by their progeny of homes, cars, and other trappings of wealth of which their parents could only dream, but that is another issue. It has left us at the mercy of overseas creditors who do not have our interests foremost in their minds. On the personal level, such mindless purchase of useless geegaws and gimcracks is a symptom of a soul-sickness, or at least a spiritual emptiness, as people futilely try to fill voids in important areas of their lives with wretched excess in extraneous aspects of their lives. Such showy silliness not only leads to financial ruin but also frustration, anger, and never-ending emptiness. If people only knew how foolish their spending made them look to a rational observer, they wouldn’t engage in such gormlessness; perhaps they ought to be happy that our country is so devoid of rational observers. But I digress; regular readers of the Pontificator have repeatedly been treated to the ideas espoused in this paragraph.
My point is that if Rod Blagojevich had acted like a leader rather than following the lemmings over the cliff of financial ruin in a vain attempt to achieve happiness where happiness cannot be found, he wouldn’t have placed himself in a financial situation that made his corruption spree so tempting. Perhaps if he had lived within his means, he could have been the governor “of the people” that he professes to have wanted to be. Had he taken a cue from the late Mayor Richard J. Daley, who, aside from a nearly manorial summer home in Grand Beach, probably financed by a large salary from the Cook County Regular Democratic Organization, led a very modest lifestyle, Blago could have been as effective an administrator, and as powerful a pol, as Richard I was.
Let me emphasize the word “maybe” in the last paragraph. Corrupt people are going to be corrupt. Thieves are going to steal. So if the Rod-man is truly corrupt, he would have been working his alleged seedy deals even if he lived in a bungalow on 35th and Lowe. And Mr. Blagojevich does not display anything approaching the type of judgment, prudence, sobriety, and attention to detail that characterized Richard J. Daley. But a bit of personal fiscal prudence on the Rod-man’s part would have been one more weight on the side of doing the right thing.
Sam Adam, Jr., Blago’s straight from central casting bombastic, clownish attorney, in his opening arguments, responded to the prosecutors’ contentions with
“And do you know why he’s broke? He ain’t corrupt.”
Mr. Adam may be a great lawyer but he displays an ignorance of finance that is shocking yet common. People aren’t broke because they didn’t take or, for that matter, earn, money, often substantial amounts of money. High income people, whether that income was derived honestly or dishonestly, are almost as likely to be broke as low income people. Being broke is a function not of making insufficient amounts of money but of spending more than one makes. Rod Blagojevich was broke not because he wasn’t corrupt but, rather, because he spent at a pace commensurate with an income at least five times higher than his officially reported income.
I do, however, agree with another of Mr. Adam’s arguments when he said of his client
“…his judgment is horrible.”
Though Mr. Adam was not speaking specifically of Mr. Blagojevich’s financial judgment, truer words will not be uttered for the duration of this trial.
Rarely do I get an opportunity, such as that presented by the Blagojevich trial, to wed two recurring topics/concepts of the Insightful Pontificator. Those two topics/concepts are, of course, Chicago politics and the shocking financial irresponsibility of broad swaths of the American public.
In their opening arguments, prosecutors argued that it was the crushing burden of personal debt that led the Rod-man on his spree of naked, blatant, insert hands directly into people’s pockets corruption. Prosecutors cited credit card debt and those oh so anodynely monikered “equity lines of credit” (second mortgages for those who see through all the marketing crap designed to make those who are broke feel financially sophisticated) that reached $200,000 in making this argument. They didn’t mention the million dollar plus home in Ravenswood or the completely unnecessary condo in Washington. All this on an income of far less than $200,000 before Patty Blagojevich took up her career as a conduit for funneling money to her corrupt husband (my words, not the prosecutors').
Such a heavy, self-imposed burden can lead people to take desperate measures, as the prosecutors allege our esteemed former governor did. But such fiscal frivolity, or worse, does even more far-reaching damage. On the societal level, such behavior has led us to eat the seed corn so carefully husbanded for decades by prior generations’ fiscal prudence, the type of fiscal prudence that enables those fathers and mothers to finance purchases by their progeny of homes, cars, and other trappings of wealth of which their parents could only dream, but that is another issue. It has left us at the mercy of overseas creditors who do not have our interests foremost in their minds. On the personal level, such mindless purchase of useless geegaws and gimcracks is a symptom of a soul-sickness, or at least a spiritual emptiness, as people futilely try to fill voids in important areas of their lives with wretched excess in extraneous aspects of their lives. Such showy silliness not only leads to financial ruin but also frustration, anger, and never-ending emptiness. If people only knew how foolish their spending made them look to a rational observer, they wouldn’t engage in such gormlessness; perhaps they ought to be happy that our country is so devoid of rational observers. But I digress; regular readers of the Pontificator have repeatedly been treated to the ideas espoused in this paragraph.
My point is that if Rod Blagojevich had acted like a leader rather than following the lemmings over the cliff of financial ruin in a vain attempt to achieve happiness where happiness cannot be found, he wouldn’t have placed himself in a financial situation that made his corruption spree so tempting. Perhaps if he had lived within his means, he could have been the governor “of the people” that he professes to have wanted to be. Had he taken a cue from the late Mayor Richard J. Daley, who, aside from a nearly manorial summer home in Grand Beach, probably financed by a large salary from the Cook County Regular Democratic Organization, led a very modest lifestyle, Blago could have been as effective an administrator, and as powerful a pol, as Richard I was.
Let me emphasize the word “maybe” in the last paragraph. Corrupt people are going to be corrupt. Thieves are going to steal. So if the Rod-man is truly corrupt, he would have been working his alleged seedy deals even if he lived in a bungalow on 35th and Lowe. And Mr. Blagojevich does not display anything approaching the type of judgment, prudence, sobriety, and attention to detail that characterized Richard J. Daley. But a bit of personal fiscal prudence on the Rod-man’s part would have been one more weight on the side of doing the right thing.
Sam Adam, Jr., Blago’s straight from central casting bombastic, clownish attorney, in his opening arguments, responded to the prosecutors’ contentions with
“And do you know why he’s broke? He ain’t corrupt.”
Mr. Adam may be a great lawyer but he displays an ignorance of finance that is shocking yet common. People aren’t broke because they didn’t take or, for that matter, earn, money, often substantial amounts of money. High income people, whether that income was derived honestly or dishonestly, are almost as likely to be broke as low income people. Being broke is a function not of making insufficient amounts of money but of spending more than one makes. Rod Blagojevich was broke not because he wasn’t corrupt but, rather, because he spent at a pace commensurate with an income at least five times higher than his officially reported income.
I do, however, agree with another of Mr. Adam’s arguments when he said of his client
“…his judgment is horrible.”
Though Mr. Adam was not speaking specifically of Mr. Blagojevich’s financial judgment, truer words will not be uttered for the duration of this trial.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
MARK QUINN AT PRINTERS ROW LIT FEST
6/8/10
This Sunday, June 13, I’ll be appearing at the Printers Row Lit Fest in the south Loop discussing and reading from my book, The Chairman, A Novel of Big City Politics. My presentation will take place in the Columbia College Tent (Tent A) on Dearborn just south of Harrison at 12:40 P.M.
I hope some of you will make it and/or tell your friends.
Thanks.
This Sunday, June 13, I’ll be appearing at the Printers Row Lit Fest in the south Loop discussing and reading from my book, The Chairman, A Novel of Big City Politics. My presentation will take place in the Columbia College Tent (Tent A) on Dearborn just south of Harrison at 12:40 P.M.
I hope some of you will make it and/or tell your friends.
Thanks.
THIS FROM THE STATE THAT GAVE US PAUL DOUGLAS AND EVERETT DIRKSEN
6/7/10
I sent the following e-mail to Carol Marin, one of Chicago’s premier political columnists, in response to a commentary piece she wrote on the Illinois U.S. senate race. I thought my readers might enjoy it.
In your 6/6/10 Commentary piece, you make several points, some valid and some not so valid, at least from where most people stand.
You state in that article
“Alexi Giannoulias is the warm guy, the one who, as one political observer put it the other day, makes older women want to mother him and younger women want to marry him.”
Huh? As you know, I follow politics quite closely. I live in Naperville, home to many of the independent women whom you correctly state will decide this election. I also teach at a college in the city where most of my students are young women, most of whom are apolitical. I have yet to meet one woman, in Naperville, the city, or anywhere else, who wants to either mother or marry Alexi Giannoulias (though some of my students, struggling with the debt that so often accompanies education today, say that Mr. Giannoulias’s personal wealth might incline them in the latter direction of all other methods of repaying said debt fail). The consensus of the women with whom I speak about Mr. Giannoulias seems to be that he is a (How do I put this nicely?) an arrogant child of privilege, and he seems to exude this characteristic in both appearance and mannerisms.
Later in the article, you state that
“…when it comes to domestic or foreign policy, his record on Israel, and his command of legislative factoids, Kirk carries himself with authority.”
Double huh? Mark Kirk is the guy who tells us that French commandos killed pirates on the high seas off the coast of Somalia, thus effectively giving French ships safe passage in those dangerous waters when neither portion of that particular whopper is true. Kirk is the same foreign policy genius who tells us that we import “80 billion barrels of oil from the Iranians” when we import zero (0) barrels of oil from Iran and buy nowhere near 80 billion barrels of oil on an annual basis from every nation in the world combined. Then Kirk bungles a seemingly plausible explanation (i.e., that oil is a fungible commodity and that the particular country from which we import it has little or no impact on the price of this globally traded product) by launching into only the latest round of his butchery of the English language, to wit:
“Oil is a commodity. An international good as it is flowing into an international market quickly loses its identity. In international markets, people will change the papers very quickly.”
Triple huh? One can only guess that Mr. Kirk’s hero, George W. Bush, must be very proud that his star supplicant has picked up his facility with the language.
Carol, you are not the only media insider who seems to think that Alexi Giannoulias is the reincarnation of Cary Grant and that Mark Kirk has a grasp of foreign policy that would make Richard Nixon and Henry Kissinger envious. But where is the evidence for these contentions? Those of us who are not privy to the type of insight that would lead one to such conclusions, but who pay attention and vote, simply cannot see the merit of either argument. But we all see, and maybe the media are catching up to us on this one, that Illinois once again is faced with a choice between two miserable candidates for yet another very important public office.
I sent the following e-mail to Carol Marin, one of Chicago’s premier political columnists, in response to a commentary piece she wrote on the Illinois U.S. senate race. I thought my readers might enjoy it.
In your 6/6/10 Commentary piece, you make several points, some valid and some not so valid, at least from where most people stand.
You state in that article
“Alexi Giannoulias is the warm guy, the one who, as one political observer put it the other day, makes older women want to mother him and younger women want to marry him.”
Huh? As you know, I follow politics quite closely. I live in Naperville, home to many of the independent women whom you correctly state will decide this election. I also teach at a college in the city where most of my students are young women, most of whom are apolitical. I have yet to meet one woman, in Naperville, the city, or anywhere else, who wants to either mother or marry Alexi Giannoulias (though some of my students, struggling with the debt that so often accompanies education today, say that Mr. Giannoulias’s personal wealth might incline them in the latter direction of all other methods of repaying said debt fail). The consensus of the women with whom I speak about Mr. Giannoulias seems to be that he is a (How do I put this nicely?) an arrogant child of privilege, and he seems to exude this characteristic in both appearance and mannerisms.
Later in the article, you state that
“…when it comes to domestic or foreign policy, his record on Israel, and his command of legislative factoids, Kirk carries himself with authority.”
Double huh? Mark Kirk is the guy who tells us that French commandos killed pirates on the high seas off the coast of Somalia, thus effectively giving French ships safe passage in those dangerous waters when neither portion of that particular whopper is true. Kirk is the same foreign policy genius who tells us that we import “80 billion barrels of oil from the Iranians” when we import zero (0) barrels of oil from Iran and buy nowhere near 80 billion barrels of oil on an annual basis from every nation in the world combined. Then Kirk bungles a seemingly plausible explanation (i.e., that oil is a fungible commodity and that the particular country from which we import it has little or no impact on the price of this globally traded product) by launching into only the latest round of his butchery of the English language, to wit:
“Oil is a commodity. An international good as it is flowing into an international market quickly loses its identity. In international markets, people will change the papers very quickly.”
Triple huh? One can only guess that Mr. Kirk’s hero, George W. Bush, must be very proud that his star supplicant has picked up his facility with the language.
Carol, you are not the only media insider who seems to think that Alexi Giannoulias is the reincarnation of Cary Grant and that Mark Kirk has a grasp of foreign policy that would make Richard Nixon and Henry Kissinger envious. But where is the evidence for these contentions? Those of us who are not privy to the type of insight that would lead one to such conclusions, but who pay attention and vote, simply cannot see the merit of either argument. But we all see, and maybe the media are catching up to us on this one, that Illinois once again is faced with a choice between two miserable candidates for yet another very important public office.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
GOVERNOR GOOFY?
6/2/10
As regular readers of the Insightful Pontificator know, the still unnamed sequel to my first novel, The Chairman, A Novel of Big City Politics, is in the final stages of preparation for publication. In order to build some early momentum for the sequel, and continuing momentum for the The Chairman, I’ve decided to post at least one, and maybe a few more, chapters of the sequel on the Pontificator.
In this excerpt, the reader is introduced to Governor Ron Milovanovic. Milovanovic was installed first in Congress and then in the governor’s office by Chairman Eamon DeValera Collins after Chairman Collins had been assured by Milovanovic’s uncle, Pete Lopez, long time boss of the 25th Ward, that his nephew was a team player who would do a good job as governor and, more importantly, do what he was told. But the Governor has turned out to be a man with no sense of restraint, subtlety, or shame. He is an embarrassment, and is only one of the challenges the Chairman faces in his leadership of the city and the party.
Incidentally, the opening scene of this chapter is based loosely on an experience yours truly had when I was a regular panelist on Tom Roeser’s political talk show on WLS in the ‘90s. Then Congressman Rod Blagojevich and I got a bit carried away not only with searing insight but also with high pitched invective, making for one of the best shows in my comparatively long run at WLS. In fact, the closing few lines of the first scene of the chapter are taken almost verbatim from the post-show banter of that evening’s confrontation.
Bear in mind that Ron Milovanovic is not Rod Blagojevich; like most characters in both The Chairman and its sequel, Milovanovic is an amalgam of several “real” characters. In the case of Governor Milovanovic, the astute reader will pick this up rather quickly.
The sequel should be out, barring a major snafu or some very good news on the publication front, later this summer. The Chairman, of course, is currently available at independent bookstores, can be ordered at any bookstore, and can be purchased immediately at Amazon.com.
Enjoy chapter 12 of the sequel.
CHAPTER 12
Mark Brophy, one of the town’s most popular, or at least one of its loudest, talk show hosts, kept hammering away at his guest. “Governor Milovanovic, you are spending our state into bankruptcy! The budget was in balance when you took office. After years of running small surpluses, the state had a substantial “rainy day” fund. Mr. Governor, you ran through that “rainy day” fund your first year in office, when the economy was booming! It wasn’t a rainy day…it was a bright sunny day on Waikiki Beach!”
The governor, who never backed off from a fight, and rarely missed an opportunity to speak into a microphone, especially one as big as that provided by Mark Brophy’s show, parried “What you don’t understand, Mark, as you throw around all these talking points about ‘big spending’ and ‘growing deficits,’ is that I was elected to serve the people, the working people of this state, the people who live paycheck to paycheck. And these working people have plenty of unmet needs. The reason my predecessor was able to balance the budget, the reason he was able to build up a “rainy day” fund was because he stiffed the working people of this state in order to serve the special interests that elected him. What he didn’t, and you don’t, understand is that every day is a rainy day for the hardworking, every day people of this state because of the fat cats that my predecessor was elected to serve. They prey upon the working people of this state and use the profits from exploiting the people to elect guys, like my predecessor, who will do their bidding in the state capital. Well, there’s a new sheriff in town who aims to throw open the windows and let the sun shine in.”
Brophy rolled his eyes. “But where are you going to get the money to meet these ‘unmet needs’? This isn’t like when you were in Congress, dealing with the federal budget. The federal government can run deficits and then just borrow, or print, the money to cover them. But our state, according to its constitution, has to run a balanced budget. It seems like the very working people you purport to represent will get presented with the bill to meet these unmet needs that they apparently didn’t know existed.”
“Very simple, Mr. Brophy. We’ll cut out waste, fraud, and abuse. We’ll cut, or eliminate the programs, that serve only the moneyed interests.”
“But you’ll have to raise taxes, Governor Milovanovic. There’s no way around it.”
“We hope, Mark, that we’ll be creative enough, innovative enough, smart enough to avoid raising taxes. But the people of this state can be assured that, if we have to raise taxes, we’re only going to raise taxes on the very rich, the fat cats, the friends of people like my predecessor, who left so many needs unmet.”
“Just how long, Mr. Governor, do you think the people of this state are going to continue to buy your baloney? Everywhere you look you find something else to spend money on. Everywhere you look there’s an ‘unmet need.’ You’ve exercised plenty of creativity, but usually only in the area of juggling the books. How long do you think you can hide your deficits?”
“Listen, Mr. Brophy…you were one of the people who said a guy with the name ‘Milovanovic’ could never get elected because he could never get enough votes downstate. But the people are smarter than you think…”
“You only got elected governor because your uncle is Pete Lopez, undisputed boss of the 25th ward and a Machine hack for twenty years. He got the Mayor and the other Machine guys behind you. They muscled the Democrats downstate, pulled every string they could down in those rural and small town counties. You sent your wife down there, whose maiden name is Smith, for God’s sake, to campaign, and you made yourself scarce. On top of that, your opponent in the primary was a Greek guy, another ethnicity considered pretty exotic in the rural areas, who didn’t like to fly so he couldn’t get downstate. And when it looked like he was going to garner a lot of African-American support in the state, Collins and his hacks ran some Machine stooge who just happened to be black to pull votes away from him so you could win in a three way primary. And in the general? Jesus Christ couldn’t have won with an “R” after his name in this state in the year you were elected. You’re a combination accident and a creation of your uncle and his Machine hack friends.”
“That shows how little you know about politics, Mr. Brophy. Yeah, my uncle is Pete Lopez. Pete LOPEZ, Mr. Brophy. How well do you think that plays downstate? So my name is Milovanovic and I’m proud of it. My parents are hardworking immigrants from Eastern Europe; am I supposed to hide that? I’m Ron MILOVANOVIC, the nephew of Pete LOPEZ. And even though racists like you said I couldn’t win downstate, I won handily down there. Why? Because the people relate to me; I’m one of them.”
“You won because your major opponent wouldn’t fly and, speaking of racism, because your Uncle Pete and his pals ran a stooge to siphon away your major opponent’s black support up here.”
“You’re calling Claude Borman a stooge?”
“Yes, I’m calling Claude Borman a stooge because that’s what he is. A stooge, a lackey, a hack, a toady…”
“And you’re calling me, with an Hispanic uncle, a racist after attacking one of our town’s preeminent African-American public servants as a stooge and a hack?”
“I didn’t call you a hack, Governor, but I will call you a popinjay. You might want to look that one up…”
“Why? Because people from Eastern Europe don’t have strong vocabularies?”
“Get off it, Governor. I’m not saying anything about Slavic people’s vocabularies. My grandmother on my mom’s side, by the way, was born outside Belgrade. But I am saying that maybe you aren’t very bright, at least about fiscal matters.”
The governor tried to answer, but Brophy interrupted him. “We’re up against a hard break. But I want to thank the Governor for coming in today. Thanks, Governor Milovanovic, for spending some of your limited time with us.”
The governor’s mood changed very rapidly. “Thanks for having me, Mark.” As they went to break, the Governor took off his headphones, looked right at Mark Brophy, and said “You’re a provocative, guy, Brophy.”
“Thank you, Governor,” was Brophy’s simple, yet strangely cordial, reply.
Governor Milovanovic went directly from his radio appearance to a meeting of a community group on the city’s west side. The meeting was held in a former movie theater in a neighborhood that had seen better days. The community group, Healing Opportunities for People Everywhere, or HOPE, had bought the building for little more than a promise to keep it from becoming more of an eyesore than it had become in the five years since it had last shown a picture. The governor was in his element, by no means demographically, but certainly in his own mind. Arriving his customary twenty minutes late, he leaped onto the stage to the cheers of the carefully selected crowd; his political fund regularly made substantial, highly publicized contributions to HOPE, and its leaders showed their appreciation by funneling some of that money back into his campaign coffers and staging these meetings that served as little more than rallies for the governor.
“My fellow working people…” the governor began to the cheers of the crowd. “I know what it is to be poor. When my father came here, he was dirt poor, but he took advantage of the opportunities this country afforded him…”
Murmurs of “That’s right” and “Amen” rose from the crowd.
“He worked so hard that he literally bled from the bottom of his feet, and the system continually beat down on him. It couldn’t however, break his spirit.”
Cheers erupted.
The governor’s rambling speech continued, outlining the steps this “new kind of governor,” this “ally of the working people, of the oppressed people” was taking to alleviate the plight of the people in this room, most of whom were poor, uneducated, and running out of hope. As the cheers grew in frequency and volume, the Governor’s energy and intensity increased commensurately. The crowd was rocking, and Governor Ron Milovanovic was rolling. Caught up in the moment, he reached the unplanned climax of his speech:
“I am here today to tell you that I am awarding HOPE a grant, a $20 million grant, from the state with which you can tear down this old barn, the leftovers that have been tossed your way, and build a brand new community center, with meeting rooms, an auditorium, a day care center, a medical center, a gym, a counseling center…”
The crowd went nuts and HOPE’s leaders, on the stage with the governor, reflected their astonishment and delight, but the governor’s advisors looked at each other in bewilderment. As the crowd roared, surreptitious communication among those advisors became both harder and easier, and proceeded along the lines of “Did he ever mention this to you?”, “Did you approve this?”, and “Has he spoken to anyone in the legislature about this?” It was a not at all unfamiliar line of discussion for the governor’s increasingly exasperated advisors.
The governor wrapped up his speech with “HOPE for the west side! HOPE for the west side!”
Leaving the crowded and energized hall was difficult, especially given the propensity of the governor to mix with the crowd, shake hands, and never miss an opportunity for a photo, especially with a small child. The governor’s ten man security detail, now used to the governor’s usual drill, was up to the challenge. The governor was ushered into his waiting limousine with a driver, two security men, and two of his closest aides.
The governor’s chief budget aide, Kay Schwartz, gave him the usual stern look to which the Governor had become accustomed.
“Ron, where did you come up with this idea? This is the first I’ve heard of it. If you’re going to spend $20 million, wouldn’t it be a good idea to clear it with your budget director?”
The Governor just shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, Kay, yeah, I know. Money’s important, but these people need help…”
“Yeah, Ron, these people need help. Lots of people need help. Don’t you think I want to help them? We all want to help the poor, Ron, but we have to come up with money somewhere. The state’s already a fiscal basket case. Did you discuss this with anyone in the legislature?”
“Uh…no. Look, Kay, I got caught up in the moment, I’ll admit it. But it’s only $20 million. Can’t we just borrow it?”
“Can’t we just borrow it? Can’t we just borrow it? You’ve been saying that since you got elected. That’s why we’re in this mess!”
“Look, Kay, I wasn’t elected to balance budgets and do accounting. I was elected to help the people.”
The driver and the security guy with him in the front seat quietly chuckled to each other.
“And that’s why I went into government, Ron,” Schwartz continued. “I want to help people, too, but resources are not limitless…”
“Oh, c’mon, Kay. With my leadership and a strong economy, we can raise the money. It’s not all that much.”
Kay stopped herself before commenting on the governor’s leadership. “This state doesn’t have all that strong an economy, Governor. Haven’t you noticed?”
“That’s why we have to help these people…”
“But you just can’t keep handing out $20 million here and $10 million there and $30 million someplace else. Have you noticed that you’re the governor, not the legislature? Only they can spend money.”
“Oh, c’mon, Kay; don’t get technical with me. Yeah, I am the governor; I’m the big dog. I can get the money from the legislature.”
Schwartz rolled her eyes. “Well, you haven’t been very successful at that of late, and with good reason. Governor, there’s no money to hand out! And speaking of big dogs, have you noticed that Collins turned down your invitation to appear with him at this event? It’s the third time in a row he’s turned you down.”
“That’s because he’s not part of the new politics, Kay. He’s old school; he’s not as concerned with the people as I am. You understand numbers, Kay, I understand politics.”
Once again, Schwartz held her emotions in check, but this time not so effectively. “I may not understand politics, Governor, but let me ask you…how is this going to look when you can’t come up with the money for this community center? How do you think people like broken promises?”
“Hey, we might get the money. And, at any rate, we won’t know until after the next election if we can’t. And people have short memories.”
“Maybe the people do, but those guys who run HOPE have very long memories, Ron. You may have just stepped in it.”
“Kay, Kay, Kay. You are so naïve. We can take care of those guys, and it’s not gonna cost $20 million and it’s not going to come from the state budget.”
Kay Schwartz wondered why she had taken this job in the first place.
The governor arrived at his office in the city. Not only did working out of that office fit with his schedule that day, but he had a decided preference for this city, the city in which he lived. The state capital, located in the rural reaches of the state, held little appeal for him. He was, as usual, late for this appointment, this time almost two hours late for a meeting with one of his old associates and former campaign manager, Chuck Piekos, who was now a lobbyist and consultant, and bank chairman Robert Harrington IV. The governor had agreed to meet with Harrington, who had been looking to replace the city pension business he had lost to James Parker’s Emerald Asset Management with pension business from the state. The governor’s being late, however, did not stop him from working the crowds in the state office building that housed his city office. His guests would just have to wait. Chuck Piekos, having been a friend of the governor since childhood, was used to waiting. Robert Harrington, however, was not. As the Governor finally entered his office, Harrington, after the usual pleasantries, started “Governor, I don’t mean any disrespect, but couldn’t you have told me you were going to be two hours late? I’m a busy man; I always have time to see you, but I don’t have time to cool my heels waiting for you. If you could have had someone contact my office, I could have come over when you were getting close; we’re only two blocks away.”
The Governor shot a look at Harrington that reflected his visceral contempt for bankers and people who had come from privileged backgrounds, groups that were both represented in Robert Harrington IV. But, as always, he was careful to temper that look of contempt out of his desire to avoid burning bridges with people who could help him politically…and financially. “I’m sorry, Mr. Harrington, but you have to understand that I, too, am a busy man…busy with the people’s business. I can empathize with your frustration, but you can empathize with my getting so absorbed in my work that sometimes the usual courtesies have to suffer. Now, what is the purpose of this meeting?” The Governor knew well the purpose of this meeting; he had been briefed well by Piekos.
“First, Governor, please call me Bob.”
“Okay, Bob,” was Milovanovic’s reply.
Harrington had expected more, but didn’t get it. After an uneasy silence that seemed much longer than it was, he continued. “Governor, we know that the state’s pension business is under consideration for new management. I want to make sure that my bank, which, as you know, has a hundred plus year record of outstanding money management, and pension management specifically, gets every consideration in this process. I have discussed this extensively with our mutual friend Chuck Piekos, your point man on this issue. He has met with some of our people and conducted some rather extensive analysis. If I can say so, he is deeply impressed with our operation. Isn’t that right, Mr. Piekos?”
Chuck Piekos looked straight into the Governor’s eyes and agreed. “Yes, Ron, Bob’s bank looks like a good candidate for this business. They could do a good job.”
But what,” the Governor asked, “have you done to earn the state’s business, Bob?”
“Well, Governor, as Mr. Piekos can tell you, we have the longest money management track record in the state. We have upper tier performance in both equity and fixed income management. We have a very strong and stable management team. We know how to work with public entities…”
That last sentence seemed, to Milovanovic, a natural jumping in point. “I know all that, and I know you know how to work with public entities. But what else have you done to earn the business?” His meaning was clear.
“Well, as you know, we’ve hired Mr. Piekos as a consultant, and we are so far happy that he is earning his rather substantial fee, but…”
The Governor cut him off. “That’s not enough, Bob.”
Harrington knew where this conversation was going, but was nonetheless perplexed. “Well, Governor, Mr. Piekos is by far the most expensive consultant out there, and we understood that, by hiring him, we would get due consideration for this business…”
The Governor interrupted him. “$100,000 in the Milovanovic for Governor Fund ought to do it, Bob.”
Harrington looked exasperated. “On top of the money I’m already paying Piekos?”
Piekos looked at Harrington and smiled. “Hey, Bob, looks like I did my job. I got you this meeting and it looks like, if you play ball, you’ve got the business. I’d say I was cheap.”
The Governor chimed in. “Why are you so surprised, Bob? You’ve worked with public entities before. You know how the game is played.”
“Yes, Governor, I know how the game is played…at least in this town. And I’ve always been willing to play, within reason. But I’ve never been confronted with anyone so blatant. You have no subtlety at all. You just come right out and hold me up.” Harrington regretted those words even before they came out, but the Governor was unfazed.
“Do you want the business or not, Bob? I’d like to give it to you, even though the Mayor would really like me to give it to Jimmy Parker and I could make a lot of friends in the legislature and on the south side by doing so. So do you want the business?”
Harrington knew he had no choice. “Yeah, I want the business. When do you…” He caught himself. “…when does the campaign fund need the money?”
“As soon as possible, Bob. And the same amount at the same time next year.”
Harrington was more beaten up than angry by this time. “I have to kick in a hundred grand every year?”
“Hey, Bob,” the Governor answered, “I’m going to make a lot of people unhappy by giving you this business. It’s gotta be worth my while.”
“Okay, okay,” Harrington replied.
“And you’re going to keep me on retainer, right?” Piekos added.
Harrington just nodded his head.
After Harrington left, Milovanovic and Piekos, rather than exchanging high fives, or even knowing smiles and pats on the back, just moved matter-of-factly along their agenda. They called one of the Governor’s young aides, Carrie Shortall, into the office. Shortall, with an extensive background in working with charities of various sorts, was the Governor’s newly appointed liaison with non-profit groups throughout the state. Chuck Piekos stayed in the room.
“Carrie,” the Governor started, “I understand we are meeting with one of your non-profits tomorrow. Tell me about this group.”
“Well, Governor, we’re meeting with a Dominican friar and a nun who are starting a middle school for underprivileged kids on the west side, not far from where you met with HOPE this afternoon. The kids at the school will be really poor kids who show a lot of promise but can’t possibly afford tuition and who probably wouldn’t make it if they stayed in public schools. The gangs would get to them and they’d be caught in that downward spiral we’re trying to break. The friar, Father Ben Quinn and the nun, Sister Gertrude Schultz, have a lot of experience in educating poor kids. They opened a similar school in D.C. ten years ago with a great deal of success and want to do the same thing here…”
The Governor looked interested. “Go on.”
“Well, Governor,” Shortall continued, “I’ve been around non-profits my whole life, but this is one of the best ideas I’ve ever seen. Education, as someone once said, is the newest and largest civil rights issue. This sort of school can get these kids out of the ghetto, out of hopelessness. Who knows what these kids can accomplish with a chance like this? Who knows what kind of impact they could have on the community, on the city, on the society as a whole? We should give these people a hearing and do whatever we can do.”
“What do they need?”
“I don’t think they need much. Maybe a little state aid, but they don’t need much.”
“As you know, Carrie, I’m a lawyer by training and education. I think there’s a First Amendment issue with any state aid.”
“Yeah, but they’ve found creative, constitutional ways for government to help in Washington. That’s probably one of the things they want to discuss with you. But I don’t think it’s so much money they’re looking for; there are a lot of wealthy alums from St. Dominic High School who are willing to help on that end. I think they might need some other kinds of help, and the support of the Governor, maybe an appearance at the opening, a good word now and then, a phone call here and there. I think they just want you onboard.”
“Sounds, good, Carrie. Chuck, have you met with them? Have they expressed any interest in making a contribution to Milovanovic for Governor?”
Shortall, new to the Governor’s staff, was shocked. Before Piekos could answer, she shot back “A campaign contribution? Governor, this is a start-up non-profit. They don’t have any money; they’re looking for help raising money. And they’re really not asking for much…”
“C’mon, Carrie. You just told me about the St. Dominic alums who are so gung-ho for this project. Father and Sister are going to have the money. And if they want our help, we expect a little help in return.”
Carrie Shortall was dumbfounded. “Even a non-profit? And a non-profit with nothing? A non-profit that has the potential to do a lot of good for the people you purport to want to help so much?”
The Governor was unmoved. “Carrie, everyone who wants to talk to me pays. It takes money to run a campaign, it will take money to re-elect someone who wants to do so much good for so many people.”
Shortall looked for any signs, vocal or visible, of irony in that last statement. There were none.
As regular readers of the Insightful Pontificator know, the still unnamed sequel to my first novel, The Chairman, A Novel of Big City Politics, is in the final stages of preparation for publication. In order to build some early momentum for the sequel, and continuing momentum for the The Chairman, I’ve decided to post at least one, and maybe a few more, chapters of the sequel on the Pontificator.
In this excerpt, the reader is introduced to Governor Ron Milovanovic. Milovanovic was installed first in Congress and then in the governor’s office by Chairman Eamon DeValera Collins after Chairman Collins had been assured by Milovanovic’s uncle, Pete Lopez, long time boss of the 25th Ward, that his nephew was a team player who would do a good job as governor and, more importantly, do what he was told. But the Governor has turned out to be a man with no sense of restraint, subtlety, or shame. He is an embarrassment, and is only one of the challenges the Chairman faces in his leadership of the city and the party.
Incidentally, the opening scene of this chapter is based loosely on an experience yours truly had when I was a regular panelist on Tom Roeser’s political talk show on WLS in the ‘90s. Then Congressman Rod Blagojevich and I got a bit carried away not only with searing insight but also with high pitched invective, making for one of the best shows in my comparatively long run at WLS. In fact, the closing few lines of the first scene of the chapter are taken almost verbatim from the post-show banter of that evening’s confrontation.
Bear in mind that Ron Milovanovic is not Rod Blagojevich; like most characters in both The Chairman and its sequel, Milovanovic is an amalgam of several “real” characters. In the case of Governor Milovanovic, the astute reader will pick this up rather quickly.
The sequel should be out, barring a major snafu or some very good news on the publication front, later this summer. The Chairman, of course, is currently available at independent bookstores, can be ordered at any bookstore, and can be purchased immediately at Amazon.com.
Enjoy chapter 12 of the sequel.
CHAPTER 12
Mark Brophy, one of the town’s most popular, or at least one of its loudest, talk show hosts, kept hammering away at his guest. “Governor Milovanovic, you are spending our state into bankruptcy! The budget was in balance when you took office. After years of running small surpluses, the state had a substantial “rainy day” fund. Mr. Governor, you ran through that “rainy day” fund your first year in office, when the economy was booming! It wasn’t a rainy day…it was a bright sunny day on Waikiki Beach!”
The governor, who never backed off from a fight, and rarely missed an opportunity to speak into a microphone, especially one as big as that provided by Mark Brophy’s show, parried “What you don’t understand, Mark, as you throw around all these talking points about ‘big spending’ and ‘growing deficits,’ is that I was elected to serve the people, the working people of this state, the people who live paycheck to paycheck. And these working people have plenty of unmet needs. The reason my predecessor was able to balance the budget, the reason he was able to build up a “rainy day” fund was because he stiffed the working people of this state in order to serve the special interests that elected him. What he didn’t, and you don’t, understand is that every day is a rainy day for the hardworking, every day people of this state because of the fat cats that my predecessor was elected to serve. They prey upon the working people of this state and use the profits from exploiting the people to elect guys, like my predecessor, who will do their bidding in the state capital. Well, there’s a new sheriff in town who aims to throw open the windows and let the sun shine in.”
Brophy rolled his eyes. “But where are you going to get the money to meet these ‘unmet needs’? This isn’t like when you were in Congress, dealing with the federal budget. The federal government can run deficits and then just borrow, or print, the money to cover them. But our state, according to its constitution, has to run a balanced budget. It seems like the very working people you purport to represent will get presented with the bill to meet these unmet needs that they apparently didn’t know existed.”
“Very simple, Mr. Brophy. We’ll cut out waste, fraud, and abuse. We’ll cut, or eliminate the programs, that serve only the moneyed interests.”
“But you’ll have to raise taxes, Governor Milovanovic. There’s no way around it.”
“We hope, Mark, that we’ll be creative enough, innovative enough, smart enough to avoid raising taxes. But the people of this state can be assured that, if we have to raise taxes, we’re only going to raise taxes on the very rich, the fat cats, the friends of people like my predecessor, who left so many needs unmet.”
“Just how long, Mr. Governor, do you think the people of this state are going to continue to buy your baloney? Everywhere you look you find something else to spend money on. Everywhere you look there’s an ‘unmet need.’ You’ve exercised plenty of creativity, but usually only in the area of juggling the books. How long do you think you can hide your deficits?”
“Listen, Mr. Brophy…you were one of the people who said a guy with the name ‘Milovanovic’ could never get elected because he could never get enough votes downstate. But the people are smarter than you think…”
“You only got elected governor because your uncle is Pete Lopez, undisputed boss of the 25th ward and a Machine hack for twenty years. He got the Mayor and the other Machine guys behind you. They muscled the Democrats downstate, pulled every string they could down in those rural and small town counties. You sent your wife down there, whose maiden name is Smith, for God’s sake, to campaign, and you made yourself scarce. On top of that, your opponent in the primary was a Greek guy, another ethnicity considered pretty exotic in the rural areas, who didn’t like to fly so he couldn’t get downstate. And when it looked like he was going to garner a lot of African-American support in the state, Collins and his hacks ran some Machine stooge who just happened to be black to pull votes away from him so you could win in a three way primary. And in the general? Jesus Christ couldn’t have won with an “R” after his name in this state in the year you were elected. You’re a combination accident and a creation of your uncle and his Machine hack friends.”
“That shows how little you know about politics, Mr. Brophy. Yeah, my uncle is Pete Lopez. Pete LOPEZ, Mr. Brophy. How well do you think that plays downstate? So my name is Milovanovic and I’m proud of it. My parents are hardworking immigrants from Eastern Europe; am I supposed to hide that? I’m Ron MILOVANOVIC, the nephew of Pete LOPEZ. And even though racists like you said I couldn’t win downstate, I won handily down there. Why? Because the people relate to me; I’m one of them.”
“You won because your major opponent wouldn’t fly and, speaking of racism, because your Uncle Pete and his pals ran a stooge to siphon away your major opponent’s black support up here.”
“You’re calling Claude Borman a stooge?”
“Yes, I’m calling Claude Borman a stooge because that’s what he is. A stooge, a lackey, a hack, a toady…”
“And you’re calling me, with an Hispanic uncle, a racist after attacking one of our town’s preeminent African-American public servants as a stooge and a hack?”
“I didn’t call you a hack, Governor, but I will call you a popinjay. You might want to look that one up…”
“Why? Because people from Eastern Europe don’t have strong vocabularies?”
“Get off it, Governor. I’m not saying anything about Slavic people’s vocabularies. My grandmother on my mom’s side, by the way, was born outside Belgrade. But I am saying that maybe you aren’t very bright, at least about fiscal matters.”
The governor tried to answer, but Brophy interrupted him. “We’re up against a hard break. But I want to thank the Governor for coming in today. Thanks, Governor Milovanovic, for spending some of your limited time with us.”
The governor’s mood changed very rapidly. “Thanks for having me, Mark.” As they went to break, the Governor took off his headphones, looked right at Mark Brophy, and said “You’re a provocative, guy, Brophy.”
“Thank you, Governor,” was Brophy’s simple, yet strangely cordial, reply.
Governor Milovanovic went directly from his radio appearance to a meeting of a community group on the city’s west side. The meeting was held in a former movie theater in a neighborhood that had seen better days. The community group, Healing Opportunities for People Everywhere, or HOPE, had bought the building for little more than a promise to keep it from becoming more of an eyesore than it had become in the five years since it had last shown a picture. The governor was in his element, by no means demographically, but certainly in his own mind. Arriving his customary twenty minutes late, he leaped onto the stage to the cheers of the carefully selected crowd; his political fund regularly made substantial, highly publicized contributions to HOPE, and its leaders showed their appreciation by funneling some of that money back into his campaign coffers and staging these meetings that served as little more than rallies for the governor.
“My fellow working people…” the governor began to the cheers of the crowd. “I know what it is to be poor. When my father came here, he was dirt poor, but he took advantage of the opportunities this country afforded him…”
Murmurs of “That’s right” and “Amen” rose from the crowd.
“He worked so hard that he literally bled from the bottom of his feet, and the system continually beat down on him. It couldn’t however, break his spirit.”
Cheers erupted.
The governor’s rambling speech continued, outlining the steps this “new kind of governor,” this “ally of the working people, of the oppressed people” was taking to alleviate the plight of the people in this room, most of whom were poor, uneducated, and running out of hope. As the cheers grew in frequency and volume, the Governor’s energy and intensity increased commensurately. The crowd was rocking, and Governor Ron Milovanovic was rolling. Caught up in the moment, he reached the unplanned climax of his speech:
“I am here today to tell you that I am awarding HOPE a grant, a $20 million grant, from the state with which you can tear down this old barn, the leftovers that have been tossed your way, and build a brand new community center, with meeting rooms, an auditorium, a day care center, a medical center, a gym, a counseling center…”
The crowd went nuts and HOPE’s leaders, on the stage with the governor, reflected their astonishment and delight, but the governor’s advisors looked at each other in bewilderment. As the crowd roared, surreptitious communication among those advisors became both harder and easier, and proceeded along the lines of “Did he ever mention this to you?”, “Did you approve this?”, and “Has he spoken to anyone in the legislature about this?” It was a not at all unfamiliar line of discussion for the governor’s increasingly exasperated advisors.
The governor wrapped up his speech with “HOPE for the west side! HOPE for the west side!”
Leaving the crowded and energized hall was difficult, especially given the propensity of the governor to mix with the crowd, shake hands, and never miss an opportunity for a photo, especially with a small child. The governor’s ten man security detail, now used to the governor’s usual drill, was up to the challenge. The governor was ushered into his waiting limousine with a driver, two security men, and two of his closest aides.
The governor’s chief budget aide, Kay Schwartz, gave him the usual stern look to which the Governor had become accustomed.
“Ron, where did you come up with this idea? This is the first I’ve heard of it. If you’re going to spend $20 million, wouldn’t it be a good idea to clear it with your budget director?”
The Governor just shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, Kay, yeah, I know. Money’s important, but these people need help…”
“Yeah, Ron, these people need help. Lots of people need help. Don’t you think I want to help them? We all want to help the poor, Ron, but we have to come up with money somewhere. The state’s already a fiscal basket case. Did you discuss this with anyone in the legislature?”
“Uh…no. Look, Kay, I got caught up in the moment, I’ll admit it. But it’s only $20 million. Can’t we just borrow it?”
“Can’t we just borrow it? Can’t we just borrow it? You’ve been saying that since you got elected. That’s why we’re in this mess!”
“Look, Kay, I wasn’t elected to balance budgets and do accounting. I was elected to help the people.”
The driver and the security guy with him in the front seat quietly chuckled to each other.
“And that’s why I went into government, Ron,” Schwartz continued. “I want to help people, too, but resources are not limitless…”
“Oh, c’mon, Kay. With my leadership and a strong economy, we can raise the money. It’s not all that much.”
Kay stopped herself before commenting on the governor’s leadership. “This state doesn’t have all that strong an economy, Governor. Haven’t you noticed?”
“That’s why we have to help these people…”
“But you just can’t keep handing out $20 million here and $10 million there and $30 million someplace else. Have you noticed that you’re the governor, not the legislature? Only they can spend money.”
“Oh, c’mon, Kay; don’t get technical with me. Yeah, I am the governor; I’m the big dog. I can get the money from the legislature.”
Schwartz rolled her eyes. “Well, you haven’t been very successful at that of late, and with good reason. Governor, there’s no money to hand out! And speaking of big dogs, have you noticed that Collins turned down your invitation to appear with him at this event? It’s the third time in a row he’s turned you down.”
“That’s because he’s not part of the new politics, Kay. He’s old school; he’s not as concerned with the people as I am. You understand numbers, Kay, I understand politics.”
Once again, Schwartz held her emotions in check, but this time not so effectively. “I may not understand politics, Governor, but let me ask you…how is this going to look when you can’t come up with the money for this community center? How do you think people like broken promises?”
“Hey, we might get the money. And, at any rate, we won’t know until after the next election if we can’t. And people have short memories.”
“Maybe the people do, but those guys who run HOPE have very long memories, Ron. You may have just stepped in it.”
“Kay, Kay, Kay. You are so naïve. We can take care of those guys, and it’s not gonna cost $20 million and it’s not going to come from the state budget.”
Kay Schwartz wondered why she had taken this job in the first place.
The governor arrived at his office in the city. Not only did working out of that office fit with his schedule that day, but he had a decided preference for this city, the city in which he lived. The state capital, located in the rural reaches of the state, held little appeal for him. He was, as usual, late for this appointment, this time almost two hours late for a meeting with one of his old associates and former campaign manager, Chuck Piekos, who was now a lobbyist and consultant, and bank chairman Robert Harrington IV. The governor had agreed to meet with Harrington, who had been looking to replace the city pension business he had lost to James Parker’s Emerald Asset Management with pension business from the state. The governor’s being late, however, did not stop him from working the crowds in the state office building that housed his city office. His guests would just have to wait. Chuck Piekos, having been a friend of the governor since childhood, was used to waiting. Robert Harrington, however, was not. As the Governor finally entered his office, Harrington, after the usual pleasantries, started “Governor, I don’t mean any disrespect, but couldn’t you have told me you were going to be two hours late? I’m a busy man; I always have time to see you, but I don’t have time to cool my heels waiting for you. If you could have had someone contact my office, I could have come over when you were getting close; we’re only two blocks away.”
The Governor shot a look at Harrington that reflected his visceral contempt for bankers and people who had come from privileged backgrounds, groups that were both represented in Robert Harrington IV. But, as always, he was careful to temper that look of contempt out of his desire to avoid burning bridges with people who could help him politically…and financially. “I’m sorry, Mr. Harrington, but you have to understand that I, too, am a busy man…busy with the people’s business. I can empathize with your frustration, but you can empathize with my getting so absorbed in my work that sometimes the usual courtesies have to suffer. Now, what is the purpose of this meeting?” The Governor knew well the purpose of this meeting; he had been briefed well by Piekos.
“First, Governor, please call me Bob.”
“Okay, Bob,” was Milovanovic’s reply.
Harrington had expected more, but didn’t get it. After an uneasy silence that seemed much longer than it was, he continued. “Governor, we know that the state’s pension business is under consideration for new management. I want to make sure that my bank, which, as you know, has a hundred plus year record of outstanding money management, and pension management specifically, gets every consideration in this process. I have discussed this extensively with our mutual friend Chuck Piekos, your point man on this issue. He has met with some of our people and conducted some rather extensive analysis. If I can say so, he is deeply impressed with our operation. Isn’t that right, Mr. Piekos?”
Chuck Piekos looked straight into the Governor’s eyes and agreed. “Yes, Ron, Bob’s bank looks like a good candidate for this business. They could do a good job.”
But what,” the Governor asked, “have you done to earn the state’s business, Bob?”
“Well, Governor, as Mr. Piekos can tell you, we have the longest money management track record in the state. We have upper tier performance in both equity and fixed income management. We have a very strong and stable management team. We know how to work with public entities…”
That last sentence seemed, to Milovanovic, a natural jumping in point. “I know all that, and I know you know how to work with public entities. But what else have you done to earn the business?” His meaning was clear.
“Well, as you know, we’ve hired Mr. Piekos as a consultant, and we are so far happy that he is earning his rather substantial fee, but…”
The Governor cut him off. “That’s not enough, Bob.”
Harrington knew where this conversation was going, but was nonetheless perplexed. “Well, Governor, Mr. Piekos is by far the most expensive consultant out there, and we understood that, by hiring him, we would get due consideration for this business…”
The Governor interrupted him. “$100,000 in the Milovanovic for Governor Fund ought to do it, Bob.”
Harrington looked exasperated. “On top of the money I’m already paying Piekos?”
Piekos looked at Harrington and smiled. “Hey, Bob, looks like I did my job. I got you this meeting and it looks like, if you play ball, you’ve got the business. I’d say I was cheap.”
The Governor chimed in. “Why are you so surprised, Bob? You’ve worked with public entities before. You know how the game is played.”
“Yes, Governor, I know how the game is played…at least in this town. And I’ve always been willing to play, within reason. But I’ve never been confronted with anyone so blatant. You have no subtlety at all. You just come right out and hold me up.” Harrington regretted those words even before they came out, but the Governor was unfazed.
“Do you want the business or not, Bob? I’d like to give it to you, even though the Mayor would really like me to give it to Jimmy Parker and I could make a lot of friends in the legislature and on the south side by doing so. So do you want the business?”
Harrington knew he had no choice. “Yeah, I want the business. When do you…” He caught himself. “…when does the campaign fund need the money?”
“As soon as possible, Bob. And the same amount at the same time next year.”
Harrington was more beaten up than angry by this time. “I have to kick in a hundred grand every year?”
“Hey, Bob,” the Governor answered, “I’m going to make a lot of people unhappy by giving you this business. It’s gotta be worth my while.”
“Okay, okay,” Harrington replied.
“And you’re going to keep me on retainer, right?” Piekos added.
Harrington just nodded his head.
After Harrington left, Milovanovic and Piekos, rather than exchanging high fives, or even knowing smiles and pats on the back, just moved matter-of-factly along their agenda. They called one of the Governor’s young aides, Carrie Shortall, into the office. Shortall, with an extensive background in working with charities of various sorts, was the Governor’s newly appointed liaison with non-profit groups throughout the state. Chuck Piekos stayed in the room.
“Carrie,” the Governor started, “I understand we are meeting with one of your non-profits tomorrow. Tell me about this group.”
“Well, Governor, we’re meeting with a Dominican friar and a nun who are starting a middle school for underprivileged kids on the west side, not far from where you met with HOPE this afternoon. The kids at the school will be really poor kids who show a lot of promise but can’t possibly afford tuition and who probably wouldn’t make it if they stayed in public schools. The gangs would get to them and they’d be caught in that downward spiral we’re trying to break. The friar, Father Ben Quinn and the nun, Sister Gertrude Schultz, have a lot of experience in educating poor kids. They opened a similar school in D.C. ten years ago with a great deal of success and want to do the same thing here…”
The Governor looked interested. “Go on.”
“Well, Governor,” Shortall continued, “I’ve been around non-profits my whole life, but this is one of the best ideas I’ve ever seen. Education, as someone once said, is the newest and largest civil rights issue. This sort of school can get these kids out of the ghetto, out of hopelessness. Who knows what these kids can accomplish with a chance like this? Who knows what kind of impact they could have on the community, on the city, on the society as a whole? We should give these people a hearing and do whatever we can do.”
“What do they need?”
“I don’t think they need much. Maybe a little state aid, but they don’t need much.”
“As you know, Carrie, I’m a lawyer by training and education. I think there’s a First Amendment issue with any state aid.”
“Yeah, but they’ve found creative, constitutional ways for government to help in Washington. That’s probably one of the things they want to discuss with you. But I don’t think it’s so much money they’re looking for; there are a lot of wealthy alums from St. Dominic High School who are willing to help on that end. I think they might need some other kinds of help, and the support of the Governor, maybe an appearance at the opening, a good word now and then, a phone call here and there. I think they just want you onboard.”
“Sounds, good, Carrie. Chuck, have you met with them? Have they expressed any interest in making a contribution to Milovanovic for Governor?”
Shortall, new to the Governor’s staff, was shocked. Before Piekos could answer, she shot back “A campaign contribution? Governor, this is a start-up non-profit. They don’t have any money; they’re looking for help raising money. And they’re really not asking for much…”
“C’mon, Carrie. You just told me about the St. Dominic alums who are so gung-ho for this project. Father and Sister are going to have the money. And if they want our help, we expect a little help in return.”
Carrie Shortall was dumbfounded. “Even a non-profit? And a non-profit with nothing? A non-profit that has the potential to do a lot of good for the people you purport to want to help so much?”
The Governor was unmoved. “Carrie, everyone who wants to talk to me pays. It takes money to run a campaign, it will take money to re-elect someone who wants to do so much good for so many people.”
Shortall looked for any signs, vocal or visible, of irony in that last statement. There were none.
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