Chicago Tribune
http://www.chicagotribune.com
10:54 PM CST, January 29, 2009
Impeached Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich arrives at his home, Thursday, Jan. 29, 2009 in Chicago.(AP)
On his first day as a private citizen, now unemployed and with a federal indictment bearing down on him, Rod Blagojevich should stick to his routine, put on his track suit and go for a run.
He usually runs 5 miles at a brisk pace, but the new route I'm proposing would take about 8 miles. He's in shape for it, and he's got the time. It might be the only route he has left.
From his Northwest Side home he should run south on Ashland, to Lincoln Avenue, and head southeast on his way downtown.
His wife, Patti, can drive the car and meet him there with a bag containing a nice blue suit, something serious, dark tie, white shirt, shined shoes.
As he runs he can think of how he made disgraceful history all on his own, as the first corrupt Illinois governor to be impeached and booted from office. He can consider how he first descended into the maelstrom by breaking with the man who made him, his ward boss father-in-law, Ald. Dick Mell (33rd), and how after that angry public fight in 2005 he became a free agent without the protection of the organization.
Rod will run past the Biograph Theater, site of one of the great untrue myths of Chicago, which says that a woman in red pointed out bank robber John Dillinger to the FBI. It wasn't the woman in red. It was the Chicago Outfit that tipped them. At least that's the story the wise guys tell, and I believe them, the Outfit giving up a freelancer who had no protection, no organization, a freelancer like Dillinger bringing unnecessary heat.
There's a certain Chicago logic to it: When freelancers bring heat to organizations, they become problems. But problems can be solved.
As he runs past the Biograph, and onto Clark Street and farther south, he can think of his friends, guys he deluded himself into thinking would be there with him.
Guys like state Sen. Jimmy DeLeo (D-How You Doin?), who didn't speak loudly when the Senate voted 59-0, but that little light went on next to Jimmy's name just the same. And Rod's neighbor, state Sen. President John Cullerton (D-DeLeo).
Rod's Republican buddy and fundraiser, Bill Cellini, indicted now, is awfully quiet, awaiting trial in the Operation Board Games case that has formally exposed the bipartisan Combine. And those silent shrugs of boss Daley, who, like kings of old, can't afford friends.
Outside Blagojevich's home on Thursday evening, after he was booted, the ungovernator popped out to meet the press and rambled on with the same old tired lies about how he wasn't given a chance to prove his innocence, how he fought for the people and not for himself. But he cracked a few truths.
"I'd like to tell you some of the inside stuff, some of the things they were trying to do, and I'll talk about that later, if you're interested," Blagojevich said.
I know people who are interested.
"And as for some of those friends of mine in the state Senate, Dr. King said, that in the end, you remember not the words of your enemies, but the silence of your friends," Blagojevich said.
He nodded a couple times to himself, tired, on the verge of breaking. There was something in his eyes, but not tears. It was the final clarity of the damned.
Perhaps things will become even more clear to him as he runs on Friday. He must understand that his troubles are just beginning. The political class can't be satisfied with merely his political head, they need his soul. All this, and the feds have him on their menu, too.
So Rod can run south on Clark and into the Loop, turning east on Adams Street to the southeast corner of Adams and Dearborn, a steel-and-glass high-rise, where Patti can wait for him.
I'm told there's a shower in that building he can use, and Patti can fix her face and they can take the elevator on up.
It is the federal building, where U.S. Atty. Patrick Fitzgerald works.
It's time to cut a deal, Rod, if they'll let you. You'll do prison time, sure, and you'll have to testify against Cellini and many others. But don't think others aren't lining up to bury you with their own testimony to save themselves.
Consider the silence. The silence in the state Senate after you stopped speaking on Thursday. The silence of friends. The silence in your body as you run. The silence of federal prison.
There's one thing to do, former governor. Start talking.
jskass@tribune.com
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