BOOK REVIEW By CULLOM DAVIS

Rakove's book is a carefully compiled and documented set of oral reminiscences by politicians who knew Richard J. Daley. It is a harvest of epigrams and characterizations which Rakove manages with the facility of an insider and the eye of a scholar.

Milton L. Rakove, We Don't Want Nobody Nobody Sent: An Oral History of the Daley Years. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1979. Pp. xii, 404. $12.95

PUNDITS are forever arguing whether the Chicago Democratic machine can survive the onslaught of federal welfare programs, galloping civil service reform, the urban crisis and waning party allegiance. Whatever its fate politically, the Daley organization has at least gained immortality in our libraries and bookstores. Daleyana — writings on the man and his works — has become a lengthening bookshelf if not an entire genre in recent years. During the decade just ended connoisseurs of the subject have feasted on a rich diet of biographies with such short and punchy titles as Boss (by Mike Royko), Clout and Requiem (by Len O'Connor), Daley of Chicago (by Bill Gleason), Up Against Daley (by Joe Mathewson) and Himself! (by Eugene Kennedy).

Political scientist Milton Rakove has distinguished himself among the ranks of Daley biographers both by the quality of his work and the length of his titles. In 1975 he gave us Don't Make No Waves — Don't Back No Losers: An Insider's Analyis of the Daley Machine. Now he has produced another captivating mouthful, We Don't Want Nobody Nobody Sent: An Oral History of the Daley Years. This is a big book that offers both a banquet to hungry readers and a fresh approach to a familiar subject. It deserves careful and wide attention.

Why an oral history of the Chicago organization? Veteran Daley watchers might answer with another question: What other choices are there besides oral history? The nation's healthiest and best known city machine has no known public archives or central repository of committeeman correspondence. Its dealings and decisions are made in private and generally go unrecorded and undocumented except in the minds and memories of its lieutenants. In fact, although Rakove's volume is the first to employ the term oral history, all of his predecessors employed the practice to some extent. A glance at the writings of Royko and O'Connor reveals their dependence on anecdotes and gossip, most of them drawn from memory and gleaned from interviews. That is because the Daley organization has operated with what anthropologists call an oral tradition. Like some African cultures and native American tribes, little of its internal history has been documented in print, so that most of what we know and can ever know is from the word-of-mouth evidence of rumors, folklore and reminiscences.

It was clear, then, that sooner or later someone would produce an oral history of the Daley era. The subject and the method fit together comfortably and profitably. Although every Daley biographer used interview material, Rakove's effort is different in both qualitative and quantitative terms. For one thing, it acknowledges and relies exclusively on the oral history technique. The medium supplies the entire message, and the effort is systematic in that Rakove recorded his interviews and has deposited the tapes for others to use.

In addition, Rakove has organized his book by its sources, not by subjects. Each edited interview is presented intact, so that readers seeking information on a subject like Daley's 1955 election or the "bloody 20th ward" must search throughout the book rather than in one chapter. (This otherwise pardonable and even desirable feature becomes a serious frustration given the absence of an index.)

Another difference is that Rakove has permitted his sources to speak for themselves. Of course he has edited and pruned the transcripts, but he retained the question-and-answer format and generally left it to readers to draw their own conclusions. Finally, Rakove permits his informants to speak more expansively than is the case with other Daley studies. The 41 interviews average 10 pages.

While relatively brief by oral history standards, these excerpts are generous and revealing in comparison with the snippets on Daley found elsewhere. This format permits Vito Marzullo to elaborate at length on his style as 25th Ward alderman and committeeman; Jane Byrne to recall in leisurely fashion the details and dialogue of her first and nearly disastrous encounter with Richard J. Daley; Edison Love to reconstruct William Dawson's role in helping elect Daley in 1955; and Bernard Neistein to reflect both on his tough guy reputation as politician and his second career as concert violinist.

With a veritable army of potential informants Rakove had to make difficult decisions about whom to interview. He repeatedly tried to enlist Daley himself, but the mayor kept delaying until it was too late. Most of the 41 narrators are from the higher echelons of the organization, though a few "Foot Soldiers" and some outsiders and opponents are included. Rakove's sampling technique is representative but not proportional. The table of contents reads like a slatemaker's dream but a statistician's nightmare. There is one chapter on blacks, another on women, a concession to the suburban exiles, representation by both the "Old Guard" and the "Young Turks," and even some token losers and dissidents. A disproportionate amount of attention therefore is directed toward colorful sideline skirmishes and several ineffectual personalities. This approach makes livelier reading even though it necessarily slights the everyday routine and

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Read excerpts from the book on next page [see page 24]

principal work of the organization.

What do we learn about the Daley machine from the lips of its minions and assorted spectators? We discover that operating it is hard, incessant work. Nowhere is the Puritan Ethic more evident than in the attitudes and demanding work schedules of Chicago politicos, especially those "Foot Soldiers," the precinct captains. Lauded by Marshall Korshak as "the unsung and unheralded hero of our democracy," the precinct captain is usually on duty and always on call. Heeding the human needs of a great metropolis includes accompanying the nervous to their driver's license exam, supplying the tidy with free garbage cans, chauffering nuns to an Indiana convent, comforting the bereaved and counseling the delinquent. It's not easy being a precinct captain; black alder-woman Eloise Barden warns, "You have to be an everyday person."

Equally demanding and more responsible is the middle management position of ward committeeman. An effective committeeman, says Cecil Partee, must be able "to organize, deputize, and supervise." Evidently personal styles have changed in this position. One chapter of interviews with old-style committeemen like Marzullo reveals them to be very different from such "Young Turks" as Ed Vrdolyak. The prototype elder has scant formal education, works for the organization constantly, is absolutely and invariably loyal to the boss, has no ambitions beyond his present job, and is first and last a political operative. Vrdolyak and his ilk, in contrast, are bright and well-educated, ambitious, somewhat independent, jealous of some privacy and home life, and as much professional careerists (usually lawyers) as politicians. It appears, therefore, that the key post of committeeman has evolved during the Daley era with consequences that are still unclear.

He asks awkward and sensitive questions, demonstrating that he understands the difference between empathy and sympathy

Most and best of all we explore the man who put it all together: Richard J. Daley, the centerpiece of this book. While predecessors like Martin Kennelly and successors like Michael Bilandic garner some attention, Daley dominates these 400 pages just as he dominated Chicago for a quarter century. Rakove asks each informant for an appraisal of the man. What emerges is a portrait that is familiar but nevertheless rich in detail and emotion. Nearly every testimony, whether from friend or foe, acknowledges Daley's fierce pride in his city, his mastery of metropolitan governance and budgeting, his dedication to the job, his exemplary home life as husband and father, and his untarnished personal record. A smaller number identify defects such as his explosive temper, a preference for expressways and skyscrapers over human services, excessive loyalty to old cronies, and a vision that extended no further than the city limits and the next election.

Daley had the poor manners to perish in the midst of Rakove's work on the book, so that some of the informants spoke of a living person while others were delivering historical eulogies. Interestingly, there is no substantial difference in the assessments delivered by each group. Daley dead receives generally the same verdict as Daley alive.

One would expect a large crop of personal reminiscenses to yield a harvest of epigrams and pithy characterizations, and this book does not disappoint us. Mayor "Big Bill" Thompson was "not the least of the demagogues that we have had," according to former Cook County Democratic Chairman Jake Arvey. Another informant tells us that Mayor Martin Kennelly "did a lot of good in this city . . . [but he was] a very stupid politician." Echoing another famous remark about Chicago's readiness for reform is Edison Love's rhetorical question: "Reform? What is reform? What are they going to reform?" Speaking from suburban exile, committeeman James Kirie describes his humble station: "If you are a Democratic suburban committeeman in Cook County, you are like an ambassador without portfolio." Cecil Partee defines the Illinois Senate as "a body of fifty-nine people, fifty-eight prima donnas and myself."

Rakove attempts to combine the insider's access to information with the outsider's detachment and analysis. Years ago he enlisted in Daley's ranks, performing precinct captain and other duties. This loyal service has rewarded him with plentiful sources, credibility and the insight of a participant. At the same time he has been a scholar and teacher on the subject, obligated to examine it with a critical eye and perspective. Playing both roles is no easy matter, but Rakove has tiptoed the tightrope as well as could be expected. It is doubtful that any outsider, least of all a professor, could have gathered as much candid information from organization stalwarts whose secretiveness on delicate internal matters is well known.

Rakove draws the line, however, between involvement and submission. He asks awkward and sensitive questions, demonstrating that he understands the difference between empathy and sympathy. The picture that emerges is honest and uncensored without being adversarial, and readers will search in vain for Olympian judgments by the author. This is a book of memories and testimonies; whatever assessments Rakove imposed lie concealed in the questions he asked — or refrained from asking — and the editorial decisions he made. Go to his earlier study if you want the author's judgments and interpretations. In this important new book he entertains and informs us through his privileged access to the voices of Chicago politics. It is a series of intimate and revealing vignettes that recreate the Daley era as no other source has.

Cullom Davis is professor of history and director of the Oral History Office at Sangamon State University. He has written articles and a book on oral history.

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