By PAUL M. GREEN

The Democrats' biennial ritual: slatemaking

At times discordant, at times in harmony, the process for Democrats to endorse candidates for the statewide ticket and for Cook County slots is close to an art form. It shows politics as it is. Paul Green reviews the latest slatemaking performance by the Democratic party and contrasts its ritual with the way Republican candidates find their way to the GOP primary ballot. Read on for the details: the holdout for a woman on the state ticket, the ho-hum speeches, the rousing orations. The primary election is March 18 and candidates for both parties running for top statewide offices are listed on pages 49-50.

For as long as I can remember my favorite Christmas song has been "It's Slatemaking Time in the City." On November 25, 1985, Illinois Democrats gathered at Chicago's Bismarck Hotel to continue this biennial yuletide tradition in two-part harmony.

The state central committee met on the hotel's third floor to endorse the Democratic ticket for statewide offices, while the Cook County central committee gathered in the basement to select its county slate. This season's Bismarck political songfest was a long one and though everybody sang, some participants refused to stay on key.

The day began with several topics of conversation circulating around the hotel. Would incumbent state Treasurer James H. Donnewald be dropped from the ticket? Would state party leaders slate a woman for some office? Would a series of potential candidates make good on their threats to challenge the endorsed ticket? And would county slatemakers guide their ticket through a treacherous maze of local political problems?

Three points must be stressed before any real comprehension or appreciation of Democratic slatemaking can be properly achieved. First, the entire setting and process is more like a meeting of the College of Cardinals than a gathering of party professionals. Most committee members truly view themselves as "Princes of the Party" as they glory in the hierarchical structure and political ritual associated with slatemaking. Of equal interest is the energy and effort that noncommittee members exert to influence the proceedings. Though some Democrats bad-mouth the intent and effects of slatemaking (mostly because they cannot win an endorsement), the lure of the process with all its good and bad points acts like the mythical sirens' call to Democratic officeseekers.

Second, Illinois Republican criticism of the Democratic activity is filled more with envy than scorn. Profssional GOP operatives claim their selection process is more open and free because potential Republican candidates do not have to humble themselves before any party committee. For generations Republican pols have outwardly decried "the bossism" of Democratic slatemaking while inwardly they longed to have the recognition and status enjoyed by their counterparts in the opposition. In Illinois, GOP politics is personality and not organization oriented. Republican slatemaking is thus left in the hands of a few prominent leaders who use their muscle and finances to influence the nomination proces

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Third, although our federal political structure suggests that a national or state office should have more power and prestige than a local one, this political pecking order has never been acknowledged in Chicago. As the late Milt Rakove used to gleefully relate, "In Chicago Democratic politics, a fellow was sent to Washington or Springfield either to be trained or punished.'' To Chicago pols the city's 1987 mayoral election is the "big enchillada." Thus, looming behind this entire state and county ticket-making was the simple question: How will it affect '87? For the record, the Democratic State Central Committee consists of elected committeemen and committeewomen from each of the state's 22 congressional districts. Each of their votes is weighted by the number of individuals who took a Democratic primary ballot in his or her district in 1982. This slatemaking session was the first held under the party's new rules, which mandate that each district be represented by a male and female who cast equally weighted votes based on the established formula. As with many other recent Democratic party reforms, this committeeperson rule, reminiscent of the procession into Noah's Ark, may prove to be more of a party liability than an asset.

You are there

Tension is in the air as Democratic state chairman Calvin R. Sutker calls the state central committee to order. Many committeewomen's seats are vacant due to a women's caucus being held in private down the hall in a separate room. First up is U.S. Sen. Alan J. Dixon, the Democrats' top votegetter and a heavy favorite for reelection. Many in the room believe that all state Democratic candidates will benefit from the fact that in 1986 Dixon's name will head their ticket. Dixon's message is routine slatemaking campaign oratory until he suddenly stops talking about himself and turns his powerful speechmaking skills in the direction of his downstate pal, state Treasurer Jim Donnewald. Without notes, Dixon hushes the crowded room (a remarkable accomplishment given the number of committeemen, media and political junkies present) and tells all that he favors Donnewald for renomination. He praises the treasurer's performance in office, his party loyalty and his electability, maintaining that Donnewald has been an undefeated and faithful party man. The senator closes his powerful speech with words that would have brought tears to the eyes of former Chicago Mayor Richard J. Daley: "I stand with my friends." The applause and knowing nods that follow Dixon's oration convince both committeemen and hangers-on that no one is going to deny Donnewald his party's renomination endorsement.

. . . this committeeperson rule,
reminiscent of the procession
into Noah's Ark, may prove to be more
of a party liability than an asset

With the de facto disposition of the treasurer's slot, the Democratic slatemakers still face the issue of finding a place for a woman on the 1986 ticket. While the committeewomen continue their caucus, the agenda moves on to the gubernatorial endorsement. Former U.S. Sen. Adlai E. Stevenson III, the party's narrowly defeated 1982 gubernatorial candidate, is introduced to less than an overwhelming response from the party faithful. Stevenson, showing more energy than he did four years ago, recites a litany of Gov. James R. Thompson's failures in office. His gubernatorial endorsement has been secured by the withdrawal of early favorite Atty. Gen. Neil F. Hartigan. Stevenson is now a party kingmaker — a role with which he seems totally uncomfortable — and his attempts to tie independent politics with party slatemaking politics seem awkward.

Seconding Stevenson's endorsement is House Speaker Michael J. Madigan who, though a nervous speechmaker, seems quite comfortable in his kingmaker role. All in attendance are aware that Madigan was instrumental in the Stevenson blitzkrieg drive to the gubernatorial endorsement and nomination. The speaker calls for an ending of the fractures within the Democratic party and then quickly exits by blending into the large crowd of spectators.

State Sen. George E. Sangmeister (D-42, Mokena), Stevenson's choice for running mate, leads off the lieutenant governor parade. Sangmeister, a respected legislator and a man tabbed by Illinois Issues as a political comer back in October 1979, gives a solid speech concerning his background and political philosophy. Following Sangmeister is another lieutenant governor contender, state Rep. Carol Moseley Braun (D-25, Chicago). Braun, Mayor Harold Washington's spokesperson in the legislature, has not received much help from the mayor in her lieutenant governor bid. Her aggressive and articulate campaign style, however, plus her gender and race have made her a potentially major threat to Sangmeister's endorsement and nomination.

Following the lieutenant governor speechmaking, a buzz stirs in the room as Chairman Sutker announces that the next office under consideration will be attorney general and not secretary of state as listed on the agenda. Something's up! Rumors fly as to what's happening in the women's caucus. Although it is assumed that the secretary of state endorsement will go to a woman, the question remains: Which one?

Atty. Gen. Hartigan glides smoothly through his presentation. He is the only candidate who is accompanied by his wife and family to the podium, and unlike previous major candidates, his three nomination seconders are all noncommitteemen. Following Hartigan is Chicago Alderman Martin Oberman (43rd Ward), who is contesting the incumbent's nomination. Oberman's remarks are not well-received, and his often personal accusations go unheard as everyone still ponders the women's caucus activities. There seems little doubt in the room that Hartigan should have an easy time disposing of Oberman's challenge.

Following the attorney general candidate presentations, Chairman Sutker announces a short recess. One committee member yells, "Is this half-time?" while most of the press and media race downstairs to observe the county slatemakers.

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The Cook County Democratic slatemakers are also in recess. Just as the secretary of state slot is a battleground for the state central committee, so are the 10 Cook County Board seats elected from Chicago for the county slatemakers. For a couple of hours the Bismarck Hotel resembles a maternity hospital as politicians, reporters and observers pace the halls — waiting for something to happen.

By late afternoon things begin popping all over the place. The county Democrats, led by party chairman and 10th Ward Alderman Edward Vrdolyak, have dumped five incumbent county board members while also endorsing state central committee secretary and 34th Ward Alderman Wilson Frost for the Board of (Tax) Appeals. Anger is expressed by many over Vrdolyak's handling of county slatemaking, but before any real analysis can take place, it's back upstairs to see how the women's caucus and the secretary of state endorsement is turning out. The only sure winner so far today is the hotel's newsstand operator who is selling out his "M & M" candies to hungry reporters as they scurry the four flights between the slatemaking rooms.

A new name, Aurelia Pucinski, has risen on the secretary of state front. Pucinski is a metropolitan sanitary district board member and the daughter of Chicago's 41st Ward alderman and Democratic Committeeman Roman Pucinski. All seems cut and dried as Alderman Joseph Kotlarz (35th Ward), one of the two announced secretary of state candidates, withdraws in favor of Pucinski. The other announced aspirant, Edward Howlett, the son of former Secy. of State Michael J. Howlett, refuses to follow suit, and it soon becomes apparent that the women's caucus is not happy with the Pucinski candidacy.

Six months ago few political experts would have predicted that the bitterest fight at Illinois Democratic slatemaking would center on selecting a challenger to face the Republican party's most popular officeholder, Secy. of State Jim Edgar. Aurelia Pucinski's performance is remarkable, given the swiftness of events. She coolly tells the committee that "the office is winnable" and that she will wage an energetic campaign against Edgar while doing her good political name justice and honor.

Exit Pucinski and enter Rep. Grace Mary Stern (D-58, Highland Park), the party's unsuccessful 1982 lieutenant governor candidate. Stern, calling herself the "kamikaze" candidate for secretary of state, attacks the selection process, Stevenson's tactics and the party's attitude towards women. It is apparent that Pucinski's endorsement is far from certain as Stern and her allies call for loyalty to the women's caucus to prevent any majority vote on this office.

For a man who was hardly a household
word a few weeks ago, Donnewald is on the threshhold
of becoming a cult hero

Chaos reigns as the slatemakers run through the motions on the final two offices. Comptroller Roland W. Burris quickly highlights his two-term record and is given a standing ovation for keeping his remarks short. Treasurer Donnewald, with his endorsement assured, proudly recites his long governmental record as a downstate Democrat. For a man who was hardly a household word a few weeks ago, Donnewald is on the threshhold of becoming a cult hero. The state's top political reporters are all writing complimentary stories about his low key and gentlemanly approach to politics. Even possible independent primary challengers like former state Treasurer Jerry Cosentino or the mercurial Cook County Board of (Tax) Appeals member Patrick Quinn do not strike fear in the hearts of Donnewald or his top aides. In a peculiar way they see all the publicity surrounding Donnewald's fight for a renomination endorsement as an enormous political plus.

Following consideration of the treasurer's office, Chairman Sutker calls another recess. Slatemaking is about to enter a new surrealistic political twilight zone. The entire state central committee begins a private caucus in a room located at the opposite end of a long corridor. In between both rooms reporters, political aides and die-hard spectators mingle and chat while waiting for the outcome of the committee caucus. Obviously the secretary of state endorsement is the final stumbling block, and more than one "corridor comrade" tired, hungry and frustrated by the day-long activities matters, "Where's Mayor Daley?"

Suddenly Stevenson, Hartigan and Madigan appear in the corridor and enter the caucus room. It's showdown time. While the big guys and gals of the Democratic party are inside the caucus, it's now a Who's Who of second bananas outside the closed door. One sees such notable political sharpies as Larry Hansen, David Axelrod and Lee Harris from the Stevenson camp; Gary LaPaille from Speaker Madigan's office; Fred LeBed, a top Burris adviser; Al Manning, Hartigan's press secretary; and Joe Novak, a chief aide to Vrdolyak. They are exchanging political pleasantries and anxious looks. What's happening inside? Indeed, they have reason to worry.

Behind the doors the committee hears from the three major state party leaders. Stevenson praises Sangmeister and Pucinski and tries to reassure the committeewomen that on the secretary of state slot (a) Stern had told him she did not want the office and (b)Kotlarz had withdrawn solely on the condition of the Pucinski candidacy. Madigan speaks briefly, declaring his support for the entire ticket. It is Hartigan, however, who eloquently outlines the need for party togetherness in 1986 with an emotional speech. According to one committee member, Hartigan delivered the best unity message of the caucus when he said, "The Democratic party is the last line of defense for the people who truly need us. .. there can be only one leader and my leader is Adlai E. Stevenson."

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Following the speechmaking, the central committee caucus faces actual contested endorsement votes on only two offices — lieutenant governor and secretary of state. Sangmeister easily outdistances his rivals for the ticket's second spot while Pucinski barely gains a majority of the weighted vote for the secretary of state endorsement. Of special interest on the latter office is the startling fact that only half of the 22 committeewomen support the alleged women's favorite, Stern, over her two opponents, Pucinski and Howlett. It also should be noted that Howlett garners over 200,000 weighted votes showing support both in Chicago and downstate. With the slate completed, the committee trudges back to the main meeting room and under the guidance of first district committeeman and Chicago city treasurer, Cecil A. Partee, quickly and unanimously endorses the entire slate without future discussion.

What does it all mean?

If recent history means anything, 1986 should be a great Democratic year in Illinois and throughout the country, 1958 and 1974 were recent off-year elections held during the middle of a two-term Republican presidency. Obviously, Watergate and Nixon's resignation were crucial factors in 1974, but evidence suggests that even without these cataclysmic events, Republican fortunes would have ebbed greatly in the1974 elections.

In 1986 Illinois Democrats must find unity in order to maintain their party's winning tradition in this type of election. On the plus side, they are leading with their ace, U.S. Sen. Dixon. In the past I have called him a "one-man electoral machine" and the "Democratic stopper" (he stops people from voting straight GOP, thereby giving Democratic candidates listed below his name on the ballot greater vote opportunities). In 1986 it seems that another Dixon landslide of monumental proportions is likely. The Democrats also have three incumbent state constitutional officeholders up for reelection. Although two of them are facing a primary fight, the three incumbents give the ticket geographical, racial and ethnic balance. Yet, throughout slatemaking, one observed little of the old-time joy that used to permeate these proceedings when Democrats, in Paul Powell's words, "smelled the meat a-cookin'."

Part of the Democratic problem can be simply summarized as the "San Francisco syndrome." The 1984 Democratic national convention and the ensuing general election has left a sour taste in the mouths of many Democrats. In San Francisco, the party spent a great deal of time dealing with the issues of race and gender. Male and female party leaders both black and white attempted to soothe and satisfy the demands of race and gender activists who spent most of the convention threatening dire political consequences for the party unless their agendas were met. Incredibly, this pressure has not ebbed or been redirected despite the party's second staggering presidential defeat and recent poll data that suggest Democrats are not attracting key electoral groups.

Why? In Illinois and all over the nation political observers are explaining the death of the old Democratic "New Deal" coalition. In varying degrees that coalition's components of southerners, urban Catholics, farmers and Jews have split away from the party. Moreover, young voters for the first time in recent history are moving towards the Republicans. Yet some Democratic activists refuse to recognize this reality and seem determined to replace the old New Deal coalition with a new "Re-deal" coalition.

The Re-deal mindset finds some Democratic leaders not seeking new voters but reshuffling their existing supporters in order to beat fellow Democrats for party control rather than to defeat Republicans to gain elected office. There is no more certain way to prepare for defeat than to have candidates more interested in the primary than in the general election. The old Chicago political adage, "rule or ruin," remains a disastrous party policy.

The clumsy attempts to have Donnewald give up his treasurer's office and run for secretary of state is a case study in the problems facing Illinois Democrats. All rhetoric aside, some party leaders, both male and female, based their rationale for this move on the following incredible syllogism: Edgar is against drunk driving; Donnewald has a beer distributorship in southern Illinois; therefore Donnewald can raise vast amounts of campaign dollars from liquor interests to defeat Edgar. This effort to relive and refight prohibition in Illinois sounds like a Second City comedy routine. Yet it almost worked, due to the pressures placed on Democratic slatemakers. A party that thinks about dumping an incumbent based on the above logic is not a sure shot to win anything.

In spite of everything, the final verdict on this season's Democratic slate-making effort is — it worked. In retrospect, Illinois Democrats have come up with the strongest slate possible. They have four incumbents running for reelection, a famous name running for governor and a tough and articulate woman running for the secretary of state post. Moreover, as of this date (mid-December), the 1986 Illinois Republican ticket seems to be in disarray. One expects a GOP party spokesman to call any day for a unicameral Congress, since the Republicans seem unwilling to support anyone for U.S. Senate. Perhaps the Illinois GOP should follow its Democratic counterpart and adopt a slatemaking endorsement process. Leaving aside Thompson and Edgar, the state Republican ticket may be dubbed the "no-name" candidates in 1986.

Some predictions: Without question, the most exciting race in 1986 will be the Thompson-Stevenson rematch. To be sure, much will be written about all the political variables that will produce a winner, and the candidates themselves may conduct the race like two Hollywood wrestlers appearing on early Sunday morning television. Nevertheless, a key for watching this campaign is the following: In 1982 Thompson won 37 of the 59 state senatorial districts, running far ahead of his opponent in several Democratic blue-collar working-class districts. In 1986, Thompson needs to do this again, but unlike 1982 Dixon will be on top of the ticket, and his senatorial coattails may be just long enough to pull Stevenson to victory. Unless Thompson can find a way to slow down the Dixon express train, the governor will find it difficult to win.

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