By ROBERT J. McCLORY

Is there political gold in Vrdolyak ? Richard Vrdolyak is a Chicago politician who has survived scandal, political jeopardy, and defeat. He is accused of stepping on friends to get what he wants and his political profile is hard to bring into focus. Is he hard as nails or a South Side sentimental?

NINETEEN-Sixty-Eight was a violent year in Chicago history: the fiery westside riots following Dr. Martin Luther King's assasination, Mayor Richard J. Daley's much debated shoot-to-kill order, the turmoil at the Democratic National Convention which tore the party and the nation apart, the anti-war marches, and the tear gas, and all the bloody heads. It was a time of such controversy and unrest that few citizens noticed the emergence on the city's far southeast side of a man whom many feel is destined to leave a profound mark on the city.

The name is Edward R. Vrdolyak. And like the year of his debut, he remains permanently enveloped in a cloud of controversy. Almost everything about him has a contradictory element. The public is alternately attracted, amused, mystified and frightened by this handsome, articulate politician and lawyer who could well be the next chairman of the Cook County Democratic party, some day the mayor of the city, and who knows what else. At 41, he has the drive and the brains to accomplish whatever he wants — unless, of course, the violent demons which have flitted about his career finally bring him down.

Vrdolyak's problems stem largely from the image of ruthlessness he often conveys. "If you were producing a movie and asked central casting to send over a slick, shady, used-car salesman," observed one of his political cronies, "they'd send over Fast Eddie." An early political foe, John Buchanan, fully exploited the image, taking Vrdolyak's initials, ERV, and labeling him "Evil, Ruthless and Vicious." There are few public figures in Chicago who are so regularly investigated by law enforcement agencies or "implicated" and "linked" by the media to revelations of misconduct. And Jane Byrne's earliest promise in the 1979 mayoral campaign was to destroy forever the power of that "cabal of evil men" in City Hall led by the 10th Ward's alderman and Democratic committeeman, Edward Vrdolyak.<br>

The proof is in the eating

But the proof of the pudding is in the eating. Buchanan is long gone. The investigators have yet to lay a glove on their prey. And just three months after her election, Jane Byrne was standing in the alderman's backyard munching on hors d'oeuvres and making friendly small talk with him and other members of the cabal.

"Eddie Vrdolyak is very bright and tough as nails," said political analyst Milton Rakove, whose new history of the Chicago Democratic machine, We Don't Want Nobody Nobody Sent, takes the Vrkolyak phenomenon very seriously. "It is a mistake to characterize him as just another man driven by blind ambition. He has certain goals, but he wants them on his own terms. He will not risk everything or do anything. He will play the game by the rules, and if he can't achieve his aim, he will quit rather than go too far."

Hence, said Rakove, the image of a sinister character embroiled in secret and illegal schemes just doesn't fit. "He doesn't need to do anything illegal," he said. "And I have never known him to lie or stay mad at anyone very long."

Vrdolyak has obviously learned something from the mistakes of former 31st Ward Aid. Thomas E. Keane, a man he is often compared with and

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one whose unbridled thirst for power and wealth led him finally to the federal penitentiary. Vrdolyak has no intention of going that route. Vrdolyak is far more complex than he appears superficially, and he deliberately promotes an air of mystery by keeping probing newspeople at a distance. Perhaps his most candid self-revelations occurred recently in a lengthy taped interview session with Emery King of Chicago's WBBM-TV (some excerpts from which are quoted here with King's permission). Asked to sum himself up, Vrdolyak thought a moment and said, "I guess I'm a young man from the wrong side of the tracks with a funny last name who didn't take anybody's guff." The wrong side he referred to is South Chicago, a tough, cosmopolitan neighborhood on the Indiana border, dominated by U.S. Steel's South Works. The area's 10th Ward, the largest

Growing up in a large Croatian family which lived in a modest apartment over his father's tavern, young Eddie learned to use his fists and a blackjack occasionally when an unruly patron had to be ejected. He studied briefly at a Catholic seminary before deciding his future lay with the law.

During his first year at the University of Chicago Law School in 1960, he got into the news as one of seven men charged with the assault and attempted murder of a pair of contractors in South Holland. Vrdolyak claimed it was only a "union scrap" which had been blown out of proportion, and the charges were dropped anyway when he established that he was actually taking an exam when the beatings occurred. But the shadow of suspicion was over him and it has hung on, like a South Chicago Chappaquiddick.

After graduation, he set up a neighborhood legal practice, which thrived with referrals from two brothers who were on the Chicago police force and one who was a steel union official. The majority of his cases were personal injury suits, and though he was regarded as something of an ambulance chaser, the clients didn't mind. Vrdolyak knew what it takes to win.

His loyalty in the making

As his reputation as an aggressive go-getter grew, he was drawn to politics, starting a local political club in the mid 1960's. In 1967, the club used its muscle to help Buchanan beat the 10th Ward's Democratic committeeman, Stanley Zima, for the aldermanic seat. The next year, Buchanan returned the favor by backing Vrdolyak in his first political campaign — a bid to oust Zima from his committeeman post as well.

When the smoke cleared on June 11, 1968, the metropolitan press reported with surprise that a young South Chicago Croatian had become the first person in history to upset an incumbent Democratic organization committee-man. He had beaten Zima (by a narrow 500 votes) with a whirlwind campaign which included a fusillade of signs in the community, a batch of alluring promises to the precinct workers, and a taxpayers' suit he filed opposing a proposed local school busing plan. He was criticized for making so much of the busing issue, but his excesses were mild compared with those of Zima's people, who had distributed copies of the old 1960 atempted murder indictment door to door three days before the election.

In his new position, Vrdolyak demonstrated an ability to satisfy the customers. The organization workers were impressed with his direct, street-smart manner, his loyalty and his follow-through on pledges. "He formed an extremely solid political organization," said Rakove. Today, 30 to 40 percent of his precinct captains are volunteers — a high rate in a city where precinct work and city employment are usually wedded.

His tactics in campaigning

In 1970, Vrdolyak survived another scandal when eight men, including his brother Peter, were indicted on charges of gambling and using prostitutes as door prizes during a series of smokers sponsored by his Democratic organization. Vrdolyak insisted he was personally unaware of the wrongdoing. The eight pleaded guilty and took their medicine, while stoutly refusing to implicate the ward committeeman in any way, much to the chagrin of the state's attorney's investigators.

Vrdolyak then turned on his old mentor, Buchanan, and ran against him for the aldermanic seat in the 1971 election. Buchanan called it the lowest form of treachery and backstabbing ever seen. Vrdolyak, however, claimed his goal from the start was the alder-manic seat.

"I think my stabs were always from the front," he said. "I never knew how to do that from the back. Everybody I ever had an argument or fight with always knew they had a fight with me."

Buchanan certainly did during the campaign, as Vrdolyak waged a multi-faceted (some say two-faced) appeal to the various racial and ethnic blocks in the 10th Ward. He won by more than

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2,000 votes, and at the age of 34 was the undisputed political boss of the territory. Said Buchanan, "God save the 10th Ward!"

In the City Council, the newcomer impressed the mayor with his guts and ability. Vrdolyak was an organization Democrat, to be sure, but he was the most visible of a new generation of Democrats. Like Daley and the other old pros, these apprentices enjoyed the give and take of politics, had the instinct for making a deal at the opportune moment, and knew that providing services (or at least appearing to) was the name of the game. But they were more broadly educated than the old-timers, more articulate on the issues, and they had professional credentials in other areas. In short, they were not as controllable as the traditional organization loyalists. Aldermen like Vrdolyak, Edward M. Burke in the 14th Ward, Christopher Cohen in the 46th, and Clifford P. Kelley in the 20th were coming to be regarded on occasion as leaders in their own right and not just dumb cogs in the machine.

In his spare moments, Vrdolyak was busy defending himself from a string of new charges and suspicions. He was accused in a newspaper series of pressuring accident victims to hire his still expanding law firm, but the expose fell through almost instantly when the key witness turned out to be a crank. He was charged with clobbering a naughty campaign worker one election day with the aid of several police associates, but no formal complaint was ever filed. And he was in the papers again when his brother, Joseph, an insurance agent, pleaded guilty to federal charges of doctoring his books.

The price of his rebelling

Nevertheless, Fast Eddie (a nickname he dislikes because it connotes an unscrupulous hustler) still had time to make a genuine impact in the City Council. As a member of the all-powerful Finance Committee, his regular input and strong ideas earned him a considerable number of friends and enemies. He became adept at gathering the necessary votes for a particular roll call as he strolled around the City Council chambers before the arrival of the mayor, making a point or a promise, reminding someone of a favor owed, or just patting a back.

Then in 1974, it looked like he was determined to ruin it all. For reasons which still remain obscure (he said "promises were made and not kept"), Vrdolyak broke with the mayor and the Democratic regulars and ran in the primary election for the county assessor's office against the chosen candidate, Tom Tully. He waged his usual, no-holds-barred assault, but had obviously bitten off too much this time. He was soundly defeated.

Ever the pragmatist, Vrdolyak returned to the City Council and made his peace with the mayor. Within a few weeks the revolt was forgotten because he and some of his cohorts were fomenting a new one — the so-called Coffee Rebellion, a move by younger council members to wrest some authority away from Ald. Keane, chairman of the Finance Committee. The rebellion did not last long, but it did serve to break Keane's stranglehold a little even as it fostered the Vrdolyak reputation as a gutsy power seeker.

When asked about this driving ambition, Vrdolyak said it's all an illusion. "I don't know what power I'm supposed to have other than the ability to talk to people, get to know people, help as many as you can." His only real function in the council and in the ward, he emphasized, is "service to the people."

When Daley died suddenly in 1976, everything went up for grabs, especially the division of authority in the new administration. Vrdolyak and the Coffee Rebellion crowd made quick moves to grab as much as they could. One scenario, worked out behind closed doors as the mayor was being waked, called for Vrdolyak to head the Finance Committee. However, when word of that proposal leaked out, there was so much open opposition that young and old closed ranks and made some practical compromises. Eventually, Wilson Frost (the black alderman who was denied the acting mayor post) was handed the Finance Committee as a sop to the raging black community. Vrdolyak wound up as chairman of the Building and Zoning Committee - a lesser position than he had been aiming for but a meaty bone nonetheless for someone on the way up.

During the brief administration of Mayor Michael A. Bilandic, Vrdolyak was embroiled in one major hassle: the charges that the mayor had illegally "greased" a cab fare hike through the

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City Council. As fate would have it, the accuser in this instance was Jane Byrne, and she insisted the grease job had been aided and abetted by Bilandic's crafty conspirator, Ald. Vrdolyak. The charges, denials, countercharges, lie detector tests and general animosity kept reporters busy for several months. Byrne was the only apparent loser in the fracas: Bilandic fired her as the city's consumer affairs commissioner, and all the probes established no misconduct by the mayor or anyone else. However, the lady arose from the canvas early this year, and with an icy boost from 90 inches of snow supplied by Mother Nature, she knocked the bemused Bilandic out of the ring with one punch. Not surprisingly, she vowed to get Vrdolyak too for his sinister part in the cab episode. For several months, Vrdolyak remained calm and cool, insisting good naturedly that he could work with anyone if it's in the city's best interests. Byrne appeared to be testing that resolve in a rather peculiar way in June when she demoted Vrdolyak's brother Victor

The upshot was a brief, bitter power duel in the City Council. Vrdolyak sponsored a resolution calling for a thorough investigation of the matter by the council's Police and Fire Committee, which happens to be run by his good friend, Ald. Edward Burke. Byrne offered a counter-resolution giving the investigative authority to a special committee composed entirely of her loyalists.

Byrne won handily when the tally was taken, and she clearly relished this first show of naked power. Vrdolyak railed at her in the council, calling her victory cheap and unfair, but he later smiled before the television cameras as he explained (in the hallowed tradition of Mayor Daley) how some battles are won and some are lost. The grin looked a bit twisted though, prompting speculation that he may lick his wounds and come back for a pound of flesh another day.

No, said Vrdolyak in his casual, deceptively unassuming manner, "Vengeance is for children. I don't waste my time with petty likes and dislikes .... If the mayor called me up today and asked for help, I'd be of assistance . . . ."

His values are unchanging

And so it was that he invited Mayor Byrne to his birthday party a week later in the backyard of his $200,000 South Chicago home equipped with a swimming pool and tennis court. And Byrne, learning quickly about politics and bedfellows, not only showed up but reportedly had a great time. What the future holds for this decidedly odd couple is anyone's guess.

Vrdolyak told King that he is reassessing his career and may be moving on to greener pastures elsewhere. "Politics is not life and death," he said. "It's only a part. If you lose perspective, my God, you're letting it run you."

All of which rings a little hollow to those bewildered folks who have been following his nonstop career to date. But it's not necessarily a phony ploy at all, insisted Rakove. What few realize, he said, is that Vrdolyak, for all his flamboyance, retains many solid, old country values. He is a happily married man with three growing sons, and he is not about to jeopardize that for the sake of a career or a vendetta. If political life gets too hot, declared Rakove, he may actually turn away and never look back.

But what about all the scandals and near scandals? Can there be all that smoke and no fire? "You know," Vrdolyak told King, "those investigations originate with the media .... They go after me because I'm good copy. They could care less [about the truth or falsity of the accusations]. They've got to fill their papers...."

The difficulty of stereotyping

Although that is a terribly simplistic assessment, there may be more than a grain of truth in it. Vrdolyak has always been good copy because he is forever on or near the cutting edge of things. There is about him a gritty humanity which is in marked contrast to the plastic, sterilized image of many a modern day politician - a rare combination of humility and pride, honesty and deceit, comedy and tragedy. The media and the public is attracted to that, especially when it is colorfully packaged.

If Vrdolyak decides to remain in politics, Rakove said his next bid may be for the county party chairmanship, the job now held by aging George Dunne and a post in which his gifts and his yearning for power might have ample expression.

According to Vrdolyak himself, his enchantment with politics has deep roots. "As one gets older," he said, "you wonder about the true meaning of life, why you are here .... You realize you're the result of so many good people. And I remember, 'To whom much is given much is demanded.' I owe. I think we've been effective out here [in the 10th Ward]. We've been stability to the community. But I owe."

When he puts it like that, the stereotypes tend to get confused and raveled. Is this just another line from the consumate confidence man of the 70's? Or is there a genuine vein of South Chicago gold underneath the veneer?

Don't try to answer right away. At least wait for the resolution of the next Vrdolyak controversy which is likely to hit the papers sometime next week.

On the staff of the National Catholic Reporter, Robert J. McClory has also written extensively for other publications and is author of the book, The Man Who Beat Clout City.

12/ October 1979/ Illinois Issues