The following excerpts from We Don't Want Nobody Nobody Sent: An Oral History of the Daley Years by Milton L. Rakove are published with the permission of the author and the publisher, Indiana University Press, Bloomington, Indiana.

MARCO DOMICO Italian. About sixty years old. Precinct captain in Marzullo's 25th Ward. Patronage worker in department of streets and sanitation for twenty-five years. Is now a state representative.

I started as a state representative March 3, 1976. When I went to the House of Representatives, I was always under the impression that them downstaters were shit-kickers. But, much to my amazement, in the first month or so, I found out differently. I spoke to many legislators (there are 176 of them plus myself, 177), downstate Republicans, downstate Democrats. Much to my amazement, ninety-five percent of them are attorneys, pharmacists, presidents of banks, real estate operators, and they are so educated that they make us look like we are the shit-kickers. This is the truth. I have changed my mind about the way I think about them. They are very shrewd, competent legislators. They eat and sleep politics downstate. They fight for their constituents. Downstate, they try to get everything they possibly can for their people. Just like the Cook County Democrats. We fight for everything, just like they do, to see what we can get for the people of Chicago and the county. But when we are down there and it comes to voting as a body, we do not vote geography. We are voting and putting our laws in for all the people in the state of Illinois and the welfare of the people. That's when we combine together and vote for the good of the people of the state.

EDWARD M. BURKE Irish. About thirty-four years old. His father was alderman and committeeman of the South Side's 14th Ward. Burke succeeded him and is regarded as one of the most able young men in the party. Is also a lawyer.

I grew up in politics. The entire family structure revolved around politics. I can remember going to political meetings with my father when I was just a toddler.

I wasn't precinct captain, but I knew everyone in the organization, attended all the meetings. In 1968, when I was a senior in law school, my father got sick in February, three months prior to the primary election. During that period of time when he was ill, I ran the ward organization on a day-to-day basis.

He died on May 11, 1968, and the remains had not even been cold when the political animals of our organization began plotting as to who would become the committeeman, and who would become the alderman. My most vivid recollections of the wake were the little clusters of men around the funeral parlor, discussing who would get what. It was almost like the Roman soldiers casting lots for the garment under the cross at the crucifixion. I was offended by this kind of conduct, and decided that I would not allow the successors to succeed to his dual roles without a fight. There was a fight but I won and was elected by the precinct captains. I was twenty-four years old at the time, the youngest man in Chicago's history to become a ward committeeman.

ADLAI STEVENSON III White Protestant. Forty-eight years old. Son of the former governor of Illinois and two-time Democratic presidential candidate. Is now United States senator from Illinois. Was state treasurer and state representative. Is also an attorney. Has differed from time to time with Daley and has been an occasional critic of the machine's policies.

Are you saying, Adlai, that he [Daley] was parochial in many ways, and unable to come to terms with change?

Yes, I think so. Even on the issues. He was a doctrinaire New Deal liberal. He'd make some of the liberals look like reactionaries. I remember talking to him once about the railroad industry. He said, "Nationalize the railroad industry. Make it a public service." Talk about big spenders! When it came to the cities, particularly housing, he wanted to spend money to improve the condition of the cities. Of course, he stood to gain personally from federal expenditures for urban problems. The organization here benefitted. On the changing of politics, on the changes overtaking the schools, on race, his vision was opaque.

It was partly the fault of many of us. We'd complain and barely make the effort to go and talk to him. Others did. He wasn't exposed to as many viewpoints as he should have been. At times you'd talk to him, he just wouldn't hear. He wouldn't listen. He shut it out. At other times he would be very animated, searching for a way, or for an answer. But not many people knew that. They'd complain bitterly. They'd vilify him. Rarely would they make an effort to talk to him. One of the great failings of his critics, particularly the so-called liberals and reformers, was that they rarely got in there and tried to talk to him. It would have been a revelation to some of them.

He was tough as nails. He just let criticism roll off him. His advice was "Don't read those newspapers. Just make sure they spell your name right." He never let it bother him. I'm not saying he was very amenable to criticism, but unless he had made up his mind (in which case he would stonewall), he was very receptive to ideas. The unfortunate part about it was that the circle was pretty small and, in fact, there really never was anybody that I could really identify as being intimate, really close. There were a few who talked to him. Nobody that was close. I always had the feeling that he was quite conscious of that. He really wanted to talk. to me. He'd call and he would talk. He'd say, "Why don't you come by?" I always felt that it was a little

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presumptuous. I felt a little diffident about it. There was a generation between us. It got less so in later years. As a senator, I began calling him Dick. It took me about ten years to work myself up to that. I'd cross him up, and because of that diffidence, I'd do him the courtesy of calling him in advance if I could.

CECIL PARTEE committeeman of the South Side 20th Ward, a middle-class black ward. Was a state senator for twenty years and was elected president of the Illinois state senate, holding the highest office held by any black at the state level in this country. Was commissioner of Chicago's department of human services. Is also a successful lawyer and is one of the most powerful black politicians in Chicago at the present time. In 1979 was elected city clerk of Chicago.

You were in the legislature for twenty years. Could you tell me what the legislature is like?

The Illinois Senate is a body of fifty-nine people, fifty-eight prima donnas and myself. Elected officials sometimes feel that they have beaten everybody else in their districts and they have some appreciation of themselves and their ability. It is very difficult to meld the various philosophies, attitudes, and parochial kinds of views on many questions. When you lose you don't cry; when you win you don't gloat, and you don't lord it over anybody.

The fact that I was black was, of course, omnipresent. I think the fact that I had capability, political savvy, and the ability to articulate my thoughts sort of helped to counterbalance my ethnic origins. There were times when things would get a little sticky. I would always respond with a joke, or a clever remark, just to get things back on the track. I'll tell you a story that might be relevant to how I handled the situation. I guess I belong in the Guinness Book of Records. I spent the night in two southern governors' mansions. I spent the night in Arkansas with the then Governor Dale Bumpers, who is now a United States senator from Arkansas, and later, I spent the night in the mansion in Georgia in September 1974, when the governor was a man named Jimmy Carter. I called my mother from the mansion and told her that I was spending the night in Atlanta. She asked if I was staying at one of the hotels and I said no, I was staying at the governor's mansion. My mother, who was then eighty-three, said, "Now you behave yourself, you hear!"

MARILOU McCARTHY HEDLUND Irish. Was first woman elected to the city council. Is a long-time community activist and organizer in the North Side 48th Ward. Left the council after one term to do graduate work at the University of Chicago. Is a member of the zoning board of appeals and will surely be back on the political scene in the future.

How did the mayor and Keane run the council?

Vigorously. Effectively. The council is like a captive body, not a deliberative body, nor should it be. It is a forum for those who want to give vent to their spleen, or had causes that they want to popularize. It's a legislative necessity and it is essential. I don't mean to demean it in any way. If there comes a time when there are honest issues that have to be brought forth, that forum is absolutely essential. But the fact is that it meets every two weeks, and, of those meetings, maybe five a year are what I would consider essential, excluding those that are in the budgetary process. The others are pretty much pro forma. The work is essentially done by the executive branch. It has to be. Our city councils are different than national legislatures. Cities have to function hour by hour by hour, the vouchers have to be signed, the paychecks have to be signed, the money has to be deposited, streets have to be repaired, and all of that has to be done. We don't have the luxury of five years to debate.

JAMES KIRIE Greek. About sixty-five years old. Committeeman of west suburban Leyden Township. Vice-president of sanitary district board of trustees. Is also a successful businessman. Has dealt in real estate and owns a restaurant. Is an organization supporter, but differs frequently with its policies.

Mayor Daley had the capacity of being able to take the labor tycoons, the so-called honest real estate combines, the pillars of our society, the Chamber of Commerce of Chicago, the extremely astute banking industry who sell the bonds of the city of Chicago and the Metropolitan Sanitary District, and the honest contractors who work together and take turns on who is going to get the next contract, and weld this honest group together, the pillars of our society, so that everybody got a piece of the pie. And then some trickled down to the ward committeemen, the aldermen, the precinct captains, and the good citizen of the community who wants his sidewalk for nothing, his garbage hauled for nothing, new curbs for nothing, lovely street lights for nothing, all the good things for nothing. This way, he was able to keep a city together. He was able to take the Poles and work them against the Greeks, the Greeks against the Italians, and the Italians against the blacks. Daley was a master at keeping all these factions divided and still working together, and the city functioned.

His weakness was that he surrounded himself with a very close-knit, uninformed group. He didn't want to hear any dissension or anybody who didn't

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Voices from Nobody

agree with him or his clique.

DAN WALKER White Protestant. About fifty-six years old. Successful attorney and long active in reform Democratic politics. Wrote the Walker Report criticizing the Chicago police in 1968 for their handling of the demonstrators at the Democratic convention. Ran against the organization candidate for governor in 1972 in the Democratic primary and defeated him, an almost unheard-of feat in Illinois. As governor, had a rocky time with the legislature and a running fight with Daley. Walker was anathema to the machine. In 1976, Daley's candidate, Michael Howlett, defeated Walker in the gubernatorial primary. Walker is now practicing law and awaiting another political opportunity.

How does a Democratic governor in Springfield normally deal with the Democratic machine in Chicago?

Accommodation. Accommodation means, again — yielding turf. Daley and the Chicago machine have their turf. It's called Chicago, and you keep your hands off, and you let them know that you won't encroach on their turf. That's the way you reach an accommodation. You can also do it by symbolic things, or by picking a couple of things that are of very great importance to them. If I had given Daley the Crosstown Expressway and remap, I could have had the Democratic nomination in 1976 on a silver platter. Both of those involved important matters of principle to me that I was not about to turn around on. I believe that I probably would still be governor today if I had given him those two things. I was in Indiana campaigning for the Democratic candidate for governor in the summer of 1976, after I lost the primary. Mayor Daley called me. He said, "Governor, I just wanted to ask you a question. Would you be willing to change your position on the Crosstown Expressway?" I said, "Gee, Your Honor, I'm kind of strung out on that issue. I've been very vocal on it. I don't see how I can change my mind." He said, "Well, I think you have a great future in the Democratic Party, Dan, and we've got several months remaining in your administration. We could go ahead on that Crosstown." I said, "Sorry, Your Honor, no deal."

JANE BYRNE Irish. Forty-five years old. Was city commissioner of consumer sales. Close to Mayor Daley, and was appointed by him co-chairman of the Democratic county central committee. After Daley's death, broke with his successor, Mayor Michael Bilandic. Ran against Bilandic and was elected mayor of Chicago April 3, 1979.

Jane, you worked with the mayor for a long time, and I know how you felt about him. Did he have any weaknesses as a mayor and a politician?

I could not find any in him as a mayor. I used to think sometimes from what he would say to me (and you have to understand that I was for a two-and-one-half-year period a co-chairperson of the county central committee and we would talk about things), I used to think sometimes maybe he was a little too soft on some of the committeemen. We would sit and discuss what some issue was, and let's say it was something about some individual, and he'd say, "Well, maybe I shouldn't have expected more." Or, "He let me down," and you could see that there was a hurtness in his face about it. At the same time I would think to myself, "You know, why don't you cut him a little bit? That would be my reaction." And he'd say, "Well, what can you do?" Every once in a while, of course, he would say things too, like, "Don't get mad, get even." Or "Forgive, but never forget." And, then, I think, after the stroke, he got even more kindly that way, because he'd say — and openly — to the press, "I'm lucky I'm here. I have none of that left in me. I don't want to hurt, whatever they do." The sting came out of him.

LYNN WILLIAMS White Protestant. Sixty-nine years old. Graduate of Yale and Harvard Law School. Wealthy, successful North Shore lawyer and businessman. Was vice-president of the University of Chicago and president of the Great Books Foundation. Ran for Congress in 1962; lost to Donald Rumsfeld. Was elected township committeeman of North Shore suburban New Trier Township in 1966. Has been a vocal critic and opponent of Daley and the Chicago machine as a member of the county central committee. Was an unsuccessful candidate for the Cook County Board in 1978.

Senator Adlai Stevenson spoke of this system [the Democratic organization] as feudal, and he meant there was something wrong with this. And, of course, there is, because this is really demeaning to a lot of the best human qualities. It's called a machine. Usually, it's taken to mean it is orderly, reliable, and effective. This is less true than it was, but true to some degree. But, in another sense, this is a machine in that it makes robots, gears, cogs, out of the people who become workers in it. They don't do any thinking. They're not expected to exercise any judgment, and they surrender their minds to the control of someone else, as surely as a horse surrenders his body. The ability to think, to judge, to discriminate, is the peculiar human quality. Dogs can have babies. Dogs can eat. But dogs can't think. They can be taught to play the piano, to bark when they're hungry, and to bring the newspapers, and all that kind of thing, but, in the human sense, they don't think. This is what the committeemen and the precinct captains give up. They become automatons. If they're good, they do exactly what is expected of them as

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reliably as does the machine. In that sense, the name "machine" is appropriate.

Was Daley a great political leader? He was not a great political leader because the ends in view were so dim, and so easy, and so modest, that he wasn't engaging his talents for leading others to what was needed for the future or even for a good present. At a quite different level, he's called an astute politician, and some of this came from his selection of candidates, on which he had a very poor record.

That he kept the party in power was without any question. But it was not because his judgments, politically, were so wise. It came from a kind of ruthlessness and a push for power. Daley was astute in acquiring power, but his judgment in the use of power was something else again. It was rather that with the patronage army that he institutionalized, mobilized, and organized, until the growth of the suburbs was sufficient, he was able to elect anybody he named. But he elected a lot of bad people and gave a lot of bad people power. It was almost, you know, like a football halfback playing behind an offensive line that's extremely strong, that could wipe everybody out. All the halfback has to do is to walk in behind these guys. He's going to go five yards.

He never understood the suburbs. He thought the suburbs were like the city. He frequently said that the principles that apply in the city apply in the suburbs. But he was wrong. In Chicago, the ability to do favors for people from the city government was a very important factor in the power of the committeemen. But nobody is going to go to a precinct captain in the suburbs. I go to the Village Hall. The effectiveness of precinct captains and committeemen is minimal.

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