By Chicago standards, Blagojevich isn't crazy
John Kass
December 11, 2008
When it comes to Gov. Rod Blagojevich (D-Dead Meat), many national TV talking heads can't resist playing amateur psychiatrist.
"He's crazy," said one talking head of our governor. "A sociopath!" said another. "He should have been put in a straitjacket, not handcuffs," said a third, all of them diagnosing Blagojevich as cuckoo.
I can see how they arrived at their cockamamie theory. Anyone who read the federal complaint with all the f-bombs in there and watched Blagojevich drive to work on Wednesday morning, the TV crews following his black SUV in a low-speed chase, as if he were some angry Serbian O.J., might think he had lost his marbles.
But is Blagojevich truly cuckoo?
Well, he was caught on federal tape using multiple f-words while allegedly trying to sell President-elect Barack Obama's Senate seat to the highest bidder. First Lady Patti Blagojevich was also on tape, and she's a better cusser than her husband. All she needs to do is learn how to chew tobacco and scratch and she could manage the Cubs.
Again, is Blago some blithering maniac ready for a padded cell?
Of course not.
But one thing is clear: The pundits who make such diagnoses have never talked to a Chicago machine politician in their lives.
How do they think Chicago politicians talk in private when they're muscling some other guy for cash? Like Helen Mirren playing the queen?
Now, with federal investigators interviewing everyone in the case, it's time to assess the mental health of our political leaders.
The good news is that Obama isn't cuckoo either.
He was severely delusional, though, for a day, trying to avoid saying anything about Gov. Dead Meat. But he came to his senses and called upon Blagojevich to resign.
He bravely sent out a spokesman to declare, "Under the current circumstances, it is difficult for the governor to do his job and serve the people of Illinois."
Translation: Will no one rid us of this accursed madman?
Mayor Richard Daley of Chicago, the boss who runs the machine that he says doesn't exist, refused to take a position either way. That's because he's sane.
The governor isn't the only one in this mess. His chief of staff, John Harris, also was arrested. Before Harris worked for Dead Meat, he worked for Mayor Shortshanks at Chicago's political golden goose: O'Hare International Airport.
Blagojevich "has to figure out what's best for him and his family, and the State of Illinois," the mayor said. "He will have to do the right thing."
Ah, the right thing. When Harris spills?and he will, because he's not crazy either?Daley doesn't want Harris to spill on him. He wants guys to do the "right thing," which, if I may translate, means to keep their traps shut.
In a fevered dream, I picture them, a convicted Dead Meat walking with a visiting Shortshanks behind some federal fence, smoking cigars on a gray afternoon.
"You know, the Roman Empire, when a plot against the Emperor failed, the plotters were always given a chance to let their families keep their fortunes," says Shortshanks.
Dead Meat knowingly puffs on his cigar.
"Yeah, sometimes they gave a little party," Dead Meat says.
They shake hands as they part.
"Don't worry about a thing, Frankie Five Angels, um, uh, I mean Dead Meat," says Shortshanks, as they put their fingers to their lips in the ancient signal of silence.
One guy who yapped a lot the other day?but didn't say much?is U.S. Rep. Jesse Jackson Jr. (D-Budweiser).
Jackson was identified as Senate Candidate 5. According to the federal complaint, Blagojevich said that an emissary of Candidate 5 offered him $1 million in donations in exchange for an appointment to fill Obama's Senate seat.
In a careful denial on TV, after which he declined to take any questions on the advice of his attorney, Jackson said he wasn't a pay-to-play kind of guy.
"I never sent a message or an emissary to the governor to make an offer, plead my case or propose a deal about a U.S. Senate seat, period," Jackson said.
The last time I saw him so emotional, it was at the Democratic National Convention in Denver. Jackson got weepy at a party breakfast and started to hug every machine politician he could grab. First, he grabbed Daley, and cried, and hugged him and hugged him.
"I've been trying to get to know Mayor Daley for 14 years," Jackson sobbed as somebody handed him a tissue.
Then he demanded that rivals Blagojevich and Illinois House Speaker Michael Madigan hug each other, which they did. But no reporter thought Jackson was cuckoo. We all knew he was perfectly sane. He wanted to become a U.S. senator, and he wasn't afraid to act crazy to get the job.
So listen up, you amateur psychiatrists from national cable TV land. Don't be alarmed when Chicago machine politicians act like raving lunatics.
It's when they're quiet and reasonable that you've got to worry.
jsksass@tribune.com
