In the world of Springfield politics, longtime House Speaker Michael Madigan developed a reputation that people at the statehouse could count on his word.
The secretive Southwest Side Democrat didn’t necessarily give it freely. He wanted to know every angle of an issue before saying he would embrace an idea or go all in. And he sometimes took his time before he would sign on to a budget deal or agree to back a bill.
But governors, lawmakers and lobbyists time and again came to a consensus during Madigan’s five decades in the Illinois House, including a national-record 36 years as speaker: Whether you agreed with him or not, his word was good.
Now, four years after resigning his seat in the legislature amid a burgeoning federal corruption investigation, Madigan is banking on his word once again. But this time, it’s not fellow lawmakers or ward heelers he’s dealing with, it’s a jury of 12 average citizens. And the stakes couldn’t be higher.
In a move that shocked Illinois political circles, as well as most court watchers and experts, Madigan took the witness stand last week in his own corruption trial, telling the jury repeatedly and emphatically under oath he is innocent of allegations that he betrayed his public office and traded official action for legal work and lucrative contracts for his associates.
Testifying on your own behalf in a high-profile case is a rare move that is fraught with risk, and one Madigan, a lawyer and legendary tactician, surely considered from every angle. The decision appeared to catch even prosecutors by surprise, though by the time Madigan faces cross-examination, they will undoubtedly be loaded for bear.
As Madigan’s direct testimony unfolded over five hours Tuesday and Wednesday, some of his motives for taking the stand became clear. Contrary to how he comes across on some of the wiretapped recordings the jury has heard, the 82-year-old Madigan was relaxed and even charming at times, offering jurors a compelling backstory of a blue-collar, Irish Catholic kid who rose to the pinnacle of Illinois power politics through work ethic and moxie.
While prosecutors have portrayed Madigan as a ruthless and all-powerful boss, he was able to sell himself as a nonconfrontational consensus builder, more interested in building coalitions than scorched-earth politics. It was a lesson Madigan told the jury he’d learned early on from a key mentor, legendary Democratic state Rep. Zeke Giorgi of Rockford.
“The most important thing I learned from him was it’s really important to strive to know and understand other people,” Madigan said. “It’s one thing to have your own ideas, but in life, particularly in a legislative body, it’s important that you understand everybody comes with their own ideas. Everybody should be given due respect.”
But even in his direct testimony, the tightrope Madigan was walking became obvious: Trying to explain his own words in some of the secret recordings at the center of the case while attempting to pawn off many of the more damaging episodes on his co-defendant, Michael McClain, a longtime friend and political consultant.
At the same time, Madigan has fully exposed himself to the scrutiny of seasoned prosecutors, as well as opened the door to other previously barred evidence — including a potentially damaging wiretapped call where the speaker and McClain allegedly laugh about some of their political associates making out “like bandits.”
The trial wrapped up for the week Wednesday afternoon after cross examination by McClain’s attorney. Madigan will likely be back on the stand for cross examination by prosecutors at some point Monday, though the timing is uncertain because U.S. District Judge John Robert Blakey plans to hold arguments first on what specific topics prosecutors can cover.
Madigan, and McClain, 77, of downstate Quincy, are charged in a 23-count indictment alleging that Madigan’s vaunted state and political operations were run like a criminal enterprise to amass and increase his power and enrich himself and his associates.
In addition to alleging bribery schemes involving ComEd and AT&T Illinois, the indictment accuses Madigan of pressuring developers to hire the speaker’s law firm and trying to win business by secretly supporting legislation to transfer state-owned land in Chinatown to the city so developers could build a high-rise.
Both Madigan and McClain have denied wrongdoing.
The trial, which began with jury selection Oct. 8, is heading into its 12th week of testimony. The judge has told the jury he hopes they will begin their deliberations on the week of Jan. 27, though Madigan’s surprise testimony could push that back even further.
A personal portrait
Early on in his testimony, Madigan took open-ended, softball questions from his attorney, Daniel Collins, who repeatedly addressed his client as “Mike.” The former speaker struck up a conversational tone and spoke directly to the jury about his strict upbringing, meeting his wife, Shirley, and some of the poignant moments of family life.
Madigan said he was still a newbie lawmaker and lawyer when he met Shirley in a law office in Chicago where she worked. Her family had migrated from Mexico to eastern Oregon, Madigan said, where they worked the fields growing onions and potatoes, before she eventually “found her way to Chicago” via a job as a flight attendant.
When they married in 1976, Madigan said he immediately considered himself a father to Shirley’s daughter, Lisa, from a previous marriage.
“My view of it was I would treat Lisa as my daughter,” he told the jury. “I understood from the get-go that this was a dual package here. So I just took on the parental responsibilities.”
Madigan also told a story about Lisa’s biological father, whom he said was verbally abusive, leading to a phone confrontation one night when she was still young.
“I was walking up the stairs, she was in her bedroom on the phone crying,” Madigan said. “I took the phone out of her hands, and her biological father was on the phone shouting at her. The language was so vile, I don’t even want to repeat it. But he was using the F-word.”
What did you tell her? Collins asked.
“That she never had to see him or talk to him again,” Madigan said.
In addition to drawing in the jurors, who were listening intently, Madigan’s story also served to bolster the defense’s narrative of his nonconfrontational nature. Asked by Collins how the situation was resolved, Madigan said he received some “threatening letters” from Lisa’s biological father, but the conflict was never physical.
Did you choose to avoid confrontation? Collins asked.
“Yes,” Madigan said.
Among the other explanations Madigan gave to the jury in his direct testimony was why he famously didn’t have a cellphone or use email — a fact prosecutors have used to imply that he was trying to insulate himself from the potential consequences of his actions.
“Instead, he spoke through a very small inner circle whom he trusted,” Assistant U.S. Attorney Sarah Streicker said in her opening statement back in October, adding that Madigan and McClain were “careful to hide and disguise what they were doing.”
Madigan’s lawyers pushed back, telling the jury their client was just an old-school guy. “He doesn’t have a cellphone, and that’s supposed to be indicia of guilt?” defense attorney Tom Breen said in his opening remarks. “He doesn’t do email. That’s supposed to be an indicia of guilt?”
On the stand, Madigan tried to put the issue to bed. He said the landlines in his various offices had served him just fine for years, and he saw no reason to change. Besides, Madigan said, he wanted to maintain some boundaries between his work and his personal life.
“I wanted to end my day,” he said. “I didn’t want to be sitting with a cellphone taking calls during a meal or at other times when I just wasn’t on the job.”
As for why he never had an email address, he said computers weren’t even a regular thing in offices when he started his reign as speaker in 1983. “When computers came along and when the use of them really increased I was already the speaker. … I had people in all of those offices who could take transmissions through the computers and give documents to me.”
Madigan’s comments had eyes rolling in some political circles, including one Republican who recalled asking the speaker why he didn’t use a cellphone or computers and getting a very different explanation: “Because they all have a memory.”
The Madigan version of himself on the witness stand was certainly a kinder, gentler one than what Republican colleagues would remember from their days in the Illinois House, particularly over how he exercised the House rules of procedure.
Madigan testified that he adopted the same, tighter House rules that were put in place when he lost the speakership following the 1994 nationwide Republican tide that handed the speaker’s gavel to DuPage County’s Lee Daniels.
In a particularly sunny spin, Madigan told the jury that even though they’d complained about Daniels’ rules for two years, when he won back the speakership in 1996 he decided he’d keep them the same and be “more fair” in their usage.
In reality, Madigan’s House rules, which he fiercely protected provided him tight control of what bills came up for a vote or even got a committee hearing — a process that drew complaints from Republicans year after year.
None complained louder than state Rep. Mike Bost, a southern Illinois Republican, who went on an arm-waving rant on the House floor in 2012 over Democrats calling for a quick vote on an end-of-session pension bill.
“I’m sick of it,” Bost said, his voice rising in frustration as he tossed the bill into the air and punched at the pages as they floated down. “Every year we give power to one person. … I’m trapped by rules that have been forced down our throats!”
Denying allegations
But regardless of Madigan’s intent, the result was the same: Much of the evidence introduced against him does not tie directly to him. He was not copied on emails or texts; many of the messages allegedly communicating Madigan’s wishes actually came through McClain or others.
That gave Madigan an opening to outright deny any knowledge of certain actions that were going on in his name, and deny he said things that were not caught on tape. When he took the stand, that’s exactly what he did.
Madigan denied ever giving permission to kill legislation favored by his daughter Lisa, who was then the attorney general, as McClain suggested in some of the evidence jurors saw. He denied agreeing to meet with AT&T bosses about their attempts to pass key legislation in 2017, contradicting an email in which an AT&T executive wrote that the speaker had agreed to a sit-down. And he denied ever telling McClain that he expected a “hard and quick favorable response” to his requests of ComEd, as McClain had written in an email to a ComEd executive.
Madigan denied ever telling top 13th Ward precinct captain Edward Moody, in a chance conversation Moody testified about, that it was OK that Moody wasn’t doing any work for ComEd during his subcontract. In fact, Madigan denied ever bumping into Moody on the street at all.
He denied telling a staffer, Will Cousineau, to round up support for a ComEd-friendly bill, as Cousineau testified earlier in trial. He denied any involvement in trying to get a favorable ComEd contract for the clouted law firm Reyes Kurson, disavowing a strongly worded email from McClain promising that the speaker would be angry if ComEd didn’t play ball. He denied knowing that AT&T Illinois had been paying former state Rep. Edward Acevedo at McClain’s request.
Meanwhile, where Madigan’s actual words were caught on a wiretap, he had innocuous explanations for what prosecutors alleged are highly incriminating statements.
In a 2018 phone call between McClain and Madigan, the men discussed whether ComEd should keep paying Moody via his latest subcontract, given that Moody was taking office as the Cook County recorder of deeds.
“So, do you want us to keep going with Ed Moody under that ComEd agreement or do you want us to pull off a little bit because of this recorder of deeds thing?” McClain asked Madigan.
“Yeah, that might be a good idea to pull back,” Madigan said.
Prosecutors have said the call showed Madigan not only knew about the subcontractor shell game but that he was helping to direct it.
But, Madigan testified, he thought that when McClain said “we” he was referring to ComEd. And he thought McClain was merely asking for his advice on how to handle the matter given Moody’s new job.
“My recommendation was, in light of his assumption of a full-time executive position, (to) pull back on his extra work with ComEd,” Madigan testified.
“Did you believe you controlled what ComEd could do or not do?” Collins asked.
“No,” Madigan responded.
As for the flood of emails and communications regarding Madigan’s referral of former McPier boss Juan Ochoa to the ComEd board, Madigan didn’t consider that a demand to the utility, he said, nor did it bother him that the appointment took so long.
Madigan said he recommended Ochoa at the request of then-U.S. Rep. Luis Gutierrez, a Chicago Democrat, and for no other reason, he said. As for his request that McClain keep him posted about the status of Ochoa’s appointment, Madigan said he merely wanted to avoid any awkward social situations.
“I simply didn’t want to be in a social setting and encounter Gutierrez and Ochoa and be told they hadn’t gotten the appointment,” he said. “I just wanted to be advised so I wouldn’t be surprised.”
McClain is also on tape informing Madigan about a plan to quietly pass the hat for former 13th Ward worker Kevin Quinn, who had been ousted from the speaker’s state and political team following accusations of sexual harassment.
McClain and a handful of friendly utility lobbyists sent regular payments to Quinn, the brother of Madigan’s handpicked 13th Ward Ald. Marty Quinn, and prosecutors have used the episode to show how McClain and Madigan secretly took efforts to help allies accused of wrongdoing.
The wiretap captured Madigan saying he thinks he should “stay out of it,” and Madigan is not alleged to have made any payments to Quinn.
“With Mr. Quinn having been fired, why didn’t you put a stop to these?” Collins asked Madigan.
Quinn had lost his job and was “going through a very difficult divorce,” Madigan said on the stand before prosecutors objected, prompting a lengthy sidebar.
Prosecutors have argued Madigan’s response should allow them to tell jurors the details of why Quinn was forced out. So far, to avoid prejudice, they have been told only that it was due to accusations of unspecified “misconduct.”
Countering Solis
Madigan also had a response on the stand to one of the most potentially damning tapes, on which Chicago alderman-turned-FBI informant Daniel Solis tells Madigan that a potential law firm client understands “how this works, you know, the quid pro quo.”
On the wiretapped call, Madigan responds only with “yeah, OK.”
But Madigan said that internally, his reaction was “a great deal of surprise and concern,” and he resolved to have a face-to-face conversation with Solis telling him that was not acceptable language.
Solis also secretly recorded that conversation, at which Madigan told the alderman “you shouldn’t be talking like that.”
Solis’ facial expression, which was not captured on the undercover video, was described by Madigan as instantly apologetic.
“His expression was such that it told me he had gotten the message from me that I wasn’t going to be involved in a quid pro quo,” Madigan said.
In his testimony, Madigan has sought to distance himself from Jay Doherty, the consultant and former City Club of Chicago president who allegedly acted as the pass-through for the bulk of ComEd’s subcontractor payments to the speaker’s allies.
Madigan testified he knew Doherty “had a public relations lobbying firm and he had multiple clients, including ComEd, but he said it was McClain who was the main contact with the utility.
That narrative could prove tough for the jury to swallow, however, in light of 2018 wiretapped recordings detailing a plan by Madigan to help out Democratic state Rep. Jaime Andrade of Chicago by finding a job for Andrade’s wife, a lawyer who’d emigrated from Peru.
“Um, Jaime Andrade came to me and, same story, he needs money,” Madigan told McClain in one July 2, 2018, phone call played for the jury earlier in the trial. “And he had the thought that maybe I could help his wife on something. … I asked him to, you know, to send the resume to me.”
After telling McClain to “give it some thought,” Madigan came up with an idea of his own: Could they pay Andrade’s wife through Doherty’s company?
“Not necessarily with ComEd, but I had the thought that I could actually put Jay Doherty on a retainer, and then he’d have her and she’d do whatever she would do. … We would tell (Andrade) to prepare monthly reports on what she’s doing. So he’s got it on file.”
Asked on the witness stand what he thought he’d meant by “same story,” Madigan said, “That many other members of the House had come to me for help on additional employment.”
Collins then asked about Madigan’s comment about paying Andrade’s wife through Doherty. He explained he meant maybe Doherty could hire her and he would reimburse him through one of his political committees, to avoid the optics.
“Did you act on this idea?” Collins asked.
“No,” Madigan said.
Andrade’s wife wound up being hired weeks later by then-Secretary of State Jesse White’s office, working for the general counsel.
rlong@chicagotribune.com
jmeisner@chicagotribune.com
mcrepeau@chicagotribune.com
