Former Ald. Ed Burke’s perp walk as he headed for prison was slow, but his fall from the highest levels of power was swift. It played out as familiar for any of us who have been watching the steady parade of Chicago aldermen on the path from power to prison. Familiar, but many find it also kind of a shocking end to Burke’s decadeslong influence over Chicago politics and policy. I guess it was a bit less of a shock to me, as I had a firsthand opportunity to see how Burke ran his game.
The year was 1998. I was CEO of the League of Chicago Theatres, the trade association that represented some 200 theater companies at that time. Our No. 1 advocacy priority was to reduce the onerous Chicago amusement tax on live theater. And for that, I had to talk to the powerful chairman of the City Council Finance Committee — Burke.
I arranged an appointment and met Burke in his City Hall office. We started with some casual chat; I’d covered Burke as a City Hall reporter, so we knew each other. But then the conversation shifted abruptly. I suddenly felt like I was on the witness stand as Burke took on a rather stern, lawyerly tone and launched into something akin to a cross-examination. Here’s how I remember it.
Burke: So Marj, who are your clients?
Me: I don’t have any clients. I run the League of Chicago Theaters.
Burke: Yes, but who are your other clients?
Burke: The league isn’t a client; it’s a full-time job. I’m not a consultant and don’t have any clients.
Burke: (Long pause.)
Me: (Shifting uncomfortably.)
Burke: What is your interest in the building at 200 W. Monroe?
Me. (Puzzled.) I don’t have any interest in that building. Not sure what you mean?
Burke: You were there on (pause) XX date.
Me: (Long pause.) Oh! We were looking for new office space for the League. I looked at offices there, but it didn’t work for us.
Burke: That’s your only connection?
Me: Yes.
Burke: (Long pause.) OK, what can I do for you?
From there, I launched into my pitch about the amusement tax. He agreed to consider my request. After the meeting, I worked through then-Mayor Richard M. Daley’s office on an amendment eliminating the tax for venues with fewer than 750 seats and reducing it from 7% to 3% for all others. When it came before the Finance Committee, I testified in support and won Burke’s vote.
I got what I came for, but I couldn’t shake the uneasiness about my initial meeting with Burke. While I was startled by his line of questioning as well as his tone, it didn’t take long for me to understand what was happening. He’d gathered some research before meeting me. It was sloppy research, but I could only conclude he was digging for whatever business he might elicit from me in exchange for my request.
If I named clients, would he have demanded business from them? If the league had some kind of ownership stake in the Monroe building, would he require our property tax appeal business in exchange for reducing the amusement tax? And how did he even know I was in that specific building? I signed a log during my building tour; did this building (and others) turn over their logs to Burke so he could plumb them for potential law firm business? If he grilled me for potential business in this way — me, the head of a small arts nonprofit — then it’s easy to imagine it was his routine manner of “greeting” any visitor.
My experience was 26 years ago. The fact that it took so long for federal authorities to catch up with Burke is testament to the power he wielded. But once they laid out the case, the charges made total sense to me. Just as they did for the jury of his peers.
Marj Halperin is an award-winning journalist and former Democratic analyst for WGN-TV and, as a community activist, leads the Chicago neighborhood group One Community Near South.
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