A Just Cause (30 page)

Cullerton was acutely aware of the importance of the final debate. The entire trial would be judged by what took place as the senate deliberated. The senate trial rules committee had discussed whether the debate should be accomplished while the senate was sequestered, as in a normal jury procedure, or in an open forum. There were mixed opinions, but transparency won out, and the committee decided on an open forum. The Illinois Senate had never before removed an office holder, and both parties were conscious that the senate trial must be fair, nonpartisan, dignified, and above all, transparent. Both party caucuses also discussed what decorum and attitude they wanted to project during the debate. The tone of the discussion and the integrity of the trial were of paramount importance, but neither Democratic nor Republican leaders could predict what individual senators would say on the senate floor. Debates in the Illinois senate are not usually regarded as theaters of compelling rhetoric, but on this subject, thirty-seven senators—eighteen Republicans and nineteen Democrats—offered comments. Not one senator spoke in favor of Blagojevich.

The initial speaker is important in legislative debates, setting the guidelines and direction of the discussion. In routine legislative procedures, the sponsor of a particular initiative explains why the proposal is being presented and advocates for its passage. But this debate to decide the fate of a governor was anything but routine, and the initiative was not sponsored by any member of the senate but brought about through Illinois' constitutional provision that allows the house of representatives to bring impeachment proceedings for cause. It was the senate's role to hear the house prosecutor's arguments and make a judgment based on the evidence. Aware that the senate was approaching a highly emotionally charged issue, Cullerton wanted the lead speaker to provide the standard for debate, focus on the evidence, and recapitulate the presentations by the house prosecutor and the governor's response.

Cullerton recognized Senator William Haine. A Democrat from Alton, Haine was an ideal choice to establish the tone of the discussion. He had been a member of the committee that drafted the senate trial rules and had served in the Illinois senate since 2002. Before that he had served as Madison County's state's attorney for fourteen years. The gray-haired, bespectacled, modest grandfather represented the industrial southwestern area of the state, but he exuded the air of a genteel country lawyer. Always courteous in debate, he was respected in the Illinois senate for his integrity, honesty, and legal acumen. Now his remarks were to the point: the
governor's statement before the senate offered no evidence contradictory to the charges presented in the impeachment articles. He pointed out that Blagojevich's failure to offer any opposing evidence was consistent with a “pattern of abuse . . . based upon an arrogant assumption of power.” Haine characterized the governor's media appearances of the last month as “a dishonest effort to mischaracterize the proceeding here today and this past week.” He urged the senate to disregard the governor's “presentation”: “It is dishonest, and it should be rejected by the members of this Senate” (648–51).

Senator Dale Righter, also a member of the senate trial rules drafting committee, was the first Republican to speak. He recalled his thoughts and notes from the night before, stating that “representing the public is a public trust.” Echoing Luechtefeld's earlier remarks concerning Blagojevich's performance, he said, “We heard a spell-binding performance today.” He remarked on Blagojevich's ability to charm an audience and the empathetic, sometimes inspiring rhetoric that carried Blagojevich to the highest office in Illinois (651–52). He knew that the governor's public performances could be compelling and later found out that his district office in Mattoon received e-mails immediately after the governor's closing remarks, urging him to vote to acquit. But the former drug prosecutor looked at the evidence presented during the last four days and focused on the governor's words spoken on the FBI recordings. Appointed by Christine Radogno as the Republican deputy leader, Righter had long been known as a spokesman for senate Republicans. With extraordinary knowledge of legislation and the legislative process, his party could rely on him to present a probing challenge to the Democrats' legislative initiatives. This day, however, he spoke for a united senate. Both Democrats and Republicans shared a common revulsion toward what they had heard on the FBI recordings. For the lawyer who had chosen to study law at St Louis University because of “religious instruction as a component of the education of law,” it was not a partisan issue, it was a moral issue of betrayed trust.
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The governor's words exposed “a devious, cynical, crass and corrupt politician” (654).

Republican senator Matt Murphy was the next to speak. He was incensed by the governor's performance. Like Dale Righter, Murphy recognized Blagojevich's ability to distort and deceive: “He reminded us today in real detail that he is an unusually good liar.” An experienced lawyer in private practice, Murphy had also served on the committee to draft the senate trial rules and had acted as a spokesman, defending the rules before the Chicago-based media. The practicing attorney took the governor's words
before the senate as a personal affront. “He lied about the process, that the rules that we put in place, that we adopted for this solemn occasion were unfair to him,” he said. Murphy stressed that the rules of the trial were developed in a “nonpartisan” way and that the committee “bent over backwards to make this process fair for this governor.” The governor's decision not to appear before the senate to refute the charges showed disrespect for the people of Illinois and for the Illinois Constitution, he said. His decision to “go on a media circus” was a choice that he would have to live with, but it was “disingenuous” for the governor to equate the decision not to appear with the fairness of the trail. As were most members of the senate, Murphy was especially repulsed by the attempted effort “to extort [money] from the caregivers of sick children.” Murphy mentioned the rebuttal comments by David Ellis about Blagojevich on camera versus off camera. “He showed us the true test of his character on those tapes,” Murphy said. He contended that the governor was “beneath the dignity of the State of Illinois” and was “no longer worthy to be our Governor” (661–64).

Several other senators shared similar thoughts, all agreeing that the governor should be impeached. Then Senator David Luechtefeld was recognized to speak. Luechtefeld had been a high school teacher coach when Frank Watson approached him to run for the senate. Reluctant at first, he eventually consented and was elected. An imposing figure with a gentle manner, he was universally respected by his colleagues. His remarks were influenced by his sense of propriety but also by his personal experiences with Blagojevich. He had dealt with the governor in the past and characterized his behavior on occasions as childlike and bizarre.
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Luechtefeld recalled the conviction and sentencing of George Ryan, Illinois' previous governor. He remembered saying to his wife, “If this doesn't change anything in this state, then it's really not been worth it.” Now Illinois was “faced with the same situation,” he said, “and if this doesn't change the state and the culture of corruption that we obviously have had over the years, then it really hasn't been worth it.” The governor had asked if he “deserved to be convicted and impeached” and argued that many of the charges against him had occurred during his first term. Luechtefeld reminded the senate that “an awful lot of people helped him win that last election . . . and sometimes people get what they deserve.” He appealed to the senators, “Let's decide to make this a better state” (685–86).

Senator James Meeks, a Democrat from Chicago, was well known for his senate oratory. Meeks was an ordained minister, a community activist, and
the pastor of the Salem Baptist Church, a predominantly black megachurch on Chicago's Far South Side. His colleagues in the legislature, statehouse staff, and lobbyists all called him Reverend Meeks. After taking office, the governor would on occasion, with much publicity, attend services at the Salem Baptist Church. The Sunday evening news would sometimes cover the governor sitting in the church, listening attentively to Reverend Meeks's sermon. At times Meeks led demonstrations in Chicago and the surrounding suburbs, and he had gained notoriety with the Chicago media. He was especially adamant about increased funding for Chicago schools and sought increased state support. He hesitated to back Blagojevich for a second term and threatened to run for governor himself to leverage his demands for increased money for Chicago schools. Meeks had the ability to attract a large number of black voters, and losing black votes was problematic for Rod Blagojevich, so he met with Meeks and assured him of a funding increase for the Chicago schools. Meeks did not run for governor and Blagojevich was reelected. The increased funding never came.

Now, to the senate, Meeks exclaimed with the resonating, stentorious voice of a preacher in the pulpit, “This is not a sad day for me; this is a great day.” Speaking of the impeachment process, he explained that the state was “not ruled by angels” but “by human beings just like the rest of us,” and that when those leaders step over the line “into criminal activity or abuse of power,” “what a joy we have a process” to remove them. Meeks said that he was happy to participate in the impeachment process. “I say we have this thing called impeachment, and it's bleeping golden, and we've used it the right way” (728–29). Many in the galleries smiled at Meeks's paraphrase of Blagojevich's words on the FBI recordings.

Several others spoke. One of the last was Senator Frank Watson. The attention of the audience was amplified. Watson, who had served as the Republican minority leader for the past six years, had suffered a stroke in October 2008 and was undergoing rehabilitation when the governor was arrested. His recovery progressed such that he was able to return to the senate, but he knew his limitations. When the stroke occurred, he resigned as minority leader and endorsed the deputy leader, Christine Radogno, who was subsequently elected minority leader.

When Watson rose to speak, his personal and political burdens of the last six years and the weight of his recent affliction influenced his words. He struggled with the effects of his stroke—awkward balance, spontaneous emotions, and difficulty pronouncing words. Nevertheless, he tried
to say it all and his thoughts flowed out, unrestrained by the decorum of the circumstance. The comic opera of the last six years was finally over. Watson spoke of his own failings to “work well” with Emil Jones and the need for cooperation between the two parties. Overcome by emotion as he congratulated the Republican staff and Auditor General Bill Holland for their work during the trial, he asked the senate's understanding. The task was difficult. He said that he “went toe to toe” with the governor and was proud of his caucus. Blagojevich had not looked at Frank Watson during his closing arguments, but Watson felt that the governor's words concerning the I-SaveRx program were directed at him. The governor called the program “helping kids,” but Watson, the pharmacist, called it “counterfeit drugs from Canada.”
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He acknowledged that things “could have been different” and challenged John Cullerton to “continue to work together” with Christine Radogno (742–43). Compromised by his physical condition, the former Republican leader's talk was short. He did not need an extensive discourse. Everyone in the senate chamber knew Frank Watson, and they knew of his political and personal struggles. In sharp contrast to Blagojevich's failure to stir the senate and the spectators, Watson's short speech created a palpable air of compassion. Many wondered if the animosities and battles of the last six years had finally ended.

At the conclusion of an important debate, it is customary for the senate minority leader to make a final argument, followed by the senate president. Although little remained to be said, the quiet, conscientious, and capable Radogno expressed her pride in the way the senate had conducted the trial and her gratitude to the senate staff and Chief Justice Fitzgerald. Without hyperbole, her remarks addressed the evidence presented and emphasized that the house and senate processes had been “fair and open and thorough.” She posited that the evidence made it clear that “Governor Blagojevich has abused his power repeatedly and over a long period of time. . . . We can all vote with a clear conscience to remove Governor Blagojevich from office” (745).

Rather than leave the rostrum and deliver the final remarks, Cullerton designated the senate majority leader, Democratic senator James Clayborne from Belleville, an experienced prosecutor who had served in the senate since 1995, to end the debate. Cullerton had purposely not played a public role in the impeachment trial.
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He was conscious of the need to conduct the trial in a fair and open manner and was determined to avoid any appearance of political impropriety.

Clayborne's remarks, like Radogno's and Watson's, were brief. He was speaking more out of the requirements of senate protocol than out of necessity. Everyone wanted the proceedings to end. He made the point that the only testimony and documents presented to the senate were from the prosecution or the prosecution's witnesses, “and that's the only thing that we can base whether the Governor abused his power or whether or not he was involved in some criminal activities.” To accentuate Blagojevich's failure to address the evidence against him, Clayborne spoke to an absent governor, asking why Blagojevich had not called his brother, Robert, to refute what FBI special agent Cain had said that the governor had “implied on the wiretap.” Raising his voice, Clayborne confirmed, “You didn't refute it.” Clayborne went through the litany of charges and asked why the governor had chosen not to answer any accusation. “You chose not to put on any evidence at all,” he said, concluding, “I believe that, Governor, you are unfit.” Clayborne ended his short remarks by referring to a lesson he taught his four sons: “I have sons, and I constantly remind them that you will be held accountable for your actions or your inactions, and in this case, Governor, you will be held accountable for your actions and your lack of actions” (746–50).