Analysis: County plays part in Blago’s removal
By KEVIN P. CRAVER -
kcraver@nwherald.com
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| Impeached Gov. Rod Blagojevich arrives at his home Thursday in Chicago. (AP Photo) |
The six-year reign of Rod Blagojevich is over.
His political career – part tragedy, part comedy, part poetry reading – came to an end Thursday with two 59-0 Senate votes to remove him as governor and disqualify him from future state office.
In the end, Blagojevich’s eleventh-hour media blitz, his recitations of Kipling and Tennyson, and his last-ditch appearance at his Senate trial couldn’t undo what he said while federal agents were taping him.
In his six years in power, Blagojevich never stepped foot in McHenry County. The closest he came was a trip to Fox Lake in 2007 to survey flood damage. But the county played a role in Blagojevich’s fall, being the home of both a major detractor and a failed hospital bid that helped snag his chief fundraiser and began talk of serious legal trouble for the ousted governor.
Blagojevich’s years of unpopularity and alleged misdeeds helped brighten the political fortunes of state Rep. Jack Franks, D-Marengo. Franks, who began criticizing Blagojevich during his first term and began calling for
impeachment long before Blagojevich’s arrest, was scheduled as a witness in the Senate trial, and his name is being whispered as a candidate for statewide office in 2010.
An empty patch of land at Three Oaks Road and Route 31 was supposed to be a new, 70-bed hospital for Mercy Health System. It first was rejected by the Illinois Health Facilities Planning Board, which conspicuously reversed itself in 2004. Investigation later led to the 2008 conviction of Blagojevich fundraiser Antoin “Tony” Rezko, who got the board to reverse the decision after promise of a $1.5 million kickback from the proposed builder, who also would contribute to “Public Official A.” Mercy never was accused of wrongdoing.
Blagojevich for years denied that he was “Public Official A,” who figured prominently in the government’s case against Rezko. Before the trial started, the federal judge revealed that Blagojevich was, in fact, the official.
The hospital scheme was included in the House impeachment committee’s 69-page final report and was mentioned in the Senate trial, but was not among the 13 impeachable offenses. It didn’t need to be.
Blagojevich shocked the nation after the federal wiretaps allegedly showed him trying to sell the appointment to President Obama’s vacant U.S. Senate seat for personal gain. But it was only one part of an apparent mad dash to collect as much as he could before new ethics rules curtailed his fund-raising ability.
Surveillance allegedly caught him mulling withholding new funding for a Chicago children’s hospital because the CEO would not contribute to his campaign, holding off on signing legislation until contributions materialized, and trying to get Chicago Tribune editorial writers fired in exchange for state help in selling the Cubs and Wrigley Field.
Blagojevich did the practically impossible by setting a first for corruption in Illinois, a state where mayors, aldermen, governors and congressmen have gone to jail in recent memory: He became the first governor to be impeached and removed.
In many ways, getting rid of Blagojevich was the easy part. A state government with shattered credibility, seemingly adept only at fighting with itself after years of practice, now must pick up the pieces under Gov. Pat Quinn and work to reform a system of which Blagojevich was not the cause, but a manifestation.
Quinn, who will serve the remainder of Blagojevich’s term, has been handed the keys to a dysfunctional state government that is all but bankrupt. He has been a populist official, spearheading efforts to shrink the size of the House, call a constitutional convention, and allow for recall elections. As governor, he now has more authority with which to pursue his goals.
Earlier this month, before the House impeachment vote, Quinn assembled an Illinois Reform Commission, headed by Assistant U.S. Attorney Patrick Collins, who successfully prosecuted former Gov. George Ryan. Quinn gave the commission 100 days to develop a blueprint for eliminating corruption in Illinois.
Two years is not a long time to create a gubernatorial legacy. But a legacy of cleaning up government so that future Blagojeviches and Ryans have a harder time operating and flourishing could prove to be the most important legacy of all.
