Golden (27 page)

Monk also wanted to be a lobbyist. His work as campaign manager and history with Blagojevich made him closer to the governor-elect than even Wyma or Petrovic. But Blagojevich wanted Monk as his chief of staff. Monk took the job grudgingly, knowing that while he would be making a nice salary it was nothing like the millions a lobbyist stood to earn.

“Lon made the sacrifice, and he watched as Wyma did what he wanted to do,” said a former top staffer. “Lon viewed his job as managing Rod. Rod was so all over the place that he needed somebody to keep things organized, and Lon took that on. Lon recognized that Rod had problems, and few people other than Lon could help him govern because Rod wouldn't listen to many people. But he would listen to Lon.”

Blagojevich also wanted Scofield to join the administration. Burned out from the campaign and Blagojevich's behavior, Scofield wasn't sure he wanted to. He had considered rejoining Gutierrez or maybe heading up Navy Pier, one of Chicago's biggest tourist attractions. But Rod nixed that plan. He created a job he called deputy governor. Scofield would be in charge of policy and messaging, Blagojevich told him. Along with Monk, who would be overseeing day-to-day operations and personnel, Scofield would be essentially running the state.

“You are in charge,” Blagojevich said.

Scofield wanted the job and wanted to believe it would be better than the campaign. He told Blagojevich he wanted to make sure the administration would be different from the election trail. They needed to establish a plan, hold regular staff meetings, and not do everything by the seat of their pants, like so much of what happened during the campaign. The late-night, hour-long phone calls had to stop too, Scofield said. That's the only way he'd take the job.

Blagojevich agreed. Things wouldn't be the same, he promised.

Amid all the changes, Blagojevich made one thing crystal clear to those around him: he wasn't going to move his family to Springfield to live in the governor's mansion. His daughter Amy was still in elementary school, and Patti was now pregnant with the couple's second daughter. Neither Rod nor Patti really liked Springfield. They had both grown up in Chicago and wanted their two girls to grow up in the city as well. Patti also had her real estate business, River Realty, and didn't want to jeopardize it.

Blagojevich knew the decision would anger downstaters, who took pride in the fact that the capital wasn't in Chicago, which so often sucked all the oxygen in the state in terms of clout and attention. Every statewide official—even the sole Republican, Treasurer Judy Baar Topinka—hailed from Chicago or the suburbs. But Blagojevich decided the negative press and bad feelings were worth it.

To him, his decision also signaled to voters that he was going to do things differently. It underscored the slogan that was becoming a theme of his first term: “Reform and renewal.” Staffers were already in the process of making blue and white banners emblazoned with the phrase to be hung behind Blagojevich during his press conferences. In a world becoming more familiar with branding, “Reform and renewal” would be Blagojevich's.

Despite not caring much for Springfield, Blagojevich wanted to arrive there for his inauguration in style. On the weekend before, he boarded a train in Chicago and embarked on a two-hundred-mile whistle-stop tour to the capital. Leading up to the trip, Kelly and Mell had several arguments about who would be allowed aboard the train and who would get access to Blagojevich. Kelly won most of the fights.

At the Prairie Capital Convention Center in downtown Springfield on Monday, January 13, 2003, Blagojevich was joined by thousands of ecstatic supporters. On stage, Blagojevich stood alongside Patti as he took the oath of office with Mell nearby. Blagojevich lambasted the Republicans and outgoing Governor George Ryan specifically, though not by name. Several in the crowd giggled as Ryan applauded along even while Blagojevich excoriated him.

“I did not run for governor to be a caretaker. I did not run to manage a state of decline. I did not run to maintain the status quo. I am not here to serve just the few. The mandate we claim today from the people of Illinois
and for the people of Illinois is simple and clear—no more business as usual,” Blagojevich said to a cheering crowd of mostly Democrats. “I will tell it to you straight. I will give you my all. I will reach across party lines. I will seek out the best ideas. I will govern as a reformer.”

Later, at one of two inaugural balls at the Illinois State Fairgrounds, the new governor and first lady celebrated with a first dance to Eric Clapton's “Wonderful Tonight.” In Springfield covering the event,
Tribune
reporter Ellen Warren noted Blagojevich's love of fine clothing despite his humble beginnings. Blagojevich was wearing a pearl-gray silver Charvet tie—“he now buys only Charvet”—that cost $135 at Saks Fifth Avenue.

That night—and well into Tuesday morning—Blagojevich and his wife stayed up late celebrating with a small group of their closest friends, including Kelly, Wyma, and Monk. Sitting around a dining table at the Executive Mansion trading stories and laughing, Blagojevich was on top of the world. He sat at the head of the table, a man in charge. Nobody in the group had ever seen him this happy, this in control, this much in his element. Wyma felt Blagojevich was truly savoring the moment. He had a real opportunity to get things done and not just be a no-name congressman in the minority party in Congress.

As the evening wrapped up, Blagojevich spotted a bowl of oranges, grabbed one of them, and declared that now that he was governor he was entrusted with new powers he planned to use.

“Have a taxpayer orange,” he said. “It's on me.”

I, Rod R. Blagojevich, Governor of Illinois, order that no agency, department, bureau, board or commission subject to the control or direction of the Governor shall hire any employee or officer, fill any vacancy, create any new position, promote any employee or officer to any position or take any other action which will result in the increase or the maintenance of present levels in State employment or compensation (including benefits) payable in connection with State employment, including personal service contracts. All hiring and promotion are frozen. There will be no exceptions to this Executive Order without the express written permission of my office after submission of appropriate requests to my office.

Blagojevich signed “Executive Order 1,” mandating a hiring and pay freeze for Illinois employees who reported to the governor, on his first full day in office. He also fired dozens of Republicans, including several men and women George Ryan had slotted into state jobs in the waning days of his administration. Blagojevich characterized the one-two punch as a stunning way to show voters and the state's political class that a new sheriff was in town. Things in Springfield had gotten out of hand, and he was supposedly putting cronyism to an end, starting with bringing state hiring under his control.

But behind the dramatic imagery of Executive Order 1 was a shrewd political calculation. Blagojevich was placing all personnel decisions within the purview of his office. Blagojevich, Monk, and others working directly for the governor now had even greater discretion to control hiring, firing, and promotions throughout state government, opening the door for many of those hundreds of Democrats and supporters who wanted jobs to find their way onto the state payroll. Not to mention all those friends of Rezko's and Kelly's.

With a wide smile, perfectly combed hair, and sporting a high-priced Oxxford suit, Rod Blagojevich strode through the halls of the Thompson Center on his way into work. It was afternoon.

Just a few weeks since taking the oath of office, Blagojevich's work habits were quickly becoming known. He rarely worked eight-hour days at the office, coming in late after having gone for a long jog in the morning. Or he wouldn't come in at all, instead choosing to work the phones from home, ordering Mary Stewart to get this person or that (“Rod wants you to call him,” she said). Even some of Blagojevich's closest advisers weren't afforded the courtesy of a direct call from the governor. Mary was always the intermediary. And the calls were constant, just like during the campaign. Blagojevich would talk to Monk a half-dozen times and then hang up and immediately have Stewart call Scofield to go over what he just spoke to Monk about. Then he would call Kelly or Wyma.

At home, Blagojevich conducted business on the speakerphone. All manner of noises rattled around in the background, from children's cartoons to the clanking of iron as he lifted weights while conducting the people's business. Scofield already recognized things hadn't really changed from the
campaign. There were no regular staff meetings that included the governor. When Monk or Scofield would mention it, Blagojevich waved them off. “I don't need to do that,” he said. “That's your job.”

Never once during his first term did Blagojevich meet with his entire cabinet.

The kinds of conferences Blagojevich did hold were mostly big-picture bull sessions at one of several upscale clubs in downtown Chicago. Kelly and Rezko were invited to attend and often did, where they displayed their influence for all to see. In one meeting early on in his administration, Lieutenant Governor Pat Quinn suggested Blagojevich at least consider raising taxes or fees to cope with the state's disastrous finances. The governor, who made no secret of his dislike for Quinn, quickly cut him off. “Tony,” he said, gesturing to Rezko, “what do you think of that idea?” Rezko said it was a terrible idea. “I agree,” Blagojevich said.

Some were put off by the growing influence of Blagojevich's budding “kitchen cabinet,” though nothing was done about it. Meanwhile, Blagojevich continued to act like a candidate running for governor rather than someone who had just gotten elected. “Rod saw his job as the guy running for office. Then it was the job of everyone else who he hired to do the job of governing,” recalled a former top aide. “So after the election, he basically viewed his job as being done until 2006.”

With his fears rapidly being realized, Scofield would moan when his cell phone rang at ten at night after the governor had caught some story on the television news. “Nothing changed from the campaign,” he recalled in an interview. “It was all still ad hoc, everything on the fly. No planning.”

After less than a month in office Scofield wanted to quit. Almost everybody in the administration's upper echelon noticed, so much so that Blagojevich was asking around about replacements. One day, Wyma said he knew somebody who could be perfect.