Golden (29 page)

While Blagojevich was ecstatic over the birth of his second daughter, even taking time to enjoy the family's newest blessing with his father-in-law, something was bothering him. Several times he pulled friends and aides aside and asked them what they thought he should wear for the pictures the press was going to take when they left the hospital. “Should I be in a suit or go more casual? Sport coat? Jeans? What do you think?” Most didn't have much of an opinion. Blagojevich thought a casual look was better. And when the pictures were snapped, the state's young governor was wearing a sport coat and jeans with a dark turtleneck under the jacket.

With a new deputy governor in the office filled with energy and ideas, Blagojevich became more involved in the governing process. Though his general attitude remained that it was his employees' jobs to run government and his to win elections, Blagojevich came in to work at the Thompson Center most days.

But his harmful personality traits were still on display. He rarely put in a full eight-hour day, choosing instead to burn up the phone lines, especially with Tusk and Monk, about everything from press conferences to baseball games. Many in the administration came to think Blagojevich had some sort of learning disability that made him incapable of focusing; he continued to act like a manic depressive, unable or unwilling to leave his home and putting off public events to the degree he had to be coaxed into doing them; he was even a bit of a hypochondriac, constantly complaining of having a low-grade fever.

Usually, Blagojevich could pull it together, drawing his charm seemingly out of his suit coat and winning over a crowd of supporters or fundraisers. But it frustrated those around him.

Tusk at one point in 2003 became so annoyed by the governor's antics that he asked Monk, “Can he work harder?” referring to Blagojevich. Monk had no answers. This is who he is, he said.

The only things Blagojevich seemed to be disciplined about had nothing to do with being governor. He was still energetic and organized about fund-raising, and he kept a tight regimen exercising at home, which mostly involved lifting weights and running.

Illinois State Police troopers assigned to protect the governor catered extensively to Blagojevich's life. They established a protocol for his jogs: as Blagojevich ran the Chicago streets, his detail followed in a tail car while one trooper rode a bicycle.

And because Blagojevich spent so much time at home, the state police rented an apartment down the street. Members of the “executive protection unit” had been idling in their cars outside the house for hundreds of hours as Blagojevich chatted away inside. So in mid-February 2003 the police began renting an apartment at 3016 W. Sunnyside Ave., about a block west of the Blagojevich home. The state police found an apartment even closer, at 3000 W. Sunnyside, in Blagojevich's second term in office. In the nearly six years he was governor, taxpayers spent more than $115,000 on rent for the two apartments.

Troopers could kick up their heels, warm up during the winter months, and watch football games on a color television. Both apartments also were filled with plenty of office equipment, including paperwork the troopers filled out on a regular basis and computers. The apartments also were outfitted with several phones, including a special red phone tied directly to Blagojevich's home. When that rang, it meant the consistently tardy governor was finally ready to leave. The troopers would jump in their vehicles—a black Chevrolet Suburban SUV and a tail car—circle the block, and wait for him out front of the house. Inside the Suburban, Blagojevich found an extra hairbrush—still called “the football”—in the glove compartment and a mirror specially installed in the backseat.

While Blagojevich's management style was off-the-cuff and chaotic, his political style was slash and burn. That chip on Blagojevich's shoulder was bigger than ever.

Rather than reaching across the political aisle and using the charm and charisma he had utilized so well in the state House and Senate, Blagojevich ran the governor's office like he was still running for office, relying more on spin and media manipulation than smart compromise and leadership. He blamed Republicans and even some Democrats for all the state's ills and threatened those who weren't on his side with being branded as agents of the corrupt status quo. On his proposed budget cuts, he flew around the state peddling an internal poll he commissioned that he claimed showed voters supported his plan. Anybody who didn't fall in line—including Democrats—should fear for their future come election time in 2004, he said.

There were early signs of Blagojevich's problems with sincerity as well. In the final days of the spring legislative session, the General Assembly approved a bill that allowed clout-heavy phone company SBC Communications, whose president was William Daley, to dramatically boost its revenue. The day it was up for a vote in the state senate, Blagojevich said he didn't know where he stood on the bill. “I need to look at it some more,” he said. Four hours after it passed, Blagojevich quietly signed the bill into law.

A bill aimed at toughening aspects of the state's ethics laws also passed the legislature, and while Blagojevich said he didn't think it went far enough, he remained coy about whether he would sign it. Speaker Madigan, who backed the legislation, pulled Blagojevich aside at an event and asked the governor to call him before making his decision public. When Blagojevich decided to veto the bill, though, he refused to call Madigan.

“He couldn't bring himself to do it,” Tusk recalled. “Rod hated calling people unless he only had good news. He also was afraid that if he called, Madigan would talk him out of vetoing the bill, which is probably true. So he simply refused to call him.”

Madigan fumed, calling the governor looking for an explanation. But Blagojevich refused to accept the calls, a move that Blagojevich administration insiders felt permanently put on ice the already chilly relationship between the two. “Madigan felt he could no longer trust Rod's word,” Tusk said in an interview.

Blagojevich then picked a fight with the state's other statewide officeholders, including Madigan's daughter, newly elected Attorney General Lisa Madigan. All were Democrats except Treasurer Judy Baar Topinka, and
Blagojevich sat them down like they were subordinates and tried to force them to cut their budgets. The sides agreed to a certain percentage of cuts, but after their meetings Blagojevich went behind their backs and cut even more. All were outraged, but Secretary of State Jesse White was most public about it. He said Blagojevich wasn't bargaining in good faith. He was violating “all laws of human decency.”

When lawmakers later moved to reinstate $130 million in cuts he made to the budget, Blagojevich declared he was ready to go to war. In Springfield, he rebuked the General Assembly for their “spending orgy” and declared he would stop them from spending taxpayer money “like a bunch of drunken sailors.” He then flew back to Chicago, spending thousands of dollars on a taxpayer-funded state plane to go home and to a political fundraiser rather than spend the night at the Executive Mansion.

Politicians weren't the only ones who were the recipients of Blagojevich's sharp tongue.

In 2003, the Cubs were five outs away from going to the World Series for the first time since World War II. Then the unthinkable happened. Fan Steve Bartman reached for an apparent foul ball and deflected it away from outfielder Moises Alou. It opened the door for the Florida Marlins to rally past the Cubs and eventually win the National League pennant. Blagojevich was at the Bartman game, and although bad pitching and poor fielding probably contributed to the loss more than the young man's natural reaction, fans across the nation quickly blamed him, sending him into hiding. After the game, the governor found television news crews outside the ballpark and happily piled on to ridicule the hapless Bartman.

“If someone ever convicts that guy of a crime, he'll never get a pardon out of this governor,” he said.

Legislators were quickly becoming frustrated with the new governor's leadership, and he soon found himself with few friends in Springfield. While Blagojevich supported some gun-control measures, they never went anywhere, and many groused Blagojevich never emphasized the one issue that filled his thin resume in Congress. They also were frustrated with the games they saw him playing related to expanding gambling in the state. Blagojevich hinted to lawmakers he might be open to the idea, but when several lawmakers actually presented plans, Blagojevich heaped scorn on them for being irresponsible and trying to come up with cheap and fast ways of making money rather than trying to solve the state's core fiscal problems.

A general impression was solidifying among the state's politicians that Blagojevich was less interested in solving problems and more interested in polishing his image, especially at their expense.

At a portrait unveiling at the state capitol for former governor George Ryan, legislators praised Ryan despite the scandal that chased him from office. With Blagojevich sitting in the front row, Senate President Emil Jones and Madigan both pointed to Ryan's ability to compromise as a quality the new governor might want to embrace. “His word meant something. You always knew where he stood,” Jones said.

Even Ryan got in a dig. “You heard a lot of things I think you needed to hear here today,” Ryan told the new governor before adding he was “only kidding” and that Blagojevich could look forward to such fanfare when his portrait is unveiled.

“I hope somebody shows up,” Blagojevich laughed.

Despite all the problems and distrust, Blagojevich still had success pushing through an agenda in his first year. He raised the state's minimum wage, signed legislation sponsored by State Senator Barack Obama reforming the state's tainted capital-punishment system, and devised a plan he said would save residents, especially senior citizens, money on prescription drugs. And after vetoing the first one, he even forged a new ethics bill he declared would finally help Illinois escape its notorious reputation for corrupt politics. On December 9, 2003, Blagojevich signed the legislation in Chicago with great fanfare and with most of the state's top lawmakers in attendance, though not Speaker Madigan. “Today we are reestablishing the primacy of principle over politics, and in Illinois that constitutes real change,” he said exactly five years to the day before he was arrested.

By the end of his first year in office, a
Tribune
poll showed Blagojevich with a 55 percent approval rating. His replacement in Congress, US Representative Rahm Emanuel, seized on the governor's success and attempted to expand on it. Trying to become a rising star on the national scene, the freshman congressman recruited Blagojevich to join him in using prescription drugs as an issue to drive a wedge between voters and President George W. Bush. Democrats portrayed Republicans and Bush's Food and Drug Administration as siding with Big Pharma over taxpayers who were forced to spend too much on medicine while pharmaceutical companies
made massive profits. To illustrate the point, Democrats pointed north to Canada—where price controls kept prescriptions cheaper—to show that some of the same drugs were sold for a considerably cheaper price.