Golden (87 page)

“I'm a traditionalist when it comes to boxing. I like old-time fighting,” Blagojevich said. “I was a Golden Gloves fighter. My personal preference is I like that, and ultimate fighting is sort of cutting into the boxing game, and if there wasn't Manny Pacquiao and Floyd Mayweather, there really wouldn't be much pizzaz to boxing anymore. I'm giving you a long answer, but this is sort of my state of mind.”

Blagojevich said he had held his nose and signed a bill on the sport and agreed with Schar that he saw it as a favor. Likewise, Blagojevich said he would often ask Emanuel for things too, especially when it came to requesting the congressman back certain legislation. In the same vein, Blagojevich said he had been happy to help Emanuel when he came to the governor for a grant for the Chicago Academy, the one Blagojevich had since been accused of holding up in an illegal bid for campaign money. Schar picked on Blagojevich's testimony that he thought the grant for Emanuel's school might have been a second one, and that was why he had held up the money. Any favor for the powerful politician would have been one Blagojevich would clearly have flagged in his “favor bank.”

On the racetrack, Blagojevich's memory was clearer, and the prosecutor worked to suggest Blagojevich's answers were simply unrealistic. Get Blagojevich quibbling over details, and the overall scenario would come into focus.

Schar walked through calls where Blagojevich had told Harris on recordings to sit on the recapture bill, without ever mentioning the idea that he might need to scan the legislation for poison pill language, as he had told the jury. Blagojevich hadn't told Harris he had questions about the bill's makeup. He had testified he was going to sit and review all of the pending bills on his desk himself, when the reality was he was disengaged and had a team of people to do that, Schar said, wasn't that right?

“I guess we'll never know,” Blagojevich said somewhat pointedly. “You never let me do it.”

Blagojevich's dealings with Children's Memorial Hospital's leader were different from some of the other alleged shakedowns in the case, because the governor had taken a much more active role. Instead of Monk being the sole go-between, as in the Johnston matter, Blagojevich himself had made calls and spoken to Patrick Magoon. On October 17, after Greenlee found money to do the pediatric rate increase, it was Blagojevich himself who called with the good news. The increase would go into effect January 1, the governor had said, but please keep it quiet.

Prosecutors had told the jury that was because Blagojevich wanted to have time to persuade Magoon to make a donation—or even force him to— before the public knew about the state commitment. But Blagojevich said he remembered telling Magoon not to talk about the plan because not everyone was getting such a gift in a tight budget year, or at least that's what he was thinking.

Blagojevich had sounded clear during his direct testimony, but things were sounding squishier under Schar's pressure. That was definitely the reason he told Magoon to keep it under wraps, he said, though he didn't want to get locked into any exact words. It was an opening for Schar, and he ran through it. Blagojevich's memory had seemed exceptional when it came to all kinds of trivia and dates; now he was backing off a key claim. The ex-governor was an expert at recalling all kinds of snips of quotes.

Like what? Blagojevich said from the stand.

“Good for the people of Illinois and good for me, correct?” Schar shot back.

To make his points, Schar had placed the events of the alleged hospital extortion on a timeline. Blagojevich had told Magoon in late September that he wanted to help him, and on October 8, while the money was still unsecured, he had assigned Wyma the task of trying to raise $50,000 from Magoon (or “get Magoon for fifty,” as Wyma recalled). Blagojevich hadn't found out the money would be there until October 17. The nine days were important for Schar, because it showed Blagojevich was willing to seek money from the hospital while its rate increase was still in the air.

Blagojevich had then called Magoon himself on the seventeenth to tell him the rate increase would be coming as of January 1.

“And, of course, you understood, did you not, that delivering that type of personal financial news, good news, might put some pressure on Mr. Magoon to help you if you were to turn around and ask him a favor?” Schar asked.

Goldstein objected, but Blagojevich plowed forward and said he would answer it. “Absolutely not,” he said, that's why he had called himself. If he thought there was going to be undue pressure, he wouldn't have.

Blagojevich's final morning on cross-examination was June 7, 2011, and Schar started it with the Krozel matter. There were a number of facts that the two men could seemingly agree on. There were tollway programs of various sizes that he was considering in 2008, and it was true that during the same time period he did have a desire to have Krozel give him campaign donations. On September 18 that year, Blagojevich had asked Krozel for a meeting and Krozel had shown up. It was clearly a fund-raising meeting, and it had taken place at the campaign offices, where fund-raising activities were supposed to happen. And there had also been some talk of official government action. Blagojevich agreed that he had talked with Krozel about the capital bill, which was something he was trying to make happen in the future, and also about his plan to go forward on a $1.8 billion tollway expansion plan.

Just that set of facts seemed to be a recipe for trouble. If someone like Krozel got that kind of good news, couldn't he feel pressure if the governor then asked for something?

“No, not in my mind,” Blagojevich answered. “The word
pressure,
no, sir.”

Blagojevich acknowledged he had asked for money, but not in a way that hinged on anything he was planning to do with the tollway proposal. The meeting was before the government wiretaps had been set up, and Blagojevich contended he had never told Krozel he had the authority to do a much larger $6 billion plan. One that big had to be part of a larger state capital bill.

Blagojevich did not like Jesse Jackson Jr., and that certainly didn't change with Jackson's little Elvis impersonation on the witness stand. The two men had a history and were destined to be forever linked through Blagojevich's criminal case. It was the most blatant and troubling allegation ever leveled against an Illinois governor. Given the chance to name someone to represent the state in the US Senate, Blagojevich had at least entertained the
thought of selling it for $1.5 million and allegedly sent his brother to investigate making it happen.

Prosecutors said problems had started between the men when Blagojevich had first run for governor, and Jackson had appeared in court and told that story. When Jackson refused to give Blagojevich the donation he was looking for, Jackson's wife's shot at a state post had gone out the window.

“That is absolutely not true,” Blagojevich said with a hint of anger in his voice as Schar circled for his final questions.

What was true was that by October 2008, Blagojevich had come to learn that his old annoyance, Jackson, was interested in the Senate seat. The jury had heard recorded conversations of Blagojevich talking about messengers from Jackson coming out of the woodwork, calling him at home and making financial offers for the seat. Blagojevich had been approached for “pay to play” and had even used the term.

On October 28, Blagojevich's brother had reported talking to Rajinder Bedi and that Bedi had said Nayak was promising “accelerated fund-raising” for Blagojevich if there was a Jackson appointment. A few days later, at a meeting at an Indian restaurant, Nayak had firmed up the offer in person to Robert. It was an offer of $1.5 million if Jackson were named and was nothing short of a bid to purchase a seat for Jackson among the country's most powerful politicians. Five hundred thousand dollars would be the down payment. Blagojevich had said often from the stand that he was appalled by the thought of taking money to name someone, and he agreed with Schar again that what Nayak was offering, possibly with Jackson's knowledge, would be illegal.

“And, in fact, what they were offering you was bribes, right?” Schar asked.

“They were offering me campaign funds for the Senate seat, which my brother properly rejected on three separate occasions,” Blagojevich answered.

“And campaign funds for the Senate seat are bribes?” Schar repeated.

“It's illegal,” was as far as Blagojevich would go. For whatever reason, he was afraid of the
b
word, and Schar wasn't going to let him off the hook. Blagojevich looked as uncomfortable on the stand as any politician might with someone like Schar pushing him on this kind of accusation. Winding up in federal court being asked about bribes was the nightmare scenario. And just because it happened often in Chicago, it was no less unsettling for Blagojevich. Schar again asked if Blagojevich considered what the Jackson
camp had offered a bribe, and the former governor, as he so often did, deflected with humor.

“Did you see my law school grades?” Blagojevich answered. “I'm afraid to give you an answer. I could be wrong. Whatever it is, it's illegal. You can't do it.”

It turned out, with a little more pressing, that the line Blagojevich was drawing was on where the cash would end up. If it had been money for him personally, that would be a bribe. If it was money for his campaign fund, that would be a violation of fund-raising rules. It was clearly illegal and something Blagojevich said his brother had repeatedly rejected. He had never used the term
bribe
in his mind, Blagojevich said, but he knew it was against the law and was wargaming, not something he was planning to do.

It seemed a small point, but in addition to again making Blagojevich look somewhat evasive, Schar's questioning had established a baseline. It was no small thing to get Blagojevich to plant a flag on any particular moral position when it came to his fund-raising activity, and he had at least agreed that taking the campaign money in exchange for appointing Jackson would absolutely be illegal, whether it was a labeled a “bribe” or not.

Blagojevich's moves in early December 2008 were virtually a blur. Despite telling the jury he was never going to appoint Jackson and that he was using the congressman's possible selection as bait to get the Madigan deal, he had taken steps that could be read either way. He had told Harris to reach out to Emanuel to see if a Jackson pick was still acceptable to Obama, had invited Jackson to a poverty summit to make a public show of their supposed coziness, and had invited Jackson to a meeting at his office to talk about his qualifications for the job. It was no leap to think that at the very least, Blagojevich was hedging his bets if the Madigan deal or any other arrangement fell through. He had even told Patti he was elevating Jackson and not ruling him out as a pick. Why would he need to be duping his wife?

On December 4, Blagojevich was talking to Harris about the wargaming. He had said he was going to look at the value of a Jackson pick, as offensive as it might be to him. Once again, Harris was supposed to be with Blagojevich behind the curtain. It didn't sound like it was just part of the ploy.