This is the day we thought would never come, and then we thought it might, and after that it just became a matter of time, except the time kept dragging out for so long that even former House Speaker Michael Madigan must have wanted federal prosecutors to just get it over with and charge him.
After a yearslong investigation that already chased Madigan from office, U.S. Attorney John Lausch dropped the hammer Wednesday on the once powerful Democratic politician who continued to strongly proclaim his innocence but must know he has a difficult fight ahead.
It was a sweeping indictment that rolls up so much of what we recognize as long-standing, everyday Illinois politics (of the corrupt variety) and packages it into a racketeering conspiracy that pulls back the curtain on the man who controlled the levers of power for decades.
“The Madigan Enterprise” is what federal prosecutors are labeling the scheme, and what’s striking is how neatly the case fits into the federal RICO laws, because there’s so much of how Madigan ran his political business that has parallels in the organized crime world that gave birth to those laws.
The purpose of The Madigan Enterprise, the indictment alleges, was: 1) to exercise, to preserve and to enhance Madigan’s political power and financial well-being; 2) to financially reward Madigan’s political allies, political workers and associates for their loyalty, association with, and work for Madigan, and 3) to generate income for members and associates of the enterprise through illegal activities.
Those involved in the Madigan Enterprise, including Madigan himself, are alleged to have solicited and received bribes, used Madigan’s power to financially reward themselves and relied on “threats, intimidation and extortion” to keep it all running. Ghost jobs for loyal political allies and legal business for his law firm were said to be Madigan’s rewards.
The conspirators often referred to Madigan in code, calling him “our friend” instead of using his name, and they took precautions to conduct sensitive business in person instead of talking on phones, although they apparently weren’t cautious enough.
Some of the strongest accusations leveled in the indictment refer to phone conversations involving Madigan or his co-defendant Michael McClain, the former state representative who became the speaker’s political confidant and go-between. Those phone conversations were either caught on wiretap or memorialized by a participant who took good notes and is cooperating.
We know from previous reporting that McClain’s phones were tapped and that former 25th Ward Ald. Danny Solis also was caught on wiretaps with Madigan even before he turned FBI mole. The indictment makes clear that after Solis began cooperating he turned his sights on Madigan as well as since-indicted 14th Ward Ald. Edward Burke. Whether McClain is cooperating as well is unclear.
Much of the indictment centers around the previously disclosed Commonwealth Edison investigation, in which top executives of the company were allegedly involved in a scheme with McClain to corruptly influence Madigan’s handling of legislation important to the company. That case always begged the question of what proof they had that Madigan was part of the conspiracy.
In the Madigan indictment, prosecutors allege that “in or around 2011” the speaker personally approved of the scheme in which his political associates were paid by a vendor to Commonwealth Edison, even though they did little or no work. But it doesn’t reveal how they know that.
There are also new schemes involving Solis’ efforts to set up Madigan, offering to help him get private legal business by squeezing businesses that needed the alderman’s help at the City Council to hire Madigan’s firm, which specializes in helping reduce real estate taxes. Solis told Madigan he wanted a state appointment in return, and the speaker allegedly agreed to help.
My favorite part of the indictment involved Solis telling Madigan he’d made it clear to the representatives of one company that this would require a “quid pro quo.” At first Madigan allegedly responded: “Okay . . . very good.”
But later Madigan allegedly advised Solis not to use the phrase “quid pro quo” the next time he spoke to the business people he was shaking down on the speaker’s behalf, instead offering a more elegant pretext.
“You’re just recommending . . . because if they don’t get a good result on their real estate taxes, the whole project will be in trouble . . . Which is not good for your ward. So you want high quality representation.”
Madigan didn’t survive 50 years in Illinois politics and get rich along the way with ham-handed references to quid pro quos. But in the end, he stayed too long and tripped over his own “enterprise.”
