As an old ex-Chicago newsman, I for one am hoping Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich resists the calls to resign. I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.

Guys like Blagojevich have been making Chicagoans merry since Matthias “Paddy” Bauler, the 19th Century ward boss, uttered his deathless words, “Chicago ain’t ready for reform.”

When I lived there, every Chicagoan I knew savored political corruption. We stood in awe of the slick operations of Jake Arvey, the power behind so many thrones. We gasped when cops in the old Summerdale district were caught running a booming business in stolen property. We doffed our hats to Mayor Daley the Elder when he stole the 1960 election for Jack Kennedy, using such time-honored traditions as having dead people vote. (The phrase ‘Vote early and often’ was born in my home town.)

In between bouts of actual corruption, we could enjoy the music of such worthies as long-time City Councilman Vito Marzullo, who once told the Sun-Times:

“I ain’t got no axes to grind. You can take all your news media and all the do-gooders in town and move them into my 25th Ward, and do you know what would happen? On election day we’d beat you fifteen to one. The mayor don’t run the 25th Ward. Neither does the news media or the do-gooders. Me, Vito Marzullo, that’s who runs the 25th Ward, and on election day everybody does what Vito Marzullo tells them . . . ”

In Chicago, corruption meant the Democratic Party – because Republicans almost never got elected within the city limits. But Republicans ruled downstate, and didn’t mind giving us big-city folks a run for our corruption money. Who could forget Illinois Secy. of State Paul Powell (R), discovered in possession of three-quarters of a million dollars in bribes (in small bills), stuffed in shoeboxes in his permanent hotel room in Springfield?

In Chicago, corruption also meant the Mob. Don’t get me started telling Mob stories; I’d never stop. Suffice it to say that we journalists had a tradition, from which we never varied, of prominently posting the mobster’s nickname in every story. Let’s see, there were –

– Mob boss Tony “Big Tuna” Accardo (previously known as “Tough Tony” and also “Joe Batters,” but re-monickered following a Florida fishing trip)
– Joey “Doves” Aiuppa (so named, I think, because of a little matter involving smuggling racing pigeons across state lines)
– Frank “The Enforcer” Nitti (no explanation necessary)
– Paul “The Waiter” Ricca (his real name was Felice DeLucia, Wikipedia informs me – why’d he switch from such a euphonious name?)
– Sam “Teetz” Battaglia (go ahead, guess)
– And my personal favorite, Jackie “The Lackey” Cerone

The nicknamification of mobsters had the effect of turning them from heinous brutes into Robin Hoods. Similarly with our corrupt pols, whose antics often strained credulity. Mob story or political scandal, there was one or the other every time you opened a newspaper or turned on the TV. You could take this stuff seriously for a while - and organizations like the Better Government Assn. did, as well as stiff-necked liberals from Hyde Park or the Gold Coast. But as to the rest of us, after a while you just had to laugh. Corruption became our favorite spectator sport.

If that was true for the average Joe, it was true in spades for us self-styled hard-bitten journalistic heirs of Ben Hecht and Charlie MacArthur. From an early age, we City News kids and AP cub reporters cultivated an air of cynicism to cover up the idealism we felt. Aping our elders (if not betters) – guys like Ray Brennan and Art Petacque and Bobbie Loughran and Bill Garrett and Arnold Dornfeld of sainted memory (some of whom actually covered the great Capone, or anyway so averred) – we took to smoking and wise-cracking and mistreating nice girls and putting our feet up on desks and drinking more than was good for us. Some of us still do some of those things, I’m told.

Now comes the magnificently named Rod Blagojevich, the latest – and, dare I say, greatest – in this long line of goons, buffoons and poltroons.

The jaw drops at Blagojevich’s arrogance and stupidity. (Oops, sorry – “alleged” arrogance and stupidity.) Here’s a guy who’s been under a microscope for several years – multiple investigations, plummeting popularity – I mean, from some of the comments the FBI taped, the guy himself even knew he was being bugged. Yet on he went, blabbing away.

After Obama’s election, there was a brief shining moment when Chicago suddenly was the coolest place in America. For a week or two, I and all my Chicago friends past and present kvelled with pleasure that the world was suddenly in love with our town. Then along came Blagojevich like a sullen storm to blow the picture apart.

But did he? Not really. I think Mr. Blagojevich did a favor in disguise for me and my Chicago friends, and the rest of the world besides. What Blagojevich really is saying to me and you is this:

‘Sure, Chicago has a great skyline and great pizza. Sure, we’re a nice place to visit and even a nice place to live, especially if you like bad weather. Sure, we’re friendlier than New Yorkers. And sure, we gave you a president who, even though he’s a transplant, looks like the real Chicago deal.

‘Love us if you will, or hate us: your choice. But don’t kid yourself about us. Hear me now: I, Rod Blagojevich, am the real deal too.’

Frank Joseph
www.tolovemercy.com

P.S. Anyone want to rent our home for the Inaugural? Call me — 301-656-8753.