The Man Who Made Chicago Work

St. Peter: We have been awaiting you, Mr. Mayor. Why do you think you're worthy of entering?

Mayor Daley: Actually, I was always trying to be worthy of Chicago. I lived all my life in the same neighborhood--Bridgeport. I never wanted to live anywhere else. I wanted to make life better for my neighbors, and their neighbors. To build a city we could all be proud of.

To the end, Richard Daley worked very hard at that task. Consider his last day, as he made the rounds of what he deemed the greatest city on earth.

At a breakfast with city department heads, he and his wife Eleanor were presented with a gift of round-trip tickets to Ireland, homeland of the mayor's grandparents. At the Civic Center Plaza, Hizzoner watched artists fashion Christmas sculptures out of ice. On to the dedication of a new gymnasium, where Daley deftly sank a basket.

His last stop was his doctor's office. Complaining of chest pains, Daley, who had suffered from angina for several years, dropped by for a checkup--and collapsed. Ninety minutes of efforts by medical teams could not revive him. After 22 years as mayor, at the head of a political machine without parallel in America, Daley was dead at 74.

Only natural causes could bring him down. The man with the leprechaun twinkle and the fireplug build was impossible to dislodge. A dinosaur in the age of the new politics, he proved far more durable than the glamour boys who had pronounced his methods dead.

True Passion. Daley not only knew how to run a political machine (a word he hated), he also had the rare knack of governing a city. "Chicago works" became a commonplace. Said Republican Governor-elect Jim Thompson, who as U.S. Attorney sent many Daley men to prison: "We lost in democracy, but we went ahead and became a great city."

Daley's true passion was Chicago. Son of a sheet-metal worker and labor organizer, Daley grew up in the blue-collar section of Bridgeport near the stockyards. Physically and mentally, he never strayed far. When he left his family's house, he moved only a few doors away, where he and Eleanor raised their seven children. Daley was a familiar figure at weddings, wakes and graduations. The Rev. John Lydon, the pastor of Daley's Roman Catholic parish, noted last week: "When he said, 'How are you?' he really wanted to know."

Daley became a precinct captain at 21, rose to Cook County party chairman in 1953. With more than 25,000 jobs at his disposal, he quickly learned to use patronage. When he won the mayoralty two years later, he insisted on keeping his party job, which cemented his power. Ever after, he used his victory total as his license-plate number: 708,222. He was re-elected five times.

Wedded to no ideology except Chicago's growth, Daley had close ties to labor, yet won business support with low taxes and favorable zoning. Above all, he encouraged construction. The city was transformed by expressways, rapid transit, O'Hare International Airport, new university campuses and a parade of high-rises that made the Chicago shoreline one of the most exciting in the U.S. As Daley put it in one of his malapropisms, "Together we must rise to higher and higher platitudes."

The mayor was accused of caring more for concrete than for people. Blacks complained that he was inattentive to their needs. The Daley machine was also dogged by charges of corruption. No one ever thought he was on the take himself--he lived too frugally. But he was permissive with friends and family. Criticized for steering millions of dollars in city insurance to an obscure suburban agency where his son worked, he replied, "If a man can't put his arms around his sons and help them, then what's the world coming to?"

The mayor's worst moments came during the 1968 Democratic Convention. Chicago was swamped with protesters, and Daley's cops moved on them with clubs flying. In convention hall, Daley imperiously called the shots; when the proceedings offended him, the mayor cut off his mike and signaled adjournment by drawing a finger across his throat. With the party in shambles at the end of the convention, Daley tripped over his tongue defending his actions. "The police are not here to create disorder," he said, more aptly than he knew. "They are here to preserve disorder."

Now the Politburo. He did not take kindly to criticism of any kind. "They have vilified me!" he once bellowed. "They have crucified me. Yes, they have even criticized me!"

Daley's organization was the joy of aspiring politicians. They knew the machine would get out the vote. Daley helped win the governorship for Adlai Stevenson. In 1960 he tipped the state and thereby the election to John Kennedy. His support of Jimmy Carter just about clinched the nomination for the Georgian. But he was unable to win the state for Carter, or even to put a Democrat in the statehouse in Springfield.

Daley seemed so indestructible that nobody was prepared for his departure. Some 15 candidates are already scrambling to replace him. A special election will be held within six months, and in the meantime, an acting mayor will be selected by the city council. Daley's successor will not have comparable clout since he will undoubtedly be denied the top party job that Daley held. Says Political Scientist Milton Rakove of the University of Illinois' Circle Campus: "The politburo takes over now. They won't let anyone have that kind of power again." For better or worse, Richard Daley was probably the last of his kind.

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