Former Ald. Ed Burke’s verdict stands out in long arc of City Council crooks

Generations of Chicagoans accustomed to grimy politics might view former Ald. Ed Burke’s federal racketeering conviction last week as just another case in a long conga line of crooked aldermen.

But Burke was an undisputed Democratic kingpin. He not only set a record for serving 54 years in the City Council, but he departed in May as the last alderman who rose to power in the era of Mayor Richard J. Daley’s vaunted Democratic machine.

And, as such, his downfall will reverberate in City Hall history.

Days after a federal jury convicted Burke on all but one of the 14 counts against him, friends and foes alike remained stunned that Burke, who once was viewed as untouchable, is now a convicted felon. Found guilty by a jury of using his public position to leverage property tax appeal business for his law firm, Burke, who turns 80 on Friday, is looking at a potentially long term in prison.

The pre-Christmas verdict also capped a year of extraordinary public corruption victories racked up by federal prosecutors in cases arising from a sweeping investigation of ex-Illinois House Speaker Michael Madigan, the once-all-powerful state Democratic Party chairman.

Burke’s conviction and Madigan’s upcoming federal corruption trial mark the end of an era for the two legendary Southwest Side Democrats from neighboring wards who long held almost unchecked political power.

In addition, the jurors on Thursday did far more than topple Burke, a stalwart political figure with old-school connections and a wife, Anne, who once was chief justice of the Illinois Supreme Court.

They did what very few of even his fiercest political enemies could ever do: They humbled him.

‘A long list of corrupt City Council aldermen’

As the verdicts were read in U.S. District Judge Virginia Kendall’s 25th floor courtroom, Burke kept his hands clasped and rested his chin on his fingers, his face flushed. For much of the trial, Burke had worn a slightly more subdued version of his trademark pinstriped suits, flashy green ties and pocket squares. But on the afternoon he was convicted, Burke dressed in a black suit and muted black tie.

Moments after the verdict, acting U.S. Attorney Morris Pasqual noted the thriving culture of corruption at City Hall, telling reporters, “Ald. Burke obviously joins a long list of corrupt City Council aldermen who have been convicted of corruption charges over here in federal court.”

Asked whether Burke’s conviction would serve as any kind of deterrent to others at City Hall, Pasqual suggested solemnly that many may think twice once they see Burke fully face the consequences when he’s sentenced in June.

“We have not had the sentencing yet,” Pasqual said. “Obviously Ald. Burke was a very powerful alderman, this case has had massive publicity, and I’d like to think that public officials out there who are tempted to start down this path will be even further on notice that the federal government is out there … and we’re aggressively pursuing these kinds of matters.”

Pasqual also stood behind his office’s choice to cut a deal with former Ald. Daniel Solis, 25th, who will avoid punishment for his own misdeeds in exchange for secretly recording Burke.

The audio and video Solis recorded, Pasqual said, represented the “best evidence going to show Ald. Burke’s knowledge and intent: The words out of his own mouth.”

“We don’t regret that trial strategy one bit,” Pasqual said.

Solis’ improbable turn as an undercover FBI mole pierced the veil that may have protected Burke through his five decades on the City Council, even as Burke watched dozens of colleagues carted off to prison as he built a lucrative private law practice that constantly commingled with his duties as alderman and Finance Committee chairman.

Through Solis’ cooperation, Burke was memorably caught saying such lines as he was “not motivated” to help developers since “the cash register has not rung yet.” When the developers dragged their feet, he told Solis “as far as I’m concerned they can go (expletive) themselves.” And perhaps most notably, he asked Solis on a wiretapped call: “So did we land the, uh, the tuna?”

One juror told the Tribune the members of the jury listened to every single recording during their 23 hours of deliberations.

The number of Chicago aldermen convicted of wrongdoing is breathtaking: 38 since 1971. Three died while charges were pending; only one was acquitted.

Charges are pending against former 34th Ward Ald. Carrie Austin, who had been the second-longest serving alderman next to Burke when she was charged in 2021. Solis has also been charged, although that case is expected to be dropped once his cooperation is complete.

Former Ald. Dick Simpson, who served with Burke from 1971 to 1979 and led the council’s small reform-minded bloc, viewed Burke’s conviction as a “continuation of a terrible pattern of corruption in which public officials have used their public power for private gain.”

“The Richard J. Daley era created the modern political machine, which spawned the highest level of corruption in the country,” said Simpson, who previously represented the North Side’s 44th Ward.

Despite Burke’s long tenure, he leaves “in disgrace,” Simpson said.

Madigan trial looms

Burke’s racketeering conviction comes with a maximum potential sentence of 20 years in prison, though he’ll likely receive a much lower term. Burke’s conviction undoubtedly puts in jeopardy his nearly six-figure pension.

Burke’s attorneys had no comment after the verdict, but an appeal is likely. And they surely will cite Burke’s age, the length of his public service, and lack of any previous criminal history in trying to minimize any time behind bars.

With the Burke verdict, federal prosecutors have continued to build momentum that began in May with convictions they got in the ComEd Four case that netted a close Madigan confidant, the utility’s former CEO and two other lobbyists in a bribery-related scheme to boost the utility’s legislative agenda. In a separate case, the longtime speaker’s ousted chief of staff got nailed for lying to a federal grand jury even though he’d been granted immunity.

All of the convictions serve as precursors to the scheduled April 1 corruption trial of Madigan himself, the prosecution’s main target.

Madigan, who holds the nationwide record of 36 years as speaker, has filed a motion to delay his trial, citing an Indiana case now before the U.S. Supreme Court that challenges some of the same laws Madigan is accused of violating, including whether a quid pro quo is required to prove bribery under the statute.

A judge ordered Madigan to be in court in person on Jan. 3, which will be his first public courtroom appearance since being indicted nearly two years ago. The issue Madigan raises is one that Burke also may cite on appeal.

Madigan, like Burke, faces federal racketeering charges. And, if the Madigan trial date holds, it’s expected to wrap up only weeks before next summer’s Democratic National Convention in Chicago. Convention officials looking for a positive boost might be asked to defend Illinois’ national reputation as a politically corrupt state following high-profile convictions of two iconic Chicago Democrats who followed their fathers into politics and looked to the first Mayor Daley for guidance.

Over the years, Burke and Madigan also managed to find a political balance in their off-and-on relationships with Mayor Richard M. Daley, the son who exorcised the ghosts of Hizzoner’s 1968 DNC billy-club debacle by running a successful 1996 Democratic convention in Chicago.

‘Mr. Chairman’

Until Thursday’s guilty verdicts, Burke was a survivor, a tenacious backroom insider who seeded City Hall with an army of loyalists ready to give him the latest political intelligence or insider tips that could enhance his knowledge on all matters big and small.

He showed his greatest political resilience when he carried out his role as one of the “two Eddies” in the “Vrdolyak 29.” He and then-Ald. Ed Vrdolyak, 10th, led the anti-administration bloc of mostly white ethnic aldermen who tried to block nearly every issue pushed by Harold Washington, the first Black mayor of Chicago, a period known as “Council Wars.”

At the height of his power, Burke spent decades commanding the all-powerful position of chairman of the council’s Finance Committee under the second Mayor Daley, a nod to the notion that it was better to have a savvy political operative such as Burke working on the mayor’s playbook than against it.

Being “Mr. Chairman” made Burke a player on virtually every significant issue that affected the city. He continued in that role under Mayor Rahm Emanuel until an FBI raid of the alderman’s City Hall and 14th Ward offices five years ago led to the federal case that eventually forced him out of the coveted chairmanship.

Despite winning reelection in 2019 with a federal charge pending, Burke became a political punching bag for Mayor Lori Lightfoot and opted not to run for his aldermanic seat again this year with the trial pending. He also would have had to overcome the extra challenge of running in newly redrawn ward boundaries that he had almost no say in redrawing unlike previous remaps.

The indictment against Burke centered on a series of schemes to win private law business for his firm, Klafter & Burke. Among them were attempts to shake down the developers of the $600 million Old Post Office renovation and the owners of a Burger King in his ward who needed permits for remodeling work.

Burke also was convicted of taking property tax business from a developer who wanted a pole sign permit for a Binny’s Beverage Depot. The jury also found him guilty on charges he threatened to block an admission fee increase at the prestigious Field Museum when the daughter of former 32nd Ward Ald. Terry Gabinski, a longtime Burke ally, didn’t get a paid internship despite Burke’s support.

As a student of history, Burke surely knows the uncanny parallels between his rise and fall and that of longtime 31st Ward Ald. Tom Keane, who preceded Burke as head of the Finance Committee.

In the 1970s, when Burke was still relatively new on the council, Keane, the first Mayor Daley’s City Council floor leader, was convicted on 17 counts of mail fraud and one of conspiracy to commit mail fraud. He was sentenced to five years in prison and paroled after serving 22 months.

Keane’s downfall came in 1974, when an ambitious federal prosecutor named James R. Thompson directed Keane’s conviction on charges stemming from his City Council votes on the city’s purchase of real estate in which he had a vested interest. Some counts were overturned on appeal.

The U.S. Supreme Court subsequently held unconstitutional the portion of the mail-fraud law under which Keane was found guilty, but it refused in 1989 to grant his request to have the conviction removed from his record. Thompson, a Republican, went on to serve a record 14 years as Illinois governor.

Like Burke, Keane had moved up to his father’s seat in the City Council upon his death.

At one point in the early 1970s, Burke and Keane actually clashed. A small group of “Young Turk” aldermen, including Burke, staged a brief “Coffee Rebellion,” so named because the young aldermen held their meetings in the mornings. They challenged the iron-fisted rule of Daley and Keane. As a result, some of the rebels were given committee chairmanships and more voice in the council.

As his council status grew, Burke would adopt much of Keane’s style of politicking, enforcing loyalty among his colleagues by honing his parliamentary skills and know-how to tie up mayors’ agendas.

With the Cook County Democratic Party, Burke’s chairmanship of the judicial slate-making committee meant he could make or break future judges.

If he goes to prison, Burke will experience a severe shift in his lifestyle — from impeccably coifed clothes and private dining in downtown clubs to an oversized jumpsuit and a drab prison cell.

‘A closing of a door to old-school politics’

The potential 2024 trial for Madigan may also serve to hobble a man who was once the most influential politician in the state, even more powerful than governors.

His status as the Democratic leader was first weakened in 2018 when several aides and allies, including Timothy Mapes, the chief of staff convicted of lying to a grand jury, were accused of sexual harassment.

The scandal lingered in the minds of many lawmakers, particularly women, when the U.S. attorney’s office entered a deferred prosecution agreement with ComEd in July 2020 and gave Madigan the ignominious title of “Public Official A.” ComEd paid a record $200 million fine, and a bribery charge was dropped against the company following an agreed-upon three years of cooperating with federal authorities.

ComEd also admitted it sought to influence Madigan into supporting the utility’s successful legislative agenda by showering his allies with no-work jobs, giving internships to a bevy of college students from his Southwest Side 13th Ward, and appointing the person he wanted on the state-regulated company’s board of directors.

In January 2021, Madigan lost the speakership when 19 members — mostly women — refused to support him for another term as head of the House. A few weeks later, Madigan quit the House, where he had served for more than 50 years, and resigned his post as chairman of the state Democratic Party.

He was indicted in March 2022 in the racketeering case involving ComEd and in a superseding indictment in October 2022 for a similar scheme tied to AT&T, which also paid a $23 million fine.

Madigan has emphatically denied wrongdoing in what prosecutors describe as a “criminal enterprise,” and so far has spent $8 million from his campaign war chest on defense lawyers.

For now, though, the politically seismic impact of Burke’s conviction alone may not be fully grasped by many everyday Chicagoans.

“It is a closing of a door to old-school politics that were run by bosses, a closing of a door of several generations of tactics run by old-school bosses when the people’s voices were not respected and not valued,” said Eddie Read, chairman of Chicago Black United Communities, a group founded by activist Lu Palmer that became a leading supporter of Washington for mayor.

While Burke’s supporters have often praised his contributions to the city and decried his prosecution, the ex-alderman’s comedown is also seen in some quarters as an overdue comeuppance.

“Sending him to prison is one thing,” Read said of Burke’s potential sentence. “But to me a greater sense of justice would be to have him pay for the injustices done to the people who didn’t have the old Democratic hookups — contractors, workers, developers and investors who probably would have given resources back to the broader community. They were robbed of the opportunity.”

Chicago Tribune’s Rick Pearson and A.D. Quig contributed.

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