Paul Vallas on the campaign trail: ‘Wonkish’ spiels, boundless anecdotes — and a laser focus on crime

Paul Vallas glanced around the room at an LGBTQ community event in Lakeview as he proudly played up his early support for same-sex marriage.

But soon, the focus turned to an issue that’s caused the Chicago mayoral candidate to visibly wince on the campaign trail: repeated attacks from rival Brandon Johnson claiming that Vallas opposes the teaching of Black history and has palled around with right-wing extremists.

“It’s frustrating when somebody calls you a racist,” he said, unprompted. “Racists don’t do 55% minority contractors. Racists don’t go to New Orleans when 110 of the 120 schools have been destroyed by Hurricane Katrina and were uninhabitable.”

Vallas has studiously avoided discussing race since advancing to Tuesday’s mayoral runoff election as the front-runner. When it’s come up, he has almost always deflected, dismissing Johnson’s censures as “rhetoric.”

But as the guests at Barcocina Mexican restaurant drank Tajín-rimmed cocktails and munched on empanadas, Vallas let his frustration loose.

He spoke of making sure “every single child” in the New Orleans system he rebuilt after the hurricane was in a new or renovated school and how the district “led the state in academic improvement for seven consecutive years.” Then he paused to soak in the audience’s cheers before going back for more.

“And racists don’t go at the peak of their earning powers to Haiti, not one time but 40 times, despite getting hospitalized three times,” he said.

Chicago is a deeply segregated city where political support often flows along racial lines. Vallas emerged from a nine-candidate field in the Feb. 28 election in part because he was the only white contender, while Mayor Lori Lightfoot competed with six other Black challengers, including Johnson.

In the first round of campaigning, Lightfoot accused Vallas of blowing the “ultimate dog whistle” for announcing that “this whole campaign is about taking back our city” — a line he said was about crime but has not uttered again in front of media. Days after the incumbent mayor was knocked out of the runoff, Johnson immediately picked up where Lightfoot left off, digging into Vallas over past remarks that unspecified school curricula related to critical race theory was harming families and taking emphasis off more important subjects.

Although Vallas has run for public office only as a Democrat, he’s been blasted for past affiliations with conservative radio talk show hosts, Republican political donors, the anti-LGBTQ activist group Awake Illinois and pro-Trump Fraternal Order of Police local President John Catanzara.

Vallas has sought to downplay such connections. He’s condemned comments by Awake leaders and Catanzara as “hateful” and “irresponsible,” respectively. He praised Trump’s indictment.

His most-used talking point is to call himself “a lifelong Democrat,” and he’s rolled out endorsements from popular party members like U.S. Sen. Dick Durbin, Cook County Circuit Court Clerk Iris Martinez and former Secretary of State Jesse White to expand his support along racial and ethnic lines.

At Josephine’s Southern Cooking in Chatham, Vallas was joined by six Black aldermen and former state Senate President Emil Jones. Vallas seemed to revel in his decadeslong relationships with those behind him, recounting work they did in the 1990s when Vallas was Mayor Richard M. Daley’s budget director and then Chicago Public Schools CEO.

“I’m probably going to tell a few stories, because I go way back,” Vallas said before turning to Jones. “I’m so glad you stopped smoking. I was never a smoker, but I used to come down to the Senate president’s office and steal his cigarettes. Remember that? I know I owe you big time.”

He continued: “You didn’t tell my wife, didn’t tell my mother, for heaven’s sake.”

Vallas also was endorsed by Willie Wilson, the well-known African American philanthropist who in his three bids for mayor, including this year, consistently tallied about 10% of the vote, mostly from Black neighborhoods.

On an unseasonably sunny March day, Wilson led a line of Black clergy into the sanctuary of Providence Missionary Baptist Church in Auburn Gresham.

When Wilson — the most right-leaning candidate when he was still in the race, who famously called for police to hunt down criminal suspects “like a rabbit” — took the microphone, he slammed Johnson for what Wilson said was wanting to “defund” the police and raise taxes.

Then Wilson recalled the tragic impetus for his friendship with Vallas: The two bonded over the deaths of their sons. Omar Wilson was killed in a 1995 shooting; Mark Vallas died in 2017 after suffering from long-term opioid addiction.

Vallas warmly deemed Wilson his “comfort zone” before promising to bring faith-based organizations into campuses to combat youth murders. The candidate, who practices Orthodox Greek Christianity, concluded with a prophecy: “With the power of all your prayers collectively, my election will be guaranteed.” The pastors placed their hands on his shoulders and blessed him.

A bid to ‘transcend’ race

Two days later, Vallas similarly held hands with former U.S. Rep. Bobby Rush as they marched down 47th Street into another church where Rush spoke about “leadership that will transcend race.”

A founder of the Illinois Black Panther Party and a friend of 1960s activist Fred Hampton, who was assassinated in a police raid, Rush has likened the Chicago FOP to “kissing, hugging, and lawbreaking cousins” of the Ku Klux Klan. He explained his support for Vallas by denouncing street crime and arguing that it’s “rank-and-file” officers who are behind Vallas.

As Rush shuffled away from the glass podium after wrapping up with a vigorous “Elect Paul, y’all!” chant, Vallas’ eyes stayed glued to the ground. He fidgeted with a stack of papers, appearing to blink back tears as supporters behind him said, “You got it, Paul.”

Ten seconds later, Vallas pointed an index finger up in reassurance, swiveled the mic over and spoke, focusing largely on public safety, the issue he’s made the main point of contrast in the contest.

Over the course of the campaign, Vallas has ramped up assertions Johnson would defund the police, saying it “would have a devastating consequence on our city.” Johnson has flat-out denied that he would defund the police.

“If I win, we will make our city safer by prioritizing the filling of police vacancies and the returning of police to the local beats,” Vallas said. “The stakes in this race could not be higher.”

It was inside the Pullman Community Center on the Far South Side where Vallas unexpectedly encountered another fault line in his efforts to prove that he’s not too conservative for heavily blue Chicago.

As children hit Wiffle balls in the background and Vallas spoke to a group of mostly Black women about his public safety plans, he was asked about how he would address not just “murder in the streets, but also the murder in the womb.”

“Are you pro-abortion?” Jan Nunnally asked.

Vallas stumbled over his words slightly but said he supports “a women’s right to choose in my household.”

“Do you support a women’s right to murder?” Nunnally followed up. “You’re a man of God.”

“I’m not going to tell my wife or my sisters. I’m not going to have the government regulate,” Vallas said. “Thank you, though, nice question.”

In 2001, when Vallas ran for the Democratic nomination for Illinois governor against Rod Blagojevich, he told The Associated Press he personally opposes abortion on religious grounds, but would not support restrictions on abortion rights.

In 2009, he said he was personally pro-abortion rights but also that he was “fundamentally” opposed to abortion. Critics have pounced on that comment to argue he opposed reproductive rights, which he brushes off by saying his words are being taken out of context.

‘Public safety is a human right’

Vallas has routinely invoked family to humanize himself. He talks about his wife, Sharon, who lives in Palos Heights and takes care of Vallas’ mother while he stays in Bridgeport. The two have more or less lived separately for years, dating back to the time he worked in New Orleans, Philadelphia, Connecticut and Haiti, among other cities.

During one campaign swing, Vallas stopped at the annual St. Joseph’s Day dinner hosted by the Joint Civic Committee of Italian Americans, which is suing the city over Lightfoot’s decision to remove the Christopher Columbus statue in Little Italy.

Vallas shook hands until he was called to the podium, where he joked that he and campaign manager Brian Towne were going to move in together and go to couples therapy.

Vallas highlighted his family’s record of public service, including six veterans in the family, four police officers and a firefighter. But he saved a special shoutout for his wife, who works overnight at the Transportation Safety Administration at Midway Airport so they can have health insurance, he said.

“She does it because the Vallas family has always been about public service and sacrifice,” Vallas said.

Vallas is an occasionally awkward speaker and is known to overexplain, a trait that has harmed him in past runs for office and that he has worked to quell.

Growing up, Vallas struggled with a speech impediment, which he said led to bullying and isolation. His 93-year-old mother, Mary, recalled those days in a recent Sun-Times interview, noting his evolution to his current reputation as a gabber: “I guess you could say that once Paul started talking … he has yet to stop!”

Vallas kicked off his remarks to the Italian American group with a long-winded story about his fascination with the crucifix at St. Anthony’s Church in Roseland growing up. When he finished, Vallas quipped, “I don’t know why I just told you that story. It just came to mind.”

The audience laughed. Then Vallas went after Johnson in dismissive terms, arguing he doesn’t have a plan or strategy. Vallas often denounces Johnson as failing to have “substance.”

“Public safety is a human right, and I’m running against someone who has always advocated for ‘defund the police,’ who talks about cutting the police budget ... who thinks that promoting 200 detectives from districts are suddenly, magically going to solve the problems of crime,” Vallas said.

Vallas also said he won’t be a successful mayor if he can’t address broader issues, like disinvestment on the South and West sides, another common refrain.

“My ultimate success will be determined by my ability to take the community I was born in, like Roseland, and transform (it) into the community of my dreams,” Vallas said. “I don’t dream about any other community I’ve lived in except Roseland: the avenues, the stores, the activities, the public park, a school I ended up buying and renovating and investing so it’s one of the extraordinary magnet schools in the city of Chicago — Gwendolyn Brooks.”

After a standing ovation, Vallas signed autographs, sprinted to take a photo with an accordion player and grabbed a priest’s hand to give it a kiss.

A man of many words

Vallas then stopped in at the Red Barrel Restaurant in Archer Heights for an event hosted by Ald. Silvana Tabares, 23rd. He apologized to the crowd for being late and blamed it on a televised debate earlier that night.

Near the end, Vallas went into his spiel about harnessing tax increment finance surpluses, the damage of property tax increases and why Johnson’s plans would hurt business growth — then caught himself.

“I didn’t mean to be wonkish, and I didn’t mean to be so long-winded. This is what happens when you come from a debate and you try to say things you would have liked to have said in the debate,” Vallas said. “Now you have to suffer for it.”

Again, the audience chuckled.

Late that night, Vallas made one last stop at the swanky River North bar Tree House, where he was introduced by Gery Chico, a former CPS board president.

“Yes, I’m kind of a wonkish guy. I’m an issues guy. I try to answer questions. I try to explain how I will fix the problems and how I will address them,” Vallas said.

As is often the case, Vallas lamented law enforcement shortages. He said only half the beat cars that are needed in the 11th Police District in Lawndale are available, leaving a troubled community vulnerable.

“The bottom line is communities have to be saved,” Vallas said. “Nothing is possible if you’re living in a community where you’re literally being held hostage because seniors can’t walk down the street to get their medicine or children can’t play in their yards or people can’t socialize on a Friday night or over the weekend.”

He later returned to a common theme: Blasting Johnson for his ties to the powerful Chicago Teachers Union, where he still earns a salary and from whose political funds, together with those of closely allied unions, he received most of his campaign money.

“Do we want the Chicago Teachers Union leadership to do to the city what they’ve done to the Chicago Public Schools?” Vallas asked the crowd.

“No!” the room shouted.

“Do we?” he asked again, louder.

“No!” they shouted back.

“Sometimes I think I’m running against Stacy Davis Gates,” Vallas said, referring to the CTU’s outspoken president.

But Vallas has faced questions of his own about his education record. As he rode the Red Line to a Cubs game last week, a woman asked, “What’s your stance on public schools?”

Vallas immediately turned defensive, asking, “What schools did I privatize?”

“Sorry?” she asked. Vallas repeated the question.

Ald. Tom Tunney, 44th, who was riding with Vallas, cut in gently, “She doesn’t know your history.”

After Vallas argued all the schools he opened as CPS CEO were public schools, the woman said, “I just heard that you are going more towards privatization.”

“No, that’s my opponent who wants you to believe that,” Vallas said. “Now, they opened 15 new charter schools, but charter schools are public schools.”

Another woman sitting nearby whipped her head back and sharply stated, “They’re privately operated, but they use our tax money.”

“No, charter schools are publicly funded, not-for-profit schools,” Vallas said. The second passenger opened her mouth again, but Vallas kept going. “And most of them, and a large number of them, are actually alternative schools for overage underachievers.”

Vallas appeared much more relaxed during this year’s South Side Irish Parade in Beverly, his former neighborhood.

Whether it was paradegoers leaning over the metal barricades to snag a handshake or friendly first responders waving along the route, the people in the crowd on the Southwest Side appeared as if they were ready to coronate Vallas on the spot.

“Paul Vallas, Paul Vallas,” sang a chorus of young children from a local Catholic school, their green-and-white ribboned float slowly squeaking underneath a fluffy snowfall. One of them pleaded with Vallas to add space heaters to the floats as mayor.

Holding it together that frenetic morning was James Sheahan, a former deputy of Mayor Richard M. Daley and an old friend of Vallas who is more famously known as “Skinny” among political circles. The two matched in knee-length black coats and dark gray berets, though Vallas tucked in an emerald green scarf.

With every familiar face that approached, Sheahan corralled Vallas to take photos. Whenever the loquacious candidate was dragging on a conversation, Sheahan barked “Paul!” until they got moving again. At one point, he even leapt over a pile of fresh horse poop while continuing to give Vallas pointers.

As Vallas walked down Western Avenue, he paid special attention to first responders.

“Hang in there,” Vallas said to a firefighter, who nodded back.

While passing by a line of police officers raising their arms for a fist bump, he said: “Help is on the way.”

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