For Senate Minority Leader James ”Pate” Philip, the annual corned beef and cabbage dinner for about a dozen Senate leaders and staff members in Sen. Stanley Weaver`s Springfield condominium last week ended like a Republican`s worst dream: the liberals and Democrats won everything.
After filling up on Weaver`s special corned beef, spiced and glazed throughout that day`s legislative session, a group of senators decided to work it off at a hastily arranged poker table in Weaver`s living room.
Sen. Dawn Clark Netsch, the Chicago Democrat and lakefront liberal, reluctantly approached the table.
”Come on, Dawn,” the players said. ”Give it a try, Dawn.”
Netsch sat in one of the folding chairs, clumsily dealt the cards to the others and in a relatively short time was stuffing Pate`s money into her purse.
”Her bills are terrible,” Philip, an ex-Marine, said after the rout.
”And she would never defend her country.”
In Springfield, where days of political activity for legislators often turn into nights of boredom, the ill-fated poker game was nevertheless Philip`s solace.
During the day, business keeps him going. The phone starts ringing soon after he walks into his office in the Capitol, typically before 7:30 a.m. This day a reporter was with him. Then comes the parade of constituents, state officials, job seekers and legislative colleagues seeking advice, assurances and aid.
Philip`s old-fashioned dealmaking has characterized his tenure as a legislator and politician. One of his favorite refrains, repeated with calm and certainty, is: ”You sit down and work it out.” Quite often he has been able to do just that. Somehow the onetime Barry Goldwater firebrand and conservative ideologue with age and experience has become a framer of compromise.
Although there`s some question whether Philip, who lives in Wood Dale, has as much clout in the sometimes fractious Du Page Republican Party as he is often given credit for, there is no doubt that the suburbs in general and Du Page County in particular have benefited from his position as probably the state`s second most powerful Republican, behind Gov. James Thompson. Philip`s dual responsibilites as Senate minority leader and party chairman of the state`s most heavily Republican county have made him indispensable to other Illinois Republicans, who need the county`s votes, and to Thompson`s annual legislative programs.
”He`s the head Republican. I`m the head Democrat,” said Senate President Philip J. Rock. ”Each of us is protective of our members; each of us recruits newones . . . Pate represents his constituency. To that extent he`s provincial, as we all are. He`s protective of the interests of Du Page County.”
Philip arrived in Springfield in 1967. Before that he was York Township auditor and was active in the Young Republicans when Barry Goldwater set the conservative agenda and Elmer ”the Elephant” Hoffman was chairman of the Du Page GOP.
As a freshman in the Illinois House, his salary was $9,000. He got a $50 allowance for stamps and letterheads. He used the nickname ”Pate,” short for his middle name, Payton, because it was a good ballot name.
”Out where I am, you look at `Pate` Philip and you wouldn`t know if I was a Catholic, a Protestant or a Jew,” said Philip, 56. ”But you look at the name and you can pronounce it.”
As Senate minority leader, Philip directs a staff of 123 people and is paid $42,950, of which $10,450 is for his leadership position. His office is larger than most in the Capitol and bears the mementos of his loyalties. On the walls are Marine certificates, photos of President Reagan at various Illinois engagements and elephants–crocheted elephants, plastic elephants, glass elephants.
”People don`t know what to do for you,” Philip said. ”They give you an elephant. Rock gets donkeys.”
In his office, Philip, who looks like a bulkier version of the actor Eddie Albert, spends much of his day talking on the telephone and huddling with political allies and adversaries.
”Somebody needs a stop sign,” Philip said of his daily routine.
”Somebody got flooding in their neighborhood. Somebody calls saying they`re paying too much taxes. I`m a red-tape cutter. When you`re in government 20 years, you know a lot of people.”
The procession of visitors began early that day. Nursing students from the College of Du Page arrived in groups of five asking Philip to support licensing of nurses with two-year associate degrees.
The 6-foot, 3-inch senator towered above them in their white coats, shook their hands and checked their name tags.
”Elmhurst, very nice,” Philip said. ”Glendale Heights, very nice.”
Each of the nurses lived in Philip`s district.
”If you have your two-year degree, you should be an R.N. You`re all Republicans. You`re all going to vote for me, right? Only kidding, ladies.”
The nurses blushed. Political points were scored.
Philip has a nostalgic fondness for this sort of basic politicking.
”In the old days,” Philip recalled, ”somebody told you something, you could count on it. . . . Now, people tend to do things that`ll get them re-elected because they need the income. Way back we worked 90 days every two years.”
Philip continues to work part-time handling the Jewel Food Stores account for Pepperidge Farms Inc., where he has been employed for 33 years.
But from the bread business, Philip learned a political axiom.
”A politician is a salesman,” he said. ”He`s selling himself. There`s not much difference.”
As the day wore on, Philip ran tirelessly through his own sales routine.
A state fire marshal, who is up for reappointment, stopped by for the senator`s blessing.
”I haven`t heard one complaint yet,” Philip reassured the marshal.
A constituent called to complain about a lane addition on his Bloomingdale street. A possible senatorial candidate from Du Page checked in with Philip to discuss the candidacy.
”Nobody goes out of my county without my blessing,” Philip said.
Philip then concentrated on his legislative agenda for that afternoon
–the nuts-and-bolts operations of what he likes to call ”the system.”
He briefed Republican senators about the important bills coming up in Executive Committee that afternoon. There would be one important item, Philip said, Bill 1122, sponsored by Sen. Aldo DeAngelis (R., Olympia Fields).
If passed, the bill would add two members to the Cook County Sheriff`s Merit Board, effectively guaranteeing the Republican sheriff control of the board.
”We can`t have anyone wandering out of committee,” Philip told the senators. ”If we lose it, we`ll never hear the end of it.”
Philip called Rock to discuss the matter, and Rock agreed to line up the necessary Democratic votes to get the bill out of committee.
At the committee meeting, Philip sat quietly, rarely leaving his seat. Other senators ate fistfuls of popcorn or paced the room to stay awake. Philip just waited, knowing all along how it would turn out.
And when Bill 1122 was finally introduced, Rock indeed spoke up.
”I think the idea is a good one,” Rock said. ”The sooner we get it over with the better.”
The bill passed 19-0.
”You sit down and work it out,” Philip said.
During his time in Springfield, Philip never has been enamored of two fixtures of state government: lawyers and reporters.
”I kind of consider the press the enemy,” Philip said. ”Most of the press here tends to be pretty liberal. If you`re a conservative, they don`t like you.”
The Springfield evening would hold out more handshakes and smiles as the senator moved expertly from one lobbyist cocktail party to another, posing for pictures, sticking on and peeling off name tags in rapid succession, avoiding poached salmon and egg rolls.
His goal is to be the president of the Senate, he said, not governor.
”I`m too damn old,” he said.
At 8 p.m. or thereabouts, he headed for Stan Weaver`s condominium and heaped some corned beef and cabbage onto a paper plate, not knowing that the toughest battle of the day was still ahead.
