The 53-page guilty plea has become a must-read item for political Chicago. It has landed on almost every aldermanic desk, and copies have been faxed to Springfield and Washington.
For Chicago politicians–and their spiritual cousins in the suburbs and Springfield–the words of former Ald. Allan Streeter (17th) have become as compelling as “Primary Colors” has been for the politicians in Washington.
For taxpayers, it offers an earthy and rarely seen glimpse into the real language of Democratic political leverage.
In it, Streeter describes himself as “Johnny on the spot” for those who would pay him bribes. The business of political bribery, he says, is “the oil on the wheel.”
But while both the Streeter plea and “Primary Colors” qualify as good reads, there are important differences between the two. The novel is a story of a philandering Southern governor who wants to be president and his brilliant but shrewish wife. It can pretend to be fiction.
Streeter’s guilty plea has the added advantage of being true–at least as far as his own words out of his own mouth about his own actions are concerned.
And that’s why it’s in demand.
“You gotta be real careful,” Streeter says as he warns undercover mole John Christopher in the transcript about the dangers of dealing with politicians who can’t deliver for their money.
“With somebody’s who’s not an official, you’re gambling,” Streeter says.
In the text of his guilty plea agreement–and with the aid of secret government tape recordings–Streeter offers readers what amounts to a survey course in the landscape of political corruption.
In it, he portrays himself as an authority on the subtle language of corruption, and the manners that must be observed before the cash is flashed to legislators and suburban and city officials.
And though other politicians in the Streeter pages are listed only by letters, not names, and there is no sex, Streeter does provide readers with the precise foreplay and ritual involved in bribing the politicians.
“The real door opener is me,” Streeter said. “Contacts open doors. . . . They can facilitate. They do things that a regular guy, (who) don’t know you, (who is) afraid to do business with you, don’t do.”
The pages offer the language of the dissembler, where talker and listener give each other room to wiggle, where there are structured rules and where the obvious is avoided.
Though the dialect is Chicago, and the vowels and the consonants come from the street, the rhythm of the empty spaces in the talking is where the offer is implied.
It is the story of how Streeter, an unidentified federal undercover agent and informant Christopher plied the craft of bribery and influence on trucking contracts, dumping and rock-crushing operations, establishing phony minority businesses and other political business.
Those who saw Streeter in federal court Thursday–when he admitted to taking $37,000 in bribes–saw a meek man with his eyes on the floor.
But before his troubles, Streeter was known as a fellow who could talk without moving his lips. His bright black eyes in his small round head were always dancing, looking for movement, as if they belonged in a terrarium.
“I learned a different language, a different code, how to say `no’ and `yes’ at the same time. Stick around, young man, you’re learning,” Streeter tells a federal undercover agent working the Operation Silver Shovel case by way of explaining what a politician really means when he appears to refuse a payoff.
” `It’s really not necessary,’ that means they want it. What they’re saying is, `Yes.’ It’s a separate language. That’s in case somebody is listening in on the conversation. They have a disclaimer.”
Here are some of the other rules, as Streeter introduces the agents to other people he has known in his long political career:
Instead of talking bribes, talk scholarships, even if the bribe-taker has no children. Mentioning campaign contributions won’t hurt either; the politician knows you’re really talking about a bribe, and so do you.
“It’s always good to put the `campaign piece’ in,” Streeter tells the undercover agent. “They understand that kind of talk. Rather than come right out and say, `Hey, this is what you’re gonna do for that.’ “
But offer to bring a hungry politician to lunch, and he’ll take immediate and fearful offense. If you end up in a restaurant together, however, the protocol is to scribble a dollar sign on a napkin. Add a number with some zeros behind it. Then push it across the table.
And when it comes time to offer the cash, take them for a walk outside, in the fresh air, with the birds chirping, and your kindness will be appreciated.
Violate these rules, and people get suspicious. At one point, Streeter criticizes undercover mole Christopher for being too obvious in an attempted payoff.
Christopher “walked in and wants to say, `Here’s the deal. Here’s what I’m gonna give you. Here’s the bread.’ You can’t do it that way. You got to go through a process, man. These guys are investigated. You got phones tapped, offices tapped. You gotta be careful with that stuff.”
At another time, Streeter offers the right way to make the payoff.
“He can’t go in talking, `Here’s the deal. What do you want? I wanna have lunch with you.’ You can’t tell a guy, `I wanna have lunch with you.’ That’s a dead giveaway. You can’t do it that way.”
