Jim Ryan is sitting in the backroom of an Oak Brook restaurant with seven beefy union leaders.
They are downing cups of coffee. He’s sipping from a tall glass of orange juice.
It is a mere six days before the Republican primary for governor, and the men he’s talking to–the Chicagoland Laborers District Council–almost always endorse Democrats (this sentence as published has been corrected in this text). But Ryan is enjoying a considerable lead in the GOP polls.
It can’t hurt to talk, he says. And they, too, know the score–a Democrat hasn’t been governor since 1976.
Like every pre-scheduled event for Ryan this day–and so many this primary season for Ryan–the meeting is a private one. In this instance, even more so. The room is so secluded few people in the restaurant even know Ryan is there.
And in the early going, the talk is stilted. They tell him about their concerns: Construction workers should get a prevailing wage, and the government should ensure that is enforced. Ryan promises little.
He begins to recite what is, in effect, his stump speech about jobs and labor, telling them that as attorney general he has fought for the enforcement of the prevailing wage.
Then Ryan begins to thaw.
He tells them his father was a builder. His dad couldn’t hammer two boards together, Ryan says, but he helped organize the effort to construct several houses in the neighborhood where he grew up, a few miles away in Villa Park. Most of the work was custom-design, and his dad would listen to people’s thoughts and ideas. They were grateful.
Ryan still remembers when his father died, he tells them, and the residents went to the family home to pay respects.
“Look,” he says, changing the subject back to the matter at hand. “You can disagree with someone but still work with them and talk with them and respect them. That’s what I’m about.”
It is a classic line from Ryan, but it comes off as genuine. The air in the room instantly eases, and the union leaders begin to talk freely about their concerns.
They mention bills that have been passed or killed in Springfield. They talk about crews from Wisconsin being brought in to work in Illinois. Someone brings up the prevailing wage again.
All the while, Ryan nods.
“We’re simple guys,” one man tells him. “We just want to make sure we have your ear.”
“Even if you don’t support me,” Ryan says, “I’ll include you in the dialogue.”
Ryan continues to talk, even causing a few people at the table to laugh. One of the union leaders discreetly excuses himself from the table. He calls over an assistant of Ryan’s who is in the room and gives the assistant a white envelope.
Inside is a check for $5,000 from the union to Ryan’s campaign.
