by David Garrow
On Friday, June 7, Illinois governor George Ryan, unhappy with the badly unbalanced budget adopted by the General Assembly the previous Sunday and concerned by the accelerating decline in state revenues, summoned legislators back to Springfield on Monday to confront his amendatory vetos. Barack was furious at some of Ryan’s cuts. “He’s proposing a $6 million reduction in early childhood block grants that we had specifically restored. He is proposing the total elimination of the HIV-AIDS prevention, outreach and treatment programs for minorities that we had specifically allocated $2 million for,” Barack told the Chicago Defender. “We should not eliminate programs that deal with children, the aged, the sick and the vulnerable of our society.” The root of the problem, Barack explained, “is that most of the time politicians in Springfield operate in obscurity. People don’t know what’s going on down there so they can cut deals without any fear of voter backlash.”
On Tuesday, June 11, the Senate began a tedious series of 234 successive votes on particular line items the governor had deleted from the budget. One-quarter of the way through, Rickey Hendon rose to advocate overturning a Ryan veto that would result in the closing of a Department of Children and Family Services (DCFS) welfare office in his district. “I challenge any of you,” he told his colleagues, “to go . . . and see how these children are living in squalor, how these children are dying, how these children are victimized. You wouldn’t close this office.” The electronic roll was taken, with twenty Democrats plus Republican Kirk Dillard voting to override the veto and thirty-one Republicans and five liberal Democrats—Terry Link, Lisa Madigan, Carol Ronen, Ira Silverstein, and Barack—voting to affirm.
As debate turned to the next line item, Barack spoke, saying he would vote to affirm this veto because it did not concern “core operations that affect those people who need state services the most.” He added a lighthearted reference to his mother-in-law, Marian Robinson, explaining how she was “a gold medal winner in the hundred-yard dash in the Senior Olympics. She could whip all of you.” Barack teasingly mentioned that he soon would be visiting the Senate president’s home district, saying “I hear there are a few Democrats out in DuPage, Pate,” before becoming more serious. “We need to open up the appropriations process a little bit more so that every one of the members here, as well as the public and the press, have an opportunity to look at some of these line items and can make some judicious decisions about whether it’s worthwhile to fund some of these programs.”
Then Rickey Hendon sought the floor. “I just want to say to the last speaker, you got a lot of nerve to talk about being responsible and then you voted for closing the DCFS office on the West Side, when you wouldn’t have voted to close it on the South Side. So I apologize to my Republican friends about my bipartisanship comments, ’cause clearly there’s some Democrats on this side of the aisle that don’t care about the West Side either, especially the last speaker.” Barack responded immediately. “I understand Senator Hendon’s anger at—actually—the—I was not aware that I had voted no on that last piece of legislation. I would have the Record record that I intended to vote yes. On the other hand, I would appreciate that next time my dear colleague Senator Hendon ask me about a vote before he names me on the floor.”
Then, for the first and only time in his entire life, Barack Obama completely fucking lost it. He walked to Hendon’s seat, placed a hand on Hendon’s shoulder, and as Hendon remembered it, “leaned over and stuck his jagged, strained face into my space and told me in an eerie, dark voice that came from some secret place within the ugly side of him, ‘You embarrassed me on the Senate floor, and if you ever do it again, I will kick your ass!’” Hendon replied “‘What?’” and Barack said, “‘You heard me, motherfucker, and if you come back here by the telephone, where the press can’t see it, I will kick your ass right now!’” at the back of the chamber. “I stacked my few papers quietly on my desk in front of me and said, ‘Okay, motherfucker, let’s go!’”
Pat Welch, seated beside Hendon, was astonished. He knew Hendon was “a volatile character,” unlike Barack, and “to have the two attitudes basically switch was very unusual.” Also nearby was Debbie Halvorson, who “was shocked” as Barack “just lost it.” Hendon walked toward the small telephone room at the left rear of the chamber. “When I got there, I turned and put up my dukes like Muhammad Ali,” Hendon recounted. “I begged him to hit me and told him I couldn’t go back to the West Side if I let a South Sider punk me and kick my butt. I swelled up my five-foot-seven frame to about six feet and got up to his chest. A little pushing and shoving” ensued, and as more verbal taunts were exchanged, Courtney Nottage, Emil Jones’s chief of staff, headed toward them with fellow staffer Jill Rock following behind. “I ran over there,” Nottage recalled, in “disbelief that this was happening.” Rock had heard their comments on the floor and had watched Barack approach Hendon’s seat, “but never in my wildest dreams did I think it was going to go where it went.” Nottage physically confronted Barack, placing both his hands on the front of Barack’s shoulders. “I was pushing him away from Rickey,” with Jill warning, “We are on the Senate floor! There are people watching!” It took Courtney “maybe ten or fifteen seconds” of sustained physical effort to move Barack backward. Hendon recalled that Barack was still taunting him “to come outside where he said he would stomp me into oblivion. I nodded my head and said, ‘Let’s go.’”
By this time, the confrontation had gotten almost everyone’s attention. Donne Trotter remembered that “all of a sudden one of the staff people grabbed me and said, ‘Senator, go back and get Rickey.” Trotter tried to get them to “take this off the floor,” and Kim Lightford intervened as well. “I ran over to Rickey, and I was like ‘You cut this out!’ or ‘You hush right now!’ I’m in his face. Then I go over to Barack and I’m like ‘Hey, brother, what are you doing? Why did you let him get to you?’ ‘He’s gone too far! I’ve had enough of him!’” Barack told her. “I’m trying to get him off the floor. He would not budge.”
Hendon recalled, “I gave Barack a few more choice words and told him I would see him later,” before heading back to his seat as “Barack huffed and puffed and sneered at me.” Then Barack “walked over to my seat again,” saying “I’ve had enough of you!” but senators and staff finally got Barack to leave the floor. “I never would have expected that from Barack,” Jill Rock explained, for it was the most “surprising and shocking” confrontation any of them had seen, and “there’s not been an incident like that since.” Kim Lightford believed that Barack reacted that way “because Rickey did it on the Senate floor, in front of all the colleagues, the media, the staff,” and Jill agreed that was why “‘Street Barack’ came out.” Kim thought that on balance the face-off was a good thing. “That’s what Barack needed to do, and it worked.” He had endured five years of “the tag team between Trotter and Hendon,” and following Barack’s eruption “they didn’t tease him so much after that. It was like they finally realized that Barack was more than some soft punk to push around.”
Soon after the confrontation, Barack’s former campaign manager Carol Harwell called him, and she got an earful about Hendon. “‘I was getting ready to kick his ass. I’m just about sick of him. He’s an idiot, he’s a fool, a buffoon. But I’m not a punk, and they need to understand that.’” Not everyone was as understanding as Kim Lightford. Jill Rock remembered that some colleagues “didn’t appreciate that he lost his cool,” and Emil Jones summoned Barack to his office. “I called Barack in and said, ‘Man, come on.’ I said, ‘Don’t let him get under your skin like that. It’s not worth it, damaging your image by getting involved with him.’” Barack was still agitated: “‘That son of a gun this and blah blah and this,’” Jones recalled. “‘Come on. Forget about it. Don’t let him get you all riled up.’” Jones knew that “lurking in the back of all this is this whole Alice Palmer thing,” but “I told him that ‘You’re too smart of a man, too intelligent to be involved in this kind of bullshit. Let’s forg
et about it. Rickey’s going to be Rickey. You know that. But don’t let that damage your image here!’” A sheepish Barack headed back to the floor, confessing to Cindy Huebner, Jones’s press secretary, that “Yup, I would have got my ass kicked” had the face-off with Hendon escalated further.57
The Senate overrode only twenty-two of Governor Ryan’s 234 line-item vetos, but Barack was pleased with a $6 million override regarding early childhood education. Wednesday morning’s Chicago Tribune noted that “two agitated Chicago lawmakers had a heated exchange on the chamber floor” and said Hendon had “slapped away Obama’s extended hand when Obama reached to put his hand on Hendon’s shoulder.” The rest of the encounter was not reported in the press, and when Barack arrived the next day at a new charter school in his district to deliver its first commencement address, he appeared fully composed. Telling the black eighth graders “to pursue excellence in everything that you do” and to “take responsibility for your actions,” he warned that oftentimes African Americans “set the bar too low.” Decrying “a certain anti-intellectualism that exists in our communities that says that if you know how to read and write that you’re acting white,” Barack told them to “commit yourself to something larger than yourself.”
That same day one Senate candidacy was publicly confirmed when Blair Hull told the Chicago Sun-Times he was prepared to spend up to $40 million on the race after being encouraged by Mayor Daley to pursue it. Hull had previously discussed with consultant Rick Ridder the cost of running, and when Ridder had cited a $30 million price tag, Hull had said that was “not going to change my lifestyle or my children’s lifestyles one bit.” That evening African American attorney Stephen Pugh’s law firm hosted “A Tribute to Senate Democratic Leader Emil Jones Jr.,” with Ariel Capital’s John Rogers Jr. and several prominent black lobbyists like Paul Williams among the honorary cochairs. Jones had been “bemoaning the fact that the black business community was not really supporting him,” Pugh recalled, with contributions to help ensure that Democrats would take control of the state Senate in November.
Four days later, Greg Hinz of Crain’s Chicago Business caught everyone’s attention with a story revealing that legislative payroll records showed that House Republican leader Lee Daniels had staff members working on political campaigns on state time. That was not surprising to anyone employed at the statehouse, but Springfield’s State Journal-Register soon had a follow-up story headlined “U.S. Attorney to Probe Allegations Against House Republican Staffers.” Later that day, Daniels resigned as chairman of Illinois’s Republican Party, and as the summer turned to fall, federal authorities would expand their interest in legislative leaders’ campaign practices.
Barack was focused on his own campaign funding, and in mid-June Jim Reynolds convened a meeting at his home to ask fellow black financial executives, many of whom were active members of ABLE, to support Barack for the Senate. Reverend Jesse Jackson Sr. was there, and publisher Hermene Hartman remembered that Barack “challenged us to back him.” Advertising executive Eugene Morris recalled Hartman saying to Barack, “You want our support, so tell us why we should support you.” Barack responded by saying, “I know the folks in this room, I know what a lot of your problems and concerns are, and if I get into office, I will always be there. I’ll be your champion.” He knew his chances depended largely on raising enough money for a serious television advertising campaign. As Marty Nesbitt said, “it was a matter of having the money to tell his story,” and Barack used proportional terms to make his pitch to Chicago’s black business leaders: “If you raise $4 million, I have a 40 percent chance of winning. If you raise $5 million, I have a 50 percent chance of winning. If you raise $6 million, I have a 60 percent chance of winning.”
Many people in the room felt that Jim Reynolds was the most persuasive. Executive Les Coney remembered Reynolds’s appeal to his friends: “Barack wants to run for the Senate, and I really want to know if I can count on your support.” Eugene Morris remembered Reynolds insisting, “This guy’s for real, we’ve got to help him.” Morris stressed that “Jim was really the guy who spearheaded it,” using “his personal capital. Jim was really out there.” ComEd’s Frank Clark agreed. “Jim took Barack around early, by hand, to meet people who didn’t know him. . . . Folks who ultimately fell in love with Barack didn’t know him or love him initially.” Attorney Martin King, Jesse Jackson Jr.’s best friend, agreed that it was Reynolds who “convinced a lot of us business folks that we should be supportive” of Barack. “Jim was key,” King felt. “But not for Jim, no U.S. Senate race” for Barack.
Hermene Hartman was underwhelmed by Barack’s presentation and told him so the next day. “You sound very local. You don’t sound national. You’ve got to get a national focus.” Barack asked what he should do. “You need to start talking national politics, and the best person is probably for you to go to Jesse” Sr., to absorb some of Rev. Jackson’s two decades’ worth of experience with national and international issues. Hartman called Jackson, who agreed to talk with Barack on Saturday mornings before Rainbow PUSH’s weekly public rallies. Barack also needed to call upon U.S. congressman Jesse Jackson Jr. and ask for his support.
Barack and Jesse Jr. agreed to meet Saturday for breakfast at 312 Chicago, a handsome, well-known Loop restaurant, where they settled into the relatively private southeasternmost booth. “He broaches the question of the Senate,” Jackson recalled. “‘Michelle wants me to make some money, but I’m thinking about giving this one more shot and running for the U.S. Senate, but Jesse, if you’re running, I’m not running,’” Jackson recounted. “There’s no chance that I can run,” Jackson responded. His father was still active in the Decatur, Illinois, community protests that had begun more than two years earlier with the high school student suspensions. “My dad’s practically declared war on downstate,” Jackson explained, making a statewide race by anyone with his surname politically impossible. Barack asked if Jesse Jr. would cochair Barack’s campaign, and Jackson replied, “I would be honored.”
Barack also touched base with staunch supporters like Newton Minow and Ab Mikva, telling them, “I’ve talked to the Jacksons, and they’re going to support me.” Thanks to Marty Nesbitt, his financial benefactor Penny Pritzker invited Barack to visit her family at their beachfront home in western Michigan. One morning Jim Reynolds introduced Barack to Andy Davis, a major figure at the Chicago Stock Exchange whose office was in the same building as Loop Capital. Barack asked if he could call Davis, which he did the next day, and Davis agreed to meet Barack for breakfast. Barack explained his interest in running for the Senate, and when Davis asked, “What would it take for you to be a U.S. Senator?” Barack had an immediate answer: “Five million dollars. If I get $5 million I can win.” Davis had one crucial question. Explaining, “I’m sick of dealing with guys who I’m going to be embarrassed by later,” Davis bluntly asked Barack: “Are there going to be any bimbo eruptions?” “Absolutely not,” Barack said. “There will be no bimbo eruptions. There’s Michelle and that’s it.” Davis agreed to join Barack’s finance committee and promised to raise $75,000 in the months ahead.58
With Barack’s outreach intensifying, on June 21 Steve Neal of the Chicago Sun-Times reported the full details of Paul Harstad’s poll results, clearly aiming to dissuade Moseley Braun from entering the race. Noting that Barack “is exploring a possible run,” he wrote that Barack “regards Moseley-Braun as a trailblazer” and “indicates that he would be less inclined to run if she does.” Neal emphasized how modest Peter Fitzgerald’s ratings were, but Fitzgerald could be reelected if Moseley Braun won the Democratic nomination. Neal’s message was clear: “Illinois voters are ready to toss Fitzgerald. But not for Moseley-Braun. Is the Democratic nomination worth having if she can’t beat Fitzgerald?”
Toward the end of June, Barack appeared on Public Affairs with Jeff Berkowitz, a widely viewed Chicagoland cable television show, and insisted that “right now, my main focus is to make sure that we elect Rod Blagojevi
ch as governor.” The acerbic host was taken aback. “You working hard for Rod?” “You betcha!” “Hot Rod?” “That’s exactly right. I think that having a Democratic governor will make a big difference. . . . I am working hard to get a Democratic Senate and Emil Jones president, replacing Pate Philip, and once all that clears out in November, then I think we’ll be able to make some good decisions about the Senate race.” Under Berkowitz’s assertive prodding, Barack confirmed that he was a “card-carrying Democrat. I really believe that the core Democratic philosophy is one that . . . really helps working people.” Berkowitz was obsessed with school vouchers, and Barack said, “I am not closed-minded on this issue,” and that people “shouldn’t be didactic or ideological about how” best to provide “the most effective education” for all students. “I am willing to listen to these arguments,” but Barack refused to be hectored into explicitly endorsing vouchers.
The next morning Barack had breakfast with Blair Hull at Ceres Cafe. Hull invited Barack because “I was trying to get a sense of who the players were. I wanted to learn as much as I could,” and Hull recalled that the two men had “a very pleasant conversation” during which it became “pretty clear that he . . . was very close to declaring.” Two days later, Paul Harstad returned to Chicago to present his benchmark poll findings at a well-attended initial meeting of Barack’s finance committee. Among Democratic voters, Carol Moseley Braun’s positive-negative ratio was 50 to 26 percent, with the split being an even more troubling 39 to 31 percent when asked about Moseley Braun’s honesty and integrity. While 59 percent of African Americans identified her as their top choice in the Senate race, 27 percent of white Democrats thought Moseley Braun was unacceptable. Harstad also showed that only 11 percent of white Democratic voters said their “neighbors” would be less likely to vote for someone named “Barry” Obama, whereas 26 percent said that when asked about “Barack.” Among general election voters, Moseley Braun’s weaknesses were even starker. Asked about her performance when she was a U.S. senator in the 1990s, African Americans felt positively by a 71 to 22 percent margin, but among the entire electorate 59 percent felt negatively and only 32 percent positively. Peter Fitzgerald would defeat Moseley Braun by ten points, and Jesse Jackson Jr. by nineteen, but after voters heard Barack described as a U of C “constitutional law professor” and “the first African-American editor of the Harvard Law Review,” Fitzgerald’s previous 50 to 24 advantage over Obama dissolved, with 50 percent of voters choosing Barack and 31 percent Fitzgerald.