A state legislative hearing investigating the severance package for Metra's ousted CEO yielded new details about the controversial deal Thursday, including the revelation that powerful House Speaker Michael Madigan had asked the agency to give one of his political foot soldiers a raise.

Metra officials, who have been highly secretive about the settlement, also confirmed for the first time that former CEO Alex Clifford implicated board Chairman Brad O'Halloran and Vice Chairman Larry Huggins in an eight-page memorandum outlining the patronage pressure he felt during his tenure.

O'Halloran - who repeatedly denied being named in the memo during a Tribune interview earlier this week - voted to approve the $718,000 severance deal after Clifford threatened to file a whistle-blower lawsuit if he could not reach a financial settlement with the agency. Huggins voted present.

Metra officials spent much of the six-hour session in Chicago trying to explain their decision to award the settlement, telling skeptical lawmakers that they had little choice after Clifford informed them that he believed his contract was not being renewed in retaliation for resisting patronage pressure. If Clifford had sued, the legal costs would have been significantly higher than his severance package, officials said.

That argument, however, took a bruising from Metra board member Jack Schaffer, of McHenry County, who told the House Mass Transit Committee that Clifford was pushed out because he didn't know how to play the political game in Illinois.

"This is $250,000 in severance and $500,000 in hush money," Schaffer said of the severance deal. "You have not heard the whole story in any way, shape or form."

Schaffer cast the lone vote in opposition to the June 21 agreement.

Clifford declined to appear before the committee, citing his lawyer's advice and blaming Metra's attorneys for preventing him from testifying. Metra officials denied that suggestion, but said the former CEO would be prohibited from reading or distributing his patronage memorandum.

Asked to respond Thursday, Clifford said in an email that he stood by his attorney's recommendation not to attend.

The session stood in sharp contrast to Metra's perfunctory appearance before the Regional Transportation Authority board Wednesday, as state lawmakers took turns mocking the deal, and demanding that the names of accused public officials be revealed.

They also threatened to subpoena Clifford's memo if the agency did not voluntarily turn it over. The memo became the equivalent of a pivotal "smoking gun" at the hearing.

With the state inspector general watching from the gallery, some legislators even suggested they would have preferred the case to go trial so the grievances could be aired in public rather than shielded by the settlement's nondisclosure clause.

"I wish it would have gone to litigation because I think there are a lot of systemic issues about how this very important service board is run," said Rep. Al Riley, D-Olympia Fields. "This is a public entity. This is not a corporation ... with confidentiality agreements."

The sparks flew early, as Madigan issued an unusual press statement minutes before the hearing began, acknowledging that he had sought a raise for a longtime political supporter who worked for Metra. Until that moment, Metra had not mentioned Madigan's connection to Clifford's patronage complaint.

Madigan said his office recommended in March 2012 that Patrick Ward, a labor relations specialist who made $57,000 annually, receive a merit adjustment based on his education level and job performance. The speaker said that he went to bat for Ward because he hadn't had a raise in three years despite an increase in responsibilities.

At the time, the agency had frozen salary increases for all noncontract employees amid budget constraints.

After learning about Madigan's request, Clifford called Ward into his office and asked about his ties to the speaker, Metra attorney Joseph Gagliardo said. Records show that Ward has worked for Madigan campaigns for more than 15 years and served as a voter registrar for Madigan-backed groups.

Though Ward's supervisor supported a salary boost, Clifford allegedly expressed concern about Madigan's intervention.

"Upon learning of this, the recommendation was withdrawn," the speaker said in a statement.

Ward could not be reached for comment. He is no longer with Metra, Madigan said.

Gagliardo told lawmakers that the Madigan inquiry was mentioned in Clifford's patronage complaint, but he contends the speaker didn't cross the line by inquiring about his friend's salary.

"Elected officials don't lose their legal right to talk to people," Gagliardo said.

Gagliardo would not answer a Tribune reporter's question about why he failed to mention Madigan's ties to the Clifford patronage complaint at the RTA hearing a day earlier, even though he outlined allegations in Clifford's memo.

Madigan's spokesman said the speaker issued the statement Thursday because it was a legislative hearing, and he wanted lawmakers to know about his connection to the controversy.

Metra officials confirmed for the first time that Clifford thinks that Rep. Luis Arroyo, D-Chicago, applied inappropriate pressure by asking the CEO if he would consider a candidate backed by Latino lawmakers for a deputy director post.

Clifford refused to take the candidate's name, Gagliardo said.

Though Gagliardo informed the RTA of the allegation Wednesday, he did not name the lawmaker involved.

Arroyo has denied that he recommended people for Metra jobs or pressured Clifford. He told the Tribune that Clifford invented the patronage allegations as an excuse after the agency lost faith in him.

Gagliardo often referred to his 35 years of labor law experience and said settling "difficult" cases like Clifford's was preferable to protracted litigation.

When asked by lawmakers, Gagliardo said he had no accounting yet of his fees, but said they could exceed $100,000. Legislators seized on this, saying that the whole Clifford affair could end up costing more than a million dollars.

Lawmakers repeatedly brought up Metra's troubled history, which hit a nadir on May 7, 2010, when former Executive Director Phil Pagano committed suicide after an investigation showed he took $475,000 in unapproved vacation pay and forged memos to cover it up.

"Phil Pagano, now this - there's a problem" at Metra, Riley said.

Rep. Jack Franks, D-Woodstock, demanded the entire Metra board resign or be removed, saying that nothing has changed over the years.

"The (mass transit) system is broken and needs to be fixed," Franks said.

At the end of the marathon session, Chairwoman Deborah Mell, D-Chicago, said the panel would consider holding another meeting regarding the matter, and may consider subpoenaing Clifford. Committee members also called for the release of Clifford's memo, dated April 3.

Mell made a point of singling out the Metra board members who were not in attendance: Jack Partelow of Will County; Paul Darley of DuPage County; Norman Carlson of Lake County; Mike McCoy of Kane County; Huggins of Chicago; and suburban Cook County representatives Don De Graff, Stanley Rakestraw, Arlene Mulder and William Widmer III.

Inspector General Ricardo Meza, who testified, seemed to contradict Metra's argument that it could not turn over the April 3 memo.

Meza acknowledged that even though his office had the document, there was nothing to prohibit its release by others.

"What's left that's so confidential?" said Rep. Jeanne Ives, R-Wheaton.

Tribune reporter John Chase contributed.

sstclair@tribune.com

rwronski@tribune.com

Former Metra CEO Alex Clifford contends his refusal to capitulate to House Speaker Michael Madigan's patronage demands angered some agency board members and ultimately led to his downfall, according to a memorandum obtained by the Tribune.

The eight-page memo - which the agency repeatedly had refused to release - contains allegations far more damning than Metra officials have suggested in recent days and raises new questions about how the commuter rail service operates in clout-friendly Illinois.

The memorandum has been portrayed as the proverbial smoking gun amid multiple investigations into Clifford's ouster and the $718,000 severance package that accompanied it. At least one Metra board member has described the deal as "hush money" to prevent the allegations detailed in the memo from becoming public.

"It underscores the reason why we needed (the memo) in the first place," said Rep. Jack Franks, D-Marengo, who is on the Illinois House Mass Transit Committee investigating the severance settlement. "Now there are even more questions that need to be answered."

Sent to the board April 3, the memo levies previously undisclosed allegations against Chairman Brad O'Halloran and former Chairman Larry Huggins, who remains on the board. Claiming the two conspired to remove him, Clifford said O'Halloran and Huggins criticized him at different times for not acquiescing to lawmakers.

The memo also alleges that O'Halloran ordered Clifford to fire at least two employees - an accusation not mentioned at public hearings on the severance package this week.

O'Halloran denied the allegations in a statement Friday, but did not say why he omitted them while appearing before the Regional Transportation Authority board or the Mass Transit Committee.

"As I testified yesterday, I deny Mr. Clifford's allegations, but, out of an abundance of caution, immediately forwarded all of his claims to the inspector general," O'Halloran said. "I have never intervened with Metra's staff regarding any jobs or contracts."

Metra released the memorandum to the Mass Transit Committee on Friday, under intense pressure from lawmakers to do so. Despite the agency's original assertion that the document was protected by the severance package's confidentiality clause, some legislators threatened to subpoena the memo if the agency refused to turn it over.

"The taxpayers are outraged, and they should be," Rep. Deb Mell, chairwoman of the committee, said Friday. "This needed to come out."

The memo suggests Clifford repeatedly resisted patronage pressure and that no refusal was more damaging to his career than his Madigan rebuke.

In March 2012, Madigan contacted Metra lobbyist Tom Cullen - a former top staffer in the speaker's office - and informed him that he wanted Patrick Ward, a labor relations specialist with the agency, to receive a raise, according to the memo.

The speaker also asked that another unnamed individual be given a job, Clifford wrote.

Clifford said he ordered his staff not to respond to the requests, but the issue resurfaced six months later when then-Chairman Huggins said the speaker wanted Ward to be given a pay increase. The memo states Clifford refused the request, which prompted an argument with Huggins.

Madigan has said his office recommended that Ward, who made $57,000 annually, receive a merit adjustment based on his education level and job performance. At the time, the agency had frozen salary increases for all noncontract employees amid budget constraints.

After learning about Madigan's renewed request, Clifford wrote that he asked Ward why he was getting pressure from the speaker about the man's salary.

"Mr. Ward said that his family had supported Mr. Madigan for many years and worked on his political campaigns," the memo states. "He said that he had discussed his Metra employment with Mr. Madigan at a Madigan political event, where he told Mr. Madigan that he felt underpaid."

Records show that Ward has worked for Madigan campaigns for more than 15 years. He also donated more than $17,000 to campaign funds controlled by Madigan or his daughter, Illinois Attorney General Lisa Madigan.

Madigan has said he withdrew his request shortly after Ward's meeting with Clifford.

Ward could not be reached for comment. Public records show he left Metra and now earns $70,000 annually as a labor relations specialist with the state.

The memo alleges that Clifford jeopardized his job by rejecting Madigan.

"When I asked Mr. O'Halloran about the status of discussions to consider my renewing my employment contract, he told me that he needed to arrange a meeting with Speaker Madigan to assess 'what damage I have done' to Metra and future funding by my refusal to accede to Speaker Madigan's requests."

O'Halloran told the House panel that he knew nothing about the Madigan incident until shortly before he received the memorandum. His timeline is in keeping with Metra's position that Clifford levied the patronage complaint only because he thought his contract would not be renewed.

O'Halloran - who repeatedly denied being named in the memo during a Tribune interview earlier this week - voted to approve the $718,000 severance deal after Clifford threatened to file a whistle-blower lawsuit if he could not reach a financial settlement with the agency. Huggins voted present.

The memo also alleges that, among other things, Huggins tried to circumvent federal bidding laws for a $93 million railroad bridge on the South Side known as the Englewood Flyover. Though Metra met its legal obligation for minority contracts on the project, U.S. Rep. Bobby Rush, D-Chicago, was threatening to block the project because he said it didn't provide enough jobs for the economically depressed neighborhood.

Clifford contends that Huggins responded to the threats by devising a plan to pay a third party $50,000 for services related to the project. After Clifford raised questions, the plan was eventually abandoned, he wrote.

Neither O'Halloran nor Huggins responded to requests for comment Friday. Huggins, who declined an invitation to answer questions from the House committee, issued a statement Friday denying any improper conduct.

"I categorically deny Clifford's allegations, and I am especially concerned with his claims regarding my efforts to resolve the community concerns with minority business and employment participation in the Englewood Flyover project," Huggins said. "Everything I did to help resolve that controversy with members of Congress was done in concert with federal and state transportation officials and legal counsel."

Meanwhile on Friday, the RTA announced it would call another special meeting Wednesday to discuss Clifford's severance deal.

It has invited Clifford to attend this time.

Tribune reporter Ray Long contributed.

rwronski@tribune.com

sstclair@tribune.com

When House Speaker Michael Madigan accidentally triggered a patronage scandal at the Metra commuter rail agency, it was the result of two extraordinary events.

First his request to boost the Metra salary of a longtime political worker was refused. Then it became public.

The ensuing uproar has cost taxpayers a fortune, prompted a shake-up at Metra and spawned ongoing investigations into political favoritism, insider dealing and a lack of transparency. Yet none of those inquiries is likely to illuminate the extent of Madigan's far-reaching patronage operation or his efforts to sustain his legion of loyalists.

A Tribune investigation sought to do just that, documenting employees at every level of state and local government who work elections for Madigan, donate regularly to his campaign funds, register voters for him or circulate candidate petitions on his behalf.

By that conservative measure, the newspaper found more than 400 current or retired government employees with strong political ties to Madigan. It also found repeated instances in which Madigan took personal action to get them jobs, promotions or raises, just as he did for the Metra employee.

From the ranks of those workers Madigan has built the most potent ground game in Illinois politics, which he uses to influence elections in every corner of the state, from suburban mayor to governor, from county board to Congress.

Political foot soldiers often bounced between city, county and state payrolls - including nearly two dozen who collected pensions from one government job while getting a paycheck at another.

Top political performers advanced in public careers despite questionable qualifications or troubled work histories. And they frequently got better jobs and pay.

One precinct captain went from being a city truck driver to overseeing hundreds of employees in the Cook County Sheriff's Office in less than three years. Another political soldier got a management position with the county despite a federal conviction as a ghost payroller. And a former top vote-getter for Madigan who rose from streetlight repair worker for the city to the No. 2 spot in the Transportation Department is now at the center of the $2 million federal bribery investigation into Chicago's red light camera program.

Madigan declined to be interviewed or answer questions about his practices. Instead, he issued a statement through spokesman Steve Brown:

"The individuals who assist in community projects and campaigns have a strong interest in politics and government, just like the supporters and volunteers of any other public official. They share my belief in fairness for working middle-class families, strong and safe neighborhoods and civic responsibility."

Nowhere are those workers more important than in campaigns for the state House, where Madigan makes and breaks candidates every election - ensuring a Democratic majority that is perpetually beholden to the Southwest Side lawmaker they have chosen as House speaker for three decades.

As Madigan engages the gears of his political machine for the 2014 elections, the Tribune sought to document how a state lawmaker elected by fewer than 30,000 people every two years built a political operation he has used to dominate state government for decades.

That dominance gives the speaker unmatched sway over state spending - a power that is not lost on public officials when they receive a Madigan job inquiry.

A call from the speaker

Nine veteran government officials who oversaw hiring, promotions or raises all told the Tribune similar stories about their conversations with Madigan. Often, he would suggest people for particular job openings. Other times, he would ask how well particular employees were doing in their jobs, or request raises or promotions.

In each case, the officials said Madigan never demanded action, but they felt compelled to follow his suggestions.

Juan Ochoa, former head of the Metropolitan Pier and Exposition Authority, said Madigan called him to request a raise for Sherry Brticevich, the daughter of a former state senator from Madigan's Southwest Side neighborhood. "He made a point to say this was a favor for someone very close to him," Ochoa said.

Ochoa said Brticevich was a hard worker who deserved the raise she received after Madigan's call.

"I didn't feel like he was putting a gun to me but, then again, he is the speaker of the House," Ochoa said. "This was someone who is important to the speaker of the House, who to a great extent controlled our legislation and funding."

Brticevich, daughter of the late state Sen. Frank Savickas, said she applied for the job "just like everybody else" and said she was unaware if Madigan made any calls on her behalf.

A top aide to disgraced former Gov. George Ryan said Madigan routinely called to get jobs for favored political workers. Scott Fawell - who was sentenced to more than six years in federal prison for conspiring with Ryan to use public resources for political gain - said he helped Madigan secure his supporters dozens of jobs over a decade while he served in various top posts under Ryan.

"He'd come down or call periodically, we'd talk a little Sox baseball because we're both huge fans, maybe we'd talk a little politics, and eventually he'd say, 'Hey, I've got a guy I'd like you to look at for a job,'" Fawell told the Tribune.

The other officials in charge of hiring told the newspaper similar stories about dozens of Madigan calls, dating to the early 1990s, in which the speaker asked for raises or jobs for his people. Many of those officials, who worked at various levels of state or local government, spoke on the condition that their names not be used.

Another now-infamous example involves the summer scandal at Metra, where CEO Alex Clifford was ousted from his top post in June after he refused Madigan's repeated requests to increase the pay for one of his longtime political foot soldiers, Patrick Ward.

When Clifford threatened to go public with the Madigan patronage allegations and other complaints about political interference, the Metra board offered him a severance package worth as much as $871,000 that included a requirement he keep silent. The controversy prompted a massive shake-up at Metra, and eventually the departures of six board members. The cost of the episode could surpass $1 million, including Metra payments to law firms and outside consultants. That doesn't count costs of ongoing state investigations.

"One of the most insidious effects of Illinois-style patronage comes into play if people on the receiving end don't accede to the 'request' the governmental power broker is making on behalf of his patronage soldier," said former federal prosecutor Patrick Collins, who won convictions of top officials in the Daley administration during a 2005-2006 investigation of illegal political hiring at City Hall.

"That is where there can be a governmental price to pay for failing to play the game - a form of retribution," Collins said. "That is the underbelly of patronage."

The newspaper found there was no job too small for Madigan to exert his influence.

Former Oak Lawn Mayor David Heilmann told the Tribune he was surprised several years ago when Madigan called him about a part-time village inspector who now makes $12,000 a year moonlighting for the village.

"I remember that we had just laid off a bunch of guys, and Madigan was calling to see if we could put him back on," Heilmann said. "I told him the position had been eliminated but if a spot came open I would pass along his recommendation.

"I will be honest, after I hung up I started hoping I didn't piss him off," Heilmann said. "Let's face it, he is the most powerful man in this state, and a request like that leaves you in a very uncomfortable position."

The former mayor said that during his tenure he got two such calls from Madigan. One was a recommendation for village attorney. The other was for the inspector job for Ronald Crane. In both cases, the village made the hires.

Crane, 49, has an Oak Lawn residence and a history of run-ins with the law, including a 1992 drug conviction, public records show. He was hired by the suburb in 2007, the same year he was hired as a full-time state electrician now making more than $91,000 a year with the Illinois secretary of state's office. Both jobs came less than a year after records show he first became a paid Madigan foot soldier.

Crane didn't return requests for comment. He is among 45 Madigan supporters found by the Tribune who got government jobs about the same time they began working for or donating to Madigan's political organization, according to public records.

Political payments, public payrolls

The Tribune found many cases in which Madigan operatives bounced from government job to government job, agency to agency. One example is David Foley, 50, a longtime top precinct captain who has donated more than $23,000 to Madigan political funds since 1999, when he got one of nearly a dozen different government jobs he has held in 25 years.

Foley lasted only weeks in some jobs, was fired from one and landed in another position that has been repeatedly filled by members of Madigan's political brigade.

Records show he's been an engineer technician at the Cook County Highway Department, county correctional officer, seasonal laborer for the county Forest Preserve District, Chicago cop, administrative assistant to the county recorder of deeds, customer service manager at the county treasurer's office, cemetery hotline director for the state comptroller, executive officer under the county medical examiner, state highway traffic patrol manager and director of verification for the Chicago city clerk, and is now an executive assistant for the secretary of state.

When Foley took the city clerk job, one of the top positions in the office, in January 2012, he succeeded another Madigan precinct captain. That worker, Lawrence McPhillips, left to take another government job making $123,000 for the city.

When Foley left the post last year, he was succeeded by James Gleffe, 31. Gleffe, who records show came from a $65,000 job as a legal adviser to the secretary of state, has been a Madigan paid political soldier since 2010, records show. Gleffe makes more than $99,000 a year, according to the clerk's office.

Foley and Gleffe did not return requests for comment. A spokesman for Secretary of State Jesse White said White was not contacted by Madigan about hiring Crane, Foley or Gleffe.

The post at the clerk's office was also held for a short time between Foley and Gleffe by yet another Madigan operative, Lisamarie Miller, 38. She has worked in the office since 2004, the year before she began donating to Madigan political funds.

The succession of Madigan supporters in the same job is not an isolated phenomenon, and extends to positions on appointed boards.

Consider the Cook County Employee Appeals Board, a once-a-month post that until very recently paid about $35,000 per year. The board, long known as a haven for the politically connected, passes judgment on appeals filed by disciplined county workers.

One seat on the board has been occupied by members of Madigan's army since 2006, when former Cook County Board President Todd Stroger appointed Mary Morrissey to the seat. Morrissey is a longtime paid soldier and donor to Madigan who for years served as the political director in the various campaigns of his daughter Illinois Attorney General Lisa Madigan.

In 2011, Morrissey resigned her post on the board and took a job as deputy chief of staff to the younger Madigan. Taking her place on the board was the retiring deputy recorder of deeds for Cook County, Raymond Nice, who was appointed by County Board President Toni Preckwinkle.

Nice, 58, made about $118,000 per year as deputy recorder of deeds. He is a longtime precinct captain, paid political worker and donor to Madigan. Nice resigned his board appointment after four months because of a prohibition on collecting his county pension while collecting the county paycheck.

The next in line was John Bills, 52, a longtime precinct captain who was forced to resign his Preckwinkle appointment following Tribune disclosures about his role in the $2 million bribery scandal at City Hall.

In his 32-year career with the city, Bills rose from a lamp maintenance worker to become the second in command at the Department of Transportation, with a $138,000 salary. In the decade before he retired in 2011, Bills was largely responsible for overseeing the contract of the city's red light camera vendor, Redflex Traffic Systems Inc.

Mayor Rahm Emanuel last year fired Redflex amid the bribery scandal, now the subject of a federal grand jury investigation. Bills has denied any wrongdoing.

Preckwinkle, who demanded Bills' resignation upon learning of the scandal in 2012, also moved to strip the board members of their annual pay in favor of a $500-per-meeting fee.

She declined to discuss the succession of Madigan operatives who held that particular seat, instead opting to issue a brief statement through her spokeswoman. "No seat on the Employee Appeals Board belongs to anyone," the statement said. "These are my appointments."

Bills isn't the only Madigan soldier whose government career has been touched by controversy.

One Madigan-connected employee, Robert Hough, was recently hired by longtime Madigan ally Dorothy Brown, clerk of the Cook County Circuit Court, despite his 1995 guilty plea in federal court to charges he was a ghost payroller for the city.

Hough, now 52, admitted taking nearly $10,000 in cash and benefits for doing no work on a part-time city job inspecting traffic signs. He left the public payroll after his conviction and became an elevator repair worker.

Records indicate Hough was a member of a different political organization at the time of his federal conviction. But in 1999, as he completed his court-supervised release, he began donating to Madigan. He has given nearly $8,000 to Madigan's 13th Ward Democratic Organization.

In 2012, Hough did political work for Madigan on a suburban state representative race. And he was hired in August of that year by Brown to be a $50,000-a-year supervisor of staffers retrieving court files, according to a Brown spokeswoman.

Hough declined to comment about his support for Madigan. He denied Madigan helped him get his job.

Dorothy Brown declined to answer Tribune questions about whether Madigan played any role in the hiring of more than a dozen clerk's employees with political ties to his organization, including Hough. A spokeswoman for the circuit clerk said Brown did not speak to Madigan about hiring Hough.

One employee who retired from the clerk's office in 2006 acknowledged Madigan helped get him the job.

"If you're writing about this stuff, then you know. That is just the way it is," said Richard Porento, 72, who did campaign work for Madigan. "I got the job through Mike Madigan, and I was grateful."

'Madigan Electric'

Another haven for Madigan loyalists was the former Bureau of Electricity in the city's Streets and Sanitation Department - dubbed "Madigan Electric" by political insiders, according to testimony at the trial of Al Sanchez, the former streets and sanitation chief convicted of illegal political hiring under Daley.

Among the many who rose out of "Madigan Electric" was Ronald Gorney, who began his career as a Madigan precinct captain about the same time as records show he started a city job as a truck driver in the bureau.

Several years later, in 2002, he left that job to become a supervisor in the office of Cook County Sheriff Michael Sheahan. Within three years of that move, Gorney was in charge of more than 200 sheriff employees, including 120 sworn police officers, as deputy chief of the child enforcement division, according to the sheriff's office.

Thomas Dart, who took over the sheriff's office in 2006, said Gorney's name came up in an audit of jobs he ordered soon after he took office.

"He was one of those guys who just didn't fit," Dart said in a recent interview. "It was clear his background and qualifications did not match that kind of job."

Ten months after Dart took office, Gorney resigned his post. In an exit interview, Gorney said he left due to "workplace harassment" and being stripped of all job responsibilities, records show.

Dart, who acknowledged he and Madigan are not political allies, said his office's assessment of Gorney's qualifications had nothing to do with politics. Dart said he has never been contacted by Madigan on personnel matters.

"To me, political ties don't really matter as long as you can do the job," he said. "I imagine there are plenty of Madigan guys in my office, but I couldn't tell you who they are."

Gorney declined to be interviewed for this report.

Many of Madigan's supporters contacted by the Tribune said they were aware Madigan was involved in helping his political soldiers advance in their government careers. But most insisted that wasn't true in their cases.

"I knew guys who asked for things and asked for things and never got them, and maybe some who did," said Henry Sobieck, whose name came up at the Sanchez trial as a member of "Madigan Electric." "I can tell you that I never asked for anything, and I have no idea whether my connection to Madigan helped me or not."

Patronage payouts

Nearly a dozen former and current precinct captains interviewed by the Tribune describe a world where the benefits to a member of Madigan's army may be significant, but so are the costs.

They are expected to regularly walk their neighborhoods, write precinct newsletters, attend block parties and help residents with requests for everything from rat traps to tree trimming. They also help fill Madigan's political coffers by making donations and selling tickets to fundraising dinners.

During the election season, many are tasked to work outside the 13th Ward, encouraging voters they've never met in some far-flung suburb or district to back a candidate Madigan has deemed worthy of his support.

After the election, the captains said, a familiar scene would play out at Madigan's 13th Ward headquarters in a nondescript two-story building at 65th Street and Pulaski Road. There they would appear before Madigan and his ward chieftains - usually Frank Olivo and Marty Quinn, who between them have represented the ward on City Council for the past 20 years.

Numbers in hand, the three would talk with the precinct captains about how well they got the vote out, what they did right and what they didn't. Then they'd have a question: What do you need?

Most jobs with Chicago, Cook County and Illinois state government are supposed to be free of political influence. But the lines on where legitimate job recommendations or inquiries stop and improper favors begin have been a constant source of debate.

In the past three decades, federal court decrees, criminal prosecutions and government reform initiatives have tried to whittle away at the state's patronage culture. Chicago and Cook County alone have paid out tens of millions of dollars in civil settlements to people who lost out on jobs because they didn't have clout.

"Government should be hiring people based on the merits. Period. Because it is our public money and we expect that our money will be spent wisely and that means you hire the best people for the job," said David Hoffman, a former Chicago inspector general and federal prosecutor. "Whether someone is a political worker or an ally is irrelevant to the job."

In the wake of the corruption case that sent ex-Gov. Rod Blagojevich to prison, an ethics commission appointed by Gov. Pat Quinn and led by Collins identified patronage as a major source of malfeasance and mistrust in government. But many of the panel's recommendations to attack patronage and provide more government oversight were ignored by the Madigan-dominated General Assembly.

"Making people care is one of the biggest problems with all of this stuff," Collins said. "Nothing is ever going to change until people understand the costs and harm of this and then care enough to put a stake in the ground."

Tribune reporter Ray Long contributed.

dkidwell@tribune.com jchase@tribune.com arichards@tribune.com

A longtime ally of House Speaker Michael Madigan is trying to thwart efforts to ask voters whether to impose term limits on lawmakers and curb some of the politics in drawing new legislative district boundaries before the two proposed constitutional amendments have even landed on the ballot.

Election-law attorney Michael Kasper, who once was the speaker's legal counsel, filed a lawsuit a day before proponents of the proposed term-limit amendment submitted more than 591,000 petition signatures to the State Board of Elections on Wednesday to launch the formal process to submit the plan to voters this fall. The proposal was heavily backed by Republican governor candidate Bruce Rauner.

The suit comes as backers of a plan to create a more independent panel to redraw Illinois' 59 state Senate and 118 House boundaries prepare to turn in more than 530,000 petition signatures to the elections board on Thursday. The Yes for Independent Maps drive received support from a variety of Republican and Democratic-aligned groups.

Both proposals need a minimum of almost 300,000 valid signatures from registered voters to meet one eligibility criteria for the Nov. 4 general election ballot.

The two ballot initiatives have something in common: opposition from Speaker Madigan, who also is chairman of the Illinois Democratic Party. Kasper, who sued Tuesday in Cook County Circuit Court, also has served as a top Democratic Party official.

Kasper's clients in the suit range from prominent Chicago African-American businessmen, including Frank Clark, Leon Finney, Elzie Higginbottom and John Hooker, to the chambers of commerce in the city neighborhoods of Chinatown and Little Village, as well as members of the NACCP in Peoria.

The lawsuit comes less than two weeks after an hour-long River North restaurant luncheon of more than 50 representatives of groups providing services to ethnic and racial minorities that featured Kasper and controversial Latino political activist and lobbyist Victor Reyes. The two urged group members to sign onto a taxpayers' lawsuit to challenge the proposed amendments, said sources who asked not to be identified for fear of risking their ability to secure state grant dollars.

The emailed luncheon invitations came from the office of state Rep. Edward Acevedo and asked invitees to join the lawmaker and "Speaker Michael Madigan," though Madigan did not attend. Acevedo is a member of Madigan's House Democratic leadership team.

Acevedo, Kasper and Reyes did not respond to requests for comment. Madigan, who has served as speaker for 29 of the past 31 years, has made little secret of his distaste for the proposed amendments - labeling each as little more than an attempt by out-of-power Republicans to restrict Democrats.

At the heart of the taxpayer lawsuit are previous Illinois Supreme Court rulings involving petition-driven efforts to change the state constitution. The only part of the constitution that can be amended through the petition process must affect the legislature - and the state's highest court has created only a narrow window, ruling that any proposed change must affect the legislature both structurally and procedurally.

The lawsuit contends the term-limit amendment proposal attempts to string together several unrelated issues to try to meet the court's structural and procedural court test.

In addition to limiting legislative service to eight years, the proposed term limit amendment would require a two-thirds vote of the House and Senate to override a governor's veto rather than the current three-fifths vote. It also would increase the size of the House from 118 to 123 members while reducing the Senate from 59 to 41 members. It also would eliminate the two-year terms that senators serve once every decade.

The lawsuit contends the state Supreme Court previously held that term limits, on its own, did not meet the structural and procedural test. It also alleged the increase in votes needed to override a veto was an "impermissible" transfer of power from the legislature to the governor.

As for the soon-to-be-filed remap proposal, the lawsuit notes the plan would prevent anyone serving on a newly constituted 11-member redistricting commission from becoming a lawmaker, statewide elected official or judge for 10 years. The suit contended that the new prohibitions affected qualifications for office and exceeded the scope of petition-driven amendment proposals.

The suit also alleged the redistricting proposal improperly goes beyond the legislative section of the state constitution by reducing the power of the attorney general and the governor by largely taking away their current roles in the remap process. Further, the suit states, the proposal goes too far by denying the General Assembly the right to redraw boundaries.

Supporters of both proposed ballot questions expressed confidence that their proposals would meet the state Supreme Court's previous rulings.

"We have crafted this very carefully to overcome the judicial challenge that caused that term-limits initiative to fail 20 years ago," Rauner said. "This initiative is designed specifically to overcome that because it's comprehensive. It's eight years and out. It's structural change in the House-member ratio to the Senate, and it's also procedural change with the veto (override)."

Michael Kolenc, the campaign manager for the Yes for Independent Maps drive, said the remap plan was constitutional.

"Madigan's blatantly political attempt to question the constitutionality of Independent Maps is nothing more than a distraction from the back-room dealing that happens with redistricting," Kolenc said.

"This is the very type of amendment that the drafters of the Illinois constitution expected should bypass the legislature because the incumbent members of the Illinois General Assembly have no incentive to fix the system that keeps them in office for decades," he said.

In a document sent to luncheon attendees last month, Madigan contended the independent map-drawing proposal would "diminish the number of minority districts" and that "minority groups would lose their opportunity to demand the ability to elect candidates of their own choice."

But advocates of the proposed constitutional amendment note the measure puts in writing critical parts of the federal Voting Rights Act aimed at protecting minority rights in drawing map lines. They also contend that forcing the mapmaking out of political backrooms and into public meetings places important transparency guarantees to minorities.

"They're saying the map (amendment) dilutes Latino concentration and representation. In point of fact, our true blue legislature already did that. There were no gains when there should have been substantial gains," said Sylvia Puente, executive director of the Latino Policy Forum, which endorsed the redistricting amendment proposal more than a year ago.

"From our point of view, the process did not work this last time and we think, the Latino Policy Forum thinks, that Yes for Independent Maps will result in more equitable Latino representation or representation to serve their interests," said Puente, who was not invited to Madigan's lunch.

Puente and others, noting the 33 percent growth in Illinois' Latino population over the past decade, unsuccessfully argued during the last remapping that the state could have as many as 13 districts drawn with a Latino population of 65 percent or better but only ended up with seven such districts. One of them is Madigan's Southwest Side district.

The current map, drawn by Democratic lawmakers and signed by Democratic Gov. Pat Quinn with no Republican input, has led to Madigan and Senate President John Cullerton, D-Chicago, holding super majorities over GOP lawmakers.

rap30@aol.com
Twitter @rap30

In his rise to the pinnacle of Illinois politics, House Speaker Michael J. Madigan built a reputation for wielding control over every bill, every budget line and every Democratic representative elected to oversee them.

Away from the public eye, the state's ultimate power player enjoyed a similar rise in his private career: rainmaker for one of Chicago's most successful property tax law firms.

In a first-of-its-kind examination, the Tribune found these two careers repeatedly intersect, and in some cases Madigan took public actions that benefited his private clients.

As a public official, he got a private road behind a shopping mall repaved, helped secure state funding for an expanded tollway interchange and intervened for a developer looking for state cash. In each case, Madigan was a private lawyer for businesspeople who stood to benefit.

His list of clients multiplied as Madigan consolidated political muscle over the last two decades. Now, many of his decisions as speaker have the potential to affect someone who has hired Madigan & Getzendanner in hopes of having a tax bill lowered. The Chicago firm represents banks the state regulates, investment houses that have overseen billions of dollars in public pensions, developers who want roads -- all subject to decisions made by a state House in the firm control of their tax lawyer.

It appears Madigan's personal wealth has blossomed along with his two careers, based on the list of investments he provided in ethics statements over the last three decades. But Madigan, like other public officials, is not required to detail the value of those investments. State ethics law requires very little disclosure about how Madigan's public decisions could affect his personal bank accounts.

He declined Tribune requests to detail how much he makes beyond his annual legislative income of more than $95,000. He also declined requests for his appointment calendars, memos and e-mails, citing state public records law that exempts the legislature.

Madigan also refused requests for an interview. In a written statement, he defended his actions and said "my personal code of conduct and compliance with a wide range of government ethics provisions have ensured that I have maintained ethical standards."

That code of conduct -- provided to the Tribune and unpublished until now -- states that Madigan will not offer state benefits to get a client, will not intercede with a state agency for a client and will recuse himself from involvement in a bill "if a client of the law office expresses an interest in legislation such as to create a conflict of interest."

But a Tribune examination of public records and a review of more than 20,000 tax appeals filed by Madigan's firm since 1998 raises questions about where the speaker draws that line.

- Madigan sponsored a $3.5 million state transportation grant to the city of Chicago to rebuild a private road leading to the rear entrances of the Ford City Mall shopping center and Tootsie Roll factory on Chicago's Southwest Side. Both Tootsie Roll Industries Inc. and the mall owner, a company in billionaire Sam Zell's Equity group of companies, were longtime clients of Madigan at the time of the 2003 grant. Zell is also the chairman of Tribune Co., which owns the Chicago Tribune.

- Madigan helped secure $18 million in state money for an expanded Illinois tollway interchange in Hoffman Estates in 2009, a project long sought by suburban officials who formed a coalition of businesspeople in 2001 to help promote the plan. One of the coalition members was a Madigan client, and another hired his firm to appeal its taxes for that same year.

- Madigan called the director of the state's largest pension fund, the Illinois Teachers' Retirement System, in 2005 asking the director to hear a pitch from the developers of a minority-owned firm seeking pension fund money to invest in a Chicago affordable-housing project. The developers hired Madigan's firm to appeal the taxes on property in that project for that same year.

- Madigan pressured the state's multibillion-dollar public pension funds to ban any dealings with financial institutions that make high-risk loans to unqualified homeowners. In 2006, Madigan named four national banks in a letter to the state's pension managers that asked the funds to stop investing and making deposits with any banks that practice predatory lending. All the banks he named were competitors of his firm's banking clients, a fact not disclosed in his letter.

In his written statement, Madigan said there are no conflicts of interest in the Tribune's findings, which he described as "strained attempts to link my legislative actions to clients of the firm who might remotely and incidentally 'benefit' from such action."

By all accounts, the legal work of Madigan & Getzendanner is top-flight. Madigan's partner, Vincent "Bud" Getzendanner, has a reputation as a thorough and effective tax lawyer.

Getzendanner and four other lawyers handle the tax law. Madigan's job is to bring in clients. It's been a formula for success.

An examination of public records shows Madigan & Getzendanner is a dominant player in the lucrative field of property-tax appeal law. Much of the firm's business involves appealing the decisions of the Cook County assessor's office, which sets the value of property for tax purposes.

Most appeals are directed either to the assessor's office or to the county's three-member Board of Review, established as a separate avenue of appeal to contest assessments.

In 2007 alone, the most recent year in which full statistics were available, the small firm filed appeals on Cook County property with a taxable value of nearly $2.1 billion, up nearly sevenfold from 1998.

Some clients interviewed say it's not that simple to separate the expert tax assistance from the political reputation of the man whose name is on the door. "He's the speaker of the House. It can't hurt to hire him," said Jeffrey Rappin, a former vice president and general counsel at The Habitat Co., which has hired Madigan & Getzendanner.

As House speaker since 1983, with the exception of a two-year period when Republicans had control in the mid-1990s, Madigan, 67, keeps tight rein over committee chairmen and other key leaders who control what happens in the House.

His ability to funnel political donations and campaign workers into any corner of the state gives him great influence over rank-and-file Democrats. That influence over lawmakers and other politicians only grew when he became chairman of the Illinois Democratic Party in 1998.

The taciturn Madigan limits his public comments about legislative matters, and in private meetings with the governor and other legislative leaders, he is known to say the least. What he does say often becomes law.

Legislation has little chance without his approval.

"If he's opposed to it, your chances of success are very slim," said former Democratic state Rep. Al Ronan, who served as a committee chairman under Madigan before starting a long career as a lobbyist.

Madigan's reputation as the political grandmaster looms so large, supporters say, he's often suspected of maneuvering behind the scenes when he's not. But in the opaque world of Illinois politics, direct connections are often elusive and state law makes it difficult to sort the public interest from private agendas.

The Tribune found dozens of examples where Madigan & Getzendanner clients received benefits from state government -- contracts, tax credits, road projects, jobs grants, low-income loans.

In most cases it could not be determined whether Madigan played a significant role. It all plays out in a system that thrives on personal relationships and quiet conversations.

Country Club Hills Mayor Dwight Welch, who is seeking Madigan's support for millions of dollars in road improvements surrounding a planned outlet mall being developed by clients of Madigan & Getzendanner, said he has personally met with Madigan several times at the speaker's favorite Springfield restaurant.

"We would sit across the table from Madigan at Saputo's …" Welch said. "Mike is sitting in the same chair, in the same corner, five days of the week. You have to have a relationship with these folks. Politics doesn't get done in writing.

"Nothing gets done until Madigan's people say it's done."

Tribune reporter Ray Long contributed to this report.

dkidwell@tribune.com jchase@tribune.com rgibson@tribune.com

Just weeks before the March Democratic primary, a campaign operative for Illinois House Speaker Michael Madigan walked into the headquarters of a candidate for state representative to deliver a message.

"You aren't going to like me," Shaw Decremer declared to those inside Carole Cheney's headquarters, according to several Cheney staffers in the room.

Decremer — a member of Madigan's platoon of campaign soldiers who work for the state when they are not working elections for the boss — said Madigan was putting his political muscle behind another Democrat in the party primary.

He strolled around the office, making snide comments about her low-budget campaign until, according to Cheney and other witnesses, Cheney said she had enough and asked him to leave. Before he did, Decremer asked if she would pose with him for a picture.

"I keep pictures of all the people we beat," he told her.

And on Election Day, she lost.

In elections and in the Legislature, Madigan is at the top of his game this spring.

As it turned out, Cheney was among at least 24 fellow Democrats who lost in part because they were on the wrong side of Madigan's campaign machine in March. It's a scenario that with rare exception has played out the same way for years: Without Madigan, you lose.

Those who win form the backbone of the House majority he commands. The Chicago Democrat's control over legislation — from a multibillion-dollar Medicaid program to mortgage foreclosure laws — has repeatedly benefited clients of his Chicago property tax law firm, the Tribune has disclosed.

Experts say the confluence of Madigan's public and private careers raise concerns about potential conflicts of interest — but those questions are seldom raised in the face of his enormous sway in both the drafting of the state's laws and the elections of its leaders.

"Madigan clearly has so much power he has made himself impregnable," said James Browning, the regional director of state government operations for the government watchdog group Common Cause, which lobbied unsuccessfully for Illinois lawmakers to keep campaign contribution limits in place. "How do you push back when one man has amassed so much control?"

That same dominance was on display in the legislative session that ended early Friday, as bills he pushed passed the House and those he opposed died.

As not only speaker but chairman of the Democratic Party of Illinois, Madigan draws the boundaries of legislative districts. He controls the flow of millions of dollars in political contributions.

And because Madigan controls both a state staff and a campaign war chest, he has a ready reserve of public employees he shifts off the payroll at will to add muscle to the most powerful election force in the state.

Decremer and other Democratic staffers are deployed to answer phone calls, schedule campaign events and scour petitions of competing Democrats to get them kicked off the ballot.

Republicans also have pulled dozens of staffers off the state payroll in election years, but after nearly 30 years as speaker, Madigan is the master at using the levers of government to his political advantage.

Even before the primary, Madigan had already carved Republican incumbents out of their Illinois House districts and redrawn the legislative maps to tip the scales in the Democrats' favor for the second decade in a row. But that wasn't good enough.

In select areas of the state — like the Aurora district where Cheney lost — the long arm of the state's most powerful politician reached out to help nearly three dozen loyal incumbents and a few handpicked newcomers to ensure they won.

And in each and every case, they did.

Public campaign records show Madigan spent more than $550,000. He scored victories in races from heavily Democratic districts in the city, where his candidates will have only nominal Republican opposition in the fall, to competitive areas Downstate where his candidates will be well-positioned to take on targeted Republican lawmakers or seize open seats.

Madigan paid for polling as well as mailings, distributing dozens of glossy fliers in districts from Decatur to Chicago. Many were identical ads except for the candidate's name, praising the Madigan ally for helping seniors or protecting taxpayers. Other ads targeted primary opponents, including Cheney.

"This is the party leader trying to decide the nominees. He's trying to pick who will be in the seat when voters are supposed to decide," Cheney said. "It's the same party. I feel like they are eating their own."

Cheney, a lawyer, was shredded by a Madigan-financed attack that alleged she was an ally of "big banks"— an ad that ignored the speaker's own ties to the banking industry.

"When the foreclosure crisis hit our neighborhoods, Carole Cheney stood with her allies defending the big banks," reads one placard featuring a doctored photo of a beaming Cheney holding a wad of cash next to a cigar-chomping man holding a cocktail.

Cheney told the Tribune she has no idea to what bank ties the ad refers. But she is a partner at the 1,500-lawyer firm Kirkland & Ellis LLP, which counts among its clients Bank of America.

Madigan & Getzendanner, the six-lawyer firm where Madigan is a senior partner, has repeatedly filed property tax appeals for Bank of America. On Monday, the Tribune reported that banks — including those who hired Madigan's firm — were unscathed by housing activists' efforts in Springfield to make them pay more for the damage foreclosures have wrought in neighborhoods around the state.

Madigan refused to answer questions, characterizing Tribune reporting on him as "garbage." His spokesman, Steve Brown, said that as head of the state Democratic Party, Madigan gets involved in certain primary races in order to make sure the best Democrat ends up in the seat in Springfield.

"Largely we make an assessment (about) who would be the strongest general election candidate and try to back that person," Brown said. "The ultimate goal is to elect somebody in the general election."

After polling and fliers, much of Madigan's campaign money went to pay state workers who took leaves from their midlevel jobs to staff key primary races.

During the March primary season, records show, nearly two dozen state staffers went off the state payroll, being paid instead by Madigan's political funds to work for more than 30 candidates. In many of the less competitive races, the staffers worked for less than a day, simply checking to see if a Madigan-backed candidate had any opponents. In nearly half of the races, which were more competitive, the staffers worked for weeks at a time.

Public records show a regular routine of House Democratic employees — from program specialists like Decremer to messengers, photographers and graphics technicians — taking time off during campaign seasons and then coming back on the state payroll when the elections are over.

Asked how Madigan can justify keeping the employees on staff when they are clearly not needed for months at a time, Brown said, "We absolutely will not allow taxpayer dollars to be spent on campaigns, so when people go to work on campaigns, they come off the state payroll."

The state workers aren't needed at their government jobs as much during election cycles because the Legislature meets less frequently during those times, Brown said.

Soon after the primary campaign was done, Decremer and other Madigan staffers were back at work in Springfield.

Decremer is a fixture at major committee meetings and can often be seen in the House chamber conferring with top Madigan lieutenants. He also moves easily through the aisles and to the desks of rank-and-file lawmakers, chatting some up and checking over the shoulders of others.

To pay for the campaign operation, Madigan has become a prolific political fundraiser with marquee events in Chicago and Springfield, including one held on Lake Springfield last month at the height of the Legislature's spring session.

Under state law, campaign fundraisers are prohibited on days the Legislature is in session, an attempt to separate politics from lawmaking. Many people avoid the issue by having their fundraisers earlier in the year when the legislative session is less busy. But Madigan, who controls the legislative calendar, ensures lawmakers are not meeting in the busy month of May when he holds his fundraiser. The only weekday in May that was not a session day this year was Monday, May 7, the day of Madigan's event.

About 1,000 people attended the event, tossing in at least $150 to shake Madigan's hand, mingle with lobbyists and lawmakers and nosh on finger foods, according to political insiders. The event was invitation-only and closed to the news media. A day later, it was back to business at the Capitol.

Madigan controls several massive political war chests, including his own Friends of Michael J. Madigan and the Democratic Majority fund. The multiple political committees give Madigan a way to go beyond restrictions on campaign contributions from legislative and party leaders.

He has doled out tens of thousands of dollars in political help to primary candidates, including state Rep. Maria "Toni" Berrios, daughter of Madigan ally Cook County Assessor Joe Berrios, and state Rep. Derrick Smith, who won despite being arrested on federal bribery charges days before the election. Newcomers like Cheney's opponent, Aurora Ald. Stephanie Kifowit, also got Madigan's money.

Madigan's primary sweep was the first step in his rebound from one of his more difficult election seasons two years ago. He lost several races in the 2010 general election amid a Republican push to power nationwide. Still, he maintained an overwhelming majority in the House and his job as speaker.

In the days leading up to the March 20 primary, streams of volunteers for Madigan-supported candidates made their way from across the city and suburbs to Madigan's political headquarters on the Southwest Side to collect campaign materials. They spread out to targeted districts to knock on doors and hand out literature.

"Everybody did their job," Madigan told supporters gathered on primary night at a Holiday Inn in Bedford Park to celebrate his own election win. "It worked out just as we had planned, and the reason is because everybody did their part."

But some of the Democrats who lost that night questioned the extent of Madigan's involvement. Neighborhood activist Michael Nardello lost to Madigan-backed incumbent Camille Lilly, a rookie lawmaker, in a race to represent parts of Chicago's West Side and near west suburbs. No Republicans were running in the primary.

"In theory, he cannot lose in this race. There will be a Democrat in this seat," Nardello said of Madigan. "So his decision to get involved says something.

"He doesn't just want a Democrat. He wants somebody who will be beholden to him."

jchase@tribune.com dkidwell@tribune.com rlong@tribune.com

Sunday brought some breathing room to a city that had grown tense in the aftermath of protests, looting and general unrest. The mayor lifted the 9 p.m. to 6 a.m. curfew, and the city restored Loop street access and CTA service.