In my 15 years writing about Illinois
politics, I’ve never had a better day at the Statehouse than
Wednesday of last week. That was the day the World Series champion
White Sox came to Springfield. I’m a Sox fan, and it was
thrilling just to see manager Ozzie Guillen and, to some extent,
chairman Jerry Reinsdorf. I was on cloud nine.
But it was so much more than just the
opportunity to meet and have my photo taken with Guillen, although
that was pretty fantastic.
Guillen began his speech to the Illinois
House by saying, “I’ve never felt so nervous in my life
as right now.” As we sat in awe of a man who had taken an
underappreciated, ragtag team populated with what were thought to
be average players to the pinnacle of their professional careers,
he was saying that he was honored to be in the room with us.
Most of us who work at the Capitol have
forgotten the rush of our first days on the job. The magnificent
building with the glorious chambers becomes just another place to
work. The honor of representing thousands of people or reporting on
that representational process loses its specialness as the humdrum
of daily routine becomes just another part of life.
It took Guillen, an outsider, to remind us
how privileged and special our lives really are. Only a few of us
ever get the chance to do this for a living, but all of us
eventually seem to take it for granted. I spend my session days
hanging out in offices, casually talking to people in the
building’s ornate halls, going out to dinner at nice
restaurants. I’m always busy, but most people probably wouldn’t think it
looks much like work, even though I often privately complain about the
pace.
When I was young, my father worked at
least two jobs at once, sometimes three, and none of them looked
easy. My mom was a public-school teacher for years, in between
pregnancies. My parents had five children, all boys. The seven of
us would drink a gallon of milk at every meal. We kids were like
little locusts, consuming everything in sight. My parents were
always in debt, always living paycheck to paycheck, always
scrimping every penny possible to make ends meet and always looking
for a way to make more money to support their ever-growing family.
It was horribly difficult, but they never complained and their kids
never knew how bad the finances really were.
Guillen’s reverence for the venue
that had all but begged him on bended knee to grace it with his
mere presence had a big impact on many who were there. It forced me
not only to think about the special, almost sacred duty of everyone
in that room but also reminded me how much easier my life has been
than my parents’ and how I’ve been given the
opportunity to occasionally make a real impact on my surroundings
and to have a job I love. I know that this all sounds far too
corny, but I owe Ozzie for squeezing some of the cynicism out of my
being last week.
Even Gov. Rod Blagojevich rose to the
occasion. The governor gave perhaps the best speech of his life
that afternoon, completely unscripted and straight from the heart.
Blagojevich is a Cubs fan, but I, for one, forgave him for that
flaw last Wednesday as he spoke sincerely of the efforts made by
Guillen, Reinsdorf, and the entire Sox organization as they pursued
their sport’s holy grail.
Guillen was a gentleman from start to finish.
There was not a whiff of arrogance about him, despite his recent
triumph.
After his speech to the Senate, a few
senators were allowed to speak on the floor about their thoughts.
The last to speak was Sen. Adeline Geo-Karis. Geo is 87, and she
doesn’t stand up too often. As she sat in her chair, she
praised Guillen as a gentleman and thanked him for honoring the
Legislature that day.
Afterward, senators lined up to have their
photos taken. Ozzie noticed that Geo couldn’t stand in line,
so he grabbed the World Series trophy and walked over to her desk,
gave her a bear hug, and posed for a photo.
It was the sweetest thing I’ve ever
seen in all my years in that building.
Thanks, Ozzie, for a truly great day.
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