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Part Four: GETTING SOME 'CLOUT'  "Nurse, better call Sgt. Murcia and let him know he just lost another notch on his 'clout' list." |
How did a cop get ahead
in Chicago? Find 'clout'!
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During his days as a Chicao police detective, Andy Murcia also moonlighted as security director for the Ambassador East hotel. This is his fourth column of memories of those days as a "hotel dick." |
By ANDY MURCIA
of TheColumnists.com
CLOUT!
Every Chicago cop wants to have “clout”! Clout means having political power to assist you in obtaining promotions, assignments, and more pay!
In New York City, they say you need a “Rabbi” or “Chinaman”. When I first arrived in Chicago as a transplanted New Yorker-Florida guy, I was a young man. The word “clout” to me back then had something to do with striking, or punching someone. In Chicago all I kept hearing about was “I need to find a clout”. Or, “Without a clout, I’m not going anyplace in this job”. So many cops were talking about “clout,” I finally figured out what it meant in Chicago. I also figured if what they were all saying was true, I had better find a “clout” too! This column is about my close encounters of the “clout” kind.
I was a Chicago police sergeant working my part time job as director of security at the famed Ambassador East & West Hotels. These were the years during the powerful reign of Chicago Mayor Richard J. Daley. The Mayor’s nickname with the old timers was “The Hog,” mainly because he hogged the mayor’s job for so many years and all the power that went with it.
I got to meet “his honor” on two occasions–-one when the Astronauts stayed at our hotel and the Mayor came there to welcome them, and again on the telephone one night.
That phone conversation had to do with one of the Mayor’s best friends, Matthew Danaher, a political big shot in Chicago. Matt was a very likeable fellow who had decided to split from his wife. When Matt moved into our hotel, and started drinking way too much every night, it became the responsibility of me, the hotel dick, to assist him back to his suite in the hotel. Some nights I damn near had to carry him bodily to the suite, with his arm over my shoulder.
I got to know Matt Danaher fairly well and we became pals. I liked the guy and I think he liked me. He started to trust me more and more as soon he opened up to me about inside political things that I had only suspected. For instance, he was a boyhood friend of the Mayor and they became lifelong friends. They helped one another in their political careers and personal lives and both became very successful.
I had hoped that Matt would take a shine to me and maybe offer me his support. Yes, Matt Danaher could be my “clout”.
Everyone told me that Matt could help anyone employed by the City of Chicago, if he wanted to, because of his great friendship with Mayor Daley (and just about every other political figure in the City). So, night after night I hung out with Matt and tucked him into his suite and hoped. Man did I hope! The exam for the rank of lieutenant was about to be announced. Oh, yeah, this could work out nice for me, I thought.
But it all came to a sudden end when one night Matt got back to his suite on his own power without me. The maid said the door to Matt’s suite was open. I went in to investigate and found Matt in his bed–dead.
I checked his life signs and there were none. This was also not going to be good press for our hotel. I made all the required notifications, As I sat there staring at the very dead Matt Danaher, thoughts went through my head. God forgive me, but I selfishly thought about how I “almost” had a clout. But, he’s gone!
I was trying to cheer myself up by thinking of the humorous side of all this: I finally meet a guy who could do it big for me and bingo, he ups and does a dead mackerel impersonation on me! Well, I never had a clout before and had gotten myself a couple of promotions anyway. I mean, I made detective and sergeant on my own, so what the hell, maybe I could score lieutenant on my own, too? I felt sorry for Matt lying there stiff, and his family for sure, but I also felt sorry for me!
Quickly the word got out that Matt Danaher
was dead in our hotel. As I waited in Matt’s suite, the
phone rang and it was Mayor Daley himself. In his very distinct
low voice, complete with a thick Chicago accent, he inquired
who I was. I told him I’m Sgt. Andy Murcia (I spelled my
last name for him). He asked if I was a “Chicago Policeman”.
I said yes. He said “Oh, good. What happened to Matt Danaher
there?”
I explained about the door open, him in bed, looked like a natural
death, his previous heavy drinking, etc. The Mayor advised me
that Commander Paul McLaughlin was on his way to the hotel and
he would take care of everything. He thanked me and said he would
be seeing me. Wow! Maybe I have a new clout in the Mayor?
I started to dream again. I was dreaming bigger now, first lieutenant, then… captain! I looked in Matt’s dresser mirror and I wondered how those railroad track captain bars would look on my shoulders? In the mirror I also saw the reflection of Matt Danaher’s dead body on the bed and I got to thinking. Maybe, just maybe, even in death, Matt Danaher could be my clout? I just got off the phone with the Mayor himself who said, “Thanks--and I’ll be seeing you”. The Mayor had asked my name twice and I gave it to him and spelled my surname twice for him. Man, I was excited to say the least.
When the Commander arrived, I identified myself to him by showing him my star and ID card and he asked my name, I told him, and you bet I spelled my surname once again. I mean everyone knew that the Commander of the first district was a great friend of Mayor Daley. Wow! My heart was beating faster–I just might come out of this with two clouts!
Before I left the suite, I had called Andrew
Toman, the Cook County Coroner, who also knew the Commander and
the Mayor and, of course, the deceased Matt Danaher. As I was
leaving, Commander Paul put his arm around my shoulder and said
to me, “The Mayor appreciates you keeping everything on
the quiet."
“I understand, Commander," I said. "Of course,
he can count on me.” We shook hands and I left.
Well, the body was taken out of the hotel on the lowdown and nobody was disturbed.
I started my inquiry as to when the next lieutenant test would be given–and even the captain’s test. I was shooting high!
Here I was, having met two of the most powerful pols in the City, and the top Commander pal of the Mayor’s, and they all thanked me and said they would be “seeing me”. I took this as a nice way of saying “we will take care of you”.
Well, shortly after Matt’s death, I was listening to my car radio when they interrupted the program to report that Mayor Daley had dropped dead of a heart attack while walking up the stairs to his doctors’ office on Michigan Avenue. I pulled my car over and parked. I could not believe my ears. The Mayor, my future clout, “dead?” Yes, the Mayor had died. I sat there in near shock–in my mind I saw my promotions going six feet under inside his honor's casket. What luck I got! I felt sorry for the Mayor and his family, I liked the man and all he stood for–-he was good for Chicago. I felt down in the dumps.
I drove home and to get myself out of the dumps I started thinking about the Commander pal of the Mayor’s. I still have him, I figured.
About a week later I went into the first District and asked to see Commander McLaughlin. Before the desk sergeant could say yes or no, here comes the Commander walking out from behind the desk. What a break! I quickly walked over to say hello to him. I put my hand out and said, “Hi’ya Commander, Sgt. Andy Murcia, I met you at the Ambassador East hotel."
The Commander said, “Yeah, so?” This was not the response I had in mind. I still had my hand out to him. I further offered, “Wwell, you remember it was the night that Matt Danaher died.” The Commander started to walk and over his shoulder he said, “Yeah,Matt was a good fellow, God bless him.”
The last time I saw the Commander, he was getting his big, fat, Irish ass into his cop-driven car, and off they sped. He could have at least shaken my hand like a man.
So, yet again, I saw my chance at “a clout” go bye-bye, but I think if there is a moral to this story, it’s “clout” can kiss my fat Irish-Spanish ass, as I can only depend on number one--ME!
©2009 by Andy Murcia. The Murcia caricature is ©2003 by Jim Hummel. The illustration is from IMSI's Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA. This column first posted Feb. 2, 2009.
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