THERE WAS a terrifying incident in Springfield at the end of September. It was Democrats’ day at the Sangamon County Fair. We had, according to the Daily News poll, come within four percentage points of our opponent, 48 percent to 44 percent. Other polls showed no change. However, the News polls were the most reputable in the State. The News, increasingly sympathetic to us, announced that my candidacy clearly had gained momentum. It added that Senator Crispjin’s mostly downstate campaign was listless and that his attack ads seemed to have little influence in the Chicago Metropolitan Area.
After that news was published—and reported on all the TV stations and in some of the national media too—my brother Tony phoned.
“I won’t take any of your time, Senator,” he said, a sneer in his voice. “I want you to know that I’m praying to Jesus and the Blessed Mother and to our own parents in heaven that for the good of the country and your own good and the good of your poor family, you’ll lose.”
He hung up before I could answer. Just as well.
However, the atmosphere in the County Fairgrounds in Sangamon County was heady. Sangamon has been Republican since Mr. Lincoln. However, its Democrats are tough and noisy. There probably weren’t many votes to be gained there, but I had to be present. We put on the full show, the band with trumpets and drums included. The Sangamon Democrats went wild, even those who hated immigrants sang along with us.
Johnny Dale, the bright young chairman of the Sangamon County Democrats, enveloped us in his genial smile.
“You folks sure are game,” he said, “flying all the way down here. You can see that we folks already love you.”
I noticed that even halfway down the state, there was a trace of a southern accent.
After I had finished, Johnny Dale thanked me.
“The people of Illinois will be proud of you Senator when you are sworn in on the Hill in January … Especially the people of Sangamon County.”
I waved my thanks to the ovation, and turned and shook hands with the chairman.
“Daddy,” Mary Ann shouted.
I turned to look for her just as a sharp bark came from somewhere and then immediately after a second one. Something whizzed by my head.
Behind me, Johnny Dale cried out and slumped to the ground. The Reliables and the state cops threw us all on the ground.
“Easy does it, Senator,” my Reliable said. “Everyone in the family is OK.” I didn’t believe him.
Next to me, Johnny Dale was bleeding, two state cops were bending over him, his wife was screaming. A couple of medics appeared from nowhere and bent over him. The crowd was screaming wildly.
“Tommy?” my wife cried out.
“Alive and well.”
“Kids are all OK!”
State cops and sheriff’s deputies were trying to restrain the crowd.
“We gotta get him to hospital, now!” one of the medics pleaded. “Where the hell is the fucking ambulance!”
As if in response an ambulance siren wailed as it tried to pick its way through screaming spectators.
“Please, please, make way for the ambulance!” cried someone on the public address system. “We have a wounded man up here.”
Finally two stretcher carriers and two more medics pushed their way through the crowd, which was now turning ugly. They picked up Johnny Dale and carried him through the crowd towards the ambulance, while the state cops used their nightsticks to beat the crowd out of the way and to protect Mrs. Dale.
Squad cars were now forcing their way into the arena.
“State police captain here. We ask everyone to quietly leave the grounds. We will arrest and charge with disorderly conduct anyone who does not comply.”
They just laughed.
“We’re going to bring you downstairs under the platform, Senator. We’ll be all around you. That rifle shot was aimed at you.”
“Tell me about it, Sergeant.”
Beneath the stands was our whole bedraggled gang. The Reliables were ringed around them protectively. Confused state cops were striding around, nightsticks in hand, as though they were looking for someone to belt.
I then embraced my weeping family and all my colleagues in highly emotional moments.
“Who do you think did the shooting, Mr. Moran?”
“I don’t know.”
“They were aiming at you, were they not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think Senator Crispjin was behind the attempted assassination?”
“Certainly not.”
“If you and your party would get into your vans, sir, we will escort you to the airport.”
I glanced at my sergeant.
“I think that would be best sir.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve apprehended the gunman, Captain?”
“I have no information about that, sir.”
“And you don’t know anything about Mr. Dale’s condition?”
“I have no information about that, sir. Now I must order you to leave these grounds. We don’t want any more assassinations here.”
I wanted to hit him. I wanted to insult him. But that would have been wrong, even if the TV camera had not been rolling.
I climbed into our armored van on which Mike Casey, the president of Reliable, had insisted and embraced my weeping wife again.
“Someone tried to kill you, Tommy.”
“They would have if Mary Ann hadn’t warned me.”
“It smelled terrible out there,” she wailed.
The state police cars ahead of us turned on their sirens. We emerged from the arena to find people milling about.
“Are you in communication with those idiots in front of us?”
“Yes, Senator.”
“Warn them that I don’t want them to run over anybody and tell them that’s for the record.”
“Yes sir, Senator!”
He passed the message on.
“They’re not bad guys, Senator.”
“Ask them where Mr. Dale is … Mary Margaret, did you call your mother and father?”
“Of course, dear.”
“Good! Call Dolly and tell her to issue a statement …”
“Senator, Mr. Dale is in Sangamon General and his condition is critical.”
At the airport I made a decision.
“All of you get on the plane and fly back to Midway. Joe, make sure that Commissioner Riley has vans there too. Then bring the plane back here. I’m going to the hospital. Don’t argue with me, anyone. That’s what I’m going to do.”
“Sir,” said the state cop in the lead car, “you should be on that plane!”
“No, I shouldn’t. I should be in the hospital with Mr. Dale and that’s where I’m going. If you want to escort us fine … But I’m going there anyhow. Understand?”
“But, sir …”
“And if any asshole tells you that I can’t do that you tell them they’ll have to arrest me to stop me.”
“Better do it, officer,” said my Sergeant Reliable.
“Yes, sir.”
So, sirens blaring we barreled into the emergency entrance of Sangamon General. Two state cops and a doctor were waiting for me.
“Good news, Senator,” the doctor said. “We haven’t upgraded from critical yet, but he’s going to make it.”
“Thanks be to God!”
“Amen to that, Senator.”
The MD was clearly both a Catholic and a Democrat.
“Mrs. Dale knew you were coming. She wants you to go up to him so that they can all pray over him.”
“Certainly.”
Johnny Dale was a man in his early forties, handsome, a lawyer with clear gray eyes. His wife Hannah was blond, perhaps real blond. Her careful make-up was stained with tears. There were four kids, a couple of them teens, looking helpless and distraught.
Hannah embraced me.
“It was so good of you to come, Senator. You shouldn’t have. That crazy man might still be around …”
Johnny Dale opened his eyes.
“Hey, Tommy. I’m glad it was me not you!”
“You know who that’s from?”
“Sure, Chicago’s Mayor Anton Cermak when a crazy man aimed at Roosevelt and hit him instead.”
“Only he died and you won’t.”
“Thank God for antibiotics,” he smiled wanly.
“We have to get to know each other better, Johnny Dale!”
“You’ll never see the end of me at Capitol Hill.”
“Will you pray with us, Senator?” Hannah asked.
This was a Christian situation. I didn’t know what to do, so I followed the safe route.
“Let us join hands and pray as the Lord taught us to pray and remember especially the part about forgiving those who sin against us.”
I had lifted it all from Jimmy O’Malley.
Then I decided that I liked the priest role and would try some more.
“Heavenly father, who gives us life and hope, look down on this brave family which has just endured a shattering experience. Strengthen their hope and bring peace and forgiveness into their souls and take good care of them for their long lives. We ask this in the name of the Father who created and Son who saved and the Spirit who inspires. Amen.”
“Now I gotta get back home and calm my own family down. We’ll be seeing you, Johnny Dale!”
Hannah and two girl kids kissed me, the boy kids shook hands vigorously.
“God bless you, Senator,” said the little girl.
“Amen,” they all responded.
I choked up as I thanked them.
The doctor walked me back down to the emergency entrance.
“We’ve upgraded him to ‘serious’ and we’re saying that we expect him to recover. Will you tell the media outside?”
I walked out and encountered a horde of questions.
I held up my hand for silence.
“The doctors have asked me to announce that they have upgraded Johnny Dale to ‘serious’ and they expect him to recover.”
There were some cheers from the bystanders.
“Did you see him, Tommy?”
“I did. He was conscious and, astonishingly in good humor. I joined the family in praying over him.”
“Did he know you were the target?”
“I think so. He quoted the mayor of Chicago who was shot by someone who was aiming at Franklin D. Roosevelt. As you know Mr. Dale is very interested in political history … Now I have to get home to calm down my family.”
I jumped quickly into my armored van, just in case the shooter was hanging around.
“Mrs. Moran is on the phone, Senator. Calling from the plane.”
“Marymarg, I’m all right.”
“Rosie said it’s all live on television and they just had a picture of you going into the hospital.”
“They probably will have one of my coming out by now.”
“How is the poor dear man, Tommy?”
“They’ve upgraded him to serious and expect him to live.”
“Thanks be to God!”
“Amen … How is your crowd?”
“Traumatized, Tommy, especially the little girls. They’re still crying. We’re landing now. The plane will come back for you. Be careful.”
“Count on it.”
When I arrived back on Lathrop Avenue, all the lights in our restored residence were out. But the media were waiting outside.
“What happened, Tommy?”
“You’ve seen it all, more clearly than I could. Someone apparently took a couple of shots at me and hit Johnny Dale by mistake.”
“Did the state police order you not to visit Mr. Dale in the hospital?”
“The last time I heard visiting the sick was a corporal work of mercy.”
“Do you think that Senator Crispjin was involved in the assassination attempt?”
“Certainly not. I repeat in case some careless journalist tries to misquote me, certainly not.”
I tiptoed upstairs, all the women in my family were sound asleep. I went down to our basement workroom, found the Bushmill’s bottle and poured myself a moderate amount—that is a full glass.
I sipped at it slowly, put my feet up on the desk, and tried to think.
The phone rang.
“Thomas Moran.”
“Rodgers Crispjin.”
“Senator,” I said politely. “It’s good of you to call.”
“I want you to know,” he spoke quickly and in an uncertain voice, “I had nothing to do with that terrible event in Springfield. Nothing whatever.”
“I know that, Senator. I’ve said it at every opportunity.”
“I know. I appreciate that. I don’t know who would do something like that.”
“Perhaps your good friend Bobby Bill?”
“I doubt it. I thought I had put an end to that nonsense back in the spring. He denies it though he’s not a very good liar.”
“I’m happy to hear that.”
“I just wanted you to know that I had nothing to do with it.”
“I appreciate your calling, Senator.”
“Yes.”
The poor clown did not know how to end the conversation.
“Good luck, Senator.”
“Hmn, oh yes.”
He didn’t say either “thank you” or “good-bye.”
I put my feet back on the desk, sipped some more of my whiskey, and thought some more. Why was Senator Crispjin so eager to persuade me of his innocence, almost beg me to absolve him? I didn’t get it.
Then I had an idea.
I called the Ambassador’s house.
“O’Malley’s. Rosemarie.”
“Tommy here. Is the Ambassador still awake?”
“Yes indeed. Here he is—you were wonderful, by the way. The angels were taking care of you.”
“And your psychic granddaughter.”
“Witches run in our family. Every other generation.”
Had I interrupted love-making? At their age? Well, why not?
“Hi, Tommy, you were splendid—lots of votes!”
“I had a phone call from the Senator a few moments ago. He was scared.”
“Really? How interesting!”
“He wanted to insist that he had nothing to do with the little affair down in Springfield.”
“You’ve already said that several times.”
“I know and I’ll say it tomorrow.”
“Good! Our little ad becomes all the more important.”
“He seemed to be in fear for his own life.”
“Why would he feel threatened?”
“Because somehow it was suggested to him that if anything happened to me, he was roadkill.”
“Hmm … Well, he never was in any danger as far as I know.”
“He believes he was.”
“How interesting … You remember what your good friend Joe Goebbels said?”
“I wasn’t alive to meet the man, but didn’t he say something like if you’re going to tell a lie, tell a big one?”
“Yeah. Same thing is true of a bluff.”
I paused to absorb what was being said.
“I understand … Sleep well, Mr. Ambassador.”
“You too, Senator.”
“The Senator called me last night to express his sympathies and to assure me that he had no part in the attempted assassination yesterday. I thanked him and said I was absolutely certain that he did not.”
That was my first statement in the morning when we
walked out of our house at 8:30 to bring the kids to school. My good wife was with me and she looked terrible. I imagined that I did too.
“Tommy, how do you feel this morning?”
“Scared.”
“Me too,” Mary Margaret agreed.
“You’re going ahead with your scheduled campaign appearances?”
“Of course.”
“Is that wise?”
“I have written in my book which is appearing in the book stores today that our contemporary uncivil politics will eventually lead to violence. There are some Americans who imagine they hear God telling them to liquidate the bad guys. The violence this summer could be the tip of the iceberg.”
“We’ve tracked the bullet, if you hadn’t turned away when you did, it would have hit right above your eye.”
“We’re not heroes,” I said firmly, “but we’re not going to run away either. Now we gotta get our daughters to school.”
The young folk were solemn faced.
“We’re not quitting either,” Mary Rose intoned.
“Like totally,” the other two agreed.
So we began again our marathon race through the Chicago Metropolitan Area—The Oak Brook mall, Operation PUSH (several times), Black churches in Chicago, Maywood, and Joliet. A parish priest in Hinsdale warned us that if we tried to receive the Eucharist at his church, he would refuse it. Dolly issued a statement that we had no intention of making such an effort. However, we would greet commuters at the Hinsdale station that morning and evening. The cameras were there to catch the hundreds of folk who pushed their way to shake our hands. Then up to North Chicago for a rally at a Hispanic community center (with kids who did their homework in the van, up and back). Our final stop was a prayer service at a Black church in Waukegan. Then, in a fearsome thunder shower we drove back to Chicago, the kids finishing up their homework and my wife and I trying to nap.
We were surrounded by security everywhere—state police, county police, city police and of course the Reliables. I didn’t mind their constant presence one bit because I was still scared.
My wife turned fatalistic. “If they’re going to get us, they’re going to get us. This is a country that kills presidents. Why not kill a few senatorial candidates too?”
I saw no need to tell her about my late night conversation with her father. I suspect she already knew.
Then the Ambassador himself was in trouble.