Calamity Jane Strikes Again

Chicago's Byrne seeks command of the Democratic machine

Chicago Mayor Jane Byrne's biggest hero is her predecessor, the late Richard J. Daley, who launched her political career. But affection for the father does not carry over to the son. State Senator Richard M. Daley, who is currently Byrne's biggest enemy. The sulfurous feud threatens to shatter the still formidable Democratic political machine that the elder Daley so painstakingly put together.

The battle is refreshingly straightforward. No ideological clash is involved, just a personal power struggle waged with the vim and verve for which Chicago politics is justly celebrated. Ever since Byrne, 45, defeated Mayor Michael Bilandic in a major upset in last February's primary, she has tried to wrest complete control of the machine from the old guard. She knew how. When Mayor Daley was faced with a rebellious politician, Byrne's in stincts were: "Why don't you cut him up a little bit?" Lately she has been slashing so ferociously at errant machine members that the press has dubbed her Ayatullah Jane.

Her target has been the 10,000 city hall patronage jobs awarded to the city's 50 ward committeemen on the basis of their performance at the polls. The more votes they bring out, the more jobs they get for friends. When public scolding, sarcasm and humiliation did not force committeemen into line, Calamity Jane, as her detractors also call her, fired or demoted their friends outright. But the younger Daley refused to knuckle under and has emerged as the biggest threat to her drive for total power.

In addition to serving in the state senate, Daley, 37, is a committeeman from the Eleventh Ward, bastion of Irish political power and his father's impregnable home base. Daley ducked controversy until Byrne's behavior aroused his combative instincts. He first challenged the mayor in September, when he fought to abolish a sales tax on food and drugs. The revenue was needed for a tax-and-transportation package that Byrne had worked out with Republican Governor James Thompson. Daley failed, but won the backing of labor and the minorities and shook up city hall.

To get revenge on Daley, the mayor has been dropping his allies from the city payroll almost as fast as she can locate them. A score of Daley's precinct captains and city employees have been fired or demoted. The split widened two weeks ago when Daley stunned Chicago pols by announcing that he would run for Cook County state's attorney, potentially the second most powerful political post in the city. Taken by surprise, Byrne scrambled to find someone to run against him. Turned down by her first two choices, who were understandably loath to get caught in the crossfire, she settled on Alderman Edward Burke, 35, a lawyer and a former policeman who favors tailored suits and vest pocket watch fobs. Like other members of the machine, he had been at odds with Byrne. During her primary campaign to unseat Mayor Bilandic, Byrne sneered at the ambitious and smooth-talking Burke, calling him a member of "an evil cabal," that surrounded Mayor Bilandic. Asked how the mayor could change her mind and support him, Burke grinned and said: "Well, some cabals are more evil than others."

Byrne worked feverishly to line up votes for Burke at last week's meeting of the Democratic Central Committee, which would endorse one of the two rivals. Telephones jangled all over Chicago, and if arms could not be twisted, ears could certainly be reddened. Said a longtime city hall watcher: "She created the kind of atmosphere where everyone knows that vengeance can be exacted. She doesn't have to threaten. They know what the-message is: 'Do it my way or else." "

In a classic Chicago scene, committeemen jammed paunch-to-paunch and cigar butt-to-cigar butt in the smoke-drenched meeting room. First to speak was Daley, who described the bills he had introduced as a state senator to help the aged, the disabled, and abused and neglected children. Never once did he mention what the fight was all about: control of the machine. Nineteen committeemen rose to endorse him. The most impassioned was Ed Kelly who, as president of the Chicago Park District, controls 3,000 jobs that Byrne has been trying to snatch away. "The Daley name is still magic," cried Kelly. "There are many lOUs in this room, lOUs that we owe to Richard Daley."

Then came the turn of elegant Eddie Burke. Expanding his chest, he pledged to wage war on drug pushers and rapists if elected. A Baptist preacher exulted that Burke would create a "spiritual surge that will lift us into orbit for God." More down to earth, Committeeman Marty Tuchow explained: "Nostalgia is fine, but I have to be practical." Translation: Daley is buried, Byrne is mayor, and Byrne was for Burke. Twenty-four committeemen supported Burke.

Seeing that his chances were slim, Daley suddenly withdrew from the contest and said he would run on his own in the Democratic primary for state's attorney, which means he will be battling his father's own machine. The primary winner will face the Republican incumbent, Bernard Carey, 44, who leads in the polls. But should Burke manage to become state's attorney, the story could take a fascinating twist. For Chicago pols figure that Burke is ambitious enough to challenge Byrne herself in the 1983 mayoralty race. That could be a calamity for Jane.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.