It’s time to call dibs: John Kass for Mayor
My friends, I will be the next mayor of Chicago.
And this I vow: As mayor, I’ll never lie to you and I’ll rule by respecting Chicago’s most ancient traditions, meaning my family and friends will get rich, and the people of Chicago will pay for it. Or else. Everyone will be happy and content, or else.
For I am a river to my people. Future historians may notice that my first successful campaign began with a tweet.
It was from Tom Bevan, publisher of Real ClearPolitics and host of the “Tom Bevan Show” on WLS-AM radio.
“At this point, just about everyone is considering a run,” tweeted Bevan. “I’m even hearing whispers John Kass might be jumping in. #KassForChicago.”
I didn’t have to be asked twice. OK, I’m in.
Listen, my friends. You have to believe in something. Even if it means sacrificing everything.
I might even put that on my campaign T-shirts. But hey, I’m not going to sacrifice a thing. Sacrifice is the job of taxpayers. Get real. This is politics, which is like selling shoes, but with people.
Also, I might put “I am Spartacus” on my campaign buttons, because, well, it’s cool and no one else has thought of it.
Being a crafty national political observer, Bevan noticed something rather medieval about Chicago after Mayor Rahm Emanuel withdrew from his re-election campaign.
The scrambling hordes of ambitious politicians who suddenly see an opportunity.
Emanuel would have lost to one of the previously announced candidates for mayor, thoughtful and courageous people like Paul Vallas and Lori Lightfoot, who dared challenge a ruthless incumbent mayor and wanted the campaign to be a contest of ideas.
Yet rather than lose and allow the people to decide (and allow ideas to get anywhere near things), Rahm just quit, pulled the plug, and the zombies came running.
Now, dozens of ravenous political meat eaters are scrambling out of the shadows to become mayor and get what they can out of Chicago.
Thoughtful platforms? Get serious. The race for mayor has been transformed:
It’s now all about personality cults, ethnic tribes, public sector union muscle and slogans.
It’s all about who gets free media describing them as the next messiah to “unify” this group or that one. Sound familiar? I thought so. There are so many Democrats wanting to be mayor that you can’t name them all.
Toni Taxwinkle, who pretends to be progressive while commanding her drone army of hungry public union workers and Democratic Party hacks.
Bill Daley, with his vague appeals to nostalgia.
Even U.S. Rep. Mike Quigley, who I remember years ago at City Hall, peeking out from Ald. Bernie Hansen’s back pocket like some quiet, tiny kangaroo.
And just look at Luis Guttierrez. The poor little guy is salivating.
There are dozens more. If they cared about Chicago’s problems, they would have announced for mayor months ago. But they didn’t.
They’re like a swarm of zombies with wild eyes and a hunger for meat. Not those idiot slow zombies from “The Walking Dead,” but the other kind of zombies, the fast, shrewd zombies that can outrun you.
And they’re eager to rip great chunks out of Chicago once again.
I grew up in a South Side butcher shop. And so, I have the skill set to portion things out, from each according to his ability, to each according to his needs. Naturally I get all the Tbones and rib-eyes.
I told you I won’t lie to you. So, I will keep writing my Chicago Tribune column and doing “The Chicago Way” podcast. Why? Because I love the work and need a job.
Besides, I know the media, and I don’t trust them to help me get my message out in the Sun-Times.
“So, what do I get?” asked an editor around here. Name it, I said.
“Airport concessions would be nice,” he said. “And a no-show job, for insurance purposes.”
And a case of fine single malt Scotch whisky. You’ve got it. The Kasso abides.
Though the post-Rahm campaign will be all personality cults, I probably should develop a few governing ideas, just for the sake of appearances. Hmm, let me think.
Dibs.
I’ll cut a deal with Boss Mike Madigan for changes in state law. Anyone violating the Dibstitution — i.e., stealing another’s shoveled-out parking space in the winter after it has been plainly marked by household junk like a broken baby chair or a blue Virgin figurine or a leg lamp — will be punished.
By encasement in ice, with a plastic straw to breathe from.
Also, my transportation policy is this: A new ride-sharing service, “Chi-Town Moutza Ride,” in which my brothers will be secret investors.
And I’ll regulate their competitors out of business, because, well, this is Chicago.
I suppose I must prove city residency since it’s a “law” or something. Betty and I moved to the suburbs more than 20 years ago, for the kids’ educations. As I told Bevan, I’ll prove city residency under the existing Rahm Residency Rules.
But not with my wife’s wedding dress, like Rahm.
“I left a 1983 White Sox cap and some boxer shorts in my old apartment,” I tweeted to Bevan. “So yes, I claim residency. And I’m in. #KassForMayor.”
The 1983 White Sox were known for “Winning Ugly.” And that’s what I’m going to do.
I am Spartacus. And Spartacus approved this message.