This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, Feb. 28, 2010 - Resurrected by an Illinois Supreme Court decision rebuffing George Ryan's bid for tax-funded retirement benefits, a scene from the '70s sears anew.
In an austere hearing room across the way from the dome-topped building where he once presided, ex-governor and ex-con Otto Kerner Jr. pleads for his pension. His voice is raspy. He rubs his fingers in response to the burning sensations caused by treatment for the lung cancer that soon will take his life. His wife is deceased. He is, in reality, seeking survivor benefits for his children.
Disgraced and debilitated, his dignity in a humiliating circumstance summons memories of an urbane governor educated in the Ivy League, decorated for World War II service in Africa as executive officer to future Gen. William Westmoreland, elected and re-elected, tapped to head a presidential commission that forthrightly addressed racism in America after the urban riots of the late 1960s, eventually installed as a U.S. Appellate Court judge.
But his education, military record and rise to prominence did not matter on this day or in the ensuing litigation.
Two years after he donned judicial robes, federal investigators became convinced he had abused his power as governor by accepting stock at a bargain rate from a race track owner seeking favors from his administration. When a jury convicted him for bribery, perjury and tax evasion, his annuity and concomitant benefits were put at risk.
Otto Kerner did not prevail despite the pathos. Neither did his children. After his death, the Illinois Supreme Court reviewed the situation and stood firmly in 1978 behind a law barring public pensions for those who betray the public's trust.
Now it has reaffirmed that stance with respect to another former governor who also has suffered mightily for his transgressions.
George Ryan launched his 30-year state government career just a month before the Kerner conviction. He was the House Republican leader when the Supreme Court rejected the appeal in behalf of Kerner's survivors. He watched dozens of politicians shame their families, go to prison and forfeit their pensions. He served eight years as lieutenant governor under Gov. Jim Thompson, who as U.S. attorney had prosecuted Kerner and, ironically, championed Ryan's appeal for partial retirement benefits.
Yet, as Justice Robert Thomas wrote, Ryan grossly cheated those who elected him secretary of state and governor by "transforming two of this state's highest constitutional offices into an on-going and wholly self-serving criminal enterprise."
We are told the 76-year-old Ryan's health is failing and his wife is dealing with a terminal lung condition as she pleads for his early release from an Indiana prison. Compassion tempts, but the Ryans' trauma was avoidable. Quoting from the Kerner decision, the high court noted the pension penalty is intended to "discourage official malfeasance."
Perhaps it has deterred many. It certainly should remain on the books. But what about Kerner, Ryan and all the others who sullied themselves and our state? In commercials savaging his 2006 re-election opponent, Rod Blagojevich repeatedly asked, "What was she thinking?"
Well, what was he thinking when he and his cronies quickly made themselves magnets for scrutiny after he succeeded the scandal-swamped Ryan? What trumped any fears of ruin?
Tiger Woods coincidentally offered a clue on the day the Ryan pension decision citing the Kerner precedent was released. "I felt that I had worked hard my entire life and deserved to enjoy all the temptations around me. I felt I was entitled," Tiger told the world.
He was not entitled. Neither are public officials. If they breach the public trust, they must pay a painful price.
Mike Lawrence, former director of the Paul Simon Public Policy Institute at Southern Illinois University, writes a twice-monthly column.