As Madigan corruption trial kicks off, focus will be on those three taboo words: quid pro quo

Chicago Ald. Daniel Solis was a year into his stunning turn as an FBI mole when he allegedly called up the most powerful politician in Illinois and floated three little words that are virtually taboo in the state’s political lexicon.

Quid pro quo.

With the feds listening in, Solis told then-House Speaker Michael Madigan, their prime investigative target, that the developers of a West Loop apartment tower understood that in order to get approvals done in City Hall they had to hire Madigan’s private law firm to do their property tax appeals, according to federal prosecutors.

“I think they understand they’ve got some issues that they still have to deal with me in terms of zoning,” Solis, then the head of the City Council’s Zoning Committee, told Madigan on the June 23, 2017, call, according to prosecutors. “And I think they understand how this works, you know, the quid pro quo, the quid pro quo.”

Madigan allegedly responded, “OK.”

The recording cuts to the heart of one of the key issues in Madigan’s highly anticipated racketeering trial, which gets underway this week at the Dirksen U.S. Courthouse: Did Madigan know ahead of time that private benefits for himself or his friends were being exchanged for official acts?

Solis is expected to testify that Madigan’s “OK” was the speaker’s way of telling him that he “understood and agreed” that the fix was in, according to prosecutors.

“This call is devastating evidence that Madigan intended to personally benefit himself by causing Solis to leverage his official position to in turn cause (the developers) to give Madigan business,” prosecutors wrote in a pretrial filing earlier this year.

Madigan’s attorneys, meanwhile, are trying to keep Solis’ interpretation out of the trial, saying it would be improper for him to try to tell the jury what inferences should be drawn from Madigan’s one-word response.

“Madigan’s responses do not include ‘code words’ that a jury needs assistance to understand,” the defense team wrote in a recent filing. “Instead, any testimony from Solis as to what he thought Madigan meant by these responses improperly attempts to make the government’s case for it through a lay witness.”

And the defense is sure to point to another recording made by Solis three weeks later, where Madigan chided the alderman for using the term. “You’re just recommending our law firm,” Madigan said to Solis, who allegedly recorded the exchange with a hidden video camera.

Madigan, 82, a Southwest Side Democrat, and his longtime confidant, Michael McClain, 77, of downstate Quincy, are charged in a 23-count indictment alleging Madigan’s vaunted state and political operations were run like a criminal enterprise to amass and increase his power and enrich himself and his associates.

In addition to pressuring developers to hire the speaker’s law firm, the indictment accuses Madigan and McClain of conspiring to have utility giants Commonwealth Edison and AT&T Illinois put the speaker’s associates on contracts requiring little or no work in exchange for Madigan’s assistance on key legislation in Springfield.

ComEd allegedly also heaped legal work onto a Madigan ally, granted his request to put a political associate on the state-regulated utility’s board and distributed bundles of summer internships to college students living in his Southwest Side legislative district, according to the charges.

Both Madigan and McClain have denied wrongdoing.

The trial, which is scheduled to last up to three months, is the culmination of perhaps the biggest political corruption investigation ever to unfold at the Dirksen U.S. Courthouse, given Madigan’s stature as the longest-serving leader of any legislative chamber in the nation who for decades wielded an ironclad grip on the state legislature as well as the Democratic Party and its political spoils.

While the courthouse has seen a parade of powerful aldermen, legislators and even governors come and go — including most recently former Ald. Edward Burke, who was convicted in December of racketeering and is now serving a two-year prison sentence — none has had Madigan’s unique combination of longevity and influence over issues that affects every corner of the state.

Madigan was dethroned as speaker in early 2021 as the investigation swirled around him, and soon after resigned the House seat he’d held since 1971. After his indictment in March 2022, he issued a statement denying he ever engaged in any criminal activity and blasting prosecutors for “attempting to criminalize” legal political actions.

“Throughout my 50 years as a public servant, I worked to address the needs of my constituents, always keeping in mind the high standards required and the trust the public placed in me,” Madigan said. “I adamantly deny these accusations and look back proudly on my time as an elected official, serving the people of Illinois.”

Like Burke’s case last year, Madigan’s trial in many ways will be a referendum on the old Chicago Democratic political machine, powered by a network of loyal patronage workers and 13th Ward precinct captains who were beholden to the speaker for political work, job recommendations and other services.

And, like Burke, prosecutors plan to show evidence that Madigan was willing to use his political power to prowl for private legal business.

In fact, it was the speaker who had prompted Solis’ “quid pro quo” overture, which began when Madigan reached out to Solis in June 2017 about the 15-story West Loop apartment development along Washington Boulevard, dubbed Union West, court records show.

Madigan told Solis on a recorded call that the proposed luxury tower was just two blocks from where Madigan would often pick up his daughter for an after-work dinner, according to prosecutors.

On that call, Solis told Madigan the project looked like a winner and asked, “Do you know the developer? Do you know the, uh, people there?”

“No, but I’d like to,” Madigan allegedly responded.

Though the issue of a quid pro quo is certainly not the only one the jury will be forced to weigh, the often-blurred line between political favors and illegal influence peddling became more critical in light of the U.S. Supreme Court’s ruling over the summer raising the bar for what prosecutors have to prove when it comes to the federal bribery statute.

In its decision in the bribery case of former Portage, Indiana, Mayor James Snyder, the high court ruled that “gratuities” — or gifts given as a thank-you for actions a public official has already taken — are not criminalized under the federal statute, and that prosecutors must prove there was an agreement ahead of time.

A jury appeared to be struggling over that very issue before deadlocking last month in the trial of former AT&T Illinois boss Paul La Schiazza, who was accused of bribing Madigan in an alleged scheme that also is part of Madigan’s indictment. La Schiazza’s attorneys are now asking the judge to acquit him on all charges in lieu of a retrial.

In a written ruling last week, U.S. District Judge John Robert Blakey declined to dismiss any of the bribery counts against Madigan, saying the indictment clears the hurdle set in the Snyder case by alleging Madigan performed official acts in exchange for various things of value, including the ComEd jobs for his associates.

Still, the high court’s ruling is sure to influence the all-important instructions Blakey winds up giving the jury, which are a work in progress. Blakey said at a pretrial conference Wednesday that the 7th Circuit U.S. Court of Appeals was busy hammering out new pattern jury instructions that would deal with the Snyder ruling, and that they could be ready by the time Madigan’s jury starts deliberating.

Meanwhile, in the five years since the Madigan investigation first hit the news, much of the evidence that the jury will hear over the next three months has already been publicly aired.

Last year, the bribery conspiracy trial of McClain and three other ComEd executives and lobbyists featured dozens of wiretapped recordings, including many involving Madigan. All four were convicted on every count, though the defendants have asked for a new trial based on the Supreme Court’s ruling in the Snyder case.

And in August, the perjury trial of Madigan’s former chief of staff, Timothy Mapes, featured still more secret recordings and emails shedding light on the behind-the-scenes political maneuvering in Madigan’s camp as the speaker weathered a #MeToo-era sexual harassment scandal and his grip on power waned.

To bolster their case against Madigan, prosecutors plan to call a familiar lineup of former Democratic insiders and experts, some of whom will be testifying for the second or third time.

Among them: Democratic state Rep. Bob Rita, who testified in the ComEd Four case that Madigan ruled “through fear and intimidation”; Tom Cullen, a lobbyist and former Madigan political guru who testified about the speaker’s absolute power over what legislation moved through the House; Ed Moody, the legendary 13th Ward precinct captain who was given a no-show consulting job with ComEd; and Will Cousineau, who explained that last-minute arm-twisting orchestrated by Madigan on the House floor in 2016 got major ComEd legislation over the hump.

Madigan’s jury will also hear from another key cooperator, former ComEd Vice President Fidel Marquez, who flipped after being confronted by the FBI in early 2019 and recorded a series of meetings with McClain, then-CEO Anne Pramaggiore, lobbyist John Hooker and consultant Jay Doherty in which they talked about their secret efforts to pay Madigan’s associates.

Two other well-known state political figures — lobbyist Nancy Kimme and state Rep. Theresa Mah, a Chicago Democrat — are expected to testify about their roles in trying to help McClain get a bill passed in Springfield that would transfer a parcel of land along Wentworth Avenue and Cermak Road in Chinatown out of state control.

According to prosecutors, the speaker had given the Chinatown land deal to McClain as a “special assignment” because he knew then-Republican Gov. Bruce Rauner would block it if he knew Madigan’s fingers were on it.

“You can’t have me around the situation,” Madigan explained to Solis in a recorded phone call on Sept. 13, 2017, according to court records. “Anybody in the Rauner administration hears that I’m involved, they’re gonna go in the opposite direction.”

But the biggest difference this time around — other than Madigan himself sitting at the defense table — will be the testimony of Solis, the prosecution’s star witness who made dozens of undercover video and audio recordings of Madigan beginning in 2016 that have not yet been seen or heard in public.

Solis is not expected to hit the stand until sometime in November, and his testimony could last a week or more, depending on what surely will be a lengthy and fascinating cross-examination.

The decision to call him is somewhat of an about-face for the U.S. attorney’s office, which decided last year not to put him on the stand to testify against Burke, whom he also secretly cooperated against in a separate prong of the investigation.

Instead, Solis wound up being called as a witness by the defense, though attempts to dirty him up over his own allegedly corrupt acts and unprecedented deferred prosecution deal appeared to have backfired, since Burke was convicted on every count involving a scheme to win legal business from the developers of the old main post office.

Prosecutors have said they will play more than 250 undercover recordings at Madigan’s trial. Many of the transcripts released so far in pretrial filings appear to show Madigan as predictably polished and professional — in stark contrast to Burke, who famously cursed out developers behind their backs and asked Solis about landing the “tuna” and whether the “cash register” had rung.

In Madigan’s case, Solis’ videos seemed to capture the publicly taciturn Madigan speaking casually when he believed no one was listening — or watching. In many of their conversations, the two went on at length about family and politics and the news of the day — including then-Mayor Rahm Emanuel’s budget bill — before getting down to the issue at hand, according to transcripts in pretrial filings.

Not surprisingly, Madigan also comes across in many of the transcripts as thoughtful and cautious. In July 2017, three weeks after Solis brought up the idea of a “quid pro quo,” the speaker approached Solis privately before a meeting at his law offices with the West Loop developers.

“Over the phone, you made a comment that there was a quid pro quo,” Madigan said, according to prosecution filings.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Yeah,” Solis said.

“You shouldn’t be talking like that,” Madigan allegedly responded. “You’re just recommending our law firm because if they don’t get a good result on their real estate taxes, the whole project will be in trouble.”

“Absolutely, absolutely,” Solis said, “Yeah.”

With Solis agreeing, Madigan went on: “Which is not good for your ward … So you want high quality representation.”

“Right. Right,” Solis said.

Once the meeting started, there was no mention of any quid pro quo. Just Madigan telling the developers they would like to talk about representing them on real estate tax issues.

“And at that point I bow out and he (Madigan’s law partner) takes over,” the speaker said, handing the floor over to Vincent “Bud” Getzendanner to give the firm’s official spiel.

Two months later, Solis received a call from Madigan and asked whether the developers had hired his law firm.

“Ah, Danny,” Madigan responded. “I’m almost positive the answer is yes.”

Cook County records show not only did Madigan & Getzendanner land the business, the firm helped cut the assessed value of the property in half as it was being developed in 2020.

Another key video the jury will likely see is a December 2017 meeting between McClain and Solis in Solis’ City Hall office about the Chinatown project, which hinged on some delicate maneuvering in the Illinois legislature to sell a piece of state-owned land to the city.

While the recording has previously been outlined in pretrial findings, many of the details were revealed for the first time as the parties discussed it in court last week.

During the conversation, Solis and McClain talk about various aldermen and legislators whom they perceive as corrupt, with McClain at one point remarking you need a “prover” in the room with you when you meet with them to protect you from future accusations, prosecutors told Blakey.

“You oughta take somebody with you so that you have somebody to say, ‘No, that’s not what was said,’” McClain said on the recording. “I mean, don’t go by yourself.”

Among the names tossed around in the conversation were Burke and former state legislators Annazette Collins, Martin Sandoval and Luis Arroyo, who were all later convicted on federal corruption counts. Sandoval, the vaunted head of the Senate Transportation Committee, was cooperating with federal investigators when he died of COVID-19 complications in December 2020.

Solis and McClain also referenced the city’s unofficial moniker, “Ubi est mea,” or “Where’s mine?” coined by the late newspaper columnist Mike Royko, and talked about people like Arroyo still idolizing corrupt aldermen like Fred Roti and Vito Marzullo. They also made passing reference to Burke’s work reducing property taxes for Donald Trump’s downtown skyscraper.

Solis then asked McClain, “So, how does, um, how does the speaker deal with all this? ‘Cause these are all strong allies,” according to prosecutors.

McClain explained, “Well, he, he does surrogates … a guy like me, he sends to go talk to (certain public officials).”

Madigan attorney Jonathan Brayman objected to prosecutors playing that portion of the discussion, arguing “the danger of prejudice is overwhelming,” given that the politicians discussed are now convicted felons and Solis describes them as Democratic allies.

Assistant U.S. Attorney Julia Schwartz, however, argued the recording was highly relevant because McClain is emphasizing to Solis “the need to be discreet.”

Solis is expected to testify that in return for his help with developer introductions, he asked Madigan to secure him a state board position once he retired from City Hall, a prospect that was actually part of an FBI ruse.

When Solis asked Madigan about the process of getting a state board spot, the speaker was recorded telling Solis that he would go to JB Pritzker, who was governor-elect at that time, and that Solis would “come in as Pritzker’s recommendation,” according to the government filings.

The jury will hear testimony that Madigan met with Pritzker in December 2018 in part to discuss a position for Solis. Before that meeting, Solis allegedly recorded Madigan telling him the speaker’s communication with Pritzker did not need to be in writing, according to the indictment. “I can just verbally tell him,” Madigan allegedly said.

On Dec. 4, 2018, Madigan allegedly called McClain to update him on his meeting with Pritzker, according to prosecution filings. During the call, Madigan said he’d told Pritzker a bill could be introduced to “wipe out” members of a particular board, ostensibly to make room for Solis.

“I put that idea in his head,” Madigan told McClain, according to prosecutors.

The efforts came to an abrupt halt a month later when news reports surfaced about Solis working for the FBI, prosecutors said.

Pritzker, meanwhile, agreed to be interviewed by the feds and is not accused of any wrongdoing. He has said in a publicly released statement he “does not recall” Madigan ever asking him to consider Solis “for any position” and that the administration has no record of the alleged recommendation.

jmeisner@chicagotribune.com