I was a Chicago ward heeler; tearing down posters, packing press kits, and other campaign adventures

Washington Monthly, March, 1988 by John Eisendrath

This was in the summer of 1986. It was seven months prior to the election, and, although the incumbent had not yet decided to step down, a changing of the guard seemed likely. The 43rd ward in Chicago is located along Lake Michigan just north of downtown. A primarily white community, it's known as home to the city's "Lakefront Liberals."

Over the years, the ware has become increasingly affluent. Gentrification has turned bungalows into showplace homes and urban renewal has transformed a number of factories into parks. Of Chicago's 50 wards, the 43rd is the second most affluent, with a median family income of more than $30,000.

Not surprisingly, the ward's politics have grown more conservative. The incumbent alderman, a liberal ideologue first elected in 1975, pondered these changes as well as the deep deficits he had racked up during two unsuccessful attempts at higher office and decided in August 1986 to retire to his law practice.

The H word

The following day my brother announced the was a candidate. A less momentous occasion can scarcely be imagined. To prepare for the big event, we combined the collective wisdom of a number of experienced political advisers with about $20,000 of consultant's advice and campaign materials to package Edwin's blue chip credentials. Slogan: "For the Basics, Back the Best." Poster: the candidate, jacket slung over his shoulder, smiling. Campaign literature: a heart-felt letter from Edwin decrying politics-as-usual. Image (wholly unintentional): Frankie Valli in his prime.

Intuitively we knew Edwin's strengths were his knowledge of the public schools and his study of the city budget. However, what came through was that too many members of his family were involved in the packaging process. We love him, it all shouted, you'll love him, too. (And right away some did: several high school girls stopped by the campaign office asking for copies to hang on their closet doors. A teen idol craze was averted only because beyond about three feet the posters, printed black on grey, were unreadable.) Blinded by our family affection, we failed to notice some of the rougher edges, like the wrinkles in Edwin's pants or the belt loop he missed. Voters beyond adolescence were less likely to be impressed.

The Opponent, motherless no doubt, projected an image as slick as oil. His slogan ("Effective. Experienced. Independent.") was supported in his campaign literature with lists of accomplishments. he looked God-like, born to lead. His message, printed in blue and orange against a white background, jumped off the page like it was in 3-D. Plastered side by side on El platforms throughout the ward, the Opponent's posters, fresh and colorful, made ours look like a run for the student council. Certainly our explanation for why Edwin should be alderman wasn't simply that he was a nice guy. But that was the message our initial efforts conveyed. I remembered Ted Kennedy's incoherence in 1980 when Roger Mudd asked why he should be president. Like most people, I laughed at the time. Never again. Those questions, which seem like softballs, are doubtless the hardest questions to answer.