In the Sixth Ward Regular Democratic Organization’s inner sanctum, a leonine Gene Sawyer sat behind an imposing polished black desk. “Was that a three-pointer?” he asked, pulling a long brown More cigarette from between his lips. He focused on the other side of the room, where a Bulls game glowed from a TV set.
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“Jesus, look at this,” said Sawyer’s son Roderick. Unlike his father, who was dressed in a silk shirt and a sharp Italian double-breasted suit, Roderick was casual in a sweater and jeans. He held out the palm sheet used by current Sixth Ward alderman John Steele, who beat the candidate Sawyer chose to succeed himself in the 1989 special election–Sawyer’s second blow in that campaign. “Look at that–he’s got Woody Bowman at the top, and where’s Pincham? At the bottom. And where’s the union bug, huh? Where’s the union bug?”
Sawyer chuckled and muttered into the telephone. From one wrist jangled a bright gold bracelet; on the other he sported a smart gold watch. The gold rings that disappeared when he was promoted to the fifth floor of City Hall were back too. Behind him, a plaque saluted him as one of the ten best-dressed men in Chicago in 1973 and again in 1979.
“Hey, maybe he’ll be a Dewey,” Roderick said.
“Oh man,” exclaimed Roderick, turning away from the TV, where the anchors were announcing that Cecil Partee had won the nomination for state’s attorney with 32 percent of the white vote. Partee gave white liberals an opportunity to vote for the least objectionable black guy, Roderick said; then they felt free to vote for Phelan.
“What’s he going on about the mayor for?” asked Shederick, Sawyer’s other son. “The mayor had nothing to do with him.”
“That’s right,” Sawyer said. “You gotta respect the office of the mayor, period.”
