Chicago is not the City that Bumbles

Oh, Mayor Johnson. Really? You show up at an editorial board meeting on Monday and are shocked — shocked! — to discover the meeting is on the record, meaning the newspaper reporters present reserve the right to listen to what the mayor of the city of Chicago says about important matters and then relate that information to residents.

So you flee, shrieking (or so I imagine. I wasn’t there, alas).

Surprised, were you? I’m surprised too. Amazed, really. The bar is pretty low at this point, but it wouldn’t surprise me more had the mayor shown up not wearing pants.

Because, really. If Brandon Johnson doesn’t even trust himself to open his mouth and let words come out, can’t even try, then how is anybody else supposed to trust him?

Mr. Mayor, let me level with you: You are playing into the media’s hands.

Yes, we ask our questions, getting all sad and belligerent when you don’t answer, or rather, start tossing some off-point word salad that means nothing.

But we’re also secretly pleased. Because we don’t really want to hear your side. We’re just pretending to, because our job demands it. When you clam up, you’re putty in our hands. It’s liberating.

How so? Let me tell you a story.

So a highly placed Illinois judge comes to my office at the newspaper for the purpose of planting a dagger squarely in the back of Tim Evans, chief Judge of the Cook County Circuit Court, whose management style is lacking in her eyes. She’s a respectable source. Her complaints seem valid — court system run poorly, yaddity yadda yadda. I prepare my column, pinning Evans wriggling to a board for the amusement of all.

But journalism is a kabuki. It has its finely-calibrated rituals. Before I can run my vivisection of Judge Evans, there is something I must do — you kids, fresh hires, any ideas? C’mon, don’t they teach you anything at the Medill School of Storytelling, Communicative Arts, Interpretive Dance, or whatever they call the place nowadays? (Actually, it is — checking my notes — “The Medill School of Journalism, Media, Integrated Marketing Communications.” A staggering example of malpractice, which I only mention because I intend to start a fundraising campaign to purchase an ampersand for the school).

So the judge slips in the shiv and departs. What’s my duty? Yes, that’s right! I need to contact Evans. Get his view of events. Or at least try. So I do that, and what does Evans do? He spoils everything, by talking to me. Giving me his side of the story. Not some argle-bargle collection of syllables responding to some imaginary question plucked out the blue skies of his imagination. But a well-reasoned, careful explanation from a sharp legal mind.

So what must I now do? Just ignore it? Wouldn’t that be nice. No, I have to start yanking my finely-crafted paragraphs of sarcasm, lovingly detailing his alleged failures, and replace them with Evans’ own words. Defending himself! The whole thing gets watered down. The fun, lost.

So by fleeing, Johnson yields the field to his enemies. He’s a linebacker in a football game who stands waving at a friend in the stands while the ball carrier sprints grinning past him, into the end zone.

You don’t have to like us. No mayor ever did. Richard M. Daley despised the media — and yet there he was, yabbering away, throwing off beads of sweat and mangled syntax. Rahm Emanuel cared so much about his image, it made him look bad. If Johnson can’t talk, Emanuel couldn’t shut up. Actually, we could have used one of Johnson’s aides running over to pop a balled sock into Rahm’s mouth.

Brandon Johnson talks a lot about the “soul of Chicago.” But he hasn’t a clue. Chicago is the “Windy City” not because of any howling hawk off the lake, but for the city’s eagerness to talk about itself. Timidity is not a Chicago value. Nor incompetence. Chicago is the city that works, not the city that bumbles.

Mr. Mayor. Come May, when the first anniversary, so-how-did-we-get-stuck-with- this-guy stories fill the pages and airwaves, no doubt you will feel ill-used. But you shouldn’t. This was your own doing. If you want your side of things heard, you should pry open your yap and start talking. Because if you don’t, we’ll find others to speak for you. And I guarantee you won’t like what they have to say.