Steans Ejects Citizen Journalist From Victory Party

Part Two, continued from yesterday's "Blogger Ejected From Bitter Victory Party" I walked into the Heather Steans victory party at 10:05 p.m. The difference in tone between this, the winner's party, and that of the party of Suzanne Elder was stark. Elder lost to Steans, but as mentioned previously, Elder’s party was fun. Steans won but her party was down, somber, and bitterness pervaded the air. It occured to me later why there was so much bitterness. The room was aware of the late breaking news about the "magic pen" scandal (much more about that soon). The Machine's great white hope, Larry Suffredin, had just lost a big race. Jim Ginderske, hoping to be appointed to Suffredin's vacated seat had he won, had nowhere to go. I went straight to the bar and engaged in a friendly conversation with two men. One guy, "Robert," asked my name. Before I could respond the younger man next to him, who I have never seen before, said, "That's Tom Mannis." You’ve seen old Western movies where the hero rides into a small town where he is unknown. He gets off his horse and walks into the nearest saloon. He goes to the bar, and the sheriff comes in and gives him the fisheye. “You’re a stranger ‘round here, mister,” the sheriff says. “We don’t like strangers ‘round here.” That’s the feeling I got, but with the weird twist that everyone in the room seemed to know who I was. “You’re well known around here,” I expected somebody to say, “and we don’t like you around here.” I was not disappointed. That happened minutes later. After complimenting the attractive bartender on her necktie worn sans shirt collar, she finally poured a Blue Moon for me. A fine beer, Blue Moon, full bodied and rich. Speaking of full bodied, rich blue moons, newly reelected 49th Ward Democrat Committeeman David Fagus slid out from the back room and gave me the sheriff’s fish eye. Moments later, Joe Moore’s errand boy Jim Ginderske came out as well, joined by a few regulars in from that movie. I was blocked, I realized, from going into the back room where 49th Ward Alderman Joe Moore was sitting, with Steans and some of her people. Reporter Swanson was back there; I know this because I saw her come out from the back room minutes later. Reporters from “real” media, but no “bloggers” was the policy of the evening. So, I was fingered for expulsion. A semi-attractive woman approached me from behind. Robert, the older man drinking an apple martini with whom I was having a friendly conversation with, suddenly seemed alarmed as he peered over my shoulder. “Uh oh,” he muttered. I turned around and saw the fiery eyed, semi-attractive woman glaring at me. Thank God her eyes were not guns. “You need to leave,” she said flatly. “Really? Why?” I asked. “You’re not here to celebrate,” she said. “You’re being disruptive.” I was hurt, really hurt. “But I am here to celebrate,” I said. “What are you celebrating?” she asked incredulously. “Democracy in action,” I said honestly, “ain’t it beautiful?” She was not amused, nor was she touched by my love of democracy. “You’re not here to celebrate Heather’s win.” “Are you only letting media people in who are here to celebrate Heather’s win?” I asked. “Would you eject a reporter from a paper whose editors had supported Suzanne Elder?” “You’re a blogger,” she nearly spat. “And you wrote bad things about Heather on your blog.” “You mean like she’s backed by the Machine?” I asked. "That's true. Look around the room." “I’m asking you to leave, this is a private party.” I had to give her that. The sign on the door did notify those entering that this was a private affair. But again, a reporter from the News-Star was there. Did the Steans people send her an invitation? Was the News-Star reporter there to “celebrate Heather’s win?” I left peacefully, without causing a scene. But as I left, I shook hands with Jim Ginderske, Terry Feingold and Francis Scudellari. To their credit, they know how to behave civilly in public. This just pissed off my antagonist even more. Before I left, a heavy woman approached. She was not hip to what the little drama going on, and cheerfully approached us to make small talk. She wore a button that said “HEATHER’S,” and just under that it said “Sister-In-Law.” “Gee,” I said, “I just love your button! Very cute, very clever.” She was smitten. “Thanks!” “Why, I’ll bet there can’t be more than two of those in the world!” I said. “Well actually, there are four,” she said, holding up four fingers to emphasize the quantity. Then, pointing at my antagonist, she said, “And she’s got one of them.” Ah ha, so the semi-attractive pit bull is one of Heather Steans’s sisters in law. Interesting family. I left, satisfied that I had picked the right candidate to not support. It’s a long road to November. The Bench will enjoy every day of it. Let’s hope Heather does, too.