In Blagojevich trial, prosecution and defense paint very different pictures

By Peter Slevin
Washington Post Staff Writer
Friday, June 18, 2010; A05

CHICAGO -- To prosecutors, he is "Defendant Blagojevich." To defense counsel, he is simply "Rod."

In the early days of his corruption trial, prosecution witnesses have described former Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich (D) as a greedy and ambitious chief executive who helped his buddies carve up billions in state contracts and fill his campaign coffers with illegal contributions. When he embarked in 2008 on what one called "a public corruption crime spree," he was $200,000 in debt.

The man called Rod, however, is an amiable guy who thought big thoughts and now diligently take notes on a yellow pad at a defense table, frequently shaking his head in disagreement with the testimony. In his attorneys' portrayal, he is a well-meaning public servant, perhaps not the sharpest knife in the drawer, duped repeatedly by Chicago's political sharks.

Blagojevich is famous for stealing the spotlight, but these days it's his for the asking. In a trial that is all about him, a dozen jurors will decide whether the North Side striver who wanted to be president was really just another sleazy Illinois pol who deserves to be in prison.

It's all about Rod -- or Defendant Blagojevich, depending on how you see it.

Blagojevich poses for cellphone photos and signs autographs as he leaves court. Barely one week into testimony, U.S. District Judge James B. Zagel has already instructed him to mute his theatrical courtroom gestures. Prosecutors sought a gag order after Blagojevich stood before television cameras and declared that Lon Monk, his onetime chief of staff and former roommate, lied to the jury.

"As my old friend was testifying and saying things that he knew weren't true, I couldn't help but think about times that we spent together," Blagojevich said this week. "I couldn't help but think about . . . the shame that his father probably feels."

The expansive federal effort that could make Blagojevich the second consecutive Illinois governor to land behind bars -- George Ryan (R) remains in prison for corruption -- began more than six years ago. Many of his closest friends and colleagues have pleaded guilty or been convicted. One recently killed himself.

Now the focus turns to Blagojevich and his brother Robert, who briefly headed the former governor's campaign committee. Playing out before a packed gallery -- tickets are issued first come, first served at 7:30 a.m. -- the trial is expected to last three months or longer, but the competing strategies are emerging clearly.

The government aims to use a relentless accumulation of testimony and secretly taped conversations to prove that Rod Blagojevich fretted about money and decided even before he took office in 2003 to skim cash from state business. Two witnesses have said so.

As he won his first term, then his second, Blagojevich also allegedly directed associates to strong-arm business executives for campaign cash -- $25,000 for a seat on certain state boards, $500,000 from a road builders' organization, $50,000 from the head of a children's hospital in return for releasing $8 million in Medicaid money the state owed.

Monk said businessman and Democratic fundraiser Antoin "Tony" Rezko, convicted in 2008 of influence-peddling in the Blagojevich administration, led the early schemes and paid Monk illicitly. The plan, he said, was not to distribute Blagojevich's share "until he got out of office."

Rezko, a former friend of and fundraiser for President Obama, is also accused by prosecutors of paying Blagojevich's wife, Patti, $150,000 for little or no work. That was after Blagojevich's circle allegedly decided that putting her on the governor's campaign payroll would attract too much attention.

Blagojevich's governing philosophy, Assistant U.S. Attorney Carrie Hamilton told jurors, was "What about me?"

Patti Blagojevich is named as a conspirator in the case, but has not been charged. After taking a reality show role to make money before the trial, she sits each day in the front row of the courtroom gallery, talking on her cellphone during breaks.

Blagojevich's attorneys, however, are mounting a challenge that could be called the indignation defense. Supported by the silent scoffs and the mocking smiles of the defendant, lawyers Sam Adam Jr. and Sheldon Sorosky suggest that their client was manipulated, the case is a setup and the evidence is a sham.

"He's broke," Adam told jurors. "You know why he's broke? It's not hard. He didn't take a dime."

Rezko, convicted of 16 felony charges in 2008, was one of the bad guys close to Blagojevich, Adam said. Noting that Blagojevich aimed to become president, he mocked Monk's assertion that Rezko would hold the governor's share of the illegal proceeds until after he left office.

"Are you telling the ladies and gentlemen of the jury," Adam said, "that he's going to wait on his money until he's left the White House?"

Monk pleaded guilty and is seeking leniency in return for his cooperation. He was steadfastly glum, often restricting himself to one-word answers.

"You're making it up so you can get your two years and putting it on his back, aren't you, Mr. Monk?" Adam said.

"No," Monk answered, bracing for the next challenge.

Monk also figured in the attempt by prosecutors to blunt Blagojevich's claim that he was ignorant of his friends' ways. Assistant U.S. Attorney Christopher Niewoehner asked Monk about efforts to require prospective members of state boards to make $25,000 donations to the Friends of Blagojevich committee.

"Do you need a lot of knowledge of the Chicago political arena," Niewoehner asked, "to know that you're not allowed to trade board and commission spots for $25,000 contributions?"

"No," Monk said.