Dramatization of Meeting with John Peterson

Monday morning came and the city workers arrived to find me in my little abode. I greeted them in my customary manner—I would make a good doorman. For breakfast, I snacked on some fruit. It was about ten-thirty when Alderman Joel Sandberg arrived. His hair was a little shorter, his beard gone, the mustache thicker. "How you doing?" he said, stopping and leaning against the interior brick wall. He looked uncomfortable, fidgeting.

"As well as can be expected," I said. The two of us smiled. Without saying a word, Joel hung around a moment and it was clear that he had something to say. "Do you bring any news?" I asked; a familiar refrain.

He fidgeted some more. "Manny asked me out for a beer on Friday."

I knew Joel wasn’t here to tell me about some social outing with the Mayor. I tensed and made a come-out-with-it motion.

"He talked about some things—weird things," continued Joel.

The anticipation consumed me. "What did he say?" I asked.

"I'm not sure if I'm supposed to tell you or not. I asked him if it would be all right, he wouldn't say."

"You’ve got to tell me,” I said. “Singer would never have told you if he didn't want me to know."

Joel nodded. "Probably—I'm sure he wanted deniability. But, after he told me, he looked like a free man, like a great weight was lifted from his chest."

The foreplay was driving me nuts. “Is this some kind of joke?” I said disgustedly. “Are you setting me up?”

Joel just shook his head no.

"God damn it, you're killing me,” I said. “Out with it."

"The cop, the one who told you that 'no gay man could bring charges against a real man without defaming his character' was Floyd Picardy, the son of City Clerk Wayne Picardy. That's why they covered it up."

And just like that, the question that haunted me for three years was answered. "Oh my God; shit, Picardy!" I grabbed the door handle to steady myself. The old man’s strange behavior back when I filed my petitions for mayor suddenly made sense. I stood there stunned, but not so much that I wasn’t able to resume my interrogation of Joel a few moments later. "What else did he say?"

"He said that Butch was suspended shortly after they heard about the investigation conducted by Assistant State’s Attorney Peacock."

I was totally confused. "Who’s Butch?"

"That's what Floyd Picardy called himself, Butch Picardy."

"Figures," I said with a grin.

"Manny said that every time you brought it up, during your campaign, at the city council, it hit them again, like a ghost that wouldn't die. They were all tormented—Manny, Wayne. You kept on pushing, wouldn't let it rest. Now I guess it’s all come out."

“Manny wasn’t even mayor at the time. Why would he care?”

“They’re all friends,” Joel said, uneasily, with little conviction.

“Friends? Violate the constitution for a friend—in a rival political party?"

“You can speculate all you want,” said Joel. “I’ve heard nothing and I know nothing on that matter.”

“I know nothing,” I said, mocking him by mimicking the funny Nazi Sergeant Shultz on the TV show, Hogan’s Heroes. Joel laughed nervously.

"I didn't see Manny come in this morning,” I said. “It’s time for the two of us to talk."

"That’ll be hard,” said Joel. “He left for a conference and won't be back until next week. Very convenient,” he added wryly.

I shrugged. "I guess it doesn't matter…You realize I'm going to the press with this."

Joel nodded. “Listen, there is a city council meeting tonight. Alderman Harrison and I want Sheila Swanson, our Human Relations Officer, to investigate this whole thing, statute of limitations or not. We want to know who the second cop was and where he’s working today."

"That’s incredible. Has she started investigating?"

"That's the problem,” said Joel, “Manny told Sheila to back off. He told her that he was handling the case personally."

"Now that he’s let the cat out of the bag about the Picardys,” I said, “maybe he’s ready for a full-scale investigation."

"No, I called him on the phone, today. He said he’s still handling the case himself."

"Shit, what is that man covering up? Wayne Picardy is the bombshell. What more can there be?"

"It gets curiouser and curiouser," said Joel. "That's why at tonight's council meeting we are going to try and get a resolution through to override Mayor Singer and put Sheila Swanson on the case. Unfortunately, it requires a two-thirds majority and that does not seem likely."

"Good luck, and as I said before, this entire revelation is going to the press. That ought to get the council moving.” I said it like it was normal conversation, but it was all happening so fast and I felt at that moment as though my entire life had been vindicated.

"Do what you have to,” said Joel. “I've told you everything." Without saying goodbye, he exited, went to his car and drove off.

I went to the pay phone, called Chicago and got Ellen. Samantha was at work. "It's all breaking. The cop was the son of City Clerk Wayne Picardy. That's why they covered it up. The mayor, in a round-about manner, had Alderman Sandberg slip me the news." My heart was beating so fast, I could barely talk.

“Do you think this is a set-up?” she asked.

“No way! Joel’s face told me he was telling the truth. It’s Joel Sandberg, for God’s sake, progressive, good government, all that. No, you could take what he said to the bank.”

"Shit Rosen, you did it! Does the press know?"

I found myself hyperventilating and took a deep slow breath. "I'm calling them as soon as I hang up."

"Samantha's off Friday,” said Ellen. “We'll be down Friday morning."

"Good. We can get off a new press release. Who knows what developments will happen between now and then? There's a city council meeting tonight. It's possible they will get the Urbana Human Relations Officer on the case. They need a two-thirds majority to override Singer, who still seems to be covering something up or hiding something. I can’t figure out why he would oppose an investigation."

"I better get off the phone and let you call the press before somebody offs you to keep the whole thing secret."

"Yeah, I thought of that. I’m calling them now. Bye." I hung up from Ellen and began to call the press from some numbers I had written down, fantasizing, as I dialed, a sniper two blocks away, sighting my head in the cross-hairs. The thought of being offed made it hard to hold on to the coins as I recalled the dormitory incident four years earlier when an artillery shell intended for me whizzed within an inch of my next door neighbor head.

I used the last of my change to call the Daily Illini, the News-Gazette, and the Courier. All three reporters arrived at city hall around the same time. First they clustered around me to get my story. One of them phoned Alderman Joel Sandberg from the foyer and confirmed that his story and mine were the same. Together, they went in to interview City Clerk Wayne Picardy.

The minutes ticked by slowly, as I waited for the reporters to return from their interview. I couldn’t keep still. I went out to smoke and came back in. They were still up there and I felt a combination of joy, excitement, anxiety and apprehension. I paced the foyer and popped a Valium to calm down.

The reporters came down the steps together. I held open the inner door. "Did he admit it?" I asked the first.

"He said 'No comment', but the guy looked miserable. He didn't deny it, so that's significant." The other two nodded as they all quickly left the building and scattered.

I was Dorothy entering the gates of the Emerald City.