Free American Pharaoh by Elizabeth Taylor, Adam Cohen Page A

granting of favors was a form of outreach to the community, any ward resident not known to be actively hostile to
     the machine was eligible for help. Complaints about city services, like missing stop signs or irregular garbage pickups, were
     easily handled. If a constituent had his water cut off, a single phone call from the ward office to the water department could
     get it restored. The ward organization had volunteer lawyers available in the evenings to provide free legal advice on everything
     from immigration paperwork to criminal law problems. Precinct captains like Daley could find summer jobs for neighborhood
     youth, arrange scholarships to the University of Illinois, and even get constituents hospital care or glass eyes. “Everybody
     needs a favor sometimes, but some people are too dumb to ask for it,” a saloonkeeper-alderman from the 43rd Ward once reflected.
     “So I say to my captains, ‘If you notice a hole on the sidewalk in front of a fellow’s house, call him a week before election
     and ask him if he would like it fixed. It could never do any harm to find out.’” 52
    Machine politicians were adept at taking credit for every favor they dispensed — so voters would remember on election day.
     When machine aldermen contacted city agencies for their constituents, they requested written responses. Letters agreeing to
     take the requested action were sent to the alderman, so he could in turn pass the good news on to the voter. Letters of refusal
     went directly from the agency to the constituent. Machine officials often took more than their share of credit. When one alderman
     got a stop sign installed at a dangerous intersection, he sent a letter to every registered voter in his ward claiming that
     it was the machine’s doing — even though it began with local block associations, who had conducted a petition drive for the
     sign. Sometimes the machine took credit less formally. If the organization succeeded in intervening with the water department
     and getting a voter’s water restored, one machine operative says, “on election day the precinct captain would ask you about
     your water.” 53
    Working as a precinct captain in the 11th Ward organization, Daley got an ideal introduction to the craft of machine politics.
     In the weeks before an election, the precinct captains were expected to canvass each home in their precinct at least twice
     to find out which way every voter was leaning — an early forerunner of the opinion poll. A captain was expected to be able
     to predict his vote almost exactly; missing by more than ten or so votes could result in a reprimand. A few days before the
     election, the precinct captain reported the results of the canvass to his ward committeeman. The committeeman, in turn, delivered
     the aggregated numbers for his ward to the machine boss. In addition to giving the machine a preview of how things looked
     for the election, the precinct-by-precinct canvass allowed captains to familiarize themselves with the individual circumstances
     of every voter. A captain could find out which of his voters were wavering and needed further persuasion, which needed transportation
     to the polls, and which would need to be reminded to vote. He could also learn which voters were determined to vote Republican,
     and therefore should not be encouraged to vote. A captain’s machinations to maximize the Democratic vote in his precinct could
     be quite elaborate. Just before the 1939 mayoral election, an Italian family with six voting-age members moved into Arvey’s
     24th Ward. The precinct captain paid them regular visits, discussing over red wine how they planned to vote. “Six votes is
     an awful lot,” noted Arvey. But the captain soon realized that the head of the household was related to a leading Chicago
     Republican. When the captain asked him to vote in the Democratic primary, he refused. “I can’t do that!” he said. “My cousin
     is a Republican committeeman.