Her name was Lovana, but
everyone called her Lou.
There haven't been many
politicians like state Rep. Lou Jones in this world. The Chicago Democrat was
completely out front about whatever she was doing, and I don't think she ever
minced a single word in her entire career. She took on issues that almost
nobody else would touch, and she used every ounce of her being to force the
rest of us to see some harsh truths that we preferred to ignore.
Rep. Jones passed away
last week after a long bout with pneumonia.
Two years ago Jones
traveled to Dwight Correctional Center to meet with Debra Gindorf, a 40
year-old suburban woman who, 20 years before, had poisoned her children to
death and then tried taking her own life. Rep. Jones was often considered a
quintessential "black Chicago" legislator, but Gindorf is a white
woman from Zion. The visit wasn't about race, but about what Jones considered
to be justice.
Gindorf and her supporters
on the outside believe she was suffering from an extreme case of postpartum
depression when she killed her kids, and Jones fought hard for her release -
and was openly critical of Gov. Blagojevich for ignoring Gindorf's petitions.
How many politicians would
take up a cause like that? You wouldn't even need a whole hand to count them.
Jones never altered course
even after her House district changed to include thousands of new upscale
residents. I was one of those lakefront constituents for a while, and Jones
believed we could take care of ourselves, and, more importantly, thought we
should support her ideas and her ideals.
Jones was relentless, and,
as a result, just about everybody had a run-in with her at one time or another.
I had my share. Maybe more than my share. She had no fear. She'd tell you
exactly what was on her mind, and she could knock you right back on your heels.
Jones once so completely
flustered a previously unperturbable Chicago TV journalist that the reporter
was left a sputtering, speechless mess. I won't tell you what Lou said, but it
was probably the most outrageously hilarious thing I've heard in my 16 years in
this business.
Rep. Jones always reminded
me of a blues singer. It could have been the hard, handsome lines in her face
which practically gave us a map through the tough times, but also showed she
had come out the other side. Maybe it was the way she called everybody
"baby," like an oldtime musician would do. Or the way she dressed and
the jewelry she wore. Or the way she held herself. She had a South Side Blues
sensibility about her that let you know she was speaking from hard personal
experience. You also knew you were in the presence of "somebody" when
Lou was in the room. She couldn't be ignored, even if you tried.
She often used her
tough-talking reputation to her advantage, but truth be told the woman had a
heart as big as Illinois. Many people don't know that she was raising her seven
grandchildren, plus other kids she took in from time to time.
After looking over her
record in the House and thinking about Lou for several hours, I concluded that
Rep. Jones was, in her own way, a grandmother to Illinois' forgotten - the poor
of all colors, those with HIV/AIDS, children without parents, mothers with
nowhere to turn, teens who've run afoul of the law, the wrongly accused, the
doomed. To her, just about everybody had some good in them, and it bothered her
to no end that they were so cavalierly discarded.
But she also realized that
those in need required role models. Every year Jones sponsored a Woman's Day
luncheon in her district that featured successful women from all walks of life.
And then there was that
smile of hers. The House will never replace that big, gorgeous smile.
You could disagree with
her politics, been irritated at her ways, even personally tried to avoid her
when she was on one of her rants, but everyone who knew her will admit that her
passing creates a giant hole in the Illinois House. I'm not sure we'll ever see
her like again.
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Rich Miller also publishes
Capitol Fax, a daily political newsletter. He can be reached at thecapitolfaxblog.com.