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Infrastructure package is dead this year, Minnesota legislative leaders say
Infrastructure package is dead this year, Minnesota legislative leaders say

Yahoo

time29-05-2025

  • Business
  • Yahoo

Infrastructure package is dead this year, Minnesota legislative leaders say

Photo by. A bill to fund critical public works projects — including upgrading the state's roads, protecting Minnesota's drinking water and expanding city sewers — is dead this year, legislative leaders said Thursday. The Minnesota Legislature in even years typically passes an infrastructure package — known as a 'bonding bill' around the Capitol because it's funded with borrowed money — that costs hundreds of millions and sometimes billions of dollars. But partisan tensions appear to have won out this year and killed the bill's prospects. Bonding bills require a 60% supermajority in both the House and Senate to pass, meaning it needs robust bipartisan support. Legislative leaders and Gov. Tim Walz are working to button up budget bills in hopes of convening a special session next week to pass the biennium budget, after failing to complete their work before the constitutionally mandated May 19 adjournment. If lawmakers fail to pass a budget by June 30, the government will shut down. The DFL-controlled Legislature passed a $2.6 billion infrastructure package in the 2023 session, including $1.5 billion in bonds, following three legislative sessions without an infrastructure deal. The 2023 package included more than $317 million for upgrades to college buildings in the University of Minnesota and Minnesota State systems, $9 million for security upgrades at the State Capitol and $443 million for economic development initiatives, much of which went to Twin Cities metro nonprofits that assist people of color. Last year, the Legislature failed to pass a bonding bill. Democrats at the time blamed Republicans for making their necessary votes contingent on Democrats killing the Equal Rights Amendment. House DFL caucus leader Melissa Hortman on Thursday told reporters that Senate Minority Leader Mark Johnson, R-East Grand Forks, is trying the same tactics this year. 'Johnson has a price tag that includes lots and lots of other things far outside the bonding bill, and so I think he's going to overplay his hand, exactly as he did in 2024 and there will again not be a bonding bill,' Hortman said, laying the blame on Senate Republicans. Asked what kinds of demands Johnson is seeking, Hortman said, 'He just wants to rewrite every other bill.' In a statement, Johnson said Democrats refused to compromise. 'Democrats are the only ones unwilling to work together to pass (a) bonding bill and are playing political blame games to appease their activist base,' Johnson said. A lack of bonding bill this year could also cost Minnesota more money in the long run. Republicans in Congress are considering eliminating a tax break that lowers the cost of public infrastructure projects across the country, as they try to gather savings to pay for a major tax cut that would especially benefit the wealthy. If passed, the cost of borrowing for state and local governments would increase, meaning taxpayers would foot the bill.

Kit Bond, former Missouri governor, U.S. Senator, dead at 86
Kit Bond, former Missouri governor, U.S. Senator, dead at 86

Yahoo

time13-05-2025

  • Politics
  • Yahoo

Kit Bond, former Missouri governor, U.S. Senator, dead at 86

Then U.S. Sen. Christopher "Kit" Bond heads for a closed session of the Senate about the new START Treaty, a ratification of a nuclear-arms treaty with Russia, in the U.S. Capitol December 20, 2010 in Washington, DC. (). Former Missouri governor and U.S. Sen. Kit Bond, who was the youngest person ever elected to the state's highest office, died Tuesday. He was 86. Bond was on a Missouri ballot nine times and lost only two races, a bid for Congress in 1968 and his bid for a second consecutive term as governor in 1976. He went on to win a new term as governor in 1980 and four subsequent elections to the Senate starting in 1986. When he was elected auditor in 1970, Bond was the first Republican to win that office since 1928. When he was elected governor, Bond was the first Republican to win that office since 1940. In his first term as governor, Bond was seen as a moderate, working to strengthen consumer protection laws and backing the Equal Rights Amendment. The latter position, as well as his support for President Gerald Ford against Ronald Reagan for the 1976 GOP presidential nomination cost him support in his party and was blamed in part for his loss for re-election. In his second term, Bond was faced with a major budget shortfall and economic recession. To combat the recession, Bond worked with lawmakers to pass a $600 million bond issue to fund new state facilities and college campus buildings. The Parents as Teachers program was also launched in Bond's second term, about the same time his son Sam Bond was born. When he became a senator, Bond sponsored legislation to make it a national program. 'I think that Parents as Teachers is Missouri's greatest export,' Bond said in an oral history interview in 2014. 'We believe that when you advocate Parents as Teachers, you are telling people across the country that Parents as Teachers is Missouri's greatest export.' In that same interview, Bond said 'the job of governor was one of the most satisfying jobs I've ever had.' Bond was born in Mexico, Missouri, the grandson of the founder of A.P. Green Industries, a fireclay manufacturer and a major employer at the time. He attended a boarding school in Massachusetts, Princeton University as an undergraduate and studied law in Virginia, practicing law in Washington, D.C., until he returned home in 1967. His time away became an issue in the 1972 campaign for governor, when opponents alleged he had violated the Constitutional requirement that governors be residents of the state for 12 years prior to their election. The Missouri Supreme Court ruled Bond was qualified to be governor because he always intended to return to Missouri despite his years away. 'It has been said that residence is largely a matter of intention, to be determined not only from the utterances of the person whose residence is in issue but also from his acts and in the light of all the facts and circumstances of the case,' the ruling in Bond's case stated. As a senator, Bond became known for his work on the Senate Intelligence Committee, his commitment to national defense and, as illustrated by buildings like the Christopher S. Bond Life Sciences Center at the University of Missouri, the source of earmarked federal funds for local projects. In a tribute on the Senate floor in 2010, U.S. Sen. Claire McCaskill, a Democrat, praised Bond as a fighter and a man of honor. 'There was never a doubt in all of these years of Kit Bond's service that this was not a man of the very highest integrity,' McCaskill said. 'And finally, a work ethic. And gee howdy, Missourians want a work ethic. They want somebody who understands that they are working hard and they want to see you working hard, and that is exactly what Senator Bond has done for these 42 years.' At a retirement dinner in Bond's honor in 2010, Thomas Payne, then-dean of the University of Missouri's College of Agriculture, Food and Natural Resources, hoisted a large cardboard cutout of an ATM machine with Bond's face on it in reference to the numerous appropriations Bond helped secure for the school. 'You're the chief purveyor of porcine products,' Payne said. In a 2009 article in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Bond defended earmarks. 'Trusting local leaders and empowering them to fund critical projects that serve a compelling state or local need is a much better way to help Missouri,' Bond wrote. Following the news of his death, Gov. Mike Kehoe paid tribute to Bond. In a statement, Kehoe called Bond 'a skilled statesman, public servant, and a man who truly loved Missouri. I am blessed to have known Kit and honored to call him a friend and a mentor.' During the legislative session Tuesday, state Sen. Lincoln Hough, a Springfield Republican, announced Bond had died and also paid tribute to him. 'The impact of Kit will outlive everyone in this chamber, everyone who serves in the House of Representatives, and his impact will outlive governors,' Hough said. 'We don't have a lot of people like that anymore. We have a lot of people that want a quick hit and post on social media. It is lucky to have lived in a time that he didn't have to put up with a lot of that crap.' Other remembrances of Bond hit similar themes. Former U.S. Sen. Jack Danforth, who was attorney general during Bond's first term as governor and worked alongside him in the U.S. Senate from 1987 to 1995, called Bond a role model of a public servant. 'Kit Bond was one of the most consequential people in the history of our state,' Danforth said. 'At each level of his career, he knew the responsibilities of the job he was elected to do, and he did that job very well. As a U.S. Senator, he focused on results for Missouri. From highways and bridges to Parents as Teachers, his contributions are tangible.' U.S. Sen. Eric Schmitt, a Republican who now holds the seat Bond held, said he was sad to hear of his death. 'Kit proudly served our state as governor and then in the U.S. Senate for 24 years, with his trademark sense of humor and dedication to making Missouri the best state in our union,' Schmitt said. 'He helped to improve the lives of generations of Missourians across the Show Me State.' State Senate President Pro Tem Cindy O'Lauhlin, a Republican from Shelbina, said in a statement that Bond never lost touch with his Missouri roots. 'Missouri lost a giant today,' O'Laughlin said. 'Kit Bond dedicated his life to serving this state with integrity, humility, and an unshakable commitment to doing what was right. Kit Bond was more than a statesman. He was a pillar of Missouri history and a steady hand during uncertain times. From serving as one of our youngest governors to decades in the U.S. Senate, his life was defined by a deep commitment to public service.' One of the most difficult political puzzles of Bond's second term as governor was how to divvy up the $600 million in bonds for state construction. Former state Rep. Chris Kelly, a Columbia Democrat elected in 1982, said Bond finessed that job well. Bond kept his eye on the goal of the bond issue, which was to generate jobs and economic growth, Kelly said. 'He got lots of people to work in the state, building infrastructure that we needed very badly,' Kelly said. Kelly, who was in office from 1983 to 1994 and served again from 2009 to 2015, said the current legislature isn't living up to that legacy. The decision to kill a capital spending bill with more than $500 million of projects for communities around the state is an example, Kelly said. 'His great achievement was this $600 million bond issue,' Kelly said, 'and it's tragically ironic that the legislature would fail to do what he did so well on the occasion of his passing.' SUBSCRIBE: GET THE MORNING HEADLINES DELIVERED TO YOUR INBOX

Ed Martin Called Jan. 6 ‘Mardi Gras.' Now He's Trying to Put a Guy in Jail for a Nonviolent Protest.
Ed Martin Called Jan. 6 ‘Mardi Gras.' Now He's Trying to Put a Guy in Jail for a Nonviolent Protest.

Politico

time08-05-2025

  • Politics
  • Politico

Ed Martin Called Jan. 6 ‘Mardi Gras.' Now He's Trying to Put a Guy in Jail for a Nonviolent Protest.

Donald Trump's Justice Department is trying to jail a guy for trespassing on federal property in order to mount an illegal protest — a nonviolent version of what the president pardoned 1,500 people for doing. And the case is being handled by the office of interim U.S. Attorney Ed Martin, the Trump ally who once represented Jan. 6 defendants and described the day as 'Mardi Gras in D.C.' On taking office, Martin summarily demoted veteran prosecutors who pursued Jan. 6 cases, part of a controversial record that this week has suddenly put his nomination in jeopardy. Now this little-noticed prosecution looks likely to become a test of whether Trump's pardons have created new legal defenses for people who get arrested at Washington demonstrations. I spoke to a half-dozen lawyers who have worked both sides of protest arrests and they all said the legacy of Jan. 6 is likely to shape future proceedings, either in court or in the minds of jurors. The defendant's own attorney, Robert Haferd, signaled the strategy when he said in an interview: 'Why is this harmless, conscientious, respectful, nonviolent, organized demonstration being prosecuted seeking a conviction when, on the other hand, other violent, disgraceful mob-style vigilantism is being pardoned?' Indeed, when marauding rioters get off scot free, it has a way of changing the culture for everyone. The specifics of the case are laughably mild: According to charging documents, a longtime activist named Adam Eidinger was among a group that went to the front steps of the National Archives on Jan. 10, climbed ladders to the top of its Corinthian columns and raised a 40-foot banner urging then-President Joe Biden to recognize the Equal Rights Amendment. After police arrived, six demonstrators were arrested for unlawful entry, similar to the charge that faced 95 percent of Jan. 6 participants. The arrests happened without incident; the activists never went inside the building. 'I followed all orders' from law enforcement, Eidinger told me. There were no tasers, bear-spray canisters or purloined metal barriers involved. In a Washington still haunted by images of a frenzied pro-Trump mob beating up cops and trashing the Capitol, this isn't exactly the stuff of nightmares. In short order, the offending banner was gone, the original one was back and there was no indication that anything had happened. If Jan. 6 was Mardi Gras, the Archives incident was a sleepy Sunday morning in Lent. And yet Eidinger, unlike the pardoned mob that stormed the Capitol, still faces the possibility of jail time for this much more sedate stunt just a few blocks away. In February, Martin's office let the other arrestees take deferred-prosecution deals that should lead to dropped charges, a common outcome for arrests at demonstrations. Eidinger, with a record of left-wing protests and civil-disobedience arrests, didn't get the deal. He goes to trial in October. 'It doesn't seem fair on multiple levels,' Eidinger told me. 'I'm a peaceful demonstrator, I haven't been violent ever, and I wasn't even the one hanging the banner. Just because you're in the presence of a demonstration doesn't mean you're criminally liable for what others are doing. I find it ironic that the guy who made the same argument on behalf of so many people is now pursuing the case against me.' The U.S. Attorney's office declined comment about Eidinger's case and whether Martin's Jan. 6 record could imperil a prosecution. The office may have bigger concerns at the moment: Martin, who is serving in an interim capacity, must be confirmed by the Senate before May 20. His prospects have suddenly become iffy, with Democrats demanding a hearing in order to ask about an array of controversies that have dogged the prosecutor's brief tenure. Though Trump on Monday made a lengthy Truth Social post lobbying for Martin, North Carolina Republican Sen. Thom Tillis on Tuesday announced that he would not vote to confirm the nominee, citing Jan 6. In fact, the question of how the Jan. 6 pardons affect criminal prosecutions is going to be with us for a while, and not just in cases involving people like Eidinger, a relentless activist who over the years has thrown himself into issues ranging from decriminalizing marijuana to blocking public stadium funding. Since the dawn of the republic, people have made their way to Washington to protest. And some portion of those people have gotten themselves arrested. The charges often get dropped, but for those who actually face trial, the pardons are going to be an awfully useful rhetorical device. 'There are those in higher levels of law enforcement authority who are celebrating and countenancing and supporting a violent attack on the Capitol, and have no problem with that, and yet wish to bring the entire force of the state to bear on nonviolent protesters,' said Mara Verheyden-Hilliard, a longtime lawyer for free-speech causes and activists in Washington. 'I think people would use it to show the nature of the prosecution, that it's an ideological prosecution.' Alyse Adamson, a former D.C. prosecutor, said she expected that prosecutors would try to keep Jan. 6 from coming up in a trial, raising objections that invoking the assault could inflame the jury's emotions. But she said that defense attorneys would still lean heavily on it in pretrial motions, perhaps by noting the administration's warm treatment of the rioters. 'I would say, 'Your honor … why is my client not being treated the same?'' Even if a judge puts the kibosh on courtroom invocations of the insurrection, it's pretty hard to erase memories of that day. A savvy lawyer can conjure them without overtly discussing Trump's pardons or the U.S. Attorney's praise of Jan. 6. 'There are ways to present this case that will allow the jury to see those parallels,' Adamson said. 'They can say, 'What my client did is nonviolent,' without even having to mention Ed Martin. If a skillful defense attorney finds a way to powerfully contextualize what his guy did, it could invite jury nullification.' As a veteran of the office Martin now runs, Adamson views jury nullification as a terrible outcome. But it may be an inevitable byproduct of the administration's Jan 6 actions. To use a phrase once favored by law-and-order pols, we've defined deviancy down. That'll make it hard to bust others for anything similar. And it'll make it especially hard to convict them for something so much less frightening, like helping hang an ERA banner at the Archives. So far, there aren't a lot of test cases. D.C.'s Metropolitan Police Department estimates that only a couple of dozen people have been arrested at protests this year; the U.S. Capitol Police says there are a few hundred protest arrests annually, usually for the charge of 'crowding, obstructing and incommoding.' Most of those cases, including last week's arrest of activist minister William Barber during a 'Moral Monday' protest that blocked the Rotunda, wind up with a 'post and forfeit' situation. That's the equivalent of a ticket with no further proceedings. As for Eidinger, he said he would have taken the deferred-prosecution deal given to his compatriots. And he said he's not looking forward to the six months of jail time he could face in the event that he's convicted by a jury. But he did say he was happy with how the protest turned out. Soon afterward, Biden announced that he agreed that the ERA had indeed been legitimately ratified by enough states to become the 28th Amendment. Of course, a couple days after that, the Trump administration was in office, and it doesn't agree with the interpretation. The matter will likely be settled by a court. Ironically, Martin himself got his political start as a close aide to conservative activist Phyllis Schlafly, who rose to fame in the 1970s as the face of opposition to the very same amendment. 'I have never been involved in a demonstration that had such a response from the White House,' Eidinger said. 'It's taken over 100 years to get this amendment in. We're part of the story now.'

Former Illinois Gov. George Ryan, who halted executions and went to prison for corruption, dies at 91
Former Illinois Gov. George Ryan, who halted executions and went to prison for corruption, dies at 91

NBC News

time03-05-2025

  • Politics
  • NBC News

Former Illinois Gov. George Ryan, who halted executions and went to prison for corruption, dies at 91

SPRINGFIELD, Ill. — Former Illinois Gov. George Ryan, disgraced by a corruption scandal that landed him in prison yet heralded by some for clearing the state's death row, has died. He was 91. Kankakee County Coroner Robert Gessner, a family friend, said Ryan died Friday afternoon at his home in Kankakee, where he was receiving hospice care. Ryan started out a small-town pharmacist but wound up running one of the country's largest states. Along the way, the tough-on-crime Republican experienced a conversion on the death penalty and won international praise by halting executions as governor and, eventually, emptying death row. He served only one term as governor, from 1999 to 2003, that ended amid accusations he used government offices to reward friends, win elections and hide corruption that played a role in the fiery deaths of six children. Eventually, Ryan was convicted of corruption charges and sentenced to 6½ years in federal prison. During his more than five years behind bars, Ryan worked as a carpenter and befriended fellow inmates, many of whom addressed him as 'governor.' He was released in January 2013, weeks before his 79th birthday, looking thinner and more subdued. He'd been defiant heading to prison. The night before he went in, Ryan insisted he was innocent and would prove it. But when Ryan asked President George W. Bush to grant him clemency in 2008, he said he accepted the verdict against him and felt 'deep shame.' 'I apologize to the people of Illinois for my conduct,' Ryan said at the time. Ryan was still serving his sentence when his wife, Lura Lynn, died in June 2011. He was briefly released to be at her deathbed but wasn't allowed to attend her funeral. On the day he left prison and returned to the Kankakee home where he and his wife had raised their children, one of his grandchildren handed him an urn containing his wife's ashes. Born in Iowa and raised in Kankakee, Ryan married his high school sweetheart, followed his father in becoming a pharmacist and had six children. Those who knew Ryan described him as the ultimate family man and a neighbor's neighbor, someone who let local kids use his basketball court or rushed to Dairy Queen to buy treats when they missed the ice cream truck. 'He's even offered to deliver the papers,' newspaper delivery boy Ben Angelo said when Ryan was running for governor. 'He was serious.' In 1968, Ryan was appointed to fill an unexpired term on the county board, beginning a quick rise in politics. Eventually, he served as speaker of the Illinois House, lieutenant governor, secretary of state and, finally, governor. A glad-handing politician from the old school, Ryan emphasized pragmatism over ideology. He worked with officials from both parties and struck deals on the golf course or during evenings of cigars and booze. Ryan helped block the Equal Rights Amendment in the early 1980s during his term as speaker of the Illinois House, triggering some of the most heated demonstrations ever seen at the Capitol. 'They wrote my name in blood on the floor in front of the House, in front of the governor's office,' Ryan said. 'They were trying, hectic times, frankly.' His willingness to set aside party orthodoxy sometimes put him at odds with more conservative Republicans. He led a failed effort in 1989 to get the General Assembly to restrict assault weapons. He backed gambling expansion. He became the first governor to visit Cuba since Fidel Castro took power. And in 2000, after signing off on the execution of one killer, he decided not to carry out any more. He imposed a moratorium on executions and began reviewing reforms to a judicial system that repeatedly sentenced innocent men to die. Ultimately, Ryan decided no reforms would provide the certainty he wanted. In virtually his last act as governor, he emptied death row with pardons and commutations in 2003. 'Because the Illinois death penalty system is arbitrary and capricious — and therefore immoral — I no longer shall tinker with the machinery of death,' Ryan said. Ryan found himself mentioned as a contender for the Nobel Peace Prize at the same time federal prosecutors were closing in. Before year's end, he would be charged with taking payoffs, gifts and vacations in return for steering government contracts and leases to cronies, as well as lying to investigators and cheating on his taxes. Much of the illegal activity took place during Ryan's two terms as Illinois secretary of state, including the 1994 deaths of six children. They burned to death after their minivan struck a part that had fallen off a truck whose driver got his license illegally from Ryan's office. Federal investigators found that Ryan had turned the secretary of state's office into an arm of his political campaign, pressuring employees for contributions — some of which came through bribes from unqualified truck drivers for licenses. After the children's deaths, Ryan also gutted the part of his office responsible for rooting out corruption. Then as governor, he steered millions of dollars in state leases and contracts to political insiders who in turn provided gifts such as trips to a Jamaican resort and $145,000 loans to his brother's struggling business, investigators found. He was convicted on all charges April 17, 2006. The father of the six dead children criticized Ryan's attitude at the time. 'There was no remorse in George Ryan after the verdict. That didn't surprise me. That's Ryan's same attitude, a chip on the shoulder,' said the Rev. Scott Willis. 'It makes it a little easier to feel elation. His attitude confirms the verdict was right.' Anger at Ryan weakened Republicans for years and energized the gubernatorial campaign of a charismatic young Democrat who promised to clean up Springfield — Rod Blagojevich. Later, as federal investigators probed his own conduct, Blagojevich would call for Ryan to be granted clemency and released from prison.

Former Illinois Gov. George Ryan dies at 91. He halted executions and went to prison for corruption

time03-05-2025

  • Politics

Former Illinois Gov. George Ryan dies at 91. He halted executions and went to prison for corruption

SPRINGFIELD, Ill. -- Former Illinois Gov. George Ryan, disgraced by a corruption scandal that landed him in prison yet heralded by some for clearing the state's death row, has died. He was 91. Kankakee County Coroner Robert Gessner, a family friend, said Ryan died Friday afternoon at his home in Kankakee, where he was receiving hospice care. Ryan started out a small-town pharmacist but wound up running one of the country's largest states. Along the way, the tough-on-crime Republican experienced a conversion on the death penalty and won international praise by halting executions as governor and, eventually, emptying death row. He served only one term as governor, from 1999 to 2003, that ended amid accusations he used government offices to reward friends, win elections and hide corruption that played a role in the fiery deaths of six children. Eventually, Ryan was convicted of corruption charges and sentenced to 6½ years in federal prison. During his more than five years behind bars, Ryan worked as a carpenter and befriended fellow inmates, many of whom addressed him as 'governor.' He was released in January 2013, weeks before his 79th birthday, looking thinner and more subdued. He'd been defiant heading to prison. The night before he went in, Ryan insisted he was innocent and would prove it. But when Ryan asked President George W. Bush to grant him clemency in 2008, he said he accepted the verdict against him and felt 'deep shame.' 'I apologize to the people of Illinois for my conduct,' Ryan said at the time. Ryan was still serving his sentence when his wife, Lura Lynn, died in June 2011. He was briefly released to be at her deathbed but wasn't allowed to attend her funeral. On the day he left prison and returned to the Kankakee home where he and his wife had raised their children, one of his grandchildren handed him an urn containing his wife's ashes. Born in Iowa and raised in Kankakee, Ryan married his high school sweetheart, followed his father in becoming a pharmacist and had six children. Those who knew Ryan described him as the ultimate family man and a neighbor's neighbor, someone who let local kids use his basketball court or rushed to Dairy Queen to buy treats when they missed the ice cream truck. 'He's even offered to deliver the papers,' newspaper delivery boy Ben Angelo said when Ryan was running for governor. 'He was serious.' In 1968, Ryan was appointed to fill an unexpired term on the county board, beginning a quick rise in politics. Eventually, he served as speaker of the Illinois House, lieutenant governor, secretary of state and, finally, governor. A glad-handing politician from the old school, Ryan emphasized pragmatism over ideology. He worked with officials from both parties and struck deals on the golf course or during evenings of cigars and booze. Ryan helped block the Equal Rights Amendment in the early 1980s during his term as speaker of the Illinois House, triggering some of the most heated demonstrations ever seen at the Capitol. 'They wrote my name in blood on the floor in front of the House, in front of the governor's office,' Ryan said. 'They were trying, hectic times, frankly.' His willingness to set aside party orthodoxy sometimes put him at odds with more conservative Republicans. He led a failed effort in 1989 to get the General Assembly to restrict assault weapons. He backed gambling expansion. He became the first governor to visit Cuba since Fidel Castro took power. And in 2000, after signing off on the execution of one killer, he decided not to carry out any more. He imposed a moratorium on executions and began reviewing reforms to a judicial system that repeatedly sentenced innocent men to die. Ultimately, Ryan decided no reforms would provide the certainty he wanted. In virtually his last act as governor, he emptied death row with pardons and commutations in 2003. 'Because the Illinois death penalty system is arbitrary and capricious — and therefore immoral — I no longer shall tinker with the machinery of death,' Ryan said. Ryan found himself mentioned as a contender for the Nobel Peace Prize at the same time federal prosecutors were closing in. Before year's end, he would be charged with taking payoffs, gifts and vacations in return for steering government contracts and leases to cronies, as well as lying to investigators and cheating on his taxes. Much of the illegal activity took place during Ryan's two terms as Illinois secretary of state, including the 1994 deaths of six children. They burned to death after their minivan struck a part that had fallen off a truck whose driver got his license illegally from Ryan's office. Federal investigators found that Ryan had turned the secretary of state's office into an arm of his political campaign, pressuring employees for contributions — some of which came through bribes from unqualified truck drivers for licenses. After the children's deaths, Ryan also gutted the part of his office responsible for rooting out corruption. Then as governor, he steered millions of dollars in state leases and contracts to political insiders who in turn provided gifts such as trips to a Jamaican resort and $145,000 loans to his brother's struggling business, investigators found. He was convicted on all charges April 17, 2006. The father of the six dead children criticized Ryan's attitude at the time. 'There was no remorse in George Ryan after the verdict. That didn't surprise me. That's Ryan's same attitude, a chip on the shoulder,' said the Rev. Scott Willis. 'It makes it a little easier to feel elation. His attitude confirms the verdict was right.' Anger at Ryan weakened Republicans for years and energized the gubernatorial campaign of a charismatic young Democrat who promised to clean up Springfield — Rod Blagojevich. Later, as federal investigators probed his own conduct, Blagojevich would call for Ryan to be granted clemency and released from prison.

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