Ed Burke Sentenced to Prison: 'There's More to Life Than a Little Money, You Know'

The heat broke Monday, a beautiful, clear, low-humid early summer day in Chicago that is beginning to end. A good time to go out, free and easy. I rode my bike to the paint store, knelt down in the garden. The very last place anyone wants to be is in a courtroom, especially if you're the guilty party, like former City Council member Ed Burke, waiting to see how long you'll be incarcerated.

Citing his role in “this erosion…this erosion of our democracy,” Judge Virginia Kendall sentenced Burke to two years in prison, plus a $2 million fine.

I wonder which one hurts the most? For a man who would put his reputation on the line, he could make a little more money and gain a client. Above a Burger King driveway easement. I'm always amazed at how little people waste their lives. For Dan Rostenkowski, it was postage stamps, crystal and a few chairs. George Ryan received a big return from vacation. Rod Blagojevich got nothing, but tried to destroy a children's hospital.

Two years. Not the 10 sought by the prosecution. A light sentence, but more time in prison than anyone, let alone an octogenarian with nine-tenths of his life behind him, wants to contemplate.

Give Burke credit. Unlike Blago, who multiplied his own prison sentence by being too stupid to realize he had done anything wrong, Burke admitted his guilt.

“The fault lies with me and me alone,” he said.

It is refreshing. We live in an age of denial, where no one is so caught in the act that they cannot offload their responsibilities elsewhere. Then again, Ed Burke has always had style.

It will be in a minimum security federal prison. It's not quite a resort, but it won't pass a tin cup on the bars either.

But still, prison. Lights on, lights off, go here, go there. It's like being sentenced to two years in prison in a facility with cinder block walls and neon lights, halfway between middle school and the worst summer camp ever.

Was I the only one, when Burke received his punishment, who thought of Frances McDormand's big speech at the end of the Coen brothers' darkly comic thriller, “Fargo?” »

Heavily pregnant Police Chief Marge Gunderson drives a criminal to his date with justice and recounts his crimes.

“So that was Mrs. Lundegaard on the floor in there?” » she intones, in her dark Minnesota accent, yah-hey-dere. “And I guess he was your accomplice in the wood chipper.” And these three people in Brainerd. And why? For a little money. There's a lot more to life than a little money, you know. You do not know it ? There you go, and it's a beautiful day. GOOD. I just don't understand.

Burke probably couldn't help it. After half a century of power and habit, he expected that anyone who wanted to shake things up in the city would also throw business at him. His interests and those of the city were one. He didn't need money, nor did he need to buy more expensive suits. Such quality doesn't wear out or go out of style. It was just Monopoly money at that point, another marker of success, like a Brioni label.

This has to be the most infuriating thing. He was already rich. He sent himself to prison out of habit. For pushing too hard on a federal wiretap to get more business he didn't need. There's a lesson in there somewhere: know when you've had enough. I can buy my suits from Suits 20/20, but I don't need to extort money from anyone to pay for them.

In a sense, Burke was already in a prison of ego, power and money. Maybe going to a real prison would free him a little.

The judge mentioned letters of support for Burke from people he had been kind to over the years. And he tried to give back, in his own way. Maybe that's something he can think about now, how to continue to give back. Not redeeming your reputation is impossible. But endure what must be endured. Either way, I know I'm not the only one wishing him luck.