Clerk Shy & Out

ILLINOIS

Robert M. Sweitzer of Chicago is a man of great personal and political charm. Born 67 years ago at the corner of Wells and Van Buren Streets, he often took part in neighborhood blackface minstrel shows, could dance an excellent jig, played third base on a semiprofessional baseball team and was a contestant in billiard tournaments. Thousands of Chicagoans called him '"Bob." In 1910 he was elected Cook County Clerk. Twice he headed the Democratic city ticket against Mayor William Hale ("Big Bill") Thompson, losing without disgrace. Last November Sweitzer was elected Treasurer of Cook County. Last week it became apparent that the second biggest city in the land stood to lose $414,129 as the result of his 24-year tenure of the County-Clerkship.

Last autumn word went round among old-line Cook County Democrats that "there was danger of an explosion unless they raised a substantial amount to rescue Sweitzer." Forty thousand dollars was actually subscribed to bring the county's daily cash drawer up to par just before Clerk Sweitzer left office. But a real explosion took place when Sweitzer's successor asked for an audit of county funds. Biggest and most immediate deficiency was found in the fund into which delinquent taxes are paid. In the 24 years which Bob Sweitzer had been custodian of the fund, the audit showed at least $350,000 had vanished. Also raised when the County Board called Bob Sweitzer to account fortnight ago were the facts that he had apparently collected all interest on deposited county funds for his first eleven years in office, that he had used $75,000 of public money caught in a closed bank in 1920 as if it were his own.

Still loyal to Bob Sweitzer, whose nature is said to be as expansive as his face, many a Sweitzer friend could hardly believe the news. A few recalled that, on a salary of $9,000 a year, he had run through a long series of spectacular business failures. But Bob Sweitzer himself made a great show of unconcern. Blithe as a jaybird with a worm, he continued going to afternoon baseball games, banquets, told newshawks: "I'm not worried, only annoyed. I will ask for a reasonable time to check the audit. . . . There are some controversial items."

As the day of reckoning set by the County Board neared last week, Bob Sweitzer motored down to Terre Haute, Ind. to see his daughter graduate from a convent school. Back in Chicago, he maintained a fine show of aplomb, admitted a "100% moral responsibility," talked of paying $335,000, contesting the rest. Meantime, he held a succession of night conferences with his bondsmen, who were reported ready to renege on their $3,000,000 obligation on the grounds that Sweitzer had filed false information with them. Important Chicago politicians gave no indication of willingness to rescue reputedly penniless Bob Sweitzer from his financial jam although Sweitzer claimed that he had loaned $100,000 of the missing money to "political friends."

On the day he was supposed to repay the county, Bob Sweitzer appeared in the Board room with neither the $414,129, nor the $335,000, nor anything. He asked for and received an extension until 10:30 o'clock next morning. At that hour next day, seven Board members called at Sweitzer's office for the money. Sweitzer explained that since some of it was "coming from San Francisco," he wanted until 4 p. m. to make payment. Back in the Board room at 4:30, Bob Sweitzer asked for a further adjournment until 10:30 the following morning. "I can say," he promised, "that the funds are now in Chicago." A conference was called to give Bob Sweitzer opportunity to convince the Board of the elusive funds' whereabouts. For two hours Bob Sweitzer attempted unsuccessfully to "locate his principal" by telephone. At 9 p. m. the Board ended the prolonged Sweitzer fantasy by first offering him a chance to resign, then ousting him by a vote of 14-10-0. Simultaneously Bob Sweitzer's doom was doubly sealed when local Democratic bigwigs meeting at the Morrison Hotel firmly decided to sacrifice one of their oldest and best votegetters on a pyre of his own I.O.U.'s to replace him with the publicly immaculate clerk of the Municipal Court.

But Bob Sweitzer still had one last desperate trick up his sleeve. He barricaded himself in the Treasurer's office with 30 private detectives, held it until midnight when police with riot guns and tear gas appeared to remove him physically. After a quarter of a century on the public payroll, Bob Sweitzer reluctantly went home without a job. Where the missing $414,129 was coming from, still no one could say. But next day the State's prosecutors promised criminal action against ousted Treasurer Sweitzer on the theory that, while you cannot get blood out of a turnip, you can put the turnip in jail.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.