Chicago Sun-Times: Gin-lovin' mayor has way to bolster Vegas bankroll

Imagine the outcry we'd hear in Chicago if Mayor Daley held a press conference one fine day to announce that he was officially endorsing a particular type of red wine--say, a nice Kendall Jackson Merlot.

"The medical community says red wine is good for the heart," Daley might say, "and I'd rather listen to the medical community than the journalism community, heh heh heh. Some people like white wine, you know, and, and, some people like red wine, and some people don't like wine but maybe they have champagne at a wedding or a funeral or on special occasions because it's a tradition, but I like red wine and I've got a heart just like you've got a heart, so I'm endorsing this wine."

And if that wouldn't be shocking enough, imagine if Daley were to accept a fee of, say, $25,000 for his endorsement, to be poured into the city's coffers.

The political media would be stunned, flabbergasted, bamboozled-- and delighted. Andy Shaw would faint, Mike Flannery would start river dancing, Dick Kay's beard would turn completely white and Walter Jacobson would get so excited during the inevitable "Perspective" that he'd hop right out of his chair and finish it while standing on his desk, Dick Mell-style.

There would also be widespread disbelief among the general populace, with many of us wondering if Richie had lost his marbles.

Of course, nothing so outlandish would ever happen in Chicago. Wacky characters abound in our political history, but a mayor taking money to shill for a specific brand of alcoholic beverage? Come on. That's the stuff of satire.

Unless you're living in Las Vegas.

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When a blackjack dealer at the Bellagio recently told me the mayor of Las Vegas was going to be paid a five-figure fee for a cocktail endorsement, I figured she was either repeating an urban legend or having a little fun with me as a way of breaking up the tedium of dealing from a multideck shoe. But she insisted it was true.

"He's supposed to get 25 G's just for drinking Beefeater martinis," she insisted. "But I hear he's holding out for more."

Later that same day I picked up a copy of the Las Vegas Review- Journal (the Internet notwithstanding, there's still a kick to be had from buying the local papers when you're on the road) and learned that my blackjack dealer's story was essentially accurate--that Las Vegas Mayor Oscar Goodman was indeed considering an endorsement deal with Beefeater gin--but there was a twist, so to speak.

Now the mayor was negotiating for a better deal, if you can believe it.

"Goodman May Switch Brand Loyalty," read the headline. According to the story, the "gimlet-eyed mayor announced . . . that he had broken off negotiations with Beefeater gin about becoming a corporate pitchman. He's now talking to the company that makes Tanqueray gin, hoping to get at least $100,000 for the use of his name and likeness in connection with the potent libation. Goodman has said any money from the campaign would be donated to the city's general fund."

Well then. Guess that makes it OK!

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This is the kind of colorful Vegas story that you rarely hear any more, what with all the corporate-owned, billion-dollar theme park/ casinos towering over the Strip. But Oscar Goodman himself is a throwback--a former defense attorney whose clients included such mobster sweethearts as Meyer Lansky, Nick Civella, Herbie "Fat Herbie" Blitzstein and Anthony "Tony the Ant" Spilotro, last seen face down and dead alongside his equally dead brother in a cornfield in Indiana.

Goodman even played himself in the movie "Casino"--the Robert De Niro character of Sam Rothstein was based on Frank "Lefty" Rosenthal, another Goodman client--and he was pretty good at it.

When Goodman announced his intentions to run for mayor in 1999, one editorial exclaimed, "Considering Oscar Goodman as spokesperson for Las Vegas is like considering Bill Clinton as the headmaster of the school for wayward girls." One of Goodman's campaign slogans was, "I'm running for mayor, I need your financial support, and if you don't give it to me, I'm going to bring in Joe Pesci to break your legs."

So given the 62-year-old Goodman's resume, this act of offering his gin-endorsement services to the highest bidder is hardly the most egregious offense of his career. And it's not as if he'd be plugging a product he doesn't believe in. Goodman recently boasted to the Associated Press that he "drinks more gin than any other human being."

But is Goodman compromising his "integrity" if he switches from Beefeater to Tanqueray for the money? Restaurateur Fred Glusman of Piero's Italian Ristorante, who reportedly has served many a martini to Goodman, gave one of the great quotes of the young year to the Review-Journal: "I guarantee you after the second drink, the mayor doesn't know what the hell he's drinking."

As of this writing, the impasse was still in place.

Hey. Given his recent success with the Felicia Middlebrooks brouhaha, maybe Jesse Jackson can step in and solve this crisis, too.

E-mail: rroeper@suntimes.com