I spent a large part of what the easily led might describe as my "formative years" in a place called Glen Ellyn, a very wealthy, whitebread suburb of Chicago.
Glen Ellyn was a nothing; pretty, a nice place to live, but we lived every day in the shadow of the Colossus to the East. And you couldn't live in Chicago in the late 1960s without knowing Dick Daley.
Da Mare was a corrupt, rotten old bastard whose only redemptive quality was that he genuinely loved his city and did his level best to save it (and did, to a great extent, from becoming another Detroit or Cleveland or Pittsburg), but apparently his son, little Richie, is a REAL piece of work.
So when I came across this over at driftglass' place, I laughed until I cried.