Eye on Springfield

Jim Rowe, a lawyer and mentor for troubled youth, has decided to run for the state Senate. That wouldn’t be a big deal if he weren’t 27 years old

By Trent Modglin

Jim Rowe doesn’t know how to downshift to a lower gear. Doesn’t seem like he wants to learn, either. He’s got a few things on his plate these days, putting off cases with his own law firm to try to create thousands of jobs, reform health care and improve education for the state of Illinois.

Funny, most 27-year-olds are more concerned about whom Jessica Simpson is dating or what the beer special is at the local pub.

Rowe marches to the beat of a different drummer though, one largely unrecognizable to a lot of folks his age. When you’re 27 and potentially less than a year away from proposing legislation, you get a pass if you don’t know the latest Hollywood gossip or that a pint of Guinness costs only $2 on Thursdays.

Considered almost saintly by those who know him, Rowe has always had a soft spot for children. Especially children who start out life in a hole, with not nearly enough hands willing or able to help them climb out.

Not long out of high school, he helped organize a non-profit organization that provides after-school tutoring and mentoring programs for kids from low-income homes. The same kids the streets can often change, or worse yet, swallow up and make disappear.

When Rowe was 21, he adopted a 13-year-old boy from his program who was hanging with the wrong crowd and no longer wanted at home. Nothing like a little responsibility. Rowe was deciding on law schools at the time. Ultimately, what his future held. And just like that, he’s a parent, suddenly making decisions that would affect two futures, not one.

Later, at 24 and fresh out of law school at DePaul, Rowe went to work for the Cook County State’s Attorney’s office, prosecuting people who committed crimes against kids. Everything from neglect to abuse, rape and murder, he went after them, working to make sure they never got the opportunity to do it again.

Here is where he began to eye a future in politics, out of pure frustration more than anything else. Rowe encountered a case in which a 13-year-old girl at a mental-health facility was raped by a 28-year-old man. The rapist was a caretaker at the hospital, in place to provide help to those less fortunate, and received only a four-year sentence for his crime. He was scheduled to be released on parole this month and had earlier petitioned the court for custody of the child who was born as a result of the rape. No, you didn’t read that incorrectly.

“Your job to not only prosecute the crime, but also protect the child in the civil side of things,” Rowe says. “I had to do something about it.”

He scoured books at the office, figuring there had to be a law in place that would prevent something so morally corrupt from happening. There had to be something, he thought, to help close such a loophole in the system. Big problem, there wasn’t.

So Rowe says he contacted Senator Don Harmon of the 39th District (made up of parts of Chicago and several near western suburbs such as Oak Park, Rosemont and Melrose Park) for help with lobbying, but to no avail. He took out ads in the newspaper, wrote letters to the editor. He got nowhere. Believing his district was short on leaders who were responsive to the needs of the people, Rowe knew the only way to make a change was to enter the fray himself. It was time to get out an axe and start chopping.

But first, Rowe decided to leave the State’s Attorney’s office, as he came to the realization that he would never have the time to properly campaign for the Senate while handling his typical workload. He introduced his own practice, Jim Rowe & Associates, to Chicago soon thereafter.

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Rowe has some stories of children he has defended. Horrific ones of suffering at the hands of those they are supposed to be able to trust. Those who are supposed to look out for them, guide them through life’s wavering path, not drag them terribly off the trail. And when he’s out knocking on doors or speaking at town hall meetings, these stories are what motivate him.

He doesn’t take many cases these days. The focus is on November’s election, even though it’s only February. A race like this, for one district in the state Senate, figures to cost around $200,000, financed quite a bit by him. But Rowe also has developed the contacts necessary to have success in politics, receiving the support of the Republican Party from the top of the ticket down.

“My opponent’s reputation for protecting children and education is so weak, we’ve even raised money from traditional Democratic donors,” Rowe claims. “They’re crossing the aisle and supporting our campaign.”

“But the thing about a campaign is that as soon as the money comes in, it goes out. You’re lucky if it gets in the bank and that check clears before you go and spend it.”

Don’t kid yourself. Taking time away from making money with his own practice isn’t easy, especially at 27, with a son who’s now 18. But sacrifices along the way for something you believe in ardently, well, that’s part of the deal.

“Maybe you don’t take a vacation or you don’t get to eat at the fancy restaurant, but it’s worth it in the end,” Rowe says.

His inner-city mentoring program is operated without requiring taxpayer dollars, so he knows it’s possible to make the government run more efficiently and provide services to people in need without hurting others. In Springfield, he believes there are too many lifetime politicians proposing ideas that have long since expired.

“I’m not beholden to special interests, party leaders or the political machine,” Rowe says. “The one thing I know for certain about Springfield is that you have lobbyists down there for the liquor industry, for the tobacco industry and the casinos and gambling, but you don’t have a lobbyist down there for the Illinois family. And that’s what you need. You need somebody that will go to Springfield and, in plain English, have the balls to fight for the average, everyday 39th District citizen. There’s nobody down there doing that right now.”

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When you hear Rowe speak, he doesn’t have the voice of a politician — that scripted, monotone style that creates the uninspiring sound bytes that litter the airwaves in an election year. Admittedly, Rowe, in his Chicago accent, shoots from the hip too often, letting loose his true feelings, media backlash be damned. Perhaps it’s his youthful exuberance or lack of experience in the sometimes unforgiving world of politics, but if anything, it’s evidence of his passion.

For instance, he’s labeled a trio of his opponents in the Democratic party as the “Axis of Ego” and claimed they “run on scare tactics, intimidation and threats,” and that the biggest challenge is “trying to keep an optimistic outlook when you’re running against people that give you every reason to be pessimistic.”

That fire was only further stoked a few weeks ago, when a bottle was tossed through the window of his suburban home in the middle of the night. Though police didn’t allow him to read it, a TV reporter told him the message in the bottle suggested, in a not so pleasant tone, that he should get out of the race. Harmon, his likely competition next fall, has denied anyone from his side had any involvement in the incident.

“That’s not America,” says Rowe, whose tone changes at the thought of someone endangering him and his son. “That’s like old Soviet Union type politics. … All I can say to these people is that it’s going to take a lot more than two broken windows to get me out of the race.”

One has to wonder about the future for Jim Rowe, the 27-year-old candidate for a seat in the Illinois Senate. Does he have larger aspirations, viewing this race as a stepping stone to a larger platform, or is it merely the most direct way to fix the most glaring problems in an increasingly flawed system?

Surprisingly, try the latter.

“I want to get in there, do the work that needs to be done, and then at some point, hand the reins over to someone else,” Rowe says. “Maybe another young person with more fresh ideas.”

“I have an opportunity to do a lot of good for a lot of people and make our needs known. That’s exciting. I don’t like the politics, but I like the opportunity.”

Should Rowe decide to downshift to a lower gear and take a short break, if even for a moment, someone ought to buy that man a beer. Word is, a pint of Guinness costs only $2 on Thursdays.

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