In 2009, Donald Trump fired Rod Blagojevich, the former governor of Illinois, from “The Celebrity Apprentice.” “Your ‘Harry Potter’ facts were not accurate,” Trump told Blagojevich, who was under indictment at the time, for trying to sell President-elect Barack Obama’s vacated Senate seat the previous year. Blagojevich was found guilty, and in 2012 he began a fourteen-year prison sentence, which Trump commuted eight years later. “Seemed like a very nice person,” Trump said after the commutation, calling Blagojevich’s punishment “a tremendously powerful ridiculous sentence in my opinion.” Blagojevich emerged from prison a self-described “Trumpocrat.”
“I’d have just been coming home a couple weeks ago had President Trump not, you know, shortened it,” Blagojevich said recently. “I keep having this dream where I’m still in prison,” he went on. “Probably because I’m writing this book.” Since last August, Blagojevich has been at work on a memoir about his time in the clink, with “Gangster Disciples . . . Sinaloa drug-cartel leaders . . . murderers, bank robbers, sex offenders,” and Enron’s Jeffrey Skilling. “I went from Obama, Clinton, congressmen, senators, and lawmakers to Smelly and Socks and Sharky and Mr. B.,” he added. “They all have nicknames.” His was Gov. The former governor does not enjoy writing but said that he hopes that his prison memoir “will be helpful to folks facing hard times.” Trump, who is now facing up to four years in prison for thirty-four felony counts of falsifying business records, might want to skim the CliffsNotes.
To begin with, Blagojevich points out, a long sentence, while otherwise undesirable, can be used to your advantage. “The fourteen-year sentence made guys think, The Gov’s a badass, he didn’t snitch on anybody,” he said. “In that world, the snitches, to quote them, ‘are bitches who deserve stitches.’ ”
Blagojevich suggests getting in the shape of your life. He figures that he ran “probably ten thousand miles, if not longer,” during his eight years inside, along with “probably twenty thousand pushups.” He went on, “You walk around the track, you do pushups. It helps deal with the bitterness and anger and sense of disillusionment.” He added, “I’m as fit as a fiddle, in stark contrast to the current governor of Illinois.”
A hobby is also helpful. “My band was G-Rod and the Jailhouse Rockers,” he said. “I did an Elvis medley, which started out with all of ‘Don’t Be Cruel,’ two verses of ‘That’s All Right,’ two verses of ‘All Shook Up,’ and all five verses of ‘Jailhouse Rock.’ ” He continued, “Music was so helpful to me because it was therapeutic. If you practice it, you get better at it. Your range increases a little bit. Your voice kind of expands. Then you can work on what Frank Sinatra was big on—phrasing. Before I knew it, the day was over.”
Rather than watch TV or movies, Blago recommends books. “I read the Bible every day,” he recalled. He devoured Viktor Frankl’s “Man’s Search for Meaning” three times. “It’s very short, and it has a lot of profound things in it,” he explained. One lesson that he drew: “If I can come out of here stronger and smarter, it’s a fuck you to those motherfuckers who did it to me.”He also read Shakespeare. “ ‘Henry V’ a few times. ‘Henry IV,’ Parts 1 and 2. ‘Richard II.’ ‘Richard III.’ ‘Hamlet,’ of course. ‘King Lear.’ ‘Henry VI.’ ” He cleared his throat and recited, “The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.”
Watch what you eat at the chow hall, he warns. “Some guys do crazy things to some of the food,” he said. “One time, a guy urinated in the pot of oatmeal because he was pissed off—no pun intended.” Black-market restaurateurs on your cellblock are a good alternative: “Once in a while, I’d say to myself, ‘I’m gonna go off for a longer run—ten miles—and then I’m gonna treat myself to one of Oso’s tacos.’ You could see he liked his own food. So once in a while I’d have it”—onions, tomatoes, peppers, chicken, cheese, all smuggled from the kitchen.
Finally, Blagojevich advises identifying any supporters. “There was a cop that wanted to make an example of me, so he gave me the worst job,” he recalled. “Washing pots and pans at five o’clock in the morning. I got rescued from that because his superior was from Chicago’s South Side and his mother still lived there and she liked me. So he put me in the kitchen warehouse, a highly coveted job.” Conspiracy theories soon spread among his fellow-inmates. “I was supposedly getting special treatment because Obama had called the warden,” Blago said. “I’m telling you, he didn’t make the call.” ♦
