Guest Post - Always a Bridesmaid, Never a Bride: Why I Did Not Run in the 2024 Primary

EDITOR'S NOTE: FWIW readers know that I have been stressing for weeks about the small number of judicial candidates in this election cycle, whining and whingeing about this on several occasions.

I wanted to do more than whine. I wanted to do a more substantive analysis of and investigation into the reasons why so few candidates came forward, both countywide and especially in the subcircuits, with their new, untested boundaries. That remains my plan... but this is not that post.

Among the people I reached out to in preparation of that still-in-development piece (what might be called 'reporting') was James Crawley.

FWIW readers will recall Crawley announcing his 2024 campaign plans on this page. I subsequently ran a post about his new campaign website.

But Crawley did not file. I asked him why.

I found his response very interesting. Rather than simply mining it for quotes when I finally get around to writing my story, I thought readers might find it interesting as a standalone piece. At my request, Mr. Crawley revised his initial response for this purpose, and I am pleased to present that here:

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by James Crawley

The 2024 primary was not my first foray into running for judge, a position I have long aspired to for nearly two decades. 2024 would have been my fourth attempt, having run twice before, and having previously circulated, but not filed a third time.

My decision not to run in 2024 can be summed up as follows:

a. No clear path to victory.
Unless I believed that I had a 50% or better chance of winning, it did not make sense to run. In my previous two runs, I ran countywide and was handily beaten by women opponents. In 2024, I was unwilling to repeat a losing strategy of running against a countywide slated female sitting judge. Same script, different cast.

The male countywide candidates were also problematic. Most were well known, had clout, good bar ratings, money, and good ballot names. Also, male countywide candidates would draw many female opponents, thus once again placing me at a disadvantage.

My subcircuit had two vacancies up for election, but competition was stiff, all with good Irish ballot names. One candidate was the brother of a democratic committeemen, one was a former well known state’s attorney married to a judge (who beat me in a previous election), and one was a female felony prosecutor with a good reputation and great ballot name. The former state’s attorney also had nearly the same name as a well-liked, popular judge currently running countywide, and who was previously appointed to fill the subcircuit vacancy that was up for grabs. Given that their names were nearly identical, there was bound to be some confusion among voters, and both candidates would likely get votes that were intended for the other. The former state’s attorney’s wife had also been endorsed by labor and police in the past, and I anticipated the same good fortune for her husband given their connections. Both labor and FOP endorsements play big in my subcircuit. I knew I could not win one-on-one against the female candidate, and I had about a 33% chance of beating the two Irish male candidates vying for the other subcircuit position. This was not my definition of a clear path to victory.

b. The cost of playing the game.
In order to beat my two male opponents, I anticipated spending $150,000.00 or more of my own money, and even then, there would be no assurance of victory. At age 60 (I know, I look much younger), I was not willing to gamble my retirement savings for a one-third chance of winning a job I would hold for six or seven years, at best.

c. Sanity.
Some people enjoy the thrill of running for election. I do not. The process is draining and takes a huge emotional toll, especially if one is not used to Chicago politics. The only thing worse than the emotional toll of running and winning, is the emotional toll of running and losing … three times. Defeat, my friends, is brutal.

d. Domestic tranquility.
Running for election is not easy for one’s spouse or family. It takes a toll. Having put my spouse through it twice before, it did not seem fair to do it a third time despite his pledged support. It is a lot to ask of one’s spouse, and it was our retirement savings that I’d be gambling, not just mine. The prospect of eating cat food in my 80s was unappealing.

e. Acceptance
Like the stages of grief, I accepted that my aspirations were not meant to be. My time has come and gone, and unlike Susan Lucci who finally won an Emmy after 19 nominations, I do not have another campaign left in me, let alone 15. I will never be a concert pianist, movie star, or judge. The first two I accepted decades ago, it took a while longer to accept the third. Admission is the first step to recovery.

As painful as losing has been, and as emotionally taxing as campaigns can be, I do not regret my past attempts. There was personal growth beyond what I could have expected, I pushed myself to do things I was not comfortable doing, I made many new friends, I overcame challenges that I did not think were possible, and I ran honest campaigns. I am proud of myself for having tried and I have no regrets.