CHICAGO — In a stunning and risky move, ex-House Speaker Michael Madigan has taken the stand in his own public corruption trial Tuesday.

“Your honor, the defense calls Mike Madigan,” attorney Dan Collins said, and jurors snapped to attention.

Madigan was sworn in, sat down, unscrewed the top of a bottle of water and began answering questions in a loud, plain Chicago accent.

“Did you ever trade your public office for private gain?” Collins asked.

Madigan turned his face toward the jury box and answered, “no.”

“Did you ever demand a thing of value in exchange for a promise to take official action?” Collins asked. “Did you ever accept a thing of value in exchange for a promise to take official action?”

To both, Madigan answered no.

Dressed in a gray suit and blue and red tie, Madigan looked directly at the jury as he spoke, using his hands and talking conversationally. He testified about his schooling and how he wound up at St. Ignatius College Prep, saying “for some reason I had the same nun in 7th and 8th grade … she advocated very strongly I go to St. Ignatius.”

He described himself as “hard-working and disciplined.”

Madigan said he got his first job as a young teenager in the nursery at Marquette Park. He said his parents were very strict. “As it was in those years, they got out the whips and I went to work.”

Madigan describes his father — a Streets and Sanitation supervisor in the 13th Ward — as particularly tough.

“My father had been an alcoholic who had quit drinking but ... he carried with him an anger problem, a short fuse,” he said. “If someone happened to be in the line of fire it was not a pleasant experience.”

Madigan said his father “dominated the house. He made all the decisions and issued all of the orders.” One night, Madigan came home drunk and his father “greeted me at the door and I got a good solid slap on the side of my face,” he said.

Afterward, Madigan went over to his father’s ward office to apologize. “It was a very somber meeting … He was very concerned that I might have the same problem that he did.”

Madigan said his father made him promise: Never drink on an empty stomach and never drink before sundown — something he still takes to heart today.

“Was your household nurturing?” Collins asked at one point.

“No, no, no,” Madigan said. “In that house the word ‘nurturing’ didn’t exist. My parents never told me that they loved me. We never embraced, never hugged.”

Madigan testified he first ran for state representative in the early 1970s after being a delegate to the Illinois Constitutional Convention. He served for the next 50 years.

“Mike, how old are you?” Collins asked.

Madigan replied with a smile, “A young 82 years old.”

Collins asked Madigan about his legislative dealings with ComEd, which is accused of paying Madigan associates through no-work subcontracts for the speaker’s allies in exchange for Madigan’s favorable treatment of their legislation.

Madigan told jurors he developed a deep distrust of the company after they acted deceitfully toward legislators in the 1990s and early 2000s.

He still was willing to call ComEd’s favored bills to the floor, he said, but insisted that the Speaker’s Office lawyers examine them with caution.

“I told our chief counsel to not trust ComEd, to be suspicious and to work to draft legislation that would guarantee they’d do what they said they were going to do,” Madigan said.

When ComEd wanted the “Smart Grid” legislation that is now a central part of Madigan’s indictment, Madigan was open to it but did not personally get involved in the negotiations, he testified.

He had talks with then-ComEd executive Anne Pramaggiore about the concepts behind the bill, and also may have talked to ComEd lobbyist John Hooker about the bill, but never talked with him about jobs or hiring, Madigan said.

Jurors have already seen floods of undercover videos and heard wiretapped phone calls in which McClain and ComEd executives discuss hiring Madigan associates, allegedly at Madigan’s request. Former ComEd executive Fidel Marquez testified that the hiring was done so that Madigan would look favorably upon ComEd’s legislation.

Word spread quickly that Madigan had chosen to testify, and he took the stand in front of a jam-packed courtroom. The rows were crammed with attorneys, journalists and a crew of Madigan supporters, including his daughter Lisa, the former state attorney general.

Mid-morning Tuesday, Collins had told the judge that Madigan would be the next witness. But there was one sticking point: whether Madigan would have to waive his right to not testify in a forfeiture hearing, should he be convicted.

After a lengthy break for attorneys to discuss, U.S. District Judge John Robert Blakey ultimately said Madigan could testify in his trial without necessarily having to waive his right to silence in the forfeiture hearing. The government is seeking up to $2.85 million from Madigan if he is convicted.

Before jurors returned from lunch, Blakey put Madigan under oath and advised him of his right not to testify. Madigan nodded throughout, and gave the judge simple “yes” or “no” responses to the standard questions.

The decision by a defendant to testify on his own behalf is an unusual strategy in any case, let alone a high-profile federal corruption trial. But Madigan, the so-called “Velvet Hammer,” is known for his quick mind and his mastery of delicate political situations – and apparently calculated that the risk of cross-examination was a manageable one.

Madigan, who reigned over Illinois politics for decades, is charged with a yearslong scheme to use his public clout for his own private benefit and run his political operation like a criminal enterprise. He could face significant prison time if convicted, even at his advanced age, and any time behind bars could be augmented if the judge were to find he lied on the witness stand.

His testimony is the most significant of its kind in Chicago’s federal court since former Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich unsuccessfully tried to convince a jury of his innocence more than a decade ago. But it may be a bigger surprise, given that Blagojevich is known for talking to anyone who will listen to him about his own legal travails while Madigan is known for saying little at all.

Madigan is also battle tested under pressure. For half a century, he fielded hard-edged questions from reporters and withstood decades of scrutiny.

Madigan’s co-defendant and longtime confidant Michael McClain chose not to testify in the current case. So did ex-Ald. Ed Burke at his trial. Burke was convicted of racketeering in late 2022 and is currently serving a two-year prison sentence.

Madigan’s decision to testify comes nearly two years after two defendants in the Madigan-related “ComEd Four” trial — ex-ComEd CEO Anne Pramaggiore and lobbyist John Hooker — took the witness stand on their own behalf in that trial.

The gamble did not pay off for Pramaggiore or Hooker, who were both convicted of every count against them. Also convicted at that trial were McClain and consultant and former City Club of Chicago President Jay Doherty, who opted not to testify.

A judge is currently weighing a request to throw out the convictions based on a U.S. Supreme Court ruling last year.

Madigan, 82, a Southwest Side Democrat, and McClain, 77, of downstate Quincy, are charged in a 23-count indictment alleging that Madigan’s vaunted state and political operations were run like a criminal enterprise to amass and increase his power and enrich himself and his associates.

In addition to bribery schemes involving ComEd and AT&T Illinois, the indictment alleges Madigan pressured developers to hire the speaker’s law firm and tried to win business by secretly supporting legislation to transfer state-owned land in Chinatown to the city so developers could build a high-rise.

Both Madigan and McClain have denied wrongdoing.

The trial, which began Oct. 8, is inching toward a conclusion, with closing arguments possible as soon as next week.

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