Tom Corcoran is about to explain how Ted Kimbrough really got hired as superintendent when the phone rings. It’s an aide from the mayor’s office wanting to know about the unions in the school system. No one at City Hall–not even the mayor, who’s about to make a general speech on the subject–knows precisely how many there are or what they are.
Corcoran is secretary to the school board, its official record keeper: the fastidious fellow at the board’s public-comment sessions who keeps checking his watch and tells speakers when they’ve exceeded their two minutes.
The Corcorans lived in Uptown not far from the intersection of Montrose and Clark. Tom attended Our Lady of Lourdes Grammar School and Saint George High School. He went to church on Sunday and spent much of his free time playing softball and basketball with friends in Chase Park.
“I was this skinny little kid, but I knew enough to know that I didn’t know everything. I had great guys under my command–real tough, hardened veterans of World War II. I’d ask them, ‘What do you think, Sarge?’ They would tell me, and I would remember what they told me–and that’s how I learned how the system worked. That’s important. Every system has a plan, every plan a design. It’s not just chaos. All too often people want to go from A to Z without going through D and Y. People want to take shortcuts. You can’t do that. You have to take the time to master the details–and I learned that in the Army.”
It was through the criminal-justice program that Corcoran met Joe Cronin, state superintendent of schools. “Cronin offered me a job, and I told Cronin that I’d only take it if he could get Joe Hannon [then the schools superintendent] to give me a leave of absence. Now, to be honest, I didn’t really want the state job as much as I wanted Cronin to mention my name to Hannon. See, I have always had an ability to look at circumstances and see potential connections. In this case I figured Cronin would call Hannon to ask if I could work for him. And Hannon would wonder, ‘Hmm, who is this guy Corcoran?’ Well, I’ll be damned if Hannon didn’t call my house one day at seven in the morning. Rita says, ‘You just missed Tom. He’s on his way to work.’ That really impressed Hannon, because he’s an ex-marine who likes guys who get up early. Hannon calls my office and says, ‘I’ve heard some things about you. Let’s talk.’ The connection had been made just as I wanted. A few weeks later I went to work for Hannon.”
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The headaches of managing CUE fell to Corcoran and his top assistant, Norma Tsuhako, a former school clerk. He supervised the rehab of the old school that housed CUE, dealing with the trade unions and scavenging throughout the system to find desks, chairs, pencils, paper, and phones. Through CUE’s office each day streamed dozens of volunteers assigned by Hannon to tackle one issue or another–including Tee Galley, Steve Ballis (now a board member), Illa Daggett, and Annie Harris, all of whom would remain active in school affairs for years to come. Hannon preached the importance of public service and made Corcoran feel he was part of an audacious experiment. (Corcoran still has in his office a photograph Hannon gave him of John and Robert Kennedy huddled in conversation.)
So Corcoran marched into the meeting 45 minutes after it had started and, according to an article in the Tribune, said, “I am authorized to inform you Dr. Welling has been relieved of his duties. If he speaks, he speaks as a private citizen.”
