From the Beacon News: 
 
Even after his fall, Ryan doesn't get it 
 
 I guess it takes a lot to humble an arrogant man. 
 
 More than a year after charges were brought against him, more than six months after his trial began — and moments after a jury of his peers turned him into a convicted felon, George Ryan showed absolutely no signs of remorse or regret. 
 
 Always stoic, always dour, ever the politician, the former governor stood in front of flashing cameras and jabbing microphones to boldly declare, "This decision today is not in accordance with the kind of public service that I provided to the people of Illinois for over 40 years." 
 
 Even facing a long prison sentence, the man just doesn't get it. 
 
 He doesn't get the fact the rules have changed, that his brand of public service is no longer acceptable. And it certainly doesn't provide him with some kind of special consideration, no matter how many votes he garnered, no matter how many decades he held positions of public office. 
 
Just the contrary —because he was elected by the people to serve the people, he should be held to an even higher standard of conduct than the rest of us commoners who paid his salary and padded his pension and trusted him enough to hand him the keys to the governor's mansion. 
 
 And that is the message this jury sent out loud and clear: Even Ryan's highly-touted multi-million dollar defense team — one that (gee, what a surprise here) worked for free for the consummate deal-maker — failed to get even one "not guilty" verdict for its client. 
 
 Yet Ryan had the arrogance to proclaim all his good works entitled him to a get-out-of-jail card. 
 
 I don't know about you, but this lack of remorse certainly didn't set well with me — and I doubt it will impress Judge Rebecca Pallmeyer, who will be handing down Ryan's sentence come August. But you've got to hand it to the former gov: He's still doing his best to save face in his historical fall from grace. 
 
 I saw that arrogance up close and personal in November of 1998 when I spent an entire day riding around with him in the back seat of a conversion van on the campaign trail during his run for governor. I wrote about it once — when he was indicted back in January of 2005 — but I've got to say it again: It was one of the most unpleasant assignments of my career, made only marginally better when he was joined by his ever-faithful and decidedly more personable wife, Lura Lynn. 
 
 It's not one statement or gesture he made: It was his overall persona. He was surly ... unfriendly ... unapproachable — even in those close confines. 
 
 And certainly he was full of himself. 
 
 The thing is, I don't like people who feel a sense of entitlement because of what they perceive as their elevated role in society. What I saw on that never-ending day on the campaign trail was a man who viewed the governor's mansion as his destiny; who saw his elected position not as servant of the people but as master — a master who has the right to take what he can because ... well, that's just the way the game is played. 
 
 It's the same attitude I saw outside the federal court building on Monday. 
 
 "...this decision today is not in accordance with the kind of public service that I provided for over 40 years." 
 
 Fortunately, the kind of public service George Ryan provided is now called a felony. 
 
 Unfortunately, the ex-governor still doesn't get it. 
 
- Denise Crosby is a columnist for The Beacon News. 
04/19/06