Their jobs are 24/7. The positions they have or still hold place them under a constant and unforgiving public spotlight.
But there is one private title that matters most to all of them: Dad.
Mayor Brandon Johnson, former Mayor and Ambassador to Japan Rahm Emanuel and U.S. Rep. Jesus “Chuy” Garcia are each fathers to three children, though Garcia’s adult daughter died in 2023.
Each man has a different approach based on how their own dads raised them. But their advice to their fellow dads on Father’s Day weekend is universal.
“Just show up. Just be present. Children do appreciate that,” Johnson said.
Emanuel said he doesn’t “buy this crap about quality time,” adding, “You’ll regret more missing time with a child than you will missing a meeting.”
Garcia thought the advice to “make time” was so important, he said it three times. “You can’t make enough time to be with them…You don’t get a second crack at it.”
Johnson, Emanuel and Garcia took time out of their busy schedules this week to talk about their most important job, and how their own fathers helped shape them.
Johnson, his father, and treasuring ‘quiet times’
The mayor talks often about having grown up as the middle of ten children, but not so much about his relationship with his father — until now.
Andrew Leon Johnson II was a pastor at an Elgin church who led bible study with his family “right out of our living room,” the mayor said.
“We didn’t have to compete for his attention. We knew that his service was…even bigger than ourselves because we were part of it,” Johnson said.
Johnson’s father worked tirelessly to support his large family — at the Elgin Mental Health Center as a tradesman, carpenter and general contractor.
“I saw my father as sometimes almost machine-like,” Johnson said. “He never seemed to tire. Never seemed to sweat. Never seem to back down to a challenge. A true inspiration.
“As he took on certain projects to rehab homes and do other development, me and my brothers…would help with the work. That’s when we spent the most time together.”
Johnson treasured the “quiet times” in his father’s truck riding to jobs. He recalls fondly getting ready for Sunday morning services and “learning how to tie a tie by watching” his father do the same.
There were plenty of quiet times.
“My father is 82 years old. He’s a man of his generation. He didn’t use a lot of words…He expected us, maybe like that entire generation, to either intuitively get it or just to be patient and know there’s something greater working on your behalf,” Johnson said.
“My children require me to go a little bit deeper into all of the scenarios and demands of life. It’s one area that, I know, my father recognized that he could have been more forthright.”
When Johnson was 19, his mother, Wilma Jean Johnson, died of congestive heart failure. She was 50, just one year older than the mayor is now.
His father “buried the love of his life…when they were just starting to really hit their stride.”
“When my mom left here, I think he realized how much more communication is necessary because she was able to fill in those blanks,” the mayor said.
It’s an invaluable lesson that Johnson has applied in his relationship with his own children.
“As a father, I recognized that it’s not up to my wife to fill in the blanks. She does her part and I do my part. We do our parts together,” Johnson said.
“I talk more. I engage more. I probably have harder, tougher conversations with my children [instead of having] older siblings fill that space.”
Emanuel: ‘Don’t use money to show love.’
Emanuel’s father, Dr. Benjamin Emanuel, was an Israeli immigrant who spoke seven languages and came to the U.S. with only $13 in his pocket.
With an “impish” sense of humor and an insatiable “intellectual appetite,” Dr. Emanuel built a thriving pediatric practice at Michael Reese Hospital and raised three power broker children: Rahm, the first Jewish mayor of Chicago, Ari, a Hollywood super-agent and Ezekiel, an oncologist/bio-ethicist.
Dr. Emanuel worked seven days a week but couldn’t “get enough of his kids,” and took them with him on hospital rounds once a month.
“His work ethic impacted all of us in the same way that, I would say, [served] as a model for my children. You don’t lecture on it. You set an example,” Emanuel said.
At the Emanuel dinner table, shouting was more plentiful than food. You were expected to take a position and defend it without beating around the bush.
“My father used to always say he never met a child who was spoiled because they were told too many times a day that they were loved,” Emanuel said. “For his own children, that was expressed by saying, `What are you, a schmuck?’ Every other child got, `I love you.’ “
The tough love was sometimes hard to take. Emanuel recalled getting so angry about something one day that he packed his backpack, went down to the family room and announced his decision to run away.
His father didn’t try to talk him out of it or even ask what was upsetting Rahm.
“I said, ‘I’m leaving, Dad.’ And he said, `See you later. Take care.’ He literally waved and didn’t turn around,” said Emanuel, who walked to the end of the block, hung out at a park, then turned around and went home.
Emanuel said he’s “softer” and more emotional with his own children than his father ever was with him. Tears come more easily. But he has replicated far more of his father’s approach than he has changed.
The similarities range from the four-times-a-week family dinners with lively debate and undivided attention — to demands for summer reading and book reports, as well as individualized outings and travel with each of his three children.
“Don’t use money to show love…It’s okay for them to know when you’re proud and when you’re disappointed. But the love will never be withdrawn,” Emanuel said.
Garcia’s father, ‘not much of a hugger or kisser’
With the exception of perhaps two or three weeks a year, Garcia grew up without a father until the age of 10.
His dad, Miguel Garcia, was a laborer who worked in the fields of California and Southwest Texas under a World War II-era program that saw Mexican farm and railroad workers brought to the U.S. to live and work temporarily.
Garcia said he “idolized and worshiped” his father and never resented his absences from their home in Durango, Mexico. His mother, Celia, “filled the void” and told her children “how hard he worked, the hardships he endured in the hot sun in the field and on the cold in the winter days.”
When the family reunited in Chicago and settled in a Pilsen apartment, Garcia recalls rubbing Bengay on his father’s joints to ease the pain from the back-breaking labor.
“My father was a quiet person who didn’t engage in a lot of conversation…He wasn’t much of a hugger or a kisser,” Garcia said.
“I [tried] to…demonstrate more affection for my children…I sought to teach my kids that the macho culture is bad. That there’s a way to be strong, to be tough that isn’t sexist. That isn’t dominant and doesn’t come at the expense of women.”
Garcia said he has thrived at being a more affectionate grandfather than he ever was as a father. And he takes enormous joy in watching his sons be “better dads than I was.”
“I came to realize this because you can’t go back in time,” Garcia said. “But at least acknowledging that I could have done better is important and brings a sense of understanding.”