(applause)

The President: Thank you so much.

Mr. Speaker, Mr. President, members of the General Assembly,

my fellow Illinoisans: It's actually

kind of fun to start a speech like that twice

in one month.

(laughter)

What an incredible privilege it is to address this chamber.

And to Governor Rauner, Senator Durbin,

members of Congress, Speaker Madigan,

Former Governor Pat Quinn, Mayor Langfelder and the

people of Springfield -- thank you for such a warm

welcome as I come back home.

(applause)

Thank you.

Thank you so much.

Thank you.

It's good to be home.

(applause)

Thank you, guys.

Thank you.

Thank you.

(applause)

It is great to see so many old friends like

John Cullerton and Emil Jones.

I miss you guys.

Audience Member: Miss you!

(laughter)

The President: It's great to be in the State Capitol.

Being here today calls to mind the first time I spoke

on the Senate floor, almost 20 years ago.

And I was passionate, idealistic,

ready to make a difference.

Just to stand in that magnificent chamber was

enough to fill me up with a heightened sense of purpose.

And I probably needed a little dose of reality when

I first arrived.

So one day, I rose to speak about a bill.

And I thought I'd made some compelling points,

with irrefutable logic.

(laughter)

And I was about to sit down, feeling pretty good about

myself, when Pate Philip sauntered over to my desk.

Now, there are some young people here,

so for those of you who don't remember,

Pate Philip was the Senate Majority Leader at the time.

He was a Marine, and big shock of white hair,

chomped on a cigar; was so politically incorrect that

you don't even know how to describe it.

(laughter)

But he always treated me well.

And he came by and he slapped me on the back,

he said, "Kid, that was a pretty good speech.

In fact, I think you changed a lot of minds.

But you didn't change any votes."

(laughter)

Then he singled, and they gaveled,

and we got blown out.

(laughter)

So that was my first lesson in humility.

The next came when I presented my own first bill.

It was a simple piece of legislation that would make

it a lot easier for Illinois manufacturers to hire

graduating community college students.

I didn't know any serious opposition,

so I asked for a vote.

And what I got was a good hazing.

I assume that this custom still exists.

(applause and laughter)

So a senior colleague put the vote on hold to ask,

"Could you correctly pronounce your name for me?

I'm having a little trouble with it."

"Obama," I said.

"Is that Irish?"

he asked.

(laughter)

And being in my early 30s at the time,

I was a little cocky -- I said,

"It will be when I run countywide."

(laughter)

"That was a good joke," he said, but he wasn't amused.

"This bill is still going to die."

And he went on to complain that my predecessor's name

was easier to pronounce than mine,

that I didn't have cookies at my desk like she did,

how would I ever expect to get any votes without having

cookies on my desk.

"I definitely urge a no vote," he said,

"whatever your name is."

(laughter)

And for the next several minutes,

the Senate debated on whether I should add an

apostrophe to my name for the Irish,

or whether the fact that "Obama" ends in a vowel

meant I actually belonged to the Italians --

(laughter)

-- and just how many trees had had to die to print this

terrible, miserable bill, anyway.

And I was chastened.

And I said, "If I survive this event,

I will be eternally grateful and consider this a

highlight of my legal and legislative career."

And I asked for a vote.

And initially the tote board showed that it was going

down, but at the last minute it flipped and my bill passed.

But I was duly reminded that I was a freshman

in the minority.

And I want to thank all my former colleagues in both

chambers for not letting me forget it.

To be a rookie in the minority party, as I was,

is not much fun in any legislature.

We were called "mushrooms" -- because we were kept in

the dark and fed a lot of manure.

(laughter)

But one benefit of being in such a position -- not being

invited into the meetings where the big deals were

being made -- is that I had a lot of time

to get to know my colleagues.

And many of us were away from our families,

and so we became friends.

We went to fish fries together.

We'd go to union halls.

We'd play in golf scrambles.

We had a great bipartisan poker game

at the Illinois Manufacturer's Association.

Boro Relijie would host, and folks like Dave Luechtefeld

and Terry Link, others would join in.

We'd eat downstairs -- and I can't say

I miss the horseshoes.

(laughter)

But away from the glare of TV, or the tweets,

or the GIFs of today's media,

what we discovered was that despite our surface

differences -- Democrats and Republicans,

downstate hog farmers, inner-city African

Americans, suburban businesspeople,

Latinos from Pilsen or Little Village -- despite

those differences, we actually had a lot in common.

We cared about our communities.

We cared about our families.

We cared about America.

We fought hard for our positions.

I don't want to be nostalgic here -- we voted against

each other all the time.

And party lines held most of the time.

But those relationships, that trust we'd built meant

that we came at each debate assuming the best in one

another and not the worst.

I was reminiscing with Christine Radogno -- we came

in in the same class.

And we were on opposite sides of most issues,

but I always trusted her and believed that she

was a good person.

And if we had a bill that we might be able to work

together on, it was a pleasure to work with her on.

Or Dave Syverson, who -- we worked together

on the Public Health and Welfare Committee,

and we got some important work done that made a

difference in people's lives.

And we didn't call each other idiots or fascists who

were trying to destroy America.

Because then we'd have to explain why we were playing

poker or having a drink with an idiot or a fascist who

was trying to destroy America.

(laughter)

And that respect gave us room for progress.

And after I'd served here for six years,

my party finally gained the majority.

Emil Jones became the President of the Senate.

And by then, I had made some friends across the aisle --

like Kirk Dillard, who I believe is here today,

and we were able to pass the first serious ethics reform

in 25 years.

And working closely with law enforcement,

who knew by then that we cared about cops and

sheriffs and prosecutors.

And working with folks like John Cullerton,

we passed Illinois' first racial profiling law,

which was good for police officers

and minority communities.

And because someone like my friend, John Bouman,

who worked at the Shriver Center on Poverty Law,

helped us build coalitions across the state,

including with business, and was able to then reach out

to Republicans, we were able to increase tax credits for

the working poor and expand health insurance

to children in need.

And we wouldn't bend on our most deeply held principles,

but we were willing to forge compromises in pursuit

of a larger goal.

We were practical when we needed to be.

We could fight like heck on one issue and then shake

hands on the next.

Somebody like Jesse White was able to travel around

the state and people didn't even know what party he was

necessarily from because he brought so much joy with the

tumblers and the work that they were doing.

So I want you to know that this is why I've always

believed so deeply in a better kind of politics,

in part because of what I learned here

in this legislature.

Because of what I learned traveling across the state,

visiting some of your districts,

before I was running statewide,

before I was a

U.S. senator; learning all the corners of this state --

this most-representative of states.

A state of small towns and rich farmland,

and the world's greatest city.

A microcosm of America, where Democrats and

Republicans and independents,

and good people of every ethnicity and every faith

shared certain bedrock values.

I just saw a story the other day showing that if you rank

all 50 states across categories like education

levels and household incomes,

and race and religion, the one state that most closely

mirrors America as a whole is Illinois, this state.

And I learned by talking to your constituents that if

you were willing to listen, it was possible to bridge a

lot of differences.

I learned that most Americans aren't following

the ins and outs of the legislature carefully,

but they instinctively know that issues are more

complicated than rehearsed sound bites;

that they play differently in different parts of the

state and in the country.

They understand the difference between realism

and idealism; the difference between responsibility

and recklessness.

They had the maturity to know what can and cannot be

compromised, and to admit the possibility that the

other side just might have a point.

And it convinced me that if we just approached our

national politics the same way the American people

approach their daily lives -- at the workplace,

at the Little League game; at church or the synagogue

-- with common sense, and a commitment to fair play and

basic courtesy, that there is no problem that we

couldn't solve together.

And that was the vision that guided me when I first ran

for the United States Senate.

That's the vision I shared when I said we are more than

just a collection of red states and blue states,

but we are the United States of America.

And that vision is why, nine years ago today,

on the steps of the Old State Capitol just a few

blocks from here, I announced my candidacy

for President.

Now, over these nine years, I want you to know my faith

in the generosity and the fundamental goodness of the

American people has been rewarded and affirmed over

and over and over again.

I've seen it in the determination of autoworkers

who had been laid off but were sure that they could

once again be part of a great,

iconic Americans industry.