BY STACY ST. CLAIR
Daily Herald Staff Writer

Richard and Lynn Ehlenfeldt never longed to run a fried chicken joint. Not really.

During a lifetime dedicated to religious activism and big-league politics, Richard occasionally yearned to open a little bistro or sidewalk cafe.

But a fast-food restaurant in Palatine? Serving fried chicken and mostaccioli along Northwest Highway?

PHOTO COURTESY OF DANA SAMPSON Richard and Lynn Ehlenfeldt, shown in this 1989 picture, met while organizing the Methodist supper club at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. They married in 1964 and had three daughters.

It was a means to an end, a way to escape an unbearably long unemployment. It was not, by any stretch, a life's ambition.

"It wasn't his dream," the couple's daughter Dana Sampson said. "It was more of a way to earn an income because he had been out of work so long."

A victim of corporate downsizing, Richard Ehlenfeldt had been unemployed for two years when the Arlington Heights couple decided to sink their life savings into a Brown's Chicken & Pasta franchise in spring 1992.

Nine months later, the decision would invite the cruelest of fates.

On Jan. 8, 1993, Richard and Lynn Ehlenfeldt, as well as five of their employees, were slain inside the restaurant that was supposed to solve the family's financial problems.

"I often wondered what happened that night," Sampson said. "I imagine my parents staying calm and trying to find a solution."

Nearly 10 years after the killings, police charged former Fremd High School buddies Juan Luna, then 18, and James Degorski, then 20, with fatally shooting the Ehlenfeldts and their employees.

Luna and Degorski have pleaded not guilty to the charges, but authorities contend they killed the Ehlenfeldts and five others out of a desire to "do something big."

"It's sort of ironic," Sampson said of the two suspects. "They're the kind of people my parents always tried to help."

Big-hearted and compassionate, Richard and Lynn Ehlenfeldt were former '60s antiwar and political activists who stayed true to themselves and their ideals.

"They were very kind," Richard's sister Ann Ehlenfeldt said. "They always thought of others."

The couple met at the University of Wisconsin-Madison after they both volunteered to organize a Methodist supper club on campus.

They seemed the perfect match. Both hailed from small Wisconsin towns, where their prominent families practiced religion and politics with zeal.

Richard, nicknamed Dick, was raised in Columbus, a community of about 4,000 roughly 25 miles north of Madison. His father, Donald, ran the Eager Beaver Laundry service and was the town's mayor.

The former Lynn Wiese grew up in Clintonville, a farming city about 55 miles north of Columbus. Her father, Nathan, was a prominent Waupaca County judge and her mother, Joyce, an elementary school teacher.

Both came from deeply religious Methodist families. Dick, in fact, planned to become a minister after graduating from college.

The couple eloped in 1964 and later moved to Boston, where Dick attended seminary school. He served as a student pastor at several small congregations during that time, while Lynn - who gave birth to first daughter Jennifer shortly before the relocation - worked in social services.

To earn money, the couple ran a halfway house for women just getting out of prison. They lived among the ex-convicts, helping them adapt to the outside world.

"They were good people who believed in giving back to the community and trying to make a difference in people's lives," said Sampson, the couple's middle child.

The seminary required students to participate in a volunteer project, and Dick dedicated his time to George McGovern's presidential campaign. He shared many political views with the South Dakota senator, particularly his opposition to the Vietnam war.

Dick Ehlenfeldt quickly became enamored of the fast-paced political world. He thrived on the long hours, the constant work, the challenge of an underdog campaign. More than anything, he loved the idea of making a difference. He soon left the seminary for a full-time position with the McGovern campaign.

"At first, he was excited because he was the highest-ranking unpaid person in the campaign," his sister Ann said. "Then he joked he had become the lowest-ranking paid person."

Following the campaign's crushing loss to Richard Nixon in 1972, Dick took a job on McGovern's Senate staff and served as press secretary for his successful re-election effort in 1974.

Two years later, the Ehlenfeldt family - which now included daughters Dana and Joy - moved back to Wisconsin. Dick took a job as a legislative liaison for then-Gov. Martin Schreiber.

The job, like all the political posts Dick Ehlenfeldt held, required long hours and constant travel. He found policy shaping to be highly rewarding work and was particularly proud of the role he played in creating stiffer penalties for drunken drivers.

He worked in the upper echelon of American politics, doing advance work for then-President Jimmy Carter's trip to Germany and campaign work for Sen. Ted Kennedy.

He had flown on Air Force One with the president and met some of the country's most powerful leaders. Yet, Dick Ehlenfeldt never dreamed of an elected office of his own.

"He liked the behind-the-scenes stuff, where he thought he could do the most good," Ann Ehlenfeldt said. "He never aspired to something higher."

Things became even more hectic in 1978, when he managed Douglas LaFollette's failed bid for Wisconsin governor. He would spend days on the road, traveling with a personal campaign trunk filled with masking tape, staplers and balloons.

Lynn, who was no longer working outside the home, focused on the girls. She volunteered at the girls' school, worked at the church and shuttled her daughters to soccer practice.

The Ehlenfeldts' lives seemed so contented that eldest daughter Jennifer later told a reporter her childhood seemed like a "Leave it to Beaver" episode.

"I kidded my sister about that comment," Dana Sampson said. "It's not like my mom wore an apron all the time and walked around with a plate of cookies. We were just a typical family. There weren't a lot of conflicts."

Family friends still marvel at the Ehlenfeldts' close-knit household.

"They were wonderful, family-oriented people," friend Tom Becker of Des Plaines said. "Whenever you needed something, Dick was right there. And Lynn was never far behind him."

In true Ward Cleaver fashion, Dick Ehlenfeldt left politics in 1979 to spend more time with his family. He took a job with Group W Cable, working as a government liaison for the media conglomerate. The company transferred Ehlenfeldt to Chicago, where it was trying to obtain a cable TV franchise.

At first Lynn and the girls stayed in Wisconsin while Dick lived in Illinois. He made the 2¨-hour drive home each Friday for two years until he decided to move the family to Arlington Heights in 1981.

Group W eventually won the Chicago franchise, thanks in large part to Ehlenfeldt's low-key lobbying style. He remained with the company in an executive capacity overseeing intergovernmental relations. He was laid off in 1990, however, when another cable conglomerate purchased Group W. He tried to find other lobbying jobs, but considered his age a knock against him.

"It was a hard time," Ann Ehlenfeldt said. "They really struggled."

Lynn took a part-time job as a "mystery shopper," going to local grocery stores to secretly evaluate customer service and inventory. It didn't pay much, but it allowed her enough flexibility to remain involved in her daughters' lives.

As his unemployment stretched into the second year, Dick decided to pursue a longtime desire of opening a restaurant.

A fast-food chain wasn't the bistro he had envisioned, but it would be a start.

Dick Ehlenfeldt began researching the local food service industry with his characteristic intensity. He pored over data, judging which franchises were too risky.

In the end, Dick decided Brown's Chicken & Pasta would be the best investment. The 27-year-old chain had been successful in other suburbs, and Ehlenfeldt believed the Palatine location had not reached its potential.

He wanted the restaurant to become more of a catering business than a fast-food joint. It would take time, of course, but he was certain it could happen.

The couple raided their retirement, borrowed money from family members and sank $300,000 into the franchise. As much as the store drained from their savings, it demanded even more of their personal lives.

They spent 16 hours a day there, trying to make it a success. They missed their daughters' soccer games and important social events - even Joy's graduation.

Dick, true to his type-A personality, loved the grueling work. He liked the idea of building something from the ground up.

"He thrived under the pressure," Ann Ehlenfeldt said. "It was much harder on Lynn."

Lynn struggled with the long hours and time spent away from her daughters. Fast-food management wasn't for her. Still a social worker at heart, she was happiest when the young employees turned to her for guidance. A few affectionately called her "Mom," because of her maternal nature and constant concern.

"They were always helping people," Sampson said.

Even after a long, tiring day, the Ehlenfeldts would make sure to drop the evening's leftover food at a Little Sisters of the Poor convent in Palatine.

The relationship with the convent began shortly after the Ehlenfledts assumed ownership of Brown's, when a nun walked into the restaurant carrying 50 coupons for two free pieces of chicken.

Dick explained to the woman that the store's previous owner had issued the coupons and he simply didn't have the resources to give her 100 free pieces. Not wanting to disappoint the Little Sisters, he offered to bring them leftover food each night.

Employees also learned to depend on them. One worker had been kicked out of her house and was living in a car. The Ehlenfeldts offered to help however they could, telling the girl she could use the restaurant to wash up or have a hot meal at any time - even if she wasn't scheduled to work that day.

Shortly before the couple tried to start up their restaurant, their oldest daughter launched her political career. Jennifer, who had recently graduated from the University of Wisconsin-LaCrosse, won a seat on the LaCrosse County Board.

Her father had gone up to Wisconsin to help with the campaign. The seasoned political operative could barely contain his pride as he stumped for his child.

"He went door-to-door reminding people to vote," Ann Ehlenfeldt said. "Then he'd hold up her pamphlet and say, 'This is my daughter. Would you vote for her? She's very nice.'"

The parental pride deepened when Jennifer became a legislative aide to a state representative. That appointment came five days before Dick and Lynn Ehlenfeldt were murdered.

In the decade following the killings, the girls embraced their parents' values. Jennifer, who inherited her father's love of Democratic politics, now represents LaCrosse in the Wisconsin General Assembly.

The sisters remain close-knit and family-oriented. All three are married, Dana with three children.

Although they live in different states, they gather in Wisconsin on holidays and during the summer to celebrate birthdays.

"They're tough girls," Dick's cousin Bill Babcock said. "They've been through a lot, and they're much stronger now. They always try to honor their parents."

The sisters are products, Sampson said, of a devoted family.

"We were very well-loved," she says. "We knew we came from a home with unconditional love. Luna and Degorski didn't grow up in an environment like that."