Eulogy for
Martin A. Coughlin (1944-2000)
delivered by Frank Conte on
November 3, 2000 at the Holy
Redeemer Church in East Boston. |
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Friends,
neighbors, my fellow Americans.
I come
here this morning with a heavy heart for
I have lost my friend, Marty Coughlin.
Indulge me, dear friends, if you will,
for I will wear this heavy heart on my
sleeve. This is what I must do. I come
here wondering if the words I have
composed for this morning can match the
wonderfully forceful, spontaneous,
oratorical skills of a man who spoke for
those who could not speak; of a man who
made us laugh and cry, who inspired us
and angered us; of a self-made man who
loved his neighborhood more than his own
soul; and, who, in the end, showed what
it is to be human. My words are limited
in their power; they inevitably
shortchange what Marty meant to us. I
hope youll understand.
I have
carried this heavy heart for almost a
week now. I carried it as I walked up
Chelsea Street thinking of our friend. I
have carried it as I walked past the
places Marty would take me to explain his
ideas for this public project or that
traffic plan. I have carried it as I
drove, much as I did with Marty sometimes
night after night, from Jeffries Point to
Maverick Square to Central Square to
Orient Heights to Eagle Hill -- through
tunnels and over bridges. I have carried
this heavy heart to the magnificent
Madonna Shrine and looked out over East
Boston and Logan Airport. And I imagined
that there, atop Orient Heights Marty
would take in this awesome view of
Constitution Beach and Logan Airport and
the Boston skyline. And I imagined Marty
describing the way things ought to be.
Where the planes should land; where the
cars should go; where the people should
be free to walk and where the kids should
play. I imagined Marty showing me his
wide vast arena.
This
arena that was East Boston was not always
a kind place to Marty; but it was a place
that tested Teddys Roosevelt idea
that I believe I once saw framed in Marty
office: "It is not the critic who
counts Ébut the man who is in the arena;
whose face is marred with sweat and dust
and blood; who strives valiantly, who
errs and comes short again and again; who
knows the great enthusiasms, the great
devotions andÉwho, if he fails at least
fails while daring greatly, so that his
place shall never be with those cold and
timid souls who know neither victory nor
defeat."
It was a
pity that Marty couldnt get himself
elected. Analyzing all those glorious
defeats at the ballot box, former state
Representative George DiLorenzo was fond
of bellowing to Marty paying tribute to
his brilliance.
"Martin,
if you lived in Dorchester, you would be
the city councilor for Dorchester!"
"Martin,
if you lived in West Roxbury you would be
a great state representative for West
Roxbury!"
"Martin
if you lived in South Boston you could be
a state senator from South Boston"
But
Martin you live in East Boston and East
Boston is Italian and you are Irish!
Whats the matter with you?"
I think
thats when Marty came up with his
universal one-size-fits-all campaign
slogan: One of our own; one of our
best. And henceforth Marty, to me,
became an honorary Italian. I know this
is true for he never missed a meal. Not
only that. He starting thinking himself a
connoisseur of Italian cuisine. He once
visited a restaurant in Vermont and
complained about the spaghetti. The
waitress asked him well you dont
look Italian what the heck do you know
about spaghetti? Marty argued he knew
spaghetti; he lived in East Boston and
those old Italian ladies were always
feeding a then-very-thin Marty. If Marty
couldnt get himself elected at
least he could tell a good plate of
pasta.
As you
know, Marty without an argument was like
Coca-Cola without the fizz. In the 1980s
Martin and I produced a talk show for
cable television. Marty was a regular
guest and I was the host. Each show would
be a display of verbal fireworks. For a
time Marty had his fans convinced that I
worked for Massport simply because I
played devils advocate. You showed
that guy from Massport who's the boss
they would say. He was a shrewd one that
Marty, playing me for the fool. But it
made good TV. Sometimes the programs got
so hot and heavy that people could not
believe that we could be friends
off-camera. But this, after all ,was part
and parcel of how we carried on even in
Central Square where we would meet up
with the gang with Gigi, Manny, Bobby,
The Hawk, Sammy, Paddy and Myron and
Charlie. Here we would debate the
political events of the day, whether the
MBTA be free or the East Boston version
of how many angels exist on the head of a
pin. And we two fools would give them a
show and they could hear us all the way
to Chelsea. We all knew that Marty could
be stubborn and quite frankly that Marty
could be an S.O.B. But we all knew deep
down that he was our S.O.B. One of our
own, one of our best.
But that
was Marty in public. Some of us were
lucky to know Martys private side.
Marty will not be known only for his
fiery opposition to trains, planes and
automobiles in the wrong places. He will
not be only known for his fight against
the Airport or the Turnpike Authority. He
will be remembered for his work with our
youth.
When it
came to helping young people Marty would
jump through hoops. He would give you his
last dime, make sure that you were fed,
that you had a job and that if you
didnt have one a home. Marty would
find a place for you to stay.
Marty
would keep kids out of jail and in
school. I know of one case where Marty
put his own personal liberty on the line
pleading with a judge that he would take
responsibility for a kid he knew didn't
belong in jail. Marty would know himself
what it was like to be arrested; he was
once fighting for our community. I
remember during the days of busing, Marty
worked the Projects making sure
that cooler heads prevailed.
His
commitment to up and coming generations
can not be matched. I remember many times
seeing Marty at his typewriter filling
out applications for jobs or applications
for college or government forms for young
people starting a business. There is an
entire generation of young people my age
who Marty helped. Marty would tell us we
were important. He told us that if you
were from East Boston you deserved every
break, every fair shot -- just as much as
any kid from Brookline, Newton or
Wellesley or Wayland.
This came
from a man who did not finish high school
-- a man who gave up any idea of starting
his own family because he embraced just
about everyone he respected as a brother
or a sister. Marty was proud of his
family. Like him, I too came from a big
family. And he would tell me how
impressed he was with how two parents,
Italian immigrants, could work hard and
send all of their six children to
college. Only in America wed say.
For Marty was a patriot in the best sense
of the word. They dont make public
men like Marty anymore where a mans
word is his bond; just look at whos
running the country today.
Of all
the aspects in Martys life Id
like to highlight an interesting element:
the role that women played in his life.
The East Boston women he knew, from
Carolyn Orr at the Trinity House who
showed him respect and encouraged him as
a young man, to the strong willed women
who showed him compassion and
understanding and perhaps how to get the
job done. Whether it was Anna DeFronzo,
Anna Lane, Chickie, Mary Ellen, Alice or
countless others, women strongly
influenced Martys outlook. They fed
him, they nourished him, they housed him
and they inspired him. And no one did
this better than our friend Fran Riley.
When all was lost, when he was penniless
and in despair there was Fran. If ever
there was a brother-sister relationship
to hold out as an example of love, it
would be the special relationship between
Marty and Fran. I know that your heart is
heavy too. God bless you Fran Riley. God
bless you.
We can go
long into the night to recall our friend.
So many stories so little time. And as I
told you earlier, my words only have so
much power, they fall short. My words
would be incomplete without a humble
attempt at lending eloquence to our
friend. And so I found solace this week
in the great British poet W.H. Auden.
With sincere apologies to Auden I have
taken some liberty with the poem with
Marty in mind.
Stop all
the clocks, cut off the telephone
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy
bone
Silence the piano and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners
come.
Let the
aeroplane circle moaning overhead
Scribbling the sky the message He is Dead
Put crepe bows around the white necks of
the public doves
Let the traffic policemen wear black
cotton gloves.
He was our
North, our South, our East
and West
Our working week and our
Sunday rest
Our noon, our midnight, our
talk, our song
We thought our love would
last forever; We were wrong!
The stars
are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the
wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any
good.
We know
that Martys untimely passing
impoverishes us. East Boston has been
diminished. We are lost without him. We
feel cheated. Martys not around
anymore to say, "Lets go for
coffee." The street corners of
Central Square have lost their voice.
But
Martys good works will always speak
to us. And Martys spirit will
always speak to us, inspiring us to
improve our community.
We will
memorialize Marty by naming some building
or park or street or scholarship fund.
This is most certain. For all great men
are the common property of the country as
they said at our great statesman Daniel
Websters funeral. Marty was the
common property of the neighborhood. But
Marty wouldnt want to be remembered
this way.
Instead
Marty, this powderkeg of passion, would
want to be remembered for what he did. So
I implore all of you to remember our
friend. When an indifferent, big
intrusive government tries to bully its
way without rhyme or reason ask yourself,
"What would Marty have done?"
When big business comes in and starts
pushing its way around in pursuit of a
fast dollar without concern for our
quality of life, ask yourself, "
What would Marty have told them and how
to get there." When City Hall
doesnt answer, when politicians
hide, remind yourself how Marty got their
attention. When we argue among ourselves,
by all means lets argue with
passion, but then lets step back
and remember that were all in this
together. I know thats what Marty
believed deep down inside. Maybe he
didnt tell you so.
And when
some young man or woman shows up before
you unable to tell you that he or she
needs help a job, a place to
sleep, a kind word of encouragement, a
guiding hand, a shelter from the storm
put your arm around his or her shoulder
and remind yourself just how much Marty
overextended himself to do anything in
his worldly power to help. That, my
friends, was Marty Coughlin.
Many
wonderful people have walked these
streets of East Boston but nobody has
never left more behind than our friend.
Goodbye Marty. We love you and may God
bless you.
30-
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1995-2000, All rights reserved.
CB Publishing & Consulting, Inc.,
East Boston, MA 02128
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