[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 151 (2005), Part 12]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages 16208-16209]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




             MR. JACK THOMAS' ARTICLE FROM THE BOSTON GLOBE

                                 ______
                                 

                          HON. RICHARD E. NEAL

                            of massachusetts

                    in the house of representatives

                        Thursday, July 14, 2005

  Mr. NEAL of Massachusetts. Mr. Speaker, I wanted to bring to the 
attention of my colleagues an article from the June 20, 2005, Boston 
Globe about two legendary figures in Massachusetts politics. ``The 
Loner in Winter,'' by Jack Thomas, gives us an update on the former 
mayor of Boston, Kevin White, and former State treasurer Bob Crane. 
White and Crane came out of the same political environment that 
produced larger-than-life personalities like Tip O'Neill, Joe Moakley 
and Silvio Conte. As the article shows, Bob Crane and Kevin White have 
developed a great friendship in politics that has lasted over 40 years.
  Kevin White was the mayor of Boston for 16 years, from 1967 to 1983, 
and his friend Bob Crane served as State treasurer for 26 years. They 
became friends in the 1960s while campaigning together in western 
Massachusetts and have been close ever since. During his tenure in 
Boston, Kevin White was simply the best mayor in America. When I became 
mayor of Springfield, I looked to Kevin for advice and guidance, and he 
always steered me in the right direction. For young mayors seeking to 
make their mark, Kevin White was the role model to which we all 
aspired. He helped make Boston the great city it is today.
  Mayor White is now suffering from Alzheimer's, but he still commands 
the room, with his remarkable presence and sparkling personality. Bob 
Crane also had a remarkable public career as treasurer, but is also 
known as a great singer and entertainer, specializing in the Irish 
songs that form an integral part of the Boston Irish political culture. 
When Bob was in office, he brought his musical talents and singing 
group, the Treasury Notes, to nursing homes and other centers to 
entertain the elderly, and he still does so today, as well as appearing 
at select political gatherings. Beyond the music, Bob exemplifies the 
cardinal virtue of loyalty in politics, and no one is more loyal to his 
old pal, Kevin White, than Bob Crane. When politicians gather in 
Massachusetts, Bob makes sure that Kevin is there and is honored for 
the great mayor he was and great American he is.
  Mr. Speaker, I ask that Jack Thomas' June 20 article from the Boston 
Globe be included in the Record, and I recommend it highly to my 
colleagues as an example of the type of politicians who valued 
friendships on both sides of the aisle and whom we can be proud of.

                 [From the Boston Globe, June 20, 2005]

                          The Loner in Winter

                            (By Jack Thomas)

       Having finished his cheeseburger and 7-Up at Doyle's Cafe 
     in Jamaica Plain, Kevin H. White, the mayor of Boston from 
     1968 to 1983, got up from the corner booth and followed his 
     pal of more than 40 years, former state treasurer Robert Q. 
     Crane, who led the way into a back room so they could say 
     hello to the monthly meeting of Romeo, a group of about 30 
     retired politicians, judges, reporters, and other scalawags 
     from Boston's political past.
       At 75, White is still trim, still handsome, and still 
     dapper of dress, and he's still got the square jaw, the wispy 
     white hair, the twinkling blue eyes, and the smile as wide as 
     Commonwealth Avenue.
       But for the man who defined politics in Boston over three 
     different decades, these are difficult days.
       Having gone through surgery that removed two-thirds of his 
     stomach in 1970 and having survived a heart attack in 2001, 
     he lives with a pacemaker. White always loved talking 
     politics, but even simple conversation is a challenge now for 
     two reasons. First, he is deaf in his right ear, and second, 
     Alzheimer's disease is robbing his mind of those colorful 
     memories of the days when he ran the city from the big office 
     overlooking Faneuil Hall and, in the judgment of many, lifted 
     Boston out of the doldrums and helped establish its 
     reputation as one of America's favorite cities.
       As Alzheimer's takes its toll, The Loner in Love With His 
     City, as White was called, is

[[Page 16209]]

     even more of a loner these days and reluctant to speak 
     publicly. But he girds himself and trails Crane into the back 
     room, then brightens to hear applause from the gaggle of men, 
     old and gray, who once had a say in running Boston a 
     generation or two ago.
       White shakes hands with former attorney general Robert 
     Quinn and with Bernard ``Bunny'' Solomon, aide to governor 
     Foster Furculo in the 1950s and now a trustee at Northeastern 
     University, and then White stands in back, alongside Crane. 
     ``There are a couple of people here I want to introduce,'' 
     says Bobby Hannan, a political reporter for the Boston Herald 
     40 years ago. ``It's good to see Mr. Kevin White we're 
     pleased to see you and your smiling face.''
       Most of the men put down their salad forks to applaud 
     again.
       ``And,'' says Hannan, ``former treasurer Bob Crane.''
       ``You may not realize it,'' says Crane, never at a loss for 
     blarney, ``but this is the best luncheon you'll ever have, 
     and the reason is that your guest is Francine Gannon,'' he 
     says, pointing to one of Boston's wilier politicians, who 
     served as an aide to congressmen Thomas P. ``Tip'' O'Neill 
     and Joseph Moakley and now to Senate President Robert E. 
     Travaglini.
       ``Mr. Mayor,'' Hannan says deferentially, ``would you want 
     to say a word of greeting?''
       White winces.
       He's unsure how to respond, uncertain what to say.
       For an awkward instant, the room is quiet, until Crane 
     leans in to White and says softly, ``Say you're glad to be 
     here.''
       White brightens, takes a step forward, smiles, and says in 
     a strong voice, ``I couldn't be more pleased to be here.''
       More applause. Do they cheer because he survived so many 
     challenges in politics or because he just survived a 
     challenge of old age?
       A moment later, smiling and waving, White follows Crane 
     from the room, out of the cafe, and into a car for the drive 
     back to his home on Beacon Hill, where the surroundings are 
     familiar, where he feels safer, and where the struggle with 
     Alzheimer's is once again private.
       White and Crane are the Romulus and Remus of Boston 
     politics. Their friendship dates to the 1960s, when they 
     campaigned together in Western Massachusetts, Crane for 
     treasurer and White for secretary of state, an office he held 
     from 1961 to 1967. The friendship grew through tennis 
     holidays on Cape Cod and golf weekends in Florida and family 
     vacations in Barbados and the Soviet Union, and who can say 
     how many nights of counting votes and all the triumphs and 
     losses and the laughter, too, that finally bring them 
     together, as two old men, in a corner booth at Doyle's on a 
     chilly afternoon in June.
       Over White's left shoulder is a snapshot of the three who 
     have served as mayor for nearly four decades: White, Raymond 
     Flynn, and Thomas Menino, photographed under a Pickwick Ale 
     sign. Over White's right shoulder is a copy of the Globe, 
     Nov. 8, 1967, the first day of what would become the New 
     Boston.
       ``White Goes In as Mayor with 5 New Councilors,'' reads a 
     headline about White's victory over Louise Day Hicks. A 
     photograph of the party at the Sheraton Plaza shows White, 
     then 38, Hicks, Senator Edward M. Kennedy, governor John A. 
     Volpe, and, in the background, Crane.
       ``I'm always in the background,'' he grumbles. ``All my 
     life, you've been putting me in the back row.''
       The political wars are in back of White now, and the punch 
     and counterpunch of politics have faded into lore.
       How much does he miss it?
       ``What?''
       Crane: ``How much do you miss being [in] office?''
       White: ``I loved every minute I was there but . . .'' He 
     pauses.
       Crane: ``The answer is . . .''
       White: ``Are you speaking for me or for us?''
       Crane: ``Us. We're sophisticated enough to know that our 
     day is gone, and that we shouldn't be around bothering 
     people.''
       Around Crane, White laughs heartily, but in conversation, 
     he often asks Crane and a guest the same question three and 
     four times in an hour: How long have we known each other? 
     Where did you grow up?
       How does he feel on a scale of 1 to 10?
       ``How what?''
       How do you feel?
       ``About what?''
       How is your health?
       ``I'm in good shape. I could beat you at anything,'' he 
     says to Crane.
       But your memory is not what it used to be?
       ``Well, that's for sure.''
       ``You are forgetful,'' says Crane.
       ``Yeah, I am. But I don't travel or do things that would 
     make that something to worry about.''
       You mean you spend more time with friends than with 
     strangers.
       ``That's a good line, yeah, much more.''
       White brightens at a question about his daughter Patricia, 
     who announced last week that she is a candidate for City 
     Council.
       How much of a role will he play? ``I don't know. If she 
     asked me . . . I take pride in watching her, and I don't want 
     to interfere.''
       As mayor, White maintained a hideaway office on Tremont 
     Street. During a private interview late in his final term, he 
     was asked about his legacy.
       ``The Prudential Center is [Mayor] Johnny Hynes. Center 
     Plaza and City Hall belong to [Mayor] John Collins. But 
     Faneuil Hall?'' he said, leaning forward and pointing his 
     thumb to his chest. ``Faneuil Hall is mine!''
       As he walks around Boston today, what gives him that level 
     of satisfaction?
       ``I don't think of it much, but if I had to . . . if I 
     thought . . . or if I were walking with you I don't think 
     it's because of anything I've done. I'm not being coy, but I 
     think it's the town, because Boston has a certain . . . 
     what's the word?''
       ``Pride?'' says Crane.
       ``Pride's a good word,'' says White.
       ``Spirit?''
       ``Spirit?'' says White. ``Yeah, Boston's got . . . is it 
     charm?''
       ``Whatever it's got, Kevin, people say you were the best 
     thing that happened to Boston. People walk right by me to get 
     to you, which doesn't set too well with me.''
       White is embarrassed by the description of himself as the 
     best thing that's happened to Boston.
       ``I'm not being a con merchant, but I don't think that's 
     really true. A lot of people contribute. Don't you think the 
     people of Boston have a certain . . .''
       He pauses, tapping the table in frustration.
       ``It has nothing to do with me, but Boston has and I can't 
     quite . . . it's a certain . . .''
       His face lights up as the word comes to mind. ``Boston has 
     a certain panache!''
       At times, White and Crane seem as scripted as a Marx 
     Brothers routine.
       ``I didn't recognize you in this 1979 picture,'' says 
     Crane, ``because you've got your hands in your own pockets.''
       ``Aw, don't listen to him,'' says White, ``honest to God.''
       How does White spend his time these days?
       ``Well, I don't see many people.''
       Among those Crane lists who spend time with White, 
     lunching, golfing, or attending Red Sox games, are Robert 
     Beal, the property owner; George Carney, owner of Raynham-
     Taunton Greyhound Park; former treasurer John Driscoll; 
     publicist George Regan; Jack Connors, chairman of the Hill, 
     Holiday ad agency; and City Councilor Stephen J. Murphy.
       ``People say I spend a lot of time with Kevin, but it's 
     time I love,'' says Crane. ``It's time we love, because we're 
     perfectly compatible. We disagree about nothing.''
       White smiles.
       ``We really do get along, don't we?''

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