three cities in the state had such schools: Boston, Springfield, and Cambridge, so it was an easy, feel-good vote for suburban legislators of both parties, whose constituents would never be affected, and that was what so infuriated white working-class Boston.
Billy seethed at the hypocrisy of the rich white suburbanites, who reminded him of the people Sonny McDonough dismissed as “the League of Women Vultures.” But once more it was Billy’s neighbor Louise Day Hicks who most candidly articulated the resentments of white ethnic Boston: “If the suburbs are honestly interested in solving the problems of the Negro,” she said, “why don’t they build subsidized housing for them?”
As J. Anthony Lukas wrote in
Common Ground
, his study of court-ordered busing in Boston, “Louise had tapped a much broader sense of grievance, rooted less in race than in class: the feeling of many working-class whites that they had been abandoned by the very institutions—City Hall, the Democratic Party, the Catholic Church, the popular press—that until recently had been their patrons and allies.”
Busing was still almost a decade away, but it was already clear that the next few years in Boston would be scarred by racial animosity and bitter class warfare. Incumbent mayor John Collins had no stomach for what lay ahead. In early 1967 he announced he would not seek a third term, and Louise quickly entered the race. At her announcement, the band played the old standard “Every little breeze seems to whisper Louise.”
Her slogan: “You know where I stand.”
There were a host of candidates, but the race quickly boiled down to Louise versus Kevin Hagen White, the secretary of state, the son and grandson of Boston politicians. White had been elected secretary of state in 1960, at the age of thirty-one. At the time he was so obscure that at a pre-election rally, JFK introduced him as “Calvin White.”
By 1967, though, he had been elected statewide four times, and he became the consensus anybody-but-Louise candidate. The
Globe
, which was consolidating its own position as the newspaper of record for liberal Massachusetts, ended its ninety-year policy of no endorsements for political office to come out strongly for White, and he won easily, despite Louise’s lopsided margins in the blue-collar, white working-class wards. White resigned as secretary of state, and the legislature selected House Speaker John
F. X. Davoren as White’s successor, which opened the way for Majority Leader Bob Quinn of Dorchester to become speaker.
For the first time, Billy had a friend—a neighbor, in fact— at the helm. But as his top deputy, Quinn picked David Bartley of Holyoke, who was two years younger than Billy. In terms of advancing in the leadership, Billy still appeared stuck on a treadmill to oblivion. And that meant he didn’t have the political juice to deliver the number of patronage jobs to Southie that his constituents demanded.
In 1968, Billy even found himself on the short end of a legislative redistricting. For a time he looked like the odd man out in his three-person Southie district, so he appealed to Louise Day Hicks to campaign for him. On the stump, she quoted John Boyle O’Reilly, the Irish immigrant and poet for whom Billy’s first public elementary school was named.
“‘Loyalty,’” she said, quoting O’Reilly, “‘is the holiest good in the human heart.’ Billy Bulger has never forsaken his own.”
Billy was reelected. It would be his last tough race.
Though his political future was secure, at least temporarily, Billy still wasn’t making much money in his little two-man law firm with his fellow Southie native Tom Finnerty. Billy was always a little short of cash, especially with a new child continuing to arrive every other year. And it was during this period that he began to develop some bad financial habits that would later get him into some serious trouble, namely, investing with his law partner, Tom
Billy seethed at the hypocrisy of the rich white suburbanites, who reminded him of the people Sonny McDonough dismissed as “the League of Women Vultures.” But once more it was Billy’s neighbor Louise Day Hicks who most candidly articulated the resentments of white ethnic Boston: “If the suburbs are honestly interested in solving the problems of the Negro,” she said, “why don’t they build subsidized housing for them?”
As J. Anthony Lukas wrote in
Common Ground
, his study of court-ordered busing in Boston, “Louise had tapped a much broader sense of grievance, rooted less in race than in class: the feeling of many working-class whites that they had been abandoned by the very institutions—City Hall, the Democratic Party, the Catholic Church, the popular press—that until recently had been their patrons and allies.”
Busing was still almost a decade away, but it was already clear that the next few years in Boston would be scarred by racial animosity and bitter class warfare. Incumbent mayor John Collins had no stomach for what lay ahead. In early 1967 he announced he would not seek a third term, and Louise quickly entered the race. At her announcement, the band played the old standard “Every little breeze seems to whisper Louise.”
Her slogan: “You know where I stand.”
There were a host of candidates, but the race quickly boiled down to Louise versus Kevin Hagen White, the secretary of state, the son and grandson of Boston politicians. White had been elected secretary of state in 1960, at the age of thirty-one. At the time he was so obscure that at a pre-election rally, JFK introduced him as “Calvin White.”
By 1967, though, he had been elected statewide four times, and he became the consensus anybody-but-Louise candidate. The
Globe
, which was consolidating its own position as the newspaper of record for liberal Massachusetts, ended its ninety-year policy of no endorsements for political office to come out strongly for White, and he won easily, despite Louise’s lopsided margins in the blue-collar, white working-class wards. White resigned as secretary of state, and the legislature selected House Speaker John
F. X. Davoren as White’s successor, which opened the way for Majority Leader Bob Quinn of Dorchester to become speaker.
For the first time, Billy had a friend—a neighbor, in fact— at the helm. But as his top deputy, Quinn picked David Bartley of Holyoke, who was two years younger than Billy. In terms of advancing in the leadership, Billy still appeared stuck on a treadmill to oblivion. And that meant he didn’t have the political juice to deliver the number of patronage jobs to Southie that his constituents demanded.
In 1968, Billy even found himself on the short end of a legislative redistricting. For a time he looked like the odd man out in his three-person Southie district, so he appealed to Louise Day Hicks to campaign for him. On the stump, she quoted John Boyle O’Reilly, the Irish immigrant and poet for whom Billy’s first public elementary school was named.
“‘Loyalty,’” she said, quoting O’Reilly, “‘is the holiest good in the human heart.’ Billy Bulger has never forsaken his own.”
Billy was reelected. It would be his last tough race.
Though his political future was secure, at least temporarily, Billy still wasn’t making much money in his little two-man law firm with his fellow Southie native Tom Finnerty. Billy was always a little short of cash, especially with a new child continuing to arrive every other year. And it was during this period that he began to develop some bad financial habits that would later get him into some serious trouble, namely, investing with his law partner, Tom
Similar Books
