Ruane succumbed at 12:25 p.m. at the Kaplan Family Hospice House in Danvers, with his wife, Helena, and other family members at his side. He was hospitalized on June 5 and had been in the hospice for the past 12 days.
"He died in his wife's arms," said Sharon Armstrong, his former administrative assistant and a longtime family friend. "She was telling him she was going to be OK. She said he opened his eyes briefly, smiled and passed."
A conservative, old-school politician with a passion for his hometown, Ruane rose from a clerk in the city's motor division to become vice chairman of the powerful House Ways and Means Committee. His five years as a city councilor and three decades in the House of Representatives were marked by impressive Election Day victories and memorable political fights, as well as by personal tragedy.
He played a role in some of the city's most significant projects and plans - Riley Plaza reconstruction, Veterans Memorial Bridge, waterfront redevelopment, Salem State College's aquaculture center at Cat Cove and the proposed $106 million court complex on Federal Street.
Although Ruane had been out of the Statehouse for two years, he had not been out of the news. A controversial attempt by fellow lawmakers to secure him a state pension made headlines recently, as did the continuing struggle to move the court project forward. The pension bill was reported to be on the governor's desk over the weekend, awaiting approval.
The son of an Irish-American grocer who dreamed of his boy becoming mayor, Ruane worked on the campaigns of former Mayor Francis X. Collins, but did not enter politics until midlife. He made up for lost time, however, by becoming a top vote-getter, and often unchallenged candidate, who built a career without a political machine or a campaign war chest.
City-wide roots
Ruane had deep Irish-French roots in this working-class, immigrant city, roots that only deepened when he married the former Helena Piecewicz, who is from a well-known Polish-American family. They were married for 52 years.
Cementing that broad political base, Ruane grew up on Winthrop Street near the former St. Mary's Italian Church. As a boy, he delivered groceries from his father's store to the Italian community on the hill behind the church.
A Navy veteran who fought for veterans' issues, Ruane often invoked the names of the dozen young men in that Italian neighborhood who were killed fighting in World War II. "We lost so many kids," he would say, "who lived almost side by side."
As a youth, Ruane worked in the First National stores his father managed. At 16, he ran his own First National Store on Boston Street. He credited his reputation for being good with figures and his ability to understand state budgets to his schooling at the grocery store.
Ruane went to St. Mary's Boys' High School in Lynn because there was no Catholic boys' high school in the city. Although he didn't go to college, he said he learned a lot from his father, Michael J. Ruane, who conducted homespun classes over the dining room table, firing questions at his children. "He would ask," Ruane once said, "Who were the generals at the Battle of Bull Run?"
After high school, Ruane served for three years in the U.S. Navy after World War II.
He returned to Salem and worked two city jobs - clerk in the motor division and instructor, basketball referee and baseball umpire for the Recreation Department. Much of Ruane's political strength, friends say, came from friendships he made playing, coaching and refereeing sports.
Ruane loved sports, especially baseball, and often sprinkled baseball metaphors into his speech. "I always told the doctors," he once said, "they'll never throw the third strike past me." He might have been one of the few politicians to succeed on Beacon Hill without being a Red Sox fan. He never outgrew his boyhood love for the Boston Braves.
In his later years, Ruane was a fixture at Salem Willows, playing pinball machines for hours. It was, a friend said, one of his few forms of relaxation.
Personal tragedies
Ruane's life was marked as much by political triumphs as it was by poor health and family tragedy. When he was 26, his mother was hit and killed by a car as she crossed the street. The J. Michael Ruane Residence on Broad Street, public congregate housing for the elderly, is located a short distance from the accident scene.
Two of his four children died young. His daughter Christine died of cancer soon after graduating from Salem High. His son Patrick, a Haverhill letter carrier, died of a heart disorder at the age of 40.
Ruane had his share of health problems. As a young man, he battled ulcers - something he always attributed to stress.
"I had to win," he said in a 2002 interview. "I was a hard-nosed kid, and I took things seriously. I haven't changed much."
Several years ago, he was diagnosed with throat cancer and had his larynx removed. He spoke by holding a battery-operated device to his throat. Although it was difficult, it didn't stop him from standing before a crowd and talking with emotion and at length. Sometimes his batteries ran out before he did.
Even Ruane's political career sprang from an accident. While working for the city, he was badly injured in a fall down the steps of City Hall, requiring him to undergo a series of back operations. While recovering and in the doldrums, Ruane was persuaded by friends to run for councilor-at-large. He finished last in a 1969 preliminary election, but first in the final after giving a rousing speech while standing in leg braces at the traditional election-eve rally at the Saltonstall School.
"I've never finished lower than first except that one primary," Ruane said with pride.
One of a kind
As a politician, Ruane was both a throwback and an enigma. He didn't hold big fundraisers, even though, as a ranking member of Ways and Means, he could have raised a lot of money. He counted for advice as much on his family - he had four older sisters - as he did on campaign veterans. He disliked the press, felt he never got the credit he deserved and almost never put out a press release. He didn't initiate a lot of legislation, but prided himself on fighting for anything to do with "his city."
Every two years, the city had to wait for Ruane to announce his political plans on St. Patrick's Day. He said he did it to keep a death-bed promise to his father, who always wanted his son to run for mayor and announce it on St. Patrick's Day.
After five years on the council, Ruane was elected to the Statehouse in 1974 at a time when the city had two representatives. In 1978, following a redistricting, Ruane squared off against the other Salem state representative, Bruce McLaughlin - the father-in-law of current state Rep. John Keenan.
McLaughlin tried and failed to make an issue of his opponent's allegiance to controversial House Speaker Thomas McGee of Lynn. Ruane beat him convincingly.
Two years later, City Councilor Steve Lovely challenged Ruane and got crushed. After that election, Ruane was seen as unbeatable and didn't face another challenge for two decades.
In 2002, an unlikely opponent emerged, former welfare mother Heather Pickard. She won two precincts and a surprising 40 percent of the vote. A lot of her support came from The Point, a low-income, largely Hispanic neighborhood where Ruane did not have a base and had once opposed state funding for a housing rehabilitation program.
Ruane supporters celebrated his election to a 15th term on Beacon Hill, while others saw the first signs of vulnerability. Ruane was older and ailing, and the city had changed. A large number of new voters, many of them young and progressive, had moved to the city knowing nothing of his political past.
As a legislator, Ruane was a fiscal and social conservative who opposed abortion, gay rights and welfare funding because he thought it was riddled with fraud. He was both criticized and praised for his close ties to House leadership, beginning with McGee and ending with House Speaker Thomas Finneran, a Mattapan Democrat who named him vice chairman of Ways and Means.
A fighter for Salem
Above all, Ruane was devoted to Salem, friends say, and fought for funding for almost anything to do with the city. He lobbied for Salem State College, Riley Plaza reconstruction, Salem Willows policing, the Veterans Memorial Bridge, and local schools, housing, road projects and the courts. He is credited with securing Cat Cove for Salem State's aquaculture program and earmarking $18 million in a seaport bond bill for a new Salem pier and other waterfront projects, although little of that money has been spent.
Ruane was stubbornly and proudly parochial. He opposed naming the Salem-Beverly bridge - he never called it the "Beverly-Salem bridge" - for a Beverly veteran, and insisted it be called "Veterans Memorial Bridge."
He was an emotional public speaker with a fiery temper, which sometimes got the better of him. In 1979 he got into a dispute with Marblehead officials over closing the Forest River tidal gates to allow summer swimming in a Salem neighborhood. It ended in a free-for-all at a Statehouse hearing. Ruane's ear got bloodied and, when he tried to retaliate, he mistakenly punched his chief of staff, Sharon Armstrong, in the shoulder. After he apologized profusely, they laughed about it.
"He loved telling that story," Armstrong said.
Around that same time, and on the same issue, Ruane pounded his fist so hard on a desk that he broke his hand.
Ruane's ties were strongest to the segments of the community that mattered most to him - the elderly, veterans and the firefighters. He was devoted to their causes and fought for legislation and state funding on their behalf. They returned the favors in votes and loyalty.
He faithfully attended events at the Council on Aging, where he had volunteered in his early years. On St. Patrick's Day, Ruane made stops across the city serenading the elderly with Irish songs. The J. Michael Ruane Residence, congregate housing next to the Council on Aging, is named in his honor.
Friend to veterans, unions
Ruane also lobbied for funds for the Chelsea Soldiers Home, the New England Shelter for Homeless Veterans in Boston and for local veterans' programs. In recognition, the Witch City VFW Post gives out an annual J. Michael Ruane Community Service Award.
One of the past winners, High School band director Cynthia Napierkowski, represents another group closely tied to Ruane - the High School band. Ruane never missed a school concert. On Memorial Day, when he was too ill to attend the annual parade, the band marched to his Nursery Street home and serenaded him from the street. He blew them a kiss from his porch.
Ruane was so close to the Salem firefighters union that they made him an honorary union member, one of only two people accorded that honor, and presented him with a white helmet symbolic of a chief. When Ruane was hospitalized recently, firefighters in full dress uniform marched into his room for a final goodbye.
The honors hardly stop there.
When the Nathaniel Bowditch School was dedicated a few years ago, the gym was named for Ruane.
Salem State College credits Ruane with securing funds for its award-winning digital geography laboratory, which is named for him. In 1999, the college presented Ruane, a high school graduate, with an honorary doctorate.
Ruane was only the fourth non-Rotarian in 80 years to receive the Paul Harris Fellowship from the Salem Rotary Club, in recognition of his public service.
And the proposed court complex will bear his name.
Ruane, friends say, will be remembered for his loyalty to old friends and causes, and his devotion to his hometown and its working-class roots.
"I'm the people's guy," the representative from Salem liked to say.
J. MICHAEL RUANE
Born: Dec. 10, 1928
Education: St. Mary's Boys' High School, Lynn
Military: U.S. Navy, 1945-48
Family: Married Helena (Piecewicz) on Sept. 6, 1953, four children
Political career: Salem City Council, 1970-75; state representative, 1975-2004; vice chairman, House Ways and Means Committee, 1996-2004
