December 04, 2008 12:29 am To the editor: The shot went up. I locked onto the closest big kid and placed my body between him and the rim. The ball caromed off the basket and fell into my outstretched hands. The 13-year-old all-star tournament opponent climbed up my back and tried to unsuccessfully use his height and athletic ability to tap in the rebound. All was well until I was called for a foul. The referee probably couldn't fathom how else someone five inches shorter than the best player on the court could end up with the ball. In the middle of a very demonstrative adolescent tantrum, my larger-than-life coach guided me off the court and told me to calm down. It was another life lesson from one of the best teachers God ever created. My coach almost 40 years ago was Kevin B. Harrington, who took his last breath early on Thanksgiving morning. He leaves a legion of admirers and intimates who were lucky enough to have basked in his brilliance, erudition, insight, empathy, and street smarts. It was through a coincidence of family, neighborhood and love of politics that I benefited from his gentle guidance and rigorous intellectual prodding. I count myself as one of many who moved from the gymnasium to Locke-Ober with Harrington where the only wrong move was to try repaying his generosity by reaching for one's wallet. The walk from his office to the lunch spot of the day was noted by the Beacon Hill cognoscenti, which provided an intangible boost to the confidence of young entrants to the scene. His presence was a comforting and reassuring constant as we advanced and encountered the trials and tribulations of a sometimes rocky life. As time went on and he stopped going into "town," I would arrange to meet him for lunch locally. We would go to places where he could sit back and expand upon any number of topics. I liked to get him talking about the Salem and America of his youth and the differences between now and then. He spoke of having the "game of his life" one summer while playing basketball on the Kutscher's circuit — a famous feeding ground for college scouts at the time. He combined hoops with waiting tables and ended up getting an offer to attend Notre Dame, but instead accepted a scholarship to St. Louis University where he met the love of his life, Kathy Carney. He called her the "boss" which was especially ironic because he was known to the rest of us as the "boss." Then again, he always did know where the real power resided. As a young man, he was conspicuous by his height and as the nephew of a prominent Salem politician. He ran for Salem City Council and then the state Senate. He described to this political junkie his campaign methods, which included going to ethnic social clubs in the middle of August and sitting for long stretches with the smell of steaming vegetables and meat permeating the hall as likely supporters toasted his candidacy with shots of straight booze cradled in hard hands scarred by leather-cutting tools. He compensated for a lack of proficiency in their native tongues by listening and learning. He climbed the back steps ("Never go to the front door, because people use the back door.") of houses throughout the city to meet voters in their homes. Obviously these techniques worked as he never lost an election. From this modest start he rose to heights unimaginable back when his sisters would share their breakfast with the amazingly hungry teenager whose growth spurt culminated in a gawky, 6'9" adult presence. Harrington quickly rose through the ranks of the Senate to become the presiding officer of that body. He was as astute a politician as ever served in the Legislature (or "the building") and asserted his authority at a time of vacuous leadership from the executive branch. He personally saved the commonwealth from receivership at a time when New York City's government had become a cautionary example of the pitfalls of governmental irresponsibility and inattention to financial warning signs. Political proficiency aside, his most enduring and substantive contributions to his community and state were in the field of education. He was an intellectual force who firmly believed that quality higher education was the path to a better life for the children of his constituents. This core belief manifested itself on many different levels from pure policy and widely recognized expertise, to his efforts to counsel and tutor countless young people in their individual journeys of learning. The trust and affection he garnered from all of these efforts were evidenced by the constant outpourings of gratitude and fondness that I observed from people he had helped. Harrington knew that his height and stature could intimidate, so he often would step off the sidewalk to equalize as best he could the height difference and would always conduct himself in a graceful and respectful manner. The flip side of that coin, of course, was that he could also pull himself up into a very imposing figure who did not suffer fools gladly. I knew that we had crossed some invisible line when he finally let me pick up the tab after one meal. I had been protesting vigorously for some time, and he finally acceded. I think he figured that his time was running out, because he would often remind me that he was living longer than any of the Harrington men which, naturally, sparked talk of their lives and times. More frequently we discussed the underpinnings of his philosophy, which was a product of his religion and his early life experiences. He told me that he remembered the day during the Great Depression that a woman showed up at his door and asked for his aunt or mother. The visitor had worked in a mill with the Harrington women and had just been let go after years of service. She had no family and nowhere to go. The family took the woman in without question. She stayed until she passed away years later. Harrington told me he always thought she was a relative until he was told the true story later when old enough to appreciate it. The message he consistently imparted clearly was that we had a responsibility as Catholics (one brother was a priest) and Americans to take care of those who were less fortunate. Those in Salem, Peabody, Danvers, Beverly, and Marblehead (he represented the latter community for his first couple of terms in the Senate), and in the commwealth, are better off because of the lifelong commitment to compassionate ideals of this true gentleman. The last time I saw him was around last Labor Day. I called ahead to see if Mrs. Harrington thought he was up for a visit. I was delighted to get the OK to come over. He greeted me at the door and escorted me into the library. His gait was somewhat halting and he propped up his foot which he said was aching. We then spent over three hours engaged in some of the most intense intellectual discourse I have enjoyed in my lifetime. It ranged from family matters (I grew up with his sister, Margaret Suslak's, children) to international affairs and the election. Some might take the simple approach and typecast Kevin as a Massachusetts politician. They might not know he minored in European history and was taught by, among others, Kurt Schuschnigg, who was the chancellor of Austria during the takeover of that country by Hitler. His primary focus that day was the presidential election since he innately understood the historic nature of this event. He was skeptical that Barack Obama could win because he did not think the country as a whole was ready for this outcome. He questioned my analysis of the candidate, message, and fundraising capacity of both sides. He was as sharp as a tack! I returned from Ireland last week and expected to visit my friend and go through one of our favorite exercises — post-election analysis and prognosis. Instead, I will join his family and friends at Immaculate Conception Church Saturday to celebrate the memory of a man larger than life, whose legacy will endure for generations to come. Victor L'Esperance Salem
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