I woke up this morning expecting to write an obituary for an old friend.
Such is the often-strange business I’m in. I’ve had to do this too many times before. But it never gets easier.
Some might think Jimmy Stark and I unlikely friends. Perhaps we were. He was the same age as my dad, and when it came to politics, where our paths first crossed, we had about as much in common as I do with my own dad — which is to say, not very much.
Our first interaction, after he was elected councilman in 1989, when I was a councilwoman in the middle of a four-year term — and a member of the soon-to-be Democratic minority on the board — was less than pleasant. In fact, we screamed at each other.
Though he had not yet taken office, the councilman-elect was invited by then-supervisor Joe Janoski to have a seat at the table during a work session. This was shortly after the election in which Joe, Jim and former councilman Vic Prusinowski — whom I had unseated in 1987 — had swept into office.
We were discussing something and I began to speak, saying “Well, I think —” when Jim interrupted me with “Let’s get something straight,” he growled. “It doesn’t matter anymore what you think.”
Of course, that got my Italian temper roiling which in turn got his Irish up and in a New York minute we were in each other’s faces, with Joe Janoski seated across the table looking rather amused.
I don’t remember how a genuine friendship grew out of that rocky start, but it did. It probably had something to do with the Rendezvous. While Jimmy and I had nothing in common when it came to age, ethnicity, background or politics, we did share a love of scotch. There was a time when the supervisor’s office had a private stash and after a meeting — especially after the Riverhead Town Board’s own version of a floor fight — we’d sip a scotch and smoke a few cigarettes in the corner office. Hey, don’t judge. It was a different era.
If not in the corner office, then at “the ‘Vous,” which some people joked was where town business was really conducted. It wasn’t, of course, but it was a place where wounds from sharp words in the board room or in the local papers were healed by a smooth libation.
But Jimmy and I shared a fondness for more than scotch and cigarettes. We also shared a love of family and a deep and genuine love for Riverhead, my adopted home town.
We grew to respect each other and, over the years, forged a strong bond. He’d call me up every once and a while — even from Hawaii, where his daughter lives and where he wintered with his lovely wife Patricia. I used to tease him that he couldn’t possibly be as bad as he seemed if Pat loved him. He’d laugh and grouse in that unique way of his — he had a special laugh that sounded sort of like a growl.
There was nothing phony about Jimmy, the brash, tough-talking, calls-it-like-he sees it guy that not everybody knew how to take. What you saw was exactly what you got. People could love him or hate him. If the latter, “f*ck ‘em,” as he would say. It was almost a mantra. That’s probably not the best attitude for a politician, but he wasn’t about to change who he was just to win votes.
He liked to sing. Give the man a mic and you’d figure he’d soon be belting out the Frank Sinatra classic, “My Way.” I mean that could have been his theme song, right? But instead, he loved to croon “What a Wonderful World.”
Jimmy had a big heart and underneath that gruff exterior, was actually quite a softie.
He worked hard. He cared deeply. He fought passionately for what he believed in. He didn’t hold a grudge. If you disagreed, fine. We vote. We move on. It’s all good.
I think that’s an important lesson in politics and in life in general.
He called me up out of the blue last week, just to shoot the s— er, breeze. I knew when his number popped up on my caller ID, the first words I’d hear would be a gravelly, “Hey, pal.” Last week was no different. He loved to talk about town hall, the town budget and things he believed were not as they should be. Sometimes we agreed, sometimes we didn’t. But it was always good conversation.
I was surprised how well he sounded, considering what he’d been through recently. He was under no illusions about his health, though. He’d worked on his own obituary. He knew he was nearing the end of the last chapter. Still he was feeling optimistic, he said, about how he’d rebounded and how good he was feeling.
“I’ve led a full, productive and rewarding life,” he told me. “I’ve been very blessed with a loving wife and a wonderful family, which mean more than anything else. I’ve had a chance to try and make a difference in my community and I tried and I hope I did.”
You did, Jim. You did.
Denise Civiletti is an owner of East End Local Media Corp., publishers of RiverheadLOCAL.com and SoutholdLOCAL.com. An award-winning reporter, she is an attorney and former Riverhead Town councilwoman (1988-1991); she lives in Riverhead with her husband and business partner, Peter Blasl and their two college-student daughters. The views expressed in her blog are hers alone.
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