Op-Ed; Honan will be missed throughout the Hub

THOMAS M. KEANE JR.
821 words
2 August 2002
Boston Herald
All Editions
023
English
(Copyright 2002)

In a legislative body as small as the Boston City Council, the death of any member is more than just the passing of a colleague. It's like a death in the family.

That's certainly the case with Brian Honan, everybody's favorite son, who three days ago died at age 39 from complications following cancer surgery. The 12 people who were serving with him are devastated. Men and women accustomed to keeping their cool in the public eye are stunned and grief-stricken, unable for the moment to cope with the untimeliness and suddenness of his death. That's true also for those who used to serve with him - me included.

I first got to know Brian in 1995. A prosecutor in the Suffolk County district attorney's office, he was mulling a run for the council and, smartly, he was meeting with incumbent councilors, letting them know his plans, trying to build some bridges.

He started running citywide and then, in the midst of his campaign, things changed. Allston-Brighton Councilor Brian McLaughlin announced his retirement. Honan, a lifelong resident of the community, immediately decided to run for the open seat.

To outsiders, it would have seemed an easy race. Brian's brother, Kevin, was, and still is, a popular state representative and Brian could draw upon his family's deep roots in the community and its long-time political activism. But the district is a blend of conservatives and liberals, and the more liberal Honan just eked out a victory.

The job he won can often be lonely. Those one represents are just as likely to be angry with you as they are happy. Potential challengers are constantly looking for an opening and so a politician needs to be on guard, never allowing outsiders to see a weakness.

Among politicians disagreements are an everyday occurrence. Friendships are ephemeral, easily wrecked over deeply felt issues or battles for leadership.

To a large degree, Brian broke that mold. In a body that frequently was riven with conflict, no one disliked him; indeed, many call him "loved."

Brian had an easygoing and gregarious manner that drew others to him. Even in the most tense of circumstances, as one councilor says, "he always had a twinkle in his eye; he was always ready with a quip."

It was an attitude that was contagious. He helped even those who were mortal political foes see their common humanity.

Yet, to simply peg Brian as a likeable guy is to give him too faint praise. For the importance of Brian's life was that he committed himself to public service.

Local politics is often mocked, derided as penny-ante trivia. But Honan understood that making cities work requires paying attention to the details. There may not be much glory in it, but those details touch peoples' lives directly and profoundly.

And so he paid attention. The area Honan represented was filled with a mix of long-time residents and college students. Because it was so transient, city government sometimes forgot about it in favor of more established and stable neighborhoods.

Brian changed that. Weekend evenings he would ride with the police, shutting down loud parties. He oversaw the removal of abandoned streetcar tracks along Brighton and Washington avenues, a long-overdue project that physically transformed a once-dowdy area. He worked with community groups to rein in the proliferation of clubs and bars on Allston and Brighton streets.

His first election may have been difficult, but the three times he faced re-election he never faced a serious challenge. As Brian's popularity grew, he involved himself in larger matters, especially housing. On issues ranging from homelessness to affordability, Honan was the councilor housing activists learned they could count upon.

Brian could have easily gone from the DA's office to a law firm, making better money and working far fewer nights. Instead, he dedicated himself to the neighborhood in which he grew up and the city in which he lived.

This summer, in his seventh year as a city councilor, Brian was engaged in a tough campaign to become district attorney. He was working enormously hard, traveling around the city, making a name for himself in communities far removed from Brighton. He felt ill but brushed off the symptoms, ascribing them to exhaustion. He was enthusiastic about his prospects in the September primary.

Win or lose, Brian's future seemed bright.

And then he died.

There is, of course, an enormous personal tragedy here, for Brian and for those who knew and loved him.

But there is also one for Boston. Especially when it comes to local politics, too few people care enough to make the sacrifices needed to become politicians. Brian cared. Brian sacrificed. His loss wounds deeply.

Tom Keane can be reached at tomkeane@tomkeane.com.

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