Honorable Leader – Dottie Guman, Former Vice Chair Of Dem Party, Passes Away At 86

Dottie Guman

 

Family and friends may call from 4:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m. on Monday, January 20, 2025, at the Adzima Funeral Home, 50 Paradise Green Place, Stratford. A Mass of Christian Burial will be celebrated Tuesday, January 21st, at 10:00 a.m. meeting directly at St Catherine of Siena Church; 220 Shelton Rd, Trumbull, CT. Burial will follow in St. John’s Cemetery, Monroe.

In the stormy world of Bridgeport politics Dorothy “Dottie” Guman was like a warm sun and cool breeze against the turbulence, a voice of reason trying to sort out various schisms, bruised egos and relationships. She was the Mother Goose of the party. The ex vice chair of the Bridgeport Democratic Town Committee passed away on Monday. She was 86.

Guman bid farewell to Bridgeport about a dozen years ago where she became a nurse, raised her children, observed campaign life from her political warrior husband John D. Guman Jr. and then followed in his footsteps after he passed away in 2000, albeit a much more reserved approach to politics, if just as dedicated to the candidates she chose to support.

She built a base of political support in the 136th District from her house on Hickory Street in the city’s Upper East Side. For decades she served as district leader and was among the first political stewards to receive a phone call and pitch from anyone running for public office in the city.

Guman was a rarity in the cutthroat world of city politics, in style and substance, when often difficult to sort out friends and enemies. Reliable, honest and her word steely solid, she served as a sturdy bridge between Democratic Town Chair Mario Testa and party regulars. When Mario was unapproachable, taking his daily afternoon siesta, or fighting with a district leader, Dottie was always available. Mario could hand off an assignment to Guman, a political party fundraiser, a campaign event, a headquarters opening and it would get done.

Her tone of voice was refreshingly authentic. If she disagreed with someone, she wouldn’t bellow “He’s full of shit” as most would; she’d drop in a very polite, “He’s full of prunes.” And if she was directly mad at you she’d likely drop in this rejoinder: “Well, hello, mister.”

Some party regulars questioned Guman’s friendship with Mario with whom she had her differences from time to time, but she wasn’t bashful telling the political leader how she felt about a political or government concern. Some people are built on loyalty. Never was it more tested in Guman’s relationship with former two-term Mayor Bill Finch.

Guman was the godmother of Finch’s political career, the one who looked after him when he needed someone the most. Sadly, her political career in Bridgeport ended with Finch serving as her biggest disappointment, in how he governed, in how he treated people, in misplaced priorities and missed opportunities.

In the early 1990s when Finch was out of work and could not find work with two young boys to feed, it was Dottie Guman who stepped up for Finch, even in the face of opposition from her husband who viewed Finch as unfocused, unreliable, undisciplined, a stubborn know-it-all with a habit of sticking foot in mouth. Dottie Guman had a maternal bond with Finch. She saw him as a talented person who was hurting. Finch had bounced around from job to job, fired from this one, lost that one.

Finch, as a member of the City Council in the early 1990s, was a heartbeat away from homelessness. Financially, he had nothing. Late on mortgage payments, late on tax payments, late on child support payments, chased by bill collectors. “We have to help Bill,” she’d say. And she did. Campaign work, city work, transit authority job, economic development job. Dottie Guman expended her political capital on Finch.

Some financial stability came to Finch in the late 1990s when he was hired as executive director of the Bridgeport Economic Development Corporation, followed by his election to the State Senate in 2000, both efforts aided by Dottie Guman. If not elected to the State Senate, Bill Finch would not have been elected mayor in 2007.

When political developments positioned Finch for the mayoralty, Dottie Guman was there again. Power can do strange things to people and shortly after his election as mayor in 2007, Finch became unrecognizable to Guman, much more like her late husband had predicted. Worse was when Finch directed apoplectic, curse-filled rants at Dottie Guman because she dared to question mayoral decisions.

Cursing at Dottie did more than to damage Finch’s relationship with her. She had friends.

When Finch attempted to double dip his mayoral check and State Senate pay, something that blew up publicly, to Guman’s way of thinking, Finch was more interested in what the job could do for him, than what he could do for the job.

Further erosion came with Finch’s support of a mayoral-appointed Board of Education in 2012. Dottie Guman was against giving Finch more power. Voters agreed.

Bit by bit the spokes in Finch’s political wheels broke apart, particularly Finch’s relationship with the Black community. Along comes Joe Ganim in 2015, seeking a historic political comeback. Dottie had moved out of the city by then but still on the periphery of politics.

The Finch-Ganim September 2015 primary was the stuff of legends, with Testa breaking from incumbent Finch to support Ganim. Dottie Guman was not bashful about her support for Ganim, sitting at his table at a large fundraiser.

Sometimes, actions speak louder than words.

That’s the way Dottie Guman operated.