The Green Green Loot Of Fundraising, Plus: Poop Update And A St. Paddy’s Story

3:30 p.m. UPDATE: Cool parade today on a sweet sunny day in beautiful downtown Bridgeport.

I must confess that I had not taken in a St. Paddy’s Parade in the city in years. The parade was more than an hour long and loaded with bands, floats and city pols. To veteran parade watchers it was the best they had seen in the 25 years or so of its existence.

I soaked up the sun in front of R&R’s cheering on current and former pols such as Lenny Paoletta who started the parade celebration during his years as mayor 1981-85.

Mayor Bill Finch and family were in good spirits. I chatted with the mayor and Probate Judge Paul Ganim. After the parade, I ducked back into R&R’s for a light seafood medley. What, no corned beef! Ah, I’m going to load up on Ms. Mo’s corned beef tonight.

It was nice to catch up to folks I hadn’t seen in a long time. I remember those days as a young scribe trying to convince Police Superintendent Joe Walsh to turn the Pequonnock River green. “Wha’d’ya mean,” he’d say, “damn General Electric and its PCBs already made it green.”

In those days city police cars were green and white so we had St. Patrick’s Day year ’round. Shamrock Pub, The Bon Ton, Dolan’s. Shoot, you could chug a 40-cent draft at Dolan’s. Wear a green tie, win a cocktail; although the bar crowd there was into sharing their beer with their tie.

All kinds of green happening this week. A little birdie told me Mayor Bill Finch’s $500-a-head fundraiser at Testo’s is going as planned, the dough is rolling in and the proprietor Democratic Town Chair Mario Testa is weighing in. That means the mayor should have a mighty nugget of cash come Thursday night. Low end $50K, high end $100K. What the hell, split the difference and it’s a nice start to reelection 2011.

It’s called the power of incumbency. Control the candy store and the sweetness flows (although there’s not as much candy to go around).

The mayor and Chief of Staff Adam Wood are smart to raise the loot, even though the election campaign will not begin in earnest until 2011. Load up while you can. Could this be the beginning of a new honeymoon between the mayor and Mario? And how will Mario’s fundraising efforts impact his reelection for party chairmanship one year from now?

Mario, as a token of goodwill, has even invited all City Council members and Dem district leaders for free. I wonder if Bob Troll Walsh will chow down? I’m guessing not, especially if he cannot bring Judith.

Sludge Update

A little birdie (not the mayor) also told me that Trumbull is having second thoughts about joining the proposed regional water authority with Bridgeport and Monroe. The economics don’t work for Trumbull which has sewers tied into the city’s treatment system. The difference is Trumbull’s pipeline system is modern. The city will need to spend tens of millions in upgrades to separate the storm water from the waste water. Trumbull doesn’t want to subsidize the Bridgeport costs.

Monroe, which has no sewers, wants to do the deal to kick start developer Bob Scinto’s proposal to construct a new Jewish Home for the Elderly. State law allows two municipalities (they need not be contiguous) to create a regional water authority. The one being discussed will be modeled after the New Haven area compact.

But if Trumbull backs out, and Bridgeport and Monroe do the deal, waste water from Monroe must pass through Trumbull. How will that work? More tomorrow.

St. Paddy’s Story

We all know that St. Patrick was Italian, but why should that stop me from reaching out to OIB Irish pal John Gilmore to share a story about one of the first St. Patrick’s Day Parade festivities in the city? This one goes back to the mid 1980s.

Frank McEvoy & The St. Patrick’s Day Parade

By John J. Gilmore

In the early days of Bridgeport’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade, Joe McNamara rose to head the committee that ran the event. Joe had a reputation in town for being a bit kooky, mostly because of his involvement in a variety of quixotic political campaigns. However, even a kooky person can have a good idea.

It was Joe’s idea to name a Grand Marshal of the St. Patrick’s Parade who was an everyman, not someone from the headlines loaded up with previous honors and successes. He wanted a Grand Marshal who would be a true representative of Celtic culture, a person to honor the position rather than giving someone another resume entry.

To that end, Joe won approval to have as Grand Marshal Frank McEvoy, a diminutive man who toiled in the composing room of the then-Bridgeport Post. Frank spent his life smelling the fumes of the molten lead used to make the hot type that printed the page plates of the daily newspaper. He worked in a noisy composing room filled with clanging linotype machines and his constantly yelling co-workers. Day in and day out, Frank came to work and did what was asked of him, never complaining, never seeking center stage or the limelight. He was one of those invisible workers in every town that simply helped keep the machine of the newspaper running on its daily schedule. That was of course, until he was named Grand Marshal.

Appointment as Grand Marshal was one of the greatest days of Frank’s life. He relished his chance to make the holiday great for others. That was the essence of Frank McEvoy.

So, on March 17, Frank made his way over to a pre-parade breakfast at J.F. O’Connell’s Pub with his bookend of a wife. Jack, the pub owner, once again laid out a free breakfast of coffee, tea and pastries for as many people as could fit in his place for as long as the sweets lasted. Frank entered the bar wearing his Grand Marshal Parade sash, officially identifying him the man of the hour. He beamed as he was congratulated with gusto. It was a small window of fame for Frank, his fifteen minutes Warhol time. However, every story like this must have someone who tries to diminish another person’s good fortune. And this is true of Frank’s story, too.

Almost immediately after Frank arrived at the bar, so did a previous Grand Marshal, a long-time Irish pol who enjoyed a lifetime of well paying low stress political jobs, dozens of political honors and appointment to numerous delegate positions at state and national party conventions. In political circles, the old politico was considered an Irishman’s Irishman. The district boss came into the pub wearing HIS Grand Marshal sash from a previous parade and started working the crowd like a candidate for office.

Guests were confused. The buzz started. Who was the real Grand Marshal? Was a mistake made? Did this little unknown McEvoy usurp the glory position? Soon, new whispers straightened out who the real Grand Marshal was that year. Frank’s position of honor was verified.

The old guy who couldn’t let go of the past was ostracized to a corner where he was seen wrapping pastries in paper napkins and sticking them in his coat pocket for consumption later. Another free lunch!

Through it all, Frank continued to beam and went on to lead the parade. He waved at the crowd, smiled along the entire ten block parade route and helped everyone have a good time. On March 18th he went back to the noise and smells of the composing room, somewhat taller and armed with the memory of a grand day.

As for the other Grand Marshal, he was bestowed with a new honor of being the butt of jokes for years, especially around St. Patrick’s Day.

(Frank is no longer with us. He is missed. Happy St. Patrick’s Day.)