Mario Cuomo

by O'Shaughnessy, William;

  The state trooper racing across the Tappan Zee [Bridge] to slow down an erratic driver before he kills a family coming back from a skiing vacation.

  A clerk in the motor vehicle office in Yonkers helping an Hispanic woman fill out difficult forms.

  An assistant D.A. in the Eastchester court loaning $5 to a defendant for bus fare home.

  Hank Dullea taking time from state operations to do a kindness for a man [Andrew O’Rourke] who stumped the state with a cardboard dummy of you.

  Encouraging young twenty-five-year-old Nelson Rockefeller Jr.—a kid who has wealth, a famous name, but no father.

  A student at SUNY New Paltz who got up early this morning to work on a term paper who can’t forget he was rejected by Dartmouth and couldn’t afford it anyway.

  Tom Mullen driving two and a half hours to a remote town in Delaware County to help a German butcher market his sausage statewide.

  A youth worker in the Bronx who, on his own time, pulls a kid out of a bad situation.

  The toll taker at Harriman who smiles and says, “Thank you” as she retrieves two quarters with chapped, freezing hands.

  All the wrongs that will be righted today in all the courtrooms across the state by patient, compassionate judges.

  The AIDS patient whose pain will be eased by the money you directed to Cardinal O’Connor.

  The tree your ENCON ranger will save this day in the Adirondacks.

  The bridge your DOT crew will strengthen in Batavia, and all the families who will cross it in years to come.

  The social service program(s) that stayed in the budget because the governor looked straight at Dall Forsythe and insisted, “Don’t touch that one . . . it stays.”

  Sam Fredman sitting in his courtroom, sweating under his black robes, trying to settle a nasty, draining, long-running battle between a husband and a wife.

  Nita Lowey on the floor of the House, trying to remember all the lessons you taught her.

  Kathy Behrens—and all the other ombudsmen—untangling red tape for people. They wouldn’t exist unless a former secretary of state had thought of the idea.

  The cabinetmaker in Cayuta who hired five more joiners with the $40,000 economic development loan.

  Andrew puffing on Parliaments, trying to do an end run past Ed Brady and going out on weekends to check his housing for the homeless H.E.L.P. sites.

  Matilda visiting a daycare center and hugging a child, or taking endless tours of senior citizens around the mansion to show them where Roosevelt slept. (We watched a tape of Dan DiNicola’s program up in Waverly last weekend and someone said, “My God, she’s real.” I, however, thought she took inordinate pleasure in telling the story about your getting beaned!)

  And I’ve told you this one before: Mario Cuomo standing on Fifth Avenue outside the Metropolitan Museum and giving a high school kid and his girlfriend the same attention he gave the Premier of Quebec inside.

  I don’t know where I’m going with all this, Mario, except maybe to suggest that, for all your gifts as an advocate, you really haven’t sold the spirit of your administration.

  And you don’t sell it, if you’ll allow me, with the editorial boards of Time or Gannett, or with Evans and Novak, or at sidewalk press conferences outside the White House. You sell it, I think, by just being Mario Cuomo. By just doing.

  The hell with [Joe] Bruno, [Rudy] Giuliani, and the guy in Buffalo who takes shots at Andrew.

  Ralph Marino and political “strategy” don’t matter. I love feeding you bulletins on [Wayne] Barrett and Guiliani and Roy Goodman. But they don’t matter either. Who the governor is matters.

  Every thinking person in this republic knows you would make a superb president. Everyone except you and that damn Nancy Keefe woman at Gannett Westchester, who loves you. As I do.

  But for now, I guess I would have you concentrate on that lovely, deserving entity known as New York state, which has been entrusted to your care and keeping.

  I love Keefe’s line about you “chasing ideas.” But you can do that later. Pursue instead that vision of a caring, loving New York state that you described so well in your first inaugural.

  And if you do: all those people who disagree with you on Shoreham, or Staten Island, or capital punishment, or taxes, or McGivern will count for nothing.

  Don’t freeze out [Fred] Dicker or fret Bruno or outflank O’Connor. Just be Mario Cuomo.

  And just remember all the lovely stuff which comes out of your generous heart.

  And that which proceeds from the government you run so well, some of which I’ve mentioned in this note.

  Show them not how bright you are, but how good you are. Show them Cuomo.

  Thus I guess I would probably have you ground the damn chopper and pull the plug on your phone and instead take a walk around the Mall in Elmira—or have the $6.95 fish fry, including salad bar, at Shepard Hills Country Club on Friday night.

  Or just take Fabian and Broughton to Barnaby’s for a burger and a negroni. I’m off to sell some advertising.

  It’s much easier to pick on you.

  Yours,

  Brother Bill

  P.S. In all of this, as always, I’m not at all sure I’m right.

  P.P.S. [Vincent] Tese has recently done an extravagant brochure outlining all you’ve done for business. How about a recitation of all you’ve done for the weak and the poor whose champion you’ve always been? Or, perhaps, what you’ve done for the merely ordinary, struggling as they/we are?

  The following missive was dispatched right after the statewide election of 1990, which the governor won handily with 53 percent of the vote against Republican economist Pierre Rinfret. But an unexpectedly strong challenge by Conservative Herb London caused the election to be somewhat closer than expected.

  November 8, 1990

  MMC:

  Maybe I’m a day late with this, but as I sat at my kitchen table early this morning looking at the Times’s picture of you out walking alone yesterday, the thought occurred that I wish I could have whispered in your tired ear:

  Maybe, like Sam Roberts suggested, you took a few shots in this election—your armor is dented and your lance slightly bent. But as far as I can see, they never touched your good and generous heart.

  I know you’re getting lots of advice from your staff and political counselors while you are going through this period of “gathering,” on which I am reluctant to intrude.

  Some must be urging a Bradleyesque mea culpa: “I heard your anger, I heard your frustration, etc. . . . I got the message.”

  And the temptation thus is that you now be only Mario the Competent, tight-fisted Manager.

  My plea, as always, is that you only be Mario Cuomo. Nancy Keefe, the conscience of Gannett, whose goodness bedeviled us all, and I had a lemon squeeze this morning, during which we agreed that the Family idea is, ultimately, the only thing that recommends Cuomo. “In tough times, families pull together.”

  You were quite correct in your observation that the opponents of the governor (and, indeed, the bond issue) sought to divide and put one against the other. That’s the complete opposite of everything you stand for and everything you are.

  You are the champion of the weak and the homeless and the untitled and the confused and the hurting, because they have no other.

  So, as you now consider a course for your third term, I guess I would have you go back to basics and forget any “practical” advice or tactics or strategy.

  To that end, I would love to see the governor revisit those upstate towns and confront those women in the P & C market on the south side of Elmira or go to the Korean grocery store in Queens.

  And it’s not just to the streets I would direct you. How, I wonder, does one explain to my Nancy’s wealthy father that he goes down unless you help these minorities to help themselves!

  This is a mean, nasty time. People are confused and searching. And, as much as you want to flee from the damn “moral leader” designation, there is no one else to make
any sense of this chaos and sense of hopelessness. It goes beyond the policies of Bush and Reagan and my Republicans, or the greed of the fat cat establishment or the entrenched unions. It goes beyond politics and labels.

  I’m not suggesting you do a Florio, who may be capable of some bravery but is unable to explain his tactics as part of a compassionate, enlightened philosophy of governance.

  And I think I would again urge you to consider getting Rinfret, London, Wein, Marino, Barrett, Long, Goodman, Winner, Bruno et al. to table at the mansion to ask their help in all this. You will recall not one of them, during the campaign, ever once suggested a specific cut in spending. (I would also get Malcolm and Anderson and Carey and even Koch and let them contribute ideas.) You and I both know they will probably bring only rhetoric, but the idea of MMC reaching out, even to his enemies and detractors, is something to consider. Let them call their press conferences after the session. Let Pierre Rinfret trumpet that he is, at last, an advisor to Mario Cuomo.

  And go to every one of those counties you lost to present yourself and listen and preach and try to turn some of those hardened hearts with that basic, simple message of love and sharing.

  And, yes, reach out even to those poor, hurting bastards who denied you and your family a moment of victory at the Sheraton. Tell them what you’re doing to save their lives and ease their pain—and then draw the line, if you must, on spending. But remember too your comment that they’re also trying to save their souls. And give them the compassion and understanding of which only you are capable.

  Enough from me. Enough! As you can see, I guess I’ve enlisted in Keefe’s campaign to deny you the presidency.

  Now that you’ve read all my ramblings and as you dust yourself off after a night that was less than great, I add only one more suggestion: that you read pages 332–334 of The Diaries. Friday, October 22, 1982, has it all.

  And the last three lines on page 10 of Lincoln on Democracy.

  As always, I end with the hope that you will forgive the presumption and boldness of someone who only loves you.

  Yours,

  Bill

  The following haunting and lovely piece was written by Mario’s granddaughter Samantha O’Donoghue as he took his final breath.

  Samantha spoke for so many in his family—and also for all those whom Mario always called “the family of New York.”

  Dear Grandpa,

  As I look back and think about everything that has happened, you come to my mind often. If you were not physically with me, you still found a way to be with me mentally. Your voice always spoke loudly, and it never went through one ear and out the other. It and you were always vivid memories in my head. Whenever I had a tough time with something or did not know what to do, I always thought of you and asked myself what you would do. An answer would always come to me. You had such a good sense of humor . . . some of the best times of my life were with you. You had so many inspiring values and were a hero to me in so many ways. You will always be remembered by so many people besides me, because you have touched so many hearts, more than you will ever know. You have touched mine too. I could go on forever telling you how great you were, but that really would not serve much of a purpose, because I don’t really need to tell you that. Everyone just knows, and I hope you know too. I love you more than you will ever know, and I will miss you more than you will ever know. We all will. The last time I saw you (today) I knew you were going to die, either today, tomorrow, the next day, or in a week. I knew you didn’t have a month though. So I said goodbye to you today but I didn’t think my goodbye was good enough. I was not the only one who felt that way. There really isn’t a goodbye that is fully sufficient . . . considering how good a man you were . . . not just a man, but a human being. You once wrote a book called More than Words. I will always remember you for so many attributes and reasons. I therefore think my goodbye did not have to be perfect . . . through words at least. Actions speak louder than words. Your legacy was too good for words, but it is never too good for actions. It is our actions that really show how grateful we are for you and what you have done for us. You did not deserve to suffer like you did these past months. I am so glad your last breath was peaceful because that is what you deserved. Every breath you took was worth it and changed the world for the better. Every word you ever spoke was golden, and every action you took was meaningful. God has a purpose for everyone . . . no person is put here by accident. Your story is so inspiring, especially to me, and I will always remember you when I want to give up. It is a story everyone should learn from. A poor, simple Italian boy who was raised in the back of a grocery store grew up to become the phenomenal governor who touched so many hearts. You were not just a governor. There isn’t just one way to describe you. You were the governor, but also a friend, a gift, a legend, an uncle, a father-in-law, a father, a grandfather (MY grandfather) and the list just keeps going. You have helped so many people follow their dreams and your legacy will always be in the hearts of so many . . . including mine. I wish you could see how many people are sad and what they are saying, but I think you already knew that. You held on for us. You were always modest, but you always thanked God and told me to thank God for who I am and for who helped me to get there. I’m so glad you were one of them, and one of the greatest gifts you could have ever given me was love, but not just any love. You gave me my mother, a gift alone, who also misses you so much, and the fact I got to be with you and know you for the time I did is one of the greatest gifts I ever received. I love you to the Moon and back, and five hundred more times. I love you more than you will ever know, and I’m proud to call myself your granddaughter. Any girl would die to have you as their grandfather for so many reasons. God needed another angel, but not just any angel. He needed you, Grandpa, to help Him, to stand by His side and remain faithful to Him. I know that I have a guardian angel now, and I could not have asked for a better one. You aren’t just any angel . . . you’re MY special angel. I love you, Grandpa, forever . . . even more than that. Lots of people try to change the world for the good, or maybe for the worse. You said you were going to try, and you didn’t just do that . . . you didn’t just succeed. You DID change the world . . . you didn’t just touch the family’s hearts, and not only the hearts of the state, but the hearts of the nation. People say we lost a giant, and we did. After you are gone, it feels as if the world became half-empty. The whole nation mourns your loss, and we should. Rest in peace.

  Samantha

  Here is a recent note from the legendary ninety-year-young Broadway and Hollywood columnist Liz Smith.

  August 6, 2015

  Dear Bill:

  One thing about Mario and Matilda Cuomo: He always was down to earth and candid with me and liked to “brag” on her good works. I think his favorite thing when he appeared with her at the Landmarks Conservancy was to tease her about how “faithful” he always was to her—“and nobody should doubt it for a minute” because she was “a jealous Sicilian wife.”

  I never knew if this was just a joke, but it was fun because she was so ladylike and un-temperamental.

  I saw them together at lunch only months before he died. Their faces would light up when they saw someone they approved of. It occurred to me they were still very much in love, though time had taken its toll.

  I think we lost a great potential president and first lady.

  Can’t wait for your book.

  Love, Liz

  11

  Andrew’s Eulogy

  Over the years Mario did many wonderful eulogies for departed friends: Among them were lovely tributes to Bill Modell and for Modell’s son Michael. He also spoke movingly and lovingly of his old Queens friend John Aiello and the columnist Jack Newfield. His remarks for his mother, Immaculata, which I’ve included earlier in its entirety, is a classic. He also had gracious and graceful words for Ed Koch, Malcolm Wilson, Andy O’Rourke, and Ted Kennedy that were carried on our radio stations.

  But the most stunning and riveting eulogy during
my time was delivered last year not by Mario, but by his son and heir Andrew Mark Cuomo, who did himself—and his father—proud. Although Mario famously said on many occasions that he wanted no eulogies, Andrew’s tribute to his father was absolutely spectacular. It takes nothing away from Andrew—or from Mario—to observe that MMC himself could not have done better, perhaps not even as well. Andrew’s lips and heart and passion put Mario Cuomo right in front of every sad admirer of his late father there assembled in that huge, beautiful Jesuit church on January 6, 2015. Here is Andrew’s perfect tribute to his father:

  First let me begin by thanking the pastor and priests at St. Ignatius Loyola for their courtesy, hospitality, and this beautiful ceremony, especially Father Alex Witt and all the co-celebrants, on behalf of the Cuomo family and fourteen grandchildren—by which we defied all odds. Thirteen girls! And the boy was born just before Christmas to my brother, Christopher. My brother, Christopher, and Cristina named the boy Mario because some people will do anything to earn the praise of their father. There is no jealousy on my part, however.

  We want to thank Columbia-Presbyterian [Hospital] for their really fantastic care of my father during these difficult months. Dr. Engel and Dr. Maurer were extraordinary. The health aides who took care of my father at home: Steve Crockett, Dan O’Conner, Tom, Fran, Sharon. For twenty-four hours a day, they were really magnificent and made his life much more pleasant and also looked out for the family. We thank his partners at Willkie, Farr & Gallagher. He practiced law for twenty years after public service, and he really enjoyed it. It was a beautiful partnership.

  To his team. No administration, no government works without a team. And my father really had a fantastic team. They worked twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, because that’s the only way they knew how to work. Mary Tragale and Mary Porcelli, Michael DelGiudice, Jerry Crotty, Drew Zambelli, Tonio Burgos, John Howard, John Maggiore, Mary Ann Crotty, and my father’s third “son,” whom I sometimes think he loved the most, Joe Percoco. They did an extraordinary job with his funeral, and we want to thank them.