With Patience and Fortitude: A Memoir

by Christine Quinn

  Of course in the brief seconds before I spoke, I couldn’t help but think, as I always do on special occasions when I’m surrounded by the people I love, about the people who weren’t there. I thought of my mother and how happy and proud she would have been to stand alongside me. And how happy I would have been for her to be there too. And I thought of my brother-in-law Anthony, who had lived only seven months after our wedding. What a heartbreak it was for everyone that he had so little time! I could picture him standing with us cheering louder than anyone. He would have loved the announcement and the campaign. He would have thought the day was unbelievable—his highest praise.

  I thought of Mayor Ed Koch, who endorsed me for mayor two years before the election and even before I had announced. Three days before he died at the end of January, he’d said he wanted to help with my campaign. More than anything I’ll miss his spirit, his warmth, and his wisdom from his three terms as New York’s mayor. He really loved New Yorkers in ways that I can totally understand. Not everyone agreed with him (and he was never shy about disagreeing with them, either). He made his share of mistakes, as we all do. But he loved how tough New Yorkers are, how unafraid, and how much they care for their city, whether they’ve just arrived from another country or can trace their New York roots back a couple of centuries or more.

  For my family, like so many families who left other places to come to New York, this city was a beacon—a place where they believed if they came, great things would happen, almost magical things. And for my family, they did. My four grandparents, who arrived in the United States without a penny, sent their four children to college. My parents sent their two daughters to college and encouraged us to be whatever we wanted to be. And that’s why I want to make sure this remains the ultimate truth about New York City: that it’s a place for the middle class to live and grow, and a place that’s going to help all those hardworking people like my grandparents get into the middle class, so they can provide an even better future for their children.

  I planned the first day of my campaign so that I had the opportunity to meet lots of New Yorkers across the five boroughs and let them know why I’ve decided to run for mayor. We went from Manhattan to the Bronx to Queens to Brooklyn and finally to Staten Island. It was the first day of what I’m calling my Walk and Talk Tour, which will take me to every one of New York City’s fifty-nine community board neighborhoods over the next six months. My goal is to hear directly from New Yorkers. What’s going on in their homes? What’s going on in their lives? That way I can make certain that the issues that I’m working on are the ones they’re facing every day.

  I love New Yorkers and how bold they are. As I’ve learned over the many years I’ve been in public life, they ask challenging questions, which they should. And that I’d better be prepared with an answer. During our stop in Queens, one Forest Hills resident had a question for me, and he didn’t hesitate to interrupt when I was answering another person’s question. I asked him to wait a minute so I could finish answering the first question, and a minute later, when I still wasn’t finished, he didn’t hesitate to ask again. New Yorkers are demanding. And so am I.

  But New Yorkers are also compassionate, and it’s important for the mayor to be the mayor of all New Yorkers, whether they live on Park Avenue or have no place to live at all (which we can’t accept as a given). When I was in Forest Hills, I met a mother and daughter, and the girl, who may have been thirteen or a little older, didn’t seem able to look me in the eye. She asked if she could talk to me, and then asked what I was going to do to help autistic children. This interaction was really remarkable, since her mother later told my staff she has Asperger’s syndrome. It was an incredible moment. Here was a young girl who, despite her challenges, seized this opportunity to ask an elected leader how she planned to help other autistic children. I invited her and her mother to City Hall, where we could discuss the issue without all the cameras and fanfare. She said, “Yes, because I’m a little shy, and this is a lot.” And I said, “I’m not a little shy, and this is a lot.” She must have had to muster a lot of courage to do that, so it was really quite inspiring.

  A little bit farther down the block, a woman came running out of the nail salon where she worked. “Oh, Chris!” she called. I went into the nail place, and we found the color of nail polish to match the blue on our posters and literature. After that I headed toward the back of a pizza place to use their bathroom, when I saw a man in a wheelchair. I went over, and I said hello and he gave me a fist bump. At first I thought it was cute, but then I realized he couldn’t open his fist to shake hands. And he really had trouble talking. It took him about six minutes to say what you or I could say in two minutes, but he was so clear about his question.

  He said, “What will you do to help disabled people?”

  That’s where I get my energy: from the people I talk with. Tell me the problem. We’ll do what we can to help get it fixed. Government can do a lot to help. That’s what we’re here for.

  My favorite moment of the day came in the Bronx, when a bus pulled up to the curb to let passengers off. The driver spotted me and called out, “Hey Chris!” How could I not respond? So I jumped on the bus, with all the press people following in close pursuit, and talked to the driver and some of the passengers on board. I was quick because I didn’t want to slow everyone down. Just before he closed the doors and pulled away, the driver yelled in answer to a reporter’s question: “She’s got my vote and anyone who gets on my bus!”

  A few months back when I was in spinning class with Kim, I had this out-of-nowhere realization that I was the exact same age that my mother had been when she was diagnosed—to the day! I was riding hard, totally focused on my breathing and keeping pace, and it just popped into my head, which was so odd, because it’s not like I was somewhere or saw somebody that triggered something. It was nothing like that at all. It was just there.

  I’ve heard other people who lost parents at a young age talk about how they had a real sense of this, that, or the other when they reached the same age their parents were when they got sick or died. Until that moment, I’d never thought about it. Never, not once. But maybe I’ve always been aware of it subconsciously, because I’ve always lived my life without assuming I’m going to live to an old age, so I have to get as much done as I can with the time that’s right in front of me. At this stage of my mother’s life, she had only ten years left, and they weren’t easy years, but she packed as much as she could into them while her health lasted, making sure that I got the most out of life that I could.

  I don’t know how much time I have left. None of us does. But I can tell you that my plan, both short and long term, is to make the most of the time I have—to get the most done and to do the most good for the city and the people I care about. I think New York is a remarkable place that has given my family every opportunity one can imagine and more. I want to keep that going and to make it easier for everybody who is out there trying to make their way through life—to better their own circumstances or to build a better future for their children. I also want to make progress as a person, one day at a time. I want to accept that I can’t do everything alone and to remember to ask for help. I want to remember that there is valor in the struggle, and that life’s events have an impact on us as people—and that it’s okay to embrace and acknowledge that impact on a daily basis. I want to be a good friend to Kim and the best spouse that I can be. She deserves nothing less. And I can only imagine that these are the things my mother would have wished for me and expected of me.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It is virtually impossible to list every individual who has helped me in some way complete my story and this book. That said, the biggest thanks, certainly, must go to Kim, without whom I would never have found real happiness.

  Thank you to the entire rest of my family—the Quinn and the Catullo gangs—for all of your love and endless support.

  Ellen, thank you for making sure I was never alone.

  Da
ddy, thank you for showing up every single day.

  Josh Isay, thank you for your incredible support, encouragement, and friendship.

  Wayne Kawadler, thank you, most important for your lasting friendship but also for your skills in interpreting my notes.

  Tom Duane, so much of my story starts with you. Thank you.

  Meghan Linehan, thank you for always helping with all the endless details.

  Eric Marcus, thank you so much for your hard work and for taking a huge leap onto this project with so little time.

  Jane Isay, thank you for your sage advice, guidance, and time. I couldn’t have done this without you.

  David Black, you never stopped encouraging me and kept me going when I had my doubts. Thank you and your team, including Dave Larabell, Gary Morris, and Sara Smith, for your patience and commitment.

  My gratitude to the folks at William Morrow without whom this book would not have become a reality, particularly Henry Ferris and his team, Rachel Meyers, Nyamekye Waliyaya, and Jamie Kerner.

  To the long list of individuals who I am so fortunate to call my friends, thank you for never losing faith in me and always saying “yes!” whenever I ask for help, and especially for helping when I don’t ask.

  To the best political team in town—Mark, Maura, Jennifer, Emily (and Josh, too)—and the rest of the posse.

  To my City Council team and all of my staff who have made the work that we do possible.

  And, finally, thank you to every New Yorker who proudly calls this great city “home.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Christine C. Quinn is the Speaker of the New York City Council. She was raised in Glen Cove, Long Island. In 2012, Christine married her longtime partner, Kim Catullo, an attorney. They live in New York City’s Chelsea neighborhood with their dogs, Justin and Sadie.

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  COPYRIGHT

  Photos, unless otherwise credited, appear courtesy of the author.

  WITH PATIENCE AND FORTITUDE. Copyright © 2013 by Christine C. Quinn. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  FIRST EDITION

  ISBN 978-0-06-223246-5

  EPub © Edition JUNE 2013 ISBN: 9780062232489

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