court the day Jim was sentenced,” Billy wrote, leaving it at that. He had just completed his sophomore year at BC.
Whitey would not return to Boston for nine years.
Back at college, money was no longer such a pressing problem for Billy, thanks to the GI Bill. Billy’s plan, in the fall of 1955, was to finish up at BC, then go on to BC Law School, after which he would enter politics. By now he and Mary were “courting,” and often they walked to Castle Island, where they’d stand in line at Kelly’s Landing to buy a box of fried clams. Billy supplemented his income by working, not just as a lifeguard, but also as a master of ceremonies at parties held at McLaughlin & Gormley’s, a banquet hall in Dorchester.
He had returned from the army just in time to witness his hero James Michael Curley’s final campaign for mayor. In his book, Billy recalls the night of the preliminary election in 1955. He has Curley finishing second, although it was actually fourth. Billy then recounts Curley’s final concession speech, in the ballroom of the old Brunswick Hotel, quoting John Paul Jones at the end of his sixty-year political career.
“I have not yet begun to fight.”
In 1960 Representative Joe Moakley ran for the state Senate seat held by John E. Powers. Only two years earlier, Powers had become the first Democratic president of the state Senate since before the Civil War, but he was wounded. After John B. Hynes decided not to seek a fourth term as mayor in 1959, Powers had been a heavy favorite to succeed him at City Hall, but had been defeated after Boston police raided an East Boston bookie joint in a building that just happened to have a large “Powers for Mayor” sign above it. Photos had appeared on all of the front pages, and Powers lost, the victim of a classic dirty trick.
But no one had time to mourn. All that mattered in the jungle of Southie politics was that Powers was now vulnerable. Never one to stand on ceremony, Moakley sensed an opportunity, and he took it. He would not succeed in ousting Powers this time, but his decision to oppose Powers was a boon for Billy; there was now an open House seat in South Boston. Billy hadn’t expected to run so soon; he still had a year left in law school. And he was also planning to ask Mary Foley to marry him. But open House seats didn’t come along often, especially in South Boston, where service in the legislature was considered an opportunity, not a duty. But Billy’s father, growing ever more timid in his dotage, tried to talk him out of both the race and the marriage.
“You can’t support her,” Billy recounts him saying in his book. “For God’s sake don’t tell anybody about this.”
Billy and Mary were married nonetheless, at St. Margaret’s in Dorchester, where Whitey had attended parochial school twenty-five years earlier. The couple soon settled into an apartment, in Southie of course. Mary was almost immediately pregnant with Bill Jr.
Billy’s major source of income was the summer lifeguarding job, but he plunged ahead with his plans to run for Moakley’s open seat in a crowded field of sixteen candidates.
His skeptical father told Billy his opponents would use Whitey against him. For once, his father was right. In one incident, which he mentioned in his congressional testimony, one man snarled at him, “You belong in prison with your brother.”
Billy’s campaign manager was Will McDonough, his oldest friend, by now a sportswriter for the
Globe
. Another campaign worker was Roger Gill, whom Billy would reward with jobs on various state payrolls for the rest of his life. They envisioned themselves as street urchins, going up against what Billy called the F.I.F.’s—the First Irish Families of Southie.
Of necessity, Billy ran a low-budget campaign. He had a single blue suit, and his clever opponents quickly nicknamed him “One Suit” Bulger. He recalled running into Mary when she got off the subway at Andrew Square, returning from
Whitey would not return to Boston for nine years.
Back at college, money was no longer such a pressing problem for Billy, thanks to the GI Bill. Billy’s plan, in the fall of 1955, was to finish up at BC, then go on to BC Law School, after which he would enter politics. By now he and Mary were “courting,” and often they walked to Castle Island, where they’d stand in line at Kelly’s Landing to buy a box of fried clams. Billy supplemented his income by working, not just as a lifeguard, but also as a master of ceremonies at parties held at McLaughlin & Gormley’s, a banquet hall in Dorchester.
He had returned from the army just in time to witness his hero James Michael Curley’s final campaign for mayor. In his book, Billy recalls the night of the preliminary election in 1955. He has Curley finishing second, although it was actually fourth. Billy then recounts Curley’s final concession speech, in the ballroom of the old Brunswick Hotel, quoting John Paul Jones at the end of his sixty-year political career.
“I have not yet begun to fight.”
In 1960 Representative Joe Moakley ran for the state Senate seat held by John E. Powers. Only two years earlier, Powers had become the first Democratic president of the state Senate since before the Civil War, but he was wounded. After John B. Hynes decided not to seek a fourth term as mayor in 1959, Powers had been a heavy favorite to succeed him at City Hall, but had been defeated after Boston police raided an East Boston bookie joint in a building that just happened to have a large “Powers for Mayor” sign above it. Photos had appeared on all of the front pages, and Powers lost, the victim of a classic dirty trick.
But no one had time to mourn. All that mattered in the jungle of Southie politics was that Powers was now vulnerable. Never one to stand on ceremony, Moakley sensed an opportunity, and he took it. He would not succeed in ousting Powers this time, but his decision to oppose Powers was a boon for Billy; there was now an open House seat in South Boston. Billy hadn’t expected to run so soon; he still had a year left in law school. And he was also planning to ask Mary Foley to marry him. But open House seats didn’t come along often, especially in South Boston, where service in the legislature was considered an opportunity, not a duty. But Billy’s father, growing ever more timid in his dotage, tried to talk him out of both the race and the marriage.
“You can’t support her,” Billy recounts him saying in his book. “For God’s sake don’t tell anybody about this.”
Billy and Mary were married nonetheless, at St. Margaret’s in Dorchester, where Whitey had attended parochial school twenty-five years earlier. The couple soon settled into an apartment, in Southie of course. Mary was almost immediately pregnant with Bill Jr.
Billy’s major source of income was the summer lifeguarding job, but he plunged ahead with his plans to run for Moakley’s open seat in a crowded field of sixteen candidates.
His skeptical father told Billy his opponents would use Whitey against him. For once, his father was right. In one incident, which he mentioned in his congressional testimony, one man snarled at him, “You belong in prison with your brother.”
Billy’s campaign manager was Will McDonough, his oldest friend, by now a sportswriter for the
Globe
. Another campaign worker was Roger Gill, whom Billy would reward with jobs on various state payrolls for the rest of his life. They envisioned themselves as street urchins, going up against what Billy called the F.I.F.’s—the First Irish Families of Southie.
Of necessity, Billy ran a low-budget campaign. He had a single blue suit, and his clever opponents quickly nicknamed him “One Suit” Bulger. He recalled running into Mary when she got off the subway at Andrew Square, returning from
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