An irrepressible spirit who gave Newark his all

For a young man to have a passion is not unusual. For a young white man from the suburbs with political ambitions to embrace the city of Newark as his passion struck his friends and relatives as odd -- maybe even self-defeating.

But Newark -- and public service -- were the twin, intertwined passions of Paul Flynn for all of his brief adult life. A life that ended in Newark a week ago. He was 39 and died of congestive heart failure.

"He was told by many advisers and mentors who knew of his interest in politics and public service, that moving to Newark would destroy all hope of achieving that goal," explains his sister, Diane.

"Whether you call it naive or stubborn, he would not be deterred. He loved the city of Newark, and he was determined to be connected with it."

The advice seemed to be proven true. In 2002, Flynn ran for an at-large city council seat and came in dead last. A "spirited" dead last, he liked to say.

But that would be an unfairly narrow view of his success in serving Newark. Paul Flynn was thoroughly involved in the city, serving it and, especially, its children, from the time he moved to the city from East Brunswick as a recent Seton Hall graduate in 1994 to the day he died last week.

He worked for the Gateway Northwest Maternal Health Care Consortium in Newark and his job was to create both awareness about lead poisoning among city children and ways of curing its effects. He also raised money for the organizations that made up the consortium.

Flynn had helped develop "Leaddie Eddie," a Muppet-like cartoon character and doll that became a symbol of the campaign against lead poisoning in Newark and in other cities in the United States.

The future of Newark's children haunted him. I met him only once, briefly, at the wedding of a mutual friend. He told me that, as an undergraduate political science major at Seton Hall, he had written a paper about the state's takeover of the Newark schools and used this newspaper's coverage as source material.

"It was working on that research paper that convinced him he should move to Newark," says Diane Flynn. "He wanted to do something for the children of the city."

Paul, who also earned a master's degree from Seton Hall, was founding director and past president of Jersey Cares, a Newark-based organization that helped provide volunteers for team projects in the city. He also was a graduate and, later, director of Leadership Newark, a program that trained young people to take on positions of responsibility in the city.

Flynn also helped organize Kids in Business and Volunteer Advantage, both volunteer organizations designed to help inner-city children. He served on the governing boards of Project Link, a private school, and the Discovery Charter School.

Before joining the campaign against lead poisoning, Flynn held a number of jobs with other nonprofit organizations. He was executive director of an organization dedicated to those suffering from a degenerative nerve disorder -- Charcot-Marie-Tooth Syndrome -- a disease from which Flynn suffered.

He also worked as a development officer -- fundraiser -- for Seton Hall Law School. That's where he met Army Maj. Thomas Roughneen, a law school graduate, an Essex County prosecutor, Iraq War veteran and member of the Army's legal defense staff.

"Paul was a bright star in Newark," says Roughneen. The two were roommates for a while in Newark. "He was devoted to the city and he had this way of persuading other people to care about problems that needed to be solved. I know he inspired me."

One clue to his passion was a line from a John Cheever short story, "The Country Husband," that Flynn was fond of quoting frequently. It comes at the end of the tale and contrasts the uneventful life of a suburban husband and father with dramatic events that might be happening elsewhere.

The husband, on his psychiatrist's advice, is pursuing a hobby, woodworking, building a coffee table in his cellar, as a way of getting over a sense of helplessness and futility. He does it on a night when, in other places, in other times, "kings in golden suits ride elephants over the mountains."

At a memorial service the other day, Paul's sister quoted that line.

"Paul meant that he wanted us to give every day its due," she says. "To make it a day when kings in golden suits rode over the mountains."

Bob Braun's columns appear Monday and Thursday. He may be reached at (973) 392-4281 or rbraun@starledger.com.