An
irrepressible
spirit who
gave Newark
his all
Monday,
June 25,
2007
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.