Marty, time to be Boston true
Yawkey’s influence on city undeniable
Hey, Marty, you were elected for times such as these when constituents could take comfort in knowing their mayor was one of their own.
The son of Irish immigrants, raised on Savin Hill? That’s about as Boston as it gets, which is to say light years removed from the rarefied world of rank and privilege that brought billionaire John Henry to town, adding the Red Sox to his bulging portfolio of conspicuous consumptions.
It didn’t take him long to realize he could garner cheap applause by bowing at the feet of those politically correct bozos who see themselves as so much more enlightened than the rest of us.
Marty, we’ve had our differences before, such as your ill-advised flirtation with allowing bars to remain open half the night, or letting Summer Olympic carpetbaggers chop down oaks and maples to accommodate badminton on the Common, or giving IndyCar a green light to speed across these ancient cow paths we call streets in Boston.
But you’ve always come to your senses, or been brought to them kicking and screaming.
Tomorrow morning, however, will be different, because it will be intensely personal when your Public Improvement Commission votes on John Henry’s unconscionable request to remove Tom Yawkey’s name from the street that houses Fenway Park, alleging Yawkey was a racist.
Offering no proof, just dusty anecdotes, he claims to be “haunted” by any mention of this man who owned and loved the Sox for 44 years.
The guessing here is that he simply found it cold in Yawkey’s shadow.
OK, Marty, he owns Fenway Park. So let him paint it pink.
But he does not own the streets of Boston. Symbolically, you do, because you have fans, too, only yours are called voters. They’re from Day Square, Monument Square, Cleary Square, Maverick Square, Codman Square, Eliot Square, Mattapan Square, Hyde Square; they’re the ones who gave you muscle to flex in Room 801 tomorrow morning.
They’re the real owners of Yawkey Way, so unless the fix is already in, “dance with the ones who brung you,” Marty.
Be their guy! Please don’t tell them you’ve sold your soul to the tea-and-crumpets crowd.
John Henry didn’t bat an eyelash when it was pointed out George Washington and Thomas Jefferson both owned slaves, or that the sainted FDR interned 120,000 Americans of Japanese descent during World War II.
In honest moments he understood a man must be measured in the context of his times.
What Yawkey bequeathed to this city is incalculable.
It brings to mind the legend of James Michael Curley.
Some revile him as a convicted rogue, while others still revere him for roads, parks, beach houses, libraries, schools, playgrounds, hospitals, bridges.
Like Yawkey, Curley left his fingerprints on this town.
Surely you haven’t forgotten what John Henry never knew.
Do yourself a favor, Marty: Leave Yawkey Way alone.