Cape Link to House ‘Haven’
WASHINGTON, Nov. 8- The news ticker crawling across the television in Barry Sullivan’s office in the U.S. Capitol confirmed what he already knew: John Kerry was conceding the presidency to George Bush and the Republicans had increased their majority in both the House and Senate.
“When I first got here, it was great,” said Sullivan, who for 20 years has managed the House Democratic cloakroom in the Capitol. “We had a huge majority.”
But at 57, the South Boston native – with lifetime ties to Falmouth Heights and a stubborn Boston accent – has witnessed the control of the House slip from legendary Massachusetts Democrats like Thomas “Tip” O’Neill and Joseph Moakley to a new breed of Republican leadership.
“You could see things starting to turn,” he said, describing an upstart Republican named Newt Gingrich barking insults at O’Neill as he sat in the Speaker’s chair in the House chamber during the 1980s. “They were just throwing bombs at him and it started snowballing.”
The Democrats lost a nearly 50-year control of the House in 1994 and according to Sullivan, bipartisan work has grown increasingly strained, with Democrats looking for a legislative voice.
“There’s a different strategy when you’re in the minority,” Sullivan said. “There’s not much you can do procedurally. You have to play defense.”
The House of Representatives Democratic cloakroom that Sullivan runs is a wood-paneled inner sanctuary for his party’s members located just off the floor of the House. Even congressional staffers are restricted from entering.
“Members only” munch on hot dogs and commiserate between votes. They sink into leather armchairs and stretch out on sofas, with older members nodding off when House sessions stretch into the night. They make calls from a wall of old-style phone booths, read the papers and banter about their hometown sports teams.
When MSNBC’s Chris Matthews needs colorful details for his next book, he calls Sullivan. If he’s lucky, Sullivan returns the call.
“It’s almost a safe haven,” said Kevin Ryan, describing the clandestine clubhouse. Ryan is chief of staff to U.S. Rep. Stephen Lynch, D-South Boston, and held the same post for former Rep. Joseph Moakley, a 15-term House member from South Boston who retired in 2001 to fight an unsuccessful battle with leukemia.
“Knows what’s going on”
Like Sullivan, Ryan grew up in South Boston and the two worked together at a Faneuil Hall bar in the late 1970s before Moakley tapped them both for jobs in Washington. Ryan said he sends any new Democratic members directly to Sullivan.
“Down here, members are looking for somebody who knows what’s going on,” Ryan said. “Barry controls the cloakroom and it’s a place of information.”
Sullivan grew up immersed in the golden age of Irish clout in Boston that dominated during much of the last century. His father, Leo Sullivan, was a central player of the era, serving on Beacon Hill as a representative and then state senator, as register of deeds for Suffolk County, and as Boston police commissioner. In 1960, he escorted president-elect John F. Kennedy from Logan International Airport to the Boston Garden for his victory rally.
But while Sullivan’s father loved South Boston, he also loved Cape Cod, and every June he would escape there with his family the day school ended. At the same summer rental on Amherst Avenue in Falmouth Heights, Barry delighted in the Cape’s simple pleasures with his older brother and sister.
Grew up in the Heights
Sullivan described Little League highlights at the old ballfield in the Heights, racing Beetle Cats off the Falmouth Yacht Club docks and waterskiing at Great Pond when the ocean was too rough. He shagged fly balls for the Falmouth All-Stars before they became the Commodores and worked the scoreboard for a buck a game. Later, he was a lifeguard at Surf Drive and tended bar at the old Casino-by-the-Sea nightclub.
In 1961, Sullivan followed his brother to St. John’s Prep, an all-boys boarding school in Danvers. Two years later, his father – whom Sullivan credits for his interest in politics – died of a heart attack, the same year President Kennedy was shot.
“I had a bad year that year,” Sullivan said, describing the homesickness that set in. “My father died and Kennedy was assassinated. I was 15 years old.”
But his father’s old friends – especially Moakley, then a relatively new member of Congress – would keep an eye on “Leo’s son.”
Sullivan took a job as a page on Beacon Hill, serving four Republican state senators, including Allan “Chappy” Jones, a brash Cape Cod senator who frequently had Sullivan meet him at John’s Capeside Diner near the Sagamore Bridge to chauffeur him to Boston.
He left that job to finish a political science degree at Boston State College – now the University of Massachusetts at Boston – and was making good money tending bar when he bumped into Moakley on the street in 1979.
“You’ve got to get out of the bar business,” Moakley told his friend’s son. “Tip O’Neill is the speaker of the House. He served in the Legislature with your father. Would you consider coming to Washington?”
With his mother’s blessing, Sullivan packed his Toyota Celica and left South Boston. Four years later, he was assistant manager in the Democratic cloakroom and in 1988, Tip O’Neill appointed him manager, a post he has held since.
Scheduler and strategist
His responsibilities vary. One part master scheduler, he makes sure Democrats know when recorded votes will occur, posting the “Best Guesstimate for Last Vote” sign, a beacon to House members itching to catch a flight to their home states. One part strategist, he attends exclusive party leadership meetings so he understands the overall direction of the party.
His desk – a carefully arranged clutter of pager systems, telephones and Red Sox clippings – is command central and he is the last face representatives see before entering the House chamber through the cloakroom’s swinging door.
Sullivan knows his regulars and has a story about them all, from California Rep. Nancy Pelosi primping before the recently installed vanity table and the Bronx’s Rep. Jose Serrano needling the Massachusetts delegation (and Sullivan) about a certain Sox collapse, to the secret tuna stash that snack bar attendants would keep for Tip O’Neill.
Sullivan also oversees 20 high school pages, who help the Democrats in the House, and announces votes to the representatives, a job that initially forced him to work on curbing his distinctive Boston accent.
Pronouncing the r’s
“I have trouble with the ahhs,” Sullivan said, admitting that the practice didn’t help in pronouncing names like Rep. Edward Markey, D-Mass. “Like when I call for a vote on the Mahky amendment, the southerners don’t understand what I’m saying. They’ll say, ‘Jesus, Sullivan, what are you talking about?’”
Kevin Ryan used words like “trustworthy” and “loyal” to describe why Sullivan has been reappointed cloakroom manager with each change in party leadership since 1988.
Sullivan met his wife, Barbara, in 1983 when she was a security guard for the House Chamber and her father, William Hughes, was a House Democrat from southern New Jersey.
She said that when they leave Washington, they will retire to the Cape, a place she has grown to love. Every August during the congressional recess, the Sullivans visit Falmouth, where Sullivan takes their three sons bluefishing at Horseshoe Shoal and to see Falmouth Commodores baseball games. Sullivan remains a member of the Falmouth Men’s Club.
U.S. Rep. William Delahunt, D-Mass., said Sullivan, with his flawless imitation of Tip O’Neill and a fierce loyalty to the Red Sox, is a throwback to the old days in the House and a consummate professional.
“He’s really an integral part of the system,” Delahunt said. “It’s always reassuring working with Barry. It’s like being home.”
