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Ode on a special election

On the morning of St. Patrick’s Day the air was crisp and clear.

The Boston Irish skipped their Dunks and handed round the beer.

Parades and toasts and ribald jokes maintained their standard place,

But this was no mere holiday, ‘twas in the middle of a race.

 

Candidates and volunteers rose early as the dawn,

To shake some hands and knock on doors and always carry on.

There’ve been breakfasts and dinners and events in big halls,

And always, always, always, another round of phone calls.

 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, a hard fought vote in Spring;

The Washington bosses made it clear: they wanted no such thing.

But one man dared to challenge them, and put this to a vote:

An ironworker, Boston’s own, an Irishman of note.

 

A product of the projects in the famed Old Colony,

The people of South Boston simply call him, “Our Lynchie.”

He climbed the iron eighteen years on job sites all around,

And saw too often profits soar as workingmen were drowned.

 

He worked his way through college, and law school at BC,

And became a union president, at the ripe old age of 30.

In the courtroom Lynchie fought, for the middle class and poor,

And while he fought, some friends of his came knocking on the door.

 

“Run for office,” was their pitch. “We need you on the hill.”

And Lynch knocked out the sitting Rep, through sheer force of his will.

The Bulgers were next: Whitey, Billy and their clan,

But Lynch worked hard, and Lynch won big. And the bosses how they ran!

 

Then in 2001, on a day we all remember,

Steve Lynch went to Congress, as the House’s newest member. 

In Washington he’s stood, for the working and the poor;

He’s stood with seniors, veterans, and all who dream of more.

 

As a voice for working families he nearly stands alone,

He calls for jobs with higher pay; calls on Wall Street to atone.

Lynch doesn’t follow party lines, he won’t always agree,

A working man, a family man, he fights for you and me.

 

And when John Kerry left his seat to rep the USA,

Lynch thought that it was long past time the people had a say.

Washington tried to clear the field and hand it to their own

But Boston’s not like Washington and no one gets a throne.

  

So up stepped Lynch into the void to take on the machine,

The polls all said he couldn’t win, the loss would be obscene.

But the people didn’t listen, for they were tired of being told,

How to vote and who to vote for – DC’s act was getting old.  

 

So our Lynchie went from town to town, from Cape Cod to Cape Ann.

Through Pittsfield, Springfield, Attleboro, and down to Fairhaven. 

In Lowell they like the underdog, in Brockton they love a fighter.

And bit by bit the Lynch campaign flamed up as by a lighter.

 

Working families, young and old, all rallied to his cause,

And suddenly in Washington the bosses gave a pause.

“What happened here, this race was won, it should have been a cinch.”

But what they hadn’t counted on was someone like Steve Lynch.

 

So on this Irish holiday as you proudly wear the green,

Remember this year’s different than it’s ever, ever been.

And on the next Election Day, your vote will be a must,

For we’ll have a chance to stand for Lynch as he has done for us.

 

 

Posted 12:47PM on March 17 2013

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