nothin The Loneliest Sport | New Haven Independent

The Loneliest Sport

Paul Bass Photo

No friends spoke at former Mayor John C. Daniels’ funeral. Few personal stories were told from the pulpit, no resolutions read. Only one politician spoke — minutes before the formal funeral began.

Daniels wanted it that way.

Hundreds of well-wishers filled Battell Chapel Friday to say good-bye to Daniels, New Haven’s first African-American mayor, a week after he died at the age of 78.

Top elected officials did show up, of course: The current and the only surviving former mayor, state legislators, the state treasurer, a U.S. senator. But they stayed in the pews.

Daniels’ son offered a loving, brief tribute, Daniels’ daughter a two-verse reading from the Book of Revelation. A keyboardist sang a couple of numbers. The presiding reverend, John Henry Scott III, gave a sermon.

After a little more than an hour, the crowd filed back out, some to follow the hearse to the cemetery.

Russell C. Blackwell

Daniels’ City Hall portrait.

The service was humbler and, in a strange way, lonelier, than the typical send-off for a prominent public figure — just as Daniels, a popular and respected politician, always seemed humbler, lonelier, less exuberant than a typical mayor in the four years (1990 through 1993) that he held the job he’d spent a lifetime aiming to win.

Sitting in Battell, I thought back to my most enduring image of covering Daniels’ mayoralty as a reporter: Seeing him eating lunch at the old Chuck’s Lunchette on Whalley Avenue. He sat alone, reading the sports section of the New York Daily News.

Daniels loved sports. He was a star halfback at Hillhouse High School. Throughout his adult years, he refereed college football games.

For Daniels, like so many elected officials, politics was a sport. The loneliest sport, for all its crowds and accolades and frenetic schedules. The winning political sportsman rings up more friends” than most other human beings do. Some of those friendships” carry some degree of depth and sincerity to them. All are transactional, with expiration dates that coincide with the departure from power.

Daniels excelled at the sport of winning office — first as an alderman, then five terms as a state senator, finally the city’s highest office. He made history as the first African-American mayor. He enjoyed support and respect from New Haveners of all backgrounds. He believed in public service, in the role of government to help the least fortunate.

But he always seemed uncomfortable in the spotlight. He didn’t make grand speeches. He didn’t call attention to himself. He didn’t remember many people’s names. He didn’t relish policy fights. He rarely blasted political opponents. (The harshest words I remember from him came when I asked for a comment about a campaign opponent: My mother always said if you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything.”) He winced at tough questions from the press.

He spent a lifetime showing up at political events, supporting causes, quietly helping people get jobs or an education. But once he became mayor, he found himself in the fire of incessant attacks — from political opponents, from taxpayers slammed by a long-overdue property reassessment that Daniels’ opponent had delayed for years, from business people reeling from a recession that hit full force just as Daniels took office. He relied on a childhood friend with few political skills to serve as his top aide and keep the political house in order; that hobbled his administration from day one.

Daniels continued to carry himself with dignity. He accomplished lasting policy achievements. But the politician’s twinkle disappeared form his eyes. The love of the sport dimmed. He left office after four years and largely disappeared from public view, though he remained an active leader of Dixwell Avenue Congregational Church, as Rev. Scott (pictured) detailed in his sermon Friday. Until near the end of his life, Daniels remained a popular, respectful person to run into — who remained bitter at the criticism and rancor that accompanied his career’s capstone years.

Mayor Toni Harp touched on the solitary nature of John Daniels’ mayoralty in remarks delivered at the end of the 10 a.m. to 11 a.m. viewing period right before service.

Mayor Daniels was a pioneering public servant,” Harp said. She mentioned how he brought community policing to New Haven; that policy led to a fewer young people getting killed, to neighborhood substations, to walking beats and a non-military policing philosophy that continues to this day. Harp mentioned the needle exchange program that Daniels introduced in New Haven when the idea was controversial, scorned by other elected officials. That policy saved the lives of intravenous drug users at risk of contracting AIDS, and indeed led to other cities following suit across the country.

Pioneers live exciting lives. They see things before most others do. For that reason, they see things differently than most others do,” Harp reflected.

The road they travel is not just bumpy. There is no road. They face these challenges alone.”

After the funeral, one of Daniels’ closest political associates, former State Rep. Bill Dyson, spoke of what a private guy” Daniels was, especially compared to most politicians.

It was awkward” for him, Dyson recalled. He felt he could handle it,” and did.

Daniels left specific instructions for the funeral service that included the ban on presenting political resolutions. The program did include prayers and song.

Ronald Pollard perhaps best represented the late mayor’s wishes when he sang a solo entitled If I Can Help Somebody”:

If I can help somebody/
As I pass along …
My living will not be in vain.”

John Daniels helped many people, in public and in private. He did not live in vain.

Mourners leave Battell after the funeral.

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