In 1984 I went to work for Gov. Joe Brennan as his speechwriter. I was 33, and my political experience consisted of putting bumper stickers on the car. I was viewed with suspicion by the old political hands.

But I did have this — I was pure Irish. One day in the Capitol I was confronted by one of Joe’s pool-playing, race-track betting, Irish pub-singing friends. “Where’s your family from in Ireland?” he asked dubiously. I had no idea. But I did remember visiting Ireland and pilfering a phone book from Limerick with 25 pages of O’Hara listings. So I answered “Limerick,” figuring some had to be cousins. He accepted the answer. Emboldened, I added “The other half is from Donegal.” He nodded with approval. I was accepted.

Besides being Irish, Joe and I were both educated by Jesuits. When I would put something in a draft speech that (to my mind) cleverly concealed an unpleasant fact, Joe would look at me and say, “Thomas Aquinas says that when a word coming out of your mouth” — he would point to his mouth — “does not match the idea that is in your mind” — he’d point to his forehead — “it’s a lie.” The speech was changed.

Joe loved history. He learned this not just from the Jesuits, but also from a Jewish New York City socialist who occupied the bunk above him in the Army. The bunkmate was an avid reader, and when he finished a paperback he would throw it on the floor, where Joe would pick it up. Joe loved Maine history especially — Joshua Chamberlain founding the University of Maine, William Pattangall visiting Calais, Percival Baxter donating Mount Katahdin.

In one difficult speech announcing changes to the workers’ compensation law — changes that he knew his union friends would not like — Joe found solace in Maine Sen. William Fessenden’s 1868 remarks — “When, Mr. President, a man becomes a member of this body, he cannot even dream of the ordeal to which he cannot fail to be exposed; of how much courage he must possess to resist the temptations which daily beset him.”

Joe knew a little bit about courage. He stood up to Ed Muskie’s anger when he voted for an anti-Vietnam War plank in the 1968 Democratic convention. He faced down powerful paper companies and landowners to regain 600,000 acres of public lands. He kicked a Louisiana politician out of the Blaine House when he showed up with a briefcase full of cash. He was the first governor in the country to refuse to send Maine National Guard troops to Honduras for training during the Contra war. He made the banning of assault rifles a centerpiece of his 1996 Senate campaign.

When tough issues came up, Joe would call his brother Paul at the Nissen Bakery to test the political waters. He reported to me that “Paul says the boys on the line don’t approve of my ideas about seat belt and OUI laws, but they still like me anyway.”

Joe’s brother Jimmy, who ran a parking lot on Free Street in Portland, was convinced his brother had surrounded himself with overeducated political idiots. Like myself. One year when Joe was running for Congress, he located his campaign office next to Jimmy’s parking lot, so the staff could all park for free. The downside was I had to listen every morning about everything we were doing wrong. As the campaign heated up, I took to walking a few blocks out of the way to avoid passing the booth.

Brennan surrounded himself with bright people from all sorts of backgrounds — potato farmers, football coaches, university professors, union organizers, bar owners, corporate lawyers, student activists — and listened carefully to them all. Joe invited all of us to come up with bold ideas. When you did, he would vet them carefully, sometimes with David Flanagan over in the corner playing Devil’s advocate.  But once he bought in, he would fight for your proposal, and defend it to the hilt.

That is how his administration succeeded in implementing game-changing ideas to protect rivers, reform education, protect public lands, create the Land for Maine’s Future program, create the Finance Authority of Maine, establish the HOME program, build fishing piers and cargo ports,  institute home care for the elderly, and establish energy conservation programs. The Brennan Administration created the toolkit for modern state government. In the process, Joe earned the undying loyalty, respect, and affection of everyone who ever worked for or with him.

At the end of a political campaign, there’s often little for a candidate to do. The debates are over, the ads are cut and running, the get out the vote phone banks are at work. At such times, Joe liked to get old buddies like Gerry Conley in the car and drive back around Munjoy Hill, dropping into corner bars and pool halls to visit old friends. Now Joe’s life campaign is over. He grew up on Munjoy Hill, died on Munjoy Hill, and his memory will be celebrated at the foot of Munjoy Hill at the Cathedral, where he attended grammar school 80 years ago.

Rest in peace, Joe.

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