LYNN — Former John F. Kennedy aides Ken O’Donnell and Dave Powers wrote a best-selling memoir of their days as part of the so-called “Irish Mafia” called “Johnny, We Hardly Knew Ye.”
I kind of feel that way about Tim Jackson. I knew him. But not nearly as much as I’d have wanted to. We didn’t travel in the same circles, and our encounters were usually very cordial, but very brief.
Tim was the proverbial friend of a friend. In this case, I know those friends, Larry Lawless and Joe Scanlon, much better than I ever knew Tim. Larry introduced me to him one Sunday afternoon up at Camp Lions when his group of friends, which included Tim, Joe and some of Lynn’s finest firefighters, got together and grilled steaks. I don’t remember much else about the afternoon, except the Patriots were playing in Miami, in a driving rain, and Dan Marino outdueled a young Drew Bledsoe.
You know how it is when you’re the interloper in a tight group of friends. But thanks to Tim Jackson, and guys like Jackie Barry, Joe Maloney and Teddy McElligott (all firefighters at the time), they made me feel right at home. Jackson especially.
Turns out Tim had a lot of the same interests as me. For one thing, he was a Little League guy — he toiled for Wyoma, I worked at the time up at Pine Hill. He loved local politics, as did I. In fact, in every campaign Joe Scanlon ever ran (and that includes his 1992 run for mayor against the late Pat McManus) Tim was right by his side as campaign manager.
“He was great at organizing,” said Scanlon. “And he was great at just getting things done.
“I remember once we were talking — for a long time — about painting the clubhouse at the Wyoma Little League field. Next thing we know, there’s Tim, who had bought some paint and paint brushes, and he ended up painting it all by himself.”
“He loved local politics,” said Lawless. “He worked for Jim Smith, and a few others.
“He was just a great guy,” said Lawless. “What else is there to say about him? He was outgoing, and he was a giver, not a taker.”
And, Lawless said, he walked that fine line between being the “life of the party” and being humble and down to earth as well as anybody.
The fact that there were so many firemen the Jackson/Lawless/Scanlon entourage is no accident. Scanlon’s father, Joe Jr., was the city’s fire chief for many years. Lawless and Jackson, like the rest of their friends, “all loved to go out and chase firetrucks. Tim and I took the test, but we didn’t pass the physical.”
Tim had several jobs — one of which was as a driver and a manager for Boston Coach. But he was a man of avocations more than vocations. He threw himself into whatever he did with gusto, whether it was Little League or Boy Scouts, which occupied his time much later in life. He got involved with a Cub Scout pack at Broadway Methodist Church and eventually became the leader of Pack 37 but later graduated to Boy Scout leader of Troop 37, also at Broadway Methodist.
When his local involvement ended, Tim moved up to become district chairman in charge of volunteers for the North shore.
“He was a good leader,” said Lawless, himself heavily involved in scouts on many levels. “He got the kids motivated.”
Sixteen years ago, Tim Jackson was diagnosed with cancer. For 16 years, he endured not only the treatments, but the knowledge of having it. He fought it bravely, and unless you knew he had it, you couldn’t tell by looking at him or talking to him.
The English used to have an expression about guys like Tim Jackson. He was a “hail fellow well met,” meaning that he always had a kind word and a pat on the back for you. I’d see Tim and his wife, Laurel, at breakfast at Andy’s on Boston Street, and he’d always stop and chat for a minute or two. I always considered him a friendly face in those brief moments when we’d connect and talk. I just wish there had been more of them.
Cancer finally claimed him last month, and his funeral was Saturday at Solimine’s on Broadway. The place was thronged.
As it should have been. Tim may not have been a household name in Lynn, but he was very definitely a big part of the fabric that makes communities what they are. He was a huge part of every life that he touched.
