Mayor dies: A sense of sadness hard to escape - Springfield, IL - The State Journal-Register
Our Opinion: A sense of sadness hard to escape - Springfield, IL - The State Journal-Register
Are there words to express the feelings triggered by the death Tuesday of Springfield Mayor Tim Davlin?
Sadness? Anger? Frustration? Helplessness? Regret?
Whether you knew Tim Davlin personally or only in his public role over the last seven years will color your reaction to this grim news, but it’s nearly impossible greet it with detachment.
We tend to view our elected officials through the lens of elected officialdom; we judge them based on their actions and statements in their official capacities. But long before Davlin entered public life in the 2003 mayoral election, he had defined himself in many other ways.
He was a father of four and a proud grandfather. He frequently dropped references to chauffeuring his grandkids to school into conversations. He was a member of a large and close-knit family that includes six siblings. He acknowledged his mother, Norene, in his first major speech as mayor-elect in April 2003. There is a mini-shrine to Davlin’s late father, Robert, of whom Davlin professed great pride, in the Barrel Head Restaurant, which is owned by his brother, Kevin. Davlin often credited Kevin, his next youngest sibling, as being his No. 1 political adviser.
It would take a special kind of hard-heartedness to not feel genuine sadness for those Davlin leaves behind.
Davlin’s strong family ties, which extended far beyond his immediate family, were among his assets as he entered public life. When he announced in December 2002 that he would run for mayor, he said his deep roots in the community meant he knew Springfield “from behind closed doors to open doors, to really seeing the city grow.”
From the moment he entered politics, Davlin stood out not just from the crowded field in the mayoral primary election at hand, but from other local politicians at all levels.
No one could light up a room the way Davlin did. His charm and sense of humor came so naturally that audiences felt welcome and comfortable in his presence. Those qualities served Davlin especially well in a mayoral race against Sangamon County Circuit Clerk Tony Libri that became one of the most contentious in recent memory. Given the sense of humor for which Davlin had always been known — and which colleagues noted was on display even a day before his death — it seemed fitting that he won his first election on April Fool’s Day.
While Davlin’s jovial personality remained largely intact after he became mayor, he quickly learned that what was acceptable in the private sector could set off a firestorm in government. A deal with the Sierra Club negotiated outside the knowledge of the Springfield City Council nearly derailed construction of a new power plant. The State Journal-Register and other media clashed with his administration over withholding public information ranging from building permits to employment statistics. Those disagreements did not prevent us from endorsing him for a second term, which he won handily.
While Davlin clearly relished the ceremonial aspects of his job — his introduction of Barack Obama at a massive rally at the Old State Capitol was stellar — he faced major challenges in the nuts and bolts aspects city government. He became an outspoken critic of state lawmakers’ habit of saddling cities with pension sweeteners for public safety employees. He dealt with financial catastrophe as the economy collapsed in 2008. He hated the city layoffs that became inevitable as the bigger economic picture worsened. At a press conference announcing the coming layoffs, Davlin’s demeanor was notably downbeat.
When a high-speed rail project threatened to divide and scar the city, Davlin reacted swiftly. During a hastily arranged editorial board meeting at The State Journal-Register to sound the warning about the plan in summer 2009, Davlin barely cracked a smile. We knew this was serious.
We won’t make inferences here, but neither will we ignore the obvious.
In recent months, Davlin faced a pair of crises that surely tested his ability to maintain the upbeat manner that defined his personality. Davlin was found Tuesday morning in his home after failing to show for a court appearance in a probate case that may have had very serious consequences for him. In September, Davlin missed a court-ordered deadline, issued three months earlier, to provide an accounting of an estate for which Davlin was executor. About $190,000 was believed to be missing from the estate and owed to Catholic Charities of Springfield. In addition, the Internal Revenue Service had placed a lien on Davlin’s house for unpaid taxes totaling nearly $90,000.
If these concerns weighed heavily on Davlin, he never showed it in public.
“Everything will be resolved in the very near future,” Davlin said on Nov. 2. He made a similar statement during a radio appearance during Thanksgiving week.
What did he mean? We’ll never know. That is where the frustration and regret come in.
Politics, the career Davlin chose and appeared to embrace, subjects its players to levels of criticism that don’t exist in other professions. The behind-the-scenes battles can be vicious. Angry constituents go with the territory.
But no one expects this. Financial troubles can be worked out. No matter how dark things may seem, light will return eventually. Amends can be made. Today’s enemies can be tomorrow’s friends.
Now none of that can happen for Tim Davlin, and it’s a loss for all of us.
Are there words to express the feelings triggered by the death Tuesday of Springfield Mayor Tim Davlin?
Sadness? Anger? Frustration? Helplessness? Regret?
Whether you knew Tim Davlin personally or only in his public role over the last seven years will color your reaction to this grim news, but it’s nearly impossible greet it with detachment.
We tend to view our elected officials through the lens of elected officialdom; we judge them based on their actions and statements in their official capacities. But long before Davlin entered public life in the 2003 mayoral election, he had defined himself in many other ways.
He was a father of four and a proud grandfather. He frequently dropped references to chauffeuring his grandkids to school into conversations. He was a member of a large and close-knit family that includes six siblings. He acknowledged his mother, Norene, in his first major speech as mayor-elect in April 2003. There is a mini-shrine to Davlin’s late father, Robert, of whom Davlin professed great pride, in the Barrel Head Restaurant, which is owned by his brother, Kevin. Davlin often credited Kevin, his next youngest sibling, as being his No. 1 political adviser.
It would take a special kind of hard-heartedness to not feel genuine sadness for those Davlin leaves behind.
Davlin’s strong family ties, which extended far beyond his immediate family, were among his assets as he entered public life. When he announced in December 2002 that he would run for mayor, he said his deep roots in the community meant he knew Springfield “from behind closed doors to open doors, to really seeing the city grow.”
From the moment he entered politics, Davlin stood out not just from the crowded field in the mayoral primary election at hand, but from other local politicians at all levels.
No one could light up a room the way Davlin did. His charm and sense of humor came so naturally that audiences felt welcome and comfortable in his presence. Those qualities served Davlin especially well in a mayoral race against Sangamon County Circuit Clerk Tony Libri that became one of the most contentious in recent memory. Given the sense of humor for which Davlin had always been known — and which colleagues noted was on display even a day before his death — it seemed fitting that he won his first election on April Fool’s Day.
While Davlin’s jovial personality remained largely intact after he became mayor, he quickly learned that what was acceptable in the private sector could set off a firestorm in government. A deal with the Sierra Club negotiated outside the knowledge of the Springfield City Council nearly derailed construction of a new power plant. The State Journal-Register and other media clashed with his administration over withholding public information ranging from building permits to employment statistics. Those disagreements did not prevent us from endorsing him for a second term, which he won handily.
While Davlin clearly relished the ceremonial aspects of his job — his introduction of Barack Obama at a massive rally at the Old State Capitol was stellar — he faced major challenges in the nuts and bolts aspects city government. He became an outspoken critic of state lawmakers’ habit of saddling cities with pension sweeteners for public safety employees. He dealt with financial catastrophe as the economy collapsed in 2008. He hated the city layoffs that became inevitable as the bigger economic picture worsened. At a press conference announcing the coming layoffs, Davlin’s demeanor was notably downbeat.
When a high-speed rail project threatened to divide and scar the city, Davlin reacted swiftly. During a hastily arranged editorial board meeting at The State Journal-Register to sound the warning about the plan in summer 2009, Davlin barely cracked a smile. We knew this was serious.
We won’t make inferences here, but neither will we ignore the obvious.
In recent months, Davlin faced a pair of crises that surely tested his ability to maintain the upbeat manner that defined his personality. Davlin was found Tuesday morning in his home after failing to show for a court appearance in a probate case that may have had very serious consequences for him. In September, Davlin missed a court-ordered deadline, issued three months earlier, to provide an accounting of an estate for which Davlin was executor. About $190,000 was believed to be missing from the estate and owed to Catholic Charities of Springfield. In addition, the Internal Revenue Service had placed a lien on Davlin’s house for unpaid taxes totaling nearly $90,000.
If these concerns weighed heavily on Davlin, he never showed it in public.
“Everything will be resolved in the very near future,” Davlin said on Nov. 2. He made a similar statement during a radio appearance during Thanksgiving week.
What did he mean? We’ll never know. That is where the frustration and regret come in.
Politics, the career Davlin chose and appeared to embrace, subjects its players to levels of criticism that don’t exist in other professions. The behind-the-scenes battles can be vicious. Angry constituents go with the territory.
But no one expects this. Financial troubles can be worked out. No matter how dark things may seem, light will return eventually. Amends can be made. Today’s enemies can be tomorrow’s friends.
Now none of that can happen for Tim Davlin, and it’s a loss for all of us.
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