Losing Hope

To paraphrase Erich Segal, “What can you say about a 22 year old girl who died?”

I’m pretty sure I met Hope Reichbach in her childhood, probably more than once.

The first time I met her as an adult, she was walking down Montague Street with then Council candidate Stephen Levin.

Steve introduced us.

I told her I was a great fan of her dad, an outstanding Judge who’d been attorney for Abbie Hoffman and a host of left wing figures.

Though I did not vote for him, I considered Levin something of a friend. The basis of our friendship is we were both music freaks at the level of discographical mania.

So, I said, “you know Hope’s dad has a credit on a Fugs Album” (he‘d been their attorney).

As I recall, Hope did not know who the Fugs were collectively, though she seemed to know both Ed and Tuli.

Steve did know who the Fugs were, and wrote down the name of the album.

Hope and I later had our political differences.

She ran as Vito Lopez’s candidate for District Leader in my area, which was also her’s for about as long. She was born the year I moved into the area, and she'd never lived anywhere else.

One Sunday morning in the summer of 2010, I heard a rap on my window.

Dybbuk was at his aunt’s and the noise interrupted my efforts at persuading Domestic Partner to heed the words of Ian Dury.

“Gatemouth, put on your robe and get the door.”

Wearing only my robe and a scowl, I was greeted at the door by a very pretty young lady who refused to acknowledge my surly demeanor or take no for an answer.

Moreover, despite my better judgment, ‘no” was not the answer her manner invited.

Undaunted, I was too politie to state my real objections to her candidacy, but patiently explained that, in addition to some political obligations, I had a son with some occupational therapy issues, and her opponent, Jo Anne Simon, was an invaluable source of expertise in helping to get the Board of Education to fulfill its obligations, and no matter how much I liked Hope Reichbach, my vote was going elsewhere.

Similarly undaunted, Hope asked me to consider her running mate.

I refrained from telling her exactly what I considered him.

A few days later, Hope sent me a lovely handwritten note.

It made me smile, something her opponent had rarely, if ever, done.

Even in endorsing her opponent, I could not help but appreciate this young woman's promise:

"Hope Reichbach…was the real deal. Smart, pretty, charming, seemingly sincere and earnest.

You go girl.

I meant every word.  

Though I considered Hope’s race to be part of a plan I could not countenance, I had to acknowledge her good works for the community ("Hope has been a decent civic activist…"), and the fact that she’d been the target of some cheap shots.

I felt so compelled to do right by her, that I endorsed her mom for Delegate to the Judicial Nominating Convention ("…show Hope Reichbach we appreciate her hard work and perseverance by instead casting a vote for her mother, Ellen Meyers"); she was the only candidate on her slate who won.

My deepest condolences to Hope’s parents, Gus and Ellen. I'll forgo saying "may her memory be a blessing" because I already know that it already is.