Patrick Sweeney’s legislative savvy gifted all of Ohio

Patrick Sweeney

Democrat Patrick Sweeney represented parts of Cleveland in the Ohio General Assembly from the 1960s until the 1990s.

As my friend Brent Larkin wrote, “A close look at Cleveland’s important places will find most of them covered with Patrick Sweeney’s fingerprints.” In downstate Ohio, something like that may someday be true of similarly constructive General Assembly members – if Ohioans elect legislators with long-term perspectives, not short-term ambitions.

Sweeney died on Labor Day, at age 81. He served in the Ohio House of Representatives from 1967 through 1996, then in the Ohio Senate in 1997 and 1998. He was a long-standing advocate for Cleveland State University, later becoming assistant to its vice president of governmental relations. But as House budget chair, he was also a get-it-done advocate for state projects, big and small, all over Ohio.

Survivors include his wife, Emily Sweeney, former U.S. attorney for Northern Ohio, and their daughter Margaret, now an assistant U.S. attorney.

“He had a million people who would call him their best friend,” Margaret Sweeney told cleveland.com. That may be an undercount.

Sweeney was born Sept. 2, 1939. His father came to America in 1923 from Ireland’s County Mayo, his mother in 1930 from County Monaghan.

If you’re not from Cleveland, you may think Clevelanders named Sweeney are all related. It only seems that way. Still, among Patrick Sweeney’s cousins were the late Francis E. Sweeney Sr., a Lakewood Democrat on Ohio’s Supreme Court from 1993 through 2004, and Justice Sweeney’s brother, the late Michael A. Sweeney, a House member from 1957 through 1966, who helped pave Patrick’s way in Columbus. Another cousin: JoAnn White, wife of former Cleveland Mayor Michael R. White.

Sweeney won his House seat in 1966. Cousin Michael hadn’t sought reelection. Patrick Sweeney became the House’s chief budget writer (Finance Committee chair) in mid-1989. Meanwhile, he watched, and waited – and waited some more – to succeed 20-year Democratic House Speaker Vern Riffe. That day never came. In November 1994, the GOP captured the House.

Ohio once gave General Assembly members what it denies them now: time. Had term limits applied when Sweeney arrived in 1967, he’d have been forced out of the House in December 1974.

As a House freshman, Sweeney wandered from state agency to state agency, learning – conversationally – what they did. He also got to know the legislature’s expert, nonpartisan bill-drafters. Those chats taught Sweeney the ins and outs of Ohio’s state budget.

Sweeney also visited one of Ohio’s then-huge and underfunded centers for people with profound developmental disabilities. “It took me ten days to recover from what I saw,” Sweeney said. That spurred Sweeney to learn all he could about federal-state health care programs. Aim: to maximize coverage for Ohioans who needed it.

Sweeney also learned it was easier to get a bill passed in Columbus if you didn’t worry about whose name was on it. Sweeney proposed making a crucial repair in Ohio’s shock probation law. But the GOP-run House wasn’t about to pass a freshman Democrat’s bill.

So, in parliamentary do-si-do with the late Barry Levey, a respected Middletown Republican, Levey put his name on the bill ahead of Sweeney’s. The bill passed. Then Levey deleted his name, leaving only Sweeney’s. Levey and Michael Sweeney were friends: That was the Statehouse – then.

Before Patrick Sweeney married, in his 40s, he shared a Columbus apartment with other Clevelanders. Clevelanders party. But the apartment also became a bipartisan crossroads, as did midday basketball games at the Athletic Club of Columbus. Among the players: future Senate President Paul E. Gillmor, a Port Clinton Republican, who also got important things done without partisan melodrama.

Sweeney’s sense of humor eased his way. Ohio racetracks once charged admission. But the State Racing Commission gave legislators some free-admission passes to hand out.

Sweeney, a Catholic, rose in the House one day to observe that Ohio’s bishops had announced they opposed gambling. That’s odd, Sweeney said: Someone had recently asked him for a racetrack pass. Sweeney replied that he’d already given all his away – to priests.

“May the angels lead you into paradise” are among the words of a traditional Catholic funeral prayer. Pat Sweeney’s angelic ushers are about to meet someone they won’t forget. Ohioans statewide, aware of Sweeney’s Statehouse stewardship, won’t forget him either.

Thomas Suddes, a member of the editorial board, writes from Athens.

To reach Thomas Suddes: tsuddes@cleveland.com, 216-408-9474

Have something to say about this topic?

* Send a letter to the editor, which will be considered for print publication.

* Email comments or corrections on this opinion column to Elizabeth Sullivan, director of opinion, at esullivan@cleveland.com

If you purchase a product or register for an account through a link on our site, we may receive compensation. By using this site, you consent to our User Agreement and agree that your clicks, interactions, and personal information may be collected, recorded, and/or stored by us and social media and other third-party partners in accordance with our Privacy Policy.