Few figures in American political life were as stirring as Mario Cuomo, the three-term governor of New York and father of its current executive, who died Thursday at 82.
That we seldom agreed with him does not detract from this record.
We at The Post owe him a particular debt of gratitude. In 1993, with this paper (then under different ownership) tottering on the brink of fiscal collapse, Mario Cuomo stepped in and heroically performed a one-man rescue mission.
It’s no understatement to say that, without Mario Cuomo, The Post likely would not have survived. He acted the way he did because he was convinced it was in New York’s best interests, not necessarily his own.
In his politics, Cuomo was a passionate and forceful proponent of the classic Democratic liberalism championed by two of his heroes, Franklin Roosevelt and Adlai Stevenson. Unlike many of today’s politicians, he never shied away from robust debates with his foes. And his oratorical gifts never failed to elevate both the content and the tone of public discourse.
In the end, though, his advocacy served a political and governing philosophy whose most notable successes, in our view, were strictly rhetorical.
It’s telling that in endorsing his 1994 opponent, George Pataki (we’d supported Cuomo in his previous two races), The Post cited many of the same problems that still engage our concern: a crushing tax load; inhospitable business climate; failing schools and a growing Medicaid burden.
Yet the issue that ultimately cost Cuomo his governorship was crime, and his opposition to capital punishment.
His position on the latter spoke to contrasts. On abortion, despite what he said was his personal opposition, he embraced and advocated a very pro-choice political position. That in turn provoked a very public clash with then-Cardinal John O’Connor that put him in the national spotlight.
On capital punishment, by contrast, he asserted his private moral beliefs and vetoed any attempt to restore the death penalty, calling it “a stain on our conscience.” That won him hosannas from the left as a moral beacon who represented the triumph of political virtue — and the enmity of New Yorkers terrified by the ever-increasing violence they saw around them.
Not surprisingly, Mario Cuomo consistently ran well in presidential polls after his memorable “Tale of Two Cities” keynote at the 1984 Democratic national convention. And by accounts, he wanted the job.
But while he often flirted with running — Cuomo’s indecision won him the nickname “Hamlet on the Hudson” — he never did take the plunge, disdaining the long, draining process to capture the White House.
“Too many would-be leaders look to divide rather than unite,” he said, “to build themselves up by tearing others down.”
Not that Cuomo was in all respects a candidate for sainthood. As his son joked back in 2002, “Mario Cuomo showed me the benefits of being an irritable, thin-skinned and dismissive person. He showed me that arrogance ultimately works.”
In the end, Cuomo’s 12 years in Albany will be remembered more for what he said than for what he accomplished. By the end, he was presiding over a disappointing status quo that refused to move forward.
Still, he was a giant of the political scene who loved his family, loved his state and loved the cut-and-thrust of old-fashioned politics. Mario Cuomo, RIP.