PEABODY -- It takes an extra effort for Sen. Fred Berry to make himself understood. Berry's words are slurred -- a result of cerebral palsy, a birth defect -- and at times it appears that his whole body is involved in making each sentence comprehensible.
But if his speech appears labored, it is a labor of love.
"I could listen to myself all day," the senator jokes when someone asks if he is fatigued. Then his eyes twinkle and he adds, "I'm just a fascinating guy."
In a business that turns on communication, a physical disability, including a speech impediment, hasn't stopped Berry from reaching the state Senate and holding onto his seat for 20 years. A sense of humor, he says, has been his saving grace.
"I can usually think of something funny to relax people," he says. "And that usually makes them feel more comfortable."
In fact, at the age of 52, the Democrat from Peabody is the dean of the Senate, the longest-serving member and vice-chairman of the powerful Senate Ways and Means Committee. He has earned a reputation for reaching out to those less fortunate; and while he still worries about the state's most vulnerable people, his approach has changed in two decades. He is not the same senator who first won his seat in 1982.
"I started out here," he says, holding his hand off to one side. Then he brings it a bit to the center. "I've moved toward the middle."
Berry's office looks out on the Statehouse's spectacular Bullfinch facade and the glittering golden dome. "There are advantages to longevity," he smiles.
But with this backdrop of 18th century splendor, he deals with grim 21st-century problems, like the parent desperate to find treatment for a son addicted to Oxycontin.
"It's a terrible thing," Berry says, shaking his head after hanging up the phone.
Moreover, finding assistance for such people is tough when you're cutting the budgets of the very agencies that provide the help.'
Difficult times
The year 2002 is not the best time to be in government, even for a man who is running unopposed, who hasn't seen an opponent since 1996.
Berry doesn't expect the state's economy to recover fully for another two years. More budget cuts loom in the future, he suspects.
But it's one of the benefits of long service, he explains, that he was there before when the wolf came to the door, when the Massachusetts Miracle faded into a recession in the late 1980s, for example.
"These are the times my colleagues will appreciate my institutional memory," he says.
Nearly 30 years ago, as a youthful Boston College graduate whose hero was Bobby Kennedy, Berry volunteered for VISTA, working in the ghettos of Corpus Christi, Texas. Without a hint of irony, the disabled senator explains that his exposure to poverty there taught him that not all people are born on an equal plain.
He watched mothers with batches of children spending their meager resources on religious candles rather than food. He disapproved at the time. But today he's not so sure the candles didn't provide something he didn't appreciate enough as a young man, something that transcends financial concerns, something no government can provide.
He has changed his mind about other things.
Today, he's not so sure that targeting the rich with higher taxes is the answer to every problem.
"Now I recognize the implications of our taxing the rich," he says -- that such policies can limit investment and stunt growth. "There's another side to it."
And while he still stands committed to helping those who can't help themselves, he views government programs with a little more skepticism. Affordable housing remains the region's No. 1 problem, he says, but a certain disenchantment with government solutions began as early as the late 1980s when 707 vouchers for apartment dwellers proved, in some cases, counterproductive, driving up rents and forcing out middle-class families.
He recalls without complaint that the program was significantly reduced.
"It's very fair to say that 30 years ago I saw the world in black- and-white terms," Berry says. "Today I see shades of gray." It's made him a better senator, he believes.
"Easy way out?"
Not everyone is buying the new Fred Berry, however. Anti-tax activist Barbara Anderson of Marblehead praises Berry's personal qualities and notes his legendary sense of humor.
"Charm counts for something," she says. "When you're in a strong economy, charm is enough."
But in the current climate she faults Berry for legislation that answers revenue shortfalls with taxes, specifically the Legislature's decision to delay a voter-approved tax rollback. Anderson worries the strategy could retard the state's economy for years to come.
"Raising taxes is the easy way out," she says. If Berry now understands the harm that higher taxes can do, she adds, it makes it still more unfortunate that he is, at least in her view, raising them.
"I think he has changed," argues Salem Mayor Stanley Usovicz. "He's clearly a much more worldly guy. ... He's far more realistic about the reach of the government."
Finding funds and assistance for the cities and towns of the region is part of a senator's job, Usovicz notes, adding, "Fred is very deep and multi-dimensional. To judge him just on taxes is missing the boat."
"Fred is always there," agrees Peabody Mayor Mike Bonfanti. "He's worked very hard for the city." His success despite a physical disability, Bonfanti notes with admiration, makes him a role model for everyone.
Instant Parenting
Part of what may have motivated the adjustment in Fred Berry's thinking is family life. Married late in life, only five years ago, Berry found himself in a new role when his wife, Gayle, brought three children from her first marriage, ages 9, 14 and 15. In short order, the senator developed a new appreciation of the time and expense that parenting requires. His stepdaughter, Lindsey, is now in college, Berry notes. "And I feel very proud that I had something to do with that.
Additionally, Berry has been nagged by serious health problems over the past few years. Cerebral palsy doesn't get any worse, he explains, "but your body is out of whack." That forces other muscles and bones to compensate, and side effects, like arthritis, become progressively worse.
Berry suffered through an involved surgery on his spinal cord in 1999. Now, he observes, the pain he had endured has been 90 percent reduced.
A group of demonstrators is chanting outside on the steps of the Statehouse as Berry speaks. He's not sure what they're demonstrating for, but he smiles. "There's always a group demonstrating out there," he says.
He smiles some more when asked about his future on Beacon Hill -- would he work in a Shannon O'Brien administration? Berry leaps to praise the former state senator, now running for governor.
"I want her to be governor. I'm going to work very hard for her. ... She's smart as a whip. I think she would do us all proud."
But no job has been discussed, he says.
He takes a visitor through the surprisingly small but beautiful Senate chamber, all pastel blue, white trim, Roman columns and marble busts.
And it would seem, just from the way he walks about in there, that he loves the Senate and he laments the low esteem in which its members are sometimes held. Public cynicism has driven many back to the private sector, he says.
"When I walked in here in '83, there were 11 or 12 senators who had been here for 20 years," he says quietly. That kind of experience was invaluable to their colleagues.
For a moment, Berry stands over his chair, the first one to the right hand of the Senate president's rostrum.
"I'm happy," he declares, "where I am."