Tales from Council chambers: Veteran clerk leaves

Don't ask Patricia Rafferty about that September day in 1981 when her husband, Councilman Francis Rafferty, got into a fistfight with Councilman John F. Street that left the pair wrestling on the floor of Council chambers, a highlight of Philadelphia's political lore for decades to come.

"It was unfortunate because for 10 years after that it got played and played" on television, she said of the brawl, sparked by a school district crisis.

No, Rafferty would much rather reminisce about the strange array of questions she has been asked over the years. ("When Council members would like to speak, they appear to press a button on a device. Could you please explain or name the device that they use?")

Or about how intimidated she felt that first time, in 1994, standing behind the dais in Council chambers and reading the text of bills being introduced: "Just being there and the Council members being so proper-looking. Oh, God, it was the most frightening time of my life."

She overcame that fear, and after tomorrow, Rafferty, who as chief clerk of City Council undoubtedly spoke more words than anyone else in Council chambers, will stop talking.

As Council's official record keeper since 2000, Rafferty also has been responsible for, among other duties, archiving Council transactions in one of those essential but often little-noticed government jobs. Her retirement, after 28 years in City Hall, ends an era.

"I remember when [Councilman] Dave Cohen was around, he would say, 'Madam President, would you please tell the chief clerk to slow down?' " Council President Anna C. Verna said this week, referring to Rafferty's well-honed speed-reading skills at Council sessions, where she would blaze through messages from the mayor, legislation, committee reports, and roll-call votes.

Even the sign-language interpreters, Rafferty admitted, had trouble keeping up.

Verna, first elected in 1975, the same year as Francis Rafferty, considers Patricia Rafferty "a dear friend."

"She's precious," Verna said. "I truly hate to see her leave."

Rafferty, 65, is hardly the longest-serving city employee; about 2,000 on the municipal payroll have worked longer. But her Council job certainly makes her among the best-known - or, rather, best-heard.

To be sure, with so much to say over the years, she has tripped up - including some gender errors. "I think I did that a couple of times, call Councilwoman O'Neill during the roll call" - it's Councilman Brian J. O'Neill - "and they hear it," Rafferty said. "Their heads go right up."

Rafferty got started in government in 1980 as a constituent-service aide in her husband's at-large Council office. In 1991, after he lost a bid for reelection, she joined the clerk's office after Street let her know of a vacancy.

"I always liked this room," she said yesterday of the cavernous, wood-paneled fourth-floor clerk's office, which houses books with city ordinances that date back to 1854. "Everything is quiet and orderly."

These days, Rafferty is busy sharing tricks of her trade with Deputy Chief Clerk Michael Decker, who will take over in September. ("I keep a bowl of water in the drawer here to help me turn the pages of what I'm reading.")

She offers him advice, too. ("Never be too comfortable. Expect the unexpected.")

Decker is not quite ready. "This is a really well-oiled machine," he said. "Losing one person is a serious blow."

In fact, this is the second time Rafferty is retiring. In 2004, she collected $101,862 when she left under the city's special retirement program known as DROP. Making use of what some view as a loophole in the program, she returned to her job four days later.

Except for a family vacation down the Shore next month, Rafferty has no immediate plans. But come Thursdays in September, when Council begins meeting again, she has a pretty good idea where she'll be.

She may be hiding behind a pole in Council chambers, she said, but "I'm going to come in."