The Hunt family of Dorchester was honored last month by the Boston Irish Reporter, which tendered its Boston Irish Honors award to the Hunts and two other families, the Corcorans and the Mulvoys. Following is an excerpted version of the Honors program article on the Hunt family.

For all the remarkable accomplishments of the Hunt Family of Dorchester – Jim’s success as head of the Massachusetts League of Community Health Centers, his wife Jean’s career as a nurse practitioner, and the success of their three sons – James III as Boston’s chief of environmental-energy services, Peter as financial planner at New York Life Insurance Co., and Daniel as director of government affairs at the Department of Conservation and Recreation – for all that prosperity, the history of the Hunt family of Dorchester is marked by a monstrous illness that struck another son, 11-year-old Matthew Hunt, during a few moments of innocent play on Mother’s Day, 1984.

It was about 7:45, and following dinner, as his mom and dad went for a walk in their Pope’s Hill neighborhood, Matthew was playing in the back yard of his Tilesboro Street home when he suffered a brain aneurysm and fell to the ground, unconscious. Alerted by neighbors, Jim and Jean raced home, and as Jim telephoned for help, Jean knelt to nurse her son. In the ambulance to the Carney Hospital, Matthew regained consciousness and apologized to his mother for ruining Mother’s Day. Two days later, he lapsed into a coma again, and for weeks, the Hunt family maintained a vigil at Matthew’s bedside, holding his hand, grateful for the occasional squeeze back. They talked to him about baseball and Michael Jackson.

“What happens is that your faith, your family, and your fraternity – they all kick in,” recalls his father, “and you either keep hope or you don’t. We never lost hope and never questioned our faith. We spent lots of time trying to get him to respond, but you could never be sure whether responses were real or reflexive. People would say, ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ and I’d say, ‘Tell me how you don’t do it.’ ”

Searching for words that might penetrate Matthew’s coma, members of his family described the handmade cards from fifth-grade classmates at St. Ann’s School on Neponset Avenue. Weeks stretched into months, and they read to him from hundreds of letters from family, friends, and even strangers. From the Boston Home, he was wheeled to the curb for the passing-by of the Dorchester Day parade.
“I’ve never seen a family more devoted to a youngster,” close friend and former state senator Paul White said at the time. “They were always by his side, yet never neglected their other sons.”

As months stretched into years, and through major surgeries for Matthew, at hospitals and at rehabilitation centers, the Hunt family spent patient hours at his bedside, praying for his return. Three years later, on graduation day, while Matthew remained in a coma, St. Ann’s School awarded him an honorary elementary school degree. Determined to hold the family together on special occasions like Christmas, Thanksgiving and Mother’s Day, Jim and Jean would arrange for Matthew to be transported home, by ambulance, for overnight visits. Finally, after 18 years of struggle for Matthew, and 18 years of agony for his family, on Sun., Oct. 20, 2002, Matthew Hunt died. Or as The Boston Globe put it, Matthew Hunt died for the second time.”

“As tragic as it was,” says Matthew’s brother Jim, “in many respects, it brought our family closer together. My parents were extremely attentive to my brother’s needs, and they ensured that, despite being in an institutional setting, Matthew felt a part of our family. I am awestruck that they were able to take care of us all, and at the same time, strengthen the family.”

At his office at the League of Community Health Centers on Court Street, overlooking City Hall Plaza, Jim Hunt arrives for an interview with a genial greeting, and – knowing there will be questions about Matthew and that awful moment 26 years ago – he is clutching a handful of tissues, in case he sheds more tears.           

By all accounts, Matthew Hunt was a good boy. He pitched and played shortstop for his Little League team, the Tigers. He played basketball in the driveway, and he idolized Michael Jackson. He rode his bicycle everywhere, often with a baseball bat on his shoulder. His bedroom was a model of anarchy. He was a newsboy, hawking the Globe on Sunday mornings in front of Linda Mae’s on Morrissey Blvd., then rushing up the hill for Mass at St. Ann’s.

The Irish in Boston take pride in their reputation for loyalty to one another, and especially within families, but in the care given to Matthew, the Hunts set a remarkable standard for love, for faith, and for family.

“We were all devastated, said brother Jim. “But my parents made sure Matthew got the best of medical care and was in settings that made him comfortable, and at the same time, they remained attentive to the needs of raising four boys, which is a handful by itself. They made sure they were involved in the lives of their other sons, in our athletics, in showing up at our baseball and basketball games, and making sure we got the necessary parenting.”

Coalescing in the care of Matthew were not just Jim and Jean, but other members of the family and neighbors throughout Neponset and also members of St. Ann’s parish, and even people they did not know.

“All of that speaks to the Irish culture, as well as to Dorchester neighborhoods,” said Jim III. “To have that support ­– you don’t even have to lean on them. They step forward to offer not only thoughts and prayers, but also a helping hand for the family.”

“Matthew’s illness is an aspect of their remarkable family journey,” says White, “but if you step into the history of Jim and Jean, they are models of a close neighborhood and the best of Irish character. They come from Irish neighborhoods, Neponset and Mission Hill, and they exemplify their character of caring for others without being intrusive. Jim came from a modest background, but I have been in his house when Ted Kennedy called to talk about medical care. I have been with him when he’s talked with members of Congress or the Senate about health care, or in Massachusetts with the House speaker or Senate president. He’s a national spokesman for health care because he talks in layman’s terms about complicated legislation and translates it into positive policy decisions.

“And Jean comes from several generations of people who have worked in health care, and she’s a proficient, accomplished nurse with advanced training and education. So, health care is the energy that motivates this family on one level, and public service on the other, and now they have raised a generation of children also active in public affairs.”

For Jim, an odd incident in his senior year at Boston Technical High School launched him into a career in politics and community activism. He was head of a political club at school, and one day in 1967 Boston Mayor John Collins stopped by. He was so impressed with Jim and two other boys from Dorchester that he had the city hire them as engineering aides. “We were hired because Collins took a shine to us, and the promise was that we would work for the city and go to school at the city’s expense,” says Jim.

Bitten by the political bug, Jim became active in Ward 16 politics. He served on parish committees at St. Ann’s, was elected president of the powerful Pope’s Hill Neighborhood Association, ran for state representative, and in a race for Governor’s Council, he nearly knocked off the legendary and notorious Patrick J. (Sonny) McDonough.

In 1970, popping up across the state were community health centers, which now serve 20 million people nationwide. Jean was instrumental in organizing several, including one on the site of the old Minot School, near Neponset Circle. She induced Jim to volunteer, and in 1975, he began advising the League of Community Health Centers on political strategy.

In 1977, Jim received an offer that changed the course of his life. Over dinner at a diner in Watertown, he was invited to work for the League full time. He hesitated, though, for it would mean a $10,000 cut in pay and loss of his tenured job with the city.

“Do it,” said Jean with enthusiasm. “I’ll work an extra day at the hospital to make up the difference.”

Civil engineering’s loss proved to be a grand gain for public service and health care. As director of health resources for the League, a modest operation with four employees working in a rundown office in Roxbury. Jim was responsible for analyzing legislation. A year later, when the director was let go, Jim was summoned to see the chairman. “I assumed I was going to be fired, but instead he asked me to apply for the job as director.”

Jim found an organization deeply in debt and paralyzed by petty squabbling. “The city and the health centers statewide were at loggerheads over racial and financial issues, and two things occurred to me,” he now recalls. “First, I remembered my father’s training – that is, there was too much bonding these people for them to be fighting, so let’s find what binds rather than what separates them. We’d have hours of meetings, and they’d be yelling and screaming at one other, and my strategy was to create a coalition and leave divisions in the parking lot.”

To elevate the image of the League state-wide, he moved the office to Boylston Street, to the Colonial Theater office building, third floor, back room, no window, where the League remained for 25 years before moving to its Court Street location.

The organization Jim inherited, which had no staff, a lackluster reputation, and overwhelming debt, today has a budget of $10 million, 25 employees, and a reputation as one of the most respected primary care associations in the United States. Among several corporations under its umbrella, for example, is the Commonwealth Purchasing Group, which helps community centers save thousands of dollars a year on supplies, services, and equipment that they use every day.