The whole of Boston is mourning the death of Jack Connors. And for those of us who worked with him every day, as I did for 17 years, we are trying to find our footing in a world without him. There are lessons from his approach to life that will serve us well as we seek to continue his legacy.
There has been much written about Jack’s immense generosity, his leadership, his business acumen and boundless energy for making positive change. It would be tempting to think that all of it came easily to him, that he was a born natural and destined for success. That would give the rest of us an excuse. But Jack would — and did — proclaim that he was anything but a natural. He spoke often about having been a “late bloomer” and a proud member of the bottom half of his graduating class in college. Was he charming? Yes, he sure was. But I have never known anyone who prepared so assiduously for every challenge, whether making a pitch for a philanthropic gift, introducing the president of the United States at a fundraiser, or preparing a gift basket for an ailing friend.
Jack’s standards were high, for himself and for the rest of us. Speeches were drafted, edited, rehearsed out loud, rejected, tossed, and started again from scratch. The final draft was never truly final, because when it came time to deliver it, there was something that had occurred to Jack before it was time to speak — often something funny — and it was incorporated at just the right place with just the right timing. Even the joke lines he used over and over again somehow remained hilarious.
The author, center, with Jack Connors and former Mayor Marty Walsh in 2019 at Camp Harbor View. (Courtesy Camp Harbor View)
A self-reported terrible athlete (though he did ski, play golf and tennis and finish three Boston Marathons), the sport Jack truly excelled at was fundraising. He was organized, determined and bold when it was time to raise money for a cause or organization that mattered to him.
Many years ago, when Sen. Ted Kennedy asked if he would consider raising $100 million for what became the Edward M. Kennedy Institute, Jack approached the task like it was a military campaign. He divided the world of corporate prospects into sectors and identified a captain for each one. The strength of his relationships and the goodwill he had earned over many years of just “being Jack” along with a disciplined goal setting and reporting structure resulted in a collegial and effective fundraising machine that produced the EMK Institute that stands next to the JFK Library on Columbia Point.
There were no days off for Jack. Camp Harbor View, which was founded in 2007 as a summer camp and now engages 1,000 Boston kids and their families year round, was near and dear to him. He never missed an opportunity to promote the camp to a new acquaintance; he was never at a loss when someone asked what they might do for him.
Once we met his initial goal of creating a safe and beautiful place for city kids, he moved the end zone. He wanted us to do more, be better, think more creatively about meeting needs, removing barriers and creating opportunity. Thanks to his relentless pursuit of additional resources and support, the scope of Camp Harbor View’s work has broadened to become much more than a summer camp. As Jack proudly said at the 2024 Beach Ball on June 8th, we are now “a social equity organization.”
[Jack] was also a quiet source of support and solace for countless people who stumbled into a place of need for one reason or another. Compassion and generosity were his reflexes.
Jack was known for his huge contributions to the fabric of Boston, but he was also a quiet source of support and solace for countless people who stumbled into a place of need for one reason or another. Compassion and generosity were his reflexes. He wrote rent, mortgage and tuition checks; he found a hospital bed for your child or your mother when none were available; he dispensed career advice to newly minted college graduates and stuck-in-a-rut mid-career folks; he listened to new business pitches and even made forays into marriage counseling. It was never a one size fits all approach. He tailored his assistance to the needs of the individual involved, and he didn’t lose track of people — he followed up to be sure that the situation was improving; he was relentless in finding a solution.
Working for Jack was challenging in all the right ways. His call list was endlessly long, his inbox bursting at the seams, and there was always a line outside his door, which is exactly how he liked it. His standards were high, and he expected a lot. His boundless imagination and creativity made for some difficult assignments, a few of which you just hoped he’d forget about. He never did forget, but there were a few times when he would finally agree that an idea was just a little too crazy and he’d say, “okay, uncle, you’re right, forget about it.” These victories were few, but sweet and filled with relief.
The ethos of the Connors Family Office and Camp Harbor View, a blended and close-knit team, is one of service and thoughtfulness, because that is what Jack modeled for us. His gratitude for a job well-done was profound. He thanked us, in words and deeds, constantly for our work — and he made sure we had fun. There were office scavenger hunts, gingerbread house contests, barbershop quartets, musicians, magicians, karaoke, birthday serenades, wine and cheese parties, first day-of-spring daffodils, restaurant feasts and catered birthday lunches. We celebrated everything: a fundraising milestone, a work anniversary, a warm winter afternoon. Jack used to say, tongue in cheek, that we couldn’t allow ourselves to be jaded. We didn’t, and we won’t. We embraced the champagne toasts, the thrill of success, the euphoria of being part of a winning team.
Our coach worked harder than anyone we knew. Jack was in the office nearly every single day until the end, and he inspired us to be always our best. He told us all the time that he loved working with us and that he loved every one of us. We loved him back tenfold.
A funeral mass for Jack Connors will be held at 10 a.m. on Tuesday, July 30 at St. Ignatius of Loyola Church in Chestnut Hill. A livestream of the service is available here.
It is with deep sorrow that we announce the passing of our Co-Founder and Chairman, Jack Connors, Jr., who died this morning from pancreatic cancer. Giving proof to his claim that he would never stop working for the causes that meant so much to him, it was only on June 8th at the Camp Harbor View Beach Ball that he announced a record-breaking fundraising total of $13.4M, most of which was Jack’s own handiwork. He turned 82 the following day.
When then-Boston Mayor Tom Menino asked Jack in 2006 for help with keeping middle school kids safe and happy in the summer, Jack tapped into his creativity and resourcefulness to imagine a beautiful summer day camp on an island in Boston Harbor, and Camp Harbor View was born.
Jack envisioned a pristine campus where kids could swim, sail, play sports, make new friends, and see a future filled with possibilities. As you know, that vision is now a reality.
Every day since the camp opened in July of 2007, Jack has challenged all of us to be imaginative, and to work hard to partner with kids and families in the Camp Harbor View community. He has been relentless in his drive to provide us with all the resources necessary to do our work, and as a result, Camp Harbor View has become much more than a summer camp.
It’s hard to imagine Camp Harbor View (or in fact, Boston) without Jack, but our promise to him and to you is that we will endure, we will thrive, and we will maintain Jack’s standards of excellence in everything we do. He would expect nothing less of us and we will never let him down.
So many Bostonians have wonderful memories of interactions with Jack and inspirations from his lifetime of service and generosity. We invite you to join us in sharing a message or memory here:
One year ago this week, people across the world stared in horror at the video of Minneapolis Police Officer Derek Chauvin kneeling on George Floyd’s neck until he died. For some of us, horror at this murder on video was paired with shock. For others, including many people of color I know, the video was far from shocking or surprising. It was terribly sad, but it was also far too familiar.
As the leader of an organization committed to racial equity, I have long sought to be an ally on the path to racial justice in our city and our country. But this last year has taught me that allyship isn’t enough. The word “ally” can mean a lot of things, but I have learned that it doesn’t immediately suggest action and sacrifice. I’ve heard from BIPOC friends and colleagues that how white people like myself can really help is to become accomplices — by taking substantive action, and making real sacrifices, in the pursuit of racial equity.
My journey toward action on racial justice started late in life — I grew up in a very white community, largely unaware of the privilege that accompanied just about every breath I took — my home, my school, my vacations, and access to adults who had the time and capacity to invest in my future. In college, I started to awaken to my privilege and to the ways that the systems of power in our country upheld and exacerbated centuries-old oppression. Relationships with people of color, and my work at Camp Harbor View over the last 14 years have played a central role in my deepening understanding of systemic racism. I’ll never feel even a sliver of the pain and generational trauma that people of color feel, but I’ll also never go back to a place of ignorance.
These days, I’m doing my best to listen and learn from BIPOC individuals of all ages. I’m deeply indebted to friends and mentors — especially Black women — who are helping me understand more about lived experience in our city and our country for people of color and other folks whose voices have been marginalized for generations.
But I’m also committed to go beyond listening and learning. If we read the work of Dr. Ibram Kendi and Isabel Wilkerson and go back to our lives without making significant changes, we can’t call ourselves allies or accomplices. We have to act.
So I’m committing myself to focus on five key actions for racial justice. I may never fully arrive at the destination, but I’ll work at getting better and doing more every day, and every year. And I’m calling on white people — especially those who lead organizations, teams, and companies — to join me.
Five ways white leaders can take action for racial justice:
Listen — The first step to good listening is showing up. Be present for everyone in your life, and especially people whose voices have traditionally been marginalized. If you build trust and invest in relationships, people will tell you what they’re feeling and you can start to find places where you might be able to partner.
Know when to speak up and when to step back — Most white leaders, myself included, would probably do well to talk less. Center the voices of Black women and other BIPOC folks in the rooms where decisions get made. But I’m not giving you a pass to stay quiet, either. You have power, use it by speaking up and using your platform to advance systemic changes that bring about equity. Finding the balance isn’t easy. I’m sure I often get it wrong, but I’m committed to keep trying. (And I’m lucky to have at least a few relationships where BIPOC folks tell me when they need me to lead, when they need me to follow, and when I should step aside).
Hire, promote, and trust people of color — For the white folks out there who run organizations, I urge you to hire more people of color. Boston is 53% people of color. Is your leadership team more than half people of color? We’re not there yet at Camp Harbor View, but we’re committed to working on it. If you’re thinking the problem is a pipeline of talent, you’re either not recruiting in the right places or you haven’t built the trust for people to want to work for you.
Give something up — If we are truly invested in pursuing racial equity, we must be willing to give up some of the power we have. Think of it this way, do you want your legacy to be that you held power throughout your career and life or that you made a significant (and selfless) contribution to a more equitable Boston?
Commit to accountability — Make a plan for what you’d like to accomplish and share it with someone. It might be a friend or colleague. Or — even better — maybe you’ll publish the plan for your organization on your website. For me, writing this post is a step on that path. I’m committed to moving forward on these steps every week, and I’m putting this out there so you’ll hold me accountable.
Are you ready to join me in this work?
Committing to true learning and action means being vulnerable. I have put my foot in my mouth more than once in conversations about racial justice — it doesn’t feel great, but in retrospect I’m usually proud that I tried, that I spoke up and used my platform. (Sometimes I look back and wish I had just shut up and let BIPOC folks speak)
I’m writing today not to pat myself on the back for trying to be “woke” or for being “on a journey.” I’m doing it because if white leaders like me don’t make a commitment to take real action, we’ll fail to move the needle on racial justice — even a little bit — in our lifetimes. We have a real opportunity right now. The Black Lives Matter protests of 2020 were the largest demonstrations in American history. Cities, states, and the federal government are passing significant reforms to protect Black lives and create more equity for BIPOC folks. Some corporations and nonprofits are making real systemic changes that will impact thousands of lives (others are getting better at window dressing).
I’m ready to keep working on this. It’s a matter of life and death for my friends, my community, and for me. Are you with me?
