He’d sit with his cousins in the back of the darkened theater and roll candy down the aisles. She recalled her father’s stories about walking to school as a kid so that he could save his bus money for the cowboy movies. ![]() Paul Rumley, center, with daughters Kate, at left, and Kelsey. Kelsey Rumley, the younger of Paul Rumley’s two daughters, said her father was shaped by his early years growing up thrifty - and a bit mischievous - on the streets of Medford, Massachusetts, where neighbors were close. And he was a longtime Meals on Wheels provider. In the legislative off-season, he could be found feeding clientele at the Barre Country Club. While brother Tom tended to the bar and restaurant, Rumley ran the food service at the Statehouse cafeteria for many years. Rumley took on other ventures during his Thrush days. After the Thrush had closed its doors in 2008, Graff told a Times Argus reporter, “Whenever we needed a quote from an important state official or legislator, we would just go downstairs.” SO welcoming and friendly, lover of all things Boston,” Graff recalled in an email last week. “Paul was either Sam Malone or the first bartender, Coach. Graff likened the place to the Cheers bar in Boston, made popular in the 1980s sitcom of the same name, “where everybody knows your name and they’re always glad you came.” Perhaps no one was in such close proximity as Chris Graff, who headed up Vermont’s Associated Press bureau, located just one flight up from the Thrush. Too many stories and memories with Paul to share.” The names of those leaving remembrances of Rumley included former Statehouse clerks, lawmakers (past and present), cabinet secretaries, a one-time corrections commissioner and another second generation Thrush-goer, Brendan Cosgrove, who wrote, “Growing up in the Thrush, Paul and Tommy were like uncles to me. Her late father, Thomas, a longtime state senator, was among the lawmakers who considered the Thrush a second caucus room of sorts. “Paul was always there serving up your favorite beverage with a healthy dose of witty banter, soaked in his thick Boston ‘Medfud’ accent,” Crowley wrote in a tribute that drew more than 100 responses.Ĭrowley was a second-generation Thrush patron. 10.Ī Facebook post by longtime Statehouse lobbyist Allison Crowley captured Rumley’s spirit. He was 75 when he died at his Montpelier home on Oct. So when Rumley’s obituary appeared in Vermont publications last week, it triggered many memories of a bygone era. Paul Rumley and his brother Tom ran the Thrush Tavern for more than three decades. Legend has it that the Office of the Sergeant at Arms was known to call down to the tavern to summon legislators back for roll-call votes. Just a three-minute walk from the east entry to the Statehouse, the Thrush was a convenient watering hole. An attorney general was known to frequent a booth, as well. It was the place where governors, legislators, lobbyists, journalists, state workers and locals crossed paths. In the 1820s-vintage brick building tucked behind a (now demolished) gas station on Montpelier’s State Street, Rumley and his brother Tom ran the Thrush Tavern for more than three decades. That much was evident from the moment he spoke. He was, in short, the quintessential barkeep, Boston Irish to boot. He was curious and conversant, but he was not impressed by pretense or entitlement. Paul Rumley was a confidante to many, and they knew he’d keep their secrets close. Paul Rumley, pictured with the late Sergeant-at-Arms Teresa Randall in the 1990s, catered at the Statehouse when he wasn't tending at the Thrush.
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