Assemblyman Marcus J. Molinaro
103rd Assembly District

Marc Molinaro heard the call to public service at an early age, and he wasted little time in answering it. In 1994, when he was just 18, Assemblyman Molinaro was elected to the Tivoli Village Board of Trustees – making him the youngest person ever elected to office in the State of New York. The very next year, he became the youngest mayor in the United States. He has been re-elected mayor five times and elected four times to the Dutchess County Legislature.

During his tenure as mayor, Assemblyman Molinaro led many initiatives to improve the quality of life in the Village of Tivoli. Highlights include improvements to the recreation park, computerizing village offices, fostering inter-municipal cooperation with surrounding localities, securing more than $6 million in grant funding for various community projects, repaving nearly 75 percent of village roads, and cutting property taxes. As a member of the Dutchess County Legislature, Marc Chaired the Budget, Finance and Personnel Committee, where he managed the county's $300 million budget adoption process, cutting the county tax rate over his six years of service.  He also co-chaired the Legislature's review of Child Protective Services.  His leadership was recognized for bringing reforms to the county's foster care and adoption services, along with strengthening Dutchess' response to child abuse, neglect and domestic violence.   He brings his considerable and ambitious administrative vision and legislative experience to Albany as the representative of the 103rd Assembly District.

Assemblyman Molinaro has many priorities as he enters his first term in state office. Chief among them are Medicaid reform, reining in skyrocketing property taxes, and keeping violent sexual predators off the streets. His main goal, however, can be easily summarized by the statement that he wants to make New York – and especially the Hudson Valley – a better place to live, work, and raise a family.

Assemblyman Molinaro is a graduate of Dutchess Community College and the PACE Land Use Law Center Community Leadership Alliance. He resides in Tivoli with his wife Christy L. Cocker, a registered nurse in the OR at Northern Dutchess Hospital, and their two-year-old daughter Abigail Faith.  Mrs. Molinaro is a volunteer with the American Cancer Society's "Step Into Spring" Breast Cancer Fundraiser, Tivoli Recreation Committee and the Village's Fire Department and Rescue Squad.

Assemblyman Molinaro is also an active member of the Tivoli Fire Department and Rescue Squad.  He currently serves on the Dutchess County American Cancer Society and Dutchess County Historical Society Advisory Boards.  He is a member of the Hudson River Valley Greenway Conservancy Council, Dutchess County Farm Bureau, Red Hook Senior Services and Hardscrabble Committees.  Marc is also a Red Hook Little League coach.

 

The Wedding Present
by Marc Molinaro

It is customary for the bridegroom to present the bride with a gift on their wedding day. While it is certainly before the day of my matrimony this is my gift...

When the good Lord presents you with such a beautiful tale to tell, who are we to question whether or not this particular story should be shared with others? In fact, I have marveled at the unanimous endorsement of sharing the story of how my future bride and I were brought together, most certainly, by fate.

I was not someone who thought that there is one person meant for another. While being somewhat a romatic, mixed with a little ldealism, topped of by my realist/practical nature, I never believed in the "true love — love at first sight" theory. Certainly, I never believed that I would be sharing this amazing fairytale-like story. However, I am stating as surely as I am alive that indeed our existence on this sometimes lonely planet is mirrored by that of another.

For nearly two whole years of my relatively short life I suffered with bi-weekly bouts with a sore throat, inability to speak and cold-like symptoms. Indeed, a true hinderance for any politican, perhaps a blessing to my constituency. This was not a desireable situation. Please know, however, that even I realize now as I did then, that this was not the end of my life.. For certain, there are worse things in life, but for me, this was my little battle.

I had for many months seen many doctors all prescribing me the usual and unusual to this little problem. From aspirin to antibiotics, exercise to more sleep, they all had the answer. Last January I was sent to visit Dr. William Tuebl of Wellspring in Rhinebeck. He too tried many different options. It was not strep throat, not a cold, not a flu, so what was it? He was not willing to give up, thank goodness!

He finally thought that perhaps it was my tonsils. Yes, at age 22 I had all of my God-given parts, including those minor nuisances in the deep recesses of my throat. He sent me to Dr. Marcella, in Poughkeepsie. Sure enough, my tonsils had to go. I prepared for this major surgery like a true trooper. A tonsilectomy, I was told, is a very dangerous surgery for someone my age. I apologize for my next statement; but it was the very first time I was too old for something!

Now before I go any further I must share a parallel experience. As I had been searching for an end to my health miseries, I was also discovering my own religious beliefs. Throughout this time in my life people and opportunities had been presented to me that can be explained only by recognizing the influence of a divine authority. What I have discovered was that a growing relationship with God was also steering me steadily to the happiest days of my life.

Returning now to my tonsils... they had to go! The date was set. July 1, 1998 was to be the day that I would no longer be a whole man.

Bright and early I arrived at St. Francis Hospital in Poughkeepsie. My family by my side I prepared for the surgery. Resting on the hopsital bed, I awaited the nurses and doctors. First came the relaxant; what an experience! Then the doctor, and finally my demise. I was wheeled into a cold hallway to await the surgery. I was wheeled into the operating room. Then the anesthesia. I was asked to count down 10... 9... 8... 7... 6....

Now the good part... slowly and surely I was awakened. I could not yet open my eyes; I was not sure if they even worked. I only heard a nurse being instructed to check my pulse and blood pressure. I assumed that I must have been alive. As I began to open my eyes, I was amazed to see an angel. Indeed never before have I been presented with such a beautiful human being. Certainly, I began to reassess my original determination that I had made it through the surgery. Thankfully my first impression was correct. I was alive and I had seen an angel! The good Lord was working his finely crafted plan.

My eyes could not be held open any longer, despite my every effort. I was wheeled away to a private room on another floor, never to see this angel again. So I believed. On my long journey to this new shelter, I heard my usually insistent mother talking about this young nurse and how she was single and perhaps a likely date for her dazed and confused son. She was persuaded not to intervene. She agreed, certainly a miraculous event in itself.

In my new home, a cold, dark room, I waited for my wits to return. They did not. I believe I was being held physically and mentally captive by a male nurse armed with a hypodermic filled with Demerol, a nifty drug meant to blur men's minds.

Night fell, sleep was not to be received. Certainly, I cannot say even a single bad word about my stay at St. Francis, but I am confused by the system used to assist the ill. Every hour on the dot my captor would return to make sure I was still alive. Have they lost many? I am sure they haven't, however, my pulse and blood pressure were very important statistics that must be properly recorded. As the pain in my throat began to surface and resurface, more Demerol was necessary. To ensure my well being I, like a Skinner rat, needed to push a button. I was saved, so I thought.

"How can we help you," a voice bellowed over a speaker. Forgive my sarcasm, but, as if I was able to speak. Not a chance! Again, I press the button. Again, the question is asked. This goes on for several minutes. Finally, when I am asked again, I am able to muster up a loud grunt. My captor appears, fully armed and ready to fire.

Eventually daybreak. My family appears at my doorstep. Despite my drugged state and painful situation, I ask about my angel. My mother, mortified, tells me she was not successful in her persistence. Oh well, I lived without an angel for 22 years, I could go on living without one again.

Thankfully this was not to be. As soon as I returned home from my stay at the hospital, I began my quest to find this angel. I set my father, my assistant and my surgeon out to find her.
Ann Rush, my executive assistant, was the most successful—with the assistance of my father. By calling the hospital, she was able to track down the name of my nurse and the next time she would be on duty. This was my chance.

While still in some pain, with no voice and the assurance of a friend I summoned up a great deal of unusual courage. I sent flowers and a note to my nurse-angel. Would she be willing to see me again?

The rest, as they say, is history. On Aug. 21, 1999, nearly 14 months later, I will marry the woman who was meant for me. Perhaps most love stories begin in such a miraculous way. Certainly, our life together will be filled with trials , tribulations and beautiful stories. For me, however, one thing is clear — the path that has led me to this wonderful angel is a story I will never forget.

With all the days that lie ahead, all the successes we will see, all the failures we will face, I will forever know that with Christy by my side and I by hers we will find our way. To my love, when you reach for my hand, it will forever be there!