Former Howell Mayor Paul Streng, who died Friday, is being remembered for lots of things; the thread that ran through his life was one of service for the greater good.
Since he graduated from Howell High School, Streng served this city continuously in a wide variety of roles, from volunteer firefighter and assistant fire chief to chairing the city’s Cable Television, Brownfield Redevelopment, and Planning commissions, as well as its Downtown Development Authority. He also represented the city on the Livingston County Economic Development Council, which he chaired for two years.
Streng taught at Michigan State University, where his contributions ranged from the classroom to authoring the plan that created the School of Planning, Design and Construction in 2004. He was part of MSU Study Abroad programs in countries including Russia and Italy, and served as on-site faculty at MSU Dubai.
Streng’s dedication to service garnered him lots of honors, including the coveted Howell Citizen of the Year, and the MSU President’s Award for Public Service.
I met Streng in 1990 when I was a reporter covering the Howell City Council for The Livingston County Press, and without hesitation I’d list him as one of the city’s most consequential mayors. First elected to the city council in 1987, Streng became mayor pro tem in 1989, and went on to serve three terms as mayor until he decided to not run for re-election in 1997.
Streng was a strong, steady leader, unfazed by naysayers and unruly council members. He was also a maverick: In 1996, when the race between then-incumbent U.S. Rep. Dick Chrysler and challenger Debbie Stabenow for the 8th District Congressional seat was one of the hottest in the country, he made local jaws drop when he threw his support behind Democrat Stabenow.
But Streng didn’t just support Stabenow: he took her to Sunday church services in Howell, setting off rounds of clucking and whispering, and then, he stood up in public and endorsed her, explaining why he was voting for her over Brighton’s Dick Chrysler.
Streng didn’t care that Livingston County and Howell don’t vote Democratic, and he didn’t care that he’d piss off local Republicans, including some of his city council members; Streng thought Stabenow was the better candidate.
And on election night, Stabenow (who went on to unseat incumbent Chryster) actually carried one precinct in the City of Howell, perhaps not coincidentally the one in which Streng lived.
He also believed that the city needed to look farther out than just five or 10 years in its planning; instead, Streng said the city should decide where it wanted to be in 50 years. In that vein, he worked hard on a joint water agreement between the City of Howell and its surrounding townships that came close, but failed to succeed; however, his vision for a loop road from Michigan Avenue east is fast becoming reality as the Howell Motorsports project is under construction.
His achievements are impressive and memorable. But the thing I will forever be grateful to Streng for was his strong leadership during the 1994 Ku Klux Klan rally in downtown Howell.
For those who did not live here then, the months leading up to the October 1994 Klan rally were controversial, tense and tumultuous. The Klan first applied for and then fought a legal battle to hold one of its three Michigan rallies that day on the steps of the Livingston County Courthouse in downtown Howell, and the community fought like hell to move it to the county complex on the west side of the city.
There are two reasons the Klan wanted to rally at the courthouse.
The first is that sitting on Grand River Avenue in the center of downtown Howell, the courthouse is Livingston County’s heart and totem. The building is so beloved and symbolic that when the county considered replacing it in the early 1970s, taxpayers instead footed the bill for an extensive (and pretty magnificent) restoration. The courthouse was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1976.
The second is that a former grand dragon of the Klan lived in the area, burning the occasional cross and infecting the city with a reputation it still can’t quite shake, even 30-some years after his death.
That’s why the Klan fought hard to rally here, and why it was an all-hands-on-deck effort to fight back against the ideology and the city’s reputation. Paul Streng was the lone member of the Howell City Council who participated in the community events before and after the rally, events that symbolically blessed the courthouse area before the Klan arrived, and then cleansed it after they took their white sheets and left.
I don’t know why other council members didn’t participate, but even if he accomplished nothing else during his years in elected office, Streng’s solitary leadership on behalf of official Howell during those tense days earned him the highest of grades in my book.
The Klan event was one of the first big stories I covered as the newly appointed editor of The Livingston County Press, and I will forever remember meeting up with Streng at about 5 a.m. on the day of the rally. It was dark and chilly as we walked about downtown Howell, which had been turned into a fenced fortress to protect the Klan, minimize the chance of violence, and protect the historic courthouse. (You can read all about that here.)
In a column three years later about Streng not running for re-election as Howell’s mayor, I talked about that morning and that fence:
Streng and I walked along Grand River Avenue, trying to keep warm. The street, usually busy with early morning traffic and folks out for walks, was deserted, except for the arriving police officers, dressed in riot gear. We walked along, talking about what the day might hold, when we finally arrived at the fence, erected to keep the Klan separated from onlookers.
The fence spanned the entire area around the historic Livingston County Courthouse, a building that has come to symbolize our community. It rose higher than any fence I’d seen before and it stood there — ominous in that time just before sunrise when the light is not quite focused — surrounded by battle-ready cops.
The effect was jarring.
And it wasn’t lost on Streng.
I am not quite sure to this day, but I have a feeling that when he turned his head away from me, Streng wiped away a tear or two.
And so I join the rest of the community in mourning the loss of one of its very finest volunteers and leaders, the man who taught us how big life in a small town can be, and the difference one person can make.
