As No. 2, Murray's profile is rising

Seen as steadying presence for state

Beyond his regular guy from Worcester image, Lieutenant Governor Tmothy P. Murray, after nearly a year in office, is starting to solidify a statewide profile of his own. (Suzanne Kreiter/Globe Staff)

As Governor Deval Patrick was dealing with the snowstorm that paralyzed Boston this month, his trusty lieutenant was inching through gridlock to yet another unheralded speaking engagement, this time to a crowd of union stewards, the vast majority of whom had left before he arrived.

Thirty minutes late, but what an entrance! The remaining crowd of about 65 applauded appreciatively, and Michael Grunko, president of SEIU Local 509, gushed a welcome.

"I want to introduce," Grunko said proudly, "the number two man in the Commonwealth, Lieutenant Governor Murray!"

Such is the life of number two, and this one is quite prepared for it. Timothy P. Murray spent nine years as city councilor and then as mayor of the state's second city. (That would be Worcester.)

But the week before his union speech, Murray was enjoying the number one spot himself when the governor left the state for a trade mission to China. A crisis erupted when a gasoline tanker crashed in Everett, igniting a streetscape and giving Murray what he jokingly called his "Al Haig moment." He became the face of state government, touring the scene of devastation and presiding as a credible and capable, if unremarkable, leader.

Nearly a year into office, this regular guy from Worcester is starting to solidify a statewide profile of his own, raising money at an unusual clip for a lieutenant governor and tapping a Republican fund-raiser for help in building a campaign finance network.

Patrick calls him a "terrific partner." And some see him as a steadying, grounding, seasoned presence in an administration that initially appeared to be too lofty, too heady, too in love with the poetry of campaigning to master the difficult prose of governing.

"He was sort of the voice of experience; it gave them a little balance," said state Representative Daniel E. Bosley, a North Adams Democrat. "You have a governor who's learning the political process but was not a creature of Massachusetts politics, whereas Tim Murray had been around politics for a while."

In many ways, Murray seems an unlikely sidekick for Patrick, whose soaring rhetoric and uncommon charisma inspired voters across the state to enlist in his grass-roots campaign.

Murray does not soar. His no-nonsense speaking style is described, even by aides, as merely direct. While Patrick made history as the state's first African-American governor, Murray's profile is anything but groundbreaking: the Irish-American grandson of a labor organizer and the son of a teacher and nurse who grew up to be a lawyer, city councilor, mayor, and Democratic statewide office-holder.

While the governor is known for his genteel manner and expensive tastes in drapery and cars, Murray appears unconcerned with fashion. He once ducked into a Foxborough barber for a quick haircut between campaign events, to the dismay of an aide worried about that night's television debate; the youthful-looking 39-year-old looks downright boyish when freshly shorn. The oft-used description of Murray as "down to earth" does not fully capture his no-airs demeanor. Last summer, before his appearance at a parks conference in Worcester, he could not stop talking to a janitor he knew, one attendee recalled.

If Murray and Patrick have different profiles, they share a similar appeal. In Worcester, the unassuming Murray became something of a rock star for championing the city's fortunes, inspiring hope, and silencing the naysayers.

"Worcester has suffered an inferiority complex for a long time," said Jordan Levy, a previous mayor. "I always said that the city should have in its employ a team of psychiatrists. When Murray was able to put on a successful statewide run, I think it opened up a lot of people's eyes about the potential of Central Massachusetts. It really uplifted Worcester."

When he came to Beacon Hill, Murray brought so much Worcester memorabilia to decorate his office that the governor had to remind him: You're not just the mayor of Worcester anymore. But in many ways, he still is. His schedule is packed with local, ceremonial events, many of them in Central Massachusetts. He commutes back almost every night to the home he shares with his wife and two adopted daughters, and he is a dutiful promoter of all things Worcester.

But by all accounts, he has real influence on the Patrick administration. Patrick and Murray share a combined staff, a shared respect, and an easy camaraderie. Patrick listens to Murray and, the governor says, sometimes changes his mind based on Murray's input. Murray persuaded the governor to let cities and towns seek changes to their property classifications, an arcane but important issue to cities like Boston.

Patrick has made Murray his liaison with legislators and local officials and given him oversight of councils on domestic violence, homelessness, and veterans' affairs.

If that sounds suspiciously similar to the role of his predecessor, Kerry Healey, aides quickly dismiss the comparison. Healey was viewed as outsider looking in on the administration of the politically ambitious Mitt Romney. Murray is considered, if not a cogovernor, at least an integral player.

"He has a great political feel," Patrick said in an interview. "We complement each other. Every once in a while, you have to do the good-cop-bad-cop thing, and we are able to do that."

Murray's bad cop has come out in meetings with legislative leaders, whom he has prodded to take action, rather than drag their feet.

"We're here to make decisions; that's the executive role," Patrick said. "He's had that role in Worcester, and our frustration is the Legislature sometimes is looking to avoid decisions."

Others agree Murray's nice guy persona has its limits. Recall that early in last year's campaign, he was the strategic political thinker who ruffled feathers by griping publicly about gubernatorial candidate Thomas F. Reilly's decision to pick a running mate after saying he would not, assuming the status of the rightful front-runner. Earlier this year, he also swiped back at critics of Patrick's helicopter ride to the Berkshires by asking Boston business leaders when they last made the long drive from North Adams to Boston. He still gets worked up recounting it.

US Representative James P. McGovern, a Worcester Democrat and longtime friend, said Murray's choice of a pet, a bulldog named Smash, is no accident. "He is somebody who is absolutely determined to get things done, a fighter, somebody who's tough, somebody who is persistent," said McGovern. "Part of the way you get things done is not always holding hands and singing 'Kumbaya.' Sometimes you've got to smash some heads together. He's capable of both."

Stephanie Ebbert can be reached at ebbert@globe.com.