The rise of Councilman Henon, from electrician to majority leader

When Philadelphia City Councilman Bobby Henon talks about past campaigns - a second-floor headquarters, maps lit up in highlighters, knocking on door after door - you get a sense that the lulls between elections must be torturous for him.

"I mean, it's exhilarating. I love the action," he says, his eyes wide, a caged-in smile resting in the corners of his mouth.

"Give me the ball," he says, the grin spreading. "Just give me the ball."

Maybe that's why Henon, after winning his second term unopposed, set his sights on Council's second-most-powerful post, often viewed as the heir apparent to the presidency: majority leader.

And won.

His victory, ratified unanimously by Council this month, has the potential of shifting some power in a 17-member chamber where in recent years, Council President Darrell L. Clarke usually has gotten what he wants.

It's also more proof of the growing political clout of Electricians union leader John "Johnny Doc" Dougherty, who is Henon's mentor, strongest political supporter, and close friend.

But Henon's ascent is also one to watch because - as is the suspicion among City Hall insiders - he might be aiming higher.

"Restless is a good word to describe him," said Eric Horvath, a former aide. "That is a natural state of working for him. . . . Even when he's in meetings, you can see him in his head trying to figure out three, four, five moves ahead."

Henon, 47, was born, raised, and lives in a largely blue-collar section of Northeast Philadelphia. His childhood neighborhood, Wissinoming, was one where a kid could leave home by himself and be a dozen friends deep within two blocks.

His mother, always joking, taught him how to dance in their living room. And Henon, naturally outgoing, took those skills to Dancin' on Air, a show in the style of American Bandstand taped in Philadelphia. When Madonna came on the show, a young Henon and other extras danced in the background.

His father worked as an electrician, often picked up overtime, unwound with a good book, and made his sons sign up for military service on their 18th birthdays, even without a draft.

Henon's father, who died in 2009, dealt with bouts of unemployment. From time to time, Henon's mother told her kids that if they got called down to the principal's office, not to worry; they were a bit behind on tuition.

Henon was drawn to politics early on. He recalls his first race for vice president at North Catholic High School was against a popular soccer player with a perfectly styled mullet. Henon won in a landslide.

At 19, he became a Democratic committeeman when his father signed him up without telling him.

After high school, Henon enrolled in community college. He never finished, and still thinks of going back.

His relatives encouraged him to become an electrician. He rose from apprentice to foreman to business agent. That led to his becoming political director of Local 98 of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers in 1999.

His career in politics took off from there.

But there are other markers in his personal story that friends say color who he is. Being diagnosed with and beating prostate cancer. Burying two siblings who died young.

"You've got two choices when you come to those kind of forks. You can either pull back or go forward," said Marty Wixted, who, like others from the neighborhood, calls his friend "Robbie."

"He saw not to take life too, too serious. Try some things. Put yourself out there."

Henon's tenure as Local 98 political director coincided with the relatively small union's meteoric rise in power, becoming the biggest independent source of campaign money in the state.

Dougherty "was often larger than life and focused on a lot of the big picture," said Mark Nevins, a political strategist who met Henon during the 2003 elections. "Bobby was very strategic and focused on the details."

Between 2000 and 2014, the union put more than $25 million into political races. That money helped get Henon elected in 2011 to a seat being vacated after 32 years by Joan Krajewski.

Henon - who still is employed by the union in an untitled position that reports directly to Dougherty - has embraced his connection to the electricians' leader.

Without Dougherty, "I wouldn't be where I'm at," he said. Dougherty puts it this way: "If you're Bobby Henon's friend, you're my friend."

He said that doesn't mean he has influence over Henon. He doesn't need to, Dougherty said: "We think a lot alike."

Still, for those keeping score, Henon's rise is a clear win for Dougherty, who has racked up friends in high places in City Hall. The union was a major supporter of Mayor Kenney's campaign.

On Council, Henon has prided himself on taking creative approaches to quality-of-life issues, such as when he subpoenaed absentee landlords to testify before Council, hoping a little public shaming would help them shape up. His office also has tackled some of the more painstaking legislative topics, including Council's vetting of the new Comcast franchise agreement, completed last month.

A public setback came last year when he introduced legislation to buy land the city had eyed for a new prison. The proposal became entwined with the school funding debate as advocates argued that the city was prioritizing prisons over students, forcing Henon to pull the bill.

But seven months later, his colleagues voted him majority leader, taking the title away from Curtis Jones Jr., who had been a leading critic of the prison legislation.

To be sure, the majority leader post, while coming with a $9,000 raise, might not be as powerful as it once was. Council rules used to stipulate that the majority leader also chaired Council's finance committee, viewed as among its most important. But that is no longer the case. And Clarke, who did not initially support Henon for majority leader, has named longtime Councilwoman Jannie L. Blackwell head of the committee - perhaps a signal to Henon. Henon is vice chair.

As for the future, Henon brushes off questions of whether he aspires to be mayor someday, saying: "I like the job I have."

He has also said he liked being an electrician - but he knew he wouldn't do that for the rest of his life.

"The greater [the] success, the more responsibility that comes with it," he said. "And I welcome it."

tnadolny@phillynews.com

215-854-2730

@TriciaNadolny