Carole Khentigan was nothing if not direct. It was a trait her friends valued and depended on. As for those who didn't appreciate it? Well, that was just too bad.

Khentigan grew up in Long Island, where her father, Louis Greenberg, and her mother, Lillian, raised their two children.

While in high school, she spent a summer as a counselor in training at a basketball camp, where her little brother had a counselor named Richard Khentigan. Carole and Khentigan stayed away from each other despite sparks that flew between them.

A year later, she and he coincidentally were registering for courses at the University of Bridgeport at the same time. Carole approached him and asked if he remembered her. "I am going to marry you," she announced to the astonished sophomore.

Khentigan's surprise turned to dismay. He was already dating another woman and didn't need a girlfriend, much less a bride.

They kept running into each other on campus, but he refused her suggestions of a movie or coffee.

He took a year off from college, but when he returned, Carole was still interested, so he took her to the Wisteria Ball. Something had changed. He broke up with the out-of-town girlfriend, and he and Carole were married in 1961, shortly after she had graduated and was working in Manhattan as a buyer for J.C. Penney.

After Richard served two years in the military, they moved to Newington, where he went into business. They had two children.

Carole Khentigan didn't work outside the house initially, but she became involved almost immediately in local politics. She became a member of the Young Democrats, then the Newington Democratic Town Committee, serving on the powerful nominating committee.

Her political strength lay behind the scenes. She never ran for public office but helped several politicians in significant ways. When the Democrats were looking for a sacrificial lamb to run against a popular, longtime incumbent, they tapped newcomer Richard Balducci, who surprised everyone with his upset victory as state representative.

Khentigan was his stealth weapon, giving advice, organizing volunteers, efficiently planning his campaigns. Balducci went on to win eight more times, eventually becoming Speaker of the House, and Khentigan continued to mastermind his campaigns.

"She always spoke her mind and never finessed anything," he said. "She was someone you could always count on."

In the political realm, one of her strengths was her ability to gather information, "and in politics, information is power," said Balducci, now a lobbyist. Khentigan also kept track of who did what to whom.

"She never forgot anything anyone did in the negative," Balducci said. "She carried that little grudge if they did something negative to me."

Politics turned personal the year she dragooned her husband into running for mayor when no one else could be found, but Khentigan's strategizing proved insufficient on election day. "I was glad that I lost," said Richard Khentigan.

Carole Khentigan also worked for many years at the State Capitol, where she served as a constituent liaison for former state Sen. Cynthia Matthews of Wethersfield. Khentigan worked on public health issues.

"She had a lot of savvy," Matthews said, "She understood what people wanted to know and could give them an answer. She knew the information, and she told it to them frankly. You knew where you stood with her."

When Khentigan wasn't engrossed in politics, she enjoyed spending time with her friends. She loved to shop, and she loved glam jewelry, especially diamonds as big as gum balls. She beat all her friends at their weekly mah-jongg games and finished The New York Times Sunday puzzle in an hour.

She liked gambling and had a special knack at the slot machines. She and Richard traveled frequently (they had a pact that they would go somewhere one week every month). One evening, he was in their hotel room in Las Vegas when she called him to come down because she had just won $7,500.

When he didn't get down quickly enough, she called back — to say she'd won another $7,500.

"She had the Midas touch," said her daughter, Jill Franzon. "She was always the one winning."

The couple loved cruises. They took more than two dozen, often visiting their timeshare in Aruba. She loved eating out, preferring it to cooking.

Besides admiring her directness, friends valued her common sense. "She had an objective, outside-the-box answer to the questions," said Jan Kritzman, a longtime friend who occasionally discussed business problems with Khentigan. "She looked in advance and could see the bridge before you got to it."

"She was ready for anything," said Laura Finkelstein, another friend. "You propose anything, and it's, 'Let's go.'" Khentigan also had a quick wit. When Finkelstein's son spent a summer working at the Capitol, he researched a question in the law library for a constituent who needed advice. The voter started gushing about the intern's superior legal ability and asked whether he could consult the "lawyer" further.

"Attorney Finkelstein is having milk and cookies," Khentigan told the caller crisply. "He's a high school sophomore."

Khentigan died of complications from a heart attack she had suffered on one of her trips to Aruba.

"She was a hot ticket," recalled her husband. "If someone had to jump into the pool, she'd be the first one, just to show you can do it."


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