"I'm giving away a lot of ties," Florence Cohen says in a raspy, high-pitched voice. She moves slowly but gets up without the wincing effort of many other 88-year-olds.

She motions to dozens of ties splayed on a neatly made bed and welcomes a young man who is here to take her picture in the apartment she shared with her late husband, City Councilman David Cohen. Two months after his death at the age of 90, she is going through his belongings—clothes, files and mementos. "Dave had a lot of things that I don't want to hold on to," she says. "I'd like to see them go to use."

At this stage in her life, long after retirement and with photos of grandchildren among the first things she shows visitors, Florence dotes like an elderly Jewish woman, but speaks quickly and deliberately when the conversation turns to the Cohens' activism during their 59-year marriage.

By filling her husband's council seat, Florence hopes to carry on his legacy at a time when her vote could sway some critical issues. She's promised not to run in 2007, meaning re-election worries and powerful political forces would exercise less influence over her.

"We both believe strongly in unions," Florence says, lapsing into the present tense. "We believed in the world at peace, not at war. We believed in doing the right thing, being moral, having integrity."

They worked together on behalf of the disenfranchised, which is not to suggest they were carbon copies. While their values lined up perfectly, their demeanors did not. Someone familiar with the dynamics of Cohen's office during the 16 years Florence was chief of staff says, "It was a little bit good cop, bad cop on their part with Florence being the latter. If there was a problem, she raised it."

Though diplomacy may not be her greatest asset, supporters and detractors alike agree she was the person closest to David inside and outside City Hall. That's the main reason longtime friends, including white-collar workers' union boss Thomas Paine Cronin, say she is the person best suited to serve the last two years of his term. Others privately express doubt that she is familiar enough with the current council to do much more than literally keep the seat warm through 2007.

The future hinges on whether Council President Anna Verna, who already decided to close David's office at year's end, calls for an unlikely special election.

Born and raised in the Bronx by her grandmother, Florence moved to Washington, D.C., at age 19 to work for the Rural Electrification Administration, a New Deal agency, where she met David. She first viewed him as a "glib lawyer," but it was her passion for unions that influenced his commitment to organized labor. She remained his toughest critic, famously asking him when he came home, "Who did you sell out to today?"

They married after an eight-year courtship, interrupted by World War II, and moved to the Ogontz section of the city, where they lived until they moved to the Fountains at Logan Square about a year ago. (The Callowhill Street high-rise offers continuing care, but the Cohens only took advantage of meals and housekeeping services.)

In 1959, they formed the Ogontz Area Neighborhood Association to combat school segregation and white flight. Florence went on to lead a successful 30-year battle for a branch library, teach in public schools and at the Philadelphia Community College, chair the local New Democratic Coalition and serve on various other boards.

Their four children—environmental lawyer Sherrie Cohen, state Rep. Mark Cohen, Common Pleas Court Judge Denis Cohen and Judy Cohen Minches—grew up stuffing envelopes and demonstrating at picket lines. Sherrie says her mother "stood up immediately and always" to people in positions of power, including Mayor Frank Rizzo, whom David challenged in 1971. That tenacity prompted the Daily News headline, "A truly liberated woman: Why not Mrs. Cohen for mayor?"

While working for David, she faced accusations of nepotism. Years later, as chair of council's law and government committee, David blocked bills introduced by Councilman Michael Nutter in part because they tackled the favoritism practice from which Florence benefitted. Nepotism

is only detrimental "if

a person is not going to work and expect to be paid," but Florence says it's reasonable for an elected official to have "great confidence" in a spouse, just as a businessperson would.

Earlier this month, council passed five of six ethics reforms, although none targeted nepotism, which would be under the purview of a voter-approved, independent ethics board. Only a measure to limit competitively bid contracts failed—by an 8-8 vote; Florence says she would have cast the deciding "yes" vote even though her late husband was wary of such efforts. "He felt a lot of it was rhetoric and it didn't mean very much," she says.

Although it's unclear where David would have landed on the business privilege tax—a year ago the Street administration was courting his vote to sustain a veto—Florence says she favors a cut that would eventually eliminate the gross receipts tax and reduce the net income tax without sacrificing city services. (Council passed a compromise last week but, three votes short of a veto-proof majority, it's expected to die.) She would also support a smoking ban.

But for now, Florence's stances are moot because Verna has given no indication she will call a special election.

"There's great precedent in the past for not calling a special election," says Kathleen Murray, Verna's special assistant.

When W. Thacher Longstreth died in 2003, his at-large seat stayed open until a new councilman took over eight months later.

In addition to the cost, a special election would be no picnic for U.S. Rep. Bob Brady, who as head of the city's Democrats would bring party ward leaders together to choose a candidate. If Seventh District Councilman Rick Mariano, who faces federal bribery and corruption charges, vacates his post, Florence thinks Verna might call a special election for both seats in one shot. (Mariano has given no public indication that he'll leave.) As of now, candidates for five of the city's at-large seats will vie in the 2007 spring primary, with the highest vote-getters making up the Democratic ticket in November. Among those interested in the seat now is ward leader Bill Greenlee, who has worked in David's office for 26 years. Sherrie Cohen and former Councilman Angel Ortiz are also considering 2007 runs.

Assuming Florence gets a chance to show what she's made of, is she worried critics will zero in on her age and official absence from council for a decade? "I know they will," she predicts. How can she prove them wrong?

"I'll accuse them of being anti-senior citizen," she jokes, then sets her jaw and says, "I'm more qualified than anyone else."

Her bottom line is this: Florence feels responsible to the people who elected her husband.

"So many people have said to me, 'Who's going to speak for us now?'" she says, dropping her chin as her eyes well up. "The truth is, no one could speak for them the way Dave has."