Detailed Instructions: In this task, you are given a text of many news articles seperated by special token "|||||". Your task is to summarize them.
Q: William M. Bulger smiled as his older brother walked into the courtroom after 16 years as a fugitive, and he got a smile back from the grandfatherly version of the wiry rebel he grew up with in a $29-a-month apartment in the Old Harbor projects in South Boston. 
  
 Boston’s most notorious gangster, a bearded James “Whitey’’ Bulger, offered a simple greeting. “Hello,’’ he mouthed, nodding slightly to the former president of the Massachusetts Senate, who sat in the second row. 
  
 The Bulger brothers — once feared and powerful forces who reigned over their respective fields of politics and organized crime — were reunited yesterday, just blocks from where they grew up. 
  
 William, a 77-year-old lawyer, has never condemned Whitey, his 81-year-old brother, whose decades of mayhem put him on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list. 
  
 Instead, William has said that he felt no obligation to help the authorities find Whitey. And in that context, William’s appearance in the courtroom yesterday was not a surprise. One friend said it was an example of the fierce loyalty of their old Irish-American neighborhood. 
  
 “You’ve got to understand something,’’ said Joseph S. Oteri, 80, a friend of William. “We’re South Boston people, and when you grow up in Southie, the cardinal virtue is loyalty. . . . And you think he wouldn’t be there today?’’ 
  
 The Bulger brothers grew up in a bygone enclave of immigrant families from Ireland. Some friends believe their bond deepened after their father lost an arm in a rail yard accident, prompting Whitey to seek ways to provide for the family. 
  
 But the brothers still took divergent paths. William became a proud “triple eagle,’’ a graduate of Boston College High School, BC, and BC Law School, fond of quoting Latin and Greek texts. 
  
 Whitey was a teenage thief, who, to his mother’s horror, dated a dancer from the Old Howard, a burlesque theater in Scollay Square, according to William’s 1996 autobiography, “While the Music Lasts: My Life in Politics.’’ 
  
 As Whitey’s involvement in crime grew, his brother was drawn into politics, the neighborhood’s historic path toward power and respect. 
  
 In 1960, while Whitey was at Alcatraz serving part of a 9-year sentence for bank robberies, William won his first election to the House, at 26. 
  
 A decade later, he was elected to the Senate and rose to the chamber’s presidency in 1978. Governor William F. Weld appointed him president of the University of Massachusetts in 1996. 
  
 Throughout William’s career, his accomplishments mounted as quickly as his brother’s crimes. But William always insisted he knew little of his brother’s life in the underworld. 
  
 In his autobiography, published a year after his brother fled Boston to avoid being arrested on racketeering charges, William argued that Whitey was the subject of “planted press stories, absurd rumors, wild exaggerations.’’ 
  
 Whitey “is my brother and I love him,’’ he wrote. 
  
 That fealty eventually undid his career. 
  
 In 2001, six years after Whitey escaped, William testified to a grand jury that he had spoken to Whitey once, in 1995, at the Quincy home of a friend, a location arranged to avoid electronic eavesdropping. 
  
 “I do have an honest loyalty to my brother, and I care about him, and I know that’s not welcome news, but . . . it’s my hope that I’m never helpful to anyone against him,’’ William testified. “I don’t feel an obligation to help everyone to catch him.’’ 
  
 A year later, William testified in Congress that he did not know where his brother was and had never aided him as a fugitive. 
  
 William’s cavalier attitude increased calls from Governor Mitt Romney and others for him to resign as the university president, which he did in 2003. “William gave up the presidency of UMass because he told the truth, that he wouldn’t help them get his brother,’’ Oteri said. “We grew up fiercely loyal to each other and hating rats — in that order.’’ 
  
 William returned to South Boston with his wife, Mary, and largely vanished from the public eye, with the notable exception of fighting in court to preserve his nearly $200,000 annual pension. 
  
 That quiet ended abruptly Thursday morning. TV trucks and reporters swarmed his door. Whitey had been caught. But William stayed inside. 
  
 Yesterday, as Whitey landed under heavy guard on a chartered flight at Logan Airport, William climbed into a black SUV and crossed South Boston to the gleaming federal courthouse on the waterfront. 
  
 William arrived an hour early, two of his sons by his side. One of them, Christopher, was recently forced out as chief lawyer for the scandal-plagued state Probation Department. 
  
 At 4 p.m., a door creaked in courtroom 10. William looked up. Whitey, handcuffed, was led into the room. 
  
 Glen Johnson and Andrew Ryan of the Globe staff contributed to this report. Michael Levenson can be reached at mlevenson@globe.com. Follow him on Twitter @mlevenson. 
  
 © Copyright 2011 Globe Newspaper Company. ||||| Former Mass. Senate President William Bulger is escorted from the federal courthouse after the first appearance for his brother James "Whitey" Bulger and his girlfriend Catherine Greig, in Boston Friday,... (Associated Press) 
  
 It has all the hallmarks of a Greek tragedy: two brothers whose lives diverge radically _ one into an underworld of crime, the other into the upper echelons of state politics _ yet whose fates remain inextricably linked. 
  
 Generations of Boston residents have watched that story play out in the real-life drama of former Democratic Senate President William "Billy" Bulger and his older brother, alleged gangster James "Whitey" Bulger. 
  
 At the heart of the story, at least for the younger Bulger, was a fierce loyalty to family and the shared experience of growing up in the working class Irish-American enclave of South Boston, where the line between brawling and bare-knuckled politics was easily blurred. 
  
 The two brothers also shared one more thing: a willingness to use whatever power was available to them. 
  
 In William's case, that was a savviness for street-smart politics that propelled him into one of the most powerful positions in Massachusetts state government, where he earned a reputation for arm-twisting that rarely saw him lose a battle. 
  
 For Whitey, according to an inch-thick pile of indictments, that power came at the barrel of a gun and a coterie of enforcers. 
  
 Whitey's surprising arrest after 16 years on the run to face 19 murder charges this week has again thrust the brothers' story into the spotlight. 
  
 It's a relationship that would dog William Bulger throughout his career, ultimately forcing his resignation as president of the University of Massachusetts system in 2003 after he testified before a congressional committee investigating the FBI's ties to his brother, who by then had been revealed as an FBI informant. 
  
 After receiving immunity, William acknowledged receiving a call from Whitey shortly after he fled. 
  
 "The tone of it was 'Don't believe everything that is being said about me,'" William Bulger said. "I think he asked me to tell everybody he was OK. ... I think I said I hope this has a happy ending." 
  
 Two years earlier, William Bulger had told a grand jury he didn't urge his brother to surrender because he didn't "think it would be in his interest to do so," according to a transcript of his testimony obtained by The Boston Globe. 
  
 "It's my hope that I'm never helpful to anyone against him," the younger Bulger said, according to the transcript. "I don't feel an obligation to help everyone to catch him." 
  
 Among those pressing William Bulger to resign from his university post was then-Republican Gov. Mitt Romney. 
  
 For William Bulger it was a role as defender of his brother that he'd long ago accepted, even as Whitey allegedly disappeared into an increasingly violent criminal netherworld. 
  
 In his 1996 memoir "While the Music Lasts," William Bulger described Whitey, five years his senior, as being in "a constant state of revolt," and as "restless as a claustrophobic in a dark closet." 
  
 Whitey kept himself in top physical shape, neither smoke nor drank, shunned addictive drugs, and had "an abundance of good humor and a wildly creative talent for impish mischief," his brother wrote. 
  
 But William Bulger also said Whitey found himself in trouble with police and once ran away to join the circus _ signing on with Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus as a roustabout. The older brother joined the Air Force but had trouble conforming and was later discharged. 
  
 "He was just being Jim," Bulger wrote. 
  
 William Bulger said that it was around this time that Whitey fell in with a crowd involved in bank holdups and in 1956 was convicted of involvement in three bank robberies and sentenced to 20 years. He served part of what turned out to be an 11-year sentence in Alcatraz. 
  
 Four years after Whitey's conviction, William was first elected to the Massachusetts House. 
  
 In the years following Whitey's release, William blamed the press for spreading what he called "lurid allegations" about his brother, speculating that some of the "dark rumors" were nothing more than political attacks on him. 
  
 As Whitey's criminal activities allegedly turned more brutal, William Bulger rose through the Statehouse ranks. In 1970 he won a Senate seat and eight years later was elected Senate president by the 40-member chamber, a position he would hold for a record 17 years. 
  
 Even after Whitey fled in 1995 of the eve of his indictment on racketeering charges, William remained loyal, accusing overzealous prosecutors of buying testimony with promises of early release from prison. 
  
 "It has been known for many years that a 'get out of jail' card has been available to anyone who would give testimony against my brother," he wrote. 
  
 At the same time, William was earning a reputation as a tough-minded leader who rewarded supporters and punished critics. 
  
 Warren Tolman, a former Democratic senator who was among those critics, served briefly under him. 
  
 Tolman said that although he often found himself at loggerheads with William Bulger, he felt Bulger treated him fairly and could be "a charming guy" when he wanted. 
  
 Still, Bulger wasn't shy about using his political might. 
  
 Tolman said after he was able to prevent a transportation funding proposal from passing by a single vote, Bulger, who opposed the measure, used his muscle to flip a vote, forcing the proposal through. 
  
 "By and large he got his way whenever he wanted," Tolman said. "You knew that if you took him on it was going to be an uphill battle." 
  
 Tolman said he never recalled open discussions about Bulger's brother even his Senate colleagues "certainly knew of the legend of Whitey Bulger." 
  
 "I don't think anyone ever realized the scope of the dastardly deeds he's accused of," Tolman said. 
  
 Occasionally the lines between politics and the underworld blurred. 
  
 In 1994, then-state Sen. William Keating led a group of like-minded liberal lawmakers in an attempt to oust Bulger as Senate president. 
  
 Although the challenge failed, the campaign against Keating was fierce. Keating said his supporters from South Boston told him that Whitey had paid people to travel to Keating's district to hold signs for his Republican opponent. 
  
 Keating said he had his own brief run-in with the reputed mobster, who approached him and lit into him with a barrage of profanity-laced insults for trying to take down his brother. 
  
 Keating, who went on to become Norfolk District Attorney before being elected to Congress last year, said he's friends with a family who lost a loved one to Whitey's violence, according to the indictments against him. 
  
 "There's a tendency to glamorize abuse of power and a tendency to glamorize the gangster life, but as a district attorney I was there as they were unearthing the bodies of (Whitey Bulger's) victims," Keating said. "It's not funny and it's not glamorous. It was savage and it was brutal." 
  
 In a written statement following Whitey's arrest this week, William Bulger said he wished to "express my sympathy to all the families hurt by the calamitous circumstances of this case." 
  
 Then, during Whitey's brief appearance in federal court in Boston on Friday, the aging brothers had a fleeting reunion of sorts. Whitey, now 81, smiled at his younger brother and mouthed the word 'Hi.' William smiled back. 
  
 William, speaking briefly to reporters as he left the courthouse, appeared emotional. 
  
 "It's an unusual experience," he said. |||||
A:
Whitey Bulger saw at least one familiar face in court yesterday: his brother, William, the former president of the Massachusetts Senate who steadfastly refused to help authorities bring in his brother. The former fugitive mouthed "hello" and nodded. The reunion of sorts has led to a spate of stories along the tale-of-two-brothers vein, exploring how the Boston natives rose to power in their chosen fields. See the Boston Globe and AP. “You’ve got to understand something," said one of William's friends. “We’re South Boston people, and when you grow up in Southie, the cardinal virtue is loyalty. ... And you think he wouldn’t be there today?" William eventually became president of the University of Massachusetts but resigned in 2003 amid pressure from Gov. Mitt Romney and others over what the Globe describes as his "cavalier" attitude toward his brother. "It’s my hope that I’m never helpful to anyone against him," he once told a grand jury. "I don’t feel an obligation to help everyone to catch him."