[Congressional Record Volume 146, Number 135 (Wednesday, October 25, 2000)] [Senate] [Pages S10994-S10995] From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov] CONGRESSMAN MEEHAN'S ELOQUENT TRIBUTE TO HIS FATHER Mr. KENNEDY. Mr. President, all of us who know and admire our distinguished colleague in the House of Representatives, Congressman Marty Meehan, were saddened to learn of his father's death earlier this month. At the funeral service for his father on October 14 in Lowell, Massachusetts, Congressman Meehan delivered an eloquent tribute to his father that deeply touched all of those who were present. He described in vivid terms and in many wonderful stories the lifelong love and support that Mr. Meehan gave to his family. I believe that Congressman Meehan's moving eulogy to his father will be of interest to all of us in Congress, and I ask unanimous consent that it may be printed in the Record. There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in the Record, as follows: Eulogy of Martin T. Meehan (By U.S. Rep. Martin T. Meehan, October 14, 2000) On behalf of my mother, brothers and sisters, my Aunt Katherine and Uncle John, my cousins, and my entire family, I want to thank all of you for joining us today to help celebrate our father's life. We are all honored by your presence and are grateful for your support and affection over the last few days. I can imagine my father looking out at the long lines forming outside the McCabe's funeral Home yesterday. He would have said, ``Frankie McCabe must be giving something out for Free!'' Frank isn't, Dad, believe me. My father was born in Lowell on July 16, 1927 to Martin H. Meehan and Josephine Ashe Meehan. His father immigrated to the United States from County Clare, Ireland in 1912. His mother, immigrated from County [[Page S10995]] Kerry the year before, was a cousin of the great Irish patriot Thomas Ashe, who died during one of the first hungers strikes--in Ireland's fight for freedom in Mount Joy Jail in 1916. Thomas Ashe's picture was hung on the wall of his family home on Batchelder Street in the Acre Section of Lowell. In 1963, a portrait of President Kennedy was added. The Acre was where the Greek and Irish immigrants settled in Lowell. My father grew up there and he loved it. Swimming in the canals, playing baseball for St. Patrick's and Lowell High School, and building lifetime bonds. It was a neighborhood where the kids were tough and strong, and everyone had a nick name--hence ``Buster.'' The Acre was where thousands of new immigrant families were becoming part of the great American Dream. In 1946, Dad met my mother at a party her cousin Maureen Gay had. Dad was not invited, he crashed. And my mother was glad he did. There were married three years later. My father had a saying for everything in life. Some of them really bugged me at times. But they all had a purpose and wisdom for how to lead a good life. ``One God, One County, One Woman'' he used to say. That-- one woman--was my mother. He was passionately in love with her through 51 years of marriage. Their love for each other intensified and grew. I believe the love our father and mother shared for one another was extended to every person who was a part of their lives. I can remember as a very small boy first learning the concept of love. ``I love you kids with all my heart'' he'd say. ``But I love your mother even more''. ``But Dad'', I once replied, ``Who am I supposed to love more? You or Ma? ``You kids should love your mother the most'', he'd say. ``She gave birth to you.'' First they lived in a three tenement on Lincoln Street where Colleen and Kathy and I were born. Later they bought an eight-room house the next street over at 22 London Street where they raised seven children in a home that was filled with love, laughter, energy . . . action 24 hour a day . . . a strong commitment to the Catholic Church and to family. It was a great neighborhood--and my father helped us spread our family's love all over it. And there isn't a better testament to that love--than our relationship with the Durkin family who had seven children of their own, just down the street. So many memories, so many stories. Visiting the ice cream stand with Dad was unforgettable. He would load all of us into the car with as many of our friends as would fit. He would ask us what we wanted. ``I'll have a banana split,'' I'd shout. My sisters would say, ``I'll have a hot fudge Sunday.'' Our friends couldn't believe it--they would order a shake or double ice cream scoop with extra nuts, extra whipped cream! He'd take everyone's order and then go up to the line. Don't worry, he'd say, ``I'll carry it back''. Ten minutes later he'd return with 13 single cups of chocolate ice cream. ``That's all they'd had,'' he'd shrug? Dad was also a very successful little league coach. On Dad's White Sox team everyone played--at least three innings. I remember how embarrassed I was when Dad's White Sox lost every game--0-18. Some games we were winning after three winnings, 8 to 4 or even 7 to 2. But in the fourth inning Dad put all of the subs in--no matter what. ``Everyone plays!'' he'd say. The other teams kept the best players in for the whole game. Naturally, they would win. Today I am so proud of the way my Dad coached the kids on that 0 and 18 team. Today, I am so proud of how my father lived his life. As children, we shared so many happy times together each summer with family and friends at Seabrook Beach. Later as adults, with his grandchildren, we spent weekends at dad and Mom's beach house. After a few morning hours together on the beach, Mom and Dad would head back to the house to begin the daylong cooking ritual so that we could have a dinner together. Many times in the evenings, we would sing songs around a bonfire on the beach. We enjoyed lobster bakes and thankfully Mom and Dad got to enjoy an occasional sunrise together. And many times, after a long day, many of us would sit together and watch the sun go down and our father would say to us all, ``It's a great life and it's a great country''. Dad worked at the Lowell Sun Publishing Company for 43 years. He started as a truck driver . . . became a linotype operator . . . Then became Assistant Foreman in the Composing Room. He loved the Sun and the newspaper business, and he knew it from soup to nuts. There were a lot of great reporters that came through the Sun over the years, but my father never hesitated to tell them when he felt they just didn't get it right--especially on a political story. Frank Phillips, Chris Black, Brian Mooney and others all heard from Dad on more than one occasion. When he was finished he had earned their respect and they appreciated his wisdom and experience. And they all affectionately repeat those stories--even today. Dad was an active lifetime member of the Typographical Union--serving in a leadership position. He always stressed the importance of workers being able to organize for fair wages and benefits. It's not surprising that my sisters Colleen and Kathy are members of the teachers union and Mark and Paul are active members of their respective unions as well. But as strong a union person as he was--he loved the Lowell Sun and the company's ownership, the Costello Family. He followed the Costello kids' lives as if they were his own-- always loyal to the company and the Costello family. Supporting Mom and seven young children was not always easy. For seven years he got a second job working nights as a Corrections Officer. On Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays he would get up at 5:30 to be at the Sun to punch in at 7 o'clock. His shift was over at 3:30. He'd put on his uniform at the Paper, punch in at the Jail at 4 o'clock and work until midnight. He got home by 12:30 in the morning, and went to bed for five hours so he could be back at the paper by 7 am. I'm sure it wasn't easy--but he wanted the best for his children and he wanted my mother to be able to be home with us. My father didn't care what we did for work--but he wanted us to get an education. And we all did. He was especially proud of the fact that my sisters Colleen, Kathy, and Mary all became school teachers. He thought it was the most important job of all. ``Teaching is not a job''--Dad would say--``it's a vocation''. He loved the idea that his daughters were helping to shape the minds of 25 kids in a classroom each day. He was so proud of all his children, in a unique and special way. My brother Mark, a master electrician, ``has the biggest and best heart of all my kids'', he'd say. And Mark gave Dad his newest precious grandchild ``Sarah'' just two weeks ago. He was so proud that Paul followed him to the Sheriff's Department. Paul is a model for overcoming obstacles and winning. He recently went back to school for his degree, got married and was promoted to Captain as well. When I ran for Congress in 1992 my sister Maureen answered the call and put her work--and life--on hold to take the most important job in the campaign--raising the money to win. My Dad just loved the fact that I turned to my sister. And when we won he knew it was Maureen who was the rock behind us. ``Politics is a tough business,'' he'd say--``you need people you can really trust--and that means family''. That's why President Kennedy had Bobby. 'Course after the election, I remember Maureen was sick and I asked, ``What's wrong with her now?''--Dad's split second response--``Working for you!'' Dad was so well read, a voracious reader . . . A lover of poetry and words, and boy did he love to sing! So much love in his heart, and this extension of love was felt by his grandchildren and in-laws. The term ``in-laws'' didn't mean much to Dad--he welcomed them and loved them like they were his own. And they loved him back. All fifteen of his grandchildren are loved as individuals and each of them realizes the power of love and family through their papa and munama. One of my young nieces asked during the last couple of days, ``How did Papa have so much love to give to so many people?'' Well, I really don't know the answer to that for sure. I just know he did. Every time our father gave us a hug--or as he would say a hug-a-deen--he would accompany it with an ``I love you''. ``Aren't they wonderful'', Dad would say. ``Your mother and I will live in them in the next generation through these beautiful kids . . . and as I've told you'', he'd say, ``that's the sweet mystery of life''. So happy, so content, there was nothing more in life that he wanted--than that which he already had--His Family. And he thanked God for our happiness every single day. Joseph P. Kennedy, Sr., once said that the measure of a man's success in life was not the money he had made, but rather the family he had raised. That quote has been framed in my parents' home over 15 years. My father believed it and devoted himself to family every day of his life for 73 years. He was an immensely successful man. We love you Dad and will miss you. ____________________