[Congressional Record Volume 140, Number 36 (Friday, March 25, 1994)]
[House]
[Page H]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Printing Office [www.gpo.gov]


[Congressional Record: March 25, 1994]
From the Congressional Record Online via GPO Access [wais.access.gpo.gov]

 
                 TROY BROWN--A GREAT LOSS TO THE SENATE

  Mr. KENNEDY. Mr. President, Troy Brown's death last week shocked and 
saddened all of us who knew him. For many years, he had been a faithful 
and respected member of the staff of the Senate gym, and we will miss 
him very much.
  At the end of long days in the Senate, I almost always stopped for a 
few moments in the gym. One of the things I looked forward to most was 
the warm greeting Troy Brown. Whether I was there to work out a kink in 
my back or work off some weight, I could always count on Troy Brown to 
offer cheerful encouragement.
  I have been known to gain a few extra pounds on occasion, so I 
especially appreciated Troy's creative way of assessing--I really 
should say condoning--my weight.
  ``Don't worry, about that testimonial breakfast, Senator,'' he would 
say. ``I'm sure it was important. You're only up a half a pound today. 
You couldn't be rude. You couldn't just walk away from nice eggs 
benedict and good cream sauce.''
  He kept good records, so I could keep track of my progress--or more 
accurately, my lack of progress. I knew he was on my side the first 
day, when he volunteered to keep my numbers in code.
  He wrote them down in the back of the gym book, so no other Senator 
could see them. I think he had a special page, just for Howell Heflin 
and me. That's what I call real friendship--and Troy Brown was my 
friend.
  I remember how shocked and saddened I was last week to learn of his 
loss. On that Wednesday afternoon, the day he was stricken, I had gone 
to the gym on my way to the big St. Patrick's Day gala dinner at a 
local hotel. My nephew Michael, Robert Kennedy's son, was in town, so I 
took him to meet Troy. Well, Troy took a long look at him, laughed, and 
said, ``Michael, it's nice to meet a Kennedy who doesn't have to watch 
his weight.''
  ``And, Senator,'' he said, ``don't worry about tonight's dinner--a 
good helping of corned beef and cabbage never hurt any Irishman.''
  I first met Troy when he joined the staff of Senator John Stennis. 
Troy had already had a successful career in the Army. He served in 
Greece and Iran during the 1950's and 1960's, and then was assigned to 
Washington to serve at Ft. Myer. The funeral service for Troy was held 
there this morning, so in a sense, Troy came home again today to Ft. 
Myer.
  His administrative ability was his strength, and he managed the Tri-
Service Barracks here. He retired as a sergeant first class in special 
ceremonies held for him at the Pentagon in 1968. He joined the Retired 
Officers Association where he was an active participant.
  Troy often said he was especially proud of having worked for eight 
generals. But he surpassed himself when he came to the Senate. He 
treated all 100 of us as generals too. He managed us with grace and 
wit. Like John Stennis, he was a great gentleman from Mississippi.
  Troy was born in Schlater, a town of 400 a few miles from Greenwood. 
He attended Millsaps College in Jackson before joining the Army. He 
grew up in a close-knit family as the protective big brother for his 
sister Nancy, and as the best friend of his younger brother Howard. He 
was proud of Howard's fine career at the IRS, and proud of Nancy the 
biochemist, working in AIDS research.
  From his mother, Troy inherited his caring ways. From his father, his 
wit and abiding interest in politics. His father, in his 90's now, 
handled land sales and spent endless hours traveling the country, 
talking to farmers and other members of the community about issues of 
the day. Troy's father introduced him to Senator Stennis and kept him 
up to date on grassroots news of Mississippi when he settled in 
Washington.
  Troy was also a gourmet cook. He quietly took French cooking lessons, 
to the delight of friends he invited to dinner. I'm told he used a lot 
of butter, so I know I would have enjoyed his creations.
  His prize possession was his special cookware. He splurged to buy his 
pots, and as his daughter Glenda says, he made sure he paid those bills 
on time.
  On Sundays, he would reign in the kitchen, preparing great tender 
roasts without making a mess. He said his secret was cooking them on 
the top of the stove instead of in the oven. Nancy and Glenda were his 
most frequent guests, and they both agree that Troy's poached salmon 
was better than the Four Seasons.
  When Troy wasn't cooking, he was washing the dishes--and watching 
wrestlers out of the corner of his eye. He enjoyed the showmanship and 
entertainment as much as the sport. He thought wrestlers were 
wonderfully amusing actors--almost as amusing as Senators wrestling 
with issues.
  I think of the way he could throw a wet towel into the laundry bin 
from far across the room. No Senator could match him. Michael Jordan 
could not have done it better--nothing but net.
  In football, he was a Redskins fan. In music, a Mozart fan. But the 
real music was his harmony with life--his warm personality and generous 
friendship that spread good feeling to all.
  Another joy he found was planning his custom-built house. He and 
Glenda, who does contracting, worked together on the project, and it 
brought them even closer. Glenda and Troy would make excursions to 
hardware stores and choose the faucets, the doorknobs, and the bricks 
for the exterior. Glenda created the interior blueprints, and as a 
proud father, Troy showed them off. He took them everywhere, including 
the Senate gym. He showed them to me, and I was so impressed that I 
hired Glenda to supervise some work on my own house.
  Now, of course, their dream house won't be built. But for Troy and 
Glenda, the planning was a wonderful shared adventure, and the memories 
will endure.
  Glenda was Troy's only child, and as all of us knew, he loved her 
very much. The two of them made a special effort to care for each other 
after the death of Troy's wife. There were the regular Sunday dinners, 
and the many phone calls. He gave her the most thoughtful gifts. For 
her birthday, he gave her tuition toward her Ph.D. Troy was the kind of 
father who always checked to make sure Glenda was doing well. She said 
he was ``the best Dad any child could have asked for--protective, but 
not possessive.''
  People make friends over a lifetime in many different ways, and I 
have been blessed in public life with friendships I value deeply. The 
gift of such friendship is one of the greatest blessings that anyone 
can bestow. When I think of Troy, I remember his big heart and the 
genuine sense of joy he brought to everything and everyone he touched. 
And I recall the words of the poet--what ``golden friends I had.''
  One final story tells a lot about Troy. A year or two ago, he gave 
Glenda a special gift. Her name was ``Shannon''--a black and white 
border collie who adored them both. On Troy's visits, Shannon would 
jump up beside him on the couch, snuggle closer and closer to Troy, and 
finally lick his cheek. This ritual delighted everyone who saw it, and 
remembering it now is special comfort for Glenda. As she said in this 
sad week of his loss, ``He left part of himself with me, through 
Shannon.''
  Troy Brown left part of himself with all of us, too. We loved him in 
the Senate. We miss him. And we will never forget him.

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