[Congressional Record Volume 141, Number 11 (Thursday, January 19, 1995)]
[Senate]
[Pages S1206-S1207]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                            MORNING BUSINESS

  There being no objection, the remarks were ordered to be printed in 
the Record, as follows:
                                 ______


                        HYMAN BOOKBINDER HONORED

  Mr. WELLSTONE. Mr. President, I rise today to pay tribute to my 
friend, Hyman Bookbinder. On October 2, 1994, Bookie was honored by the 
National Jewish Democratic Council as the recipient of the First Annual 
Hubert H. Humphrey Humanitarian Award.
  It was very fitting that this honor was bestowed on Bookie. Over the 
years, Hyman Bookbinder has been indefatigable in his efforts to spread 
the message on labor, civil rights, and economic justice with a 
commitment to American ideals.
  Admired, loved by family, friends, and colleagues, Bookie has served 
our country and the Jewish community with honor and distinction. His 
commitment to his faith and humanity is truly an inspiration. His 
distinguished career and many contributions was a cause for celebration 
by NJDC.
  All of us owe him a debt of gratitude for his many years of dedicated 
and exemplary service to others. The celebration of Hyman Bookbinder as 
the first recipient of the Hubert H. Humphrey Humanitarian Award was a 
significant milestone in the life of this extraordinary man.
  I am pleased to submit to my colleagues, Bookie's remarks upon 
receiving the Hubert H. Humphrey Award.

                NJDC Hubert Humphrey Humanitarian Award

                     (Response by Hyman Bookbinder)

       This is the nicest ``This Is Your Life'' episode I've ever 
     seen! As I look at the names of the Honorary chairs, the list 
     of speakers, the names on the Tribute Committee--and, above 
     all, as I look around this room, I know how lucky I have been 
     all my life to have had such friends and associates. Some of 
     us go back more than sixty years. To have been part of your 
     lives, and you part of mine, to have at times shared with you 
     great pain over society's delinquencies, but at other times 
     to celebrate together over some victories--labor's right to 
     organize, breakthroughs in civil rights, commitment to end 
     poverty, our nation's embrace of Holocaust remembrance and 
     security for Israel--to have been associated with you in 
     pursuit of these and other causes, I express my profound 
     appreciation.
       Oh, how I would like to go around the room and identify and 
     thank each of you and say what you individually have meant to 
     me. But limited time, and fear of leaving out some, compels 
     me merely to note how gratified I am to see associates from 
     the earliest days of my trade union work, the Amalgamated and 
     the CIO and the AFL-CIO, from six decades of civil rights 
     alliances and battles, from the halls of Congress since 
     1950--including its current senior member and chair of a non-
     existent Jewish caucus--from the war on poverty, including 
     its founding general (although his name is Sargent), from 
     three decades with the American Jewish Committee, including 
     its outgoing President getting ready now to become Ambassador 
     to Romania--and from every campaign since Harry Truman. . . .
       I've had a special spot in my heart for our Honorary 
     Chairman for fifteen years now. When another black leader 
     declared that black anger at Jews at the time was just a 
     declaration of independence, Vernon Jordan publicly rebuked 
     him, saying that what was needed was a declaration of inter-
     dependence.
       And there is one name above all, of course, that I wish I 
     could point to. Oh, how I wish he were still with us. Oh, 
     what a different country this might have been if in 1968 a 
     few hundred thousand more Americans had voted for him. I 
     cannot begin to tell you what an honor you have bestowed on 
     me by linking my name with that of Hubert Humphrey. And what 
     an honor to have his son and his sister with us tonight.
       Others have already commented on the meaning and the goals 
     of NJDC. Let me add a few words. I'm proud to get its award 
     because its very name--National Jewish Democratic--combines 
     three great commitments and loyalties of my life. National 
     means to me, despite its failures and defaults, a nation we 
     can and do love for its underlying compassion and respect for 
     individual freedom. Jewish in our NJDC stands for a Judaism 
     we love because it seeks to live by Hillel's admonition to 
     be not only for ourselves. Democratic, because it is the 
     party that best lives up to our American and our Jewish 
     ideals. Small wonder that such large majorities of Jewish 
     voters have consistently supported Democratic candidates.
       I am proud of all three of these identifications and 
     loyalties--and am reminded of that story about Henry 
     Kissinger and Golda Meir. After a long argument with Henry, 
     Golda looked sternly at him and said, ``I'm really quite 
     upset with you--you, a Jew!'' At which point, Kissinger 
     started to pontificate. ``Madam Prime Minister,'' he said, 
     ``I want you to know that first I am a human being, a citizen 
     of the world. Then I am an American. And then I am a Jew.'' 
     ``That may be OK for you in America,'' Golda responded, ``but 
     here we read from right to left.''
       I hope that nothing I have said smacks of chauvinism. I am 
     a proud American. But I have known many great people who are 
     not American. I am a proud Jew, but--if you will pardon the 
     expression--some of my best friends are not Jewish. I am a 
     proud Democrat, but have had high regard for some--not many, 
     but some--Republicans.
       Three years ago, I tried to capture some of the exciting, 
     poignant moments in my life in a book with the sub-title 
     ``Memoirs of a Public Affairs Junkie.'' Permit me to cite 
     briefly two of those precious memoirs that sort of sum up the 
     public passions of my life--one fifty years ago, the second 
     fifteen years ago.
       In the late Forties, I was active in the campaign to raise 
     the Federal minimum wage to 75 cents an hour--yes, 75 cents. 
     I helped locate a garment worker in Tennessee who would 
     testify on what 75 cents an hour might mean for her. All we 
     did was urge her to talk frankly to the members of the Senate 
     Labor committee. I sat next to her, not to prompt her, but to 
     put her at ease. Ora Green was her name, and from the 
     official transcript, here are some of her words:
       ``My youngest girl, she's nine now, goes straight to the 
     piano when we go to a house where they have one. She wants to 
     play so bad. I've thought that maybe I could save fifty cents 
     or a dollar a week to buy a second hand piano for her, no 
     matter how old or battered. But try as hard as I can, and 
     save and squeeze, I haven't found a way to do it. By this 
     time, the Senators had stopped shuffling their papers before 
     them. They had leaned forward and were looking directly at 
     this woman from Tennessee. She went on:
       ``Maybe I've been foolish to talk to you about music for 
     one of my children when the main problem is getting enough to 
     eat or wear, or blankets to put on the bed, or even a chair 
     to sit on. But down in Tennessee we love music, and factory 
     workers don't live by bread alone any more than anyone else 
     does.''
       I cherish that moment because it tells us so much. It tells 
     us that in every human being there is indeed a spark of the 
     divine, that with all its imperfections, our American 
     democracy makes possible such magical moments to occur, and 
     it reminds us how great it is to have a labor movement that 
     cares about the Ora Greens of the world.
       Oh, yes. One of the freshman Senators at that hearing was 
     Hubert Humphrey.
       My second story. . . The year was 1979. I was one of 
     fifteen Americans appointed by Jimmy Carter to the 
     President's Commission on the Holocaust. Miles Lerman, the 
     present Chairman of the Holocaust Council and the Museum, was 
     another. And so was Ben Meed, the chief co-ordinator of the 
     world's survivors. Both are here tonight. And then there was 
     Bayard Rustin, the late, great black trade unionist and civil 
     rights leader. To help us develop recommendations for a 
     suitable American memorial, we visited a number of 
     concentration camps and existing memorials in Europe and 
     Israel. On this particular day, after a painful tour through 
     Auschwitz and Birkenau, we stopped for a short outdoor 
     service at a row of memorial tablets. In front of the one 
     inscribed in Hebrew, Elie Wiesel spoke as only he can speak. 
     We joined in reciting the Kaddish. As we were about to leave, 
     Bayard whispered to me, ``Should I?'' I knew exactly what he 
     meant; I said ``Sure'' and asked the group to remain. 
     Accompanied only by the soft winds of the vast open expanse, 
     Bayard started to sing one of his favorite Negro spirituals:

     ``Freedom, oh Freedom, oh Freedom over me,'' he sang.
     ``And before I'd be a slave,
     I'd be buried in my grave,
     And go home to my Lord and be free.''

       When he finished, there wasn't a dry eye. Tears were being 
     shed, tears not only in reverent memory of six million Jews, 
     but also for untold millions of American slaves who had been 
     deprived of lives of dignity and freedom. Tears, we were 
     reminded, have no color.
       On the last page of my book, I quoted some words I had 
     spoken on an earlier occasion. I'd like to conclude tonight 
     with those words.
       ``If it should be true that in my lifetime I have helped 
     even one Jew or one Haitian or one Pole escape persecution; 
     if I have helped even one ghetto youngster escape poverty; if 
     I have helped one daughter of a Tennessee shirtmaker get to 
     play on her own piano . . . If these things are indeed true, 
     then all that is left to say is that I thank God that I was 
     [[Page S1207]] given some opportunities to help make life a 
     little easier, a little sweeter, a little more secure, for 
     some fellow human beings.''
       And I thank every one of you for being here tonight to 
     share this proud moment.
       Thank you very much.

                          ____________________