[Congressional Record Volume 143, Number 8 (Tuesday, January 28, 1997)]
[Senate]
[Pages S709-S712]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                  TRIBUTES TO SENATOR PAUL E. TSONGAS

  Mr. KENNEDY. Mr. President, last Thursday, January 23, many of us in 
the Senate and House of Representatives attended the funeral service in 
Lowell, MA, for our outstanding former colleague in the Senate, Paul E. 
Tsongas, who died on January 18. The service was extremely moving, and 
the eloquent eulogies by his friends and his three daughters were 
powerful tributes to Paul's extraordinary life and career. I believe 
that these tributes will be of interest to all of us in Congress, and I 
ask unanimous consent that they may be printed in the Record.
  There being no objection, the tributes were ordered to be printed in 
the Record, as follows:

  Funeral Service for Paul E. Tsongas, Transfiguration Greek Orthodox 
                  Church, Lowell, MA, January 23, 1997


               eulogy by former senator warren b. rudman

       Niki, Ashley, Katina, and Molly, family of Paul Tsongas, 
     former colleagues from the Congress, distinguished guests, 
     Gov. Wald, friends: I appreciate this opportunity to be with 
     you today, to tell you all how proud I am to have called Paul 
     Tsongas my friend. How fortunate I am to have called him a 
     friend, a colleague, and a man who became a very large part 
     of my life. To celebrate his life and to recognize the 
     tremendous purpose and courage with which he lived is why we 
     gather here today. Paul as we all know was a soft-spoken man, 
     of tremendous charm, and wonderful wit. He was one of the 
     most decent, compassionate human beings you would ever want 
     to meet. So when people talk about him, the words 
     ``tenacious'' or ``determined'' have not often been the first 
     that I used to describe him. But I am here to attest that I 
     have never--not in the foxholes of Korea, not in the halls of 
     Congress--never met a more determined, or more courageous man 
     than Paul Tsongas. Another son of this Commonwealth, 
     President John F. Kennedy, concluded his Pulitzer Prize-
     winning book, ``Profiles in Courage,'' with this marvelous 
     statement, which applies to our friend, Paul, and I want to 
     share it with you this morning: ``Without belittling the 
     courage with which men have died, we should not forget those 
     acts of courage, with which men have lived. The courage of 
     life is often a less dramatic spectacle than the courage of 
     the final moment, but it is no less a magnificent mixture of 
     triumph and tragedy. A man does what he must, in spite of 
     personal consequences; in spite of obstacles, and dangers, 
     and pressures.'' And that is the basis of Paul--human 
     morality. In whatever arena of life one may mast the 
     challenges of courage, whatever may be the sacrifices he 
     faces, each man must decide for himself the course he will 
     follow. The stories of past courage can define that 
     ingredient, they can teach, they can offer hope, they can 
     provide inspiration, but they cannot supply courage itself. 
     For this, each man--and I would add parenthetically--each 
     woman, must look into his own soul. Paul Tsongas met the 
     challenges of courage, solidly, and squarely. And he asked us 
     to do the same. He asked that we each look into our soul, and 
     find the best within ourselves. To find our courage, and to 
     help us do so, he led us by example. Time and time again fate 
     threw enormous obstacles and road blocks in his path, but 
     each time, Paul looked within his soul and responded with 
     courage, determination, and driving purpose. I often marveled 
     at Paul's resolution and strength as we traveled this country 
     for the last four years. I wondered what made him persevere. 
     After all, having faced the condition that would've caused 
     most men to lead a more guarded existence, Paul ran for 
     president. But after I came to know him better, I have 
     realized what motivated him. In short, Paul has an intense, 
     profound, and enduring love for his family. Ashley, Katina, 
     and Molly, I'm here today not only to mourn your loss and to 
     celebrate your dad's life, but to affirm that which you 
     already know, you were his inspiration and his motivation. It 
     was out of love for you that your father found the courage to 
     persevere, and to succeed. He wanted the best for your; for 
     your generation. And he was willing to fight and to overcome 
     great hurdles so you too might have the chance to achieve 
     your dreams. Paul looked for the best in people. He asked us 
     to put aside petty differences, and shun the path of least 
     resistance. He asked that we, as a generation, pay our own 
     bills. He implored our government's fiscal irresponsibility, 
     because Paul Tsongas--like Thomas Jefferson--felt it was 
     immoral, and I heard him use that word so often, immoral, for 
     one generation to bind another, because it refused to live 
     within its means. We will leave here today, saddened by his 
     passing, inspired by his life, enriched by his friendship. We 
     truly give thanks to the Almighty for this marvelous life.


                       eulogy by brian j. martin

       My family. My city.
       Those were the two things that Paul Tsongas cared about 
     most in the world.
       That's probably not news to anyone here, but it is 
     important to remind ourselves of that fact, because it is the 
     essence of the man we are remembering here this morning.
       It is not a complicated concept, In fact, it is beautiful 
     in its simplicity. Many of us

[[Page S710]]

     share this philosophy, but few of us live it as well as he 
     did.
       His family. His city.
       His family grieves today, but they also know they have been 
     blessed to have had a husband, a father, a brother, an uncle 
     and son-in-law like Paul.
       I would like to say to Nikki: You are one of the strongest 
     women I've ever known. You have my utmost admiration and 
     respect.
       You and Paul lived the greatest love story I could imagine. 
     No book, no movie could tell a better one.
       I would like to say to Ashley, Katina and Molly: You 
     probably think the pain you feel today will never go away, 
     but trust me, it will. In its place you will have wonderful 
     memories of all the happy times you spent with your father. 
     They will bring you great comfort, and inspire you every day 
     of your life.
       His family, his city.
       Lowell is my city, too, and I have to admit I was worried 
     for it when I heard Paul had died.
       What are we going to do without Paul?
       Then it hit me.
       Paul's greatest gift to Lowell was not the National Park, 
     the Lowell Plan, the Boott Mills, the arena or the Spinners.
       It wasn't bricks or mortar, an organization or even a 
     baseball or a hockey team.
       It wasn't his influence or his ability to bring people 
     together to make things happen.
       Nor was it the great credit and recognition he brought to 
     the city of Lowell through his public service in Washington.
       Although I must say, he did make us proud to be from 
     Lowell.
       At one time, when people asked me where I was from, I'd 
     say, ``Boston,'' or ``Massachusetts.''
       Now I proudly say, without hesitation, ``I'm from Lowell.'' 
     And when they ask me, ``Where's that?'', I tell them, ``Next 
     to Dracut.''
       Paul's greatest gift to his family, to his city, and to all 
     of us was himself.
       He inspired us.
       He gave us a shinning example of how to live our lives to 
     the fullest, and to make a difference.
       He taught us what was truly important in life . . . what 
     our priorities should be. Nobody knew how to stop and smell 
     the roses better than Paul Tsongas.
       He also showed us how to be brave.
       His ability to deal with adversity was truly amazing. He 
     taught us never, ever to give up.
       Paul has motivated me, he has inspired me, and most 
     importantly, prepared me to carry on his vision for Lowell. I 
     can't wait to get started.
       And I'm not the only one who feels this way. Because of 
     Paul Tsongas, there are many others in this city who want to 
     continue his work, to make Lowell one of the best cities in 
     the country.
       Some people say we'll never see his like again. But people 
     probably said the same thing when Franklin Roosevelt or John 
     Kennedy died.
       It is true that there will never be another Paul Tsongas, 
     but there's always someone to pick up the torch and carry on.
       ``We all will die someday,'' Paul wrote. ``And on the next 
     day, the sun will still be shinning somewhere, the rain will 
     still be falling somewhere, and the moon and stars will still 
     be in their place. The earth is timeless, not those who 
     inhabit it. . . .
       ``And eventually, the next generation will have its term at 
     the helm.''
       Perhaps someone right here in this church will someday 
     become a city councilor, a congressman, a senator, or even 
     president, because he or she was inspired by Paul Tsongas.
       Today, when I look around the city, I don't despair or 
     worry. I think of Paul fondly when I see things he has done 
     to make Lowell better . . . and then I look to see what I can 
     do to make it better still.
       So Paul, don't worry about a thing. We'll pick up the ball 
     . . . we'll finish the game.
       We'll fight hard, and we'll win. Just like you.
       And you know, I've got a funny feeling that you knew all 
     along that we would.
       I'll miss you, old friend.
       I love you . . . and I thank you.


                      eulogy by dr. tak takvorian

       There are moments . . . there are moments when the future 
     is open. There are moments when all the preparations in life: 
     the education, the retirement plans, the hopes and the dreams 
     are laid aside, and something happens that is fundamentally 
     unplanned; something happens that we cannot control, and we 
     are left with no notion of what comes next.
       A frightening moment. And yet this moment represents 
     something that is a fundamental gift, an amazing thing, a 
     positive moment, a creative moment, a moment when we have no 
     choice, but a moment when the future is open to us.
       It is a moment when not our plans, but maybe some far 
     deeper sense of who we are can take control, sustain us and 
     make the future happen.
       At such a moment, success is measured not by health, but by 
     the depth of our very own soul and conviction, by how deeply 
     we laugh and how deeply we hurt and by confronting the crux 
     of who we are.
       That moment has come and gone for Paul Tsongas, and in it 
     we have witnessed his success and we see our own 
     vulnerability. It seems as though he would always be here, 
     and yet how more precious is the fleeting gift. None of us 
     wants it to happen this way--not cancer and not in our youth. 
     Maybe a heart attack, if it has to be, but not the big C. It 
     is unnerving how much we presume it cannot happen to us.
       And yet Paul met that moment--his moment--his defining 
     moment--with courage, with determination, with good humor and 
     a smile--always that self-effacing, Mona Lisa grin, 
     infectious in its breadth and optimism, contagious in its 
     enthusiasm and conviction.
       I remember the first time we met; my job was to describe 
     radical new treatment for a failing situation. I found him 
     hiding in the waiting area under a pile of newspapers--which 
     was to become his familiar insignia.
       In my nervousness in the presence of such a great man, I 
     was wordy in my speech. He listened intently, but it was 
     Nicki who asked the questions. With an intensity rooted in 
     conviction he simply said, ``Let's do it.'' No debate. No 
     challenge. No discussion. Just a commitment and resolve to 
     battle on.
       He did set down the rules, though. In exchange for being 
     the model patient, he wanted an equal partnership, an honest 
     relationship, the best that medicine could offer, and nothing 
     less than a total commitment from me, including a promise to 
     laugh at his witty jokes!
       I knew then and there that I was in the presence of a one-
     of-a-kind, special guy, and I dug in my heels and braced 
     myself for the ride of a lifetime, only now ended. We bonded 
     then and there, and I joined the community of friends who 
     benefited from his aura.
       I want to tell you a story about one of my heroes of all 
     times. He happens to be Jeremiah, but he could have been Paul 
     Tsongas. One day he carried a clay pottery flask into a 
     courtyard, explaining to all who had gathered that they were 
     doing wrong in the sight of God. He then smashed the pottery 
     to the ground to demonstrate what God was going to do to 
     them. The priests had him arrested, beaten and put into the 
     stocks overnight.
       And in the morning they took him out of the pillory, and he 
     should have gone home, and he should have licked his wounds, 
     and he should have been quiet. But not my Jeremiah. He turned 
     on them, hurling further insults, and when questioned why he 
     was inviting more punishment, Jeremiah cried out: There is a 
     fire shut up in my bones, that is so powerful that I am weary 
     from trying to hold it in. There is a fire shut up in my 
     bones, that is so powerful that I am weary from trying to 
     hold it in.
       A fire shut up in his bones. Something to live for that was 
     more important than anything else in the world. An authentic 
     center. A core. A fire in the bones that will make you fully 
     alive in a way that you have never been and you will never be 
     any other way.
       Paul Tsongas was my Jeremiah. Paul Tsongas had an authentic 
     core and knew that fire in his bones. He had a passion and 
     courage for life that was more powerful, more important than 
     anything else in the world and we were all witness to that. 
     Although I knew him personally but 14 brief years, I am the 
     richer for it because I came to know the essence of the man. 
     I came to know the courage of the man combating his cancer 
     and confronting his own mortality.
       I came to know the courage of the man who signed onto 
     experimental and dangerous therapy when the bounds of 
     conventional medicine had failed. The courage of the man 
     whose initial hopes for cure were dashed, repeatedly, only to 
     fight the battle again and again and again. The courage of 
     the man who often said he would re-choose a life with cancer 
     rather than forego the lessons of these last fourteen years.
       In the last years of his life, rather than dying day by 
     day, predictably he chose to live day by day. In his 
     proximity to death for many a year, he never lost sight of 
     his own priorities, and they encompassed a far more expansive 
     view of life than most of us could ever have, in which even 
     the trivial took on importance. In his proximity to death, he 
     remained selfless and he never stopped giving.
       And rather than retreat behind the mask of self-pity and 
     involution he reached out with that extended warm handshake, 
     always volunteered, which was empowering, creating a mutual 
     healing bond, charged and energized in its commonality.
       His illness gave him an entitlement to speak out freely on 
     all issues, without political encumbrance. It was the 
     obligation of his survival, and he defended it with a moral 
     imperative. His was a ``return to a journey of purpose''. But 
     to cancer patients everywhere it had an even more universal 
     message.
       In fact, in a life rich with accomplishments, his most 
     unique contribution, which humbly even he did not fully 
     realize, may have been his role as consummate messenger to 
     countless others living with cancer. He was their model for 
     cancer survivorship.
       He was a model of courage, empowering them to fight their 
     own malignancies and to find that strength to do so within 
     themselves; a model even to me, his doctor, when I broke my 
     neck in the surf and needed guidance and encouragement to 
     move on. He showed them how far one could go and that they 
     too, even in the shadow of cancer, could go for their dreams 
     and never abandon their beliefs. Win or lose, no dream is too 
     large not to be pursued at any risk, compared to the risk of 
     life itself.
       He did not compose his life or construct his life or 
     carefully plan or reason it out or discipline it or calculate 
     how to advance within it--he just tried to live it. He just 
     tried to find that authentic center, that core of who he was 
     and to live it for all it was worth, no matter what the 
     consequences.

[[Page S711]]

       The man seemed bigger than life due to the enormity of his 
     ideas and accomplishments, but what remains are the memories 
     of the essence of the man. Cancer did not kill his spirit, 
     his humor, his shy warmth, and these are the gifts that we 
     will have forever. It was his quiet, unforced, completely 
     natural, sincere love and joy of humankind that attracted us 
     all to him, and he never let us down. He loved people. He 
     loved children. He loved his family and friends. He loved 
     this town. He loved this country and what it might become. We 
     all felt safe in his intellect, loved in his heart and ample 
     in his company.
       An authentic core. A fire in the bones that could not be 
     extinguished by cancer.
       He never came to age and walk on safer ground and treasure 
     the memory of what he had accomplished, but therefore time 
     will never dim for him what others lose or never find or 
     never even seek. He possessed life with so much more, when 
     ill-health, and not the vision, deceived him.
       In closing, let me quote from the poem Ulysses by Alfred 
     Lord Tennyson:

     . . . Come, my friends,
     'Tis not too late to seek a newer world,
     Push off, and sitting well in order smite
     The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
     To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
     Of all the western stars, until I die.
     It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
     It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
     And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
     Though much is taken, much abides; and though
     We are not now that strength which in old days
     Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
     One equal temper of heroic hearts,
     Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
     To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

       My belief is that our only hope is to have a lot more 
     heroes. A lot more heroes of mythic proportion, a whole lot 
     more men like Jeremiah, Ulysses and Paul Tsongas, who are 
     willing to live life fully and authentically. His life 
     challenges us to live life from the very depths of who we 
     are, with a love that grips at our guts, tugs at our hearts 
     and with a . . . was my patient, my friend, and my hero, Paul 
     Tsongas.
       May God in His wisdom give us the strength in our similar 
     journeys and keep ever illuminated the inspiration that he 
     was for us.


                       eulogy by f. michael kail

       The very things that made Paul Tsongas different--unique--
     as a politician made him special as a person. And that is 
     what I would like to share with you today. This is not meant 
     to be sad, Niki asked that it not be sad. And I don't think 
     Paul would mind if this made you secretly smile a little.
       To begin with, there is what the press is fond of calling 
     the ``self-deprecating,'' or as one paper put it ``self-
     depreciating'' humor. I remember a birthday party for Niki in 
     the mid-1980s. Paul looked great, but his hair was definitely 
     not all the way back from the chemotherapy. Niki was 
     beautiful, but had misplaced her contacts and was forced to 
     wear some old, very non-designer glasses. Towards the end of 
     the evening Paul rose, to propose a toast to Niki, whom he 
     asked to rise as well. He looked at her and then turned to 
     the guests, all of whom were waiting expectantly for some 
     memorable words. Paul did not disappoint. Gazing into Niki's 
     glasses and then rolling his eyes up to his bald head he 
     said, ``I am sure, seeing us standing before you tonight, you 
     can understand the true meaning of ``Love at first sight.''
       Of course, there's the legendary directness and the 
     competitiveness. It showed up not only in the uphill 
     campaigns and the senior swimming meets, but everywhere. One 
     night we were at a particularly boring show and Paul 
     buttonholed me to talk in private. At the time we each had 
     two children. Without any preliminaries he asked, ``Are you 
     and Wendy going for three.'' I said, ``We've got the Jeep and 
     the Chevy and our oldest child is only nine, why do we need . 
     . .'' He cut me off, with a really withering look and said, 
     ``No, are you going for another kid.'' Without thinking, or 
     asking what business it was of his, I said ``Yeah, are you?'' 
     He shot back, without a moment's reflection, ``Sure.'' But 
     for that conversation there might never have been a Molly 
     Tsongas or a Katie Kail.
       And then there is the extraordinary sense of timing, the 
     daring and the luck. I don't only mean in deciding to run as 
     a Democrat for a House seat in a district that had been 
     Republican for nearly a century or risking that same seat, 
     after it had become safe, to challenge the only African 
     American in the Senate, or seeing an opening when a sitting 
     President's poll numbers were in the stratosphere. I mean 
     even in board games. There was this Trivial Pursuit grudge 
     match between the families on New Year's Eve, 1984. Both 
     teams were on the verge of the winner's circle, but we were 
     up first, and victory was clearly in our grasp. Our question: 
     ``How many colored squares make up a Rubik's cube?'' Our son, 
     Tommy, who was 6 whispered 54; I ignored him, did some quick 
     calculations, and said 128. Tommy was right. Paul pulled the 
     card with the Tsongas question. I was hoping for ``Name Alex 
     Haley's third novel'' or ``Where was Sky King's ranch'' or 
     ``What emblem is in the center of the Pakistani flag?'' But, 
     no. I could not--and still cannot--believe the question he 
     had drawn: ``What is the address of the White House?''
       When I think of these stories and others I have heard they 
     do make me think of Paul Tsongas and the lessons of his life: 
     Follow your instincts; Ask the tough questions; Listen to 
     your children; Take what you do seriously, but not yourself; 
     and And never give up.
       Paul Tsongas was a one of a kind. And we will miss him more 
     than words can say.


                         eulogy by dennis kanin

       I first met Paul a quarter of a century ago at the 
     Middlesex County Reform Caucus. I was a delegate from 
     Cambridge and he was one of three candidates vying for two 
     slots on the reform ticket for County Commissioner. That was 
     the first time that I had the chance to vote for the man 
     whose campaigns I would manage, whose House and Senate 
     offices I would run, who would become my law partner and 
     dearest friend. I voted for the other guys. They were friends 
     of mine and I didn't know Paul. But I redeemed myself when 
     the race went to a second ballot. That was after I asked the 
     three of them who they were supporting for President that 
     year. My two friends hemmed and hawed and told me--
     correctly--that one's personal choice for President had no 
     relationship to running a county. When I asked the stranger 
     from Lowell, he didn't bat an eye and answered matter-of-
     factly ``John Lindsay''. Although I was no Lindsay fan (and I 
     suspect Paul was his only supporter in Massachusetts that 
     year), with those two words, Paul won my vote--and more.
       It was a defining incident--a window into the personality 
     of Paul Tsongas. I was soon to discover that this was the 
     most centered and secure person I have even known--at peace 
     with who he was. Perhaps that's why he was so honest, 
     sometimes so painfully honest as we on his young staff used 
     to grumble. We failed to grasp that it was that politically 
     reckless candor--that refusal to evade when faced with tough 
     questions--that was Paul's hallmark and his greatest 
     political strength. Voters felt instinctively that even if 
     they didn't totally agree with him they could trust him--and 
     they were right.
       Two years later, I had signed on to run Paul's longshot--
     and I mean longshot--candidacy for Congress. I came up to 
     Lowell for a first strategy meeting the week Ashley was born 
     and she was all Paul wanted to talk about. A democratic state 
     committeeman from Lawrence was meeting with us and when Paul 
     said he had been in the birthing room with Niki as Ashley was 
     born, the committeeman said ``That must have been 
     disgusting''. I still remember Paul's reply ``Actually Jake, 
     it was the most beautiful experience of my life.'' Even then, 
     his family was his focus.
       Although I had worked in many campaigns up till then--I was 
     in my late 20's--I had never met a politician quite like 
     Paul. When he made a decision, he did it quickly--some would 
     say impulsively--and was willing to take big risks. When he 
     ran for the Senate in 1978 he first considered the idea on 
     April 30th of that year and announced his candidacy 18 days 
     later. He was simply undaunted by the most formidable of 
     odds. So when he sat down on the couch in my office at Foley, 
     Hoag at the end of 1990 and said ``I have a crazy idea . . 
     .'' I knew I was in trouble. Those five words were the 
     starting signal for one of the most underfinanced and 
     improbable presidential campaigns in history. It seemed like 
     a crazy idea then. It doesn't now.
       We all have our fears but Paul seemed to have so few. I 
     will never forget that terrifying night in 1983 when we 
     crossed the Allenby Bridge between Jordan and Israel, on 
     foot, alone, in pitch blackness--something no civilian had 
     ever done and lived to tell--because Paul didn't want to miss 
     a critical meeting with Prime Minister Begin in Jerusalem the 
     next morning. I still remember King Hussein waving us good 
     luck as we left his palace for the bridge and Rich Arenberg 
     and I trembling as we walked across in single file behind 
     Paul using him as a shield to protect us--his aides--against 
     sniper fire while he just chuckled at our timidity.
       Paul was tough but he was also remarkably gentle and 
     caring. In our 25 year history together, I can't remember 
     when he truly lost his temper. I'm not counting when he 
     played softball or charades. And even in the hours of his 
     greatest adversity, he wanted to know how you were doing. A 
     few months ago I was suffering from a couple of ruptured 
     disks--not one of your major ailments--and Paul kept asking 
     how I was doing when he couldn't even get off the bed. But 
     that's how he was.
       Paul saw the value in every situation, no matter how bad it 
     might seem on the surface. Two weeks ago yesterday when 
     we talked to him about the lack of success with the first 
     shunt procedure, he smiled and said ``What do you mean it 
     wasn't successful? I'm here aren't I?'' When an 
     interviewer asked him about his cancer back in 1984 Paul 
     said that if hadn't had it, he would never have come to 
     fully appreciate so much of what was staring him in the 
     face--the beauty all around us that we take for granted. 
     In reading his book Heading Home the other night, I found 
     this passage describing the most poignant lesson he drew 
     from his adversity. He wrote: ``After the children were in 
     bed, Niki and I would talk about the pleasure of being 
     together like this. We had experienced the power and the 
     glory, the excitement and glamour of national politics . . 
     . But in the next room asleep were what gave us true joy. 
     And we had each other . . . the cancer had

[[Page S712]]

     caused me to understand what truly made me happy and what 
     counted.''
       I think it is important to remember that Paul had always 
     tried, even before he learned he had cancer, to balance 
     family and career. As it was, he rarely went on the usual 
     circuit of Washington cocktail parties and trade association 
     receptions because he wanted to be home with Niki, Ashley, 
     Katina, and Molly. We on his staff who had no kids or failed 
     to share his priorities found this maddening--and Paul knew 
     it and didn't care. But the cancer did crystallize his 
     feelings further and he found, as he put it, that ``the 
     family was where I fulfilled my human aspirations. The Senate 
     had become an obstacle to that.''
       Paul found his happiness--real happiness--planting flowers 
     in Kittredge Park or being out on the boat at the Cape with 
     Niki and the kids or sitting around a Thanksgiving dinner 
     with his family and close friends or watching Ashley play 
     rugby or Katina at hockey or Molly dancing.
       His values seemed old-fashioned to some but I don't think 
     Paul Tsongas ever felt emptiness from the day he married 
     Niki. A few weeks ago, someone at the hospital asked Paul how 
     he was doing and he replied ``fine . . . as long as Niki's 
     only three feet away''. While he was strong for others she 
     was his strength, whether it was campaigning for him around 
     the country or caring for him through their long and 
     courageous struggle together.
       Paul told Carol Beattie, his nurse at Dana Faber that he 
     had accomplished what he wanted most his remarkable 13\1/2\ 
     years since he learned he had cancer--to see his daughters 
     grow up. I would add that they didn't just grow up; they grew 
     up to be people with the same kind of values and decency and 
     caring as Niki and Paul. That is quite a testament.
       Senator Kennedy called Paul a profile in courage and he 
     surely was--a profile in both personal and political courage. 
     His presidential campaign epitomized both those qualities. 
     Paul had won 10 primaries and caucuses to Bill Clinton's 13 
     when he decided to drop out. He knew that if stayed in, he 
     could deny Clinton the nomination and assure himself the role 
     of a kingmaker at the convention. But that was not the 
     purpose of his candidacy. Paul had run because he believed in 
     something. While he lost the Presidency, he had won something 
     that was for him far more profound. He had changed the debate 
     about the future of his country and about its ability to 
     confront the federal deficit. That, too, grew out of his 
     experience with cancer and his determination not just to know 
     his children but to secure their future and that of their 
     generation--what he called ``the obligation of my survival''. 
     It took courage to run in the first place, risking ridicule--
     and it was there in the early days. It took courage and 
     integrity to insist that a candidacy of principle could not 
     compromise on principles. Now the issues he raised in 1992 
     are at the center of America's public discourse. He lit the 
     way.
       I have often thought that I didn't have living heroes but I 
     realize now that I was wrong. Paul was my hero. I wish I 
     could have told him that before he died. What I did tell him 
     was that I loved him and what a good friend he was but I know 
     that in that I am not alone. For so many others across this 
     city that he helped to rebuild, across this state that he 
     loved and served so well, across this land that he awakened 
     to a new reality, and across the generations to come whose 
     freedom from unsustainable debt will be his legacy; they have 
     lost a good friend as well.


                        eulogy by ashley tsongas

       Our father's love for us was fundamental to our lives. You 
     don't question the existence of the ground you walk on or the 
     air you breathe, and we never doubted the existence of our 
     father's love. Even in the middle of a four-hour car ride, 
     when the incessant sound of snapping gum and the muffled 
     screams of smaller, weaker children emanating from the back 
     seat had begun to wear on his nerves, and it became 
     abundantly clear that he didn't like us too much at tha 
     moment, it would never occur to us that we had been ejected 
     from our position at the center of his universe.
       And then further down the road, when we'd exhausted 
     ourselves and drifted into sleepy silence as a Red Sox game 
     crackled on the radio, he'd reach back and touch each one of 
     us and we'd be reminded how much we loved him too.
       I'm having trouble realizing he's gone. During the events 
     of the last couple of days I keep wondering at the absence of 
     a keynote speaker, expecting my dad to walk in at any moment. 
     It's hard to believe the man who offered to fax me a copy of 
     his less-than-impressive college transcript when I was 
     stressing about my grades is no longer going to offer me 
     academic solace. And at rugby, it won't be the same without 
     my dad in the sidelines armed with apple cider and blind 
     admiration.
       And with the absence of my father, who treated me as a 
     person with legitimate ideas from as far back as I can 
     remember, I know that I wil now have to push myself to come 
     up with real answers instead of easy ones. But these things 
     and countless more were merely expressions of his love for 
     me. And though my dad's no longer here, his acts of love over 
     the last 22 years have created a kind of momentum that will 
     carry me through the rest of my life.


                        eulogy by katina tsongas

       When confronted with the possibility that he might not live 
     to see us grow up, my father became concerned about our 
     future and valued the time which he was able to spend with 
     us. His realization of his own mortality shaped the way in 
     which he lived his life with us, but he did not allow it to 
     dictate how he lived. He was able to live in the present 
     while always providing for our future.
       Each time he defeated his illness he made the best of the 
     time he earned. We lived the last 13 years in a way which was 
     normal, and that normality is what made them so great and 
     what gave me so many great memories. But these memories were 
     not forced; they were not created by my father as a way to 
     ensure that he would not be forgotten. The memories I have of 
     the last 13 years are memories of a father who loved me and 
     made the best of the time he had. He never let anything get 
     in the way.
       In thinking about my father in the last few days, I have 
     realized what an extraordinary man he was. I have never been 
     able to understand what it was exactly that inspired those 
     New Hampshire campaigners to work day and night for a cause 
     which was less than promising. I know now what it is they 
     saw, and it remains with how many lives he touched and how 
     many people grew to love him. I only wish that I could have 
     realized how great he was when I was still able to tell him.
       My dad's ability to live a normal life at home is what now 
     makes it possible for me to see him as the amazing man that 
     he was, but remember him as my father. Dad, we just wanted to 
     tell you that we are going to be okay. You've made our city, 
     state, country, world and home better and more importantly 
     you married an incredible woman who is the best mother we 
     could hope for. We miss you so much, and we're going to miss 
     you every day for the rest of our lives. We love you, Dad.


                        eulogy by molly tsongas

       One day in fifth grade, my principal announced over the 
     intercom that all the fifth-graders should report to the 
     playground. We followed orders and made our way outside, 
     where I was stopped dead is my tracks by the most humiliating 
     sight my 11-year-old eyes had ever beheld. There was my dad 
     handing out trash bags to my skeptical classmates and 
     encouraging them to participate in picking up all the trash 
     scattered around the playground.
       If I wasn't mortified enough, he had packages of Oreos and 
     Fig Newtons as our reward--two per person. As if any 
     respectful fifth-grader ever ate Fig Newtons. I scurried to 
     pick up every piece of trash and shove every Fig Newton down 
     my throat to end this fiasco as soon as possible and send my 
     dad on his way.
       Looking back, I realize that I was not surprised to see him 
     do this. I did not even question him. But I know that he was 
     just trying to get me involved in keeping my school and city 
     clean, that I had a place to be proud of and I would not 
     allow others to do the job for me. Through bringing me around 
     to the developments on the arena, the ball park or even the 
     making of a new Market Basket, he made me realize someone as 
     normal as my dad could make a difference if they just get up 
     and do it. This spirit of his is something I will always 
     remember and hopefully lead my life by.
       However, in the long run, the politician or the man of 
     Lowell is not who I am going to miss. I'm going to miss my 
     dad and the way he always ate his English muffins with butter 
     and jam, or how he'd wake up at 8 o'clock and swim across 
     Schoolhouse Pond, or water Kittredge Park, or seeing him 
     excitedly jump out of his chair during charades, or how he'd 
     take us to some random field to play baseball, or how he'd 
     tell me that I was a good kid. I'm even going to miss him 
     helping me make my bed or trying to pick up my clothes from 
     the bathroom floor.
       No matter how many times I reassure myself that he had a 
     wonderful life, he did a lot of amazing things, some of which 
     I've just realized, nothing can make me stop wishing that my 
     dad was here right now.

                          ____________________