[Congressional Record Volume 143, Number 60 (Friday, May 9, 1997)]
[Senate]
[Pages S4269-S4272]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
JACK BARRY, A VERMONT TREASURE
Mr. LEAHY. Mr. President, in Vermont, you have to wait until May to
see signs of life, signs of spring. But this May has been unseasonably
cold, and got a little colder earlier this week when Vermont lost Jack
Barry--one of the true, enduring treasures of the most special State in
the Union.
Jack Barry left us on Sunday, May 4, at the age of 70, after a long
struggle with cancer. He was in his third year as a senator, he was my
first press secretary when I came to Washington as a 34-year-old
Senator. But most of all he was an extraordinary and beloved
broadcaster on radio and television whose ubiquitous presence on the
Vermont airwaves has made thousands of Vermonters feel as though Jack
Barry has been a member of the family.
In fact, he really was a member of thousands of Vermont families, and
more welcome in their homes than just about anybody else.
Jack achieved legendary status among Vermont broadcasters. As an
interviewer, he had an unparalleled ability to get to the essence of a
person and an issue.
Jack's life in radio and television makes any review of his
achievements read like a broadcasting directory. As you might expect,
Jack had an on-air personality and voice to die for, and he was the
same off the air, as fresh and genuine as the Green Mountains that he
loved.
He hosted call-in shows where civility and common sense were the
standard, he moderated and produced several public affairs programs
where he was the most prepared person there. And he was a popular
master of ceremonies for a wide range of nonprofit and public interest
causes. He was Vermont's Sportscaster of the Year in 1972 and the
Vermont Association of Broadcasters gave him the Distinguished
Broadcasting Award in 1981 and, to make sure that everyone knew, they
installed him into their Hall of Fame in 1995. He was the Rutland
Herald's Vermonter of the Year in 1991. He lent his considerable
talents to many community organizations including St. Michael's
College--his alma mater, and mine--the Vermont Special Olympics, United
Way, and the Vermont Cancer Society. He was past chairman of the
Vermont Heart Association and was serving on the national board of the
American Heart Association. For the last 3 years he served in the
Vermont Senate, where, as Senate President pro tempore Peter Shumlin
puts it, Jack ``was like a kid in a candy shop.''
He loved people. He truly loved people--all people--just as he truly
loved politics. And he did not shrink from controversy to act on his
convictions. He embraced controversy, if need be, because he never gave
up his convictions, as when he forcefully argued against the popular
rush to criminalize the rare instances of flag burning. And our State
agreed with him.
I want to put into the Record at the end of my remarks a selection of
the many news accounts, columns, and editorials this week that recite
so many more of his achievements. But first I want to recount some of
the personal recollections about Jack from his friends and colleagues
that have come my way since Sunday.
George Goldring, who works at WVMT, recalls the days when he and Jack
broadcasted University of Vermont football--Jack, for WVMT, and George,
for WJOY.
He fondly remembers one night after a game in Pennsylvania, when they
were sitting around a hotel room with a couple of other Vermont
broadcasters. Nobody went to bed. The night dissolved into morning as
Jack regaled them with story after story and joke after joke, keeping
everyone in stitches all night long.
Mr. President, having been one of those fortunate enough to have sat
in on one of these evenings--you do not want the night to end. It is
the best of Irish storytelling.
George says that Jack was a professional's professional in front of a
microphone. He was never at a loss for words.
John Goodrow of my staff and Jack both worked at WJOY in Burlington
in different eras. Last November, the station threw a party to mark its
50th anniversary, and through the evening all the former on-air
personalities were introduced. But when Jack Barry was introduced, the
applause was the loudest and the longest, the most fervent, the most
heartfelt.
John's father, Goody Goodrow, recalls getting to know Jack while
Goody was a student at St. Michael's College after serving in the Navy
in the Second World War. He was one of the many St. Mike's students who
would phone in music requests to Jack's radio show. Goody himself was a
musician who once played piano in Artie Shaw's military band, and he
made a living in the Burlington area as a musician--in fact, as a young
student, I danced some of those times he played--including stints,
after those years at St. Mike's, playing the piano on Jack's radio
shows on WJOY.
Joel Najman engineered Jack's show at WJOY for years, and he now
works at WDEV. He tells about Jack's natural curiosity about the world.
He was a sponge for information and ideas. Joel said he had time to
read just one newspaper before Jack's morning show, but before airtime,
Jack already had read four or five newspapers, and from personal
experience I know he committed them virtually to memory.
Ken Horseman was an executive producer at Vermont ETV--public
television in Vermont--and also produced Jack's radio show for a time.
And Ken's fondest memories of Jack center on the old Vermont ETV
auction which Ken produced and Jack hosted. Jack would hold forth
through 10 hours of live television, and he would do this for 10
straight days. He would prime the pump for the station's coffers, and
people all over the State and in nearby Canada and everywhere else
would tune in to see Jack Barry.
Jerry Lewis has nothing on Jack Barry as a telethon maestro. More
than 3,000 Vermonters volunteered during the auction over those 10
days. To them and to the viewing audience, Jack was the auction's
symbol. I was fortunate enough to have had a chance to be on some of
those auctions as a volunteer, as was, I think, the whole Vermont
congressional delegation at one time or another, because Jack would
just grab everybody. You could be the person who runs the gas station;
you could be the Governor of the State. Jack Barry would say: ``Now
here is the time you are going to auction,'' and you would.
He thrived on the unpredictability of live television. He was steady
in the midst of chaos, as Ken remembers.
Mike Donoghue of the Burlington Free Press grew up in Vermont
listening to Jack on the radio. Like all of us, he remembers his
signature line at the end of every radio spot: ``Don't forget to tell
'em Barry brought ya.'' Of course, that is exactly what people did.
Jack brought us the warmth of his smile. He nourished our sense of
community and purpose in Vermont. And he brought us the gift of his
friendship.
Last September, Marcelle and I attended Jack's surprise 70th birthday
party at his son-in-law's camp in Jonesville, VT.
Mr. President, if there is any way that I would remember Jack, it was
at this party. It was vintage. He was surrounded by the family he
adored and who adored him even more. Politicians and political junkies
were everywhere, from both parties, and, of course, Jack was at center
stage holding forth and carrying the day. I took photograph after
photograph, although in one way I did not need to because the memories
are as clear as the photographs are. Everybody came in, and it would be
like they were the one person there with Jack. He would hug them and
they would hug him. And the children were around. It was chaotic and it
was fun. It was very, very, very Irish. It is that sunny day in
Jonesville that sticks most in my mind when I think of Jack.
[[Page S4270]]
But I also think of Monday of this week when Marcelle and I went to
Jack's home and visited with his wife, Bunny, a dear friend, the woman
he loved so much, and with other family members, and the stories about
Jack's humor and generosity and humanity rose easily and quickly to the
surface as they always have when talking about Jack. One minute
Marcelle and I were crying; the next minute we were laughing with
everybody else there. Kathy, Maureen, and Bridget were there, Bunny's
daughter Brigid and others, Tim and Wright, and we talked with Bridget
and Kathy and Maureen about the time when Jack Barry was first down
here as press secretary, and Marcelle was taking the kids on a ride in
the car coming back from somewhere and two cars stopped in front of
us--and I mean this is 20 years ago, Mr. President. Some of the people
were getting out of the two cars in front of Marcelle, and they were
getting into a fight and Marcelle was telling the children, ``Get down!
Get down!'' And they were saying, ``We want to see! We want to see!''
And it was typical of what any one of Jack's kids would want: ``But I
want to see what's going on!''
I think of all the times I would call him for advice, in good times
and in some very sad times. Jack was always there. We might not have
talked to each other for weeks and we would pick up the conversation as
though it ended minutes before. I remember calling him and asking him
for a joke because I was going to be speaking somewhere, and to start
off he would say, ``Well, there were these two Irish guys,'' and we
would both be laughing, and I hadn't even heard the joke. We would
start laughing right away because we knew how funny it would be.
I recall a Christmas when Marcelle was on duty at the hospital and I
was calling friends, and I called up Jack, after he had taken up his
new duties in the Vermont Statehouse, and I said, ``Hi, Senator.'' He
said, ``Hi, Senator.'' And we were going on calling each other Senator
for a couple minutes until we were both laughing so hard we sort of
lost it.
We go back a long time, Mr. President. His father and mother and my
father and mother were friends. Jack and I knew each other forever it
seems. I think of the days when he was down here, when we first moved
down a few days before the swearing-in. It was New Year's Eve. We had
rented a townhouse. And the moving van came that day. We were unloading
boxes, and Jack shows up, and a couple other Vermonters were here with
me, and we decided we would have a New Year's Eve party. We invited the
two moving van people. We sat around on crates and boxes and opened
them up trying to find a plate, a glass or silverware, ordering in
pizza and soda and beer and what not. Jack put us all at ease. He
started telling stories. Midnight came and midnight went, and that
party went on and on.
How much I wish it could still go on today. I think of people that
Jack helped during his years here in Washington, people who were cursed
with the affliction that some have of drinking, and Jack would work
with AA. He would be the person they would call when they really needed
help and he would go. And after that time I heard from so many Members
of Congress and others who would come to me and tell me, ``Jack Barry
really saved my life.''
I remember him interviewing Cabinet Members down here for Vermont ETV
and them telling me afterward that he was the most prepared interviewer
they ever had.
So I have lost a dear, dear friend. Marcelle and I have spent a lot
of time talking this week about how much he meant to us. We also know
that Vermont has lost one of its real treasures. So Marcelle and I join
all Vermonters in extending wishes of comfort and appreciation to Bunny
and to all the family. I will put, as I said, items in the Record, but
one especially from Bridget Barry Caswell--his daughter who we know and
love and are so proud of, a great journalist in her own right and one
who learned so much from her father--the eulogy she gave this week in
his memory at St. Michael's College.
I will say this to the family, as my Great-Aunt Kate, who came here
from Ireland, would say of a good Irish person when they would leave
this vale of tears: ``He went straight up.'' Jack Barry went straight
up, and I cannot help but think of the Irish jokes that are going
through the heavens tonight.
Mr. President, in yielding the floor, I ask unanimous consent that
these other items be printed in the Record.
There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in
the Record, as follows:
For You, Dad
(By Bridget Barry Caswell)
To borrow one of my father's favorite words . . . he would
be just tickled to see all of you here today, to celebrate
his life and his final passage into peace. He'd probably look
around and say, ``Fantastic! I didn't know I had so many
friends.'' But he certainly did . . . and then some.
My Dad was truly one of a kind, as you know. He was
enthusiastic, he was warm . . . he was a true humanitarian
and he was the most optimistic person I know.
I am so proud to be a part of my Dad. We are all so proud
to say we are of him . . . we are a product of Jack Barry.
He was a passionate man. He was passionate about public
service and his career . . . a news junkie to the bone. And
he was passionate about learning and his family.
My father's life was dedicated to public service . . . he
was absolutely loyal to everything he cared about and fought
for. We will probably never know all of the people he
influenced or aided in one way or another . . . either
through his thousands of programs on issues affecting
everyday Vermonters . . . or the endless speaking engagements
he said yes to year after year. He couldn't say no and he was
able to use his public persona in so many good ways. And he
didn't do it for his own gratification . . . that didn't
matter to him . . . for he said yes whether it was a request
for a 500-person gala or a request to play auctioneer at an
elementary school fundraiser. I can remember as a child, my
father was always out . . . lending his name to one cause or
another. I don't think I realized at the time all of the good
he was doing. I'd like to share with you one example of my
father's dedication and loyalty to an organization. Shortly
after I was born--30 something years ago--I was diagnosed
with a serious heart defect. It was eventually repaired
through surgery, but that event in my father's life marked
the beginning of a lifetime of service to the Vermont Heart
Association . . . my family dove into volunteer work
immediately and my father's never ended. He served on the
board as member and eventually chairman. He spoke at endless
Heart Association events, and at the time of his death was
serving on the national board of the American Heart
Association. He considered that a great honor . . . and his
work finally came full circle when he became the beneficiary
of Heart Association research.
My Dad was also passionate about learning . . . he was a
life-long learner, always on a quest to improve his mind. And
it showed. He was a voracious reader. He read seven
newspapers every day . . . and devoured every news magazine
possible. On top of that, he always, and I mean always, had a
novel or two going. He would go on vacation to Florida for
two weeks and finish off a half-dozen books . . . and I mean
books like this. He loved to share them too . . . a few of
you probably still have a few of his out there!! I know I do!
But it didn't stop there. Whenever my nieces and nephew, who
live out of state, would come to visit, they always had their
own special time with my father, their grandfather. He would
take them out . . . not to a movie or a fun park. He took
them to the Oasis for breakfast and then they went
shopping . . . for books. Every time they visited, that
was their ``tradition'' with my Dad. He instilled in them
a love of reading and to this day, it is an area in school
where they all excel. He was very proud of that.
And finally, as I said earlier, my father was passionate
about his family. You probably got a little tired of hearing
about us all the time . . . he talked about us incessantly on
the air. His listeners knew of every milestone in our lives.
But that made us feel special. And he made us feel special in
the little things he did . . . a personal note on our ``big''
birthdays . . . the Sweet 16th, the 21st, the quarter-of-a-
century, and the 30th. And as some of you may have read, at
our family dinners--which meant anywhere from 10 to 22 people
at the table --my father led us with a toast before each
meal, and to him that meant a time to note our
accomplishments, large and small. He didn't forget anyone . .
. and he welcomed each and every one of us to share in the
meal, usually gourmet and always cooked and served to
perfection.
My father loved to cook . . . as my aunt said the other
day, if you needed a good recipe, you called Jack. If you
needed a good joke, you called Jack. And if you needed a good
book, you called Jack.
But he wasn't alone in his love for a good book, a good
joke or a good recipe. My Dad and Bunny were a team . . .
true soulmates and best friends . . . and they wore their
love on their sleeves. My Dad was passionate about Bunny . .
. on the air he often referred to her as ``that beautiful
thing I'm married to.'' And at home . . . it usually went
something like this, ``Hey Bare. You can carve the meat now''
and he'd say, ``Anything you say, Baby.'' Even to the end,
they exchanged love names. Bunny will probably never forgive
me for telling you this, but even during the last difficult
days of my father's life, when he continued to fight so
valiantly, she would walk into his hospital room--after
[[Page S4271]]
catching maybe an hour or two of sleep--and she'd say
``Jackie-Poo, I'm here.'' She made all of us smile during
those dark days last week and my sisters and I will be
forever grateful for the love and care she gave to my Dad
during his illness.
Boy we loved him . . . he was truly an exceptional human
being. In just a moment we'd like to invite you to sing with
us one of my father's favorite songs, ``When Irish Eyes Are
Smiling.'' My Dad always had a smile in his eyes . . . and we
all know that he was certainly a proud Irishman.
In closing, I'd like to share with you a poem that was sent
to my father in February by his old buddy, John Zampieri. The
two of them were battling their own health problems and they
often exchanged notes sending words of encouragement. Just
two weeks ago, I sent out for my Dad his last note to
``Zamp,'' as he called him. It was a photo on election night
. . . and they looked fabulous. Anyway, just yesterday, we
found this poem that John sent to my father a few months ago.
It was the first we'd seen of it . . . and we found it most
appropriate in light of my Dad's incredible optimism, his
courage and his pledge to never give up his fight. It's
called ``Don't Quit.''
Don't Quit
When things go wrong, as they sometimes will
And the road you're trudging seems all uphill
When the funds are low and the debts are high
And you want to smile but you have to sigh
When care is pressing you down a bit--
Rest if you must but don't you quit
Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As every one of us sometimes learns
And many a fellow has turned about
When he might have won if he'd stuck it out
And he learned too late when the night came down
How close he was to the golden crown
Success is failure turned inside out,
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt
And you never can tell how close you are
You may be near when it seems so far
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit
It's when things seem worst that you mustn't quit
That's All Folks . . . ``Don't forget to remind 'em that
Barry brought you.''
____
Barry Brought Me
(By Peter Freyne)
[From the Column ``Inside Track'' Seven Days, Burlington, VT, May 7,
1997]
They're burying Jack Barry today. It'll be a good turnout.
Jack always loved a crowd. Just given him a microphone and
turn him loose, and the kid from Waterbury Center, Vermont,
would crank up those marvelous Irish pipes with the lilt and
the blarney and the gift of the gab.
As far as the airwaves go, this was Jack Barry's town. He
loved it and he lived it--oh did he live it! From the days of
``It's Your Nickel'' to ``Open Mike'' to ``The Jack Barry
Show,'' to ``Vermont Report'' and ``Vermont This Week'' on
Vermont ETV, Jack was the man who could turn your average
story into a marvelous tale. Before talk radio became king in
the 1980s, he was already sitting in the throne. ``Be sure
and tell'em Barry brought you,'' was his trademark refrain.
Jack wasn't one of those wishy-washy types who'd try to
please everyone. He had values and principles and opinions,
and he laid it on the line. He also had a fiery passion for
politics. For decades on the local airwaves he defended a
women's right to choose, and boldly called for an end to the
war in Vietnam, the war in Vietnam, the war that he
personally checked out in a 1968 visit. Once he saw firsthand
what a ``bright shining lie'' that war was, Jack wasn't
afraid to change his position.
Jack was the best sort of friend a guy could have, the kind
who was there for you not just when you were on top of the
world, but when the world had beaten you down. I know. When I
hit bottom, Jack Barry was there for me.
He loved the ponies--oh, did he love the ponies--and he
loved Saratoga in August. And, coincidentally, there was a
horse in the Kentucky Derby the day before he passed away, by
the name of Jack Flash. But most of all he loved his Bunny,
the Murphy girl he married and laughed with through the best
years of his life.
Well, Jack Barry's crossed the finish line now--in a flash.
No need to wait for the stewards to develop the photo. It
wasn't even close. Jack Barry won . . . going away.
____
[From the Rutland Herald, May 6, 1997]
Jack Barry, A Man Of The Airwaves
(By Christopher Graff)
Montpelier--Jack Barry was radio's biggest cheerleader.
Sure, he loved public television. And he was passionate
about politics. But radio was his true love.
``Radio was everything,'' Barry once said, reminiscing
about the glory days before the dawn of television. ``Radio
was drama. Radio was sports. Radio was a window on the
world.''
``Radio, pre-television, was everything,'' he said. ``And
it was a central part of everyone's lives.''
And Jack Barry, for many decades, was a central part of
Vermonters' lives.
Barry died Sunday at the age of 70. He was in his third
year as a state senator, a position that allowed him a seat
at center stage of the political world he loved. But it was
as a radio and television host that Barry became a household
name.
* * * * *
``I just always had this radio bug,'' he later said.
In 1948 he went to WJOY in Burlington, then owned by The
Burlington Free Press, where he helped air the 11 p.m. news
live from the Free Press newsroom and then stayed to play
poker with the editors while the paper ran off the presses.
In 1954 he and his pal Vin D'Acuti provided competition for
WJOY by launching WDOT. They did it all themselves, working
18-hour days. Barry raced around to fires and car accidents
and plane crashes in a Ford station wagon. He could--and
did--broadcast live anywhere, anytime.
He entered the world of talk shows, the forum in which he
would excel, becoming the daily visitor into the homes of
Vermonters.
* * * * *
Barry later entered television. There was a time he did a
morning show on WVMT radio in Colchester 6 a.m. to 9 a.m.,
then a television show on WVNY-TV from 10 to 11 and then back
to WVMT for his ``Open Mike'' show from noon to 2 p.m.
In the evenings he was off to do play-by-play sports
broadcasts--baseball, basketball, football, hockey or boxing.
He started volunteering at Vermont ETV in 1970 and went on
the payroll in 1973. He took a brief time out for his first
round in politics, serving two years as press secretary for
Sen. Patrick Leahy, D-Vt.
He was back in 1976, juggling his morning radio shows and
his evening television appearances right up to his retirement
from Vermont ETV in 1991. The radio continued for a bit until
elective politics beckoned and he became a state senator.
Last year his life's passions came together briefly when
the Senate considered a proposal to cut ETV's state funding
from $762,500 to $1.
Barry, although ill, traveled to the State House to make an
impassioned plea for ETV. He talked about his experiences,
his interviews, the reaction from viewers. ``There are
moments at ETV that transcend anything I can recall,'' he
told his colleagues, who restored half of the money.
One of his greatest pleasures in a wide world of
broadcasting was when he found himself on the other side of
the microphone.
Vermont ETV, on Barry's final day on the job, set up a
surprise interview of Barry by his daughter, Bridget Barry
Caswell, herself a television reporter.
``I am very proud you have come into this field,'' Barry
told his daughter on the air. ``It's a honorable profession
and a very good one. Without the Fourth Estate, we'd all be
in big trouble.
``I hope your career is long and pleasant and you get to
achieve the things that give you as much satisfaction as my
career has given to me.''
____
[From the Burlington (VT) Free Press, May 6, 1997]
A Man Of Joy
Jack Barry found what many Vermonters spend a lifetime
seeking; a family he treasured, public service work he loved,
and an optimism that sustained him to the end.
Barry, who died Sunday of liver cancer at 70, will be
missed.
Sen. Jack Barry, D-Chittenden, was a decent man. For
decades, his loyalty was to his many listeners on
Burlington's radio stations and Vermont ETV. In the end, it
was the residents of Chittenden County who came first.
As a radio and television interviewer, Barry quizzed
politicians, journalists and entertainers alike. He was
polite, yet thorough. Barry's balance and fairness kept loyal
listeners tuning in.
He brought the same balance to his state Senate job,
refusing to be sucked into partisan Statehouse games.
* * * * *
And Barry's interviewing skills will also be missed. In
committee meetings, he quickly drove to the heart of issues,
politely steering witnesses in the right direction.
* * * * *
Through it all, he smiled, Barry smiled during broadcast
work, floor speeches and committee discussions. In fact, he
hid the severity of his illness behind a grin of pure joy
during his Senate tenure.
``He just loved it,'' said fellow Sen. Richard Mazza, one
of Barry's closest friends. Mazza's right.
Goodbye, friend.
____
[From the Vermont Times, May 7, 1997]
Editorial
This week, Vermont lost one of its richest gems and
tireless spirits. For most of us, State Senator Jack Barry's
beaming smile and clear, deep voice were as recognizable as
the profile of Mount Mansfield.
Jack Barry's stature in Vermont, especially in his home
turf of Chittenden County, was like that of Walter Cronkite.
As a Democrat, he steadfastly believed in speaking up for the
people. He did this by keeping people focused on the heart of
the matter at hand, and not drifting into political
bickering.
* * * * *
For decades, Vermonters have had someone in their corner
when a public official or some other potentate had something
to say
[[Page S4272]]
to us Vermonters. For there behind the microphone, or on
camera, was Jack Barry--asking the questions to which we all
wanted answers.
Jack Barry's style as a journalist and a professional
broadcaster was one which we should all strive to live up to:
He was polite and pesky, thoughtful and thorough. That's
probably why he was loved and respected by so many people.
To the man with the silver voice and the silver hair, thank
you. Thank you Jack Barry.
____________________