[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.

                          ____________________