[Congressional Record Volume 144, Number 46 (Thursday, April 23, 1998)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages E671-E672]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                       TRIBUTE TO BILLY SULLIVAN

                                 ______
                                 

                       HON. JOSEPH P. KENNEDY II

                            of massachusetts

                    in the house of representatives

                        Thursday, April 23, 1998

  Mr. KENNEDY, of Massachusetts. Mr. Speaker, I always thought Billy 
Sullivan was immortal. And in a way, he was--always larger than life, 
always a giant in the eyes of our family, and in the eyes of everyone 
he met.
  We miss him very much. We know what an immense loss this is to Mary, 
to his children Chuck, Billy, Patrick, Jean, Kathleen, and Nancy, to 
his sisters Tess and Eleanor, to the grandchildren, to the extended 
family he loved so much, and to all of us as well. Billy Sullivan was a 
great man who accomplished a great deal in his life. But he could not 
have risen as high and never gone as far without the enduring love and 
sustaining support of that beautiful, wonderful Sullivan family.
  He was Irish to the core, and it seems obvious that God wanted Billy 
in Heaven for St. Patrick's Day.
  We loved Billy for the little things--the endless, last-minute 
envelopes in response to our sudden calls, because we all had friends 
who just had to be at the Patriots game on Sunday.
  We know the special place of the Jimmy Fund in Billy's heart and 
soul. We know how much it meant to him--and we in turn often thought of 
it as the Billy Fund.
  To countless New Englanders, Billy Sullivan was the greatest Patriot 
of all, and the man who brought pro football to Boston. We'll never 
forget that bright figure will the map of Ireland on his face pacing up 
and down the sideline in whichever stadium he happened to be calling 
home that day.
  As a teenager, I remember Billy drenched in Harvard Stadium as the 
Dolphins played the Patriots in a New England monsoon, the end zone 
completely under water. I remember cheering for Jim Nance as Billy's 
great running back set a rushing record in a playoff in Fenway Park.
  He meant the world to our family. The Billy Sullivan I remember most 
was the oil company president who welcomed me with open arms and 
offered his support and advice when I came to him a quarter century ago 
with a half-baked plan to help the poor and elderly heat their homes 
during the winter months.
  My Dad used to say, ``Some people see things as they are and say why, 
I dream things that never were and say why not?'' That's the way I 
think of Billy Sullivan, too.
  In an industry full of good old boys who didn't particularly want to 
help a young fellow with a different idea about oil, Billy welcomed me 
into his office and told me the story of his own impossible dream.
  No matter how many defeats he had suffered in life, he always came 
back, again and again and again. And that trademark smile made you 
believe that he loved every minute of it--because he knew, if he tried 
once more, he would finally achieve the happy ending he knew was out 
there. You could never walk out of Billy's office without believing 
your own highest dream was possible, too. There could never have been a 
Citizens Energy Corporation without Billy Sullivan.
  I know that Michael felt that way, too, and now they're together in 
Heaven.

[[Page E672]]

  In a very real sense, the man from hardscrabble Lowell was 
``Everyman''--living the hard daily struggle of the Irish in his early 
years, battling the prejudice of ``No Irish Need Apply,'' and never 
forgetting those glorious roots.
  And later, as president of Metropolitan Coal and Oil, Billy 
understood better than anyone the struggle of so many customers to keep 
a roof over their heads, put three meals a day on the table, and keep 
their families warm.
  My mother served on the board of NFL Charities with Billy. Once, they 
worked hard together to obtain the support of other board members for 
one of Billy's many charities. They succeeded beautifully, and a check 
was duly prepared for a dramatic presentation at an NFL halftime show.
  Until a little problem materialized--it turned out that Billy's 
project hadn't taken the steps to qualify for a tax deduction. Billy 
knew there was no problem with the charity--the problem had to be with 
the IRS.
  On another occasion, my mother was at LaGuardia Airport, about to 
drive to Greenwich, Connecticut, with a lawyer bent on pressing her on 
a complex legal problem. By chance, Billy arrived on the scene, say my 
mother in distress, and insisted on joining her for the long ride to 
Greenwich. Every time the lawyer tried to bring up the legal problem, 
Billy the raconteur broke in, launching into yet another wild and funny 
Sullivan story that left my mother laughing and the lawyer fuming.
  In so many ways, Billy was a member of our family, too. He'd regale 
us with stories about his father's friendship with the Fitzgeralds, 
with Honey Fitz.
  Over the years, during some of the most trying moments of my life, I 
would get a long, hand-written letter from Billy, offering comfort and 
wisdom, lighting the way ahead. That was vintage Billy--always guiding, 
always reaching out, always helping, always caring.
  Above all, there was this magnificent family which sustained him and 
which is his greatest monument of all--Mary, the great joy of his life; 
Tess and Eleanor, the sisters whose independence and strength he so 
admired; Chuck and Patrick, who did so much to build the team of his 
dreams; Jeannie and Kathleen and Nancy, in whom he took such enormous 
pride; Billy, who made so much difference in his father's final years.
  Near the end of ``Pilgrim's Progress,'' there is a passage that tells 
of the death of Valiant, in words that apply to Billy Sullivan, too:

       Then, he said, I am going to my Father's; and though with 
     great difficulty I am got hither, yet now I do not regret me 
     of all the trouble I have been at to arrive where I am. My 
     sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my pilgrimage, 
     and my courage and skill to him that can get it. My marks and 
     scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me, that I have 
     fought his battle who now will be my rewarder.
       When the day that he must go hence was come, many 
     accompanied him to the riverside, into which as he went he 
     said, ``Death, where is thy sting?'' and as he went down 
     deeper, he said, ``Grave, where is thy victory?'' So he 
     passed over, and all the trumpets sounded for him on the 
     other side.

  We loved you, Billy--we loved your marvelous loyalty, your beautiful 
love of family, your laugh that could fill our hearts with laughter, 
too, your giant Irish heart. We miss you, Billy, and we always will.

                          ____________________