[Congressional Record Volume 144, Number 119 (Thursday, September 10, 1998)]
[Senate]
[Pages S10219-S10220]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
TRIBUTE TO KIRK O'DONNELL
Mr. KERRY. Mr. President, this morning I joined Senator
Kennedy and hundreds of mourners from Massachusetts and around the
country, to pay our last respects to our friend Kirk O'Donnell and to
offer our sincere condolences to Kirk's wife, Kathy, and their two
children, Holly and Brendan. For all of us who knew and admired Kirk,
this was a difficult morning at the Holy Name Church in West Roxbury,
difficult to say goodbye to a special friend who left us too soon. But
Mr. President, I believe everyone in attendance this morning at the
funeral services took some comfort in the way that friends and family
alike--and Kirk had both many friends and a tight-knit family--came
together to share our personal recollections of Kirk. It was striking
to see just how deeply everyone respected Kirk O'Donnell, the many ways
in which he touched so many lives.
Kirk O'Donnell made a deep impact on those who knew him, certainly,
but he also made a difference for millions of people in this country
who never met him, but whose lives are better because of his life of
committed service. Three articles in today's newspapers, one by Al Hunt
of the Wall Street Journal, another by Tom Oliphant of the Boston Globe
and yet another by Susan Estrich of the Boston Herald, stood out in my
mind as testimony to the legacy Kirk O'Donnell left behind in this
country. Al Hunt, Tom Oliphant, and Susan Estrich knew Kirk O'Donnell
as a friend and they performed a great service in capturing Kirk's
essence, the depth of a man who never stopped fighting for those causes
in which he believed. I know that, as we all say goodbye to Kirk
O'Donnell this week, those articles provide both comfort for those who
knew Kirk, and inspiration for those who, even in these troubled
political times in the United States, still believe in the dignity of
public service.
Mr. President, I would ask that these articles be printed in the
Record.
The articles follow:
[From the Wall Street Journal, Sept. 10, 1998]
The Loss of a Talented, Decent and Honorable Man
(By Albert R. Hunt)
Kirk O'Donnell, one of the ablest and most honorable people
in American politics, died suddenly last weekend at the
altogether too young age of 52. Even in grieving, it's
somehow hard not to think how different the Clinton
presidency might have been if Kirk O'Donnell had been a top
White House adviser starting in 1993.
He combined the best virtues of the old and the new
politics. Raised in the rough-and-tumble environs of Boston
tribal warfare, he never saw politics as anything but a
contact sport. But he always practiced it with decency and
civility.
He was a great student of political history, which better
enabled him to appreciate contemporary changes. There was a
pragmatism to Kirk O'Donnell that never conflicted with his
commitment and total integrity.
Success never changed him. He founded the influential
Center for National Policy (his successor as its chair was
Madeleine Albright) and then became a partner in the high-
powered law firm of Vernon Jordan and Bob Strauss. But his
values and devotion to family, friends and country were
remarkably constant.
``He was a big oak tree of a friend,'' notes Stanley Brand,
a Washington lawyer, of the former Brown University football
star, a description which Mr. O'Donnell used to joke, was an
``oxymoron.''
He cut his political teeth working for Mayor Kevin White in
Boston in the mid-70s, running the neighborhood city halls,
developing an appreciation of the relationships between
common folks and government that would serve him well for the
next quarter century. Then there were more than seven years
as chief counsel to House Speaker Tip O'Neill.
There was an exceptional triumvirate of top aides to the
speaker: Leo Diehl, his longtime colleague who was the link
to the past and the gatekeeper who kept away the hangers-on;
Ari Weiss, although only in his twenties, unrivaled as a
policy expert; and Kirk O'Donnell, in his early thirties, who
brought political, legal and foreign policy expertise to the
table, always with superb judgment.
Through it may seem strange in today's Congress, he
commanded real respect across the aisle. ``Kirk was really a
tough, bright opponent; he was a great strategist because he
didn't let his emotions cloud his judgment,'' recalls Billy
Pitts, who was Mr. O'Donnell's Republican counterpart working
with GOP House Leader Bob Michel. ``But he always was a
delight to be around and his word was gold.''
When the Democrats were down, routed by the Reagan
revolution in 1981, it was Kirk O'Donnell who put together a
strategy memorandum advising the party to lay off esoteric
issues and not to refight the tax issues but to focus on
social security and jobs. It was the blueprint for a big
Democratic comeback the next year. When then Republican
Congressman Dick Cheney criticized the speaker for tough
partisanship, Mr. O'Donnell immediately turned it around by
citing a book that Rep. Cheney and his wife had written on
House leaders that praised the same qualities that he now was
criticizing.
For operated as well at that intersection of substance and
politics, or understood both as well. He played a major role
in orchestrating a powerful contingent of Irish-American
politicians, including the speaker, to oppose pro-Irish
groups espousing violence. ``Kirk put the whole Irish thing
together,'' the speaker said.
He was staunchly liberal on the responsibility of
government to care for those in need or equal rights. But he
cringed when Democrats veered off onto fringe issues, and
never forgot the lessons learned running neighborhood city
halls in his 20's. Family values to Kirk O'Donnell wasn't a
political buzzword or cliche, but a reality of life; there
never has been a more loving family than Kirk and Kathy
O'Donnell and their kids, Holly and Brendan.
The Clinton administration made job overtures to Kirk
O'Donnell several times but they were never commensurate with
his talents. He should have been either Chief of Staff or
legal counsel from the very start of this administration. He
would have brought experience, expertise, maturity, judgment,
toughness--intimate knowledge of the way Washington works--
that nobody else in that White House possessed.
But sadly, that's not what this president sought. For Kirk
O'Donnell wouldn't have tolerated dissembling. He never was
unfaithful to those he worked for but ``spinning''--as in
situational truths--was foreign to him. When working for the
speaker of Michael Dukakis in 1988, he would dodge, bob,
sometimes talk gibberish but never, in hundreds of interviews
with me, did he ever dissemble.
The contrast between this and someone like Dick Morris, who
Mr. Clinton continuously turned to, is striking. This was
brought home anew when Mr. Morris, the former top Clinton
aide, wrote a letter seeming to take issue with a column I
wrote a few weeks ago.
For starters, he erroneously denied that he suggested
Hillary Clinton is a lesbian. More substantively, Mr. Morris
says that Mr. Clinton called him when the Lewinsky story
broke and had him do a poll to gauge reaction. He did that
and told Mr. Clinton the public wouldn't accept the truth.
Although Mr. Morris turned over what he says is that poll to
Independent Counsel Kenneth Starr, some of us question
whether the survey was genuine.
The infamous political consultant swears he sampled 500
people, asked 25 to 30 questions and did it all out of own
pocket for $2,000. If true, it was a slipshod survey upon
which the president reportedly decided to stake his word.
(Only days later, Mr. Clinton swore at a private White Hose
meeting that he hadn't spoken to Mr. Morris in ages.)
There was no more an astute analyst of polls than Kirk
O'Donnell. He would pepper political conversations with
survey data. But because he understood history and had such
personal honor he always understood a poll was a snapshot,
often valuable. But it never could be a substitute for
principle or morality or integrity.
There were currencies of his professional and personal
life. These no longer are commonplace commodities in
politics, which is one of many reasons that the passing of
this very good man is such a loss.
____
[From the Boston Globe, Sept. 10, 1998]
He Stood for Politics at its Best
(By Thomas Oliphant)
He was arguably the best mayor Boston never had, among a
handful of people who mattered most to the turbulent city of
the 1970's.
No one did more for the House of Representatives over the
last generation who was never elected to it, no history of
national affairs in the 1980s is complete without his large
thumbprint.
The last four presidents have known all about his special
gifts and felt their impact;
[[Page S10220]]
the two Democrats (the completely different Jimmy Carter and
Bill Clinton) had more than one occasion to depend on them
big time.
On an average day he could get your brother a fair shot at
the police force, help repair Social Security, broker the
biggest tax bill of modern times, keep the Big Dig's cash
coming, and still make it home for supper.
All across the intersections where politics and government
meet in the interests of real people, the shock and pain at
Kirk O'Donnell's death over the Labor Day weekend is the only
recent event to unite Republicans, congressional Democrats,
and Clintonities in this season of shame and ugliness.
You'd think all this emotion concerned a senior statesman
passing on after a long lifetime of service, the occasion for
a proud-sad moment to celebrate a life lived magnificently.
But the shock and pain arrived like a rusty blade in the
gut because O'Donnell was only 52; he did things in his 30s
and 40s that big shots in their 60s never accomplished. But
the best was still ahead of him, and the sky was the limit;
if the Democrats ever elect another president, a Cabinet post
or chief of the White House staff would have been lateral
movements for him.
This is the kind of death that shakes your faith, making it
all the more important to reaffirm it. And the fact is this
blend of Dorchester and D.C., of Boston Latin and Brown was a
walking reaffirmation of faith in the potential of public
service, a shining example of the silent majority who don't
broker votes for cash, check their principles at the front
desk, ignore their families, welsh on their commitments,
indulge their whims and their urges, lie, and shirk. His life
demonstrates that at the end only two things matter--whether
your word's any good and how you treat others.
Two stories: Kevin Hagen White gets the credit for
discovering him in the early years of decentralized
innovation and leadership and hope for the racially polarized
town. By 1975, the young political junkie who could explain
Boston by precinct or by parish was entrusted with White's
third-term reelection campaign.
It was the roughest, ugliest, closest fight in modern
Boston times. The people involved, despite all they've done
since, still get together to tell the old stories and refight
the old shouting matches. The one reputation that was
enhanced by the bruising experience was O'Donnell's, for
focusing like a laser beam on organizing the White vote and
focusing on Joe Timilty's lack of a clear alternative.
After it was over and he was down in Washington with Tip
O'Neill, it was increasingly clear that his former boss had
lost his fastball. Again and again, from the shadows of the
speaker's rooms in the Capitol, O'Donnell saw to Boston's
interests. He would happily recount to me the stories of
program formulas rejiggered to benefit the cities, of special
items in appropriations bills (worth billions of dollars over
time) as long as I understood that if I used his name in
public he would rip my lungs out.
Just for the record, O'Donnell was more than enough of a
city lover and urban scholar to know about subway analogies
in politics. But he was the guy, in 1981, who called Social
Security the third rail of American politics; few lines have
been ripped off more. But he did it to make a point--that
Ronald Reagan had touched it by reaching beyond his mandate
to try to slash future benefits in a partisan initiative.
With the help of the worst recession in 50 years, he and
Speaker O'Neill pounced on that goof to effectively end the
Reagan Revolution.
But that same skill was then put to use on the speaker's
behalf to help broker a bipartisan repair job that has lasted
15 years and made the next stage of generational common sense
possible. He was to Congress in the 1980s what Jim Baker was
to the Reagan White House.
He was a big guy, with a big voice he rarely used except to
laugh. Everyone trusted him. There are tears being shed today
in saloons and salons, in boardrooms and in back rooms. Kirk
O'Donnell's life demonstrates the power of the haunting
challenge made famous by the Kennedys, that all of us can
make a difference and that each of us should try.
____
[From the Boston Herald, Sept. 10, 1998]
O'Donnell, Best of the Breed
(By Susan Estrich)
A good man died on Saturday. He had a big smile, a big
laugh and a great deal of power over the years. He used it
well.
Ask people what they think of politics today, and the
answer is generally not suitable for children to hear. The
only things worse than politicians are the handlers and hacks
who try to tell them what to do and us what to think, and
then turn around and make money trashing their boss and the
business they were in.
Kirk O'Donnell wasn't like that. He gave politics a good
name.
Kirk was 52 when he died, jogging near his summer home in
Scituate. He lived in Washington for most of his adult life
and advised some of its most powerful men, but he was
definitely a boy of Boston, and its politics--the way it
should be.
He made his name working for Mayor Kevin White, who had
promised to bring government to the people, which he did by
creating ``little city halls'' in Boston's neighborhoods.
Kirk's was a trailer in Fields Corner, where he helped
working people who had no contacts or connections to be
treated as if they did. He negotiated the system for them; he
was their powerful friend and you didn't need a PAC to get
his attention.
Later, working for Speaker of the House Tip O'Neill (a
Cambridge resident), he said he had learned what he needed to
know about Congress working at Fields Corner. I'm certain
that he didn't just mean the business of politics--of phone
calls and favors and chits to be spent--although given
Congress, that is the most obvious meaning. For Kirk, the
more important part of the lesson had to be about what
politics is for.
Most people in politics work on either issues or politics,
but not both. In this world, issues people tend to be viewed
as nerds and wonks, a clear step beneath the gunslingers who
do the politics and tell the speechwriters what to write.
Kirk played both parts with equal ease; he was as good at one
as the other, a rare combination that he used to bring
legitimacy to the world of substance and substance to the
world of politics. After his stint in the speaker's office,
when he could have had any political job in town, he decided
to help build a think-tank instead, giving the Center for
National Policy a legitimacy that came from the fact that
Kirk was heading it.
In 1988, I literally begged him to come to Boston to help
me in the presidential campaign of Gov. Michael Dukakis. We
were still doing well in the polls, but our communications
problems were internal as well as external. He could see it
when he came to talk to Dukakis and me. I was honest. To
some, at the time, it certainly must have looked like a dream
position: join the campaign of the nominee, who is heading
for the convention and telling you that you are to be his
chief political adviser. But Kirk knew better, and so did I.
We needed him; he didn't need us.
It turned out worse than we anticipated. Kirk could have
spent a good deal of time explaining to the press, on
background to be sure, how the campaign's biggest gaffes were
contrary to his advice, how he had argued for this or that,
written the lines himself or never even had the opportunity
to--as the president's aides do regularly these days. But he
never did. He never would. He grew up in Boston, where
loyalty means standing by people when they're wrong and
working for someone means being loyal to him.
Kirk leaves two children behind. Losing a father is
terrible at any age, but when he is young and you need him,
and he is a man like Kirk, it is an especially acute pain. I
lost my father when he was 54, and I know all the trite
sayings about how some people live a lifetime in a few years,
and they inspire others and live on through their friends and
family.
It is all true, but it is still not enough. Time does heal;
deaths become part of our history. But the sad truth is that
a good man died on Saturday, and he will be much missed, as
he was much loved and respected.
____________________