[Congressional Record Volume 147, Number 138 (Monday, October 15, 2001)]
[Senate]
[Pages S10687-S10688]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
IN MEMORY OF KARLETON DOUGLAS BEYE FYFE
Mr. EDWARDS. Mr. President, at 8:48 a.m. on September 11, 2001,
America lost one of its finest citizens, one of the many who gave their
lives in the senseless acts of terror visited upon our country that
day. His name is Karleton Douglas Beye Fyfe, and he deserves to be
remembered. He died aboard American Airlines Flight 11, scheduled to
fly from Boston to Los Angeles. He died at the age of 31 in the service
of his family, of his profession and of his country. He died among the
very first victims of this tragedy which has so unsettled our Nation.
He would have had strong views about the aftermath of this tragedy, and
he would not have been shy about expressing them.
Mr. Fyfe's loss leaves his many survivors devastated. He was a
devoted father and loving son, a constant husband and loyal friend, an
outstanding student and solid professional.
Mr. Fyfe grew up in North Carolina and attended the University of
North
[[Page S10688]]
Carolina at Chapel Hill, where he majored in economics and philosophy.
At Chapel Hill, Mr. Fyfe's lightning intellect flourished; he was
equally at home both inside and outside his chosen disciplines. His
instructors describe Karleton as a prodigy, the kind of student who
makes teaching exciting, rewarding, and easy.
Mr. Fyfe served his family and his country as a successful member of
America's financial community in Boston, working as an analyst with
Fidelity Investments for eight years before joining John Hancock as a
telecom analyst in January. As a financial analyst, he would tell his
friends of the seriousness with which he took his important work:
``These are people's lives'' is how he would describe the retirement
accounts in his care.
Mr. Fyfe's family and friends all remember his unique, disarming
sense of humor, a quality he used to overcome awkward moments and often
to make a point. He died, and his voice has been silenced, but those
who had the honor of knowing Karleton are certain that he would have
views about his country's reaction to the horror that took his life.
A close friend imagined that Karleton might say: ``If you must go to
war, be sure somebody is in charge of protecting the innocent. Make
sure that our country emerges from this enterprise having improved the
condition of all the women and children it will inevitably affect.''
Let us take a moment to hear those words. If he thought they could be
heard in this forum, Mr. Fyfe would have been glad to give his life in
the service of his family, his profession, his country, and the
innocent.
I ask consent that two important insertions into the Record be in
order. The first will be the text of Mr. Fyfe's death notice as
published in the Raleigh News and Observer on Thursday, September 13,
2001; it reiterates the profound loss suffered by his family and
friends, and it emphasizes the message, which must emerge from his
death, of protecting the innocents. The second is an account of Mr.
Fyfe's character, friendship, and sense of humor, written by his dear
friend, Ric Schellhorn, as published in the Raleigh News and Observer
on Tuesday, September 18, 2001; it characterizes Karleton's humanity
and humor as only a best friend can.
I now ask consent, that the two documents be printed in the Record.
There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in
the Record, as follows:
Karleton Douglas Beye Fyfe
Durham.--Karleton Douglas Beye Fyfe's life was taken
yesterday on AA flight 11 by the hatred that so poisons part
of our humanity--he would not want us to take revenge on
innocent people for this cruel, senseless act.
Karleton was born in San Antonio, Texas on a warm, sunny
February 10th in 1970. He spent his growing up years in
Durham County and graduated from Southern High. He majored in
philosophy and economics at UNC and then worked for Fidelity
Investments of Boston for eight years. During that time he
married Haven Conley from the Chapel Hill-Durham area, earned
a Masters degree in business from Boston University and a CFA
certificate, and became father to Jackson before joining the
John Hancock Company as a financial analyst in January of
this year.
He is survived by his wonderful wife Haven, his adoring son
Jackson of 19 months, his parents, Barbara and Jim of Durham,
his older sister Tiffany Tanguilig and husband Larry of
Alpharetta, GA, his younger sister Erin Yang and husband Carl
of Cambridge, MA, his niece and nephew Sydney and Tyler
Tanguilig, and his many loving relatives, friends and
associates.
Karleton's quick wit, gracious friendliness, keen
intelligence and loving family loyalty will be missed by us
all.
A memorial service will be held at the Community Church of
Chapel Hill at a time to be arranged later. In lieu of
flowers the family would be happy to see any donations made
to the Orange Durham Coalition for Battered Women in
Karleton's name.
____
Point of View: One Among the Thousands
(By Eric Schellhorn)
San Diego.--Three of us were on the phone the other night
reminiscing about our friend when all at once, for a few
long, uncomfortable seconds, everyone stopped talking.
Karleton--Karleton D.B. Fyfe, formerly of Durham and Chapel
Hill--would have savored the moment: ``Pretty cool awkward
silence we got going here,'' he'd have piped up, as he always
did when a sober moment rudely encroached on an otherwise
loose and limber good time. It was a stock Karleton line, one
of his trademarks. Try it sometime. See if anyone in the room
can keep a straight face, even if you happen to be talking
about the absurd, violent death of a dear friend.
``Writing about me for The N&O, huh?'' I hear him saying
now, deadpan as you please. ``Don't forget to tell them all
what a handsome devil I was. And remember to spell `genius'
right. Big newspapers hate typos.''
I won't reduce a dignified and accomplished young life to a
series of one-liners, but making an indelible impression on
people's senses of humor strikes me as an even more lofty
accomplishment than the ones you'll read in his formal bio:
31-year-old telecom-industry analyst for John Hancock, MBA
from Boston University, earned at night some years back while
working full-time for a major mutual fund broker. Those are
just the facts, man, and they don't tell you the part of the
story that's most worth remembering.
He was a junior from Durham majoring in economics and
philosophy when I met him as a first-year grad student at
UNC-Chapel Hill. In anyone else, you might have dismissed
that incongruous pairing of academic pursuits as an
affectation, or a resume-builder. For Karleton, reading Kant
or Hegel was the perfect antidote to a steady diet of Keynes
and Adam Smith. He'd say: ``The best part about reading
brilliant economists and brilliant philosophers is that now I
have no clue what people in two completely different
disciplines are talking about.''
Most lives worth remembering embody just these kinds of
contradictions: economics and philosophy, class-clown with a
work ethic that kept him away from his wife and young son far
more than he would have liked, new-era Southern gentleman who
inexplicably found himself working shoulder-to-shoulder with
Harvard grads in the financial heart of Boston Brahmin
country, connoisseur of both Tar Heel baseball caps and fine
European-tailored suits.
Back at school, you might have watched him schlep his 6-
foot-4 frame around in khaki shorts and T-shirts for three
straight months, but you wouldn't have considered trucking
out to a morning job interview without rousing him from a
sound sleep and asking if the jacket or slacks you'd picked
out for yourself made you look like an apprentice
televangelist. On one such occasion, I wandered into
Karleton's room in the house we shared at school for just
this kind of fashion consultation. Chucking diplomacy to the
breeze, he wordlessly sized me up, went to his own closet and
picked out a necktie of his own that, as he later put it, was
a little less ``Carnaby Street.''
There are people you're proud to call friends, and then
there are people whose friends you're proud to be. I always
felt I got the better end of our bargain. When Karleton asked
me to be the best man at his wedding in 1994, it was like
being nominated to an elite inner circle. I repaid the
distinction by getting the flu on the morning of his nuptials
and passing out cold, mid-ceremony in the early October North
Carolina heat. An hour later, the vows exchanged in my
absence, he came inside to the couch where I was recovering,
threw his arms around me, and said, without a trace of
annoyance, ``Thanks for giving us the only wedding video in
history that'll be worth watching in slo-mo.''
Armchair psychologists will tell you people who respond
reflexively to tragic or unpleasant events with a joke or
offhand remark are invoking a classic little pain-saving
defense mechanism called ``reaction formation.''
Karleton was a world-class reaction-former. I can't say for
sure, but my guess is that if he'd been watching Tuesday's
events on TV at home, rather than sitting on a plane bound
for Los Angeles, he would have summed everything up with a
vintage understatement: ``Man, whoever did all this . . .
they're gonna have to give back a lot of those humanitarian
awards.''
____________________