[Congressional Record Volume 148, Number 113 (Tuesday, September 10, 2002)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Page E1538]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




         JOHNNIE ROSEBORO, LOS ANGELES DODGERS ALL-STAR CATCHER

                                 ______
                                 

                          HON. DIANE E. WATSON

                             of california

                    in the house of representatives

                      Tuesday, September 10, 2002

  Ms. WATSON of California. Mr. Speaker, it is with great sadness that 
I announce the passing of Johnnie Roseboro, an All-Star catcher for the 
Los Angeles Dodgers. John passed away on August 16 at Cedars-Sinai 
Medical Center in Los Angeles. He was 69.
  Johnnie Roseboro played in the major leagues from 1957 to 1970 with 
the Dodgers, Minnesota Twins, and Washington Senators (now the Texas 
Rangers). He was named to All-Star teams in 1958, 1961, 1962 and 1969, 
and won Gold Gloves for his defensive play in 1961 and 1966. Roseboro 
became the Dodgers' starting catcher in the team's first season in Los 
Angeles, replacing the legendary Roy Campanella who had been paralyzed 
in an auto accident.
  Roseboro was nicknamed ``Gabby'' by his teammates because he went 
about his business quietly and without fanfare. He always carried 
himself with dignity and class. These attributes are exemplified in the 
aftermath of the famous bat swinging incident in which San Francisco 
Giants pitcher Juan Marichal inflicted a two inch gash on Roseboro's 
forehead. The incident tarnished Marichal's reputation, who was only 
voted into baseball's Hall of Fame after Roseboro publicly stated that 
he thought Marichal was being unfairly kept out the Hall of Fame.
  Roseboro's nobility of mind and heart defined him in his life both on 
and off the baseball diamond. He is survived by his beloved wife, 
Barbara Fouch-Roseboro and daughter, Morgan Nicole Fouch-Roseboro and 
his children by a former marriage, daughters Shelley Roseboro, Staci-
Roseboro-Shoals, and Jaime Roseboro.
  In closing, I would like to enter into the Record the following 
eulogy to Mr. Roseboro, prepared by Oliver Herford.

            [lsqb]From the Eulogy for Johnnie Roseboro[rsqb]

               ``A Man is Known By the Silence He Keeps''

                          (By Oliver Herford)

       Some men walk through life making all a big ado. Puffing up 
     their chests when reminiscing on unremarkable past 
     accomplishments and feats. Opening wide their mouths to expel 
     dubious wisdom and conspiracies, tendering words upon words 
     upon words, but no meat.
       But other men forgo words and express their abilities in 
     deed. They do so simply, without fuss nor fanfare, dancing 
     nor prancing. They just step up to the plate, eye the ball 
     and swing. Sometimes, the ball grazes the tree tips and is 
     going . . . going . . . gone, or it may foul backward into 
     the stands. Regardless. For these few exceptional men, each 
     gesture--win or lose--is always authentic and with the full 
     weight of their being, forcing witnesses to pause, slack-
     jawed, in awe-inspired amazement.
       There is little wonder into which camp John Roseboro fell. 
     Ask anyone to describe him in two words and they would say 
     succinctly: No Bull. He was unapologetically comfortable in 
     his skin, to the core: you either got him or you didn't. For 
     him, there was little worthy of sweat. He would simply throw 
     up his hands and say, ``No big deal,'' and move on. He left 
     it to the critics to assess the long-term merit of his 
     accomplishments--for him, it was all in a day's work, nothing 
     more. He considered suggestions but, in the end, his instinct 
     would always trump any outside counsel.
       In spite of this characteristic, he made it utterly 
     impossible to be angry at him. But, thankfully, the same 
     worked in reverse. If you looked down to discover your feet 
     on the wrong side of his line, a simple apology would always 
     be followed by ``That's okay, Babe,'' and any trace of the 
     dispute would be immediately expunged.
       Although his urtle-like mien caused some strangers to 
     hesitate, his inner circle of friends and family knew the 
     hard outer shell merely served as protection for its precious 
     cargo--a tender and easily broken heart. This vulnerability 
     might uncover why it was this particular organ's weakness 
     that sparked his fifteen-year downward health spiral. 
     Although, admittedly, he did nothing to impede the descent.
       Even after enduring countless (okay, 54) hospital stays, 
     surgeries and treatments at Cedars Sinai alone, he maintained 
     an unyieldingly laissez-faire attitude toward improving his 
     condition. Yet it is the rare man whose friends and family 
     cannot utter a single negativity after fruitlessly imploring 
     him--for decades--to set down the Coke can, exercise, and 
     consider the fish section of the menu. But he would likely 
     have undergone a thousand colonoscopies of bypasses if it 
     meant any reprieve from the constant barrage of heart-health 
     suggestions, books, pills and tonics he received on a daily 
     basis. His food motto remained intact until the end: ``I'll 
     die with a full stomach and that's that.''
       Replacing words with such mottoes was just his way, each 
     comment whittled down to its essence and punctuated with a 
     saying for good measure. Favorites included ``Ain't nothin' 
     shakin' but the leaves,'' . . . ``God willin' and the creek 
     don't rise'' . . . and ``Is the Pope Catholic?''
       Sayings aside, John was definitely a laconic spirit--the 
     irony in his nickname, Gabby, was well-earned. But, as they 
     say, silence is a text easy to misread. Just ask anyone brave 
     enough to venture toward the back of the room and take a seat 
     next to him. His bulbous eyes voyeuristically scanning the 
     crowd, extracting vital bits of data to launch into an 
     anecdote or a unique observation. Between tales of the Glory 
     Days, life insights and off-colored jokes, they would 
     discover--as we already had--a man of infinite, yet 
     simplistic, wisdom blended with an understated hilarity. He 
     was the anti-thesis of the ``dumb jock.'' A voracious reader, 
     he would complete several books a month. In his later years, 
     he took countless adult education courses, honed his 
     considerable culinary talents and taught himself to use his 
     new computer to surf the internet.
       Although John was undeniably great on the ball field, his 
     greatest accomplishments lie in his legacy off the field. He 
     was generous in his purchases for loved ones, but his best 
     gifts were always of the non-monetary persuasion: 
     unparalleled insight, laughs, great stories and lots of love. 
     Any time spent with him was guaranteed to be an unforgettable 
     treat and its own reward.
       In short, John Roseboro was one of the best--and easiest--
     men you'd ever befriend. He was a loving husband, father, 
     brother, son, uncle and friend. His life force beats strongly 
     in the hearts of all who were blessed enough to share their 
     lives with him.
       John was born in Ashland, Ohio in 1933 to Cecil Geraldine 
     Lowery Roseboro and John Henry Roseboro. His only sibling was 
     James Alexander Roseboro.
       John Roseboro is survived by his beloved wife, Barbara 
     Fouch-Roseboro and daughter, Morgan Nicole Fouch-Roseboro and 
     his children by a former marriage, daughters Shelley Roseboro 
     and Staci Roseboro-Shoals (John), and son Jaime Roseboro 
     (Karen).
       Additional family members include grandchildren Ashley 
     Shoals, Amber Shoals, Kaitlyn Roseboro, Sydney Roseboro, 
     April Roseboro,; brothers-in-law James Walker, Kenneth 
     Walker, Jackie Millines; sisters-in-law Ifeoma Kwesi, Annie 
     Roseboro, Michelle Hollie, Andrea Frye and Yolanda Leary; 
     nephews Anthony M. Roseboro (Tia), Pearl Daniel White, 
     Sinclair Saunders; nieces Gayle Mitchell (Charles), Sabrina 
     Phillips, Latrice Westbury; great-nephews Alexander Roseboro, 
     Jermaine Mitchell, Orlando Mitchell, Kenyon Saunders, Ronaldo 
     Walker, Antonio Walker, Rico Walker, Norris Bray; great-
     nieces Shelbi Roseboro, Crystal Phillips, Summer Rain 
     Phillips; god-daughters Kaiyanna Frye, Alexandra Josephine 
     Richardson Jackson, and a host of other relatives and 
     friends.

     

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