[Congressional Record Volume 149, Number 76 (Wednesday, May 21, 2003)]
[Senate]
[Pages S6850-S6851]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                      IN MEMORY OF ISADORE LOURIE

 Mr. HOLLINGS. Mr. President, last month the citizens of South 
Carolina lost a legend with the passing of Isadore Lourie, and I wish 
to recognize the most progressive lawmaker our State has ever known.
  Izzy served three decades in the South Carolina statehouse. He came 
in 1964, right after my term as Governor was up, and back then the 
statehouse was made up of a bunch of segregationists and right wingers. 
But Izzy had a conscience, and he had a heart. He came in with this 
passion to turn things around for African-Americans and poor white 
citizens, and nobody was going to stop him.
  He led a group with Dick Riley and Joe Riley that became known as the 
Young Turks. They backed school integration and smoothed the road for 
bringing blacks and whites together in a calm way. Then they passed 
legislation in education, in health care, in economic development, in 
consumer protection, and the like. They may have been up against a 
brick wall of old-time thinking, but that didn't stop them from passing 
a progressive agenda that has had a profound impact on my State.
  This Senator will miss this very generous gentleman, and I want to 
share our Nation's sympathy to his wife Susan, and their children and 
grandchildren. To share with my colleagues just how much Izzy meant to 
all of us back home, I ask that this article about Izzy from The State, 
in Columbia, SC, be printed in the Record.
  The article follows:

                    [From the State, Apr. 26, 2003]

 Hundreds Say Goodbye to Beloved Legislator; Lourie Remembered as S.C. 
                 Progressive Who Fought the Good Fight

                         (By Valerie Bauerlein)

       Only in America, Isadore Lourie would say.
       Only in America would the son of immigrants become one of 
     the most powerful men in a state, by knowing the law and by 
     loving justice.
       Only in America would a freshman legislator in the 
     segregated 1960s stand up to the General Assembly's status 
     quo, and say ``enough''--if we introduce white students who 
     come to our gallery to watch justice work, we must introduce 
     black students as well.
       And perhaps only in America--his favorite phrase--would 
     almost a thousand people arrive two hours early, park in the 
     middle of the road, and pack Beth Shalom Synagogue to say 
     goodbye to Isadore Lourie, a man who never said ``no'' to 
     someone in need, not the elderly, the poor, strangers, 
     friends.
       Lourie, 70, died Thursday after a trying battle with 
     progressive supranuclear palsy, a rare brain disorder related 
     to Parkinson's disease. He suffered but he endured, his 
     family said at his funeral, living life throughout.
       Three weeks ago he was spotted at his grandson Sam's 
     baseball game, screaming at the ref.
       He was still enjoying a history class that he helped start. 
     Lourie's imagination took him back with Daniel in the lion's 
     den, Moses in Egypt.
       ``Confined to a wheelchair, he still soared,'' said Rabbi 
     Hesh Epstein of Chabad of South Carolina, an outreach and 
     educational organization.
       Lourie was a state House member and state senator from 1964 
     to 1992, lauded as a progressive who forced the state forward 
     on civil rights when it preferred not to move. He authored 
     legislation on public housing, affirmative action and aging.
       He also was a loving husband to his wife, Susan, a devoted 
     father and grandfather, and a dedicated believer.
       ``He was a great gentleman from a great state, but let us 
     not forget, a great Jewish gentleman from a great state,'' 
     said Rabbi Philip Silverstein of Beth Shalom.
       Lourie's sons had hoped to take him on a vacation last 
     August for his 70th birthday. He knew his time was drawing 
     short.
       They talked of taking him somewhere special, perhaps the 
     Bahamas. But his son Lance told mourners that his father 
     preferred to stay in Columbia and come to Beth Shalom: ``He 
     said he wanted to stay here, in this room, and that's what he 
     did, and he was happy.''

[[Page S6851]]

       Almost a thousand people packed the synagogue, which is 
     shaped like a butterfly, with the rabbi and other speakers in 
     the center. The wings were lined with hundreds of people in 
     chairs and pews, and dozens more standing along the walls.
       And although he was a public figure, and there were people 
     spilling out into the hallway, the funeral was an intimate, 
     almost a family, affair.
       Isadore Lourie's three sons eulogized him, fighting sobs.
       His oldest son, Lance, said he remembered angry phone calls 
     at the dinner table during the 1960s, when his father was 
     fighting unpopular fights.
       ``He said, 'I will not be intimidated, and I will not be 
     bullied,' and he wouldn't,'' Lance said. ``He would not let 
     his efforts on what he thought to be right to be thwarted.''
       He told how his father loved the phrase, ``only in 
     America,'' and what a privilege it was to have the 
     opportunity to fight for causes.
       His middle son, Joel, said too often, people say when they 
     have lost someone that they wish they had done this or said 
     that.
       ``My only wish is that he would not have gotten sick,'' 
     said Joel, his voice cracking. ``And we could've extended the 
     great times we had together.''
       Joel, a state representative since 1998, said his father 
     was one of God's special servants.
       ``I know that if not now, then soon, he will be organizing 
     and giving directions up in heaven and doing good work,'' 
     Joel said.
       The youngest son, Neal, shared his father's law practice 
     and said he would miss his hero, his motivation, his partner, 
     and most importantly, his father.
       ``My family used to always say that our father could hear 
     everything, no matter what he was doing,'' Neal said. That 
     was whether he was working or sleeping (and snoring), in 
     sight or out of sight.
       ``So I say this to my dad, as he rests peacefully in God's 
     hands today, that I know he can hear me. Thank you, God bless 
     you, I love you.''

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