[Congressional Record Volume 150, Number 54 (Monday, April 26, 2004)]
[Senate]
[Pages S4344-S4345]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
TRIBUTE TO MARY McGRORY
Mr. DASCHLE. Madam President, today is the funeral of another
American. This American fought for 50 years, in her own inimitable way,
to defend the ideals of our democracy.
Mary McGrory was the most elegant political writer I have ever known,
and one of the bravest. She loved many things in life: a well-told
tale, a good joke, good books, good dogs, orphans, lazy August days in
Italy, time with her family in Boston, and almost everything about her
Irish-American heritage. Most of all, Mary McGrory loved politics and
newspapering. I sometimes thought she had newspaper ink in her veins.
She never tired of asking questions, chasing stories or writing truth.
I can't count the number of times that I have held press briefings in
the hallway just off this floor, surrounded by two or three dozen
reporters, all jostling for position. And there, among them, was Mary,
reporter's notebook in hand. She was 40, 50 years older than some of
the other reporters, but there she was, in the thick of it. She didn't
need to be there. She could have asked a colleague to pose her question
for her and relay the answer to her. But that was not the way of Mary
McGrory. She had an extraordinary eye for the telling detail. She
wanted to see and hear things herself, and form her own judgments.
President Nixon put her on his enemies list, but many of us adored her.
In the last year, a stroke robbed Mary of her legendary ability to
find just the right word. But she remained a passionate observer of
politics and of life. Many of us hoped that she might regain her
mastery of words and resume writing. If anyone could conquer the
ravages of a stroke, Mary seemed like a likely candidate. But Mary will
live through her words. She was an American treasure.
Many times this past year, I have missed Mary's wise voice. I am sure
I will miss her often in the future, too. These are hard times for our
Nation. We could use Mary's insight, her passionate commitment to peace
and her fierce belief in democracy. Fortunately, Mary has left us more
than a half-century of extraordinary work--work for which she won a
Pulitzer Prize and the respect of untold millions. There is more than
enough beauty, wit and wisdom in her words to last a lifetime.
I am honored to have known Mary McGrory. My thoughts and prayers are
with her family and her many, many friends. We have lost a legend.
Mary's cousin, Brian McGrory, is a columnist for the Boston Globe.
Last November, he wrote a column for the Washington Post about what he
called ``the amazing journey that is Mary McGrory's life'' and ``one of
the most important, colorful and enduring newspaper careers that the
American public has had the pleasure to experience.'' The headline on
the column was ``The Best I'll Ever Know.''
I ask unanimous consent that his column be printed in the Record.
There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in
the Record, as follows:
[From the Washington Post, Nov. 11, 2003]
The Best I'll Ever Know
(By Brian McGrory)
Today, I ask your indulgence. I'm about to commit the
boorish act of bragging about a relative, and I'm hoping
you'll understand why.
Mary McGrory is my cousin. Merely typing those words fills
me with pride. For the unknowing, she's a Post columnist, a
lion of the left, winner of the Pulitzer Prize.
Born in Roslindale and educated in Boston, she has written
about the world's most significant events for nearly 50
years. People still quote her words from the Kennedy
assassinations. She landed prominently on President Nixon's
enemies list. The elder George Bush once lamented in his
private journal, ``She has destroyed me over and over
again.''
I raise these points because in the amazing journey that is
Mary McGrory's life, this has been a bittersweet week.
Wednesday in New York she received the John Chancellor Award
for Excellence in Journalism, but a sad reality came clear
amid the laudatory words and the applause.
Mary fell ill in March, and eight months later she has yet
to fully recover. Barring a breakthrough, she has probably
written the last of her syndicated columns, ending one of the
most important, colorful and enduring newspaper careers that
the American public has had the pleasure to experience.
While most Washington pundits closet themselves with their
own profound thoughts, interrupted only by lunch at the Palm
with the secretary of Something, Mary employs old-fashioned
tools: a sensible pair of shoes, a Bic and a notebook. She
haunts congressional hearings. She sits with the unwashed in
the back of the White House briefing room.
And after finding her perpetually lost keys and remembering
where she parked, she rushes back to The Post to create
elegantly understated prose, on point and on deadline.
Times have changed in the news business, but Mary never
has. Technology baffles her, and I'm not talking about Palm
Pilots and Blackberries. I mean the answering machine and the
computer. I've received countless voice mails from her that
proceed: ``Hello?'' Pause. ``Cousin?'' Pause. ``Click.'' In a
rant against Toshiba, she once wrote, ``I came along in an
era when the transmission of one's copy did not require an
advanced degree from MIT,'' adding of the old days, ``all I
had to carry was my portable typewriter, and I never really
carried that.''
Indeed, from the very beginning, she mastered the role of
the helpless naif. On her many campaign trips, if her
colleagues aren't carrying her jumble of bags, then the
candidate probably is. No one is exempt; to her, I'm more
porter than reporter.
But that's just part of the deal. The reward is an
invitation to Sunday supper. Members of Congress from both
parties, diplomats, newshounds and activists gather regularly
to dine on her lasagna and sing Irish songs. Newcomers are
first sent to work in her garden; George Stephanopoulos might
still be fertilizing her impatiens but for Bill Clinton's
victory in 1992.
Her one true love was the Washington Star--``just a
wonderful, kind, welcoming, funny place, full of eccentrics
and desperate people,'' she once told an interviewer. Star
editor Newby Noyes plucked her from the anonymity of the book
section in 1954 to cover the Army-McCarthy hearings with the
advice, ``Write it like a letter to your favorite aunt.''
When the Star closed in 1981, she went to the more formal
newsroom of The Post, where she liked to remind people of the
fun they didn't have. Still, its staff and owners have poured
out their hearts to her since she fell ill, with a generosity
like a throwback to another time.
Hers is a world of soft irony. She checks into elaborate
spas in Italy every year, but while there always gains a few
pounds. She was audited during the Nixon administration and
got a refund. At a stiff Washington party, she once whispered
to me, ``Always approach the shrimp bowl like you own it.''
Blood aside, in my chosen field, she's the best I'll ever
know, and that's the joy and the sadness of it all.
[[Page S4345]]
Mr. DASCHLE. I yield the floor and suggest the absence of a quorum.
The PRESIDING OFFICER. The clerk will call the roll.
The legislative clerk proceeded to call the roll.
Mr. ALEXANDER. Madam President, I ask unanimous consent the order for
the quorum call be rescinded.
The PRESIDING OFFICER. Without objection, it is so ordered.
____________________