[Congressional Record Volume 153, Number 8 (Tuesday, January 16, 2007)]
[Senate]
[Pages S546-S547]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                 TRIBUTE TO LARRY STEWART, SECRET SANTA

  Mrs. McCASKILL. Mr. President, this afternoon I will have the 
glorious opportunity to travel to the White House to celebrate the 2006 
World Champion St. Louis Cardinals, and the echoes of the cheers of St. 
Louis I will hear.
  But today there are even stronger cheers coming from the angels in 
Heaven because today the angels in Heaven are cheering for a lifetime 
of kindness and compassion that belonged to the Missouri legend, Larry 
Stewart.
  Larry was known by many names--dad, son, husband, friend--but his 
favorite name was Secret Santa. This was a title that was given him by 
hundreds and thousands of anonymous people he had helped over the 26 
years that he had a very special way of celebrating our Christmas 
holiday.
  Larry Stewart knew something of the life of those he had helped, but 
like any legendary, larger-than-life superhero, he remained 
mysteriously anonymous until the closing days of his life. He grew up 
poor in Mississippi, later telling stories about how he resorted to 
sleeping in his car early on just to get by. He, in fact, was homeless.
  He told a story of how in 1971 he was eating in a diner, and when the 
time came to pay for his meal, he realized he didn't have the money. He 
saw a $20 bill had been dropped next to him on the counter, and he got 
the attention of the man he had seen drop the $20 bill. The man turned 
out to be the owner, and the $20 bill had been dropped on purpose. It 
was a subtle gift trying to not make Larry Stewart feel uncomfortable 
about not having the money to pay for his meal. Larry Stewart would 
never forget that moment.
  Years later in 1979, well into his career as a businessman, he faced 
his second Christmas season unemployed. Worried about how he was going 
to take care of his young family and receiving the news that he had 
just lost another job, he saw a carhop working outside in the cold with 
very little to keep her warm. Faced with the situation that his 
problems were not as serious as hers, he gave the woman a $20 tip, and 
the joy that $20 tip gave him began a tradition that lasted the next 26 
years of his life.
  I was lucky enough to be in his very wide circle of friends in Kansas 
City. I was even more fortunate because there was a time when he turned 
to me and said: Claire, would you like to go on a sleigh ride?
  I said of course, welcoming the opportunity to see Larry Stewart do 
what really no one else realized he was doing.
  The sleigh ride went something like this: We met at Larry's home 
early in the morning near Christmas. He wore always white overalls--he 
was a big man--white overalls with a bright red flannel shirt. We would 
sit in his kitchen drinking coffee. He would be exuberant with 
excitement as to what was going to happen that day. He would stuff his 
pockets with mountains of cash. His dear friend, Tom Phillips--then a 
sheriff's deputy, now the sheriff of Jackson County--would accompany us 
to make sure that our journey was safe, and off we would go in a large 
Suburban with another few fortunate friends to watch Santa do his work.
  He had a method. I asked him one time: Larry, how do you decide where 
you go to spread this money?
  He said: I try to go places where people are doing their best to get 
by.

  So we would travel to autopart stores where people at the Christmas 
season were trying to buy that battery to make that car work. We would 
travel to bus stops where he would love to find people dressed in fast-
food uniforms trying to catch a bus to work.
  The Suburban would slow down, and Larry would hop out. We would all 
get out. Quickly he would approach the people and stuff $100 bills in 
their hands and say: Merry Christmas.
  Astonished, these people would look up suspiciously, thinking that 
maybe something was wrong. Then they realized: It was just a wonderful, 
kind man spreading Christmas cheer.
  We would go into laundromats. We would go into 7-Elevens. We would go 
anywhere that Larry thought he would find people who were doing their 
best and having a difficult time making ends meet during the holiday 
season. I watched Larry Stewart hand out thousands and thousands of 
dollars to people who were astonished at his generosity, strangers he 
had never seen before and would never see again. Every Christmas, year 
after year, this was his tradition.
  Those sleigh rides I took with Larry Stewart are some of the most 
memorable days of my life. I will never forget the feelings that washed 
over me as I watched the true spirit of Christmas in operation.
  On every sleigh ride he would always find some special recipients. 
This was research he did ahead of time, trying to find families who 
were really in need. The stories that I have to tell of those special 
moments I can literally cry thinking of what I witnessed.
  I remember one instance where we drove to the suburbs of Kansas City 
and pulled up in front of a very modest home. I asked Larry what he was 
doing. He explained to me that there was a woman who lived in this 
house who had to get dialysis three times a week. She lived with her 
daughter. Her daughter was a single mom with three kids. They had a 
broken down van, and her daughter would have to arrange her three jobs 
she worked to try to take her mother into Kansas City for dialysis, and 
invariably the van would break down.
  Larry heard about this situation, and this was going to be one of his 
special Christmas gifts. He had a van outfitted with a handicap ramp 
for her wheelchair, a brandnew van, and he had it fixed up with a giant 
red bow. He had someone driving it who had a remote-controlled walkie-
talkie.
  Up we go to the front door of this house. Larry pounds on the door in 
his white overalls and red flannel shirt, and peeking through the door 
is the very suspicious daughter. I am standing over to the side 
watching all this.
  Larry says to this woman: Merry Christmas. I hear that you are having 
a

[[Page S547]]

hard time getting your mom to dialysis.
  You can hear her mother in the background saying: Who is it? Who is 
it? Who is it? Her mother, with difficulty, comes to the door and is 
standing just behind her daughter.
  This daughter says: Yes.
  You can see the broken down van in the driveway.
  Larry says: I want to try to help to see if we can't get your mom to 
dialysis with a little more reliability, and with that he talks into 
the walkie-talkie and says:
  Bring it around. And around the corner comes the new van with a big 
red ribbon on it. It pulls into the driveway, and with that, Larry 
hands the daughter an envelope with $10,000 in cash in it and says: 
Merry Christmas.
  He walks away and says: The title is in the van.
  Of course, you can imagine the reaction of these women--shocked, 
surprised, joy. And, of course, I am balling like a baby standing 
there, as all of us were. There were about four of us who watched this 
event.
  That is just one story I can tell, but imagine having the privilege 
of seeing that kind of scene played over and over several years in a 
row when I was fortunate enough to be on the sleigh ride. This was an 
extraordinary man.
  During the time he was playing Secret Santa in Kansas City and across 
our country, he gave out $1.3 million in cash. Kansas City was lucky 
enough to receive most of his gifts, but he also landed his sleigh 
frequently in his home State of Mississippi, Florida after the 
hurricanes, New Orleans after Katrina, New York after 9/11, and this 
past Christmas, his last, knowing that it was probably his last, he 
traveled to Chicago to spread cheer around his dear friend Buck 
O'Neil's neighborhood where Buck O'Neil grew up poor. Buck O'Neil was 
one of his best friends and, of course, another Kansas City legend we 
lost last year.
  He told the public about his role as Secret Santa last Christmas, so 
the world knew who Secret Santa finally was. Thousands of people who 
received his generous spirit contacted him in the closing days of his 
life. He called me on Christmas Eve to say this was the most special 
Christmas of all because of the outpouring of love he had felt from all 
of the people he had helped over the years. What Mr. Stewart, who had 
built a fortune from nothing, may have seen as a small holiday gift was 
actually a gesture of compassion so few experience or ever understand 
due to the frenetic pace of our lives.

  Known by his family and friends and colleagues for a soul born of 
kindness and warmth and a personality as unassuming as his generosity 
was great, Larry kept his identity under wraps until this year. He was 
diagnosed with esophageal cancer and in his last months his identity 
was revealed. When word spread, he was flooded with national media 
attention about which he could care less. Frankly, he didn't even want 
to handle it. But he was excited because he realized he had an 
opportunity to spread what he had done to others and hopefully have it 
catch on. He loved hearing the stories, but he continually said to all 
of us this was not about him. It was God's work. He was merely a 
servant of his Lord.
  I ask the Senate to join me in honoring and celebrating the life of 
Larry Stewart, Missouri's own Secret Santa. I ask that this 
distinguished body join me in extending our greatest sympathies to his 
family: Paulette, Joe, John, Kim, and Mark, and the thousands who, like 
me, were fortunate enough to call him a dear friend.
  Mr. Stewart's gifts of hope touched many recipients. However, the 
compassion that drove his generosity was contagious to all who knew him 
and that was even a greater gift. As we honor Larry today, let us 
rejoice in his life, remember his kindness, his sense of humor, and 
revel in his generosity. He was Santa. He was real, right down to the 
twinkle in his eye. He loved others as the good Lord intended. May his 
legacy of kindness always be a reminder to us all to spread hope and 
compassion to one another.
  Mr. President, I yield the floor.
  Mr. REID. Mr. President, I note the absence of a quorum.
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. The clerk will call the roll.
  The assistant legislative clerk proceeded to call the roll.
  Mr. REID. Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent that the order for 
the quorum call be rescinded.
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. Without objection, it is so ordered.

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