[Congressional Record Volume 156, Number 5 (Tuesday, January 19, 2010)]
[House]
[Page H172]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                    HONORING CARLOS HERNANDEZ GOMEZ

  The SPEAKER pro tempore. Under a previous order of the House, the 
gentleman from Illinois (Mr. Quigley) is recognized for 5 minutes.
  Mr. QUIGLEY. Madam Speaker, Isaac Asimov once said, ``If my doctor 
told me I had only 6 minutes to live, I wouldn't brood. I'd type a 
little faster.'' For our dear friend and journalist Carlos Hernandez 
Gomez, it wasn't a matter of if. A year ago he was diagnosed with 
cancer, and tragically this week, he lost his battle. He was 36 years 
young.
  For a year, Carlos never allowed a disease destroying him inside to 
show outside. He wrote, he reported, he lived. He never brooded. His 
courageous fight showed his strength as a person and a journalist 
committed to the ideals of a more responsive and transparent 
government.
  There have been countless tributes to Carlos this week, both humorous 
and tearful, from the interns he graciously mentored at Public Radio to 
the President of the United States, whom he tenaciously covered when no 
one outside of Springfield knew his name or how to pronounce it. That's 
because Carlos treated everyone like a person and made it impossible 
not to adore him. Whether it was a witty nickname or a spot-on 
impression of a politician, Carlos brought everyone down to Earth with 
his disarming sense of humor.
  He had an encyclopedic memory and an irrepressible hunger to learn. 
As a political reporter, those came in handy. He could remember names 
and details from election cycles and court cases as if it happened 
yesterday. As a person, this was just his nature. He asked his nurses 
about their families and could recall lyrics to obscure Beatles' songs 
without missing a beat.
  His energy was infectious, and his passion for life was unmistakable. 
To know him was to love him.
  Carlos attended Quigley Preparatory Seminary--no relation--and then 
studied philosophy at DePaul University. He once said that if he wasn't 
a reporter, he would have been a priest. He went on to work Extra News, 
Los Angeles' La Opinion, the Chicago Reporter, Chicago Public Radio, 
the Chicago Reader, and most recently, CLTV. With his trademark fedora 
and thick-rimmed black glasses, he was a throwback to a bygone era of 
journalism.
  Carlos had such an insatiable need to cram details, insight, and 
vivid description into his reports that his producers tried to slow 
down his quick delivery. While he heeded those words, he would sneak in 
at the very end of his pieces, seemingly reducing ``Carlos Hernandez 
Gomez'' to one syllable with a heartwarming Puerto Rican lilt. It was a 
trademark that became just as recognizable as his hat. His signoff was 
so familiar that taxi drivers who listened to him loyally on public 
radio and recognized his distinctive voice would often give him free 
rides.

  He was an old-school reporter, and he was a consummate Chicagoan who 
loved his town like family. He loved the official facets of the job, 
interviewing officials, pounding the pavement, working the political 
and court beats he knew so well. But he also knew that he could often 
get people at their most real on a barstool at the Billy Goat Tavern or 
over a pastrami sandwich at Manny's Deli.
  He covered the famous and the infamous, from Mayor Daley to Rod 
Blagojevich, from mob bosses to George Ryan, the news of whose 
indictment he was the first to break. He wasn't afraid to criticize the 
status quo, but he did so with such credibility that even the powers 
that be, whose feathers he'd ruffled, respected him. He was determined 
not to dumb down the news. He would rather do a thorough story about a 
complicated issue than a quick, superficial hit.
  His commitment to the truth was matched only by his unwavering faith, 
which he would tell you were one and the same. He also loved Star Wars, 
Italian beef, the guitar, and his beloved wife, Randi. At the hospital 
this weekend when someone said that he was leaving us too soon, that 36 
years wasn't enough, his brother Jason and his cousin Mark agreed but 
pointed out that he packed more life into 36 years than many of us 
could hope to do in twice the time. Today, it is hard to find solace in 
that revelation. For his family, friends, and all of us who knew 
Carlos, this is no way to begin 2010.
  On Sunday night, I heard some news about questionable choices made by 
a local candidate and smiled. This is exactly the kind of story that 
Carlos would have loved to cover, to find the truth and report it, 
meticulously and with panache.
  Even in death, Carlos Hernandez Gomez will brighten our days, and for 
that, we tip our fedoras and lift our bowed heads back up. He will be 
missed.

                          ____________________