[Congressional Record Volume 160, Number 16 (Tuesday, January 28, 2014)]
[House]
[Pages H1433-H1434]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
A QUIET LEGACY OF CONVICTION
The SPEAKER pro tempore. The Chair recognizes the gentleman from
South Carolina (Mr. Gowdy) for 5 minutes.
[[Page H1434]]
Mr. GOWDY. Mr. Speaker, one of the most enjoyable parts of our job is
speaking to children at schools, and you get some tough and interesting
questions. A couple of months ago, a precious child at a school in
upstate South Carolina asked me who was the most famous person I had
ever met. That is a very good question, I told the child. I have met
President Bush; I have met President Obama; I have met John Lewis; I
have met Paul Ryan; I have met Bono, the lead singer of U2; I have met
McGruff, the Crime Dog--I have even met Tim Scott--but I told the child
the most famous person I had ever met was his teacher, and we all
smiled and laughed.
But it did get me thinking, Mr. Speaker, that we are surrounded by
fame. We fly into an airport named for Reagan. We work in a town named
for Washington. We pass monuments to Jefferson and Lincoln and Dr.
King. The buildings we work in are named for famous people, and within
those buildings are statues and portraits of still more famous people.
We are surrounded by fame, Mr. Speaker, and it is easy to forget that,
while those people made contributions to our country, the country was
built, is being built, and will continue to be built by average,
ordinary women and men who lead quiet lives of conviction and courage--
average folks doing above average things, ordinary folks doing
extraordinary things. That is the essence of who we are as a people,
and while there may not be a monument or a portrait dedicated to those
ordinary men and women, there is something even better, and it is
called a legacy. So, in honor of those women and men, Mr. Speaker, who
lead quiet lives of conviction, I want to honor a man who was just like
them.
Bruce Cash was a pharmacist in my hometown of Spartanburg. He was
buried last week--way too soon, in my opinion, but such are the ways of
the Lord. He was a pharmacist, so we saw him when we were sick, and
more importantly, we saw him when our children were sick. He was
compassionate, and he was kind, and he acted like you were the only
person he was taking care of that day. He was active in his church,
doing everything from driving a bus on choir tour, to being chairman of
the Board of Deacons, to taking his vacation time to chaperone other
people's children while they went and sang to prisoners in prisons.
He was a devoted father and husband. He and his wife, Kitty, had six
children and scores of grandchildren; and when you walked into his
pharmacy, Mr. Speaker, you didn't see his business license, and you
didn't see his pharmacy license--you saw a picture of his children. He
wanted to quietly signal to you that that was the most important thing
in his life.
I would tell you, Mr. Speaker, to look up Bruce Cash on the Internet,
but you are not going to find much. In fact, he never even bothered to
change the name of his pharmacy. He left on his pharmacy the name of
the man who owned it before him.
He had the quality that best defined the Lord Jesus that he believed
in, which is humility. He didn't want to talk about himself; he wanted
to talk about you. He didn't want to tell you his opinion; he wanted to
ask you your opinion. He didn't want to talk about his illness; he
wanted to talk about your illness. He didn't want to talk about how
life had dealt him an unplayable hand of cards; he wanted to talk about
grace and hope and things that last beyond our lifetime.
In conclusion, Bruce was humble, and he believed it was more
important to live a sermon than to preach one.
So I want to thank you, Bruce, for setting an example of average,
ordinary people building this country, and the next time a child asks
me who the most famous person is I have met, I will tell him it is you.
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