[Congressional Record Volume 160, Number 42 (Thursday, March 13, 2014)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Page E372]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                      TRIBUTE TO MRS. ANNE TIDWELL

                                  _____
                                 

                          HON. DANNY K. DAVIS

                              of illinois

                    in the house of representatives

                        Thursday, March 13, 2014

  Mr. DANNY K. DAVIS of Illinois. Mr. Speaker, one of the great 
pleaures that I have had as an elected official has been getting to 
know families like that of Mr. & Mrs. Tidwell, whom I met doing what is 
called community organizing. Mrs. Annie Tidwell was blessed to possess 
one of God's greatest gifts, the ability to cook. She of course was an 
avid churchgoer, a wonderfully engaged Christian and churchgoer, one 
who looked after her husband and family, and their home was always open 
for civic and community activities.
  Some of my best block club remembrances took place in the Tidwell 
home because everybody in the neighborhood knew that if you were at the 
Tidwells' there would be a great environment and some of the best food 
on this side of heaven.
  The Tidwell family is a prime example of what has been the 
underpinning of Black development in this country, making use of 
whatever skills, talents, training and hard work they could produce. 
For many years Mr. Tidwell was my plumber and together, the two of them 
were stalwarts in the Austin Community and great friends to everyone. 
It seems as though the poet Sam Walter Foss must have had them in mind 
when he wrote, the House by the side of the Road.

                   The House by the Side of the Road

     There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
     In the place of their self-content;
     There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,
     In a fellowless firmament;
     There are pioneer souls that blaze the paths
     Where highways never ran--
     But let me live by the side of the road
     And be a friend to man.
     Let me live in a house by the side of the road
     Where the race of men go by--
     The men who are good and the men who are bad,
     As good and as bad as I.
     I would not sit in the scorner's seat
     Nor hurl the cynic's ban--
     Let me live in a house by the side of the road
     And be a friend to man.
     I see from my house by the side of the road
     By the side of the highway of life,
     The men who press with the ardor of hope,
     The men who are faint with the strife,
     But I turn not away from their smiles and tears,
     Both parts of an infinite plan--
     Let me live in a house by the side of the road
     And be a friend to man.
     I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead,
     And mountains of wearisome height;
     That the road passes on through the long afternoon
     And stretches away to the night.
     And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice
     And weep with the strangers that moan,
     Nor live in my house by the side of the road
     Like a man who dwells alone.
     Let me live in my house by the side of the road,
     Where the race of men go by--
     They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
     Wise, foolish--so am I.
     Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat,
     Or hurl the cynic's ban?
     Let me live in my house by the side of the road
     And be a friend to man.

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