[Congressional Record Volume 165, Number 46 (Thursday, March 14, 2019)]
[Senate]
[Pages S1856-S1857]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                          TRIBUTE TO ``STEW''

  Mr. McCONNELL. Madam President, on a completely different matter, few 
of us can aspire to the fame and fortune that are signified when a 
celebrity is known by just one name.
  There is Cher; there was Prince; there is Madonna; and there is 
``Stew.'' Everybody knows Stew--not Don Stewart, certainly not Don, 
just Stew.
  For more than 12 years, Stew has been the larger-than-life 
personality patrolling the Ohio Clock corridor, camping out in the 
Press Gallery, and prowling the hallways of the Capitol complex--the 
guy who knows everything about policy, procedure, and communications 
with the office just off the Senate floor.
  Stew is one of the best known staff members in all of Congress. It 
has been my great fortune to lean heavily on him every single day for 
more than a decade as my communications director and deputy chief of 
staff.
  So, you can imagine, it is proving difficult to grasp that today is 
the very last workday I will have Stew by my side. After serving so 
well for so long, he is taking a leave--shall we say--for greener 
pastures.
  So, this morning, I am exacting a little revenge. I am doing the one 
thing I suspect will make my deputy chief of staff's stomach churn more 
than anything else. I am actually turning the spotlight on him.
  Now, the complete ``Legend of Stew'' is somewhat of a winding tale. 
This scrappy son of Riverside, CA, did not stroll a typical path to the 
corridors of power.
  What came after high school was work, including what I understand was 
a spell as a bouncer. I am certain that position offered no useful 
preparation at all for wrangling our distinguished friends in the press 
corps. Then came Army service, then back to school in Georgia, and then 
politics.
  Our late colleague Senator Coverdell hired Stew to represent him with 
his constituents down in Georgia. Not long after, he asked him to 
relocate to Washington.
  The way I understand it, the ink was barely dry on Stew's lease, and 
the unpacking had just started when his boss tragically passed away, 
but Stew landed on his feet. He found his way to a pair of tough 
Texans, handling press for Senator Phil Gramm and then Senator Cornyn. 
He became famous as the communications director who could outsmart 
everybody and outwork everybody in a town where it is very hard to do 
either.
  That is where Stew caught my eye. As I prepared, in 2006, for the 
possibility of becoming Republican leader, I knew we would need the 
most sophisticated communications shop a Senate leader had ever 
constructed, and it was clear Stew was the guy to build it.
  Something else quickly became clear too. Stew was not quite like 
anybody else any of us had ever met before. One former colleague 
recalls that Stew would end a phone call with a plan already formed in 
his mind, then push off his desk with both hands, sending his rolling 
chair rocketing backward and slamming into the wall behind him. That 
high-octane crash was the official notification that Stew was about to 
make something happen. ``It was really endearing,'' this colleague 
explained, ``in retrospect.''
  Restless energy has always been Stew's calling card. Every news 
story, every request from reporters, every shift in public sentiment, 
Stew was literally on top of it all. Seven days a week, almost 
literally 24 hours a day.
  I was recently reminded that, in Stew's early days with me, some 
around the Capitol questioned whether he was an actual person or some 
kind of automated email system our office had built to blast out memos 
and bulletins literally around the clock.
  The instant mobile devices started to provide email alerts, Stew's 
bat-like sleeping habits and inexhaustible work ethic probably rendered 
half the alarm clocks in Washington completely obsolete.
  Questions, answers, press clippings, battle plans, they would pour 
into inboxes until after midnight, pause for a couple of hours, and 
resume before anyone else had even woken up, but circadian rhythms 
weren't the only thing Stew's presence reprogrammed. His energy, his 
careful foresight, his patriotism, all these things were just as 
infectious.
  As our chief spokesman, key strategist, close adviser, team leader, 
morale-builder, resident dog lover, heavy metal music aficionado, and 
happy warrior, Stew helped me in my office through the Iraq war, the 
financial crisis, seismic policy battles, nomination debates, three 
different Presidents, and two reelection campaigns.
  No matter what the day brought, I always knew what my deputy chief of 
staff would bring--razor-sharp instincts, a level head, a steady hand, 
and a boatload of integrity. For more than 12 years, I entrusted Stew 
with my words, my goals, and my reputation, and he has never let me 
down. He never flagged. He never slowed. Our watchdog never lost a 
step. He is totally trustworthy, completely reliable, and unbelievably 
competent--the greatest luxury a leader could have.
  With these characteristics, you might think the person I am 
describing could be a little stiff, a little stern. Maybe that energy 
would occasionally boil over into harsh words or heated moments. But, 
remember, Stew is a bit of an unusual guy. That intensity doesn't 
overflow into frustration or unkindness or sharp words; instead, it 
overflows into generosity, good-heartedness, and compassion.
  Stew is famous around Washington for his encyclopedic memory of 
birthdays, kids' birthdays, and anniversaries. Like clockwork, notes 
and greeting cards arrive, and texts and emails roll in. What I am 
saying is that work challenges aren't the only thing Stew is good at 
keeping in perspective. I was reminded of that fact a few months back 
when Stew brought his mother, Nancy, to visit here in the Senate. For 
all the history Stew has helped make, for every victory when he has 
allowed himself a brief smile, his colleagues aren't sure they have 
ever seen him happier than when he was ushering his mom around the 
corridors and showing her all he has built.
  For all Stew's own accomplishments, we aren't sure we have ever seen 
him prouder than when he brags on his daughter Kylie. Lately, that has 
meant her career in software engineering and the apps she has created. 
Stew loves his family. He is loyal to his family. It is just our good 
luck that he came to see the Senate as part of that family as well.
  My former chief of staff reminded me of the day he brought his boys 
to work. Stew loves kids, so he made a beeline, but one son felt a 
little shy. Instead of shrugging and walking away, it somehow occurred 
to Stew to say this: ``Did you know I could do a standing jump right 
onto that table right there?'' One more time for good measure--he is 
kind of a unique individual. The boy was understandably perplexed, but 
then this friendly stranger crouched down and leapt right up onto the 
table, with tie, dress shoes, and everything--a total spectacle, just 
to put that young man at ease and coax a smile. That is not your 
typical Senate moment, but that is the thing--for me and

[[Page S1857]]

for all of Stew's colleagues, that level of good cheer and concern for 
others really has been typical for a dozen years.
  That is why his departure has triggered an avalanche of tributes from 
people all over Washington and beyond, people--many of them junior 
people--whom he wrote back with advice, met for coffee, shared some 
wisdom; this sprawling family tree of men and women who all feel that, 
one way or another, they owe a significant part of their success and 
careers to him. On that note, I have to say I know exactly how they 
feel.
  So today I have to say goodbye to an all-star staff leader who took 
his job about as seriously as anybody you will ever meet but who took 
himself far less seriously than most people you will ever meet in the 
process. Professional excellence and personal humility are rare 
virtues. Having a heavy dose of either is impressive, but only the 
combination can explain Stew. There are plenty of people in this town 
who haven't tackled nearly the challenges or rubbed nearly the elbows 
he has, but you better believe their egos dwarf his. His resume looks 
like he belongs in fancy cocktail parties in tony neighborhoods, but I 
am not positive Stew would even be allowed into a fancy cocktail party. 
Regardless, I doubt he would find much time for the elite guests; he 
would be too engrossed in conversation with the security guards, valet 
parking attendants, hospitality staff, talking Nationals baseball and 
everything else under the Sun with the people who actually made the 
thing go.
  Never before yesterday had I seen a large number of Capitol police 
officers gather to surprise a departing Senate staffer and send him off 
as if he were one of their own. That is the admiration and love that 
Stew has for the men and women who keep us safe--and vice versa. I know 
nothing I say today will really compete with that tribute. The only 
kind of man who would earn that sort of salute is the kind of man who 
would prize it above and beyond any fancy praise offered in a place 
like this. Don't get me wrong. Stew reveres this institution, but he 
never once seemed to covet the trappings or the power for its own sake; 
he just seemed honored to serve.
  My colleagues and I are sad to bid farewell to the Senate staffer who 
made himself thoroughly famous by trying not to make himself famous. We 
are sorry to part with our tough-talking workaholic who can't bypass a 
cute puppy without stopping for a good scratch and a photo shoot. We 
will sorely miss our true-blue patriot who so loves this country where 
a kid can grow up from working odd jobs to counseling Senators and 
statesmen and not lose an ounce of his character along the way.
  Stew, we can't quite imagine a place without you, but we are so 
grateful for what you have made it while you were here.
  Happy trails, buddy.

                          ____________________