[Congressional Record Volume 170, Number 74 (Tuesday, April 30, 2024)]
[Senate]
[Page S3075]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                              2024 ECLIPSE

  Mr. WELCH. Mr. President, the eclipse was a momentous occasion for 
Vermont, bringing more than 160,000 people to our State. I am 
especially thankful to our emergency personnel, law enforcement, and 
small business owners who handled the busy weekend with grace. Everyone 
viewing ``totality'' in the Green Mountain State, whether they were 
locals or visiting for the first time, experienced something that was 
pretty special: the beauty of our State.
  Steven Pappas, publisher and executive editor of the Times Argus and 
Rutland Herald, summarized the celestial spectacle in his editorial 
titled ``Overshadowed'' and published April 9. I ask unanimous consent 
that it be printed in the Record.
  There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in 
the Record, as follows:

                 [From the Times Argus/Rutland Herald]

                              Overshadowed

                           (By Steven Pappas)

       It lived up to the hype.
       While there are those individuals who went out of their way 
     to voice certain disappointment, the vast majority of 
     Vermonters and humanity who witnessed Monday's total solar 
     eclipse seem to agree the rare astronomical union was worth 
     waiting for.
       It took patience for it to arrive, but the few minutes of 
     the totality in Vermont drew gasps and cheers heard in 
     crowds. There were many hugs, and more than a few tears of 
     joy. It had a profound effect.
       On Tuesday, eyewitnesses were overjoyed to share their 
     photos and stories about the eclipse. And while we all--more 
     or less, thanks to a clear, sunny day in the Green Mountain 
     State--saw the same thing, we each brought a piece of 
     ourselves to the moment.
       Save a few naysayers, the eclipse united us briefly. The 
     day had the feel of a holiday, with picnics and barbecues; 
     laughter and anticipation. Folks were going out of their way 
     to share the moment with others who might not be in the path 
     of totality.
       It has also been impressive, in hearing the various 
     debriefings and anecdotes, just how much one thought 
     overshadowed all others: We needed that common space.
       Whether you were standing alone, gazing skyward; or you 
     were crammed together on the State House steps or along the 
     Burlington waterfront, the unity above transcended all else.
       The moment reminded us of a series of editorials we wrote 
     back in 2020, at a time when we all came together under less 
     joyous circumstances: the COVID-19 pandemic.
       At that time, we wrote about how fear and tragedy were 
     uniting us because the coronavirus did not distinguish 
     between us. In those early days, if you will recall, it felt 
     as though if you ``got COVID'' it was akin to a potential 
     death sentence. Over time, and vaccines, those fears abated 
     somewhat, but we still followed the numbers and our concern 
     over public health was kept going for months--and in certain 
     circumstances--years.
       Monday's eclipse, which had been calculated down to the 
     minute (and those mathematical predictions were absolutely 
     spot on), provided the expected darkness (in dramatic effect) 
     but it continued out of totality, and the light returned. As 
     we felt the warm sun on our faces once again, there was hope 
     and jubilation. We knew it was coming, but it was still a bit 
     unexpected.
       Individuals with hours of waiting in vehicles ahead of them 
     were--for a brief period of time--giddy over the show in the 
     sky. They did not care much about the traffic jam awaiting. 
     It stripped us of worry.
       Other parts of the country had cloud cover. Across Vermont, 
     though, we got (at least according to most scientific 
     experts) the best of the show. It was unobstructed, and it 
     shone brightly into our hearts.
       The moon's shadow fell across all stripes of people. Your 
     station in life did not matter; nor did your political 
     leanings; nor did your place along the gender spectrum; nor 
     was your race a factor in what happened in the sky. We were 
     all citizens of the universe; and we were became witnesses of 
     history, plain and simple.
       So, yeah, we needed that.
       Because as soon as the eclipse headed northeast to northern 
     New Hampshire, Maine and the Canadian Maritimes, and then off 
     the North American continent, the news cycle returned with 
     its four horsemen. The bickering and sniping was right there 
     waiting. The hardships and anxiety crept back onto the scene. 
     Hate had just been hiding in the shadow.
       The moment passed.
       What our editorial board is hoping for now is that the 
     enthusiasm, and the moment we felt as that rare sight united 
     us, does not lose all of its momentum. We hope that as most 
     of us look fondly back on eclipse day, the emotion of being 
     awestruck alongside family, friends, neighbors and strangers 
     proves to have a lasting place in our laughter, on how we 
     carry ourselves, and well beyond (and through) the rigors of 
     life that are already hard enough.
       In describing their eclipse day on Tuesday, it was striking 
     how many individuals described themselves as feeling 
     ``overwhelmed'' by this smallest change--light and darkness 
     well out of place in a normal day. Others suggested that they 
     had been at a loss for words as the world around them fell 
     into a shadow, as if a hush were carried with it. They 
     struggle, as we do, for the best descriptor of the oddity.
       But when those dark glasses could come-off, and we all took 
     in the same world we had always known, just bathed in the 
     brightest, natural darkness we could probably ever know, we 
     felt it--we did not just see it. It affected us at a cellular 
     level, a spiritual level, and it inspired awe.
       We all shared one line of thinking: ``Can you imagine if 
     you didn't know what this was? Can you imagine what those 
     people seeing it must have thought? Can you imagine their 
     fear?''
       In mere moments, the sun returned to shining brightly, 
     resuming its place in our predictable lives, and we started 
     to forget that shared concern for the legion of witnesses 
     long dead.
       It should not always take a pandemic nor an eclipse to 
     allow us an opportunity to measure the magnitude of our 
     humanity. Simply, it should take the sun coming up every 
     morning to inspire us to create our own awe, and inspire 
     ourselves and the others around us to share kindness and 
     commonality.
       Apparently, as we witnessed, it happens naturally.

                          ____________________