[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 146 (2000), Part 16]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages 23056-23057]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]



                       EULOGY OF MARTIN T. MEEHAN

                                 ______
                                 

                         HON. MARTIN T. MEEHAN

                            of massachusetts

                    in the house of representatives

                       Tuesday, October 17, 2000

  Mr. MEEHAN. Mr. Speaker, on behalf of my mother, brothers and 
sisters, my Aunt Katherine and Uncle John, my cousins, and my entire 
family, I want to thank all of you for joining us today to help 
celebrate our father's life. We are all honored by your presence and 
are grateful for your support and affection over the last few days.
  I can imagine my father looking out at the long lines forming outside 
McCabe's Funeral Home yesterday. He would have said, ``Frankie McCabe 
must be giving something out for free!''
  Frank isn't, Dad, believe me.
  My father was born in Lowell on July 16, 1927 to Martin H. Meehan and 
Josephine Ashe Meehan. His father immigrated to the United States from 
County Claire, Ireland in 1912. His mother, who immigrated from County 
Kerry the year before, was a cousin of the great Irish patriot Thomas 
Ashe, who died during one of the first hunger strikes--in Ireland's 
fight for freedom in Mount Joy Jail in 1916.
  Thomas Ashe's picture was hung on the wall of his family home on 
Batchelder Street in the Acre Section of Lowell. In 1963, a portrait of 
President Kennedy was added.
  The Acre was where the Greek and Irish immigrants settled in Lowell. 
My father grew up there and he loved it. Swimming in the canals, 
playing baseball for St. Patrick's and Lowell High School, and building 
lifetime bonds. It was a neighborhood where the kids were tough and 
strong, and everyone had a nick-name--hence ``Buster.'' The Acre was 
where thousands of new immigrant families were becoming part of the 
great American Dream.
  In 1946 Dad met my mother at a party her cousin Maureen Gay had. Dad 
was not invited, he crashed. And my mother was glad he did. They were 
married three years later.
  My father had a saying for everything in life. Some of them really 
bugged me at times. But they all had a purpose and wisdom for how to 
lead a good life.
  ``One God, One Country, One Woman'' he used to say. That--one woman--
was my mother. He was passionately in love with her through 51 years of 
marriage. Their love for each other intensified and grew. I believe the 
love our father and mother shared for one another was extended to every 
person who was a part of their lives.
  I can remember as a very small boy first learning the concept of 
love. ``I love you kids with all my heart'', he'd say. ``But I love 
your mother even more''. ``But Dad'', I once replied, ``Who am I 
supposed to love more? You or Ma?'' ``You kids should love your mother 
the most'', he'd say. ``She gave birth to you.''
  First they lived in a tenement on Lincoln Street where Colleen and 
Kathy and I were born. Later they bought an eight room house the next 
street over at 22 London Street where they raised seven children in a 
home that was filled with love, laughter, energy . . . action 24 hours 
a day . . . a strong commitment to the Catholic Church and to family.
  It was a great neighborhood--and my father helped us spread our 
family's love all over it. And there isn't a better testament to that 
love--than our relationship with the Durkin family who had seven 
children of their own, just down the street. So many memories, so many 
stories.
  Visiting the ice cream stand with Dad was unforgettable. He would 
load all of us into the car with as many of our friends as would fit. 
He would ask us what we wanted. ``I'll have a banana split,'' I'd 
shout. My sisters would say, ``I'll have a hot fudge sundae.'' Our 
friends couldn't believe it--they would order a shake or double ice 
cream scoop with extra nuts, extra whipped cream!
  He'd take everyone's order and then go up to the line. ``Don't 
worry,'' he'd say, ``I'll carry it back''. Ten minutes later he'd 
return with 13 single cups of chocolate ice cream. ``That's all they'd 
had'' he'd shrug.
  Dad was also a very successful little league coach. On Dad's White 
Sox team everyone played--at least three innings. I remember how 
embarrassed I was when Dad's White Sox lost every game. 0-18. Some 
games we were winning after three innings, 8 to 4 or even 7 to 2. But 
in the fourth inning Dad put

[[Page 23057]]

all of the subs in--no matter what. ``Everyone plays!'' he'd say. The 
other teams kept the best players in for the whole game. Naturally, 
they would win.
  Today I am so proud of the way my Dad coached the kids on that 0 and 
18 team. Today, I am so proud of how my father lived his life.
  As children, we shared so many happy times together each summer with 
family and friends at Seabrook Beach. Later as adults, with his 
grandchildren, we spent weekends at Dad and Mom's beach house. After a 
few morning hours together on the beach, Mom and Dad would head back to 
the house to begin the day-long cooking ritual so that we could have 
dinner together. Many times in the evenings, we would sing songs around 
a bonfire on the beach. We enjoyed lobster bakes and thankfully Mom and 
Dad got to enjoy an occasional sunrise together. And many times, after 
a long day, many of us would sit together and watch the sun go down and 
our father would say to us all, ``it's a great life and it's a great 
country.''
  Dad worked at the Lowell Sun Publishing Company for 43 years. He 
started as a truck driver * * * became a linotype operator * * * then 
became Assistant Foreman in the Composing Room. He loved the Sun and 
the newspaper business, and he knew it from soup to nuts. There were a 
lot of great reporters that came through the Sun over the years, but my 
father never hesitated to tell them when he felt they just didn't get 
it right--especially on a political story.
  Frank Phillips, Chris Black, Brian Mooney and others all heard from 
Dad on more than one occasion. When he was finished he had earned their 
respect and they appreciated his wisdom and experience. And they all 
affectionately repeat those stories--even today.
  Dad was an active lifetime member of the Typographical Union--serving 
in a leadership position. He always stressed the importance of workers 
being able to organize for fair wages and benefits. It's not surprising 
that my sisters Colleen and Kathy are members of the teachers union and 
Mark and Paul are active members of their respective unions as well.
  But as strong as a Union person as he was--he loved the Lowell Sun 
and the company's ownership, the Costello family. He followed the 
Costello kids' lives as if they were his own--always loyal to the 
company and the Costello family.
  Supporting Mom and seven young children was not always easy. For 
seven years he got a second job working nights as a corrections 
officer. On Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays he would get up at 5:30 
to be at the Sun to punch in at 7 o'clock. His shift was over at 3:30. 
He'd put on his uniform at the Paper, punch in at the jail at 4 o'clock 
and work until midnight. He got home by 12:30 in the morning, and went 
to bed for five hours so he could be back at the paper by 7 a.m.
  I'm sure it wasn't easy--but he wanted the best for his children and 
he wanted my mother to be able to be home with us.
  My father didn't care what we did for work--but he wanted us to get 
an education. And we all did. He was especially proud of the fact that 
my sisters, Colleen, Kathy, and Mary all became school teachers. He 
thought it was the most important job of all. ``Teaching is NOT a 
job''--Dad would say--``It's a vocation.'' He loved the idea that his 
daughters were helping to shape the minds of 25 kids in a classroom 
each day.
  He was so proud of all his children, in a unique and special way. My 
brother Mark, a master electrician, ``has the biggest and best heart of 
all my kids,'' he'd say. And Mark gave Dad his newest precious 
grandchild ``Sarah'' just two weeks ago. He was so proud that Paul 
followed him to the Sheriff's Department. Paul is a model for 
overcoming obstacles and winning. He recently went back to school for 
his degree, got married, and was promoted to Captain as well.
  When I ran for Congress in 1992 my sister Maureen answered the call 
and put her work--and life--on hold to take the most important job in 
the campaign--raising the money to win. My Dad just loved the fact that 
I turned to my sister. And when we won he knew it was Maureen who was 
the rock behind us. ``Politics is a tough business'' he'd say--``you 
need people you can really trust--and that means family.'' [That's of 
course why President Kennedy had Bobby.] Of course after the election, 
I remember Maureen was sick and I asked, ``What's wrong with her 
now?''--Dad's split second response-- ``Working for you!''
  Dad was so well read, a voracious reader * * * A lover of poetry and 
words, and boy did he love to sing!
  So much love in his heart, and this extension of love was felt by his 
grandchildren and in-laws. The term ``in-laws'' didn't mean much to 
Dad--he welcomed them and loved them like they were his own. And they 
loved him back.
  All 15 of his grandchildren are loved as individuals and each of them 
realizes the power of love and family through their papa and munama. 
One of my young nieces asked during the last couple of days, ``How did 
Papa have so much love to give to so many people?'' Well, I really 
don't know the answer to that for sure. I just know that he did. Every 
time our father gave us a hug--or as he would say a hug-a-deen--he 
would accompany it with an ``I love you.'' ``Aren't they wonderful,'' 
Dad would say. ``Your mother and I will live in them in the next 
generation through these beautiful kids * * * and as I've told you,'' 
he'd say, ``that's the sweet mystery of life.''
  So happy, so content, there was NOTHING more in life that he wanted--
than that which he already had--His Family.
  And he thanked God for our happiness every single day.
  Joseph P. Kennedy, Sr., once said that the measure of a man's success 
in life was not the money he had made, but rather the family he had 
raised. That quote has been framed in my parent's home over 15 years. 
My father believed it and devoted himself to family every day of his 
life for 73 years. He was an immensely successful man.
  We love you Dad and will miss you.

                          ____________________