[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 146 (2000), Part 8]
[Senate]
[Pages 10929-10931]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]



                              FATHER'S DAY

  Mr. BYRD. Mr. President, I thank our very distinguished Democratic 
whip, Mr. Reid, for his accommodation. I thank the distinguished 
manager of the bill, Mr. Shelby, for his characteristic kindness and 
consideration.
  Mr. President, this Sunday, June 18, is Father's Day. The Bible tells 
us to ``honor thy father and thy mother.'' I would like to take just a 
few minutes to pay tribute to fathers and to call particular attention 
to this coming Sunday, that day of special significance.
  An old English proverb tells us that ``one father is more than 100 
schoolmasters.'' Fatherhood is the most compelling, the most profound 
responsibility in a man's life.
  For those of us who are fathers, there is nothing that we can do here 
in this Chamber that is more important than our commitment to our 
children. And, of course, with the greatest responsibilities, come the 
greatest joys and the greatest challenges. For those of us

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who are blessed with a long life, we learn that existence is an 
intricate mosaic of tranquility and difficulty. Struggles, along with 
blessings, are an inevitable, and instructive, part of life. A caring 
father prepares us for this reality. He teaches us that, in human 
nature, there is no perfection, there is simply the obligation to do 
one's best.
  My foster father, Titus Dalton Byrd, my aunt's husband, gave me my 
name and to a great extent the best aspects--and there are a few, I 
suppose--of my character. His was not an easy life. He struggled to 
support his wife and his little foster son during the depths of the 
Great Depression. This Nation is today blessed with the greatest 
economy the world has ever known. But, for those of us who remember the 
terrible poverty that gripped this Nation during the 1930's, 
prosperity, at one time in our lives, seemed a very, very long time in 
coming. It seemed far, far away.
  The test of character, the real test of character in a nation is how 
that nation responds to adversity, and the same with regard to a 
person, how that person responds to adversity, not only in his own life 
but in the lives of others.
  The Roman philosopher Seneca said that ``fire is the test of gold; 
adversity, of strong men.''
  In this respect, Titus Dalton Byrd was a great teacher. He easily 
could have been a bitter man, a despairing man. He could have raged at 
his lot in life. He could have forsaken his family. He could have 
forsaken his faith.
  I remember as clear as if it were yesterday watching for that man, 
that tall black-haired man with a red mustache coming down the railroad 
tracks. I recall watching for him as I looked far up the tracks that 
led ultimately to the mine, the East Five Mine in Stotesbury where he 
worked. I would see him coming from afar, and I would run to meet him.
  As I neared him, he would always set his dinner bucket down on a 
cross tie. He would lift off the top of that dinner bucket, and as I 
came to him, he would reach in and he would bring out a cake, a little 
5-cent cake that had been bought at the coal company store.
  He would reach down into that dinner bucket. He would pull out that 
cake and give it to me, after he had worked all day, from early morning 
to quitting time. And in the early days, quitting time was when the 
coal miner loaded the coal, loaded the slate, the rock, and cleaned up 
his ``place'' for the next day.
  He had gone through those hours with the timbers to the right and the 
timbers to the left, cracking under the weight of millions of tons of 
earth overhead. He had sweated. He had worked on his knees, many times 
working in water holes because the roof of the mine was perhaps only 4 
feet or 3 feet above the ground. He toiled there with a shovel, with a 
pick, and his calloused hands showed the result of that daily hard 
toil. Of course, he wore gloves and he wore kneepads so that he could 
make his way on the ground, on his knees, lifting the coal by the 
shovelful and dumping it over into the mine car. There he worked in the 
darkness except for a carbide lamp. It was a very hazardous and 
dangerous job. But when he had his lunch, he ate the rest of the food 
but always saved the cake.
  When I ran to meet him, he would set down the dinner pail and lift 
off the cover and reach in and get that cake and give it to me. He 
always saved the cake for me.
  He was an unassuming man. Unlike me, he never said very much. He took 
the hard licks as they came. I never heard him use God's name in vain 
in all the years I lived with him. Never. He never complained. When he 
sat down to eat at the table, he never complained at the humble fare. I 
never heard him complain. He was as honest as the day was long. When he 
died, he did not owe any man a penny. He always represented a triumph 
of the human spirit to me. He honored his responsibilities. He did his 
duty.
  He could not be characterized as a literate man. He never read 
Emerson's essays or Milton's ``Paradise Lost'' or Bocaccio's 
``Decameron,'' or the ``History of Rome.'' He could hardly read at all. 
I suppose the only book he ever read was the Bible. His formal 
education was in the school of hard knocks, but he was a wise man. He 
knew right from wrong.
  That sounds simple, even quaint, in these sophisticated times, but it 
surely is not. Cicero said, ``The function of wisdom is to discriminate 
between good and evil.'' To genuinely know right from wrong and to 
honor that as the guiding force in one's life--that is not always 
simple. That is not always easy. Brilliant theologians of every faith 
on Earth will tell you that such moral discernment is a central 
spiritual challenge of a human life. But my dad knew right from wrong. 
He read his Bible, the King James' version of the Bible.
  When the burdens of my dad's life were almost too heavy to bear 
during the desperate poverty of the Great Depression, his faith never 
wavered that the Creator would give him the strength he needed. Abraham 
Lincoln, as he contended with the overwhelming agonies of a nation torn 
apart by a great civil war, said of the Bible:

       This great Book . . . is the best gift God has given to 
     man.

  Mr. President, this is a lesson that great men, whether mighty or 
humble, have learned, and it is the lesson my dad taught me.
  We live now in what has been termed the age of information. But, as 
we salute our fathers on this coming Sunday, this is an opportune time 
to again sound a note of caution for our children. Information is not 
the same as wisdom. Our society, including our children and our 
grandchildren, and our great grandchildren, is bombarded with 
information and entertainment, such as it is, useless, tasteless, and 
bewildering, much of which is geared to our basest instincts and our 
tawdriest impulses. It is a parade of the lowest common denominator all 
too often. This is the more complicated world with which parents today 
must contend. Parents need to instill wisdom in their children, a moral 
sense that will enable their children to navigate through a volatile 
sea of uplifting and distressing images.
  My dad, like most rural people, who was not used to much, never had 
much, found solace and understanding in nature. He understood the 
generous and bountiful delights of nature. The flowers of spring, this 
blessed season which officially gives way to summer on June 21, call us 
back to the beauty and sweetness of the world, and perhaps hint at what 
is best within ourselves as well. Spring is the season of rebirth, the 
season of replenishment. I defy any cluttered, tumultuous, cacophonous 
television program to compete with the simple, quiet drama of the 
forsythias, the dogwoods, the roses, and the azaleas, to compete with a 
single miraculous bud.
  James Russell Lowell wrote:

       And what is so rare as a day in June?
       Then, if ever, come perfect days;
       Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,
       And over it softly her warm ear lays:
       Whether we look, or whether we listen;
       We hear life murmur, or see it glisten.

  As I have said, my dad was not himself a formally educated man. But, 
he understood and he appreciated nature, and he knew the tremendous 
value of an education. That is why he wanted me to go on to school. He 
did not want me to be a coal miner. He did not want me to earn my 
living in that way. He encouraged, indeed, he demanded that I study 
hard. He looked at that report card. He looked at that category 
denominated ``deportment.'' And he always said: If you get a whipping 
at school, I'll give you a whipping when you get home. And I knew that 
that one would be the worst of the two. But he loved me. I knew he 
loved me. That is why he threatened to whip me; it was because he loved 
me.
  He encouraged me to study hard and to develop my mind. He wanted 
something better for me. He knew that education was the key that I 
would need to unlock the potential in my own life.
  So, Titus Dalton Byrd was a model for me not only of the virtuous 
individual life, but of married life as well. He and my mom, my Aunt 
Vlurma, were married for 53 years. I do not recall ever witnessing 
either of them

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raise a voice in anger against the other. And I heard them say from 
time to time: We have made it a pledge that both of us would not be 
angry at the same time.
  I have always counted myself as truly fortunate--truly fortunate--
even though my life's ladder had the bottom rungs taken away. You ought 
to see where I lived, Mr. President. You ought some time to go with me 
down Mercer County and see where I lived--3 miles up the hollow, with 
no electricity, with no running water, the nearest hospital 15, 20 
miles away, the nearest doctor the same. That was back in the days of 
the 2-cent stamp, the penny postcard. Some things were better; some 
things were not. But I have always counted myself as truly fortunate in 
having such exemplary role models.
  A lot of people say today there are no role models anymore. Well, I 
had two role models in the good old man and woman who reared me.
  They set the standard to which I have not always succeeded but I have 
always aspired. And, on May 29, my beloved wife Erma and I celebrated 
our 63rd wedding anniversary.
  We both came from families, from mothers and fathers, who tried to 
bring us up right. And they inculcated into us a dedication to one's 
oath.
  Like, I suspect, many fathers whose jobs consume so much of their 
time and energy, I regret the times away from my daughters when they 
were children. I am grateful for the capable and loving efforts of Erma 
who has shouldered so much of the responsibilities at my home. To the 
extent, limited though it may be, that I have been a good father, I am 
humbly indebted to Erma's having been such a wonderful mother. Our 
journey as a family has been a more tranquil one thanks to her 
patience, her understanding, and her strength.
  Of course, the roles of fathers--and mothers--in some ways have 
changed a great deal over the course of my lifetime. Parents today are 
confronted with far more choices at home and work than my wife and I 
ever encountered when we began our family. But, one thing has not 
changed. One thing has, in my opinion, remained constant. Parenthood 
is, ideally, a partnership, a collaboration. It is a vitally important, 
lifelong responsibility, and best experienced, whenever possible, in 
the shared, balanced efforts of both parents.
  No mortal soul is perfect or without fault. That is the reality of 
being human. We are all prey to losing our way at difficult times in 
our lives. But, a good father will provide his child with a map, a path 
to follow. The hallmark of that path, throughout life, is conscience. 
It is that inner moral compass that has been so essential to the 
greatness of our Nation, and that is, I fear, so buffeted now by an 
aimless, hedonistic popular culture.
  The ancient truths of our fathers are perhaps more obscure in this 
noisy, materialistic society, but they are still there--still there--
gleaming and bright. John Adams, one of the great Founding Fathers of 
this Nation, said:

       All sober inquiries after truth, ancient and modern, 
     divines, moralists and philosophers, have agreed that the 
     happiness of mankind, as well as the real dignity of human 
     nature, consists in virtue.

  The material things, with all their appeal and their comfort, are, in 
the end, fleeting. They are all transient. I remember not so much the 
tangible things--other than a piece of cake perhaps--that my dad gave 
me, as the values that he taught me. It is the treasured, if fleeting, 
moments together, the lessons learned, that endure. I can say now, from 
the perspective of a long and full and eventful life, that that is what 
matters. That is the greatest gift we can receive as children, and that 
is the greatest gift that we can bequest as parents.
  A caring father is a lifelong comfort. I remember the stoic and 
kindly face of Titus Dalton Byrd. He encouraged me, he protected me, 
and his memory still guides me.
  Mr. President, I have met with Kings in my lifetime, with Shahs, with 
Princes, with Presidents, with Princesses, with Queens, with Senators, 
with Governors, but I am here to say today that the greatest man that I 
ever knew in my long life, the really great man that I really knew in 
my long life, was my dad, Titus Dalton Byrd.
  He taught me, in word and in deed, to work hard, to do my absolute 
best.
  I close with this bit of verse:

                            That Dad of Mine

       He's slowing down, as some folks say
       With the burden of years from day to day;
       His brow bears many a furrowed line;
       He's growing old--that dad of mine.

       His shoulders droop, and his step is slow;
       And his hair is white, as white as snow;
       But his kind eyes sparkle with a friendly light;
       His smile is warm, and his heart is right.

       He's old? Oh, yes. But only in years,
       For his spirit soars as the sunset nears.
       And blest I've been, and wealth I've had,
       In knowing a man like my old dad.

       And proud I am to stand by him,
       As he stood by me when the way was dim;
       I've found him worthy and just as fine,
       A prince of men--that dad of mine.

  I yield the floor.
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. The Senator from Nevada.
  Mr. REID. Mr. President, I personally appreciate the remarks of the 
Senator from West Virginia. I only hope that my five children will 
reflect upon their dad someday as he has his.
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. The Senator from New Jersey.
  Mr. LAUTENBERG. Mr. President, the one thing we can always count on 
from Senator Byrd is to throw in some good, sensible reflection as we 
go on battering one another, at times over sometimes important things 
but sometimes not so important. There is a commercial about one of the 
brokerage firms, that when that firm speaks, everybody listens. When 
Senator Byrd speaks, everybody should listen. We have a collection of 
his papers on the Senate, but he has done so many other things. Just 
think of the voice, but look at the message, and you capture the 
essence of Senator Byrd. I am going to miss him terribly when I leave 
here.
  Mr. BYRD. I thank the Senator.

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