[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 147 (2001), Part 9]
[House]
[Page 12735]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]



                         TRIBUTE TO BIRDIE KYLE

  The SPEAKER pro tempore. Under a previous order of the House, the 
gentleman from West Virginia (Mr. Rahall) is recognized for 5 minutes.
  Mr. RAHALL. Mr. Speaker, in the rush to greatness upon which many of 
us embark in this city, in the heat of the TV camera lights, in the 
chaos of clashing interests, it is important that we pause and take 
stock of those who brought us here, keep us here, and help make us. So 
this evening I thank and I pay respect to my long-time legislative 
director Birdie Kyle who passed away over our recent work period.
  Birdie once wrote, ``I am a native West Virginian born in Fayette 
County at MacDunn but raised up on Cabin Creek in the coalfields. I was 
born in a one-room abandoned boxcar. When I was little, my older sister 
tormented me when she felt like it by calling me ``Old Boxcar Bill.' I 
do not remember which made me the madder, being reminded that I was 
born in a boxcar or being called Bill when I was a girl. Probably 
both.''
  That was Birdie Kyle writing for West Virginia's Goldenseal Magazine 
in 1980.
  Well, Boxcar Bill traveled far from her humble beginnings, but she 
never lost sight of the hills of home or the people there.
  Birdie Kyle, a true coal miner's daughter, a native West Virginian in 
every sense, served West Virginia and our Nation in the Congress for 
more than 3 decades. Birdie served with me since 1989, and I appreciate 
deeply her loyalty and dedication. Before that, she spent most of her 
career with the late Senator Jennings Randolph.
  Her mainstay of work for the Senator and for me was education. For 
Birdie, education was not a part of one's life. It was life itself. 
Teachers captivated her. Students compelled her.
  Books were with her always, from her earliest moments to her latest 
nights. If books were her backbone, words were her blood. She was the 
mother of wordsmiths and, boy, could she make me sound good.
  Birdie's letters, more often than not, prompted replies, and I got 
more kudos from her letters than anything.
  Her list of legislative responsibilities in my office over the years 
reads like a record of the republic itself: Education to health care, 
the Postal Service to the Middle East. As one person who called to 
express their sympathy said, ``She knew everything and everybody.''
  How true. She could converse on every subject, but that was not her 
most unique attribute. She did not care if one was king or commoner. 
She was going to sway you to her belief before you left the building, 
and most of the time she did.
  Will there ever be another Birdie Kyle? No. Can one person fill her 
shoes? No.
  Birdie was, in addition, the poet laureate of the office. Each 
Christmas and on my birthday she composed wonderful verses that not 
only made me feel special but it was so wonderful I started believing 
it.
  She gave me my voice on many issues, issues of life and death, on 
wealth and poverty, on education and ignorance, health care and child 
care.
  Her deep compassion infected us all. In a city where a lot of people 
can make a buck off an issue, Birdie poured her heart and soul into 
those issues and sought nothing in return.
  Her family, her mother, her sisters, her children, and grandson all 
meant everything to Birdie. In fact, I think she would have liked to 
adopt me because sometimes she thought I needed a mom in town, and she 
was probably right.
  Each time that she came in to see me in my office to offer her advice 
and wisdom, she would tap lightly on my door. No one else ever did 
that. I knew that I was either in trouble for a vote I had cast on the 
floor that day contrary to her suggestions, or I was in store for a 
witty argument on an upcoming vote in this body.
  There will be many days and many nights ahead when I will miss that 
tapping at my door, but I will have many years of memories, many years 
of good counsel and many years of friendship upon which to reflect and 
rely.
  Washington is a city of monuments hewn of stone and sewn with mortar. 
We can admire these great people and we should, but Washington is also 
the city that spreads forth the ray of hope for our Nation and our 
world. Birdie Kyle spent her life igniting that hope.
  I was honored to know and work with Birdie. Without her, I would not 
have been as good a representative nor as good a person as I am. Many 
of us in this body can say that about our staff.
  About right now, somebody up there in heaven is getting a morning 
briefing from Birdie, and I am sure it is not a pretty sight with all 
that needs to be righted in the world. We all know that heaven is in 
good hands with Birdie Kyle up there at the helm.

                          ____________________


                              {time}  1915