[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 151 (2005), Part 10]
[House]
[Pages 13946-13947]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




      PAYING TRIBUTE TO DICK HOYT, THE STRONGEST DAD IN THE WORLD

  The SPEAKER pro tempore. Under a previous order of the House, the 
gentleman from Tennessee (Mr. Duncan) is recognized for 5 minutes.
  Mr. DUNCAN. Mr. Speaker, I rise tonight to pay tribute to a man who 
is not from my districts or even from my State, but who certainly must 
be one of the most wonderful men of whom I have ever read. The story of 
Dick Hoyt of Holland, Massachusetts is one of the most amazing, 
inspiring stories I have ever read.
  Rick Reilly, a columnist for Sports Illustrated, wrote about Mr. Hoyt 
in a column published in that magazine the week before last. Mr. Reilly 
described it as a love story that began 43 years ago when Mr. Hoyt's 
son Rick ``was strangled by the umbilical cord during birth, leaving 
him brain damaged and unable to control his limbs.''
  The Hoyts were told Rick would be a vegetable for the rest of his 
life and that they should put him in an institution. They refused.
  When Rick was 11, they took him to engineers at Tufts University to 
ask them if there was some way to allow him to communicate. They were 
told, no way, nothing was going on in Rick's brain.
  ``Tell him a joke,'' Mr. Hoyt said. ``They did. Rick laughed.'' They 
had noticed the way Rick's eyes followed them around the room. There 
was a lot going on in Rick's brain.
  The engineers rigged up a computer that Rick could peck letters on by 
hitting it with a stick attached to the side of his head. His first 
words were, ``Go Bruins!''
  After a high school classmate of Rick's was paralyzed in an accident, 
and a charity run was organized, Rick pecked out the words, ``Dad, I 
want to do that.''
  Mr. Hoyt, who called himself a porker, pushed Rick in that race, and 
Rick typed out ``Dad, when we were running, it felt like I was not 
disabled anymore.''
  Now, here comes the amazing part.
  Since that first race, Dick Hoyt has pushed Rick in 85 marathons, 
26.2 miles each. Twenty-four times they have run in the Boston 
Marathon.
  Listen to Rick Reilly's column: ``Their best time, 2 hours 40, 
minutes in 1992; only 35 minutes off the world record which, in case 
you don't keep track of these things, happens to be held by a guy who 
was not pushing another man in a wheelchair at the time.''
  Now Dick Hoyt is 65, his son is 43. They have done 212 triathlons, 
including four grueling, 15-hour Ironmans in Hawaii, 8 triathlons 
altogether where the father not only pushed his son 26.2 miles in a 
wheelchair, but also pulled him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming, 
and pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on the handlebars, all in the same 
day.
  Columnist Reilly wrote, ``I try to be a good father, but compared 
with Dick Hoyt I suck.''
  What a special son. What a special father. What a special story.
  I thank Rick Reilly for writing such a wonderful column.
  It is an honor to pay tribute to a man like Dick Hoyt.
  I am sure that his special relationship with his son has inspired 
countless numbers across the land and has, in a very unique way, made 
this Nation a better place.
  Mr. Speaker, I think it is the most inspiring story I have ever read. 
I would like to attach the column from Sports Illustrated to my remarks 
here tonight and call them to the attention of my colleagues and other 
readers of the Record.

                       [From Sports Illustrated]

                       Strongest Dad in the World

                            (By Rick Reilly)

       I try to be a good father. Give my kids mulligans. Work 
     nights to pay for their text messaging. Take them to swimsuit 
     shoots.
       But compared with Dick Hoyt, I suck.
       Eighty-five times he's pushed his disabled son, Rick, 26.2 
     miles in marathons. Eight times he's not only pushed him 26.2 
     miles in a wheelchair but also towed him 2.4 miles in a 
     dinghy while swimming and pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on 
     the handlebars--all in the same day.
       Dick's also pulled him cross-country skiing, taken him on 
     his back mountain climbing and once hauled him across the 
     U.S. on a bike. Makes taking your son bowling look a little 
     lame, right?
       And what has Rick done for his father? Not much--except 
     save his life.
       This love story began in Winchester, Mass., 43 years ago, 
     when Rick was strangled by the umbilical cord during birth, 
     leaving him brain-damaged and unable to control his limbs.
       ``He'll be a vegetable the rest of his life;'' Dick says 
     doctors told him and his wife, Judy, when Rick was nine 
     months old. ``Put him in an institution.''
       But the Hoyts weren't buying it. They noticed the way 
     Rick's eyes followed them around the room. When Rick was 11 
     they took him to the engineering department at Tufts 
     University and asked if there was anything to help the boy 
     communicate. ``No way,'' Dick says he was told. ``There's 
     nothing going on in his brain.''
       ``Tell him a joke,'' Dick countered. They did. Rick 
     laughed. Turns out a lot was going on in his brain.
       Rigged up with a computer that allowed him to control the 
     cursor by touching a switch with the side of his head, Rick 
     was finally able to communicate. First words? ``Go Bruins!'' 
     And after a high school classmate was paralyzed in an 
     accident and the school organized a charity run for him, Rick 
     pecked out, ``Dad, I want to do that.''
       Yeah, right. How was Dick, a self-described ``porker'' who 
     never ran more than a mile at a time, going to push his son 
     five miles? Still, he tried. ``Then it was me who was 
     handicapped,'' Dick says. ``I was sore for two weeks.''
       That day changed Rick's life. ``Dad,'' he typed, ``when we 
     were running, it felt like I wasn't disabled anymore!''
       And that sentence changed Dick's life. He became obsessed 
     with giving Rick that feeling as often as he could. He got 
     into such hard-belly shape that he and Rick were ready to try 
     the 1979 Boston Marathon.
       ``No way,'' Dick was told by a race official. The Hoyts 
     weren't quite a single runner, and

[[Page 13947]]

     they weren't quite a wheelchair competitor. For a few years 
     Dick and Rick just joined the massive field and ran anyway, 
     then they found a way to get into the race officially: In 
     1983 they ran another marathon so fast they made the 
     qualifying time for Boston the following year.
       Then somebody said, ``Hey, Dick, why not a triathlon?''
       How's a guy who never learned to swim and hadn't ridden a 
     bike since he was six going to haul his 110-pound kid through 
     a triathlon? Still, Dick tried.
       Now they've done 212 triathlons, including four grueling 
     15-hour Ironmans in Hawaii. It must be a buzzkill to be a 25-
     year-old stud getting passed by an old guy towing a grown man 
     in a dinghy, don't you think?
       Hey, Dick, why not see how you'd do on your own? ``No 
     way,'' he says. Dick does it purely for ``the awesome 
     feeling'' he gets seeing Rick with a cantaloupe smile as they 
     run, swim and ride together.
       This year, at ages 65 and 43, Dick and Rick finished their 
     24th Boston Marathon, in 5,083rd place out of more than 
     20,000 starters. Their best time'? Two hours, 40 minutes in 
     1992--only 35 minutes off the world record, which, in case 
     you don't keep track of these things, happens to be held by a 
     guy who was not pushing another man in a wheelchair at the 
     time.
       ``No question about it,'' Rick types. ``My dad is the 
     Father of the Century.''
       And Dick got something else out of all this too. Two years 
     ago he had a mild heart attack during a race. Doctors found 
     that one of his arteries was 95% clogged. ``If you hadn't 
     been in such great shape,'' one doctor told him, ``you 
     probably would've died 15 years ago.''
       So, in a way, Dick and Rick saved each other's life.
       Rick, who has his own apartment (he gets home care) and 
     works in Boston, and Dick, retired from the military and 
     living in Holland, Mass., always find ways to be together. 
     They give speeches around the country and compete in some 
     backbreaking race every weekend, including this Father's Day.
       That night, Rick will buy his dad dinner, but the thing he 
     really wants to give him is a gift he can never buy.
       ``The thing I'd most like,'' Rick types, ``is that my dad 
     sit in the chair and I push him once.''

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