[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 151 (2005), Part 22]
[Senate]
[Pages 30665-30668]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




                   TRIBUTE TO STAN AND EUNICE KIMMITT

 Mr. BAUCUS. Mr. President, I rise today to honor the lives of 
two people very close to me, Montana, and the Senate. Stan and Eunice 
Kimmitt were both remarkable individuals and touched many lives over 
the years. In an effort to preserve their memory, I think it is fitting 
that I share the kind remarks made at their funerals with the full 
Senate.
  Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent that the material be printed 
in the Record.
  There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in 
the Record, as follows:

                      Eulogy to J. Stanley Kimmitt

             (December 21, 2004, Ft. Myer Memorial Chapel)

       The poet and dramatist William Butler Yeats once wrote: 
     ``Being Irish, you know that in times of great joy you're 
     comforted by the thought that tragedy lurks around the 
     corner.'' Stan Kimmitt had a lot of Irishman in him. On March 
     20, 1972, my siblings and I threw a surprise 25th wedding 
     anniversary reception for my parents, during which I said a 
     few words. Driving to dinner that evening, my father was as 
     happy as I had ever seen him, so he returned to his Irish 
     roots and said, ``Let's talk about my funeral.'' ``Bob,'' he 
     said, ``I really liked your words today. For my funeral Mass, 
     I would like you to write the eulogy--but have your brother 
     Tom deliver it.'' In the ensuing 32 years, I never mustered 
     enough courage to ask what my delivery deficiencies were on 
     that March day long ago. But, since Dr. Tom is watching today 
     with Dad and our sisters Kathy and Margaret from premier 
     upper deck seats, the honor of both composing and delivering 
     brief remarks falls to me.
       The first thing Dad would want me to do is to thank all of 
     you for joining us today. He would be humbled, but also very 
     pleased, by this turnout. Second, he would ask me to thank 
     all those who are involved in today's events, especially the 
     soldiers of the Old Guard, the Congressional Chorus, his 
     partner Deacon Vinnie Coates, and especially Archbishop Edwin 
     O'Brien of the Military Archdiocese. Archbishop O'Brien first 
     met my dad when serving as a young priest at West Point 
     during my years as a cadet. The Archbishop later volunteered 
     for military service himself, went to jump school, and served 
     as a combat chaplain in Vietnam with many of us in attendance 
     today in the 173rd Airborne Brigade and 1st Cavalry Division. 
     What a wonderful person not only to celebrate today's Mass, 
     but also to help provide spiritual direction to our brave 
     young servicewomen and men both at home and abroad.
       We Catholics use the term ``celebrate'' even for funeral 
     Masses. We celebrate, because we firmly believe that our 
     father Stan is now in a better, more peaceful place. And that 
     is how I think of today, celebrating an extraordinary man and 
     the exemplary life of service he lived.
       Dad did not come from a government or service background, 
     far from it. He was born in 1918 in Lewistown, Montana, the 
     son of a prosperous wheat farmer who was the largest 
     landowner in the fertile Judith Basin, and he later moved to 
     Great Falls. With the Great Depression, however, all material 
     wealth was lost, and his family's life story went from riches 
     to rags. However, he was firmly determined to be the first in 
     his family to attend college, which he did at the University 
     of Montana in Missoula. He admitted that he majored in 
     football and minored in bartending, but fortunately for his 
     later career, one class he did attend was an Asian History 
     course taught by a young professor named Mike Mansfield.
       Dad was drafted in 1941 and was assigned to the mule-drawn 
     pack artillery of what would become the 10th Mountain 
     Division. Not wanting, as he said, to ``spend the war on the 
     south end of a mule,'' he went to Officer Candidate School at 
     Fort Sill and then trained and led Battery C, 309th Field 
     Artillery of the 78th ``Lightning'' Division from 1942 to 
     1945. Sixty years ago today, the battery was fighting in the 
     Battle of the Bulge, then proceeded to the Hurtgen Forest, 
     crossed the Rhine River at Remagen, and became the first 
     American division to occupy Berlin. Alongside him throughout 
     was then Colonel, later Major General Bob Schellman, my 
     parents' best man and my namesake and godfather, whose widow 
     Helen and son Jim are here today. In the recently written 
     words of Len Cravath, one of Dad's soldiers: ``Stan Kimmitt 
     was my Captain, our leader, and our inspiration.'' Lewis 
     Guidry, another soldier, called me and said: ``Your father 
     took a bunch of boys and turned us into men. We will never 
     forget him.''
       In the Korean War, Dad commanded the 48th Field Artillery 
     Battalion of the 7th Infantry Division. His bravery during 
     the Battle of Pork Chop Hill was immortalized in S.L.A. 
     Marshall's book of the same name. Less well known is an 
     incident recounted in a recently-published book called ``On 
     Hallowed Ground, the Last Battle for Pork Chop Hill:'' 
     ``Lieutenant Colonel Kimmitt was an aggressive, hard-charging 
     artillery commander who always worked closely with the 
     infantry. He was at the infantry battalion CP when the 
     personnel carrier brought Ray Barry . . . to the nearby 
     battalion aid station. Kimmitt went into the aid station, and 
     saw his former battery commander, Ray Barry, on a table, 
     obviously critically wounded and near death. . . . A few 
     minutes earlier, the 7th Division G-2 had arrived by 
     helicopter. Kimmitt, seeing the severity of Barry's wounds, 
     went immediately to the helicopter and told the waiting pilot 
     to fly the wounded officer to the MASH. . . . At first the 
     pilot balked, and told Kimmitt the helicopter belonged to the 
     division G-2. With a few choice, sharp words Kimmitt said he 
     did not give a damn who it belonged to, the pilot would fly 
     the wounded Ray Barry to a MASH, right now. When Kimmitt told 
     the battalion surgeon who examined Barry he had a helicopter 
     to evacuate him, the doctor's words were less than 
     encouraging. `He

[[Page 30666]]

     won't make it to the MASH. He's lost too much blood.''' Ray 
     Barry, who won a Silver Star for his bravery that day, is 
     today alive, well, and a retired Colonel in Texas.
       In 1955, Dad was assigned to the Office of the Chief of 
     Legislative Liaison, ``Army L&L,'' where he reacquainted 
     himself with Mike Mansfield and befriended such titans as 
     Richard Russell, John Stennis, Everett Dirksen, John Pastore, 
     Theodore Francis Green, Stuart Symington, and Scoop Jackson. 
     In 1960 we moved to Germany, first to Heidelberg then to 
     Baumholder. In August 1961, he was with the battle group of 
     the 8th Infantry Division that drove from the Soviet 
     checkpoint at Helmstedt to Berlin shortly after the Wall went 
     up to assert Allied transit rights. He later commanded the 
     8th Division Artillery, which included an Airborne Artillery 
     Battalion, so he started the family's airborne heritage by 
     going to jump school at age 44.
       In 1966 he accepted Mike Mansfield's offer to retire from 
     the Army to become Secretary for the Majority, where he 
     served for 11 years; then he won a contested vote and was 
     Secretary of the Senate from 1977 to 1981. The Wall Street 
     Journal wrote a piece during this time, describing him as 
     ``The Man at the Senate's Back Door,'' and, though always a 
     loyal Democrat, his approach to his work in the Senate was 
     nicely summarized in a letter Bob Dole sent to my mother: 
     ``So sorry to learn of Stan's passing. I need not tell you 
     what a good man he was. I can tell you he was loved and 
     respected by all the `Senate family' regardless of party.''
       One of Dad's proudest achievements in the Senate was when 
     he, together with Senators Warner and Mathias, got all 100 
     Senators to sponsor the bill granting land on the Mall for 
     the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Next time you are there, 
     please look for the small brass marker at the back of the 
     Wall's apex and you will see Dad's name. He was particularly 
     pleased that the Vietnam Memorial helped pave the way for his 
     generation's memorials: Korean War, FDR, and World War II, 
     the dedication of which he attended with our son Mac, who was 
     born on his grandfather's birthday. Mac told us later that 
     his grandfather asked if it were OK to leave the ceremony a 
     bit early, because Dad was embarrassed by so many people 
     thanking him for his service. (He probably also wanted to 
     beat the traffic!)
       Dad's third career, as a company Washington representative, 
     lasted 10 years, during which time he worked on the Apache 
     attack helicopter and other programs for Hughes Helicopter 
     Company, which was acquired by McDonnell Douglas and later by 
     The Boeing Company. In 1991, he then started the consulting 
     firm of Kimmitt, Coates & McCarthy with his friends George 
     McCarthy and Vinnie Coates, and after George's death, Dad and 
     Vinnie joined David Senter and John Weinfurter in forming 
     Kimmitt, Senter, Coates & Weinfurter, for which he was 
     Chairman until the day he died.
       To give you an idea of the pace at which Dad lived his 
     life, I would note that this year alone, at age 86, he had 
     visited his beloved Montana seven times, including just two 
     weeks before he died. He had also traveled in August to 
     Belgium to celebrate with his friend, U.S. Ambassador Tom 
     Korologos, the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Hoeselt, 
     a small town east of Brussels, and in November he attended 
     the 78th Division Reunion in Biloxi, Mississippi. On the last 
     day of his life, December 7, he organized his desk, stopped 
     in at Boeing, dropped by the Senate Democratic cloakroom, 
     shopped at the Ft. Myer Commissary for my mother, went by his 
     office, then went to a farewell reception for Senator John 
     Breaux, whom Dad admired from the day he arrived in the 
     Senate. If Dad could not be with his natural family at his 
     death, he would have wanted to go just as he did--surrounded 
     by Democrats, with no pain or struggle, with his boots on.
       Debbie Boylan, of the Democratic Leadership Council, wrote: 
     ``I was with him on Tuesday at the party for Senator Breaux, 
     and thought you'd like to know that he seemed like a very 
     happy man that night: He was the first to arrive, had a smile 
     and a chuckle for everyone he met, and--as he put it, `as the 
     senior Democrat in the room'--made short, eloquent remarks 
     about the Senate and Senator Breaux. Please know this: On 
     that night, as I'm sure on many others, he was surrounded by 
     people who loved him.'' Jodi Bannerman, who was also there 
     that evening, wrote: ``Stan told an anecdote to the DLC and 
     its guests of Russell Long, saying Long once said: `When I 
     have a friend, I have a friend. I'll fight for him or her 
     until hell freezes over. And then, I'll fight on the ice.'''
       And Dad fought on the ice for many people. If you were 
     down, in trouble, or just in need of a friendly, non-
     judgmental listener, he was your man. He looked up to many, 
     down to none, and right in the eye to all. Even after almost 
     50 years in Washington, he never looked over your shoulder to 
     see if someone ``more important'' were approaching. At a 78th 
     Division reunion in Pittsburgh several years ago, he was with 
     his friend and divisionmate, former Congressman Lionel Van 
     Deerlin and his daughters. Liz Van Deerlin recounted in a 
     recent note: ``My sister, my dad, and I walked Stan back to 
     his hotel which was about 6 blocks away. There was a guy on 
     crutches with one leg who had a cup out for some cash. Stan 
     was ahead of us in his stride and he went right up to this 
     guy, gave him some money and they talked a bit, but I was 
     moved at how Stan treated him. He didn't avoid eye contact 
     and hurriedly drop cash into his cup, he lingered a while and 
     had somewhat of a conversation with this man, who thanked him 
     heartily. If I didn't know better, I would have thought they 
     knew one another.''
       My wife Holly captured this sentiment when discussing which 
     photograph we should use for Dad's obituary in the Washington 
     Post, one from his younger days or a more recent one: ``I 
     would not use the younger one. That was definitely Stan, but 
     of a younger, different time, at the height of his 
     professional prime. I like the older one because, to me, that 
     is who he really was. He came into his own as an older man, 
     still busy, productive, and effective, but he had a more 
     loving and lovable way about him, a person who knows how 
     great his life has been, how good he has it, has taken the 
     sadness in stride and still looked forward to every moment of 
     every day and reveled in contact with every person he met.''
       In the hundreds of cards, e-mails, phone messages, and 
     visits since Dad's death, the most heartwarming and humbling 
     words have been how his family--children, grandchildren, 
     great grandson--are reflections of his life well lived. I 
     know how very proud Dad was that government service was and 
     is an essential element of the professional careers of his 
     children. He was very proud of Judy's long service in the 
     Senate, most recently with Senator Carper; Mary's time with 
     both the National Park Service and now ministering to the 
     health needs of the women and men and families of the 1st 
     Infantry Division as an Army Physician's Assistant in 
     Bamberg, Germany; Mark's military career and especially his 
     recent service in Iraq and the Gulf; Jay's time both in the 
     House and Senate and the Army; and my service in the Army and 
     the White House and several departments--even in Republican 
     Administrations! Dad's pride in his children knew no 
     political boundaries.
       Dad was a man of character, but no eulogy would be complete 
     without mentioning that he also was a character. Just saying 
     the following words will bring smiles to many faces here 
     today: gutters; leg wrestling; frequent flyer miles; tennis 
     shorts & black socks; large paper napkins, especially if 
     embossed; and Unterberg. And several of you have shared some 
     of the phrases we heard so often from him:

     ``Enunciate !''
     ``Wheels rolling.''
     ``Plan your work and work your plan!''
     ``Do something, even if it's wrong!''
     ``You decide what you want to be in life; then be the best at 
           it.''
     ``Into every life a little rain must fall, but we don't have 
           to be drenched by it.''
     And, the one all the grandchildren know by heart: ``An excuse 
           is an opiate
     administered by nature to deaden the pain of mediocrity.''

       Archbishop, two days before Dad died, he went to his last 
     Mass at the Chapel at Georgetown University Hospital. Why, 
     you might ask, would he drive from McLean to the District for 
     Mass? Well, the Mass at Georgetown Hospital is never more 
     than 35 minutes long; there is no music and no collection; 
     and they validate your parking ticket. That was his kind of 
     Mass. And, in another vein, I am sure that I know my Dad's 
     last two thoughts before dying. One would surely have been of 
     Mom and the family, but I am equally sure the other would 
     have been: ``Thank God I mailed the Christmas letters!''
       My brother Jay asked me to note that the vast majority of 
     the Washington legislative community treated Dad with respect 
     and inclusion to the day he passed. As we all know, one 
     becomes less relevant the longer one is away from positions 
     of power in I this town. On the day Dad died, he was leaving 
     Boeing and he turned to a receptionist and said, ``Thanks for 
     putting up with an old soldier.'' Actually, Dad may have used 
     a noun other than ``soldier.'' The Kimmitt family would like 
     to thank the entire legislative community for their kindness 
     to and respect for Dad over all these years.
       Let me close with one final anecdote. In 1978, at the peak 
     of Dad's career in the Senate, Holly and I were introduced to 
     Congressman and Mrs. Lucien Nedzi at a Christmas party. Mrs. 
     Nedzi's eyes lit up, and she asked, ``Are you related to . . 
     . Eunice Kimmitt, the school bus driver?'' No one would have 
     been more pleased than Dad to hear Mom's service as a St. 
     John's School bus driver in the 1950's recognized. In 
     discussing preparations for his funeral after my brother 
     Tom's interment last December, he said he had only three 
     requests: (1) to be buried in Arlington Cemetery at the site 
     where our sister Margaret was buried in 1959; (2) to have 
     ``Oh, Shenandoah'' sung during the service, as was done so 
     splendidly by the members of the Congressional Chorus as we 
     entered the chapel; and (3) to make sure that Mom as well as 
     he was recognized in these remarks.
       Eunice Wegener Kimmitt also led a life of service, both as 
     a young Red Cross girl in Europe during World War II and as 
     an Army wife and mother who sent her husband and

[[Page 30667]]

     sons off to wars in Korea, Vietnam, and Iraq. But even more, 
     she was and is the firm foundation of our family--no matter 
     how many times we moved to new houses, we always knew that 
     home was where Mom was. Dad would have said that this eulogy 
     is as much about Mom's service and contributions as his--and 
     he felt that way for all their nearly six decades together. 
     Mom, thanks for what you meant to Dad and still mean to all 
     of us.
       Please note in your program that you are welcome either to 
     join us at the graveside service immediately following this 
     Mass or to proceed directly to the Officers Club, where the 
     family looks forward to greeting you after the interment. 
     Whether you are at the gravesite today or later, you will see 
     that there is a clear view of the Capitol Building from the 
     site, which was selected serendipitously 45 years ago when 
     our sister died. We will also be burying with Dad soil from 
     Lewistown and Great Falls, Montana; Baumholder, Germany; and 
     the Capitol grounds. Only symbols, but powerful symbols, of 
     the life and life of service you have kindly allowed me to 
     share with you today.
       I can almost hear Dad tapping his feet and saying: ``Let's 
     get moving so these good people can get back to work!'' In 
     such moments, there is just one reply: ``Yes, sir, Colonel!'' 
     Dad, thank you for the life of service you lived and for the 
     example that will inspire many more such lives in generations 
     today and to come. We love you, we miss you, we will see you 
     again.
       Well done, Soldier. Be thou at peace.
                                  ____


                      Eulogy to Eunice L. Kimmitt

   (December 3, 2005, St. Agnes Catholic Church, Arlington, Virginia)

       Shortly after Mom and Dad were married, she wrote in their 
     brand new family album that her favorite poem was entitled 
     ``If'' by Rudyard Kipling. That poem, which is printed in 
     full on the back of your program, captures the spirit of the 
     mother, grandmother, and friend whom we remember today. Let 
     me read just several lines from the poem:

     If you can keep your head when all about you
     Are losing theirs and blaming it on you

     If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
     And treat those two imposters just the same

     If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
     To serve your turn long after they are gone

     If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue
     Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch

     Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it

       The earth was Mom's, and now so much more.
       Even though Mom was among the first in her family to go to 
     college and had worked both at home and abroad for six years 
     before she was married, she wrote in that same album that her 
     goal in life was ``to be a good wife and mother.'' She 
     achieved that goal, and so much more.
       In the words of the Old Testament, our mother was ``a wife 
     of noble character''--and she lived with a noble character. 
     No man ever had a more faithful, hardworking, and devoted 
     spouse than did our father, even though he delighted in 
     expressing his respect and appreciation in unusual ways. 
     Though she had to call the Senate Cloakroom most nights to 
     overcome the uncertainty of when he would be home, there was 
     no uncertainty when he called to ask, ``Old Mother, do you 
     have any steaks defrosted?'' That meant at least one, and 
     more likely a half dozen, Montanans were about to descend on 
     Mom for the evening. Once there, they got a great steak 
     dinner (2\1/2\" New York strips, specially cut at Safeway). 
     Drinks continued after dinner, but only with Mom--since Dad 
     would have left her and his friends as soon as his steak was 
     down.
       It is a great honor to us, but especially to Mom, that the 
     senior Montanan in Washington, Senator Max Baucus, is with us 
     today. Senator, thank you for your service to our country and 
     your friendship to our family.
       But it wasn't just Montanans. Former Senator Fritz Hollings 
     from South Carolina was among the many Senators who called to 
     express his condolences, and he related the following about 
     his first night in Washington as a new Senator forty years 
     ago, ``Your Daddy asked me what I was doing for dinner, and 
     an hour later I was eating a big Montana steak with him and 
     that dear, strong Eunice.'' On our honeymoon a decade later, 
     Holly and I stayed with friends of my parents in Dublin. On 
     arrival--I think even before hello--Frank Fitzpatrick said, 
     ``My God, we're still talking about those steaks.''
       Senator and Mrs. Hollings were with Mom and Dad on their 
     trip to Paris, mentioned in the obituary in The Washington 
     Post, during which Mom injured herself in a fall. To 
     paraphrase Paul Harvey, you will now know the rest of the 
     story. Mom and Dad had gone to Mass at Sacre Coeur on the 
     Montmarte one rainy evening, and, because Dad was not one to 
     take a cab, they were hustling (he was always hustling) down 
     wet, steep, centuries-old steps to the Metro, and my mother 
     took a hard fall, breaking her upper arm and knee. When we 
     saw her at Walter Reed after her Medevac trip home, Dad was 
     at her bedside and, in his most compassionate and 
     understanding way, said, ``Well, they told me Paris would 
     cost me an arm and a leg, but I didn't believe that till 
     now.'' Mom's reaction to hearing this comment, I am sure not 
     for the first time, was a wan smile through her casts and 
     bandages.
       Everyone who knew my mother knew how much she loved sports. 
     She herself played basketball, tennis, and golf when she was 
     younger, and she swatted a mean ping pong paddle later in 
     life. While she loved any sport on television, watching her 
     beloved Redskins was her real passion. Once in the 1970's, 
     during the Redskins' heyday, she and Dad were in Europe when 
     the Redskins were playing an important Monday night game. My 
     Dad awoke about 5 a.m. on the Tuesday morning--11 p.m. Monday 
     night Washington time--to find Mom lying very still on the 
     floor next to their bed. Alarmed, he called out to her, only 
     to be told to ``Be quiet, Stan!''--because she was listening 
     to the `Skins on the Armed Forces Network using a transistor 
     radio she brought for the occasion, and reception was better 
     on the floor.
       But, as much as we laugh about those stories now, the most 
     remarkable thing is that Mom's role as spouse never once kept 
     her from performing well her other life's goal as a mother. 
     In the first twenty years of their marriage, the family lived 
     in ten different houses, in four states, and on two 
     continents. Change was a constant in our lives, as it was for 
     all service families of that era and today. But no matter 
     where we were or what house we were in, we always knew that 
     home was where Mom was. Dad traveled or was deployed 
     frequently in those years, and though his strong persona was 
     never far from our thoughts, Mom was never far from our 
     sides--and always on our side. I remember Dad at many of my 
     Little League games, but I remember Mom at all of them, and I 
     can still see her, vividly, running along the fence with her 
     arms held high as I circled the bases after my first home run 
     at the McLean Little League fields.
       But one thing Mom left out of the album those many years 
     ago was a goal she achieved nonetheless--world's greatest 
     grandmother. While I do not recall a lot of gum, candy, soft 
     drinks, or Pringles in our home growing up, there were entire 
     shelves--lower shelves, of course--and a separate 
     refrigerator filled with whatever her grandchildren's little 
     hearts desired. For those who can join us at our home for the 
     reception after Mass, you will be treated to a Eunice Kimmitt 
     menu that will include these and many more of her favorites. 
     What a gift it was and is that the grandchildren and she--as 
     well as my Dad--got to know each other so well. And she was 
     so very proud of her grandchildren, and fiercely protective 
     of each of them.
       Mom was a person of deep and abiding faith. She was raised 
     Methodist in Napoleon, Missouri, in a church whose hymnals 
     were in German, so it was big news in that small town when 
     she returned from Germany in 1947 as a pregnant Catholic 
     married to an Irishman from Montana. And, just like 
     naturalized American citizenship, no one appreciates the 
     Catholic faith like a convert who embraces the faith later in 
     life on their own initiative. From weekly confession--even 
     when my Dad was in Korea and the confessional sessions must 
     have been brief--through weekly Holy Communion when she was 
     homebound, and then Last Rites just before she died, Mom's 
     faith was an integral part of her being and thus the legacy 
     she leaves to all of us.
       Indeed, I am firmly of the view that my mother was and is a 
     saint. I am as sure of that fact as I am of any tenet of my 
     faith. For 16 of the 18 years our brother Tom lived after his 
     accident in 1985, Mom spent an average of six hours a day 
     with him, every day of every year, whether in Arlington, 
     Washington, Alexandria, or Richmond, as we, led by her, 
     sought the best possible care for Tom. That is over 35,000 
     hours, or 4 full years, at Tom's side. Many in the Church 
     today visited Mom and Tom at some point during that period, 
     and I am sure felt, as did I, that we were privileged to be 
     in the presence of two of God's most blessed children, now 
     reunited by and with Him. And I would like to offer 
     particular thanks to Father Roos and the St. Agnes community, 
     who were so attentive to Tom and Mom during those many years 
     when Tom was just down the road at Cherrydale Nursing Home.
       So, if Holly is right--that Dad met Mom at the Pearly Gates 
     last Friday with a cigarette, glass of wine, and a to-do 
     list--I am pretty sure that Mom told Dad, after hugging him, 
     Kathy, Margaret, and Joe, that sitting down to continue her 
     personal Scrabble tournament with Tom was at the top of her 
     to-do list. And as they sat down for their first game after a 
     twenty-year break, I know Tom's first words to her were, 
     ``Mom, thanks. I always knew you were there.''
       And I also know that at 2:30 p.m. this afternoon, they and 
     Dad will all say, as they did so many years in person, ``Go 
     Army, Beat Navy!''

[[Page 30668]]



                          ____________________