[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 151 (2005), Part 9]
[Senate]
[Pages 12850-12854]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




                            SOL M. LINOWITZ

 Mr. SARBANES. Mr. President, when Sol M. Linowitz died 
recently, at the age of 91, this country lost a distinguished citizen 
and his family lost a loving, wise and generous husband, father, 
brother and grandfather. Those who had the privilege of working with 
him--and there are many of us--lost a colleague and wise counselor and, 
above all, a dear friend.
  It says much about Sol Linowitz that he opened his 1985 memoir, The 
Making of a Public Man, with a citation from Justice Oliver Wendell 
Holmes, Jr.: ``It is required of a man that he should share the passion 
and action of his time at peril of being judged not to have lived.'' 
That is precisely what Sol did over the course of what his brother, Bob 
Linowes, described--too modestly--as Sol's ``exemplary and productive 
life.'' Indeed, it can be said of Sol Linowitz that almost from his 
birth in 1913 until his death earlier this year, he reflected in his 
own life the highest ideals, aspirations and achievements of 20th-
century America.
  Sol Linowitz was the eldest of Joseph and Rose Linowitz's four sons. 
Both his parents had come to this country as adolescents from what was 
then the Russian empire. They met and married in this country, settling 
in Trenton, NJ, and raising their family there. Of his parents Sol has 
written simply but eloquently: they ``were not highly educated people; 
they had come across the ocean . . . bringing their hopes and little 
more . . . their life was a struggle.'' From his parents he received 
the priceless gift of principles by which to live his own life: the 
fundamental importance of education; values taught by example, not 
rhetoric; people helping others in need. He grew up in a neighborhood 
of families similar to his own, except that they had come from Ireland, 
and Italy and in an earlier time and under different conditions, from 
Africa. He could see that his parents ``most of all loved and trusted 
this country.''
  On the strength of advice from a high school teacher and a modest 
scholarship, Sol Linowitz went to Hamilton College, where he went on to 
become the Class of 1935 Salutatorian. Advice from a distinguished 
Hamilton alumnus, Elihu Root, led him to law school; when he told Root 
that he was thinking of becoming a rabbi or studying law, Root replied: 
``Become a lawyer. I have found that a lawyer needs twice as much 
religion as a minister or rabbi.'' Once again, this time at Cornell Law 
School, he rose to the top of his class, finishing first and serving as 
editor-in-chief of the Cornell Law Quarterly. A number of his law-
school friends, like Senator Edmund Muskie and Secretary of State 
William Rogers, went on to become eminent public servants and 
practitioners of the law. But Sol wrote with typical understatement in 
his memoir that ``the most significant social contact'' of his years at 
Cornell was Toni Zimmerman, a Cornell student. All who know Toni 
Zimmerman Linowitz would certainly agree. Sol and Toni were married for 
65 years.
  Sol chose to practice law in Rochester with the small family firm of 
Sutherland and Sutherland. Following government and military service 
during World War II, he and Toni returned to Rochester. Sol resumed his 
law practice. At the same time, he entered into the sustained 
engagement in community and national affairs that was to illuminate his 
entire life.
  Sol Linowitz's commitment to public service extended far beyond his 
government service, which began with his OAS ambassadorship, in 1969. 
He found an extraordinary range of opportunities to serve. For many 
years he was a trustee of Hamilton College and of Cornell University, 
which had both served him so well--and also of Johns Hopkins 
University, in Baltimore, and the University of Rochester and the 
Eastman School of Music, in Rochester. He was chairman of the Jewish 
Theological Seminary of America. He served as president of the National 
Urban League. He was a co-founder of the International Executive 
Service Committee, in 1964, and the founder of the InterAmerican 
Dialogue, in 1982. He was an advisor to three U.S. Presidents, and was 
President Carter's representative in the Israel-Egypt negotiations 
following the Camp David Accord.
  With Ambassador Ellsworth Bunker, Sol Linowitz led the U.S. team that 
negotiated the Panama Canal Treaties. It has been reported that years 
later Sol said of this daunting challenge, ``In retrospect, I'd have to 
say that assignment was probably the most difficult and the most 
challenging of my life. It is also the accomplishment of which I am 
most proud.'' Sol had reason to take pride in his achievement. The 
treaties were brilliantly drafted and negotiated. They put an end to a 
growing source of friction in U.S. relations not just with Panama but 
with all of

[[Page 12851]]

Latin America, and assured the continuing, smooth operation of the 
Canal.
  It was in my capacity as a manager of the floor debate over the 
Senate's advice and consent to the treaties that I worked closely with 
Sol Linowitz over many months and got to know him well. He was an 
extraordinarily skillful diplomat, an honorable and dedicated public 
servant. He was also a person of singular intelligence, integrity, and 
human compassion. It was my privilege to consider him a friend.
  Sol opened his memoir with the quotation cited above from Justice 
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. In closing, he turned to Archibald MacLeish. 
MacLeish, he noted, ``once said that 'America is promises,' but these 
promises have not been kept equally to all. Those of us for whom the 
most extravagant promises of this land have become a reality are, I 
think, required to seek appropriate expressions of their gratitude.'' 
Sol Linowitz never ceased to find opportunities to express his 
gratitude. Again and again over the course of his long and productive 
life, he found innumerable ways to make our Nation a better place for 
all its people.
  At a memorial service at Adas Israel Congregation on March 29, 2005, 
Sol Linowitz was remembered in a series of moving tributes from members 
of his family, friends and colleagues. Every tribute reminded us yet 
again how deeply the loss of Sol Linowitz is felt. He was ``a man 
comfortable with himself, and thus everyone was comfortable with him,'' 
said Jim Lehrer. ``He asked questions and then he listened to the 
answers.'' Bernard Kalb observed, ``Sol Linowitz may have been the 
president of Xerox but no one has yet succeeded in making a copy of 
Sol.'' Mr. President, I ask that the service be printed in the Record.
  The service follows.

  There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in 
the Record, as follows:

                            Memorial Service


                       rabbi jeffrey a. wohlberg

       We begin with a poem:

     To the living, death is a wound,
     It's name is grief, it's companion loneliness.
     But death belongs to life
     As night belongs to day
     As shadow belongs to substance
     As the fallen leaf belongs to the tree,
     So does death belong to life.

       Death is normal and natural, it is part of reality--we know 
     that. And yet, when it comes, when it touches someone close 
     to us, when it takes someone, that is beloved we are somehow 
     not ready and unprepared no matter what we know, no matter 
     what we think we know and no matter what the age of the 
     person who is gone. This is the difference between intellect 
     and emotion.
       So we gather to mourn and to eulogize and to share 
     memories, vignettes and strength as we come together for Sol 
     Linowitz. There is a void in your lives, an unfillable hole 
     for which we feel unprepared.
       We have all lost someone precious, a man who was 
     extraordinary, quite unique and very special. Your loss is 
     shared by many of us outside the family, not merely because 
     we knew Sol or because he had done something for us, but 
     because of what he's done for all including many who never 
     knew him, and yet who are in his debt. Outside the family he 
     was known, admired and respected by world leaders, by people 
     of prominence, by people of stature. He was a quintessential 
     attorney, an accomplished businessman, an effective diplomat, 
     a trusted counsel to presidents and prime ministers, as well 
     as to rabbis and the public in general. He served as Chairman 
     of the Board of the Jewish Theological Seminary and that of 
     course brings him added distinction.
       But beyond all his successes--as an attorney at Xerox, in 
     service to our government, on boards and boards at 
     universities--and other accomplishments, it all comes down to 
     family. Our condolences are extended to brothers David, 
     Robert, and Harry, who remember parents Joseph and Rose, 
     growing up in Trenton, New Jersey, Hamilton College and 
     Cornell University and so much more that they shared over 
     these many years. Our condolences are extended to Toni, his 
     wife of 68 years. Theirs was a love affair which began when 
     she was in college and he was in law school. She remembers 
     wearing a green dress and that she signed up for archery so 
     that she could meet him on the path when he came out of law 
     school and would see her. Our condolences are extended to 
     daughters, to Anne, June, Jan, and Roni as well as their 
     spouses who have always been close and supportive as well as 
     supported by his love. And of course to eight grandchildren, 
     Judy, David, another David, Michael, Steven, Danny, Jessie 
     and Sandy, who were the dividends of his life. He shared 
     their trials, challenges and successes. The family was of 
     critical importance to him no matter what was going on. You 
     said that after dealing with family he was ready to deal with 
     anything and it made him a great negotiator. And so there is 
     a great deal of pride, pleasure and strength that you shared 
     as you gave each other mutual support.
       Long after the violin is set aside the music plays on. And 
     so it is with a human life. Sol (who played the violin) is 
     gone, but the music of his life will remain with us forever.

     Servant of God well done;
     Rest thy loved employ
     The battle fought, the victory won
     Enter the martyrs' joy.
     The pain of death is past,
     Labor and sorrow cease,
     Life's long warfare closed at last,
     May thy soul now rest in peace.
                                  ____

       May the memory and name of Sol Linowitz bring comfort to 
     all who hold it dear.


                             june linowitz

       Hello and we1come. On behalf of my family I want to thank 
     everyone for being here. It means a lot to us.
       My name is June Linowitz and it is my honor to speak on 
     behalf of my sisters--Anne, Jan and Ronni. What I'm going to 
     say is the result of the conversations with my sisters. I 
     assume that other speakers this afternoon will discuss my dad 
     as diplomat, humanitarian, businessman and sage. I just want 
     to talk about Sol Linowitz--our dad. Implied in this 
     discussion is, of course, our mother Toni Linowitz. My 
     parents were married for 65 years and had a remarkable 
     marriage. My parents respected each other, supported each 
     other, encouraged each other, adored each other and truly 
     shared their lives. As far as we kids were concerned they 
     presented a united front. So often when I talk about my dad, 
     I'm talking about my mom too.
       I can't talk about Dad without mentioning his sense of 
     humor. A lot of you know he had a story for every occasion 
     but what we kids remember is was how funny he could be. My 
     dad loved to laugh and to make other people laugh. He felt 
     that one of the best ways to relate to a person was through 
     laughter and he was very good at making that happen.
       My sisters and I remember a routine from when we were 
     little and he'd put us to bed. He'd tuck us in, say 
     ``goodnight'' turn off the light and--walk into the closet. 
     He'd come out of the closet saying ``oh, oh, sorry'' and bump 
     into a wall. Flustered he'd walk into another wall. Then he'd 
     say ``ok now, enough. I'm leaving now'' and (walk down 
     imaginary stairs). We'd howl with laughter! My dad was our 
     favorite playmate! And a routine like that was 
     psychologically pretty savvy for small kids because we knew 
     no monsters were hiding anywhere. He'd been everywhere trying 
     to get out of the room!
       My dad was a great amateur psychologist. For example--My 
     sister Jan used to be painfully shy. My dad would talk with 
     her saying ``A woman visited me in the office today. She's 
     concerned about her son Johnnie because he's afraid of 
     meeting people. She doesn't know what to do. What do you 
     think I should tell her?'' Jan would confer with dad and come 
     up with a way to tackle Johnnie's shyness and of course her 
     own. It was a very effective tactic.
       My dad the amateur psychologist even devised behavioral 
     charts. With Jan he devised a chart where she would get a 
     star each day she shook somebody's hand and if she did that 
     for 2 weeks she'd get a treat.
       No big surprise! My sister Jan has grown up to be a 
     psychologist!
       My parents wanted us to know the value of money. We got 
     what we needed but not necessarily what we wanted. We were 
     given allowances (small ones, I might note) that were 
     defendant on our performing certain chores. Unfortunately my 
     parents would also dock us if we didn't do certain things or 
     if we misbehaved and I was the kind of kid who at the end of 
     the week often ended up with nothing. At holidays, or our 
     birthdays, our gifts weren't extravagant. We got socks and 
     underwear wrapped as presents for Chanukah. We got other 
     gifts too but at least some of our presents were things we 
     needed and should have been grateful to receive. Because my 
     dad didn't want us to take things for granted. He wanted us 
     to know how fortunate we were. We had food on the table and 
     clothes on our backs and a place to sleep and he knew and 
     wanted us to know that most of the children in the world 
     weren't as fortunate.
       We talked about current events at the dinner table. My dad 
     made it a priority to be with us at dinner time. He was a 
     busy man but he had time for his family. We'd talk about the 
     events of the day, not just what happened with us kids at 
     school, but what dad had experienced and what had happened in 
     the world. And my dad would be interested in our opinions. 
     He'd question our views and so taught us how to think.
       He wanted us to think for ourselves and be independent. And 
     of course he paid for that. When we got older, and we 
     realized what a big shadow he cast, we fiercely stated our 
     independence. When we started looking for jobs--we wouldn't 
     use his contacts. When we had problems--we wouldn't take his 
     advice. We didn't really want to be seen with him.

[[Page 12852]]

     We wanted to be successful and respected on our own terms and 
     to my dad's credit, he respected us for that. We made him 
     kind of crazy, but he was proud of us.
       And as we've made our way in the world, Anne is a social 
     worker, Jan is a psychologist, and Ronni and I are artists, 
     he became our biggest fan. He was our good friend and wise 
     counsel. No matter what was going on in his life, no matter 
     how busy he might be, our dad was always available if we 
     needed him. He would listen to us and we listened to him too.
       We would discuss our careers, our marriages, our families 
     and our lives. We would talk about the nature of death and 
     the purpose of life. We would discuss the state of the world 
     and the current conflicts. And, as many of you know, my dad's 
     outlook would always be hopeful. He would acknowledge the 
     difficulty of the situation but he'd believe in man's 
     capacity to prevail. He looked for the best in people and so 
     he would bring out the best in people. He was both a realist 
     and an optimist. He was quite simply an exceptional human 
     being.
       My dad used to say that he felt closer to his own parents 
     after they died. My sisters and I are hoping and praying that 
     we'll find that true too. Because we miss our dad a lot.
                                  ____



                         ronni linowitz jolles

       I am honored to be here today, as one of Sol Linowitz's 
     daughters, to speak about our father. My sister June spoke so 
     well about the wonderful father he was to the four of us. I 
     think you know of some of his tremendous accomplishments that 
     truly made the world a better place. I want to share with you 
     a conversation that I had with him that will give you a 
     different perspective about the kind of person he was.
       I called him one Sunday morning--about 15 years ago, 
     although I remember it clearly--and asked him if I could come 
     talk to him about something that was bothering me. Without 
     hesitation, he instantly said, ``Yes, of course. Your mother 
     and I will be here all afternoon so come on over.'' He had a 
     certain excitement in his voice; he loved to talk about 
     things that were deep, or meaningful, and he loved to help 
     you to work through a problem and find solutions.
       I came over that afternoon and went up to the den. I talked 
     to both mom and dad for a while, and then my dad and I went 
     to talk. When I came into the study, I could see that my dad 
     had set things up for our talk; he had cleared off his desk, 
     except for a big yellow legal pad and a pen. He was prepared 
     to do what he did better than anyone I have ever known; to 
     listen. And I was lucky enough to be listened to by the 
     wisest person I will ever know in my life.
       So, I began to talk: I went over the most important things 
     in my life, because I knew that those things all would have 
     an impact on what was bothering me; I talked about my 
     marriage, my kids, my job, my synagogue, my close friends. I 
     talked about the balance I was seeking to find as I lived my 
     life.
       Then I got to the issue at hand: ``Dad, `` I said, ``. . . 
     I've been really struggling with this: I hope you don't think 
     this is silly, but . . . I don't think I'm making a 
     difference in the world. I just don't feel like I'm doing 
     enough.
       If I weren't here tomorrow, have I left a mark?
       Have I made the world a better place?
       I don't think I'm doing as much as I can to make a 
     difference.
       He looked at me and started with what I knew he would say 
     first. ``Being a mother is one of the most important jobs 
     you'll ever have. . . . your teaching is such a gift.'' We 
     went back and forth about a few things, but it just wasn't 
     feeling right.
       ``You know, Dad, this may just be due to having someone as 
     amazing as you as a father. I mean our dinner conversations 
     were a little unusual . . . I grew up hearing about world 
     peace, solving world hunger, starting new companies, building 
     new organizations!
       ``Maybe I just have to come to terms with the fact that I'm 
     not you, and I am not going to be able to be do the kinds of 
     things that you did and are still doing. Maybe you can just 
     help me reach a peace about it so it won't bother me 
     anymore.''
       He just looked at me for a few minutes, and finally said, 
     ``OK. I want to talk to you about, something. I know exactly 
     what you're feeling.''
       He went on--``You know, you think I'm such an important 
     person. I know that you think I'm doing all of these 
     important things, and sometimes maybe I am, but I also wonder 
     if I'm making a difference.''
       He went on, ``The truth is; I don't know if what I'm doing 
     is making a difference. I hope I'm making a difference, and 
     some days, after something very positive has happened, I do 
     feel like I'm really making a difference.
       But I honestly don't know if the treaties I'm helping to 
     implement will be here in 50, or 100 years.
       I don't know if the peace that I've worked towards will 
     last.
       I don't know if the organizations that I'm working with 
     will still be here years from now.
       No one can know that. So I also worry if I'm really doing 
     enough in this world.
       Then he stopped and just looked at me and said, ``So I'm 
     going to tell you about something that I do that has helped 
     me. ``Every day I try to do things. Sometimes I'm not able to 
     do it, but I always try. 2 things.''
       I may know of someone who is ill, so I'll send some flowers 
     and write a note.
       Or I may know someone who has just lost a loved one, so 
     I'll write something meaningful and look for a quote that I 
     may have that may bring them some comfort.
       It could be that I just went to a concert, saw a play, or 
     an art exhibit and I was touched by it and I wanted to write 
     something and say thank you.
       As he was talking, I drifted off and thought about all of 
     the notes I had received from my dad over the years--the 
     notes telling me how great he thought I was in that play or 
     how much he enjoyed having me at that Passover seder or how 
     he always sent me flowers on my birthday with the most loving 
     of cards. I wonder how many of you have received a note or 
     two from my father.
       He then continued, ``I try to do two things like that every 
     day--2 things that are reaching out to someone who I can 
     either appreciate or help or comfort or just say I love you 
     to. Those things I try to do every day give me a feeling that 
     I'm making a difference in the world and I find them very 
     fulfilling--perhaps more fulfilling than any of the other 
     things that I'm doing on a much grander scale.
       Today, as I look at the people who are here--some of you 
     may be here because you respect my father and admire his many 
     public accomplishments--but I'll bet that most of you are 
     here because you loved him. Maybe he touched you in a very 
     personal and meaningful way that made you so appreciate him. 
     Maybe you were a part of his ``2 things.''
       That is what I think made our Dad, Sol Linowitz, the truly 
     amazing man that he was.
       And as we all think about his life and as we try to think 
     about ways we can remember him, it may be that some of us 
     might try to do 2 things every day--2 things for people we 
     know in your own lives that might make them feel comforted or 
     loved or appreciated, and we can think about Sol Linowitz 
     every time we do that. And truly, I can't think of anything 
     that would make him happier than knowing that the people he 
     touched throughout his life are remembering him by doing kind 
     things for others.
       We have all been blessed by knowing Sol Linowitz.
                                  ____



                             william brody

       Some years back. John Updike wrote a short poem, titled 
     ``Perfection Wasted.'' which begins with these words:

     And another regrettable thing about death
     is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,
     which took a whole life to develop and market--

       Ambassador Linowitz's life was so long, and so varied, and 
     so full of marvelous adventures, that his own brand of magic 
     was, as a result, inexpressibly unique.
       Of course, there were many stories. Who could live through 
     such times, and frequently be at the center of things, and 
     not have stories to tell?
       One time in the 1960s, when he was ambassador to the 
     Organization of American States, he went on a particularly 
     grueling trip through Central and South America accompanied 
     by Lincoln Gordon, who had served as ambassador to Brazil and 
     was assistant secretary of state for inter-American affairs, 
     and was not far off from becoming the ninth president of 
     Johns Hopkins University. They were making arrangements for a 
     summit meeting that President Lyndon Johnson was planning to 
     attend, so the hours were very long, the work was hard, and 
     it involved traveling to many different countries in a very 
     short period of time.
       When they finally arrived back in the United States, they 
     landed in San Antonio late in the evening, and were scheduled 
     to report to President Johnson at his ranch the next morning. 
     But at 11:30 at night the phone rang, and it was the 
     President, who said, `I want you out here tonight.' So Sol 
     got out of bed, woke up Lincoln Gordon, and they got on a 
     helicopter and flew out to the LBJ ranch in the middle of the 
     night.
       When they landed there was a station wagon waiting for them 
     with a driver in the front seat. The helicopter people loaded 
     the bags in the back of the station wagon, and then Sol and 
     Lincoln Gordon climbed into the back seat. And the driver of 
     the station wagon said, `Welcome back home, Sol' and turned 
     around and it was the President of the United States. With 
     not a secret service agent anywhere in sight.
       When Sol told that story, he said, you know, `I've worked 
     with several presidents. and there aren't many who would 
     drive out in the middle of the night and pick someone up.'
       Which is a story that says more, perhaps, about Sol 
     Linowitz, than about Lyndon Johnson.
       When someone of Ambassador Linowitz's stature and renown 
     dies, the articles in the New York Times and the Washington 
     Post have a favorite epithet they like to use: he or she was 
     `an advisor to presidents.' This signifies that these people 
     were not only powerful, but also sagacious. That they had 
     wisdom to share.
       This was doubly true of Sol Linowitz, who shared his 
     insights not only with United

[[Page 12853]]

     States presidents, but also, for many, many years with the 
     presidents of a select and lucky few colleges and 
     universities. I count myself as extremely fortunate to have 
     been among that group, as were presidents Dan Nathans, Bill 
     Richardson and Steven Muller before me at Johns Hopkins, and 
     the presidents at Cornell University, Hamilton College, the 
     University or Rochester and the Eastman School of Music, 
     where he also serve as a trustee and advisor.
       We were fortunate in one respect because of Sol's often 
     shrewd analysis and penetrating insights. When Bill Clinton 
     awarded Ambassador Linowitz the Presidential Medal of Freedom 
     in 1998, he said ``Receiving advice from Sol Linowitz . . . 
     is like getting trumpet lessons from the angel Gabriel.'' And 
     he was right.
       Sol was the quintessential Renaissance man: distinguished 
     lawyer, businessman and statesman, part-Rabbi, part-
     psychiatrist. Sol was an accomplished violinist. But above 
     all, he was a true scholar. His passion for learning enhanced 
     the depth of his wisdom, compassion and insight into people's 
     behavior. And to this day, I have never met anyone other than 
     Sol who had given a college salutarian address at 
     commencement in Latin.
       Sol Linowitz truly admired and valued higher education. He 
     was a champion of America's colleges and universities. He 
     believed that what we do is not only important, but it also 
     serves a higher cause. Later in his life he would say that 
     when he enrolled in Cornell Law School during the Great 
     Depression, he went there ``burning with a desire to do 
     good.'' Colleges and universities, he believed, could be 
     instruments of social justice. They could be bastions not 
     only of learning, but also of the will to do that which is 
     needful and right.
       Many years back, long before the cost and expense of a 
     college education had become a national obsession, Sol wrote 
     an article titled `A Liberal Arts College is Not a Railroad' 
     in which he very eloquently defended the utility and need for 
     a liberal education, even as it became more and more costly. 
     At one point in the article he wrote the following: `A 
     college may offer a course in Persian history, for example, 
     which only five students will attend during a particular 
     term. Should we abolish the course? Or should we hope that 
     the few students who do learn something of Persian history 
     will thereby become uniquely qualified to perform some 
     important service for which this particular aspect of their 
     education has especially fitted them?'
       There he was; years and years ago, saying that it may not 
     appear needful, but that someday we may want to have some 
     people around who knew the history and culture of Persia--
     modern day Iran. How prescient that was. How thoughtful. And 
     how like Sol Linowitz.
       Which is why today, though we have come to celebrate a life 
     lived greatly, yet we cannot help but feel saddened that one 
     like this has passed from our midst. Sol's brand of magic 
     cannot be replaced. And John Updike, ending his poem, says it 
     all:

     The jokes over the phone.
     The memories packed in the rapid-access file.
     The whole act.
     Who will do it again? That's it: no one; imitators and 
           descendants aren't the same.
                                  ____



                              martin mayer

       I am grateful to Robert Linowes for this opportunity to 
     give public thanks for forty years of friendship with his 
     brother Sol.
       When I met Sol he was the non-executive chairman of the 
     board of Xerox and the senior partner in a Rochester law firm 
     built significantly but by no means entirely on work for 
     Xerox. Bobby Kennedy and James Perkins, president of Cornell, 
     had suggested to The New York Times that Sol would be a good 
     candidate for the Democrats to run against Nelson Rockefeller 
     for Governor of New York in 1966, and Sol had not yet 
     declined the invitation. So the Times asked me to write a 
     profile of this unknown fellow in Rochester who had so 
     brilliantly used the patent laws and the anti-trust laws to 
     give his friend Joe Wilson's little company so large a lead 
     worldwide in the burgeoning business of copying. But Sol did 
     not define himself as a businessman. He was first of all an 
     attorney, and as such, like Brandeis, he was always a 
     professional who had clients, never just somebody's lawyer.
       Joe Wilson wanted Sol at his side as Lyndon Johnson and 
     Jimmy Carter, various secretaries of state and the clients of 
     Coudert wanted him in later years, because his judgment was 
     always intelligent, widely focused, uncontaminated by self-
     interest, and responsive to the problem. And generous. Sol 
     was a great man, but also--it is not a common combination--a 
     good guy. He was always looking for nice things to say about 
     someone, and even when he couldn't find any--which happened--
     he remained reluctant to speak ill of anyone.
       I worked with him on his memoirs and again only a dozen 
     years ago on his book The Betrayed Profession, his cry of 
     anguish at the dessication and corruption of lawyering. I 
     told him I would help on this book only on his promise that 
     when the book was published there would be people at the 1925 
     F Street Club who would no longer smile at him when he walked 
     through the door. Instead, they had to tear down the F Street 
     Club.
       Especially when dealing with questions of urban blight, 
     social justice, hunger and the obligations of successful 
     businesses, which he did from leadership positions, Sol could 
     slip into the trite and true, but he had a gift of expression 
     and an occasionally puckish irreverence. My favorite Linowitz 
     line was his last laugh at Arthur D. Little, which had saved 
     Xerox from the bear-hug of IBM by telling IBM that there 
     wasn't going to be any mass demand for copying machines. In 
     the Xerox case, Sol said, ``invention was the mother of 
     necessity.''
       Having pulled off the near miracle of negotiating the 
     Panama Canal Treaty and selling it to the Senate, Sol was 
     lured by Jimmy Carter after the first Camp David accord to 
     take charge of closing the deal with Anwar Sadat and Menachim 
     Begin. He hung on his wall at the State Department Casey 
     Stengel's comment on the Mets, ``They say you can't do it, 
     but sometimes that doesn't always work.'' Arafat, as people 
     forget, was not then in the picture. In late 1980--and, 
     indeed, the last time we talked about it, only a couple of 
     years ago--Sol thought he was close to a deal that Begin and 
     Sadat could sign, including his invention of a ``religious 
     sovereignty'' that would allow Muslims to place a Muslim 
     flag, not a national flag, over the Muslim holy places on 
     Israeli soil (``What does `religious sovereignty' mean?'' 
     Begin asked, and Sol replied, ``Exactly'')--but Ronald Reagan 
     and Alexander Haig thought it best to let the Middle East 
     stew in its own bloody juice; and Sol, still a young man at 
     67, went back to the practice of law and the chairing of 
     civic organizations.
       One thought he would always be around, to call and ask how 
     a book was coming or to tell me what great things he'd heard 
     my wife was doing as the American executive director of the 
     IMF, to which she had been appointed in part because he had 
     lobbied Lloyd Bentsen on her behalf. ``You know,'' he'd say, 
     ``people talk to me.'' And so they did: this city is full of 
     people whose balance was restored by talking with Sol. His 
     lesson was that straightforwardness can get you there. Of 
     course nobody is always around, and Sol wouldn't have wanted 
     to be forever. Not fair; you have to get out of the way and 
     make room for the next crowd. But there won't be a Sol 
     Linowitz in the next crowd; there was only one of those.
                                  ____



                           R. Robert Linowes

       We are here today to say good-bye and pay tribute to a 
     great human being--Sol Myron Linowitz.
       As most of you know, Sol was my brother. He was also my 
     closest friend and confidant. I admired Sol for many reasons. 
     He lived an exemplary and productive life. Much has 
     justifiably been said and written about his remarkable, 
     history-making achievements.
       I'd like to just take a few minutes to talk about him--as a 
     person, as a brother, and as a man.
       Sol sincerely cared about people and wanted to do whatever 
     he could to help. His compassion, his thoughtfulness and his 
     humility will be well-remembered by many. His advice and 
     counsel were constantly sought by people from all walks of 
     life, and he gave freely of his time and efforts. He listened 
     when people spoke to him, and he paid attention. He tried to 
     help everyone who called upon him, and if he couldn't do it 
     himself, he tried to enlist others who might be of help. I 
     know--I received a number of those calls to be of assistance.
       He had an unparalleled sense of humor, and his story-
     telling and quips were memorable. He was much sought after as 
     a speaker.
       Many of you are aware that our family is very close. We are 
     each available and responsive when any one of us needs help 
     or guidance--and that includes not only the brothers, Sol, 
     Dave and Harry, and our wives, Toni, Dorothy, Ada, and Judy, 
     but also all the sons and daughters, and nieces and nephews--
     quite a tribe, I might add. Sol was particularly nurturing of 
     this relationship and continually showed it.
       Sol and I, however, had a special relationship. We would 
     meet once or twice each week for lunch at the Hay Adams or 
     the Cosmos Club, and solve all the problems of the city, the 
     Nation, and the world. Unfortunately, those solutions rarely 
     got any farther than our table.
       For more than 40 years, Toni and Sol, and Ada and I would 
     vacation together, generally twice a year.
       I remember every so often when things got a little boring, 
     we would be. sitting at a table or in a room with a number of 
     people around, none of whom obviously knew us, and Sol and I 
     would start talking to each other loudly in a made-up 
     language. We would talk with great animation and conviction 
     for about 15-20 minutes. You could see people looking at us 
     oddly, trying to understand who we were and what we were 
     saying. Meanwhile, our wives were trying to distance 
     themselves from us as much as possible.
       When we travelled together, it was our regular practice to 
     exercise in the morning. I remember once on a cruise, Sol was 
     taking his exercise walk around the deck, while I was in the 
     fitness center on the treadmill. Later over breakfast, Sol 
     told me he looked in the

[[Page 12854]]

     window of the fitness center and was amazed that there were 
     six men all walking at the same intensely vigorous pace as I. 
     He marveled even more that they all had the same shiny bald 
     spot on the backs of their heads. I told him that was 
     impossible--there was nobody else in there. He was adamant 
     and demanded that we go up to the fitness center to see. We 
     made our usual bet of $100,000. As it turned out, Sol had 
     observed me reflected six times in the fitness center 
     mirrors. He used some convoluted logic to avoid paying the 
     debt.
       We used to kid and get kidded often about the change of 
     names. I claimed he changed his name and he would point to me 
     and respond--How could anyone blame him with a brother like 
     me. I recall a dinner at which I was being honored by The 
     National Conference of Christians and Jews. Sol had been 
     similarly honored some years previously, and he was asked to 
     make the presentation. He noted in his introduction that he 
     was not sure whether or not this was the first time two 
     brothers had received this honor, but he was certain that it 
     was the first time that two brothers with different last 
     names had received this award.
       Sol and I would talk on the phone frequently. It was one of 
     the highlights of the day. We would often call to tell each 
     other a story, or just talk, and often we would break out in 
     uncontrollable laughter, and not be able to continue the 
     conversation. People who would walk by my office thought I 
     needed an ambulance--or a strait jacket.
       Let me just mention one other part of Sol's life that is 
     not generally known. We do know that Sol played the violin 
     and played it well, but what many of you do not know is that 
     during summer vacations when he was attending Hamilton 
     College, Sol organized, led, and played in a band in one of 
     the small hotels located at a New Jersey beach. The name of 
     that outstanding entertainment enterprise was Chick Lynn and 
     his Chickadees. Sol never included that in his bio.
       Sol and Toni were married 67 years and it remained a love 
     story from start to finish. Toni committed and dedicated 
     herself completely to him, and Sol to her. Toni rarely left 
     his side the last year of his life while he was in failing 
     health.
       Sol loved his four daughters and their husbands. He 
     regarded them not as sons-in-law, but rather as sons. His 
     grandchildren were the light of his life. He suffered 
     terribly at the tragedy endured by Judy.
       Many people strive to leave this world a better place than 
     when they entered it. Sol was one of the few who actually 
     did. For this, we all owe him a debt of gratitude.
       All of us have been most fortunate to have had the 
     opportunity to know Sol and to love him. All of us have 
     benefited from that relationship. All of us will sorely miss 
     him. The world has lost a great man, and I have lost my best 
     friend.
                                  ____

       Closing Prayer
       Rabbi Wohlberg and Hazzan Tenna Greenberg
     Exalted, compassionate God,
     Grant infinite rest, in your sheltering Presence,
     Among the holy and the pure,
     To the soul of Sol Linowitz
     Who has gone to his eternal home.
     Merciful One, we ask that our loved one find perfect peace in 
           Your eternal embrace.
     May his soul be bound up in the bond of life.
     May he rest in peace.
     And let us say: Amen.

                          ____________________