[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 153 (2007), Part 18]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages 25133-25134]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




                            MANO JAMES TORTA

                                 ______
                                 

                           HON. JOHN CAMPBELL

                             of california

                    in the house of representatives

                      Thursday, September 20, 2007

  Mr. CAMPBELL of California. Madam Speaker, I rise to pay tribute to 
Mano James Torta. Mr. Torta was tragically killed on March 30, 2007, 
when he was hit by a drunk-driver while crossing the street in front of 
his apartment building. Mr. Torta was on the way to meet his wife, 
Lorraine, for dinner.
  Madam Speaker, my thoughts and prayers go out to Lorraine, and the 
rest of the Torta family, including his son James and his two 
daughters, Kimberly and Christine, Christine's husband Peter and their 
daughter, his granddaughter, Caitlin. At the same time, I wanted to 
take this opportunity to share with my colleagues some comments written 
about Mr. Torta by his son.

       For those of you who were not fortunate enough to know my 
     father well, it may be difficult for you to understand what 
     kind of man my father was--as my father was not like other 
     men.
       My father, first and foremost, was a man filled with love. 
     He loved my mother--completely, honestly, selflessly--for 
     more than thirty-five years. I cannot even begin to describe 
     the depth and beauty of their love. Many men, on their 
     passing, are described as ``devoted husbands''--but I cannot 
     imagine a man more devoted to his wife. His love for her--and 
     hers for him--was a love that transcends words. He lived for 
     her--truly, truly--lived for her. How many husbands can make 
     such a claim? He lived to make her smile, to make her laugh, 
     to make her happy. She was more than his wife--she was his 
     heart, his love, his life. She was everything to him. There 
     are so many stories that I could tell you--beautiful stories 
     about my mom and dad that would make you believe, really 
     believe--in ``true love.'' For their's was the truest of 
     love, and they spent their lives devoting themselves to each 
     other. But instead of telling you a story, I want to give you 
     an image--a simple image, for their's was a simple love. I 
     want you to imagine my father and mother sitting at their 
     kitchen table, taking tea together, talking and laughing 
     about what had happened on that particular day. Then my 
     father would smile wide and say that he had a surprise for 
     her--for he was always surprising her with some sort of 
     treat--and he would go to some nook in a cabinet and bring 
     out some mint milano cookies that he had bought earlier in 
     the day and hidden away so that, at this moment, he could 
     make her even happier than she was. That was their love, the 
     kind of love that showed itself in every minute of every day, 
     the simple and pure kind of love--sitting together, laughing, 
     sharing, wanting only each other's company. After thirty-five 
     years their love was something more than what they shared--it 
     was who they were. How many people are blessed with such 
     wondrous simplicity? And how can I even begin to tell you how 
     much my father loved his family?
       My father would often tell me how proud he was to have me 
     as a son--but I was even more proud to have him as my father. 
     I like to tell stories about him to my students--how he 
     worked for thirty-five years at a post office to support his 
     family, working long hours and sometimes more than one job to 
     send all three of his children to college and to make sure 
     than they all had the opportunities in life that he never 
     had. I would tell them about how he would try to give me the 
     last dollar he had in his wallet, how he would always make 
     time for us to talk or play catch in the backyard even when 
     he was exhausted from a long night at work, how he gave 
     everything he had to his family. But again, words cannot tell 
     the story of my father's love for his family. If only you 
     could

[[Page 25134]]

     have seen how gently he picked us up when we fell down and 
     scraped our knees, how securely he held us in his arms when 
     we cried, how he held our hands when we were sick. It is 
     often said that you never know what you have until it is 
     gone, but my sisters and I knew how lucky we were. It was 
     impossible not to know what a good father my dad was. We 
     depended so much on him and he never, never, let us down. He 
     always wanted to give us more, help us more, and spend more 
     time with us. We would give anything to spend more time with 
     him now.
       My sisters would tell you that no matter how much we loved 
     him, he loved us more. Listening to my sisters remember him, 
     hearing my mom mourn--I've come to understand that he taught 
     us about many things, but the most important thing he taught 
     us about was love. He showed us that love was not to be spent 
     on material things, but to be given to people who are close 
     to you. He taught us that love, above all other things, was 
     of paramount importance in this life--that without love we 
     have nothing. And he didn't just say these things; he lived 
     his life inspired by these ideals.
       My father wrote me a letter seven years ago, a letter I 
     have carried around in my wallet ever since. In the letter he 
     wrote--with touching simplicity and sincerity--to tell me how 
     much he loved me, how proud he was of me, and how he hoped 
     that I would follow my heart and make all my dreams come 
     true. I didn't need to carry it around--I mean, I never 
     needed any reminder of how he felt--but whenever I touched 
     the folded up paper, no matter where I was or what I was 
     doing, I felt as though everything was going to be okay. And 
     that's how he made all of us feel--warm and loved and safe. I 
     was not surprised when, on Friday night, my mom showed me a 
     note he had written her--also folded up and tucked into her 
     purse. He had that effect on all of us.
       My father had so many things to look forward to--he was 
     going to retire this summer after 35 years of service and 
     travel around the world with my mom. He was going to watch 
     his lovely granddaughter Caitlin grow up. He was finally 
     going to get a chance--after all those years of struggling 
     and working--to take a deep breath and relax. No man has ever 
     deserved to enjoy the fruits of life after retirement more 
     than he. Yet there he was, crossing the street, on the cusp 
     of a whole new chapter in life--and he was taken from this 
     world . . . not by illness or old age, but by cruel, cruel 
     chance. His death was a senseless tragedy--proof of what an 
     unfair and senseless world this can be--but today I beg you 
     instead to remember how he lived his life . . . for his 
     kindness, grace, and generosity should be an example to us 
     all. He would not want us to harden our hearts and spend this 
     time burning with anger at the enormity of this tragedy. 
     Instead remember what a wonderful, beautiful man he was, the 
     kind of man who gave so much and took so little. Remember how 
     a man who had seen so much and worked so hard somehow managed 
     to keep his heart so pure, and his soul so gentle. For who 
     here ever knew a man as gentle as he?
       Yesterday I said that my dad was lucky to have met his 
     granddaughter Caitlin--for she was born only 14 months ago--
     and my sister Kim corrected me and said that Caitlin was 
     lucky to have met him. And that is the truth of it--we all 
     were lucky to have known him. He was the best of men . . . 
     the very best. He will be missed more than anyone can 
     possibly imagine.

  Again, my thoughts and prayers go out to the Torta family.

                          ____________________