[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 153 (2007), Part 2]
[Senate]
[Pages 1697-1698]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




                ART BUCHWALD--THE MARK TWAIN OF OUR TIME

  Mr. KENNEDY. Madam President it is with a heavy heart that I rise to 
pay tribute to Art Buchwald. Art finally said good-bye to all of us 
last night. It was far too soon.
  Art is survived by his son Joel and his wife Tamara--who he lived 
with for so many wonderful years--his daughters Jennifer and Connie, 
his two sisters and five grandchildren. We are fortunate to have had 
him for so long, and he will be missed very much.
  Art was an incredible friend to my wife Vicki and me and to the 
entire Kennedy family. We all enjoyed Art's company and columns, and 
President Kennedy was known to read Art's column regularly while he was 
in the White House.
  We enjoyed so many delightful times together. Whether here in 
Washington or on Martha's Vineyard, Art brought tons of laughter into 
our lives. We'll continue to remember him and his wife, Ann McGarry 
Buchwald, as they will now be laid to rest together on the Vineyard.
  Art was the Mark Twain of our time. He will forever live on in our 
hearts and minds for his brilliant wit and observations. For decades 
there was no

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better way to start the day than to open the morning paper to Art's 
column, laugh out loud and learn all over again to take the issues 
seriously in the world of politics, but not take yourself too 
seriously.
  As Art said, ``Whether it's the best of times or the worst of times, 
it's the only time we've got.'' The special art of Art Buchwald was to 
make even the worst of times better. We are fortunate to have had him 
for so long, and I will miss him very much.
  Art was born in 1925 in Mount Vernon, New York, and made his own way 
in the world becoming a renowned political humorist and highly regarded 
columnist. In 1982, he received a Pulitzer Prize. Art never stopped 
working--writing and making us laugh right up until the very end.
  Just last November, he published his final book, ``Too Soon To Say 
Goodbye.'' He even had the foresight to write one final column--
published today. Among his final words were these:

       I don't know how well I've done while I was here, but I'd 
     like to think that some of my printed works will persevere at 
     least for three years.

  In fact, Art, they'll persevere forever.
  Vicki and I remember fondly celebrating Art's 80th birthday just over 
a year ago with The Brady Center to Prevent Gun Violence, together with 
my sister Eunice and her husband Sargent Shriver. Like every gathering 
with Art, it was an evening full of joy, humor and passion. Art was a 
great friend to the Brady Center and an inspiring advocate for sensible 
gun laws. He was a true leader for the cause and we are closer to our 
goal of rational gun control today because of him.
  Art was also an outspoken and powerful advocate on the importance of 
mental health care, speaking openly about his own experiences and 
providing hope to some many others.
  When we lost President Kennedy, Art honored him with his column, ``We 
Weep.'' He wrote:

       We weep for our president who died for his country. We weep 
     for his wife and his children, brothers and sisters. We weep 
     for the millions of people who are weeping for him. We weep 
     for Americans that this could happen in our country. We weep 
     for the Europeans and the Africans and the Asians and people 
     in every corner of the globe who saw in him a hope for the 
     future and a chance for mankind.

  Today, Art, the world weeps for you.
  I ask unanimous consent that Art Buchwald's final column, published 
today, be printed in the Record.
  There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in 
the Record, as follows:

         (From the International Herald Tribune, Jan. 18, 2007)

      Meanwhile: Goodbye, My Friends. What a Pleasure It Has Been!

                           (By Art Buchwald)

       Art Buchwald, who began his long career as a humor 
     columnist at this newspaper, asked that this column be 
     published following his death, which came on Wednesday at his 
     home in Washington.
       Several of my friends have persuaded me to write this final 
     column, which is something they claim I shouldn't leave 
     without doing.
       There comes a time when you start adding up all the pluses 
     and minuses of your life. In my case I'd like to add up all 
     the great tennis games I played and all of the great players 
     I overcame with my now famous ``lob.''
       I will always believe that my tennis game was one of the 
     greatest of all time. Even Kay Graham, who couldn't stand 
     being on the other side of the net from me, in the end 
     forgave me.
       I can't cover all the subjects I want to in one final 
     column, but I would just like to say what a great pleasure it 
     has been knowing all of you and being a part of your lives.
       Each of you has, in your own way, contributed to my life.
       Now, to get down to the business at hand, I have had many 
     choices concerning how I wanted to go. Most of them are very 
     civilized, particularly hospice care. A hospice makes it very 
     easy for you when you decide to go.
       What's interesting is that everybody has his or her own 
     opinion as to how you should go out. All my loved ones became 
     very upset because they thought I should brave it out--which 
     meant more dialysis.
       But here is the most important thing: This has been my 
     decision. And it's a healthy one.
       The person who was the most supportive at the end was my 
     doctor, Mike Newman. Members of my family, while they didn't 
     want me to go, were supportive, too.
       But I'm putting it down on paper, so there should be no 
     question the decision was mine.
       I chose to spend my final days in a hospice because it 
     sounded like the most painless way to go, and you don't have 
     to take a lot of stuff with you.
       For some reason my mind keeps turning to food. I know I 
     have not eaten all the eclairs I always wanted. In recent 
     months, I have found it hard to go past the Cheesecake 
     Factory without at least having a profiterole and a banana 
     split.
       I know it's a rather silly thing at this stage of the game 
     to spend so much time on food. But then again, as life went 
     on and there were fewer and fewer things I could eat, I am 
     now punishing myself for having passed up so many good things 
     earlier in the trip.
       I think of a song lyric, ``What's it all about, Alfie?'' I 
     don't know how well I've done while I was here, but I'd like 
     to think some of my printed works will persevere--at least 
     for three years.
       I know it's very egocentric to believe that someone is put 
     on earth for a reason. In my case, I like to think I was. And 
     after this column appears in the paper following my passing, 
     I would like to think it will either wind up on a cereal box 
     top or be repeated every Thanksgiving Day.
       So, ``What's it all about, Alfie?'' is my way of saying 
     goodbye.

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