Mr. Speaker, the passing of Clem Roy--an old friend of mine--happened so abruptly, and struck at the core of the notion we all have of our brief time on this planet, and the importance of friends and family, and what we mean to one…
Mr. Speaker, the passing of Clem Roy--an old friend of mine--happened so abruptly, and struck at the core of the notion we all have of our brief time on this planet, and the importance of friends and family, and what we mean to one another.
Faith teaches us that Clem is in a better place: at peace and without suffering, while we scramble to fill the void left by his passing with stories and memories of the friend we laughed with, argued and debated with, and with whom we shared in the ups and downs of the human comedy that is life.
Two Connecticut writers--both contemporaries of Clem's--Kevin Rennie of The Hartford Courant, and Mark Pazniokas of the CT Mirror, wrote excellent pieces about Clem that I am proud to submit for the Congressional Record at the same time that a flag will fly over the United States Capitol in Clem Roy's memory. These writers captured his essence.
The following are the articles as they appeared in The Hartford Courant and CT Mirror:
Lobbyist Clem Roy: A Sharp Operator With a Lot of Heart
(By Kevin Rennie--The Hartford Courant)
``You can read a bill and you can vote for a bill, but you
shouldn't do both.'' So goes the wisdom of an original in
Connecticut politics, Clem Roy.
A lobbyist for more than 30 years, Clem has been struck by
an aggressive brain tumor diagnosed a few weeks ago. In those
decades bivouacking in the Capitol village, he has fashioned
a distinct, colorful legacy in the gray world of state
politics.
You could tell the future by watching Clem. He was what
consumer analysts call an early adopter. The first cellphones
were bigger than bricks. Clem made his look like a natural
accoutrement to his careful look. Hard frame briefcases were
at the end of their run when Clem began carrying a Coach
leather backpack. He was right that keys and a thick wallet
wreck the drape of an elegant suit.
You could live by his compendium of aphorisms, which his
legion of friends have been sharing as they buck up each
other's flagging spirits. That is usually Clem's job.
Born in 1946 and raised in Bristol, Clem served in Vietnam
from 1966 into 1967. Really served, not just told people he
did on the way to a seat in the U.S. Senate. (Don't get him
started on that.) He returned to the United States and worked
for Robert Kennedy's 1968 presidential campaign.
He worked for a legislative committee in the late 1970s and
then, without a client, became a lobbyist. His foresight
expanded beyond technology and fashion. In 1981, he managed
Thurman Milner's successful campaign for mayor of Hartford,
helping Milner become the first black mayor of a New England
city.
For more than 30 years, Clem has been a source of pungent
opinions, smart insights and surprises. He represented
tobacco companies at a time when the same people who gasped
at the lighting of a cigarette supported making taxpayers
give drug addicts free needles. He brought a sense of
proportion to human weakness in its struggle against tiresome
Utopians.
He has had many clients and he can argue most briefs. He
knows how to create a diversion that unbalances an adversary
on one issue while working with them on a different one. In a
place where a governor's repetitive green ties pass for
fashion, Clem Roy does it all with high style, often
purchased from swank Louis, Boston.
Lobbying has been good to Clem. He can employ a gruff
demeanor and a memory for slights (not the worst thing), but
he has a secret. Shouldn't everyone? He is a secret
Samaritan.
When a friend was celebrating a milestone and her newly
married daughter could not afford to fly to Connecticut from
California, Clem bought her a ticket so she could surprise
her mother. The halls of government and Hartford Hospital,
where he now is, reverberate with such stories.
Clem believes mixing in mannered company can help lift
one's lot. A few years ago, he sent the residents of a
women's shelter to a salon, told them to get dolled up and
had them to delivered to his favorite haunt, Max Downtown.
There, compliments of Clem, they learned about what was once
called deportment while the staff raised their spirits and
enriched their knowledge of another part of the world.
A successful lobbyist needs a vigilant eye for detail and
relentless focus. Clem possesses those attributes and his
perceptions extend beyond the matter of the moment. He had an
urge to lift in ways that would escape others. An advancing
brain tumor did not keep him from doing one more good work.
A friend visited him in the hospital last week and thought
Clem might be fading in and out of lucidity when he started
going on about the women not having stools to sit on. Stools
were his final mission in the service of good works in
unexpected places.
It bothered him that the cashiers in the cafeteria at the
Legislative Office Building had to stand all day at their
registers. He wanted them to have stools. It's only fair. In
his personal distress, he would not let it go. On Friday,
stools were delivered to the LOB. He is, according to his
closest friend, at peace.
Clem Roy, Lobbyist and Bon Vivant, Dies at 65
(By Mark Pazniokas--The Connecticut Mirror)
Clem Roy, one of most delightfully idiosyncratic characters
ever to grace the halls of the state Capitol, died today at
Hartford Hospital, just weeks after being diagnosed with a
brain tumor.
Roy, 65, was a successful lobbyist with a largely business
clientele, but a much, much broader portfolio of interests
and causes.
He managed the 1981 mayoral campaign of Thurman Milner, the
first black mayor of Hartford. He was deeply interested in
the arts. He gambled, golfed and enjoyed cigars. Women tended
to find him charming, and not only the three he married.
The staff on the second floor of the Conklin Building at
Hartford Hospital had to wonder just whom they had as their
guest for the past few weeks. The stream of visitors included
legislators, a former governor and a prominent restaurant
owner.
The latter brought Roy's favorite steak, along with a
favorite waitress to serve it. As was his habit at the
restaurant, Roy was gracious to the wait staff, then crabbed
at the owner about how the meal was prepared. The owner was
delighted.
Roy grew up in Bristol. He served in Vietnam with the U.S.
Army, then got involved in politics, volunteering for Bobby
Kennedy's campaign in 1968. He was a committee clerk at the
Capitol more than 30 years ago, then became a lobbyist in an
era where the ethical and cultural norms were a tad more
relaxed.
His first lobbying client was a bank sent his way by the
chairman of the banks committee.
In later years, his business partner was Craig LeRoy, a
buttoned-down yin to Roy's yang. LeRoy is married with three
children, who saw their father's partner as an impossibly
colorful uncle. Roy and LeRoy each seemed to live a little
vicariously through the other.
Conversations with Roy were wild rambles. Topics might
include his system at slots, his vote for Barack Obama in
2008, or his resolve not to vote for him in 2012 over Obama's
absence from Arlington National Cemetery one Memorial Day.
Unforgivable in Roy's view.
He took no offense, however, when it once was noted in a
news story that Roy's clients included Big Tobacco and the
funeral industry. He repeated the line often.
Roy insisted he didn't talk to reporters. He did lobbying,
not PR. He reminded me of that every time we talked.