Madam Speaker, I rise today to honor my great friend and our dear colleague, John Murtha. America has lost a true hero and patriot and the United States Congress has lost a giant. Madam Speaker, I submit for the record Keith Burris' column…
Madam Speaker, I rise today to honor my great friend and our dear colleague, John Murtha. America has lost a true hero and patriot and the United States Congress has lost a giant. Madam Speaker, I submit for the record Keith Burris' column from the Journal Inquirer. The Journal Inquirer is a newspaper serving my home district and is the hometown voice of northern central Connecticut. Keith's words capture the essence of John Murtha, and I ask my colleagues to join with me in honoring the life of this humble man, dear friend and great American.
[From the Journal Inquirer, Feb. 13, 2010]
Much Man
(By Keith C. Burris)
In roughly 30 years in journalism I have met many
politicians. In the beginning, this was exciting. But after a
while, you realize that most of them are persons of
exceptional ambition, not exceptional conviction, skill, or
patriotism. Most people in politics are not very interesting.
But a couple years ago, U.S. Rep. John Larson, himself an
exception to the rule, brought to the Journal Inquirer Rep.
John Murtha, of Pennsylvania. Murtha's back and forth with
editors and reporters here made for one of the most
fascinating hours of conversation I can remember.
Murtha died this week at 77, of a medical mistake.
There aren't many like him in Congress. There never were.
First of all, Murtha, an ex-Marine officer, was not the
sort of fellow who needed a ``handler'' or a ``focus group''
to calculate the political tides. Instead he used three
ancient tools--study, his mind, and his conscience.
As a fine essay, reprinted from Politico on these pages,
documented, Murtha was famous for the Washington rituals he
did not observe. When asked a question, he answered it. He
did not hang with lobbyists or flacks. He did not go to
parties, but got up early and went to bed early. (According
to Politico, he would sometimes go home in the afternoon to
listen to the BBC to get a fresh slant on U.S. foreign
policy.) He did not court TV people or the Washington Post,
and didn't particularly know or care who those people were.
And he didn't back down.
He wasn't always right. And he knew that. He had the
courage to change his mind.
But he was, as the saying goes, a ``stand-up guy.'' You
could not blow him down with a poll or a David Broder column.
Murtha had the understated self-confidence that the rare
greats in politics have. I met Mike Mansfield, briefly, once,
and you felt it from him. Ditto John Stennis. I am sure that
Eisenhower had it. And maybe Ella Grasso. I know I have seen
and felt it in the presence of Eugene McCarthy, Ernest
Hollings, and John Glenn. Some public men seem to shed their
vanity as the years accumulate and they settle into their
work. They begin to internalize their love of country.
Instead of politics being more and more about them, it
becomes more and more about service. And they go about their
work with concentration and power, but minimal fuss. You felt
that with Murtha. There was no posturing in the man. He
looked you dead in the eye and he told you what he thought
was true and needed doing.
Murtha was much in the news when he came to see us. He was
known as the military's greatest friend in Congress and he
had just come out for withdrawal from Iraq. I recall him as a
big man in a dark blue suit. His hands were the hands of a
working man. He might have been a machinist or a farmer
instead of a soldier and statesman. Someone here snickered
the other day that western Pennsylvania, from whence Murtha
came, was ``not really Pennsylvania, but Ohio.'' It's true in
the sense that Murtha was from a hardscrabble world where
people are still close to land and labor and where hard work
and professionalism are what matter, not pretense, not
birthright, not wealth or college degrees. It does not matter
if you have a family name and an MBA from Harvard. If you
want to invade Iraq, you better study the history of Iraq.
Yeah, Murtha was against abortion and for the Second
Amendment and he was born in West Virginia and he owned a car
wash before he got into politics. But that old Vietnam
veteran could set Condoleezza Rice's head spinning and he
took no guff from right-wing no-nothings. If we had 50
``Ohioans'' like John Murtha in the House we would have
health-insurance reform today.
Murtha liked fellow pros. But pros who were rooted in
something. He got on well with the first George Bush and not
at all with the second. He thought Donald Rumsfeld was nuts
and Robert Gates a great man. He was a protege of Tip
O'Neill's and practiced O'Neill's adage that all politics is
local (Murtha never got over the old and honorable idea that
a congressman's first job is to provide for his
constituents), but Murtha trusted Rahm Emanuel about as far
as he could throw him.
Murtha spent his spare time visiting wounded soldiers at
Bethesda Naval Hospital and Walter Reed. He did not take
cameramen with him. When he traveled to Iraq, it was not a
junket or a photo-op. He would tell the generals and
ambassadors, ``no PowerPoint,'' none of that stuff. Just talk
to me, he would say, and tell me what is going on. And then
he would go visit with the sergeants and the specialists. He
took Larson under his wing, and to Iraq, early in Larson's
congressional career because ``he goes home at the end of the
day and studies the CIA briefing books.''
Murtha did not love the military as a concept, but as
people. Public servants like himself. His work for them in
Congress was like his work for the citizens of the 12th
District of Pennsylvania. He had a job to do. He was supposed
to take care of his people.
He was much man, John Murtha.
What a loss to the Congress and the country.