The Congressional Record is a unique source of public documentation. It started in 1873, documenting nearly all the major and minor policies being discussed and debated.
“TRIBUTE TO FORMER DISTRICT DIRECTOR AND FRIEND JOHN J. McGUIRE” mentioning the U.S. Dept of Labor was published in the Extensions of Remarks section on pages E1984-E1985 on Oct. 28, 2000.
The publication is reproduced in full below:
TRIBUTE TO FORMER DISTRICT DIRECTOR AND FRIEND JOHN J. McGUIRE
______
HON. JAMES T. WALSH
of new york
in the house of representatives
Friday, October 27, 2000
Mr. WALSH. Mr. Speaker, on Monday, October 16, 2000, John J. McGuire, my former District Director in Syracuse, New York, and close, personal friend, died after a long battle with brain cancer. John served as an integral part of my staff since my election to Congress in 1988. Prior to that time, he served as a compliance officer for 11 years with the Wage and Hour Division of the United States Department of Labor in Syracuse.
John McGuire, a former Marine, was a highly decorated disabled American veteran. He is a past recipient of the Veterans Service Award from the United States Department of Veterans Affairs, four Special Achievement Awards and the Federal Distinguished Career Award. After serving as a sergeant in the Marine Corps during the Vietnam War, John taught English both here in the United States and in the Balkans.
With John's death early last week, his wife and children lost a terrific husband and father, and I lost a neighbor, a close advisor and loyal friend. The Central New York community lost a tireless worker and community advocate, and the entire nation lost a dedicated public servant and true American patriot.
I submit the attached column by Mr. Sean Kirst printed in the October 18th issue of the Syracuse Post-Standard, which so eloquently details John McGuire's motivation and career, be included in the Congressional Record to commemorate his distinguished life.
He certainly will be missed, but can never be forgotten.
VETERAN, AIDE, FAMILY MAN DIDN'T DIE FOR NOTHING
John McGuire was a neighbor. He lived on the dead-end block of Robineau Road in Syracuse. Years ago, he bought a big metal pole and set it into a deep hole. He got a backboard and a rim, and he hung them above the street.
His children, all the time, were out there playing basketball. Other kids often joined them in shooting hoops. Sometimes they were kids McGuire never saw before.
It became clear, over the years, that he was a true believer.
McGuire, 55 died Monday morning. His death was the second jolt in recent weeks on our small block, where Nick Rossi, a teacher, also died of cancer. In a sense, that is the cost of any strong neighborhood. With every loss, the fabric changes--much like a family.
Years ago, Representative Jim Walsh also lived on that same block. Walsh and McGuire, as neighbors, turned into good friends. When Walsh was elected to Congress, he asked McGuire to join his staff. McGuire was called ``district director,'' but an awful lot of people knew him as Walsh's guy for vets.
Walsh will tell you he got lucky. He couldn't have made a better choice. There are countless stories of McGuire going to the wall to help someone receive benefits, or McGuire helping old veterans get the medals they deserved.
McGuire was an ex-Marine, a combat veteran of Vietnam. Sometimes he'd be sitting outside on his porch, watching a crowd of kids playing basketball, and he'd talk a little about the war. He spoke in a soft voice, with an accent forged in Brooklyn, and he'd recall the time they split dozens of Marines into two groups. They put both groups on different planes, to fly to the same place.
One plane got hit. Everybody died. John McGuire was on the other plane.
He came home angry, he said, lacking faith in anything. He wondered at the senseless luck that sent him back alive, when good friends in Vietnam seemed to die for nothing. Over the next few years, he forged a hard logic. He dedicated himself to justifying those who died, and the best way to do it was by helping veterans. If that circle went unbroken, then their sacrifice made sense.
That is what he did, for the rest of his life. He married a strong women, Joyce Kusak, and they had four terrific children. McGuire lived for two things--his family and his cause. Kusak-McGuire tells a story of standing exhausted at the door, a newborn baby in her arms, while her husband left in the middle of the night to take down a veteran threatening suicide.
The McGuires settled on the dead-end block of Robineau. Years later, my family moved in down the street. One night, McGuire sat on the porch and watched a crowd of kids shooting baskets. Some of them he knew. Some of them he'd never seen. As he watched, he explained why he lived in the city.
He expressed a great respect, almost a reverence, for elderly veterans. He spoke of how he admired his parents and their contemporaries, the way they dealt with the Great Depression, World War II, all the fears of the Cold War. But he also said that generation could not solve every problem, and one of the problems handed down was the polarization over race.
``We'll never solve anything,'' McGuire said, ``unless we take it on.'' His wife felt the same way. They stayed in Syracuse.
A couple of years ago, McGuire returned to his hotel room at a business meeting. He kept trying to push his room key into the lock, upside down. His close friend, Harry Schultz, knew something was wrong. He got McGuire to a nurse, who examined him and then rushed him to a hospital. Brain tumor. They did surgery, but the tumor eventually came back.
McGuire, in the past few months, often took long walks. I saw him walking on a June morning with his son Aiden just after I returned from a conference in Washington. I think McGuire also had his toddler grandson with him, but maybe that is how I want to remember it.
I had visited the Wall, the Vietnam Memorial, for the first time. By coincidence, I had been there on Father's Day. As always happens on that day, there was a gathering for grown children of the soldiers whose names are on the wall. They brought sponges and buckets of water. They scrubbed their fathers' names to a shine.
I told McGuire the story. He started weeping, shoulders heaving, in the middle of the road. He said sonething--his voice cracking--about men who died for nothing.
That burden's gone. He's with them now. He spent his life shining the wall.
____________________
