Tribute to Edward J. Philbin

TRIBUTE TO EDWARD J. PHILBIN SUPERINTENDENT OF SCHOOLS CLINTON, MASSACHUSETTS -- (Extensions of Remarks - July 08, 2004)

SPEECH OF
HON. JAMES P. McGOVERN
OF MASSACHUSETTS
IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES
THURSDAY, JULY 8, 2004

Mr. McGOVERN. Mr. Speaker, a little more than a week ago, Edward J. Philbin retired as Superintendent of Schools for the Town of Clinton, Massachusetts marking the end of an extraordinary thirty-five year career in public education. As a foreign language teacher, department chair, high school principal and administrator, Ed Philbin earned a well-deserved reputation for passionate and tireless devotion to the education and development of children and young people. On June 24, 2004, a reception attended by more than 200 of his colleagues, family members, former students and friends was held at the Clinton Town Hall to honor his lasting contributions to the communities of Clinton and Worcester. Due to votes scheduled here in the House of Representatives, I was unable to attend that reception to personally express my great respect, deep gratitude and best wishes to Ed Philbin for a happy and healthy retirement. However, I would like to submit for the record the remarks delivered at that tribute by his son Chris, a member of my congressional staff, which I think capture the essence of this remarkable man.

REMARKS BY CHRISTOPHER R. PHILBIN ON BEHALF OF THE PHILBIN FAMILY HONORING EDWARD J. PHILBIN ON THE OCCASION OF HIS RETIREMENT JUNE 24, 2004, FALLON MEMORIAL AUDITORIUM, CLINTON, MASSACHUSETTS

It has been alluded to earlier tonight, but I think it bears repeating. The only thing our Father has done longer and with more success than work in public education, is to be married to our Mother for nearly 36 years, his closest friend and most loyal supporter. So on behalf of our Mom, my brother Ed and his wife Lynn; my sister Cara, a high school English teacher in New Jersey, and her husband Tim who couldn't be here tonight; my brother Matthew and his longtime girlfriend Christie Mullin; and the rest of our family, we would like to thank all of you for being here to pay tribute to a guy that we happen to think very highly of. We are especially pleased that our Grandmother, Dorothy Philbin, is here tonight for this special occasion.

As many of you know, this retirement party was originally supposed to be a surprise because our Dad would have much preferred come June 30th to leave the keys on the desk with a kind note for Mr. Gaw and quietly slip out the side door. But that was not to be, and so when our Father found out about this party it required some persuasion from the gang of four that he affectionately refers to as the 'girls'-you all know them as Mary Neeley-Winkler, Marilyn Tierney, Maureen Weatherell and Christine Bonci-to convince him to allow this party to go forward. It was a closed-door meeting from which no minutes will be released but I'm guessing that when our Dad protested he was told something like "shut up, smile and be gracious!"

Our family would like to thank the four of them for the work they've put into planning and organizing this party and for being so good to our Dad these last five years; for putting a smile on his face; and for educating him on the finer points of KENO. We would especially like to thank Mary Neeley-Winkler who in addition to being our Dad's right hand these last several years has helped my brother and his wife find a house, plan my sister's wedding and given my brother Matt a part-time summer job. In short, we are all indebted to Mary and without saying much more, as far as we're concerned, you can't put a price on what Mary Neeley means to this family.

I'm not sure Matt and Cara will remember this, but Tripp certainly will. Growing up, one of the many summer rituals in our house was to accompany our Dad to the old high school in early August to help him unpack and date stamp the new foreign language text books for the upcoming school year. We would follow him down the long promenade into the school, past the trophy cases in the lobby, and down the hall to the second door on the left marked "STORAGE". At the time, that storage closet doubled as the chairman of the foreign language department's office and inside there were makeshift shelves filled with books toppling in on his desk with barely enough room to turn around. Our Dad would lead us out of his office into the language lab where we would fool around with the tape recorders and earphones for awhile before he put us to work unpacking the boxes of books. During the rather mundane process of unpacking the books, what quickly became apparent to us even at that early age, was the excitement and enthusiasm our Dad had for the coming school year. His passion was palpable. This is a man who clearly loved to teach.

It wasn't long after each school year started, that our parents would have scores of students parading through our house to videotape an installment of the long-running French Soap Opera or French Newscast that he had his students both script and act in as a way to learn the language. Each of us were granted a cameo appearance in those productions but I think Cara set the record by appearing in twelve consecutive editions of the French Soap Opera. When his students weren't shooting a movie in our house, they were there sampling foreign cuisine our Mother prepared for members of the International Club which our Dad founded or compiling photographs for the yearbook when he served as the faculty advisor to that activity. Our Dad never suffered from that notion that teachers had to keep their students at a safe distance; that you had to erect a firewall between what you did for work and what you did at home. He wanted to know all of his students and wanted his students to know him. Some of his students were actually granted the unique privilege of babysitting his children and many of them bear the physical and emotional scars to prove it. Others are still in therapy from the experience and were advised by their counselors not to come tonight.

When our Dad wasn't inviting students into our home, he was inviting them to travel around the world with him to London and Paris, to Quebec and to Rome, and he bears the physical and emotional scars from those trips. Our Dad sought to do more than just teach a language, he tried to introduce his students to another culture and he thought to do that best you often times had to go and meet those cultures where they are. His approach also included assigning his students novels by French authors and philosophers. In fact, he may be the only French teacher in the world who assigned Camus and Satre to high school students. In hindsight, I'm not sure that No Exit and The Stranger were the best choices for 16-year-old kids worried about finding a date for the prom. That may have been a little too much existential angst for them at that age but he assigned them nonetheless.

The one book that our Dad insisted every one of his students read and actually memorize parts of is his favorite book, the children's story, Le Petit Prince. Over the years, as I've grown to be friends with many of my Dad's former students, a number of them after inquiring about my Dad have spontaneously quoted a passage from that book to me: "Il faux exiger de chacun, ce que chacun peut donner," which loosely translated means "Ask of a person only that which they can give."

I think anyone who had our Dad as a student would agree that he certainly gave all of himself to teaching. He seemed to believe that just about anyone can instruct students on conjugating verbs or using the proper accent but it takes something extra, something special, to actually inspire them. He managed to do that-to inspire them-and perhaps the best evidence of that are the postcards and letters he continues to receive from former students that have traveled all around the world. A few have even become foreign language teachers which is something that I know gives him a tremendous amount of pride and satisfaction.

When the time came for our Dad to move from teaching into administration, I think we were all more than a little surprised because he never seemed to be inclined in that direction. Believe it or not, he is not an especially ambitious person. But, sometimes circumstances tap you on the shoulder and life pulls you in a certain direction. Or, to put it another way, the cream has a way of always rising to the top. As a principal, quadrant manager and superintendent, our Dad brought the same level of energy and passion he displayed in the classroom to the often-times dispassionate duties that those positions require. And, just as he used to bring his students into our home, he also brought the demands of those positions home with him. Particularly as a principal, I distinctly remember him being completely exasperated by his inability to help one child who was trapped in a terrible home situation. But he never gave up on that kid or any other for that matter. With an unrivaled work ethic he never stopped trying to find new and innovative ways to help children, improve the curriculum and expand and enrich the opportunities available to students. He resisted mediocrity at every turn and categorically rejected the suggestion that a student's academic success is based largely on socio-economic status or ethnicity. He rejected that idea because he knew otherwise. He had been a teacher and some of his best students were the children of immigrants and themselves first-generation Americans. The real difference, he would often tell us at the dinner table, is expectations. As a teacher and as an administrator he constantly tried to raise them and that, more than anything else will likely be remembered as the hallmark of his career.

I know it will not come as a surprise to any of you that in addition to being very dedicated to his job, our Dad has always been very devoted to his family. So much so, that we can scarcely remember a soccer game, a dance recital or an academic awards banquet, not mine by the way, where our Dad was not present. You could usually find him in the last row of the bleachers, or up against the wall in the back of the auditorium or along the fence at the soccer field but he was always there-a constant reassuring presence. Many years ago a friend of mine spotted my Dad at some event that one of my siblings was participating in and remarked to me without realizing how profound a statement he was making, " Boy, your Dad is always where he is supposed to be." And, it struck me then as it does tonight as being so absolutely true. Our Dad is always where he is supposed to be.

Growing up, our Dad encouraged each of us to seek our own interests and he was content to let us find our way without trying to live his own life vicariously through us. He was always just one step behind, providing a nudge when needed, or sometimes a whisper and less frequently a bark but always right there. In fact, growing up there were two things we knew were important to our Dad without him ever having told us: (1) that we were expected to be educated; and (2) that we vote democrat. I think he thought that if we did the first, the second would follow naturally.

When the time came for us to apply to college, our parents made it abundantly clear that it was our job to get in to the best school we could and their obligation to pay for it. We would be expected to help but it was made plain to us that we would never be

You see, for our Dad, supporting education was not just a bumper sticker you slapped on the back of your car, or a slogan you repeated at PTA meetings. For him, education has been more than a career; it has been a way of life.

For all of our Dad's native intelligence and his worldly sophistication, he is really a very simple man with very simple tastes. He likes a cheap glass of wine and a good glass of scotch. He likes an all-you-can-eat buffet or any restaurant he has a coupon to. He likes a good long walk, preferably by the ocean. He likes short sermons at Mass. He likes 60 Minutes on Sunday nights. He likes a good book, the Boston Sunday Globe and anything Tom Farragher writes he believes is the best thing he has ever read. He also likes his so-called off-site construction meetings with Phil Bailey and pizza with Carol Ann Hamilton and Joan Strang. And, he likes family vacations or any other occasion, with the possible exception of tonight, that brings his children and grandchildren together.

In addition to these simple tastes, there are a handful of institutions that our Dad holds dear and the only one that rivals his affection for the Clinton Public Schools is his alma-matter, the University of Notre Dame, which he shares with both of his brothers, two of his four children, and his friend and former colleague Pat Burke.

About 12 years ago, my older brother came across a letter to the editor in the Notre Dame Student Newspaper, The Observer, which he shared with me. I saved it because it is as near-perfect description of our Dad that I have ever seen reduced to writing and if you'll indulge me a little bit longer, I'd like to read a portion of it for you now.

"A man is someone who cares passionately about things that need caring about. Someone who refuses to accept things that are wrong, even though accepting them would be easier. Someone who yells sometimes and fights sometimes and cries sometimes and is not afraid to do any of those things when he feels a need to. Someone who doesn't always win or even come close, but who know instinctively that trying is what counts. Someone Notre Dame is proud of."

For fully thirty-five years, our Dad has tried and succeeded in making the students in his care and the schools systems in his charge the very best they could be. And so, by that standard, or any other for that matter, I think tonight it is fair to say:

Dad, the University of Notre Dame is proud of you. Your profession is proud of you. The Town of Clinton is proud of you. And, most especially, your children are, as we have always been, so very proud of you.

END