http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ryCTIigaloQ&search=Rick%20Hoyt%20dickZT:
Paying Tribute to Dick Hoyt, the Strongest Dad in the World
June 23, 2005
United States House of Representatives
Mr. Speaker, I rise tonight to pay tribute to a man who is not from my districts or even from my State, but who certainly must be one of the most wonderful men of whom I have ever read. The story of Dick Hoyt of Holland, Massachusetts is one of the most amazing, inspiring stories I have ever read.
Rick Reilly, a columnist for Sports Illustrated, wrote about Mr. Hoyt in a column published in that magazine the week before last. Mr. Reilly described it as a love story that began 43 years ago when Mr. Hoyt's son Rick ``was strangled by the umbilical cord during birth, leaving him brain damaged and unable to control his limbs.''
The Hoyts were told Rick would be a vegetable for the rest of his life and that they should put him in an institution. They refused.
When Rick was 11, they took him to engineers at Tufts University to ask them if there was some way to allow him to communicate. They were told, no way, nothing was going on in Rick's brain.
``Tell him a joke,'' Mr. Hoyt said. ``They did. Rick laughed.'' They had noticed the way Rick's eyes followed them around the room. There was a lot going on in Rick's brain.
The engineers rigged up a computer that Rick could peck letters on by hitting it with a stick attached to the side of his head. His first words were, ``Go Bruins!''
After a high school classmate of Rick's was paralyzed in an accident, and a charity run was organized, Rick pecked out the words, ``Dad, I want to do that.''
Mr. Hoyt, who called himself a porker, pushed Rick in that race, and Rick typed out ``Dad, when we were running, it felt like I was not disabled anymore.''
Now, here comes the amazing part.
Since that first race, Dick Hoyt has pushed Rick in 85 marathons, 26.2 miles each. Twenty-four times they have run in the Boston Marathon.
Listen to Rick Reilly's column: ``Their best time, 2 hours 40, minutes in 1992; only 35 minutes off the world record which, in case you don't keep track of these things, happens to be held by a guy who was not pushing another man in a wheelchair at the time.''
Now Dick Hoyt is 65, his son is 43. They have done 212 triathlons, including four grueling, 15-hour Ironmans in Hawaii, 8 triathlons altogether where the father not only pushed his son 26.2 miles in a wheelchair, but also pulled him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming, and pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on the handlebars, all in the same day.
Columnist Reilly wrote, ``I try to be a good father, but compared with Dick Hoyt I suck.''
What a special son. What a special father. What a special story.
I thank Rick Reilly for writing such a wonderful column.
It is an honor to pay tribute to a man like Dick Hoyt.
I am sure that his special relationship with his son has inspired countless numbers across the land and has, in a very unique way, made this Nation a better place.
Mr. Speaker, I think it is the most inspiring story I have ever read. I would like to attach the column from Sports Illustrated to my remarks here tonight and call them to the attention of my colleagues and other readers of the Record.
Strongest Dad in the World
[from sports illustrated, by rick reilly]
I try to be a good father. Give my kids mulligans. Work nights to pay for their text messaging. Take them to swimsuit shoots.
But compared with Dick Hoyt, I suck.
Eighty-five times he's pushed his disabled son, Rick, 26.2 miles in marathons. Eight times he's not only pushed him 26.2 miles in a wheelchair but also towed him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming and pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on the handlebars--all in the same day.
Dick's also pulled him cross-country skiing, taken him on his back mountain climbing and once hauled him across the U.S. on a bike. Makes taking your son bowling look a little lame, right?
And what has Rick done for his father? Not much--except save his life.
This love story began in Winchester, Mass., 43 years ago, when Rick was strangled by the umbilical cord during birth, leaving him brain-damaged and unable to control his limbs.
``He'll be a vegetable the rest of his life;'' Dick says doctors told him and his wife, Judy, when Rick was nine months old. ``Put him in an institution.''
But the Hoyts weren't buying it. They noticed the way Rick's eyes followed them around the room. When Rick was 11 they took him to the engineering department at Tufts University and asked if there was anything to help the boy communicate. ``No way,'' Dick says he was told. ``There's nothing going on in his brain.''
``Tell him a joke,'' Dick countered. They did. Rick laughed. Turns out a lot was going on in his brain.
Rigged up with a computer that allowed him to control the cursor by touching a switch with the side of his head, Rick was finally able to communicate. First words? ``Go Bruins!'' And after a high school classmate was paralyzed in an accident and the school organized a charity run for him, Rick pecked out, ``Dad, I want to do that.''
Yeah, right. How was Dick, a self-described ``porker'' who never ran more than a mile at a time, going to push his son five miles? Still, he tried. ``Then it was me who was handicapped,'' Dick says. ``I was sore for two weeks.''
That day changed Rick's life. ``Dad,'' he typed, ``when we were running, it felt like I wasn't disabled anymore!''
And that sentence changed Dick's life. He became obsessed with giving Rick that feeling as often as he could. He got into such hard-belly shape that he and Rick were ready to try the 1979 Boston Marathon.
``No way,'' Dick was told by a race official. The Hoyts weren't quite a single runner, and they weren't quite a wheelchair competitor. For a few years Dick and Rick just joined the massive field and ran anyway, then they found a way to get into the race officially: In 1983 they ran another marathon so fast they made the qualifying time for Boston the following year.
Then somebody said, ``Hey, Dick, why not a triathlon?''
How's a guy who never learned to swim and hadn't ridden a bike since he was six going to haul his 110-pound kid through a triathlon? Still, Dick tried.
Now they've done 212 triathlons, including four grueling 15-hour Ironmans in Hawaii. It must be a buzzkill to be a 25-year-old stud getting passed by an old guy towing a grown man in a dinghy, don't you think?
Hey, Dick, why not see how you'd do on your own? ``No way,'' he says. Dick does it purely for ``the awesome feeling'' he gets seeing Rick with a cantaloupe smile as they run, swim and ride together.
This year, at ages 65 and 43, Dick and Rick finished their 24th Boston Marathon, in 5,083rd place out of more than 20,000 starters. Their best time'? Two hours, 40 minutes in 1992--only 35 minutes off the world record, which, in case you don't keep track of these things, happens to be held by a guy who was not pushing another man in a wheelchair at the time.
``No question about it,'' Rick types. ``My dad is the Father of the Century.''
And Dick got something else out of all this too. Two years ago he had a mild heart attack during a race. Doctors found that one of his arteries was 95% clogged. ``If you hadn't been in such great shape,'' one doctor told him, ``you probably would've died 15 years ago.''
So, in a way, Dick and Rick saved each other's life.
Rick, who has his own apartment (he gets home care) and works in Boston, and Dick, retired from the military and living in Holland, Mass., always find ways to be together. They give speeches around the country and compete in some backbreaking race every weekend, including this Father's Day.
That night, Rick will buy his dad dinner, but the thing he really wants to give him is a gift he can never buy.
``The thing I'd most like,'' Rick types, ``is that my dad sit in the chair and I push him once.''