Sen. Bates Remembers Friend and Colleague Ben Westlund

March 17, 2010 -- Sen. Alan Bates gave the following remarks at State Treasurer Ben Westlund's memorial service at the state capitol on Saturday. (For more comments click here):

 

I would like say a few words about some of Ben Westlund’s accomplishments as a Statesman. What I really want to dwell on is the man that I came to know over the last ten years.

 

I knew Ben Westlund first as a legislator, then as a patient, and ultimately -- as a friend I came to love, who was the Best Man at my wedding.

 

Ben was a mentor for me; he preceded me in the House by two sessions. We served together in the Oregon House of Representatives, before he was appointed to the Senate in 2003. That same year, we developed a doctor/patient relationship and became close when his cancer was diagnosed. When I joined him in the Senate in 2004, his illness had cemented his convictions that affordable health care was a necessity for all Oregonians. He believed, as do I, that every Oregonian deserved access to the same high quality health care that had extended his life.

 

As a result, we co-authored Senate Bill 329, The Healthy Oregon Act of 2007, which will eventually achieve his goal. The draft of that proposal was written on a paper napkin, in The Spaghetti Factory in Salem, one of the places where Ben worked as much legislative magic as in the smoke-filled rooms of old.

 

After his cancer went into remission, he also had a renewed vigor about his duty to make a lasting difference for Oregonians. Ben was aware that he was born to privilege, but he believed that knowledge and privilege bear great responsibility. He was the embodiment of the biblical quote (Luke 12:48): “From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from the one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded.”

 

For example, he went on to champion legislation that created Oregon’s Rainy Day Fund, the Public Safety Fund that provides money to families of officers killed or injured in the line of duty, and he risked his political career when he co-sponsored Senate Bill 1000 to give marriage-like rights to same-sex couples.

 

It would be an understatement to say that Ben’s politics defied party identification. He loved politics but disliked partisan politics – obvious by his moves from Republican to Independent, and finally to Democrat. Ben was a collaborative genius, who worked the halls of Oregon’s State Capitol ignoring the labels that can separate us from one another and from the reasons we are here. He didn’t care if you were a Democrat or a Republican -- if Ben judged us at all it was by our willingness to work together for the best interests of Oregon and her people.

 

By the time Ben moved forward to become Oregon’s 27^th State Treasurer in 2008, our paths had woven a rich tapestry of friendship, so it didn’t surprise me when Oregon won national media attention for a law suit filed on behalf of Oregon families that invested in the Oregon 529 College Savings Plan. It made perfect sense that my friend, Ben Westlund, fought for and won a $20 million settlement to protect the futures of some 70,000 children in Oregon.

You see, Ben didn’t run for Treasurer as a political stepping-stone; he ran because he understood money and financial markets. He was perfect for the job.

 

If you knew Ben, you know he refused to be controlled by a calendar, and instead liked to drop in unexpectedly to visit his colleagues. If he missed you -- which he often did -- he didn’t leave a message with staff. He usually took the time to write a note. I have one of those notes framed in my office, and I would quote it here, except it contains his typical – shall we say – “colorful language” which might offend some of you.      

 

Ben treated staff with the same respect as his peers, and one of my staffers still has a note he wrote to her at a time when she had to make some very difficult personal decisions. The note says: “First do no harm…..to yourself”. He knew the custodians at the capital on a first-name basis, as well as the names of their children and their favorite baseball teams. Likewise, he remembered the names of the waitresses at Jonathan’s, Rockin’ Roger’s, and The Spaghetti Factory, and knew of their personal struggles because he always took time to listen to them.                  

 

Ben wasn’t just any man; he was a great man, with a great heart. He was bigger than life, a giant among men, with strength of character to match.

 

Ben and I shared many things, not the least of which was his habit of arriving at the Capitol without a tie or sports jacket. Since we both wore the same size, he would commonly come to my office, grab one of my jackets and one of my ties -- and head for the Senate floor. As a result, it was also common for me to be rummaging around in Ben’s office, looking for my tie and my jacket so that I could head for the Senate floor! Doesn’t that fit with the persona of a guy who drove an SUV carpeted with empty nicotine gum bubble wraps, mixed with leftover Tater Tots, McDonald’s and Wendy’s wrappers, and Lord knows what else?   Ben just didn’t sweat the small stuff; his focus was always on the BIG picture.

 

But it wasn’t his long and colorful political career, or all of the blessings he bestowed on the people of this state, that made Ben Westlund who he was. If he was here today, he’d tell you that it was the love of his family that propelled him to reach such great heights.

 

Most of you have heard or read that he called home every night at 8:00 pm to check in with his wife and children, and that his weekends at home were devoted to family. What you may not know is that he’d often sit in my office at the capitol in the wee hours of the morning, telling stories of his wife, Libby – how he’d met her in high school, and always knew she was the woman he would marry. He loved the late night conversations with his son, BJ, when the rest of the household was fast asleep; and his chest swelled with pride when he spoke of BJ’s announcement that he had chosen his own college, rather than one chosen by his father. He carried a sacred rock in his truck for years, given to him by his daughter Taylor, after she consulted a medicine man from the Warm Springs Reservation when Ben first became ill. He considered that rock a touchstone that connected the two of them, and it traveled on the dashboard or passenger seat, everywhere he went.

 

In our last conversations, Ben didn’t mention leaving public office; he planned to work until the very end, which he did. He had no need to list the remarkable achievements of his short life. What he did talk about was his overwhelming sadness that he was leaving his family far sooner than he had ever planned. He wouldn’t be able to call every evening, or come home on the weekends. He wanted more time to be with Libby, more late-night conversations with BJ, more time to see Taylor grow into a woman. Despite all that he had done for so many, Ben’s center, his very soul, reverberated for his family.

 

Libby, BJ and Taylor, I’d like to personally thank you for so generously sharing your husband and father with us.

 

I have a favorite poem, and I’d like to paraphrase it here.

One night a man named Abou ben Adam awoke from a deep sleep to see an angel writing in a book of gold. He was not afraid, so he asked the angel what it was writing. The cherub answered “the names of those who love the Lord”. He asked if his name was included, and was told that it was not. Ben Adam wondered aloud whether his name could be included because he so loved his fellow men. The angel wrote then disappeared. The next night the vision reappeared and showed Ben Adam the names of those who had been blessed by God.   Ben Adam’s name was the first on the list!

 

I share that with you because in all of the uncertainties of this life, there is one thing of which I am certain: Bernard John Westlund II was blessed by the love of God. He loved the Lord, he loved his fellow men, and his name is forever in that book of gold.

 

In the last months of his life, I spoke to him almost every evening. We always closed with something that is often difficult for one man to say to another: I’d say “I love you, man.”   And Ben would reply, “I love you, Alan. Down the trail.”

 

I love you, Ben. Down the trail. Down the trail.