The President: "A man,"
wrote an Irish poet, "is original when he speaks the
truth that has always been known to all good men." Beau Biden was an original. He was a good man. A man of character. A man who loved deeply,
and was loved in return. Your Eminences, your
Excellencies, General Odierno, distinguished
guests; to Hallie, Natalie and Hunter; to Hunter,
Kathleen, Ashley, Howard; the rest of Beau's beautiful
family, friends, colleagues; to Jill and to Joe -- we are
here to grieve with you, but more importantly, we are
here because we love you. Without love, life can be
cold and it can be cruel. Sometimes cruelty is
deliberate -- the action of bullies or bigots, or
the inaction of those indifferent to
another's pain. But often, cruelty is simply
born of life, a matter of fate or God's will, beyond
our mortal powers to comprehend. To suffer such faceless,
seemingly random cruelty can harden the softest hearts,
or shrink the sturdiest. It can make one mean,
or bitter, or full of self-pity. Or, to paraphrase an old
proverb, it can make you beg for a lighter burden. But if you're strong enough,
it can also make you ask God for broader shoulders;
shoulders broad enough to bear not only your own
burdens, but the burdens of others; shoulders broad
enough to shield those who need shelter the most. To know Beau Biden is to
know which choice he made in his life. To know Joe and the rest
of the Biden family is to understand why Beau
lived the life he did. For Beau, a cruel twist of
fate came early -- the car accident that took his mom
and his sister, and confined Beau and Hunter, then still
toddlers, to hospital beds at Christmastime. But Beau was a Biden. And he learned early the
Biden family rule: If you have to ask for
help, it's too late. It meant you were never
alone; you don't even have to ask, because someone is
always there for you when you need them. And so, after the accident,
Aunt Valerie rushed in to care for the boys, and
remained to help raise them. Joe continued public
service, but shunned the parlor games of Washington,
choosing instead the daily commute home, maintained for
decades, that would let him meet his most cherished duty
-- to see his kids off to school, to kiss them at
night, to let them know that the world was stable and
that there was firm ground under their feet. As Joe himself confessed to
me, he did not just do this because the kids needed him. He did it because he
needed those kids. And somehow, Beau sensed
that -- how understandably and deeply hurt his family
and his father was. And so, rather than use
his childhood trauma as justification for a
life of self-pity or self-centeredness, that
very young boy made a very grown-up decision: He would
live a life of meaning. He would live a
life for others. He would ask God for
broader shoulders. Beau would guide and look
out for his younger brother. He would embrace his new mom
-- apparently, the two boys sheepishly asking their
father when they could all marry Jill -- and throughout
his life, no one would make Jill laugh harder. He would look after their
baby sister, Ashley. He would forever be the
one to do the right thing, careful not to give his
family or his friends cause for concern. It's no secret that a lot of
what made Beau the way he was was just how much he
loved and admired his dad. He studied law, like his
dad, even choosing the same law school. He chased public service,
like his dad, believing it to be a noble and
important pursuit. From his dad, he learned how
to get back up when life knocked him down. He learned that he was no
higher than anybody else, and no lower than anybody
else -- something Joe got from his mom, by the way. And he learned how to make
everybody else feel like we matter, because his dad
taught him that everybody matters. He even looked and sounded
like Joe, although I think Joe would be first to
acknowledge that Beau was an upgrade -- Joe 2.0. (laughter) But as much as
Beau reminded folks of Joe, he was very much
his own man. He was an original. Here was a scion of an
incredible family who brushed away the possibility
of privilege for the harder, better reward of
earning his own way. Here was a soldier who
dodged glory, and exuded true humility. A prosecutor who defended
the defenseless. The rare politician who
collected more fans than foes, and the rarer public
figure who prioritized his private life above all else. Beau didn't cut corners. He turned down an
appointment to be Delaware's attorney general so he could
win it fair and square. When the field was clear for
him to run for the Senate, he chose to finish
his job as A.G. instead. He didn't do these things to
gain favor with a cynical public -- it's
just who he was. In his twenties, he and a
friend were stopped for speeding outside Scranton. And the officer recognized
the name on the license, and because he was a fan
of Joe's work with law enforcement he wanted to let
Beau off with a warning. But Beau made him
write that ticket. Beau didn't trade
on his name. After 9/11, he joined
the National Guard. He felt it was his
obligation -- part of what those broader
shoulders are for. He did his duty to his
country and deployed to Iraq, and General Odierno
eloquently spoke to Major Biden's service. What I can tell you is when
he was loading up to ship out at Dover, there was a
lot of press that wanted to interview him. Beau refused. He was just another soldier. I saw him when I visited
Iraq; he conducted himself the same way. His deployment was hard on
Hallie and the kids, like it was for so many families
over the last 14 years. It was hard on
Joe, hard on Jill. That's partly why Jill threw
herself into her work with military families with
so much intensity. That's how you know when Joe
thunders "may God protect our troops" in every speech
he does, he means it so deeply. Like his father, Beau did
not have a mean bone in his body. The cruelty he'd endured in
his life didn't make him hard, it made him
compassionate, empathetic. But it did make
him abhor bullies. Beau's grandfather, Joe's
father, believed that the most egregious sin was to
abuse your power to inflict pain on another. So Beau squared his broad
shoulders to protect people from that kind of abuse. He fought for homeowners who
were cheated, seniors who were scammed. He even went after
bullying itself. He set up a Child Protector
-- Predator Task Force, convicted more than 200
of those who targeted vulnerable children. And in all this, he did it
in a way that was alive to the suffering of others,
bringing in experts to help spare both the children
and their parents further trauma. That's who Beau was. Someone who cared. Someone who charmed you, and
disarmed you, and put you at ease. When he'd have to attend a
fancy fundraiser with people who took themselves way too
seriously, he'd walk over to you and whisper something
wildly inappropriate in your ear. (laughter) The son of a
senator, a Major in the Army, the most popular
elected official in Delaware -- I'm sorry, Joe -- (laughter) -- but he was not above dancing in nothing but
a sombrero and shorts at Thanksgiving if it would
shake loose a laugh from the people he loved. And through it all, he
was the consummate public servant, a notebook in his
back pocket at all times so he could write down the
problems of everyone he met and go back to the
office to get them fixed. Because he was a Biden, the
titles that come with family -- husband, father, son,
brother, uncle -- those were the ones Beau valued
above any other. This was a man who, at
the Democratic National Convention, didn't spend all
his time in backrooms with donors or glad-handing. Instead, he rode the
escalators in the arena with his son, up and down, up
and down, again and again, knowing, just like Joe had
learned, what ultimately mattered in life. You know, anyone can make a
name for themselves in this reality TV age, especially
in today's politics. If you're loud enough or
controversial enough, you can get some attention. But to make that name mean
something, to have it associated with dignity and
integrity -- that is rare. There's no
shortcut to get it. It's not something
you can buy. But if you do right by your
children, maybe you can pass it on. And what greater
inheritance is there? What greater inheritance
than to be part of a family that passes on the values of
what it means to be a great parent; that passes on the
values of what it means to be a true citizen; that
passes on the values of what it means to give back,
fully and freely, without expecting anything
in return? That's what our country was
built on -- men like Beau. That's who built it --
families like this. We don't have kings
or queens or lords. We don't have to be born
into money to have an impact. We don't have to step on one
another to be successful. We have this remarkable
privilege of being able to earn what we get out of
life, with the knowledge that we are no higher than
anybody else, or lower than anybody else. We know this not just
because it is in our founding documents, but
because families like the Bidens have made it so,
because people like Beau have made it so. He did in 46 years what most
of us couldn't do in 146. He left nothing in the tank. He was a man who led a life
where the means were as important as the ends. And the example he set made
you want to be a better dad, or a better son, or a better
brother or sister, better at your job, the
better soldier. He made you want to
be a better person. Isn't that finally the
measure of a man -- the way he lives, how he treats
others, no matter what life may throw at him? We do not know how
long we've got here. We don't know when
fate will intervene. We cannot discern
God's plan. What we do know is that with
every minute that we've got, we can live our lives in a
way that takes nothing for granted. We can love deeply. We can help people
who need help. We can teach our children
what matters, and pass on empathy and compassion
and selflessness. We can teach them to
have broad shoulders. To the Biden family, this
sprawling, intimate clan -- I know that Beau's passing
has left a gaping void in the world. Hallie, I can only imagine
the burdens that you've been carrying on your shoulders
these past couple of years. And it's because you gave
him everything that he could give everything to us. And just as you were there
for him, we'll be there for you. To Natalie and Hunter --
there aren't words big enough to describe how much
your dad loved you, how much he loved your mom. But I will tell you what,
Michelle and I and Sasha and Malia, we've become
part of the Biden clan. We're honorary members now. And the Biden
family rule applies. We're always here for you,
we always will be -- my word as a Biden. (laughter) To Joe and Jill -- just
like everybody else here, Michelle and I thank God
you are in our lives. Taking this ride with you is
one of the great pleasures of our lives. Joe, you are my brother. And I'm grateful every day
that you've got such a big heart, and a big soul, and
those broad shoulders. I couldn't admire you more. I got to know Joe's mom,
Catherine Eugenia Finnegan Biden, before
she passed away. She was on stage with us
when we were first elected. And I know she told Joe once
that out of everything bad that happens to you,
something good will come if you look hard enough. And I suppose she was
channeling that same Irish poet with whom I began
today, Patrick Kavanagh, when he wrote, "And I said,
let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day." As hard as it is right now,
through all the heartache and through all the tears,
it is our obligation to Beau to think not about what was
and what might have been, but instead to think about
what is, because of him. Think about the day that
dawns for children who are safer because of Beau, whose
lives are fuller, because of him. Think about the day that
dawns for parents who rest easier, and families who
are freer, because of him. Some folks may never know
that their lives are better because of Beau Biden. But that's okay. Certainly for Beau, acclaim
was never the point of public service. But the lines of
well-wishers who've been here all week -- they know. The White House mailroom
that's been overflowing with letters from people
-- those folks know. The soldiers who served
with Beau, who joined the National Guard
because of him. The workers at Verdi's
who still have their home because of him, and who
thanked him for helping them bus tables one busy night. The students in Newark who
remember the time he talked with them for hours,
inexhaustible, even after giving a speech, even after
taking his National Guard fitness test. The Rehoboth woman who's
saved a kind voicemail from him for five years, and
wrote to say "I loved the way he loved his family." And the stranger who wrote
from halfway across this great country just to say,
"The only thing we can hope for is that our children
make us proud by making a difference in the world. Beau has done that
and then some. The world noticed." Jill, Joe, Hallie, Hunter
and Natalie -- the world noticed. They noticed. They felt it, his presence. And Beau lives on in
the lives of others. And isn't that the whole
point of our time here? To make this country we love
fairer and more just, not just for Natalie and Hunter,
or Naomi, or Finnegan, or Maisy, or Malia, or Sasha,
but for every child? Isn't that what this amazing
journey we've been on is all about -- to make life better
for the next generation? Beau figured that
out so early in life. What an inheritance
Beau left us. What an example he set. "Through our great good
fortune, in our youth our hearts were touched with
fire," said Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. "But, above all,
we have learned that whether a man accepts from Fortune
her spade, and will look downward and dig, or from
Aspiration her axe and cord, and will scale the ice, the
one and only success which it is his to command is to
bring to his work a mighty heart." Beau Biden brought to
his work a mighty heart. He brought to his
family a mighty heart. What a good man. What an original. May God bless his memory,
and the lives of all he touched.
