E 890 CONGRESSIONAL RECORD — Extensions of Remarks May 1, 1995

He adds, ‘‘I couldn’t say for sure that I’m

going to be here for my niece’s bar mitzvah,

which will be in three years. I’d say it’s even

money. But we don’t know what will be developed, so there’s always hope. As long as

you’re breathing, there’s hope.’’

He grew up in a middle-class family.

As a teenager, he realized he was gay—and

that he felt isolated.

‘‘Teenagers especially want to fit in, and,

when you’re gay, when you’re lesbian, you

don’t fit in. So then I threw my energy into

other causes. I was very involved with B’nai

B’rith youth . . . I worked very hard on

Jewish causes, on Israel.’’

He was a student at Cranston West and he

was still in the closet:

‘‘I knew a couple of gay people at my high

school. They were constantly tormented and

harassed. So the messages I received

throughout all of society were, ‘This is very

bad.’ So I kept it hidden, as most gay kids

do.’’

Then he went to college in New Jersey:

‘‘One night, when I enrolled at Rutgers

University, my freshman year, a snowy December night, I got up my courage and I

went to a meeting that was advertised in the

school newspaper for the Homophile League,

which is a very antiquated term, but this

was back in 1976, and I expected to find the

monsters that society told me would be

there, and what I found were wounderful,

supportive, warm, welcoming people and I realized then I wasn’t some terrible person.’’

Now it was Christmas vacation:

‘‘I wanted to share the joy that I was feeling with my parents. I was finally able to be

comfortable with who I was, and I shared

that information with them. Their reaction

was shock, disappointment.’’

Did they send him to a psychiatrist?

‘‘No, because I wouldn’t have gone to a

psychiatrist. There was nothing wrong with

me . . . It took me about six years of torment, really, to come to this position, so I

wasn’t going back and I wasn’t going to feel

badly about myself ever again on this issue.’’

Eventually, he says, his parents came

around, ‘‘because they loved me, whoever I

was.’’

Paige often speaks in schools and in temples, including Barrington’s Temple

Habonim, where I first encountered him. He

says his Jewishness played a large role in

shaping his gay activism:

‘‘Growing up, my parents instilled in both

my sister and myself a strong sense of Jewish identity, and also we learned about the

injustices that were brought upon the Jewish

people throughout the ages, particularly, of

course, only 50 years ago, when 25, 30 percent

of the world’s Jewry was eliminated from the

planet. I have seen what the seeds of hatred,

bigotry can do.’’

He no longer works—he was in the fashion

industry and, for awhile, in the state Department of Administration—but he’s still out

speaking, often on AIDS prevention.

This past Tuesday, he was buttonholing

legislators, and on Wednesday, the day of the

House vote, he was at the State House again

to take in the scene.

Outside the House entrance, we happened

upon Linc Almond, a backer of the bill. ‘‘I

want to thank you very much for your support,’’ Paige said. In fact, he had some news

for the governor. When Almond was barraged

by anti-gay-rights calls on a recent Steve

Kass WHJJ talk show, Paige’s was the only

supportive call that got through.

We went up to a House gallery and there

was Eileen Gray, Paige’s 66-year-old mother,

sporting a button that said, ‘‘I’m straight.

But not narrow.’’

I took her aside for a moment and asked

why she was there.

‘‘Because I believe in the bill and I’m supporting my son,’’ she said.

Many parents would say, ‘‘It’s bad enough

that he’s gay. Why does he have to be public

about it? The last thing I want is to be public.’’

Gray said, ‘‘I’m his mother. I love him

with all my heart and soul. I don’t think

there’s anything wrong with him. I don’t

think he’s ‘sick.’ I have become educated and

wiser, hopefully, to understand that a certain percentage of the population, from the

beginning of time, is born gay. What’s the

big deal?’’

Not that it was easy for her to accept initially. She said when she first heard Marc’s

news, she spent a day in bed with a headache,

and her daughter, three years older than the

son, phoned.

‘‘My daughter Robin called me and said,

‘Mom, what’s the matter?’’’

‘‘I said, ‘It’s Marc.’’’

‘‘She said—in a frantic voice suggesting a

fear of something like cancer— ‘What?’’’

‘‘Marc told me he’s gay.’’

The daughter, relieved it was only that,

said, ‘‘Thank God.’’

That helped, Gray said.

Now Marc, with AIDS, does face a grim future. But Gray was upbeat.

‘‘He’s very good,’’ she said. ‘‘He takes very

good care of himself.

And, with medical technology, I think he’s

going to be here a long, long time. I truly believe that.’’

Now the House debate began and droned

on—with exquisite odes to equality and dignity, but also with ugly, arrogant talk of

gays and their so-called lifestyle that is, in

some eyes, such an abomination before God.

Paige told me had a headache. ‘‘I don’t

know if it’s from this or the AZT I took a

couple of hours ago.’’

He sat with a House seating diagram, with

notations of the expected vote lineup, which

was thought to be very close.

And then the actual tally came—passage

by a surprisingly comfortable 57 to 41.

Thrilled, he turned to me and said, ‘‘Wow!’’

As they made their way out of the gallery,

he and his mother kissed.

EXEMPLARY VA EMPLOYEES

fHON. G.V. (SONNY) MONTGOMERY OF MISSISSIPPI

IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES

Monday, May 1, 1995

Mr. MONTGOMERY. Mr. Speaker, our

human vocabulary does not contain the words

to accurately describe the horror, the sadness,

the profound feelings of grief and loss we

have all experienced since the April 19th

bombing of the Oklahoma City Federal Building. This monstrous act—targeted at our

young innocents, at the elderly seeking their

Social Security benefits, at disabled veterans

checking on their vocational rehabilitation or

compensation benefits, at the hundreds of

Federal employees laboring conscientiously to

serve their fellow citizens—epitomized man’s

inhumanity to man. In response, we want to

reach out to the injured and to the families of

those who are missing or dead, and speak the

words that will relieve their suffering. Knowing

this is impossible we nonetheless struggle to

share with these blameless victims our concern for them and the pain we feel on their behalf.

In contrast to the ugliness of the bombing,

countless men and women in Oklahoma City

epitomize, by their selfless heroism, courage,

valor, and determination, the deep concern

most of us feel for one another in this country.

I am particularly proud of the extraordinary response of the Department of Veterans’ Affairs

[VA] employees in Oklahoma City. Most of you

read in the April 23, 1995, edition of the

Washington Post the remarkable account of

the brave actions of the VA staff who were in

the Federal Building at the time of the explosion. I will not soon forget the description of

Paul Heath, a VA counseling psychologist,

who, having escaped the collapsed building,

returned to his ruined office with a stretcher to

rescue his badly-injured colleague. For the

benefit of my colleagues who did not have an

opportunity to read the Post article, a copy follows:

[The Washington Post, April 23, 1995]

PELTED WITH GLASS, BURIED BY WALLS, THIS

OFFICE OF EIGHT PULLED THROUGH

(By William Booth)

OKLAHOMA CITY.—They began an extraordinary day as the most ordinary of people.

On Wednesday morning at 9, they sat at

their computers or leaned on their desks in

the Department of Veterans Affairs’ small

office on the fifth floor of the Alfred P.

Murrah Federal Building. There were eight

of them that morning, people similar to hundreds of thousands of federal employees

across the nation.

‘‘Just the most normal day,’’ rehabilitation specialist Diane Dooley would recall

later. ‘‘That’s how the day started, just the

same old, same old.’’

But not for long. In the time it might have

taken to retrieve a file, the office was ripped

in half by a massive explosion from a car

bomb set off just outside the building’s front

entrance. Those inside were buried by an avalanche of debris or swept away in a blast of

flying glass.

In the torrent, they lost fingers and eyes

and ears. Their bones were broken and twisted. Some even lost their sense of where and

who they were, becoming white ghosts covered in dust and blood, wandering in shock

through a building filled with the dead.

Later, at least one of them would wonder

why he was not more brave; another would

claim they were not heroes. All of them

wept. But all of them survived the bomb that

went off at 9:04 a.m.

‘‘We were so lucky,’’ said Jim Guthrie. ‘‘I

know if things had just been a little bit different, that we could all be buried out there

in the rubble.’’

The VA office was not unlike the 14 other

agencies’ offices in the building. Each was

filled with bureaucrats, secretaries, clients—

perhaps 800 people in all that morning, now

grimly divided between the survivors and the

dead. Although its occupants were more fortunate than many others, the story of the

VA office is in many ways the story of them

all.

The eight VA employees pushed papers but

they also pushed disabled veterans, helping

them get jobs and benefits. They thought of

themselves as a family: They told jokes,

they made calls, and they filled file cabinets

with stories of veterans getting ahead in life

or spiraling ever downward. Of the eight

workers, five were veterans themselves.

They called themselves by alphabet letters, as federal employees so often do—CPs

and VRSs and LVERs: Counseling Psychologists and Veteran Rehabilitation Specialists

and Local Veteran Employment Representatives. On Wednesday morning, they were discussing their QRs, or Quality Reviews. They

were busy, one recalled without irony,

‘‘reinventing government.’’
May 1, 1995 CONGRESSIONAL RECORD — Extensions of Remarks E 891

Guthrie, a contracting officer’s representative, stopped by the office to work on securing a dental contract for disabled veterans in

nearby Lawton. He considers himself a hard

worker and a trouble-shooter, who does all

the ‘‘crappy little jobs’’ that need doing.

Long and lean, divorced with kids and living

in nearby Muskogee, where the central office

is located, Guthrie, 44, is a former Marine,

who spent 13 months ducking rockets in Da

Nang, Vietnam, an experience he does not

dwell on. ‘‘I don’t like pity parties,’’ he says.

The explosion, he said, was worse than

anything that happened to him in Vietnam.

When Guthrie arrived at the office, he

greeted everyone. He remembers that Stan

Ronbaun, who worked for the state but was

attached to the federal office to help find

jobs for disabled veterans, was sitting at his

desk right next to the window. Ronbaun was

from New York and liked jokes. He reminded

people of the actor Walter Matthau.

Martin Cash, too, was in the front room,

almost as exposed as Ronbaun to the large

plate-glass windows on the north face of the

building. Cash counseled veterans about

their benefits. Nearby were John Colvin and

George Denker. They helped disabled vets

get loans.

Guthrie visited for a few minutes with

Diane Dooley and office coordinator Paul

Heath, a man who wears many hats. Heath is

a psychological counselor for veterans, helping them through neurological disease or divorce or alcoholism. He has been with the

VA in this office for 28 years. People call him

‘‘Doc.’’

The three of them—Guthrie, Dooley and

Heath—talked about ‘‘nothing unusual.’’

Heath recalls, ‘‘something about putting together a unified database for a vocational

rehab unit.’’

Daughter of a retired Air Force sergeant,

Dooley married the son of another Air Force

sergeant. She started working for the VA

five years ago as a clerk-typist and put herself through college, becoming what she jokingly calls ‘‘a social worker for veterans.’’

Just as she was getting up to go to the Federal Employee Credit Union, she got a call

from Dennis Jackson, her co-worker, ringing

her from his cellular phone, telling her he

was running late.

At 9:00, running late herself because of

Jackson’s call, Dooley started for the stairwell to descend to the credit union on the

third floor. She never made it. She was

lucky. Seventeen of the 31 employees at the

credit union are believed dead.

‘‘Just as my hand reached the door, the explosion, it went off,’’ Dooley said, relating

the story from her flower-filled bedroom

after being released Friday from St. Anthony’s Hospital. ‘‘I though I had set it off. Honest to God, I believed I triggered the bomb.’’

Dooley was knocked on her back, her right

hand and wrist smashed, her toes broken.

She believes she heard a second explosion,

which may have been the device itself or the

front of the building collapsing. ‘‘I could

hear a man, somewhere, saying, ‘Help me,

help me.’’’

Dooley stumbled down another two flights

and staggered from the building. A man kept

asking: ‘‘What’s your name? What’s your

name?’’

She was bundled into a police cruiser and

is believed to have been the first person in

the explosion to reach a hospital. When she

recovered from surgery, she kept asking her

husband, Jim, about her colleagues.

Seconds before the explosion, Jim Guthrie

had left the office with Bob Armstrong. A

VA field investigator of fraud and, like Guthrie, a former Marine, Armstrong had served

in Korea and done two tours in Vietnam.

‘‘I felt a boom and was picked up off my

feet and thrown under a water fountain, and

I was thinking, that was fine, since I thought

the roof was about to collapse,’’ Guthrie

said. He heard the second explosion and covered his ears.

‘‘The smoke and dust, it was almost immediate,’’ he said. ‘‘I couldn’t breathe. I kept

looking for pockets of air. We were choking

and coughing.’’

Armstrong followed Guthrie down the

same stairs Dooley had used to escape moments before, but they moved slowly, feeling

their way in complete darkness. They finally

emerged into the light in the back of the

building, the side facing away from the

bomb.

Guthrie is not sure what happened when he

emerged from the building. He and Armstrong were covered in dust. ‘‘For the next

three or four hours, we just wandered

around,’’ Guthrie recalled. They wanted to

make phone calls, but were afraid to enter

the Internal Revenue Service building nearby.

‘‘I have never felt so helpless and disoriented,’’ Guthrie said. While he stumbled

in shock through the streets of downtown

Oklahoma City, Guthrie said, he wondered

what he had done with his life: ‘‘I could’ve

been dead but I wasn’t dead, but I began to

imagine all the dead and all the dead before

me.’’

When Guthrie and Armstrong emerged

from the building, a woman approached

screaming at them to save the children in

the day-care center on the second floor.

‘‘We didn’t do anything,’’ Guthrie recalled.

‘‘We couldn’t do anything. We stood there,

dazed and helpless.’’

While the two men stood in a daze, Paul

Heath, the psychologist, was sitting at a

desk in Diane Dooley’s office, debris up to

his armpits. ‘‘I was staring ahead and could

see, where the building used to be, nothing.

I could see across the street.’’

The front of the building fell away almost

beneath Heath’s feet. He sat for a second

half-buried. ‘‘I mean, the roof fell on my

head. Aluminum. Light fixtures. Duct work.

Wiring. And I could still see what I think

was the explosive, the fertilizer, popping,

these little sparks, and then the black cloud

rolled in.’’

Heath thought it must have been a natural

gas explosion. He crawled over his desk and

into the front room, clearing a path through

the ruins. There he saw Colvin leaning over

Ronbaun’s crumpled body. ‘‘Stan’s hurt real

bad,’’ Colvin told Heath. Martin Cash, too,

was covered in blood, his left arm broken,

bruised and deeply cut. Swaying on his feet,

Cash announced. ‘‘I think my eye is gone.’’

Colvin ripped off his own shirt and held it to

Cash’s eye. George Denker was without his

glasses, fumbling around in the dark.

‘‘I told John to stay with Stan, that we’d

find a way out and come back,’’ Heath recalled. A steady man, Colvin remained with

Ronbaun while Heath and the others made it

down the back stairs, remained with him

even as the building groaned and continued

to fall apart and the facade and ceilings gave

way.

Heath returned with a stretcher, carried by

a maintenance man whose name he does not

remember, and Robert Roddy, who works for

the Department of Housing and Urban Development. Ronbaun is more than six feet tall

and weighs about 265 pounds. Heath helped

carry him out, pushing desks and debris out

of the way, but he worried. Heath has a bad

heart.

When Heath emerged from the building,

the first person he met was a woman, sobbing and nearly hysterical, whose daughter

had been among those in the day-care center.

Heath knew the building well, serving as

chief medical officer despite the fact that he

did not hold a medical degree. He knew the

center had taken an almost direct hit, and

he feared no one could have survived.

Later, an old high school classmate whose

wife worked for HUD asked for his help in

searching for her. ‘‘I asked him where his

wife worked, what side of the building, and

when he told me. I knew he’d never find her.

That floor was gone,’’ Heath said.

Diane Dooley is home now with a smashed

wrist, which probably will require bone

grafts. Martin Cash is still in Presbyterian

Hospital, and it looks as if he may lose an

eye. Stan Ronbaun remains at St. Anthony’s

Hospital and may also lose an eye. The rest

of the staff is home. Heath and Guthrie were

back at work on Friday at the VA’s new temporary quarters at Oklahoma City’s VA hospital.

Paul Heath said he does not find any cosmic significance in the bombing. He believes

instead, he said, that ‘‘in my life and the life

of others there are these times of extreme

pain, and then there are all the good times

to help you grow strong and heal.’’ And then

Heath began, very quietly, to weep.’

Dooley said that when Heath visited her in

the hospital, she told him she had not yet

had time to cry. But she has time now.

‘‘These veterans are going to want their

checks on Monday,’’ Dooley said, ‘‘and I

don’t know how I’m gonna type with one

hand.’’

When asked what she would think if the

bombers turned out to be former military

men with a grudge, she sighed and said it

would not surprise her. Dooley said she often

thought that someday, some angry and disturbed person, even one of the veterans,

might enter the federal building and start

shooting. There are no metal detectors and

security was light, almost nonexistent.

Guthrie said, ‘‘I am a solid person, but this

whole experience has a lot of psychological

effects. I’m rethinking my life. I really am.

I want to spend more time with my children

and maybe change some other things.’’

In this time when federal bureaucrats are

sometimes seen as the source of everything

that is wrong with the United States, Paul

Heath and his colleagues ask people to remember the good that many federal workers

try to do.

‘‘We’re not heroes,’’ he said. ‘‘But I like to

think that all of us try to help.’’

On Friday Paul Heath went back into the

ruins of the Murrah building one last time.

He convinced some local policemen he knew

to accompany him up five flights back to his

old office to retrieve his computers and his

files.

He stared at the wreckage. The computer

monitor on his desk had seemingly been

sucked to the floor. There were overturned

chairs, wires and insulation. It was an eerie

experience—it unnerved him and reminded

him how close he and his co-workers had

come to death.

Additionally, although the director of the VA

Medical Center in Oklahoma City, Mr. Steve

Gentling, would assert that he and his staff

were simply doing their jobs, their many contributions during the crisis merit special recognition. Although the following report is only

a summary of VA activities during the early

days of the crisis, it vividly demonstrates the

exemplary commitment of VA employees:

DEPARTMENT OF VETERANS AFFAIRS, VETERANS HEALTH ADMINISTRATION, VA MEDICAL

CENTER, OKLAHOMA CITY, OK

SUMMARY OF OKLAHOMA CITY VAMC ACTIONS IN

RESPONSE TO ALFRED P. MURRAH FEDERAL

BUILDING DISASTER

As of 4:00 p.m., April 21, 1995, the VAMC

had taken the following actions in response

to the April 19, 1995, bombing of the Murrah

building:
E 892 CONGRESSIONAL RECORD — Extensions of Remarks May 1, 1995

Received 12 casualties, beginning at 10:50

a.m. One of the casualties was a veteran; two

were children, both of whom were treated

and referred to Children’s Hospital. Three

people were admitted to the hospital and discharged on April 21.

Sent a four-person triage team to the site

of the bombing immediately after the disaster occurred.

Sent 19 critical care nurses and emergency

employees to the closest hospital to the disaster, St. Anthony’s Hospital.

Sent triage supplies to St. Anthony’s Hospital.

Sent 14 crisis intervention team members,

primarily psychiatrists and psychologists, to

three assistance locations—the disaster site,

the American Red Cross and the First Christian Church.

At the request of the American Red Cross,

sent Dr. John Tassey, Director VAMC Behavioral Medicine Service, to serve as coordinator/liaison for Oklahoma City mental health

response coordination with the National

American Red Cross.

Set up offices for Veterans Benefits Administration (VBA) operations on the first floor

of the VAMC. VBA Operations commenced at

9 a.m. on April 20.

Set up office space in the VAMC for two of

the forensic teams from the Public Health

Service.

VAMC Psychiatry and Psychology employees, including the Chief of Psychiatry Service, Dr. Charles Smith, answered telephones

for the American Red Cross Crisis Intervention Center continuously for 36 hours.

Set up a blood donor team to identify employees with rare blood types to be prepared

for requests for those blood types. Collected

blood donations from donors, some of whom

waited 5 hours to donate.

Sent chaplains for coverage in one of the

community clinic centers set up in local

churches on April 20–21.

Establsihed a VAMC-sponsored community

hotline for post-trauma counseling through

the American Red Cross. The American Red

Cross will issue the hotline number and the

calls will be referred to VAMC staff.

Will hold two ‘‘Group Counseling’’ sessions

on April 21 and 24 open to all VAMC employees. Will schedule additional sessions as

needed.

Sent 2 VAMC pathologists to the State

Medical Examines Office for assistance.

Sent Paul Farney, VAMC Supervisory

Technologist in Radiology Service, to the

State Medical Examiners Office to serve as

Coordinator for all city hospital radiology

technicians.

Sent 2 vehicles and drivers to transport

Radiology film for development at the

VAMC for return to the State Medical Examiner. The effort is anticipated to continue for

the next 6 days.

Assisted the State Medical Examiner’s office in leasing a portable X-ray machine, and

with procuring supplies and technical assistance.

Provided gowns, scrub suits, masks, gloves,

and jaw stretchers to the State Medical Examiners Office.

Dick Campbell, Chief Human Resources

Management, and Chairman of the Federal

Personnel Council, is organizing the effort

with other agencies to reconstruct the personnel records of Federal Building employees

whose records were destroyed.

Providing sleeping/showering facilities for

firefighters and rescue workers in the auditorium area of the Health Wing of the

VAMC.

Fred Gusman, M.S.W., head of the VA Disaster Mental Health Trauma Team, will be

reporting to the VAMC to provide mental

health counseling/coordination.

Established Oklahoma City Family Assistance Relief Fund at the Oklahoma Federal

Credit Union.

WHY WE NEED NATIONAL HEALTH

CARE REFORM: $38,696 FOR A

fHEALTH INSURANCE POLICY

HON. FORTNEY PETE STARK OF CALIFORNIA

IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES

Monday, May 1, 1995

Mr. STARK. Mr. Speaker, we didn’t pass

health care reform last Congress, but the need

for it didn’t go away.

I’ve just received a letter from a midwestern

family, which shows how the Nation’s insurance companies continue to behave in an irresponsible and capricious manner. This family

of four, which says they have less than average health care expenses, had been using the

COBRA health continuation provisions for 18

months at an annual rate of $5,556.97. With

COBRA expiring, they wrote Connecticut General Life Insurance Co. to ask about converting to an individual rate policy.

Following is their letter describing what happened. The company sent them a printed

sheet in which they were invited to continue

for the annual rate of $38,696.

Mr. Speaker, Connecticut General obviously

has no interest in writing policies for individuals. It met the letter of the law requiring that

COBRA enrollees be offered a conversion policy—but their offer is a joke and an insult.

When the Nation’s insurance companies

display this type of behavior, they are just

refanning the flames for health care reform.

The letter follows:

APRIL 21, 1995.

Re health care cost reform.

Hon. PETE STARK,

Subcommittee on Health, Ways and Means Committee, Longworth House Office Building,

Washington, DC.

DEAR CONGRESSMAN STARK: I am writing to

you because I believe you would want information like this to help you make informed

judgments on health care issues that not

only affect me and my family, but affect millions of other people.

I believe it is federal law that requires insurance companies to offer group medical

conversion policies to individuals when they

are no longer eligible to be part of the group.

Surely that legislation didn’t intend to allow

for an insurance company, in this case Connecticut General Life Insurance Company, to

increase a family’s premium from $5,556.97

per year to $38,696.00 (over 590% increase)

with a higher deductible ($500) and lower

R&B daily limit ($250).

I paid a monthly premium of $463.08 for

eighteen months after leaving my teaching

position. When I was informed that I was no

longer eligible for the group, I requested and

received the enclosed conversion quotes. I

am sure that Connecticut General Life Insurance Company’s attorneys have assured

them that they are within the law when they

quoted such an unjust rate.

I would hope that Congress would review

and modify any legislation that requires

health insurance companies to offer conversion policies, but allows them to do so in

such an unconscionable way.

Sincerely yours,

——— ———.

Enclosure.

CONNECTICUT GENERAL LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY, A GROUP MEDICAL

CONVERSION QUOTE—QUARTERLY

PREMIUMS

Rate quote for:———.

Your age: 54.

Your spouse status: Yes, age: 47.

You have: 2 children.

Today is: 03/02/95.

Effective date: 03/01/95.

Your ZIP: —

QUARTERLY COMPREHENSIVE PREMIUMS 1

R&B daily limit ................................. $100 $150 $200 $250

Surgical maximum ............................ 4,500 6,000 7,500 9,000

Deductible:

$100 ......................................... 9,959 10,363 10,787 11,208

$250 ......................................... 9,316 9,694 10,091 10,485

$500 ......................................... 8,596 8,945 9,310 9,674

$1,000 ...................................... 7,918 8,239 8,576 8,910

$2,000 ...................................... 6,915 7,195 7,490 7,782

1 Choose the benefit provisions from the top of the chart with the deductible from the side of the chart to determine the premium for your particular

plan.

QUARTERLY HOSPITAL/SURGICAL PREMIUMS 1

Hospital only:

R&B daily limit ..................... $100 $150 $200 $250

Premium ................................ 2,781 3,357 3,828 4,189

Surgical only:

Surgical maximum: ............... 2,400 3,600 4,800 6,000

Premium ................................ 159 238 317 396

Hospital and surgical:

R&B daily limit ..................... 100 150 200 250

Surgical maximum ................ 2,400 3,600 4,800 6,000

Premium ................................ 2,940 3,595 4,145 4,585

1 Choose hospital only, surgical only, or hospital and surgical as indicated

to determine the premium based on the benefit provisions.

PI KAPPA DELTA NATIONAL

TOURNAMENT

f

HON. IKE SKELTON OF MISSOURI

IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES

Monday, May 1, 1995

Mr. SKELTON. Mr. Speaker, today I wish to

recognize an outstanding group of students

from Central Missouri State University’s

forensics team. The forensics team recently

won the national 39th biannual Pi Kappa Delta

National Tournament. The tournament was

held from March 22–25, 1995 at Louisiana

State University in Shreveport.

Pi Kappa Delta is a national honorary fraternity that symbolizes the benefits of a forensics

education. Twenty-three students represented

Central Missouri State University in the competition. The team placed first in debate and

second in individual events, winning 32 individual event awards. This is the first national

championship in the team’s 73-year history.

I know that the Members of this body join

me in congratulating the Central Missouri

State University forensics team for their accomplishment. The students on the forensics

team should be applauded for all the hard

work, dedication, and perseverance it took to

win the tournament.