[Congressional Record Volume 140, Number 126 (Monday, September 12, 1994)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Page E]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Printing Office [www.gpo.gov]


[Congressional Record: September 12, 1994]
From the Congressional Record Online via GPO Access [wais.access.gpo.gov]

 
   MEDAL OF HONOR WINNER GARY GORDON AND THE VIRTUE OF RESPONSIBILITY

                                 ______


                         HON. ROBERT K. DORNAN

                             of california

                    in the house of representatives

                       Monday, September 12, 1994

  Mr. DORNAN. Mr. Speaker, I urge my colleagues and fellow citizens of 
this country to carefully consider the words of Carmen Gordon in the 
following letter to her children about the importance of 
responsibility. The letter was written after her husband, M. Sgt. Gary 
Gordon, was killed in combat in Somalia. For his heroic actions on the 
field of battle, Gary Gordon was awarded this Nation's highest tribute, 
the Congressional Medal of Honor. Gary and Carmen are true examples of 
why the United States is the greatest Nation on the face of the earth.

           [From the U.S. News & World Report, Aug. 1, 1994]

                             Responsibility

       In 1993, Master Sgt. Gary Gordon was killed trying to 
     rescue a fellow soldier in Mogadishu, Somalia. His widow, 
     Carmen, and their two children, Ian, 6, and Brittany, 3, live 
     in Southern Pines, N.C.
       My dearest Ian and Brittany,
       I hope that in the final moments of your father's life, his 
     last thoughs were not of us. As he lay dying, I wanted him to 
     think only of the mission to which he pledged himself. As you 
     grow older, if I can show you the love and responsibility he 
     felt for his family, you will understand my feelings. I did 
     not want him to think of me, or of you, because I did not 
     want his heart to break.
       Children were meant to have someone responsible for them. 
     No father ever took that more seriously than your dad. 
     Responsibility was a natural part of him, an easy path to 
     follow. Each day after work his truck pulled into our 
     driveway. I watched the two of you run to him, feet pounding 
     across the painted boards of our porch, yelling, ``Daddy!'' 
     Every day, I saw his face when he saw you. You were the 
     center of his life.
       Ian, when you turned 1 year old, your father was beside 
     himself with excitement, baking you a cake in the shape of a 
     train. On your last birthday, Brittany, he sent you a 
     handmade birthday card from Somalia. But your father had two 
     families. One was us, and the other was his comrades. He was 
     true to both.
       He loved his job. Quite and serious adventure filled some 
     part of him I could never fully know. After his death, one of 
     his comrades told me that on a foreign mission, your dad led 
     his men across a snow-covered ridge that began to collapse. 
     Racing across a yawning crevasse to safety, he grinned wildly 
     and yelled, ``Wasn't that great?''
       You will hear many times about how your father died. You 
     will read what the president of the United States said when 
     he awarded the Medal of Honor: ``Gary Gordon * * * died in 
     the most courageous and selfless way any human being can 
     act.'' But you may still ask why. You may ask how he could 
     have been devoted to two families so equally, dying for one 
     but leaving the other.
       For your father, there were no hard choices in life. Once 
     he committed to something, the way was clear. He chose to be 
     a husband and father, and never wavered in those roles. He 
     chose the military, and ``I shall not fail those with whom I 
     serve'' became his simple religion. When his other family 
     needed him, he did not hesitate, as he would not have 
     hesitated for us. It may not have been the best thing for us, 
     but it was the right thing for your dad.
       There are times now when that image of him coming home 
     comes back to me. I see him scoop you up, Ian, and see you. 
     Brittany, bury your head in this chest. I dread the day when 
     you stop talking and asking about him, when he seems so long 
     ago. So now, I must take responsibility for keeping his life 
     entwined with yours. It is a responsibility I never wanted.
       But I know what your father would say. ``Nothing you can do 
     about it. Carmen. Just keep going.'' Those times when the 
     crying came, as I stood at the kitchen counter, were never 
     long enough. You came in the front door, Brittany, saying, 
     ``Mommy, you sad? You miss Daddy?'' You reminded me I had to 
     keep going.
       The ceremonies honoring your dad were hard. When they put 
     his photo in the Hall of Heroes at the Pentagon, I thought, 
     can this be all that is left, a picture? Then General 
     Sullivan read from the letter General Sherman wrote to 
     General Grant after the Civil War, words so tender that we 
     all broke down. ``Throughout the war, you were always in my 
     mind. I always knew, If I were in trouble and you were still 
     alive you would come to my assistance.''
       One night before either of you were born, your dad and I 
     had a funny little talk about dying. I teased that I would 
     not know where to bury him. Very quietly, he said. ``Up home. 
     In my uniform.'' Your dad never liked to war a uniform. And 
     ``Up home.'' Maine, was so far away from us.
       Only after he was laid to rest in a tiny flag-filled 
     graveyard in Lincoln, Maine, did I understand. His parents, 
     burying their only son, could come tomorrow and the day after 
     that. You and I would not have to pass his grave on the way 
     to the grocery store, to Little League games, to ballet 
     recitals. Our lives would go on. And to the men he loved and 
     died for, the uniform was a silent salute, a final repeat of 
     his vows. Once again, he had taken care of all of us.
       On a spring afternoon, a soldier from your dad's unit 
     brought me the things from his military locker. At the bottom 
     of a cardboard box, beneath his boots. I found a letter. 
     Written on a small, ruled tablet, it was his voice, quiet but 
     confident in the words he wanted us to have if something 
     should happen to him. I'll save it for you, but so much of 
     him is already inside you both. Let it grow with you. Choose 
     your own responsibilities in life but always, always follow 
     your heart. Your dad will be watching over you, just as he 
     always did.
           Love,
     Mom.

                          ____________________