[Congressional Record Volume 144, Number 2 (Wednesday, January 28, 1998)]
[Senate]
[Pages S186-S187]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                           THOMAS M. BELODEAU

  Mr. KERRY. Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent to have printed in 
the Record the text of the eulogy I gave for my friend, Thomas M. 
Belodeau, on November 10, 1997.
  The eulogy follows:

       Mrs. Belodeau, Michael; Ann, Tommy's sisters Patricia and 
     Mary; his brothers Leo, James, Joseph, and Larry, to all his 
     relatives, and to his brothers from Vietnam--particularly Del 
     Sandusky from Illinois and Gene Thorsen from Iowa--his 
     crewman on PCF 94--to the Doghunters and to all of Tommy's 
     friends and extended family.
       A number of us thought once foolishly that we brothers of 
     Vietnam had gotten used to saying goodbye to our friends 
     before their time. But Tommy is proving us dangerously wrong. 
     We will never get used to it--and well we should not.
       So now the question is, how do you say goodbye to a man 
     whose steady hand and courageous heart helped keep you alive? 
     How do you say goodbye to a man who shared the most 
     challenging and terrifying moments of your life?
       First, you should all know that we are saying goodbye to a 
     hero. We are saying goodbye to the genuine article--a 
     patriot--a young kid fresh out of Chelmsford High who in 
     difficult times saw his duty and who did it. Tommy was one of 
     America's children who went to war against a people he knew 
     precious little about in a land he'd never been to--for 
     reasons never honestly stated--and he was, like so many, 
     forever changed.
       It is hard for me to convey to you the full measure of what 
     that means in 1997, particularly here, today. But in 1966, 
     Tommy and I unwittingly became brothers in the great, 
     divisive, confusing enterprise called Vietnam. We were both 
     class of `66--he from high school and me from college. Though 
     we came from different backgrounds, we didn't in the sense 
     that we both believed in service to our country. We both 
     chose to go into the Navy. We both volunteered for Swift 
     boats in Vietnam. We met when we were thrown together as a 
     crew after his first skipper got hit in an ambush.
       I inherited Tommy and the rest of his seasoned crew, and it 
     was the best thing that ever happened to me.
       Many of you may have read Tom's obituary the other day. It 
     said he had won a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star with Combat 
     V for serving in Vietnam. That only told you part of the 
     story--and no one here would be surprised that Tommy never 
     told you the rest.
       He also won the Navy Commendation medal:
       Let me share with you what Admiral Zumwalt said in awarding 
     it to Tom:
       ``For heroic achievement while serving with friendly 
     foreign forces engaged in armed conflict against North 
     Vietnamese and Viet Cong communist aggressors in the Republic 
     of Vietnam on 5 July, 1968. Seaman Belodeau was serving as a 
     crewman on board Patrol Craft 27 which was blockading the 
     beach in the vicinity of air strikes on an enemy platoon near 
     the village of My Lai, Quang Ngai Province. Observing a Viet 
     Cong suspect run from the enemy position, Seaman Belodeau's 
     Patrol Craft fast moved in to attempt a capture and was 
     immediately taken under enemy fire. Seaman Belodeau, ignoring 
     the enemy fire around him, calmly moved into the open to make 
     the capture. He helped pull the suspect from the water and 
     got him aboard his boat. Seaman Belodeau's courageous actions 
     in capturing a Viet Cong suspect under enemy fire were in the 
     highest tradition of the United States Naval Service.''
       Seaman Belodeau is authorized to wear the Combat ``V''. 
     That was just a day that happened to be notice, sandwiched 
     between many more like it or worse, that were not. That was 
     the measure of the man I inherited on my crew.
       From the day we came together, we gelled as a crew. And it 
     was the way it ought to be. The crew didn't have to prove 
     themselves to me. I had to earn my spurs with them. When 
     the Chief Petty Officer, Del Sandusky--known as ``Sky'', 
     who came from Illinois to be with Tom today, finally gave 
     me the seal of enlisted man's approval, Tommy was the 
     first to enthusiastically say: ``I told you so, Sky, he's 
     from Massachusetts!!"
       You have to understand that we lived together as closely 
     and as intensely on 50 feet of floating armament as men can 
     live. And we learned all there is to learn about each other.
       Sometimes it was a funny learning process, as when Mike 
     Medeiros exhibited a hard time understanding Tommy. ``Are you 
     from Brooklyn?'' he would ask. Tommy would respond with pride 
     and impatience: ``Nah: I'm from Boston.''
       There was the time we were carrying special forces up a 
     river and a mine exploded under our boat sending it 2 feet 
     into the air. We were receiving incoming rocket and small 
     arms fire and Tommy was returning fire with his M-60 machine 
     gun when it literally broke apart in his hands. He was left 
     holding the pieces unable to fire back while one of the Green 
     Berets walked along the edge of the boat to get Tommy another 
     M-60. As he was doing so, the boat made a high speed turn to 
     starboard and the Green Beret kept going--straight into the 
     river. The entire time while the boat went back to get the 
     Green Beret, Tommy was without a machine gun or a weapon of 
     any kind, but all the time he was hurling the greatest single 
     string of Lowell-Chelmsford curses ever heard at the Viet 
     Cong. He literally had swear words with tracers on them!
       There was, of course, the moment in February, 1969 when he 
     was positioned in the very bow of the boat--in the totally 
     exposed peak tank--with more than half his body just sticking 
     up exposed to the enemy, when 3 boats turned toward the river 
     bank and Tommy found himself staring straight into an ambush 
     20 yards ahead. He never flinched as he charged the beach and 
     routed the enemy--not just once, but twice. For Seaman 
     Belodeau's devotion to duty, courage under fire, and 
     exemplary professionalism, in the highest tradition of the 
     Navy he was awarded the Bronze Star with Combat V.
       I cannot adequately convey or describe to you the measure 
     of this man at war--standing in his peak tank in the bow, 
     screaming up a river in the dead of night, no moon, 50 yards 
     from Cambodia literally bouncing off the river bank, waiting 
     for a mine to go off or a rocket to explode--and always 
     steady, always dependable, always there for the rest of the 
     crew.
       All Belodeaus, Chelmsford, Massachusetts, and the United 
     States should be proud of this warrior.
       But, perhaps the greatest reason for pride as we bid our 
     Tommy goodbye, is not what he did, but who he was.
       In many ways, Tommy walked in the footsteps of Emerson and 
     Thoreau. He was a man who wanted to walk quietly to his own 
     tune--never with any in your face attitude. He just quietly 
     wanted to be, and was, his own man.
       From what I know, he always had this special quiet quality. 
     His expression spoke for

[[Page S187]]

     him. As many of you know, he was not a man of many words. So 
     he'd just give you a look. And the look would tell it all-
     fierce determination; rollicking good fun; profound sadness. 
     I know you can see his expression for any mood he had. My 
     favorite look of all was his bemused, ``What the hell does 
     the skipper think he's doing now?"
       Tom would join a great group of veterans who had been 
     involved in my `84 campaign called the Doghunters. We would 
     gather irregularly for a black tie dinner and each time 
     everyone would eagerly await Tom's non-speech. He was clearly 
     the most beloved member of our group despite his distaste for 
     saying anything in public.
       In his reticence to draw attention to himself or speak in 
     public lies the true measure of this great friend. Because in 
     1984, and again in 1996, it was his passionate, personal 
     commitment, his driving sense of loyalty, that against all 
     his other instincts drew him again into the line of fire. I 
     will never forget the brilliance and eloquence with which he 
     stood up to fight for me and for the honor of our service.
       Again and again, Tom proved the real value of friendship. 
     For all of us here in this extended family, it will never be 
     the same. No campaign of the future will be the same without 
     you, Tom. No Doghunters' dinner will be complete without your 
     knowing smile and blushing non-speech.
       None of this in any way suggests that it was all peaches 
     and cream for Tommy. We know it wasn't. His family and his 
     friends could see the sadness in his eyes that some say 
     changed with Vietnam.
       There were times when all us of us around Tommy knew he 
     needed a lift: but try as one could, his sense of self 
     reliance and pride gave him a sixth sense that something was 
     up and he would quietly find an excuse to slide away or just 
     tell you things were going fine even when they weren't. Joey 
     tells me that stubborn streak came from their father. But 
     always he was the most generous in any group, ready to help 
     another.
       So Michael, today, we his friends want to reaffirm to you 
     what you must know: your father was enormously proud of you--
     loved you dearly--and knew that sometimes his own sense of 
     pride about what he wanted for you prevented him from always 
     living up to his own expectations. But nothing that he did or 
     thought ever diminished his joy in who you are and his trust 
     in what you will grow to be.
       For everyone who knew and loved him here today, there is a 
     special sorrow; because we all sensed that in his recent 
     return to Massachusetts, Tommy had found a peace and purpose 
     which had liberated him from any demons. He enthusiastically 
     joined in telephoning friends for Chris Greeley's engagement 
     party. He looked happy and engaged. I saw him about 4 weeks 
     ago and he seemed more energized and happy than in some time. 
     There was a gleam in his eye and we promised to get together 
     soon. As Chuck Tamulonis who took such care of him and meant 
     so much to him told me yesterday, ``He was filling the 
     refrigerator with no-fat food, coming home early, and even 
     cooking the meals.''
       Last year when our crew came together as a whole at 
     election time for the first time in 27 years, we departed 
     with the expectation that we were hooked up and on the road 
     to growing old together. But God had other plans. And of all 
     people we should not be surprised. We have always said at our 
     Doghunter dinner that one thing we learned in Vietnam was 
     Grace of God, every day beyond Vietnam was extra. Tommy had a 
     lot of extra days and for that we are grateful.
       So today, as we say goodbye, joined with his family and 
     those he grew up with, what we, his friends, celebrate above 
     all in Tommy's life is his special, gentle decency--a loyal, 
     loyal friend of enormous heart who was generous in spirit 
     beyond expectation and sometimes beyond understanding.
       To Radarman Seaman, Thomas M. Belodeau, to our friend 
     Tommy: until we meet again, may you have fair winds and 
     following seas. And may we all leave here reminded of the 
     words of the poet William Butler Yeats:
       ``Think where man's glory most begins and ends. And say, my 
     glory was, I had such friends.''

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