[Congressional Record Volume 147, Number 127 (Wednesday, September 26, 2001)]
[Senate]
[Pages S9864-S9865]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                            THE SEZNA FAMILY

  Mr. BIDEN. Mr. President, I apologize to my colleagues and to my 
constituents for being absent from the Senate this morning, and 
especially for missing the vote on the Military Construction 
Appropriations bill. I was attending one of the, tragically, many 
funeral services being conducted across the country.
  If my colleagues will permit me a point of personal privilege, this 
funeral service had a special and profound impact on me, for the victim 
was a brilliant young man who was the oldest son, and best friend, of 
one of my very good friends, Davis Sezna.
  The young man who was killed on the 104th floor of the World Trade 
Center's Tower II, where he had arrived on September 11th for just his 
sixth day of work there, was Davis Grier Sezna, Jr., known to his 
family and to all who loved him as ``Deeg.'' His parents, Gail and 
Davis Sezna, are community leaders in Delaware; they are people I 
admire and respect; and, again, they are my good friends. Deeg is also 
survived by a younger brother, Willy, who is a senior in high school, 
and by his grandmother, Mrs. W.W. Sezna, his grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. 
H.G. Ingersoll, and numerous aunts, uncles and cousins and seemingly 
countless friends.
  As inconceivable as it is, Deeg, who was 22 years old, was 
predeceased by his youngest brother, Teddy, who died in a boating 
accident last year at the age of 15. So the Sezna family has been 
struck twice by the sudden, tragic death of a healthy, vibrant and much 
loved son, brother and grandson. Like so many of our fellow citizens, 
they were so full of life, and then they were gone.
  As inconceivable as the tragedy is, even more remarkable to me is the 
way in which the Sezna family has responded to loss that would cripple 
many people's faith and spirit. When Deeg was still listed as 
``missing,'' they held onto hope as long as they could, joining the 
legions of loved ones in New York, searching hospitals and talking with 
the rescue workers and local officials, determined to do everything 
they humanly could, and asking for God's help, for themselves and for 
others. As Davis said then, ``It would be very selfish at a time like 
this for anyone to just pray for themselves. We need to pray for all of 
us. We're not in this alone.''
  When it became undeniable that everything had been done, and that 
there was no more hope of bringing Deeg home alive, his family 
continued to reach out to others. This grieving father, who had been in 
the boat accident in which his youngest son was lost and who had been 
on the streets of New York searching for his oldest son, this man, who 
had more reason to feel despair and rage and fear and to just give up 
than almost anyone, he called me and said, ``I will go and stand with 
you anywhere, any time, any place to tell people, `Don't be afraid.' ''
  With those words, Davis Sezna became more than my friend, he became 
one of my heroes. When you feel like your world is ending, and I don't 
know what can do that more than the death of a child, there is 
immeasurable courage behind the power to believe in the future. In one 
of the great inspirations I have ever known, the Sezna family still 
believes; as Davis told Sports Illustrated, when they interviewed him 
for a profile on Deeg as one of the athletes killed in the terrorist 
attacks, all the Seznas have been great golfers, ``I live for tomorrow. 
I'm inspired by tomorrow. There will always be tomorrow.''
  In our efforts to respond to the events of September 11th, I can 
think of no higher goal for us as a nation, than to endeavor to justify 
the Sezna family's courageous faith in tomorrow.
  And I ask unanimous consent that the complete text of the Sports 
Illustrated profile be printed in the Record.
  There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in 
the Record as follows:

               [From Sports Illustrated, Sept. 24, 2001]

                            Unplayable Lies

                         (By Michael Bamberger)

       A father was on the golf course, and his son was at work. 
     The morning was crisp, bright, perfect. Twenty-two-year-old 
     Davis G. Sezna Jr., known as Deeg, was working in the south 
     tower, 2 World Trade Center. His father, Davis Sr., was 
     playing at Pine Hill, a new public course in southern New 
     Jersey, just down the road from Pine Valley.
       ``Dad,'' Deeg would sometimes ask, ``do you think someday 
     I'll be Pine Valley material?'' Augusta National, Cypress 
     Point, Seminole, Pine Valley. Those are the four sacred 
     corners of the shawl that wraps private-club golf in the U.S. 
     For many of its members, Pine Valley is the ultimate 
     sanctuary, Davis Sezna, 48, is one of those members.
       Deeg was employed by another Pine Valley member, Jimmy 
     Dunne, a managing principal at Sandler O'Neill & Partners, a 
     financial-services company. The father made the introduction, 
     but from there the son was on his own. Dunne and Deeg played 
     a round of golf together. Golf reveals a man; that's what 
     Dunne believes, Davis Sr. does too. ``Golf's a great 
     interview,'' he says. Later Deeg came into the office for a 
     sit-down meeting with Dunne and the firm's other principals. 
     Deeg was wearing a suit. He was serious, energetic, 
     respectful. He was offered a job.
       ``Can I start on May 14, Mr. Dunne?'' Deeg asked. In other 
     words, graduate from Vanderbilt on a Friday, take the weekend 
     off, then begin work on Monday.
       ``No, you cannot,'' Dunne answered. ``Take the summer off. 
     Kiss a pretty girl. You don't have to call me Mr. Dunne, and 
     you don't have to wear a suit.''
       Deeg took the summer off. He started work the day after 
     Labor Day. Wore a suit every day. Called his boss Mr. Dunne. 
     He will make it here doing something, Jimmy Dunne remembers 
     thinking. Banker, trader, salesman, something. On Sept. 11, 
     Deeg's sixth day on the job, he arrived for work a little 
     after seven.
       Deeg's father works in golf. He's an owner of a busy public 
     course outside Philadelphia, Hartefield National, the site of 
     a Senior tour event in 1998 and '99. He's going into business 
     with the owner of Pine Hill, which is why he was there on 
     that beautiful Tuesday morning that so abruptly turned grim 
     and gray. Somebody pulled him off the course when the first 
     plane smashed into the north tower of the World Trade Center. 
     He was watching the terror unfold on TV when the second plane 
     struck his son's building. ``I knew Deeg was on the 104th 
     floor,'' he says. ``The plane hit, an hour passed, the 
     building crumpled. A friend drove me home.''
       The Sezna house is in Delaware, in the rolling countryside 
     outside Wilmington, near the Brandywine River, the pastoral 
     land the Wyeths have been painting for three generations. The 
     kitchen dates to the 17th century. The backyard is a long, 
     sweeping hill, ending at a pond. The three Sezna boys would 
     hit wedge shots and take divots out of that lawn all summer 
     long. Gail Sezna, their mother, would look the other way. Her 
     father-in-law was a superb golfer. Her husband was the 1973 
     Delaware Open champion. Her sons were being raised in the 
     game as well.
       ``My dad used to say, `A golfer is a gentleman,' '' Davis 
     Sr. says. ``I raised my sons to understand that. The first 
     time I brought Deeg to the course, he was five. As we left, 
     he said, ``Was I a gentleman today, Daddy?'' He dabs his eyes 
     with a napkin embossed with scallop shells.
       This was last Thursday, two days after the attack. The 
     father had spent the previous day in the detritus of the 
     World Trade Center, searching for his son. Now he was in his 
     backyard, in the ``final innings of hope,'' as he put it. 
     Friends were visiting. The men were golfers, members of Pine 
     Valley, Semi-nole, Merion, all clubs to which the father 
     belongs. Sezna also owns several popular restaurants in 
     Delaware. He was pouring good wine and slicing aged cheddar. 
     It only looked like a late-summer cocktail party. The chatter 
     could not mask the sorrow. Tom Fazio,

[[Page S9865]]

     the course architect, telephoned. He's a Pine Valley member 
     too.
       ``Jimmy Dunne, God bless him, he was in there in the rubble 
     with us,'' the father told Fazio. Dunne's firm had 125 
     employees on the 104th floor. Half of them were missing. More 
     than a few were serious golfers, or the sons of serious 
     golfers. Dunne is a serious golfer. He wasn't in the office 
     on that horrid Tuesday morning because he was attempting to 
     qualify for the U.S. Mid-Amateur, a lifelong dream for him.
       The conversation with Fazio came to a close. ``They can rip 
     off your arms and legs, Tom, you just don't want them taking 
     your children,'' Davis Sr. told him. ``I love you, Tom Fazio. 
     Give Sue and your kids a big hug from me.''
       Deeg once got his handicap down to four. Every third year, 
     on a midsummer weekend, he'd play in the two-day Father-Son 
     tournament at Pine Valley. One year the Seznas were in 
     contention as they stood on the 16th tee in the second round. 
     The format was alternate shot. One generation hits a shot, 
     then the other generation plays the next. The son hooked his 
     drive. The father needed to hit a big sweeping hook to reach 
     the green, which is bordered by a water hazard on the right.
       ``Why don't you punch a safe one down in front, I'll chip 
     up, and you'll make the putt for par,'' the son said.
       ``Nah, I can hook a five-iron on,'' the father said.
       The five-iron shot didn't hook a bit. As it was heading for 
     the water, Deeg said, ``How old do I have to be before you'll 
     start listening to me?'' He was 15. From that double bogey 
     on, his father listened.
       Last Thursday, Davis Sr. was showing a friend a picture of 
     his favorite foursome. Three boys and their father, all in 
     shorts and polo shirts and smiles, standing on the 14th tee 
     at Seminole, in North Palm Beach, Fla., the Atlantic Ocean 
     behind them, nothing but years of golf in front of them. The 
     father was on the far right, looking proud. He started to 
     identify his boys. ``That's Willie next to me,'' said Davis 
     Sr. ``He's a senior in high school, plays to a three 
     [handicap]. That's Deeg on the left. Between them, that's . . 
     . . ''
       The name never came out. The boy was Teddy, the youngest 
     child of Gail and Davis Sezna. He died last year, at age 15, 
     on the first Saturday in July in an early-morning boating 
     accident. The father and son were cruising in a 30-foot 
     motorboat when they ran into a steel light pole. It took two 
     hours for rescuers to find Teddy's body. It took seven hours 
     to get everyone through the receiving line.
       Last Saturday the father was backed in Manhattan, searching 
     for signs of his namesake in hope's final at bat. Somehow the 
     father found the courage, wisdom and grace to say, ``I live 
     for tomorrow. I'm inspired by tomorrow. There will always be 
     tomorrow.''
       Willie Sezna now has a standing offer to join his father, 
     every summer, in the Pine Valley Father-Son. They'll play in 
     Deeg's memory. They'll play in Teddy's memory. They'll play 
     until the day comes when they can play no more. When that day 
     will be, no one can say. The Seznas know that far too well.

  Mr. BIDEN. Mr. President, I suggest the absence of a quorum.
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. The clerk will call the roll.
  The legislative clerk proceeded to call the roll.
  Mr. REID. Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent that the order for 
the quorum call be rescinded.
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. Without objection, it is so ordered.

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