[Congressional Record Volume 168, Number 90 (Tuesday, May 24, 2022)]
[Senate]
[Pages S2640-S2641]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]



                 Remembering Sergeant Charles Garrigus

  Mr. YOUNG. Mr. President, what defines an American soldier? Is it 
courage under fire? Is it physical strength? Is it the great victories 
on the battlefield? No. I think it is something else. Above all, it is 
sacrifice. It is the selflessness to surrender one's life so that a set 
of values will endure not only for the living but for generations to 
come. It is the faith that the future of this great Nation is more 
important than the life of any one of its citizens; that the cause of 
liberty is greater than any individual.
  Be that as it may, every fallen hero must be remembered. Every 
individual who makes the ultimate sacrifice must be honored. That is 
why, in the spring every year, we decorate their graves with flowers 
and the flag they fought for. Those headstones made of marble or 
granite are often indistinguishable from a distance. Fittingly, their 
sacrifice was the same no matter how fabled or forgotten the battle, no 
matter in victory or defeat; and though we rightly revere our glorious 
triumphs--the trenches of Yorktown, the hills of Gettysburg, the fields 
of the Marne, the beaches of Normandy--it is often in America's darkest 
hours, in the face of great disaster, when we see the virtues of 
America's warriors most clearly.
  So it was with SGT Charles Garrigus, a farm boy from the town of 
Francisco in Southern Indiana.
  In growing up during the Depression, he developed a passion and skill 
for motors, of driving trucks and tractors across the Hoosier 
countryside. It was why he was drawn to the U.S. Army; why, after his 
discharge at the end of World War II, he reenlisted, serving as a motor 
pool sergeant in Japan. Sergeant Garrigus was scheduled to return to 
Indiana on June 26, 1950. One day before that, on the 25th, the Korean 
war began, and so he again answered the call.
  After the initial setbacks, with the North Korean People's Army 
pushing U.S. forces south, by the end of the summer, the North Koreans 
were in retreat, and Americans were advancing north, up the peninsula. 
The end of the war was in sight.
  GEN Douglas MacArthur divided his forces. The Eighth Army went from 
Seoul to Pyongyang. From there, it would link with Ten Corps. Sergeant 
Garrigus's force, the 7th Army Division, 32nd Regiment, was assigned to 
guard the Ten Corps' flank. Once connected, they would march toward the 
Chinese frontier, reunite Korea, and end the war. The soldiers might be 
home for Christmas.
  Then came the Battle of Chosin Reservoir, where 100,000 Chinese 
soldiers attacked. The Americans, isolated and spread out across the 
Chosin Reservoir, were surrounded; they were trapped. It was an 
unmitigated disaster--one of the worst in the history of America's 
military. The fighting continued for two more nights before Sergeant 
Garrigus's regiment consolidated with another larger unit, led by COL 
Allan MacLean.
  On the morning of the 29th, their 60-vehicle convoy made its way to 
MacLean's perimeter. The Chinese fire was so heavy, though, that two 
trucks filled with supplies were left on the opposite of the bridge 
leading to MacLean's men. When Sergeant Garrigus looked across that 
bridge and saw Chinese soldiers approaching the vehicles, he dashed, on 
foot, across the bridge, reached the first van, and drove it back 
across the ice-covered bridge. Then he got out, ran back across the 
bridge again, jumped in the second truck, and drove that one across 
American lines too. Just as he made it over, the engine stalled out, 
but his fellow soldiers roared. It was a shot of hope in a desperate 
hour.
  After 80 hours of attacks, the situation had grown so dire that, on 
the morning of the 30th, the Americans determined to break out and 
drive over mountain roads to the safety of the Marine base at Hagaru-
ri, at the southern end of the reservoir. They loaded what rations and 
supplies they had left, along with the wounded, into 35 trucks and 
jeeps, and prepared to set out across the narrow mountain roads that 
led to the marines.

  Before they departed, Chinese forces commandeered the Americans' 
defensive machinegun posts. Sergeant Garrigus rallied several other 
soldiers; fought off the Chinese; and retook the weapons, turning them 
on the enemy, freeing up the column of vehicles to depart. The way was 
treacherous, along rutted, ice-covered roads. The formation was 
disorganized, scattered by steady Chinese gunfire.
  With Sergeant Garrigus at its head, the convoy finally drew near the 
Marine base at Hagaru-ri. What was once a 35-vehicle convoy was now 15. 
The trucks and jeeps were full of bullet holes, but the final run was 
at hand. With mortar blasts exploding along its sides, Sergeant 
Garrigus guided the convoy forward. Hagaru-ri was 5 miles away, just in 
reach. Then a tremendous blast of machineguns erupted. The lead vehicle 
veered off the road and smashed into a ditch. Sergeant Garrigus lay 
dead behind the wheel. The entire convoy ground to a halt. The 
surviving soldiers were at the mercy of the Chinese.
  SGT Charles Garrigus never returned home to Indiana. His name is 
among

[[Page S2641]]

the missing--the ones who answered their country's call and never came 
home. He was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for his service 
and sacrifice.
  Though his mission was doomed, his death was not in vain. The 
fighting at Chosin Reservoir distracted the Chinese Army long enough to 
allow the Army to successfully withdraw south--the longest withdrawal 
in American history. He and his brothers in arms fought like hell, 
through hell. Their chances of victory, of even survival, were remote. 
But they didn't fight for themselves. They fought for their countrymen, 
living and generations away, for the ideal of self-government.
  On Memorial Day, we honor all those who have died in service to 
America in defense of that ideal. Let us not mistake the stillness of 
the patriot graves with silence, though. The rows of headstones speak 
to us of sacrifice for the common good. They remind us of the price at 
which our freedom was won, of the too often smallness of our divisions, 
of the many reasons for faith in our fellow Americans no matter how 
strained our bonds may be, of the blessings we share even if they are 
obscure, and of our ability to pass through any trial no matter how 
daunting.
  When we listen to them, I believe we will lift our heads from today's 
anxieties and face the future optimistically. As the story of Sergeant 
Garrigus shows, we Americans have refused to let far greater obstacles 
deter us or accepted that more difficult problems can't be solved.
  Months after his death, at the Chosin Reservoir, Sergeant Garrigus's 
parents received a note of condolence from GEN Douglas MacArthur. In 
it, he hoped that the loss of their son in the defense of this country 
offered ``some measure of comfort.'' The letter also spoke of the 
sergeant's ``devotion to duty at the cost of all he held dear.''
  Eloquent words or well-meaning gestures on Memorial Day or any day 
have small power to comfort those left behind, but we can take more 
than a measure of comfort and should be eternally grateful that, from 
our founding until today, there have always been Americans willing to 
keep us safe and free at the cost of all they hold dear.
  May God bless them and keep them in His arms.
  I yield the floor.
  The PRESIDING OFFICER. The Senator from Nevada.