[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 153 (2007), Part 19]
[Senate]
[Pages 26104-26105]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




                                  IRAQ

  Mr. DURBIN. Mr. President, 2 months ago, I traveled to Afghanistan, 
Pakistan, Kuwait, and Jordan. I also traveled to Iraq with my colleague 
Senator Casey of Pennsylvania. We went to talk to and listen to our top 
generals and diplomats but, equally important, the soldiers and marines 
on the front lines of this war.
  This was the third time for me visiting Iraq, the first time for 
Senator Casey. Two impressions really struck me. More than either of my 
earlier visits, I felt overwhelmed by the tragedy that has been created 
in that country for Iraq, for its neighbors, for America's image around 
the world, and, sadly, for our troops.
  I was also awed and deeply moved by the skill and bravery of our 
troops and their love for this Nation. In a time when sacrifice seems 
outdated to some people, our troops are willing to endure almost 
inconceivable hardship and risk everything to protect us and our 
Nation.
  When I visited Iraq, it was 120 degrees. Soldiers wore heavy body 
armor and backpacks and carried their ammunition, their weapons, had 
helmets on, drinking water every chance they had to try to stay 
hydrated and not suffer from heat exhaustion which had claimed the life 
of one of our soldiers just the day before.
  Soldiers who knew who I was asked me occasionally when the 
politicians in Washington were going to start voting so they could come 
home. Despite the unbearable heat, the constant danger, longings for 
home, not one soldier I met in Iraq ever complained about walking point 
for America--not one.
  We went 10 miles south of Baghdad to a place called Patrol Base 
Murray. I ate lunch with some Illinois soldiers from the 3rd Infantry 
Division out of Chicago, Aurora, Jacksonville, and Elmhurst. Most were 
on their first deployments. One was on his third. Half were married 
with kids. They try to keep in touch with things back home through e-
mails, but it is tough.
  They were laughing at me as I fumbled around trying to open up my 
MRE, a can of chicken and noodles with a built-in heater. I never quite 
got it right. I am glad I gave them some comic relief there, at least 
for a few minutes.
  On August 11, after I came back home, 1 week after I visited this 
patrol base, 2 Illinois soldiers stationed there died in a roadside 
bomb explosion, along with 2 other soldiers, in a place called Arab 
Jabour. All four soldiers were assigned to the 3rd Infantry Division 
based in Fort Stewart, GA.
  The Illinois soldiers lost were SPC Justin Penrod, 24 years old, of 
Mahomet; and SGT Andrew Lancaster, 23, of Stockton. They are 2 of the 
146 sons and daughters of Illinois who have died so far in this 
conflict.
  The same day they died, a fifth soldier from the 3rd ID died in Arab 
Jabour in a separate incident, while a sixth was killed in an IED blast 
in Afghanistan. Six soldiers dead in 1 day. Sadly, such grim numbers 
don't even make the big headlines anymore. After losing 3,800, I guess 
somebody who runs these newspapers and television stations decides it 
is not big news. For some people, the daily toll of soldiers killed and 
wounded in Iraq seems to have just become another statistic, like the 
weather, but not to the devastated families of these fallen soldiers, 
not to the children who will grow up never knowing their fathers or 
mothers who have died in this war, and not to the men and women with 
whom they served.
  A week after SGT Andrew Lancaster died in Iraq, his platoon 
commander, 1LT Benjamin Kim, wrote me a letter about a man he 
considered a gifted leader and a brother. I have never met Lieutenant 
Kim. I can't imagine why he sent this to me, other than to share deep 
feelings that he just couldn't leave inside. He wanted someone else to 
read them. I really trust, based on what that letter contained, that he 
would not mind if I read his words into the record about his fallen 
comrade. The letter is dated August 18, 2007.

       Dear Senator Durbin: My name is Benjamin Kim, and I am 
     assigned to the 2nd Brigade, 3rd Infantry Division as an 
     infantry officer. By the time you receive this letter it will 
     have been a number of weeks since you came to Iraq and 
     visited my unit. If you recall, you came to Patrol Base 
     Murray in southeast Baghdad near a village called Arab 
     Jabour, and you met some soldiers from Illinois serving here. 
     One of these soldiers was a man named SGT Andrew Lancaster, 
     and he was a squad leader in my platoon. He was killed in 
     action on 11 August 2007, and as I write this letter, he and 
     the bodies of four other soldiers who died with him that day 
     are being prepared for transportation back to the United 
     States.

  The lieutenant went on to say:

       The purpose of this letter is not to seek any political 
     action. Nor is it to recount the grizzly details that 
     resulted in the untimely deaths of five of my finest soldiers 
     and subordinate leaders. I do not seek to achieve anything, 
     except perhaps to communicate to you my boundless respect for 
     the men who serve with me in this remote corner of the world. 
     I will probably never meet you, and I shall make no plans to 
     do so, but I find it oddly therapeutic to write to a man of 
     your station and rank in an earnest and sincere manner. 
     Whether you personally read this letter or not is irrelevant; 
     as I write this I am finding temporary reprieve from my 
     sorrow.

  He goes on to write:

       Andrew Lancaster was the iconic ``Man of the Midwest.'' He 
     was a pragmatist and he valued common sense and integrity as 
     two of the most important traits a leader should have. He was 
     straightforward with everything he said, and he was never 
     afraid to speak his mind on issues that mattered to him. And 
     yet, despite any of the pressures and frustrations that 
     encumber a leader in combat, he kept his head cool and his 
     professionalism was always above reproach.
       He relentlessly pursued our elusive enemy with an intellect 
     that any general would envy. There were countless times where 
     he and I, and other leaders of the platoon, would discuss 
     various tactics and methods we should apply in our mission, 
     and more often than not we found ourselves listening 
     attentively to his analysis of the situation.
       He was also compassionate. In one instance, he spearheaded 
     a platoon-level effort to capture a man who we suspected to 
     be an IED emplacer and a high ranking insurgent in our area 
     of operations. When we finally caught him, the insurgent knew 
     he'd be going away for a long time. 'Caster, as we called 
     him, gave him a final opportunity to kiss his family goodbye.
       He was a soldier of the highest caliber, and yet his 
     humility offered a pleasing contrast to his confidence in his 
     own abilities. For all the times he furthered the interests 
     of our platoon, I wanted to nominate him for a bronze star 
     with a V-Device. His response was always the same--``I don't 
     really care about awards. I just want all of us to go home 
     alive and intact when these 15 months end.'' He was 
     posthumously awarded his bronze star along with a purple 
     heart; nevertheless, how ironic it is that the true heroes 
     never want to claim themselves as such.
       In his personal life, 'Caster was strongly devoted to his 
     family. He would always sing high praises for his wife and 
     high school sweetheart, Tabbatha; whose outstanding cooking 
     he would attribute both woefully and wistfully the weight 
     gain he experienced a month before deployment. He loved her 
     tremendously, and whenever we weren't ``talking shop'' her 
     name was his constant refrain.
       He would also speak reverently of his brother. We would 
     listen to his stories about growing up in small town Illinois 
     and laugh with him about all the trouble he and his brother 
     would get into.
       When he came to my platoon, he welcomed young soldiers who 
     were far from their families to his home frequently, be it 
     for Thanksgiving dinner or for a few beers or a football 
     game. He made our platoon his family, and we will always 
     cherish that bond.
       I don't know what I planned to accomplish by writing this. 
     All I know is that this man was like a brother to me, and I 
     feel like I have to memorialize him somehow. He taught me a 
     lot of things that I need to know about being a good platoon 
     leader, and even now his legacy lives on in the soldiers he 
     once led and the outstanding ways in which they conduct 
     themselves.
       I hope that I have given you a somewhat accurate picture of 
     the man we loved, but I

[[Page 26105]]

     have a sneaking suspicion that there are no words eloquent 
     enough to describe him. Nevertheless, I thank you in advance 
     for taking the time to read this. Keep fighting the good 
     fight, and we here will do the same.
       Respectfully, 1LT Benjamin Kim.

  SGT Andrew Lancaster of Stockton, IL, enlisted in the Army with a 
friend in 2002 to protect America after September 11. Before Iraq, he 
served as a paratrooper in Afghanistan with the Army's 173rd Airborne 
Brigade.
  In Stockton, IL, a small town with a population of about 1,800, 
Sergeant Lancaster was known as Andy, the kid everybody loved, and his 
death really hit the folks in that community hard.
  At Freeport High School, where he graduated in 2002, where he stood 
out in football, basketball, and choir, his teachers and coaches recall 
Andy Lancaster as an outgoing and responsible young man who had a way 
of making everyone around him happy.
  When the news of his death reached that town, the high school 
football team posted a tribute to Sergeant Lancaster's family on its 
message board. Messages of support were also posted at the local ice 
cream shop where Sergeant Lancaster's young widow Tabby once worked.
  In addition to a town and a wife who loved him, Sergeant Lancaster 
leaves behind his mom and his stepfather, Donna and Steve Vanderheyden; 
his father Harlan Lancaster; a brother, 2 step-sisters, and his 
grandparents.
  He and Tabby married just before Sergeant Lancaster left for 
Afghanistan, and they planned to start a family when he came home. 
Instead, last month, Tabby Lancaster attended a ceremony at Fort 
Stewart at which 10 trees were planted in honor of her husband and 9 
other members of the 3rd Infantry Division who died recently in Iraq. 
Since 2003, a total of 369 trees have been planted along the base's 
memorial walk.
  Mr. President, I regret I never had a chance to meet Andy Lancaster, 
but I have met so many soldiers just like him. They are natural leaders 
who probably succeed at whatever they choose to do in life. They 
certainly could have made a lot more money and lived far more 
comfortably, but they chose to enlist to defend our country.
  Those are the kind of people we are losing every day in these wars in 
Iraq and Afghanistan. Like Andy Lancaster, each of them leaves a hole 
in the hearts of those who loved them and in the heart of our Nation. 
We honor their sacrifice and grieve their loss.
  In a few minutes, Mr. President, we will start debating the Defense 
appropriations bill. It is a critically important bill. As a member of 
the Appropriations Committee, I know a lot of the discussion about this 
bill will be about numbers. This little statement that I have made on 
the floor, reading into the record the letter of Lieutenant Kim about 
his fallen sergeant, really takes this discussion and debate way beyond 
numbers. It reminds us of 3,800 brave soldiers, such as Andy Lancaster, 
who have given their lives for America, soldiers whose lives continue 
to be lost every single day that we continue this war.
  I stand today in tribute not just to Sergeant Lancaster but to all 
the men and women who continue to serve us with such honor and dignity. 
I hope all of us who value and cherish the contributions they make will 
remember them in our hearts and our prayers and our votes.
  Mr. President, I yield back morning business time.

                          ____________________