[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 157 (2011), Part 7]
[Senate]
[Pages 10378-10382]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




                       HONORING OUR ARMED FORCES


                Sergeant William J. Woitowicz, U.S.M.C.

  Mr. KERRY. Mr. President, on June 7, 2011, Groton, the State of 
Massachusetts, and our country lost a brave young man who gave his life 
defending the Nation he loved. Sergeant William ``Billy'' Woitowicz 
died serving with the U.S. Marine Corps in Afghanistan, fighting as a 
part of Operation Enduring Freedom.
  In the difficult days that followed this awful news, the entire 
Groton community came together to show their support for his family and 
to remember Billy's dedication and selflessness. Joe Moore, a family 
friend, described Bill movingly in a tribute that was itself an act of 
great devotion. I ask that it be printed in the Record so that all of 
us can reflect on the sacrifice of a courageous marine tragically lost 
much too soon in service to a grateful nation.
  There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in 
the Record, as follows:

                Eulogy for Sergeant William J. Woitowicz

                     (Delivered by Joseph F. Moore)

       Before I begin, I would like to read the statement I 
     prepared for the media on behalf of the Woitowicz family this 
     past Tuesday. It did not make its way to the individuals and 
     communities that poured love from their hearts for Billy and 
     his family.
       On behalf of the Woitowicz family, I would like to thank 
     everyone for their heartfelt condolences, the kind words, the 
     outpouring of emotion, gifts of food, offers of help, cards, 
     and prayers. I can't tell you how much that has meant to my 
     friends. They appreciate your kindness very much.
       They would also like to thank the Marines for the 
     tremendous support of their family and the respect they've 
     shown Billy in the way they have treated him as they've 
     brought him home. My father was a Marine during World War II 
     and I've always had a tremendous respect for the Corps. The 
     actions of these Marines, in the way they've treated my 
     friends, especially Sergeant Owens, only enhances that 
     admiration.
       If I could pause for a moment--Would you please stand and 
     join me in a round of applause for the United States Marine 
     Corps, and the Marines joining us today to honor

[[Page 10379]]

     their fallen comrade, to show them how much we appreciate the 
     sacrifices they make for us?
       Billy was a wonderful person. You only need to see the 
     flags lining the streets of Groton and Westford, the messages 
     of love, the swollen eyes, to see how people cared about him. 
     It is because he cared for them--that was Billy, always more 
     interested and concerned for you than he was for himself.
       Although we mourn for Billy and our hearts ache for the 
     loss of him, we know there is a celebration in heaven for the 
     return of one of God's favorite sons and soldiers.
       I am pleased to announce the Groton Dunstable Youth 
     Basketball League, which I have great pride in saying I 
     served for 15 years, has named their 3-on-3-basketball 
     tournament after Billy. Thanks so much to the Board members; 
     this means a lot to the Woitowicz family and to me.
       Our State Representative Sheila Harrington is spearheading 
     a movement to create the Sergeant William J. Woitowicz 
     Memorial Trust. The trust will fund a scholarship named after 
     Billy and other activities chosen by the family. Thank you, 
     Sheila. We appreciate your efforts.
       Billy's second mother, my wife Karen, said, ``For a kid who 
     didn't like attention, he sure drummed up a lot of it.''
       Billy, did you see us on the tarmac waiting for you to come 
     home?
       Did you see the respect of your fellow Marines as they 
     gently held you?
       Did you see the people standing in honor as we drove 
     through Hanscom?
       Did you see Mr. Clickner with tears in his eyes holding a 
     basketball?
       Did you see the gentleman, also a Marine, at the exit with 
     the sign that read, ``Thank you Corporal Woitowicz, I try to 
     be worth dying for.''
       Did you see the cherry pickers with American flags flowing 
     down from them at the rotary?
       Did you see the fire trucks from Acton and Maynard, Boxboro 
     and Littleton, parked on the overpass, with their ladders 
     extended and connected in a salute of honor, and the firemen 
     standing on top of their trucks?
       Did you see people who simply stopped by the procession and 
     got out of their cars with their hands over their hearts?
       Did you see along the route you traveled, the rescue 
     squads, state police, sheriffs, and the police and firemen 
     from Lexington, Concord, Acton, Watertown, Melrose, Medford, 
     Lowell, Maynard, Boxboro, Lancaster, Littleton, Harvard, 
     Ayer, Dunstable, Groton, and Westford?
       Did you see the older veterans, in their uniforms, standing 
     at salute?
       Did you see the people pouring out of their offices as your 
     procession passed by?
       Did you see the elderly gray-haired woman, standing by 
     herself in Harvard, holding an American flag?
       Did you see the lines of people in bordering towns with 
     genuine looks of anguish?
       Did you see the rows of people on Main Street in Groton? 
     And did you notice they were patiently waiting when we 
     returned from the high school to honor you twice?
       Did you see the Groton-Dunstable High School 
     administrators, teachers, and students in respectful 
     alignment? The students were proud to attend the same high 
     school as you.
       Did you see that we stopped at Orr Road, to pay tribute to 
     where you grew up?
       Did you see the fire trucks from Groton and Westford, your 
     two home towns, with their ladders outstretched over 225, 
     forming a gateway for your return?
       Did you see the people in Forge Village, waiting patiently 
     for you?
       Did you see the little kids of Norman E. Day Elementary 
     School saluting and waving?
       Did you see the people holding flags in front of St. 
     Catherine's?
       Did you know your friend Kelly was going to give up her 
     vacation to drive back from California because she loves you 
     so much?
       Kevin and Rose, and my wife Karen and I have seven 
     children. Their children are ours and ours, theirs. Just as I 
     know Kevin and Rose love our kids, we love Chris, Bill, and 
     Mandy as our own. Billy was like a son and, for reasons that 
     I never completely understood he seemed to be attached to me. 
     Rose and Karen would often say, ``Billy really likes talking 
     to you. He looks up to you, Joe. Talk to him.'' And when my 
     dearest friend Rosemary asked me to do this eulogy, Karen 
     said, when I hung up the phone, ``He loved talking to you. 
     You should to do it. Share how much we all love him, respect 
     him, and how much we now miss him.''
       Please bear with me as I give honor, through this eulogy, 
     to my friend and hero, Sergeant William J. Woitowicz, USMC. 
     It is a great privilege that you have bestowed on me, Kevin 
     and Rose. Thank you.
       At the same time that I was saying yes to Rose, I was 
     wondering how I would ever get through this without breaking 
     down. I knew I couldn't, but nothing could ever keep me from 
     it, not even the fear of losing my composure in front of all 
     of you, once my friends Kevin and Rose asked me to do this 
     for them.
       Do me a favor. In the minutes that it might take me to 
     recover, please raise your eyes to heaven and look for 
     Billy's smiling face. And while you focus on him, pray for 
     his mom and dad, and his brother and sister. I would ask that 
     you to pray for Bill but I know he is in a better place, 
     happy to be home. Even if he did need our prayers, it would 
     be the preference of our unselfish Bill that you turn your 
     thoughts not to him but to his family.
       And please get comfortable, as this might take longer than 
     one of Father Peter's sermons. We sometimes pack a lunch for 
     the 11:00 Mass when we know he is preaching.
       Speaking of Father Peter, some of you may not know that 
     prior to being a parish priest, he was at a monastery for 
     which he had to take a vow of silence. He was only allowed to 
     say two words every seven years. After the first seven years 
     the elders called him in and asked for his two words. ``Cold 
     floors,'' he said. The elders nodded and sent him away. Seven 
     more years passed. They brought him back in and asked for his 
     two words. He cleared his throat. ``Bad food,'' he said. They 
     nodded and sent him away. Seven more years passed. They 
     brought him in for his two words. ``I quit,'' he said. 
     ``That's not surprising,'' the elders said. ``You've done 
     nothing but complain since you got here.''
       You might think it inappropriate to begin this eulogy with 
     a joke, but it is exactly what Bill would have wanted. There 
     is not a doubt in my mind that Billy is saying right now, 
     ``Way to go, Mr. Moore.'' That happens to be one of his 
     favorite expressions. I will try to paint a picture of Billy 
     to help you understand why this is so.
       In 1996, Karen and I moved our family from Allentown, 
     Pennsylvania, to Groton. We were building a new house and it 
     was not completed before the start of the school year so we 
     crammed into a suite at the Westford Regency Hotel for six 
     weeks. Prior to trekking to Groton, we had signed our kids up 
     for soccer, and on our first Saturday as New Englanders we 
     drove our kids to a match held behind St. Anne's Church in 
     Littleton. As fate would have it, Chris, Billy, and our son 
     Mike were all on the same team.
       We knew no one in the area and Karen was determined to find 
     a doctor for our kids. She happened to approach Rosemary on 
     the sideline--she liked how Rose was cheering so loudly for 
     her kids--and, as Rosie would, she went out of her way to be 
     helpful to Karen. As they spoke, they connected partly 
     because our kids went to Catholic schools. Let me interject 
     here that Karen and Rose have not stopped talking since that 
     day--literally, just ask our kids. Also while they chatted 
     our daughters Jenny and Mandy struck up a friendship and, 
     although they don't burn through their cell phone minutes 
     talking like their mothers do, they have remained best 
     friends.
       The mothers figured out during their discussion that we 
     lived near each other and Rose told us that she knew a short 
     cut. We were headed to see how our house was coming along so 
     we followed them home and pulled up to thank Rose for her 
     help. It was then that we saw our first glimpse of Billy's 
     tremendous charisma. Before we pulled away, little eight-
     year-old Bill looked at us and said, ``Do you want to come in 
     for coffee? My mom made muffins.'' He then glanced at his 
     mother as if to say, ``Come on, of course were going to 
     invite them in--right, mom?''
       The rest, as they say, is history. Our older boys also 
     became best friends. Drew became the younger brother to all 
     of the kids and they each had a hand in raising him. Kevin 
     and myself and even our dogs, Freckles and Maya, became 
     friends. They all grew up together as our families 
     intertwined.
       When Billy decided to become a Marine, his parents, of 
     course, tried to talk him out of it. So did many others. No 
     one could change his mind. Finally, Rosemary asked me to talk 
     to Bill about his decision. She told me that he seemed so 
     committed, and that it was so very important to him that I 
     shouldn't try to talk him out of it. But, even though she 
     wanted him to follow his dream, she was hoping I could 
     convince him to change his mind. I tried but failed. He 
     listened--looking off into a place I could not see--patiently 
     and politely. We ended our conversation with Bill telling me, 
     ``Don't worry Mr. Moore, everything will be okay.'' Billy had 
     made his decision and no one could change it.
       On other occasions when I talked to Bill about things that 
     might be troubling him, he would listen intently but I always 
     sensed that he had figured out his own answer. He would 
     masterfully turn our conversations and I would walk away 
     feeling as though it was he who had lectured me. And, as if 
     he sensed my thoughts, he would give me his standard but 
     heartfelt response, ``Don't worry Mr. Moore, everything's 
     okay.''
       Part of the connection Bill had with me, I believe, was 
     that my father was also a Marine. He was a proud member of 
     the First Marines and fought in World War II. He was at 
     Guadalcanal, the first victory for America in the Pacific 
     after suffering so many horrific losses. He fought at 
     Peleliu, which had the highest percentage casualty rate of 
     any battle in the Pacific, called, by some, the bitterest 
     battle of the war for the Marines.
       Bill constantly asked me questions about my dad and wanted 
     me to tell him the stories I knew about his war experiences. 
     He listened, riveted, as I told him that of the 200-

[[Page 10380]]

     plus men in my father's unit on Peleliu, only 27 returned 
     unharmed. His face wore a look of reverence as I told him my 
     father watched his closest friend, Sandy, die in front of 
     him.
       He loved to look at dad's medals, dog tags, and his old 
     green-covered book about the First Marines, The Old Guard. 
     The two of us watched a black-and-white video together that 
     my father had given me about the battle of Peleliu--Bill 
     could not take his eyes off of the television screen. Then 
     again, when the mini-series ``The Pacific'' was released, I 
     sat with Bill in our basement watching as it amazingly 
     replayed the exact stories that I had told Bill about my 
     father, including a scene where the soldier on whose life it 
     was based, on leave in Australia, slept--just as my dad had--
     with other wounded and fatigued soldiers in a soccer stadium 
     where the bleachers had been removed and replaced by cots. It 
     also chronicled many of the horrific battle scenes. Bill, who 
     could never sit still, did not move a muscle.
       On several occasions Billy said to me, ``I hope I will make 
     your dad proud, Mr. Moore.'' And, just prior to leaving for 
     Afghanistan, he asked me, ``Do you think your dad will be 
     proud of me, Mr. Moore?'' I told him, ``Billy, my dad is 
     already proud of you.''
       I would like to share an email that Bill sent me this past 
     April from Afghanistan. It will give you a good sense of his 
     character, his humor, and what was important to him.
       mr moore,
       glad to hear from you . . . just headed off to bed, going 
     to be a long day tomorrow--and my pack is starting to get 
     heavy--as the afghans say in their broken English noooooooo 
     goooood hahah. its been warm and rainy the last two days. i 
     wonder what your dad would think of this war. probably a cake 
     walk compared to WWII; but all i can do is try and make him 
     proud. i bet he's watching down on all marines up there in 
     heaven with a big smile on his face every time we have 
     success. cant wait to be back home and have a relaxing day by 
     the moore pool after a good game of bball. hope works been 
     great and everyone's been staying out of trouble--i know its 
     probably hard for drew this day in age haha. anyways tell the 
     whole family i said hi, and tell matt to catch up with me on 
     email--i called and left a message on his phone the other 
     day. my beards nice and thick and the hair is nice and long 
     (im trying to give ole tom brady a run for his money haha) 
     ill keep in touch but write soon and often. its funny, last 
     year for my 22nd bday i was in the middle of losing 20lbs 
     being chased by dogs in the woods, now im turning 23 and 
     being chased by dogs in afghanistan haha . . . wouldn't want 
     it any other way
       love,
       Bill
       This is a list of the Marine Core Leadership Traits. 
     Reading them, a vision of the man that Billy became appears:
       Dependability
       Bearing
       Courage
       Decisiveness
       Endurance
       Enthusiasm
       Initiative
       Integrity
       Judgment
       Justice.
       Knowledge
       Tact
       Unselfishness
       Loyalty
       Certainly, these are all words that describe Bill.
       To quote Albert Einstein, ``Life is not worth living unless 
     you live it for someone else.'' Joining the Marines was an 
     unselfish act, and a decision Bill made with certainty. Bill 
     was not just a Marine, but part of MARSOC, or United States 
     Marine Corps Special Operations Command--think Navy Seals on 
     steroids.
       Its core objectives are to direct action, special 
     reconnaissance, and foreign internal defense. MARSOC has also 
     been directed to conduct counter-terrorism, information 
     operations, and unconventional warfare. MARSOC comprises 
     roughly 2,500 Marines. About 30% of those that attempt make 
     it through. If the Marines are the best of the best, MARSOC 
     is the best--of the best of the best. Kevin told me that when 
     Bill said he had to re-enlist to complete MARSOC, he started 
     to tell Bill all the reasons he might want to reconsider. 
     Frustrated, Bill finally told his dad he didn't need a ``Plan 
     B'' because he would not fail. He was right. Billy also was 
     one of only 1% of all Marines with a perfect score on the 
     required physical fitness test.
       Some of you may not know that Bill volunteered to go to 
     Afghanistan ahead of his own unit. As a matter of fact, they 
     are still here in the United States. Due to an injury to a 
     soldier that had to return, there was a position open and 
     Bill volunteered to go early, ahead of his unit. That was 
     Bill, anxious to get going and positive he would make an 
     impact.
       The following is a note sent to Mandy from one of Billy's 
     fellow Marines.
       I worked with your brother in Miramar and I was the 
     Sergeant in charge of the division that he was assigned to. I 
     like to think I taught him most of what he knew as a computer 
     repair tech at his first duty station. I was grief stricken 
     to hear of his passing but please know that for a Marine as 
     dedicated to the Corps as your brother, there is no more 
     honorable way to leave us. I wish the best for you and your 
     family and am truly sorry for this tragic loss.
       Sincerely,
       Jonathan Sypole
       One Christmas Billy gave me a Marine flag as a present. If 
     it hasn't yet come through clearly to you, Bill loved and 
     dedicated himself completely to the Corp. Bill, like my dad, 
     passed away from us taking his fierce pride in being a Marine 
     with him.
       I believe we live our earthly lives simultaneously on two 
     planes, the physical and the spiritual. In the ongoing 
     struggle to overcome the physical and live more in the 
     spiritual, there are a few saints and mystics who succeed. 
     Advanced souls like Saint Thomas Aquinas, Padre Pio, and 
     Mother Teresa, to name a few, are on Earth to help others 
     rather than live for themselves. Some fail miserably, 
     succumbing to the earthly pull. Most of us live our lives 
     somewhere in between. I believe Billy, like the saints and 
     mystics, was one of the more advanced souls, one that 
     influenced others even if they were not aware. When you 
     looked into his eyes, it seemed like he understood things 
     that the rest of us couldn't comprehend.
       C. S. Lewis said, ``You don't have a soul. You are a soul. 
     You have a body.'' Not many of us fully grasp this concept 
     while here on Earth, but I believe our Billy did. He knew 
     that this was just a temporary parking place for his soul; 
     his real home is in heaven. I think that is why he was so 
     impatient, why he couldn't sit still. Just maybe he was 
     anxious to get back where his vibrant, loving soul belonged. 
     Why he was with us for so short a time.
       On the physical plane, Billy certainly had faults, like the 
     rest of us. But, as we know, even the Apostles Jesus selected 
     weren't perfect. I think Billy was a lot like St. Peter--a 
     bit impulsive, temperamental, impatient, and blindly loyal. 
     Most of you never saw that side of him, but it was there. Far 
     outweighing it, however, was his other side, loving and 
     caring, unselfish and kind, and extremely loyal--he was one 
     of the good ones. In his book The Imitation of Christ, Thomas 
     a Kempis wrote, ``The grace of the Holy Spirit always seeks a 
     meek and humble heart.'' If so, the Holy Spirit was a 
     permanent tenant in the heart of Billy Woitowicz.
       We all loved and respected the Billy of the physical plane, 
     but to really understand the depth of him you needed to look 
     much deeper. I don't mean look so much as I mean feel. To 
     know him, you had to feel Billy's spirit, the energy that 
     exuded from him. Many of us don't slow ourselves down enough 
     to feel the soul of another. We are too busy with our day-to-
     day. We waste our time idolizing athletes and movie stars. We 
     pay too much attention to what we own, how we look, what we 
     wear, and what others think of us. Bill cared nothing about 
     these things--he cared about others.
       Those who truly knew Bill took the time to know his spirit 
     and they could not help but fall in love with his pure, 
     unadulterated soul. Although I miss the Bill that I could see 
     and hear and touch, it is the loss of his soul next to mine 
     that has tilted my world askew. I've heard many stories from 
     many people about Bill, including his family, my family, his 
     friends, teachers, and others that loved him. I can't tell 
     them all but would like to share a few that I hope you will 
     enjoy.
       Billy always seemed to be in a hurry. He didn't like 
     staying in one place he was always talking and moving. More 
     than once he came into our house and, as I was engrossed in a 
     television program or movie, he would start asking me 
     questions. ``So, Mr. Moore,'' (he loved to begin his 
     sentences with the word ``so''), ``have you seen that show on 
     sharks yet?'' ``Mr. Moore, have I told you the story about my 
     buddy?'' He referred to most everyone, it seemed, as his 
     buddy. ``Mr. Moore, what do you think of the change in the 
     economy?'' ``Mr. Moore, I have a great business idea. What do 
     you think--Grilled Cheese, a restaurant where that's all we 
     serve. I'll let you in on it.'' And, invariably, he would 
     ask, ``So, Mr. Moore, how is work going for you?'' Now, that 
     isn't the type of question I typically get from a 20 year 
     old. But Bill was anything but typical.
       Karen summed up Bill when she said, ``I guess what Billy 
     always gave most was his time. He always had time for you.'' 
     My son Mike said, ``Bill always did what you wanted rather 
     than what he wanted, and when you talked to him he asked 
     about you. He rarely spoke about himself.''
       Mike went on to say, ``There is a great debate about which 
     I've studied in many of my philosophy and psychology classes, 
     whether altruism in humans really exists. While to this day 
     there is no definitive proof for or against, Billy's life, 
     and the way he lived it, makes one hell of a case in support 
     of its existence.''
       A close friend, Matt McElroy, echoed this theme in a 
     beautiful letter he wrote to the Woitowicz family. I would 
     like to read a part of it to you:
       Bill was instantly likeable and I think I know why. I 
     noticed it in a conversation I had with him around Christmas 
     this year. He called me at school to see how I was doing

[[Page 10381]]

     and soon our conversation turned into him telling me how much 
     he admired me for studying to become a lawyer and working 
     hard towards a career. As Bill went on, I remember feeling 
     immediately rejuvenated and energized--It is an incredible 
     feeling to be admired like that! I tried to reciprocate the 
     praise as much as I could because I was just as proud of him 
     for working so hard to achieve excellence in his own 
     profession. After thinking about our conversation that day, I 
     reflected on past experiences with Bill and finally realized 
     why Bill connected with so many people. I remembered Bill 
     admiring the way I played basketball and asking for advice on 
     how to get better; I remembered at the gym he would tell me 
     how strong I was and saying he wanted to look like me. Even 
     though I had seen Bill do these things before, I wasn't 
     mature enough to realize his emotional genius, but now I 
     know. Bill's secret was his ability to identify your best 
     traits and tell you what they were. What an unbelievable 
     gift! And he did it in such a genuine and honest way--never 
     insincere. It is so rare to see that in anyone, let alone 
     someone that young.
       When Karen read Matt's letter she said immediately, That 
     describes Rose, Joe. Rosie, it is from you that he received 
     this wonderful trait.
       Bill never wanted attention. Even though he could get a 
     discount at some stores because he was military, he did not 
     use it. This past December, I listened as he spoke on the 
     phone to a store from which he had ordered three new suits. 
     He ordered them in plenty of time for Christmas and New 
     Years, the last time he could wear them before shipping out. 
     But a clerk made an error and Bill was told the suits would 
     not be there in time. He spoke patiently trying to find a way 
     to make it happen. I said to Bill, ``Tell them you are a 
     Marine and headed to Afghanistan.'' He would not. I told him 
     to give me the phone, I would to talk to them. He would not. 
     The suits did not make it; they have never been worn.
       Bill did not care about money. When Chris and Matt 
     discussed who would pick up a dinner check, the conversation 
     turned to how some people never offer to pay. Bill replied, 
     ``People should not be so focused on money I like spending my 
     money on friends.'' When a close high school friend expressed 
     concern about how she was going to pay her college tuition, 
     he told her not to worry, he had plenty of money.
       Chris, Matt, Mike, Matt McElroy, and a group of their 
     friends formed what they call the Power Group. They share 
     inspirational sayings and their own thoughts with each other. 
     Bill sent the following note to the group from Afghanistan.
       hey chris, send this around to the power group if you think 
     it makes the cut-its short and sweet.
       (1) perception is reality, no matter what you think
       (2) word travels fast, so fast that what you say about 
     someone may travel faster than expected. and now your trying 
     to backtrack on what was said.
       (3) life is short, even to usama life was probably too 
     short.
       (4) if there's one thing i learned through this deployment 
     so far is that what's said can be taken back, but if you 
     don't take it back today, tomorrow may be too late.
       (5) and finally, stressing over the small stuff only makes 
     things look fuzzy around the edges and the goal is harder to 
     accomplish.
       anyways i thought i might contribute to the power group 
     because every day i strive to be looked at as a professional, 
     and more importantly be a professional.
       eat your vegetables,
       woita
       Riding a dirt bike was Billy's first love. As a kid, he was 
     determined he was going to be a professional dirt bike rider. 
     He and Mike would often bomb up and down our driveway popping 
     wheelies. I would hear the whine of Bill's dirt bike in the 
     woods behind our house, it was the signal that Bill was 
     paying us a visit. Matt's laptop screen is a picture of Bill 
     popping a wheelie on a dirt bike in Afghanistan. Billy's 
     Sergeant, Danny Draher, told Kevin that they use dirt bikes 
     in Afghanistan to travel to remote areas. Each time he put 
     Bill out on point he'd just be gone, ahead of the pack, and 
     Sergeant Draher had to keep reeling him back in. He asked 
     Kevin where Bill learned to ride like that. Bill was a 
     natural. And, just like Bill, he was having fun no matter 
     where he was.
       Bill loved to eat. Rose said that when he was an infant in 
     his crib, you could hear him from the other room making 
     sucking sounds, looking for food. She said he was that way 
     the rest of his life. He was eating steak at 10-months-old. 
     One of his favorite sayings was ``Eat big, get big.''
       One of his greatest gifts was how he could build your self-
     esteem. One night during dinner at our house he turned to 
     Drew and said, ``So, Drewman, are you going to play in the 
     NBA or the NFL?''
       He was a people person. When Bill was home on leave you 
     would often find him in the Village chatting with people of 
     any age, asking them endless questions, never turning the 
     conversation to himself.
       Kevin told me Bill loved hypotheticals. He would propose, 
     ``Dad, if we drove by a dirt bike laying along the side of 
     the road every day for three weeks and no one claimed it, 
     couldn't you just take it? That wouldn't be stealing would 
     it?'' Another example. Matt and Bill were having lunch 
     together and they struck up a conversation with the man at 
     the next table. He turned out to be the co-founder of Safety 
     Insurance and he told the boys that he had cashed out and now 
     lived his life helping others. He said he was a deacon at his 
     church. Bill, who could be skeptical of organized religion, 
     posed a hypothetical. ``So, let's say that I steal something 
     and die. I learned that it is a mortal sin and if I die 
     without confessing the sin I go to hell. But, another guy 
     commits murder. He confesses his sin before dying and he 
     doesn't go to hell. Explain to me how that is right?'' Kevin 
     and Chris would sometimes tease Billy about his 
     hypotheticals. ``So, Bill, if that house was sitting empty 
     for a year could we just move in?'' Bill would see the humor 
     and laugh along with them.
       Bill was a prankster. As he grew physically strong through 
     his training, he loved to wrestle Matt, Chris, Mike, or Drew. 
     We would be sitting talking or watching TV and, unexpectedly, 
     he would jump up, grab one of them, and try to wrestle him to 
     the ground. All the while, laughing and taunting, ``Let's see 
     what you got.''
       My daughter Jenny had gym class with Bill when she was a 
     freshman and he was a junior. They were playing dodge ball 
     and one of the boys hit her in the head at close range with a 
     ball, which made her teary eyed. Billy noticed, sought out 
     the perpetrator, took aim, and hit him square in the face. 
     Bill the White Knight had defended her honor.
       When Billy was learning to read from a picture book, the 
     kind with one sentence per page, his dad said that any time 
     he made a mistake he would close the book, go back to the 
     beginning, and start over. If he made ten mistakes, that's 
     how many times he would start again. If anyone helped him 
     pronounce a word, he did the same. Of course, Chris enjoyed 
     tweaking his brother by helping him with a word even if he 
     didn't need it. Bill would yell, ``You're messing me up,'' 
     slam the cover shut, and start again.
       Bill's Grandfather Labelle said, ``All I can say about him 
     as a child was that wherever he went he was on the run. That 
     kid never stopped moving.''
       Kevin recounts another story. One hot summer afternoon when 
     Billy was around 13 years old, Kevin was taking the kids for 
     a drive. Just past the Village, Bill pushed a ballpoint pen 
     into the side of a hot can of Pepsi, and it sprayed everybody 
     and everything and made Bill roar with laughter. Kevin, 
     furious, pulled over and yelled at Billy to start walking. 
     Bill was laughing when got out of the car, unfazed by his 
     dad's punishment. But, after driving away, Amanda was crying 
     so hard for her brother, Kevin had to grudgingly go back to 
     pick him up. There stood Bill, with a big grin still on his 
     face, deciding whether he would get back in the car or not. 
     After he got in, they all laughed about Bill's antics and 
     being sticky with soda. They headed home to wash up.
       On another occasion, when Bill was eight or nine, he was 
     shopping with his dad and as they were walking back to the 
     car there was a group of rowdy teenagers pushing and shoving 
     each other in the parking lot. As they got closer to the 
     teenagers, Kevin saw that they were watching them and it was 
     clear to him they were claiming the space between them and 
     their car. Kevin stopped and tried to move Billy to the 
     opposite side of him, away from the teens. As he tried, Billy 
     stopped, pushed back, and looked up at his dad and said in a 
     loud voice, ``Dad, you don't need to be afraid!'' While Kevin 
     thought he was protecting his son, Billy was looking out for 
     his dad. Kevin said he has never forgotten how fearless Bill 
     was.
       Bill's Uncle Larry told me, ``If I had a dollar for every 
     time I heard Kevin yell, `Billy, don't!' I would be rich. 
     But, the amazing change in him from his childhood to 
     adulthood is beyond comprehension.'' His Uncle Al said that 
     even the growth in him from the time he started boot camp to 
     when he graduated from MARSOC was the difference between a 
     boy and a man.
       We spend every Christmas Eve with the Woitowicz family. We 
     have shared our home with them and our good friends the 
     Roccos, Hutchinsons, MacDonalds, and Decoteaus for many 
     years. My son Matt describes it as the best night of the 
     year. Karen goes all out decorating our home, everyone brings 
     food, and Mr. Rocco makes his phenomenal Christmas punch. We 
     all have some wonderful Billy memories tied to this annual 
     celebration of our Lord's birthday and the friendship shared 
     by our families. On a few occasions, Billy partook a bit too 
     much of the Christmas punch and entertained us.
       Typically, these events happen at the end of the evening, 
     in our kitchen, as everyone is preparing to leave. One year 
     Billy was telling a story, gesturing with his hands as he 
     tended to do, and accidentally knocked our sugar bowl off the 
     counter. It shattered as it hit the floor. We all looked at 
     him. The expression on his face was priceless, as was his 
     response. ``I really don't know how that happened!'' As we 
     all burst into laughter he bent down and started scraping the 
     sugar into his hands in an attempt to clean it up. He 
     apologized to ``Mrs. Moore'' for days after that.
       One of the best Christmas Eve memories was the year he told 
     his parents he couldn't

[[Page 10382]]

     make it home. Matt gathered all of us in the kitchen for the 
     purpose of making a toast to Billy. As we raised our glasses, 
     Billy burst through the kitchen door, shocking the rest of 
     us--especially his parents. This time the priceless 
     expression was pasted on the faces of his parents. They were 
     frozen, not moving, not believing--as if he were a vision. 
     Billy the magician had made himself appear.
       This past Christmas, our kids gave Kevin, Rose, Karen, and 
     me a gift of a cruise to Bermuda. It was Billy's idea, and he 
     was determined to do it for us. He took charge and, in his 
     larger-than-life way, gestured through telling us how we 
     married folk could use the time away and should enjoy some 
     rest and relaxation. Billy the marriage counselor was taking 
     care of us.
       As in past years, at the end of the evening, around 1:00 
     a.m., those remaining were in the kitchen saying good-bye. 
     Kevin and I had spent a good bit of time herding the boys up 
     from the basement toward the door. The kids had been joking 
     through the night about the song ``Teach Me How to Dougie,'' 
     which they thought was funny. I was teasing Billy that I was 
     going to show him how to Dougie but he kept pushing me back 
     saying he would show me. He started dancing and we all 
     laughed as he Dougied in his tipsy state. Finally, I was able 
     to move Billy toward the door, but he stopped abruptly, 
     turned away, and started toward the door. Just as abruptly, 
     he turned around, walked quickly toward me and shouted as he 
     pointed at my chest, ``Good day, sir. I said good day!'' He 
     turned again and walked out the door. We couldn't stop 
     laughing for a long time. We tell this story often.
       We have all been struggling to make sense of the loss of 
     Billy. On the day we received the news, as Rose hugged me, 
     she asked, ``Oh, Joe what are we going to do?'' My good 
     friend Kevin and I sat and tried to make sense of it and he 
     said, ``I have always been able to fix things but I can't fix 
     this.'' Kevin's nickname at the fire station is MacGyver 
     because he really can fix almost anything, but, although we 
     wish so much he could, this is not fixable.
       I can feel the pain of his brother and sister, Chris and 
     Mandy, and my kids, his other brothers and sister, Matt, 
     Mike, Jenny, and Drew. I see the hurt behind the eyes of my 
     good friends Jay, Peter, Ralph, and Mark, and many others 
     that were so close to Billy. I see the swollen eyes of his 
     young friends. And I feel the unbelief and numbness as I read 
     the letters, e-mail, and texts from those that loved him. 
     Karen and I cant stop crying. But most of all, I can barely 
     endure the grief I see in Kevin and Rose.
       Casey Mahoney, the daughter of Brian and Kirsten Mahoney, 
     and friends of Billy's family wrote a beautiful poem for 
     Bill.
     God bless Billy for all of his love,
     God bless the loving father above,
     God bless Billy's family and friends,
     We all pray that war will end.
       Oh, Bill Boy, where have you gone? Why did you leave us? 
     What answer do I give your mother if she asks me again, 
     ``What are we going to do now?'' And, Dear Lord our God, why 
     did you take our Billy away?
       Maybe there is no answer, or at least not one we can 
     understand. Saint Thomas Aquinas wrote [paraphrased]. Above 
     all God destines us an end beyond the grasp of reason; 
     according to Isaiah, Our Eyes cannot see, O God, without your 
     help, what you have prepared for those that love you. Many 
     things are shown that are above the understanding of men.
       As to your question, Rosie, I can only say that we will 
     endure through the love that we have for Bill, and he for us. 
     He is with you. He will be able to help you more now, where 
     he is, than when he was here. He loves his parents, he told 
     me that during one of our many conversations, and he wants 
     you to be happy. He respects you, Kevin. He will be with you, 
     Chris, when you move to Virginia. You know that he will try 
     to wrestle you to the ground, even from heaven. He will guide 
     your hand, Mandy, as you learn to become a nurse like your 
     mother. He is standing next to all of you right now, right 
     there, and he is looking at me saying, ``Dont worry Mr. 
     Moore, they will be okay. I will make sure of it.''
       To my last question, I received a reply in a dream the 
     other night. God said, ``Remember, Joe, he was my son too. 
     And, although I did not call him home--that was his choice--
     my heart ached, as yours does now, when I released him to 
     Earth at his request to be with and guide Rose and Kevin, 
     Chris and Mandy, you and your family, and his many friends. 
     That was his mission, and like everything he does, he chose 
     it enthusiastically.''
       As to where Billy has gone, I am certain I know that 
     answer. He is sitting next to God our Father. His arm is 
     around Bill and He has a look of great pride on His face. 
     Bill is bathed in the pure love and light of God the Holy 
     Spirit. And, he is chatting up his friend Jesus, asking him a 
     thousand questions. ``Are those gates really made of pearl, 
     or do they just say that?'' ``Can I ride my dirt bike here?'' 
     ``Yo, Jesus, would you introduce me to Mr. Moore's dad?'' 
     ``Do I get to eat here, and do you have grilled cheese?'' 
     ``Dude, have I told you the story about my friend?'' And, 
     invariably, ``How is your work going for you, Jesus?''
       The Blessed Virgin Mother Mary is hugging him while smiling 
     and saying, ``Welcome back, Billy, I missed you. You have 
     always been one of my favorites.'' He is teaching the 
     Cherubim and Seraphim how to Dougie. He is receiving a salute 
     from the greatest military heroes of all time--there are rows 
     and rows of them, as far as you can see, and the Marines are 
     out in front, just as in battle. Chesty Puller, the great 
     Marine, is shaking Bill's hand and pinning the highest award 
     given in heaven to soldiers who sacrifice their lives for 
     others, the Wooden Cross of Jesus.
       When Jesus introduces them, my dad says, ``Yes, Billy, I am 
     very proud of you.''
       And, he is wrestling St. Peter to the ground.
       He is reading a poem that he wants me to share with you 
     now.
     Do not stand at my grave and weep,
     I am not there, I do not sleep.
     I am in a thousand winds that blow,
     I am the softly falling snow.
     I am the gentle shower of rain,
     I am the field of ripening grain.
     I am the morning hush,
     I am the graceful rush,
     Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
     I am the star shine of the night.
     I am in the flowers that bloom,
     I am in a quiet room.
     I am in the birds that sing,
     I am in each lovely thing.
     Do not stand at my grave and cry,
     I am not there, I do not die.
       He is whispering in my ear, ``Don't worry Mr. Moore. 
     Everything will be okay.''
       I know it will, Bill. Eventually. But, before you go, there 
     is something you need to hear. And this time, please listen 
     carefully.
       Your mom wanted me to tell you, ``I want you to know that 
     as soon as I could pull myself together, I had our family say 
     a prayer of gratitude to you because underneath my deep grief 
     is the tremendous joy of loving you for 23 years.''
       I love you too, Billy, and I promise never to forget how 
     much you've meant to me.
       Semper Fi [salute my friend]
       ``Good day, sir. I said, good day.''

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