Honoring Our Armed Forces
Mr. President, I was deeply saddened to learn yesterday of the death in Iraq of another of Vermont's sons. LT Pierre Piche of Starksboro, VT was one of 17 brave young soldiers who died in the crash of two Blackhawk helicopters last…
Mr. President, I was deeply saddened to learn yesterday of the death in Iraq of another of Vermont's sons. LT Pierre Piche of Starksboro, VT was one of 17 brave young soldiers who died in the crash of two Blackhawk helicopters last Saturday. This brings to five the number of
Vermonters who have given their lives in Iraq.
The newspaper articles reporting on the death of Lieutenant Piche, and also on the Nov. 7 death of SSG Scott Rose, a young man whose wife and parents in-law are from Springfield, VT, bring home the heart- wrenching pain felt by those who have lost a son or daughter, mother or father, sister or brother, or close friend in this war.
Lieutenant Piche was Lisa Johnson's only child. Ms. Johnson speaks of the daily anxiety she faced hearing the reports of dead and wounded and wondering if it was her son. At first, she turned for consolation to her father, a World War II veteran. Tragically, he died in July. Hearing reports of the helicopter crash last Saturday, she spent the rest of the weekend with her stomach in knots until she received a phone call from her daughter in-law, Cherish, with the simple, chilling words ``They're here.''
Army officers had come to Lieutenant Piche's home to tell his wife that the lieutenant was dead. An hour later, officers arrived at Ms. Johnson's home to deliver the same message.
Staff Sergeant Rose became a father for the first time on July 31. He never saw his child, though. He already had left for Iraq and was unable to get home on leave before the tragic crash that ended his life. His wife Michele Rose is now left to raise their infant daughter in his absence.
I have been concerned throughout this conflict, and most particularly during the recent debate on the President's request for an additional $87 billion, that our focus on the financial costs and broader strategic and tactical questions associated with the war has blinded us somewhat to the brutal anguish faced by those who have lost a loved one in Iraq. We must never forget that each and every casualty suffered in Iraq delivers a crushing blow to many here at home. Moreover, we must have sympathy for the terrible anxiety faced daily by the families of men and women serving in Iraq. This war has many victims and we must not lose sight of their pain.
I ask unanimous consent to print in the Record the two newspaper articles detailing this war's effects on the lives of these two Vermont families.
There being objection, the material was ordered to be printed in the Record, as follows:
[From the Burlington Free Press, Nov. 18, 2003]
Fifth Vermont Soldier Dies in Iraq
(By Brent Hallenbeck)
Starksboro.--Pierre Piche last spoke to his mother a few
weeks ago by phone from Iraq. He told her he wanted to come
home to his wife of 3 years and earn his master's degree so
he could become a teacher.
His mother had recently sent him a rubber koi fish, and he
said he planned to have a pond filled with the tranquil
Japanese fish. ``He tried not to focus on how dangerous it
was getting over there. He just wanted peace,'' his mother,
Lisa Johnson, said Monday afternoon at her home in
Starksboro. ``He was determined to do what he needed to do to
keep his men safe and get home.''
Piche, 28 and 16 of his fellow soldiers died Saturday when
their Black Hawk helicopters crashed, possibly as a result of
enemy fire, in Mosul, Iraq. The crash is the single deadliest
incident since the war began in Iraq 8 months ago.
Piche, a first lieutenant with the Army's 101st Airborne
Division, is the fifth soldier with Vermont roots to die in
the war. He is the only child of Lisa Johnson, who has wanted
to pull Piche back into her arms ever since he was deployed
to Iraq a month before the war began.
``I wanted to take him home. When your child goes into
something dangerous, a mother goes and gets him,'' Johnson
said, fighting tears. ``It's been a pretty hellish time since
February.''
Piche grew up in Colchester, where he attended Malletts Bay
School. His mother remembers that Piche was a complex child
who would ask heavy questions about the origins of the
universe or the workings of the human body and expect, almost
demand, an answer.
``When he was born I called him my Mr. Magoo because he was
this very serious little boy,'' she said, pointing to a
photograph of her and her 2-year-old son sitting in the
woods. The child was wearing an expression that was intense
but wise. ``He was like a little old man right away,'' she
said.
He was also ``full of all the right kind of mischief,''
according to Hugh Johnson, who became his stepfather when
Piche was 6. He remembers once that his stepson tried
unsuccessfully to ride his bike up a boat ramp on dry land.
``Suddenly there was a great tumbling of boy and steel,''
Hugh Johnson said.
The family moved when Piche was 9 to South Hero, where he
attended Folsom School. Lisa Johnson said he demonstrated his
kindly nature by taking in all sorts of animals, from dogs
and cats to iguanas, chickens and geese.
The family moved to Starksboro when Piche was 14. He went
to private school in Connecticut, then college, including for
a time the University of Vermont. He graduated from Middle
Tennessee State in 1998 after majoring in political science.
Piche was always patriotic and believed in serving his
country, his mother said. While in college he joined the Army
Reserve and soon after entered the Army full-time, rising
through the ranks of the 101st Airborne at Fort Campbell, KY,
where he and his wife, Cherish, made their home.
Pierre Piche made his final visit to Vermont last
Christmas. Friends and family came to Starksboro for festive
holiday parties. He took Cherish Piche, who has lived in the
South most of her life, out for snowmobile rides and sledding
expeditions.
War in Iraq was looming last December, and Piche and his
mother knew he was likely to be deployed. ``I deliberately
avoided that subject,'' Lisa Johnson said. ``He didn't want
to talk about it either. We knew, and there wasn't any
point.''
She held out hope he would be safe. Months earlier, he had
switched jobs, from a command post to maintenance duties that
would perhaps be less risky. ``The idea was he wouldn't be
out there on the front line,'' Hugh Johnson said.
Piche arrived in Iraq 9 months ago, and the Johnsons
followed the news intently from Starksboro. Whenever Lisa
Johnson heard a soldier died anywhere near where she believed
her son was she would cry, and immediately struggle to gather
her senses--as a social worker, she said it was essential to
be composed.
Her father, Robert Fusco of Jonesville, would console her.
A World War II veteran, Fusco would tell her Piche was well-
trained, smart and vigilant, and would make sure he and his
soldiers would come home. ``Anytime I got scared my father
would tell me to toughen up,'' Lisa Johnson said. Fusco died
of heart failure July 8, proud to the end of his grandson's
accomplishments.
Piche e-mailed his mother often, and recently sent photos
showing him in his cropped brown hair and brown camouflage
while holding an automatic weapon.
Another photo showed him in uniform holding a dog. Lisa
Johnson said he frequently discovered abandoned pets in Iraq
and tried to find good homes for them. ``Even in the middle
of chaos he could find good things,'' she said. ``That's what
good guys do.''
Piche's unit was being moved from one location to another
Saturday, a move he was dreading. He told his mother that
Iraq was becoming a more dangerous place--more aggressive,
less predictable.
She heard Saturday about the two helicopters crashing in
Mosul. ``I spent the rest of the weekend in knots,'' she
said. She and Cherish Piche spoke by phone all day Saturday,
telling each other that they hoped by some fluke Piche was
not on either of those helicopters, and just couldn't get to
a computer to e-mail either of them to say he was safe. Then
Cherish Piche called Sunday afternoon. Her words were simple:
``They're here.'' Army soldiers had come to her home at Fort
Campbell to say that her husband was dead.
An hour later, at 5 p.m., two soldiers came to the gray
Cape Cod on Big Hollow Road to give Lisa and Hugh Johnson the
same news. ``I just said, `No, no, no,' and I went outside
and I was crazy,'' Lisa Johnson said. She wandered through
the miles of woods behind her home. ``I just cried and
screamed--`No, it can't be, it just can't be.' ''
Hugh Johnson said he knows that if he could, his stepson
would have been trying to save his fellow soldiers until the
last minute. Pride doesn't translate to solace, not when
parents are mourning the loss of a son who was always giving
to others. ``It's such a waste,'' Hugh Johnson said. ``He
should have had another 60 years of doing that.'' ``I'm proud
of him and I'm proud of him no matter what,'' Lisa Johnson
said. ``That doesn't make his dying any easier.''
The Johnsons and Piche's widow are making funeral
arrangements while awaiting for his body to return home. Lisa
Johnson said they hope to bury him near his grandfather,
Fusco, at Holy Rosary Cemetery in Richmond.
Meanwhile, the family is welcoming a constant flow of
visitors bearing generous amounts of food and any words of
consolation they can muster. The food and the words are
appreciated, Lisa Johnson said, but not important. ``All that
matters,'' she said, ``is that they loved him.''