Archive-Name: gov/us/fed/congress/record/1998/oct/01/1998CRE1864C
[Congressional Record: October 1, 1998 (Extensions)]
[Page E1864-E1865]
From the Congressional Record Online via GPO Access [wais.access.gpo.gov]
[DOCID:cr01oc98-49]



 
   A TRIBUTE TO SYRACUSE UNIVERSITY STUDENTS ABOARD PAN AM FLIGHT 103

                                 ______
                                 

                          HON. JAMES T. WALSH

                              of new york

                    in the house of representatives

                       Thursday, October 1, 1998

  Mr. WALSH. Mr. Speaker, this December it will be ten years since the 
downing of Pan Am Flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland. Thirty-five 
Syracuse University students, returning from a study abroad semester, 
were killed in that bombing. This event had a profound effect on the 
Syracuse community and time is still healing the wounds left by this 
terrible tragedy.
  Jonathan Matthew Taylor, the current Student Government Association 
Parliamentarian, has asked for the words of a predecessor, John M. 
Mandyck, to be placed in the Record. The words of Mr. Mandyck were 
delivered January 18, 1989 at a tribute to the thirty-five Syracuse 
University students killed in the Pan Am Flight #103 bombing.
  Along with Mr. Matthews, I believe it is appropriate to pay tribute 
again. I submit Mr. Mandyck's speech to be placed in the record and 
invite my colleagues to join with me in remembering those students who 
lost their lives in this terrorist attack.

  A Tribute--Syracuse University Flight 103 Memorial Service Carrier 
                         Dome, January 18, 1989

                          (By John M. Mandyck)

       We have come together today to pay tribute to our lost 
     colleagues, friends, and loved ones. Meager words that I may 
     think or say cannot eliminate pain or wipe away tears; they 
     may unite us in one thought. May these words begin to ease 
     the sorrow that has been felt from coast to coast, and ocean 
     to ocean.
       We may not have personally known one or more of the 
     students called from this life, but we all share a common 
     bond to our alma mater and loved each of the students in our 
     own very special and personal way. I knew one student well. 
     His name was Frederick Phillips--or ``Sandy''--as friends 
     called him. Sandy wrote to me from London several
     times. I never had a chance to respond to his last letter. 
     Over the semester break, I finally wrote that response. I 
     gathered my thoughts and put them on paper to Sandy. I know I 
     won't be sending this letter, but I thought I'd read it here 
     today, because I know he and the others are listening.
       Dear Sandy, Time has stopped for a while on our campus. 
     It's a little quieter here. People don't seem to laugh as 
     much. And it's cold. It's been cold since we heard the news. 
     For almost a month now, we've been mourning your death and 
     the loss of your companions on that flight. Our university 
     family is a little smaller now, but I think we're a little 
     closer too. I think this closeness has spread to all college 
     students as seen from the dozens of sympathy letters I've 
     received from around the country. So many are sharing in our 
     grief, Sandy, but these letters don't explain your loss--I'm 
     not sure anything will. I'm not even sure if I should look 
     for answers because answers lead to more questions, and 
     questions take time. Time as I have learned is so precious.
       Sandy, I'm glad I got to know you for the short time you 
     were with us at Syracuse. You made friends laugh, classrooms 
     brighter, and you made this dome a little louder for those 
     winning touchdowns and tie-breaking baskets. You made our 
     campus better. Sandy, we may have lost you but we didn't 
     loose your spirit. I see it every day now in others, and it's 
     less painful knowing a part of you lives on.
       When I first heard the cold news, I wanted to say a prayer. 
     I didn't quite know what to pray for, now I do. I pray that 
     we all live our lives, dream our dreams, walk forward like 
     you did when you were here with us. You and the others have 
     taught us that life is precious, and life too is short. I 
     think you'd want us to know that tragic thoughts, guilty 
     feelings, and profound grief tick away on our own timeclocks.
       So we've been grieving for a month now. And I told you time 
     stopped for a while on our campus. Tomorrow, will you mind if 
     we start the clock again? You see, Sandy, the ink is drying 
     on this chapter of our lives. Tomorrow I want to start a new 
     chapter. You, yourself, won't be in this one because I can't 
     bring you back, but you'll be guiding me--you and the others 
     will be guiding all of us. You'll turn the pages as we write, 
     you'll inspire our pens. You see, we all have a 
     responsibility now . . . this book called ``life'' must read 
     on.
       Someday I'll look through the book of my life and in my 
     browsing I'll find a chapter that ended on January 18, 1989. 
     I'll be grateful because you helped me turn that page and 
     write so many others. I'll be thankful that you taught me on 
     Earth, and reminded me from Heaven, how precious time and 
     life really is.
       Tomorrow, Sandy, we'll be writing a new chapter with your 
     help. One where clocks tick again, knowledge is sought again, 
     and people laugh again. And Sandy, with your help, I think 
     tomorrow our campus will be a little bit warmer.

     

                          ____________________