Another discrepancy erodes Kerry's story: Conflicting version of Rassman heroics supports vets

In a eulogy entered into the Congressional Record six years ago, John Kerry gave a conflicting version of the now-famous incident during the Vietnam War in which he rescued Special Forces officer Jim Rassman.

Rassman's dramatic on-stage reunion with Kerry 34 years later, just before the crucial Iowa caucuses in January, is regarded by some political analysts as the campaign's catalyst to victory and the eventual Democratic presidential nomination.

Rassman, a former Green Beret, wrote recently in a Wall Street Journal editorial posted on the Kerry campaign website that he was blown off of Kerry's swiftboat, PCF-94, by a mine blast on March 13, 1969.

But in a eulogy for crew member Thomas Belodeau, which Kerry entered into the Congressional Record in 1998, the senator said Rassman fell overboard when the swiftboat made an abrupt turn on the Bay Hap River, not as a result of the mine blast.

That apparent conflict in Kerry's own retelling of events adds to already existing confusion over whether Rassman was on Kerry's boat or on another of the five boats on that mission. For example, Douglas Brinkley, author of Kerry's authorized war biography "Tour of Duty," wrote in an article published by American History magazine that Rassman was on another boat, PCF-3, when he was blown overboard by a mine. But Rassman and the Kerry campaign say the Special Forces officer was on Kerry's boat.

Swift Boat Veterans for Truth, the 254 former officers and enlisted men who contend Kerry is unfit to be commander in chief, has offered numerous eyewitness affidavits to tell a story that differs radically from Kerry's various accounts. But the 1998 eulogy version actually agrees with the swiftboat group's description of how Rassman went into the water.

Lt. (j.g.) Larry Thurlow, who commanded PCF-51 on that mission, told WorldNetDaily he's certain Rassman was not blown from Kerry's boat by a mine.

"I will guarantee you that didn't happen," he said, noting the eulogy was "all news to me."

The eulogy was unearthed from the Congressional Record in a report by the weblog BeldarBlog.

The Kerry campaign's veterans affairs section, headed by John Hurley, did not respond to WND's request for comment.

Thurlow said while Kerry's 1998 eulogy may help resolve one contentious aspect of the story, it presents other problems.

In addition to denying the mine blast, Thurlow claims Kerry's boat was near the right side of the river, which means the bow would have plowed into the bank if it indeed had made a "high speed turn to starboard," or the right.

Thurlow, and other eyewitnesses in the swiftboat group, also contend there was no enemy fire. Further, Thurlow believes it's unlikely Rassman would have been sent to retrieve another M-60, because each boat normally had only one of those heavy weapons, which was fired from a set position on the bow.

"That's a great eulogy for a shipmate," Thurlow said, "and I'm sure that made [Belodeau's] family proud, but ... this is where, to me, John is always getting himself in trouble. He loves to tell a good story, and he loves to be in the center of it."

Thurlow appears in the first television ad launched by the swiftboat vets group, saying "When the chips were down, you could not count on John Kerry."

Jerome Corsi, co-author with former swiftboat commander John O'Neill of "Unfit for Command: Swiftboat Veterans Speak out Against John Kerry," says he and his colleagues noticed the inconsistenices in Kerry's stories as they compiled the best-selling book, set to top the New York Times list.

The question of which boat Rassman was on has not been resolved by the Kerry campaign, he said, but the eulogy is the first evidence of an admission that it was the acceleration of Kerry's boat that caused Rassman to fall off.

"If you put any two John Kerry versions together, you end up with three stories," Corsi told WND.

Thurlow acknowledged, however, that one of his crew members, retired Chief Petty Officer Robert E. Lambert, of Eagle Point, Ore., recently has come forward to back Kerry's and Rassman's assertion they were under enemy fire.

Lambert, Thurlow and Kerry all were awarded Bronze Stars for their efforts during that incident. Kerry received a third Purple Heart, allowing him to leave Vietnam, but the swiftboat vets' group claims one wound was self-inflicted, from an event earlier that day, and another was only a minor contusion.

"I thought we were under fire, I believed we were under fire," Lambert told the Associated Press.

"He does have a different remembrance," Thurlow said. "I'm not questioning his memory, but my memory is not of any [enemy] fire."

Thurlow, along with swiftboat skippers Jack Chenowith and Richard Pees and gunner Van Odell, say the March 13 incident was touched off when the five boats approached a fishing weir across the river, a series of poles to which nets attach.

The boats were moving in an inverted spear formation, Thurlow said, with Kerry's boat on the right, running parallel to Pees' PCF-3. Each one had a boat following closely behind, and Thurlow brought up the rear, in the middle.

Kerry's boat moved around the weir on the right while Pees went to the left when suddenly a mine detonated beneath Pees' boat, sending it several feet into the air and knocking some crew members overboard, according to Odell.

With one of its diesel engines disabled, the badly damaged PCF-3 began to weave wildly as the other engine remained stuck at 500 RPM.

Thurlow said his gunner sent a hail of bullets across the shoreline then stopped when it became apparent there was no enemy fire.

All of the remaining boats, except Kerry's, closed in on PCF-3 to rescue its crew members, contend Thurlow, Chenoweth, Pees and Odell.

Kerry's boat fled, they say, and by the time it returned, the rescue operation already was underway. Kerry plucked Rassman out of the water, they assert, just before Chenowith was about to reach him.

Kerry has stated his boat was the only one to stay back and rescue Rassman, and Rassman has insisted he was the only one in the water.

But Kerry's campaign has had to concede that PCF-3, at the very least, could not have left the scene because it was dead in the water from the mine blast.

In order to locate the eulogy I did the following:

Go to the Thomas Legislation Search Page for the 105th Congress
Enter: Thomas Belodeau in the Word/Phrase: box
Press Search

You should get one result for "...your phrase exactly as entered."

The links generated by the search are temporary and cannot be reused.

Mr. KERRY. Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent to have printed in the Record the text of the eulogy I gave for my friend, Thomas M. Belodeau , on November 10, 1997.
The eulogy follows:
Mrs. Belodeau , Michael; Ann, Tommy's sisters Patricia and Mary; his brothers Leo, James, Joseph, and Larry, to all his relatives, and to his brothers from Vietnam--particularly Del Sandusky from Illinois and Gene Thorsen from Iowa--his crewman on PCF 94--to the Doghunters and to all of Tommy's friends and extended family.
A number of us thought once foolishly that we brothers of Vietnam had gotten used to saying goodbye to our friends before their time. But Tommy is proving us dangerously wrong. We will never get used to it--and well we should not.
So now the question is, how do you say goodbye to a man whose steady hand and courageous heart helped keep you alive? How do you say goodbye to a man who shared the most challenging and terrifying moments of your life?
First, you should all know that we are saying goodbye to a hero. We are saying goodbye to the genuine article--a patriot--a young kid fresh out of Chelmsford High who in difficult times saw his duty and who did it. Tommy was one of America's children who went to war against a people he knew precious little about in a land he'd never been to--for reasons never honestly stated--and he was, like so many, forever changed.
It is hard for me to convey to you the full measure of what that means in 1997, particularly here, today. But in 1966, Tommy and I unwittingly became brothers in the great, divisive, confusing enterprise called Vietnam. We were both class of `66--he from high school and me from college. Though we came from different backgrounds, we didn't in the sense that we both believed in service to our country. We both chose to go into the Navy. We both volunteered for Swift boats in Vietnam. We met when we were thrown together as a crew after his first skipper got hit in an ambush.
I inherited Tommy and the rest of his seasoned crew, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me.
Many of you may have read Tom's obituary the other day. It said he had won a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star with Combat V for serving in Vietnam. That only told you part of the story--and no one here would be surprised that Tommy never told you the rest.
He also won the Navy Commendation medal:
Let me share with you what Admiral Zumwalt said in awarding it to Tom:
`For heroic achievement while serving with friendly foreign forces engaged in armed conflict against North Vietnamese and Viet Cong communist aggressors in the Republic of Vietnam on 5 July, 1968. Seaman Belodeau was serving as a crewman on board Patrol Craft 27 which was blockading the beach in the vicinity of air strikes on an enemy platoon near the village of My Lai, Quang Ngai Province. Observing a Viet Cong suspect run from the enemy position, Seaman Belodeau's Patrol Craft fast moved in to attempt a capture and was immediately taken under enemy fire. Seaman Belodeau , ignoring the enemy fire around him, calmly moved into the open to make the capture. He helped pull the suspect from the water and got him aboard his boat. Seaman Belodeau's courageous actions in capturing a Viet Cong suspect under enemy fire were in the highest tradition of the United States Naval Service.'
Seaman Belodeau is authorized to wear the Combat `V'. That was just a day that happened to be notice, sandwiched between many more like it or worse, that were not. That was the measure of the man I inherited on my crew.
From the day we came together, we gelled as a crew. And it was the way it ought to be.
The crew didn't have to prove themselves to me. I had to earn my spurs with them. When the Chief Petty Officer, Del Sandusky--known as `Sky', who came from Illinois to be with Tom today, finally gave me the seal of enlisted man's approval, Tommy was the first to enthusiastically say: `I told you so, Sky, he's from Massachusetts!!"
You have to understand that we lived together as closely and as intensely on 50 feet of floating armament as men can live. And we learned all there is to learn about each other.
Sometimes it was a funny learning process, as when Mike Medeiros exhibited a hard time understanding Tommy. `Are you from Brooklyn?' he would ask. Tommy would respond with pride and impatience: `Nah: I'm from Boston.'
There was the time we were carrying special forces up a river and a mine exploded under our boat sending it 2 feet into the air. We were receiving incoming rocket and small arms fire and Tommy was returning fire with his M-60 machine gun when it literally broke apart in his hands. He was left holding the pieces unable to fire back while one of the Green Berets walked along the edge of the boat to get Tommy another M-60. As he was doing so, the boat made a high speed turn to starboard and the Green Beret kept going--straight into the river. The entire time while the boat went back to get the Green Beret, Tommy was without a machine gun or a weapon of any kind, but all the time he was hurling the greatest single string of Lowell-Chelmsford curses ever heard at the Viet Cong. He literally had swear words with tracers on them!
There was, of course, the moment in February, 1969 when he was positioned in the very bow of the boat--in the totally exposed peak tank--with more than half his body just sticking up exposed to the enemy, when 3 boats turned toward the river bank and Tommy found himself staring straight into an ambush 20 yards ahead. He never flinched as he charged the beach and routed the enemy--not just once, but twice. For Seaman Belodeau's devotion to duty, courage under fire, and exemplary professionalism, in the highest tradition of the Navy he was awarded the Bronze Star with Combat V.
I cannot adequately convey or describe to you the measure of this man at war--standing in his peak tank in the bow, screaming up a river in the dead of night, no moon, 50 yards from Cambodia literally bouncing off the river bank, waiting for a mine to go off or a rocket to explode--and always steady, always dependable, always there for the rest of the crew.
All Belodeaus, Chelmsford, Massachusetts, and the United States should be proud of this warrior.
But, perhaps the greatest reason for pride as we bid our Tommy goodbye, is not what he did, but who he was.
In many ways, Tommy walked in the footsteps of Emerson and Thoreau. He was a man who wanted to walk quietly to his own tune--never with any in your face attitude. He just quietly wanted to be, and was, his own man.
From what I know, he always had this special quiet quality. His expression spoke for him. As many of you know, he was not a man of many words. So he'd just give you a look. And the look would tell it all-fierce determination; rollicking good fun; profound sadness. I know you can see his expression for any mood he had. My favorite look of all was his bemused, `What the hell does the skipper think he's doing now?"
Tom would join a great group of veterans who had been involved in my `84 campaign called the Doghunters. We would gather irregularly for a black tie dinner and each time everyone would eagerly await Tom's non-speech. He was clearly the most beloved member of our group despite his distaste for saying anything in public.
In his reticence to draw attention to himself or speak in public lies the true measure of this great friend. Because in 1984, and again in 1996, it was his passionate, personal commitment, his driving sense of loyalty, that against all his other instincts drew him again into the line of fire. I will never forget the brilliance and eloquence with which he stood up to fight for me and for the honor of our service.
Again and again, Tom proved the real value of friendship. For all of us here in this extended family, it will never be the same. No campaign of the future will be the same without you, Tom. No Doghunters' dinner will be complete without your knowing smile and blushing non-speech.
None of this in any way suggests that it was all peaches and cream for Tommy. We know it wasn't. His family and his friends could see the sadness in his eyes that some say changed with Vietnam.
There were times when all us of us around Tommy knew he needed a lift: but try as one could, his sense of self reliance and pride gave him a sixth sense that something was up and he would quietly find an excuse to slide away or just tell you things were going fine even when they weren't. Joey tells me that stubborn streak came from their father. But always he was the most generous in any group, ready to help another.
So Michael, today, we his friends want to reaffirm to you what you must know: your father was enormously proud of you--loved you dearly--and knew that sometimes his own sense of pride about what he wanted for you prevented him from always living up to his own expectations. But nothing that he did or thought ever diminished his joy in who you are and his trust in what you will grow to be.
For everyone who knew and loved him here today, there is a special sorrow; because we all sensed that in his recent return to Massachusetts, Tommy had found a peace and purpose which had liberated him from any demons. He enthusiastically joined in telephoning friends for Chris Greeley's engagement party. He looked happy and engaged. I saw him about 4 weeks ago and he seemed more energized and happy than in some time. There was a gleam in his eye and we promised to get together soon. As Chuck Tamulonis who took such care of him and meant so much to him told me yesterday, `He was filling the refrigerator with no-fat food, coming home early, and even cooking the meals.'
Last year when our crew came together as a whole at election time for the first time in 27 years, we departed with the expectation that we were hooked up and on the road to growing old together. But God had other plans. And of all people we should not be surprised. We have always said at our Doghunter dinner that one thing we learned in Vietnam was Grace of God, every day beyond Vietnam was extra. Tommy had a lot of extra days and for that we are grateful.
So today, as we say goodbye, joined with his family and those he grew up with, what we, his friends, celebrate above all in Tommy's life is his special, gentle decency--a loyal, loyal friend of enormous heart who was generous in spirit beyond expectation and sometimes beyond understanding.
To Radarman Seaman, Thomas M. Belodeau , to our friend Tommy: until we meet again, may you have fair winds and following seas. And may we all leave here reminded of the words of the poet William Butler Yeats:
`Think where man's glory most begins and ends. And say, my glory was, I had such friends.'

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