A West Pointer Comes Home
This July 4, Cadet Tom Surdyke was laid to rest alongside his brothers in the long gray line.
By WILLIAM MCGURN / Wall Street Journal
July 4, 2016
West Point, N.Y.
Tom Surdyke was a real-live Yankee Doodle Dandy, right down to his date of birth—the Fourth of July.
This one would have been his 19th. But instead of celebrating with cake and fireworks, this Independence Day Tom’s family wrapped him in their love for the last time and buried him here along the Hudson, at the academy that was his destiny and is now his final resting place: West Point.
This columnist met Tom two Sundays ago, while he was visiting fellow cadet James Crimmins in our New Jersey hometown of Madison. After church, we were introduced to a young man who radiated decency and strength.
My mind reacted as a father’s. How splendid it would be, I thought to myself, if one day I were to open my front door to someone calling on one of my three daughters—and find standing before me a young man like this one.
The following Friday, James and Tom were out in Southampton, enjoying some summer fun before reporting back to the academy. Then tragedy intervened. They were in the water with another young man when a rip current started pulling. James rushed for shore to call 911, and alerted two others on the beach who used their paddle boards to pull Tom and the other young man out of the water.
Unfortunately, though Tom succeeded in keeping the other boy afloat, he took in much seawater. On shore, James and others applied CPR under the direction of a cardiologist who was on the beach. But Tom was in distress, and he lost his heartbeat at least three times before he got to the hospital.
Late that same Friday evening, Tim and Janice Surdyke flew in from their home in Festus, Mo. The news from doctors was not good. The following Tuesday, after so many prayers from so many people across so much of this country, their son stepped into the hereafter.
The Rev. Edward Nemeth is president of St. Pius X High School just outside St. Louis, where Tom’s mother still works. Tom knew Father Nemeth as his priest, as his teacher and as his football coach.
“Tom was the product of so many good influences, starting with an incredible family,” Father Nemeth says. “He was everything we call the St. Pius Way—a way of life that’s all about service, self-sacrifice and faith.”
Often West Point is thought of in terms of its legendary generals: Lee, Grant, Custer, Pershing, Patton, Eisenhower, MacArthur and so on. But West Point does not exist to produce generals.
It exists for something much higher. For the promise West Point makes to the American people is this: When the Army sends your child into harm’s way, he will be led by officers of character and ability.
And what a West Pointer Tom was. Like every cadet there today, he stepped forward at a time of war, knowing full well the price that might entail. Turns out he also chose to be an organ donor, which meant that even death did not end Cadet Surdyke’s service to others.
And as Tom lay in rest before his funeral, the Army bestowed on him the Soldier’s Medal for his successful—and heroic—effort to save his fellow swimmer. It’s the highest award for valor not involving armed conflict with the enemy.
The funeral Mass at West Point underscored another fact about Tom and his family: The Surdykes are people of faith. This faith does not in the slightest ease the ache. But it infuses endurance with hope and meaning.
Tom’s three beautiful sisters—Elaine, Rose and Francie—reflect this faith. It’s obvious they adored him. Equally obvious is that these young ladies know their brother, in the arms of the Lord, is now more alive than when he walked this earth. Even as they cry, they do so in the confidence that their love reaches through eternity to touch him still, and his love for them reaches right back.
As with duty, and honor, and country, there is no irony when families like this one speak of faith and love and prayer. For such people, these are not simply pleasant-sounding words. These words are hard reality.
A glimpse into the terrible beauty of this reality came when Tom, lying helpless on his hospital bed, nonetheless inspired prayers from thousands of people who never knew him but somehow felt they did. At his funeral, those who did know him packed the Catholic chapel. The message from the long gray line was unmistakable: You are loved, our brother, and we shall never forget you.
Now Tom Surdyke lies with others like him, a West Pointer forever, whose short life reminds us how blessed America is by the gift of families like his. May the Almighty welcome home His faithful son—and bring comfort to those hurting most because they loved him most.
Write to mcgurn@wsj.com.
