LTJG Patrick Hunt Drury

21 Aug 1987 – 16 Jun 2013

 

An abridged version of this eulogy was delivered by Patrick's father at a reception at the Army-Navy Country Club on 24 Sep 2013 following Patrick's funeral mass at the Naval Academy Chapel and burial at Arlington National Cemetery:

 

It has taken a long time to get here.  There is a waiting line at Arlington.  As a freshman at Virginia Tech, Patrick and a friend once got into a discussion about funerals.  Patrick said for his funeral he wanted a piper present, and for everyone to wear kilts.  Sorry about the kilts, Patrick.  My thanks to Father Tom O’Flanagan and Deacon Richard Caporiccio for conducting Patrick’s service today at the Naval Academy Chapel. 

 

This morning at the Naval Academy, Patrick needed a great deal of assistance climbing the chapel steps.  With help from his "brothers," he made it.  I will be forever grateful to his pallbearers: Jim Arnold, Matt Dowden, Mike Caporiccio, Frank Curry, Rory O’Donnell, Sam Martinette, and Pete Schultis.  God bless you all.

 

We thank all of you for honoring Patrick with your presence.  The dinner buffet and bar are open.  Please make yourselves comfortable and enjoy this beautiful venue.  There are four groups of friends here today, united in our affection for Patrick:  

• Family, friends, and neighbors

• St. Mary’s School and Bishop Ireton H.S.

• Virginia Tech

• Navy, Marine, and Naval Academy.  

 

The military group is under-represented. Many of Patrick’s peers are deployed.   Before his recent departure for the Middle East, Jody Heneveld’s son, Heath told his Mom “We are packing. . .  We are ready. . .  We leave tomorrow.”  Jody finally asked, “Who is going with you.”   Heath replied, “Patrick is with me.”  Heath, we pray for you, Dave Remick, Eddie Pitts, and all of the others now in harm’s way.

 

We left pens and sky blue paper at the tables.  If you have any thoughts or stories to share in the vein of "What Patrick meant to me," please jot them down (or email them to us later).  There is a box on the memorabilia table where these sheets can be left for everyone to read.

 

Our purpose today is to honor Patrick, and to celebrate his life.  He brought joy to all of us.  But is anyone besides me distressed by the fact that I am the one standing here?  Patrick was 41 years younger than I am.  By all rights, I should be in the casket, and Patrick should be telling you about the time I made him eat asparagus.  I have never felt more pain than cradling his body in York, Alabama while telling him I will love him forever.  In June, Patrick and another exceptional young man were killed, and one of their Naval Academy classmates must live the rest of his life knowing he was responsible.  I feel a duty to try to prevent this from happening to anyone else.  For that reason, I want to take a few uncomfortable minutes to talk about the collision.  Many here do not know what happened.  

 

Patrick was asleep with his seat belt on in the back seat of an automobile.  The car drifted onto the shoulder of Interstate-20, side-swiping a parked U-Haul truck. The right side of the car was sheared off, killing Patrick and LTJG Kyle McArthur.  Alcohol was not a factor.  Patrick was not killed deliberately or maliciously.  I know that, and I am working hard to forgive the driver.  Nevertheless Kyle and Patrick both had six decades of their lives stolen.  Reality is never sugar-coated.  We live this reality every day now.  

 

This mishap was a textbook example of a situation that safety programs are intended to prevent.  Aviation safety programs have reduced mishap rates.  We can reduce mishaps in other aspects of life.  “Safety” is too frequently dismissed as risk avoidance rather than embraced as risk management.  How do we minimize the likelihood that something like this will happen to any of you?  Let me attempt an answer.

 

First, accept that there is no such thing as an “accident.”  “Accident” is a euphemism for carelessness or stupidity.  Mishaps are caused by chains of events, and are preventable if one link in the chain is removed.  

 

This may surprise some of you, but  I encourage you to be aggressive.  Being safe does NOT mean avoiding risk, it means managing it intelligently.  In its proper place, being aggressive saves lives, particularly for those of you in the military.  But you must also exercise wisdom and foresight, make good decisions, and be accountable.  

 

Have a Plan B.  I never expect perfection.  I am incapable of delivering perfection.  Errors happen; plan for them.  Short of a life or death mission, there is no excuse to push anyone dependent on your decisions nearer than necessary to the brink of disaster if better alternatives exist.  Take care of your men.  If fatigue, weather, enemy strength, enemy movement, distractions, or other factors adversely affect the original plan, be proactive.  Implement plan B.  Reorient your attack, call in artillery or air support, stop and regroup, rest, do whatever is necessary, but adapt to change.  

 

If one’s ability is degraded, options exist.  Stop, rest, acquire more information, or get help to finish the job.  Success requires seizing opportunities, and balancing risks against benefits in selecting among alternatives. 

 

Getting “close” scores no points.  Almost fulfilling your responsibilities can kill people.  After working a full day, a SWO (Surface Warfare Officer) does not get a pass if he falls asleep on the mid-watch.  An aviator flying close air support at 0400 will not be excused for causing “friendly fire” casualties because it was dark.  You and your men have responsibilities that must be fulfilled.  Address them with professionalism, and REQUIRE THE SAME OF OTHERS.  You are responsible for your actions 24/7.  

 

That’s the end of today’s safety lecture.  Please consider these suggestions seriously.  

 

Getting back to the business at hand, I’d now like to tell you about our son, Patrick.  In a nutshell, Patrick was the nicest person I ever knew. While sons often idolize their dads, in my case, I grew to idolize my son.  He felt the need to excel, but never felt the need to prove he was better than anyone else.  He celebrated the success of everyone around him.  He viewed life as a team sport, not an individual competition. He was empathetic and generous.  He loved everyone, and brought out the best in us all.  His formula for success was to: be prepared, look for the fun in every job, and strive to engage everyone around him as part of his team.  He was often mischievous, but never mean or destructive.  

 

I hope talking about Patrick sparks memories, and reminds us why so many of us loved him.  

 

Patrick was a middle child, with two wonderful sisters, Allison who is 20 months older, and Heather who is 27 months younger.  Patrick was our lynch pin.  Since he was killed, our relationships have reconfigured.  Patrick knew exactly how to pester the girls, and did it frequently.  But he was also always there for them when they needed help.  When Patrick was about nine, Allison and a friend, Becca Dolan, were in Allison’s room.  When they left, Patrick undressed all the Barbie dolls he could find, and arranged them on Allison’s top bunk so that when the girls returned, they were confronted by a row of 17 Barbies all bent over at the waist mooning them.  For many years we frequently heard, “Patrick!” bellowed from the girls bedrooms.  

 

At Patrick’s birth, we quickly learned sons and daughters are inherently different.  At less than two, as soon as Patrick woke, he would gather the matchbox cars in bed with him, and come clanking down the hall to our room.  He would never sit in a booster seat, preferring to stand in his chair humming.  At an Olive Garden restaurant in Orlando, Patrick attracted the attention of a young couple at the next table.  He could have won an Olympic medal for cuteness that night.  Then he turned, smiled, and threw up, likely postponing parenthood for that couple by several years.

 

Patrick loved to play.  At about 3 years old, he had a toy three wheeled Fisher Price motorcycle.  He would fill it with water and “fly” around the cul-de-sac leaving “contrails” as water leaked around the axle.  He hated interrupting play for something as mundane as using the toilet.  One day he tentatively opened the front door and limped toward the hall powder room with lumps in his Oshkosh big boy sweat pants.  I looked at him, knew immediately what had happened, and said, “Patrick, don’t be embarrassed.  I’ve done it, Mom’s done it, everyone has done it.  I’ll help you.”  While cleaning him up I joked, “I don’t mind doing this.  I love you.  And who knows? Someday when I get old, you may have to clean me up.”  I chuckled at my humor as he went back outside.  A week later in the same powder room washing up, Patrick tugged my sleeve and said, “Daddy, you’re a good daddy.  I’ll take care of you when you get old.”  He actually meant it.  

 

Like his Dad, Patrick was not much of a singer.  In pre-school at age four during the Christmas program the teacher at the piano announced, “Now we’re going to sing, “Joy to the World.”  I suddenly heard a familiar little voice boom out, “Oh no, not that one.”  He was the star of the Christmas pageant.

 

Patrick was always generous. I believe this stems from getting all of Lois’ good qualities and none of my bad ones.  In the second grade at St. Mary’s, when a nun was hospitalized, Patrick’s teacher had the children write get well cards.  We later received a thank you note from Sister Beniti.  Patrick had sent her all of the money he had, $8.00, and asked her to please buy something that would make her happy.  He was always better at gifts than I was.  Lois still reminds me about the vacuum cleaner I once gave to her as a present.

 

Patrick had a gift for spatial awareness and eye-hand coordination.  At age seven he begged to try the Navy Night Carrier Landing Trainer at the Air and Space Museum.  A 33% success rate for a non-pilot on that device would impress me.  I had to lift Patrick so that he could see the display, then watched amazed as he successfully landed on five of six attempts.  He was an early Falcon 2.0 and Jetfighter 3 ace on the computer.  This aptitude served him well as an aviator, and he excelled in Navy flight training.  

 

Patrick could always make people laugh.  He loved Halloween.  About age 8 he built a tank from a cardboard box and a wrapping paper tube.  He quickly found the low slung tank prevented him from climbing front steps.  After two houses, he raced back, and transformed into Indiana Jones.  A few years later, Patrick’s Halloween vision was to go as a toilet.  Again, cardboard boxes were assembled.  The seat lifted to expose a ramp that emptied into his candy bag.  He carried his Sony “Talkman,” and after receiving candy, played the sound of a toilet flushing.  He was always entertaining.  

 

Patrick grew up with a nearby cousin, Jim Arnold, USMCR, a pallbearer this morning.  He met his first “brother,” Mike Caporiccio, during two-a-day summer football practices as a freshman at Bishop Ireton High School.  On the first day of academic classes, Patrick was on crutches.  He was the last to arrive in every classroom, and his religion teacher directed him to a seat.  After Patrick settled in with some difficulty, the teacher changed his seat.  Without a word, Matt Dowden rose, took Patrick’s books, retrieved his crutches, and helped him to his new seat.  Patrick had met his second “brother.”  Patrick, Mike, and Matt were inseparable after that.  It was fun watching that relationship.  Thank you both for being such loyal friends.  I love you both.

 

Only recently did I learn that in their little 14 year-old pea brains, Patrick decided among the three that the initiation rite for membership in their clan was to smear Ben-Gay on their genitals, a carry-over from football practice shenanigans.  I have not figured out why Matt and Mike went along.  Fortunately they all survived, but membership did not expand rapidly.  And I thought parenting would be easy.

 

Parenting Patrick actually was relatively painless because he was empathetic.  He could relate to the needs of others, even parents and teachers.  When Brother Rick, a teacher who was diabetic, collapsed in English class, Patrick and Matt were the first to react. They raced simultaneously to the front of the room, initiated help by calling 911, and stayed with Brother Rick until paramedics arrived.  Years later, Patrick visited Allison in Charleston, SC during summer break from the Naval Academy. Entering a Subway sandwich shop, they encountered an elderly blind man departing.  Patrick hesitated, turned, and began talking to him.  Discovering that the man was waiting for a van to pick him up, Patrick and Allison bought him an ice cream cone, and the three of them ate ice cream and talked for 20 minutes until the van arrived.  I should be as nice.  On a very cold day during football practice, Lois and Tommy Stalknecht’s dad, Paul, got Patrick and Tommy hot chocolate. Patrick took the cup reluctantly, and then looked wistfully at the team.  Lois then realized that Patrick was grateful, but did not want to take what was insufficient to share with his teammates.  

 

Patrick learned from his mistakes, a great attribute.  He was a good student, but as a sophomore, first girlfriend syndrome torpedoed his Chemistry grade.  We had a “Come to Jesus” meeting, and I told him his cute little girlfriend was going to marry someday, but not him.  She would marry someone successful who hadn’t flunked Chemistry.  Over Christmas break, without another word, he redid all Chemistry homework.  His performance in the second semester was impressive.  That spring he told me, “Dad, it’s much easier to do well in school than to do badly. When I was behind, I was working just as hard, but not doing as well and it wasn't fun.  Now I'm doing well and school is fun again."  He embraced that lesson, and thereafter strove to be prepared. With preparation and natural ability, his performance throughout flight training was superb.

 

I didn’t always appreciate how closely Patrick listened.  I once explained to him that the cost of buying a car was small compared to the cost of operating it, especially considering the cost of insurance for teenage boys.  I forgot about that conversation, but later, whenever I suggested Patrick get his license; he always said that he didn’t need one.  Finally when he was a senior, I insisted.  He responded, “Gee Dad, I don’t want you to pay through the nose for car insurance.”  Yikes. I need to be more careful of what I say.  The rest of the story is that when he got his learner’s permit, he kept it a secret.  If I picked him up from school, and offered to let him drive home, he declined.  He spent weeks setting up this gag.  But when he had his license, he delighted in driving to any friend’s house, making it seem as if he had gotten his license without ever having a learner’s permit.

 

Patrick and his friends were always ready for adventure.  Patrick took a Caribbean cruise with Brendan Strei and Eddie Pitts.  Thank you, Tom and Nia Strei for including him.  We recently learned that in Cancun, Patrick enlisted in the Mexican Navy as a joke.  It made me laugh. Brendan was the biggest player on the football team, and Eddie was only slightly smaller.  In Jamaica, the three of them were solicited by drug dealers, but quickly extricated themselves.  Patrick’s advice to me after the cruise was “never go to Jamaica without two friends at least as big as Brendan and Eddie.”

  

Patrick was never destructive, but was mischievous and occasionally tested the limits.  One weekend during high school, while Lois and I were away, Patrick, Mike, and Matt consumed 42 cans of beer  Allison let him hide the cans in her room.  Lois found them.  Wow.  Allison caught it.  She never spilled the beans, and we only recently learned the whole story.

 

On that note, one damp Friday night Patrick and two other boys went camping.  They stuffed tents, gear, and beer into duffel bags and dragged everything into a wooded area near a neighborhood.  They set up a nice campsite and were having a great time.  Suddenly they found themselves surrounded by a police SWAT team with guns drawn. An observer seeing the duffel bags called 911 reported that three men were disposing of bodies.  Fortunately the cops had a good laugh as they dumped out several cartons of beer being consumed by underage minors.  No one was shot, and Patrick could tell about the time he was arrested on suspicion of being a serial killer.

 

Patrick’s generosity was returned ten-fold.  Everyone was his friend.  Picking Patrick up from high school one spring day when he was a senior, the athletic director said to me, “Did you know Patrick was voted “Most likely to have a crush on.”  Patrick looked at me and said, “I don’t get it either, Dad.”  Egotism was not part of his personality.  He was also the Prom King.  Bishop Ireton classes elect their Valedictorian from candidates nominated by administrators.  The runner-up serves as Salutatorian. Patrick was elected Valedictorian.  The runner-up was so disappointed that Patrick asked the Principal to name the runner-up as Valedictorian.  Patrick did not need to prove anything to himself, and at graduation, as salutatorian, he gave one of the best commencement speeches I ever heard.  

 

Since Patrick was killed, I’ve realized parents are less significant than I once believed in shaping their children.  Recently Matt Dowden asked me if Patrick was always fearless.  The question puzzled me.  Patrick had never been fearful, but never required daily runs to the ER either.  Matt assured me that Patrick was fearless, and was backed up by Frank Curry.  These conversations made me appreciate how much Patrick had shaped his own personality. His bookcase at home is full of military history.  I believe after viewing the hazards faced by previous generations at Guadalcanal and elsewhere, he felt his challenges were minor.  I think he willed himself never to be intimidated.  I now appreciate how little credit parents deserve for their children’s accomplishments.  In some ways that’s a relief.  It means we aren’t always to blame for their failures either.

 

After high school, Patrick acquired additional friends as a freshman at Virginia Tech.  He camped and hiked with Alex Tucker and John Draminski, and started an engineering fraternity with his high school "brother" Matt Dowden, and others.  Hokies are among my favorite people.  Many of you in the Theta Tau fraternity played on Patrick’s team in the Wounded Warrior soccer tournament.  Thank you.  Alex Tucker is in Africa.  He couldn’t be here today.  Alex sent me an email that I treasure. It captured the essence of Patrick, and was a story repeated virtually verbatim by at least a dozen other people who felt their lives were transformed by knowing Patrick: 

 

“Pat was my best friend. . .    I felt like we had been friends our whole lives. We used to find ourselves laughing at one another. . . It was that contagious smile he had. . . My best memories are with Pat.  I wouldn’t trade them for the world. . .   He was the funniest person I ever met, (and) the kindest. One minute he would be playing a prank, . . . and the next he would be giving you the shirt off his back.  No matter what the circumstance, he was always positive. Not once did I ever see him angry or upset. His personal objective every day was to make others happy (with) his positive attitude. Before I met Pat, I was often negative and would get upset over small things.  I learned from him that you can’t enjoy life like that. You have to be positive and happy and enjoy every minute, all while making others around you enjoy their time too. The best advice I could ever give someone is to live like Patrick:  Work hard, play hard; be happy, make others happy.  Alex”

 

After a year at Virginia Tech, Patrick joined the Naval Academy class of 2011.  There he acquired more brothers.  Rory O’Donnell (his roommate for over five years there and in flight training), Pete Schultis, Dave Remick, Heath Heneveld, Mike Smith, Sam Martinette and the rest of the 25th company “Bear-Sharks” were the core of his USNA family.  Patrick’s Naval Academy class ring is engraved “6 – 4 South” in honor of his “brothers” in the 6th wing, 4th deck, south side of Bancroft Hall.  

 

Patrick's positive attitude was legendary.  In Pensacola, after soloing in Cessnas, his class was backed up and had to wait two weeks before beginning academics. They would muster, and be dismissed to be available by phone.  But after one student missed an assignment, the whole class was required to remain in the school building for 8 hours a day.  Patrick began bringing along an “Apples to Apples” game.  Everyone enjoyed it.  A Lieutenant saw the “cards,” and wrote them up for playing poker.  That was one of the few times I saw Patrick irked.  But making lemonade out of lemons, he and his friends created a “Bad Apples” patch for their flight jackets, and wore them with pride.

 

Patrick was very spontaneous.  On spring break from Virginia Tech, Patrick once joined Lois and Allison on a trip to Honolulu, even though he planned to see the premier of “Batman” with Mike and Matt three days later.  Patrick had a nice dinner and breakfast in Hawaii with Lois and Allison, then went back to the airport.  He was in Hawaii less than 18 hours, just for the fun of doing it.   

 

Patrick sometimes worried me with deadlines, but he always finished in time.  Before leaving for Pensacola in late August 2011, he needed a car.  He found the perfect car, a 2004 Corvette, two days before he had to leave.  He bought it the next day, had it insured, titled, registered, packed, and on the road to Pensacola less than 24 hours after he took possession of it.  

 

We should all aspire to emulate Patrick's commitment to look for and find the best in us all.  He praised classmates, plebes, and upperclassmen.  He would email Austin Heneveld’s and Matt Verducci’s moms with updates on their plebes in the class of ‘14.  He loved you guys.  I once cautioned him to keep up his grades.  He responded, “Dad, I’ve learned I do my best when I make it fun.”  His wisdom was irrefutable.  I responded, “Forget what I said.  Keep having fun.”  He did.  He was always joyful, and continued to excel.  

 

Patrick was popular, bright, well read, and an independent thinker.  He was moral, and strove to do the right thing even when no one was watching.  MAJ Forbes, the senior Marine in VT-9, considered him one of the three best student aviators he had observed during his career.  The XO, CDR Paquin told me that Patrick was one of the most impressive junior officers he had ever observed, and had potential of rising to flag rank.  

 

Patrick was more than a pretty face.  He had things to do.  He had taken steps toward certification as a professional engineer, and was looking for graduate school opportunities in the Navy.  On his desk when he was killed was a note titled “Shit to do.”

 

• Learn to ride a horse

• Buy a Revolver

• Get a dirt bike

• Hold a handstand for 60 seconds

• Work toward a post-graduate degree

 

Patrick touched more lives in 25 years than most of us do in a lifetime. He lived life to the fullest, loved everyone he met, and brought out the best in us all.  When he was killed, he had 1133 friends on Facebook.  He loved all of you.  He delighted in distributing humorous videos, or playing practical jokes such as “swimming” a remotely controlled helium filled shark into the bathroom to startle a roommate.  He sought to draw in anyone who did not seem engaged into the group.  He set the highest standards for his own professional performance, cheerfully assisted others, inspired teamwork, and always placed the needs of others ahead of his own.  Since he was killed, I have heard from many people how he inspired them to live positively.

 

My friend and Naval Academy classmate, Dick Virtue, provided me with the most helpful advice for coping with this tragedy.  Dick also lost a son, and advised me to live the rest of my life as a tribute to Patrick.  Attempting to live as Patrick lived is a daunting challenge for me.  Patrick exceeded me in every respect.  But I ask all of you to remember Patrick; to emulate his love of life, his empathy for others, his joy, and his generosity.  Patrick, we will love you forever.

 

We appreciate all of you coming today to honor Patrick.  Thank you.  God bless you all.  Please keep Patrick and us in your prayers.