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By
Linda Bordner U.S. Veteran Dispatch Staff Writer March 2001 |
So it happened that a
three day event for Memorial Day weekend
1988 took shape in recognition and
remembrance of the more than 2,500 POW/MIAs
from Vietnam's sad legacy. Even that long
after the war, scattered sightings of live
missing servicemen continued to be reported.
They called it the Rolling Thunder Rally. By the time it was over, about 2,500 bikers had taken a stand by riding in defiant unity against what they saw as government disrespect and disregard for the fallen or captured in Vietnam. That amounted to roughly one biker for each missing American.
News coverage of the 1988 Rolling Thunder Rally was short and sweet. If mentioned at all, it was condensed neatly into about 4 1/2 seconds of air time. Still, somebody saw it. At home, thousands of vets watched their brothers stand up to be counted, and resolved that the next chance they got, they'd do the same.
Sure enough, the following spring, they got their chance. When James Gregory called for volunteers for a Run to the Wall, the response was overwhelming. The Vietnam Vets Motorcycle Club embraced the run with gusto. Run to the Wall was meant as a commemoration for those who served in Vietnam, living and dead, missing or present and accounted for.
Now a new dimension was added to the bike run. Since increased attendance allowed for a fuller loop, 20,000 bikes presented in formation four bikes across and eight miles long. Most bikes carried an additional rider, for a riding total over 30,000.
Beginning at the parking lot of the Pentagon, the cascade of thunderous unity proceeded all the way around to the bridge at the Arlington Cemetery, a fitting finish for the memorial run. Cheering onlookers lining the street waving flags of support visibly moved the hardened vets as they rode past.
In a solemn finale, Medal of Honor recipient Gary Wietzal offered a prayer for those still missing. This, then, was Rolling Thunder II.
But those who accused the federal government of doing nothing on the POW/MIA issue were wrong. Officials were in fact busily taking action. Unfortunately, the action taken was to move names off MIA lists into the killed column - not that any remains were being sought or unearthed.
The game was more one of playing the odds, Pentagon style. If a POW did not turn up at the end of the war, passage of time increased the chances they wouldn't be showing up ever. So why waste time and money looking. This unconditional logic flew hard in the face of vets waiting for the chance to run rescues for those servicemen their Pentagon seemed to treat as out of sight, out of mind.
They called it the Rolling Thunder Rally. By the time it was over, about 2,500 bikers had taken a stand by riding in defiant unity against what they saw as government disrespect and disregard for the fallen or captured in Vietnam. That amounted to roughly one biker for each missing American.
News coverage of the 1988 Rolling Thunder Rally was short and sweet. If mentioned at all, it was condensed neatly into about 4 1/2 seconds of air time. Still, somebody saw it. At home, thousands of vets watched their brothers stand up to be counted, and resolved that the next chance they got, they'd do the same.
Sure enough, the following spring, they got their chance. When James Gregory called for volunteers for a Run to the Wall, the response was overwhelming. The Vietnam Vets Motorcycle Club embraced the run with gusto. Run to the Wall was meant as a commemoration for those who served in Vietnam, living and dead, missing or present and accounted for.
Now a new dimension was added to the bike run. Since increased attendance allowed for a fuller loop, 20,000 bikes presented in formation four bikes across and eight miles long. Most bikes carried an additional rider, for a riding total over 30,000.
Beginning at the parking lot of the Pentagon, the cascade of thunderous unity proceeded all the way around to the bridge at the Arlington Cemetery, a fitting finish for the memorial run. Cheering onlookers lining the street waving flags of support visibly moved the hardened vets as they rode past.
In a solemn finale, Medal of Honor recipient Gary Wietzal offered a prayer for those still missing. This, then, was Rolling Thunder II.
But those who accused the federal government of doing nothing on the POW/MIA issue were wrong. Officials were in fact busily taking action. Unfortunately, the action taken was to move names off MIA lists into the killed column - not that any remains were being sought or unearthed.
The game was more one of playing the odds, Pentagon style. If a POW did not turn up at the end of the war, passage of time increased the chances they wouldn't be showing up ever. So why waste time and money looking. This unconditional logic flew hard in the face of vets waiting for the chance to run rescues for those servicemen their Pentagon seemed to treat as out of sight, out of mind.
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