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By
Linda Bordner U.S. Veteran Dispatch Staff Writer March 2001 |
The birth of Rolling Thunder didn't take place
in some upscale boardroom like most big
organizations. It wasn't born on paper like many
well intended goal-oriented missions. And it
certainly wasn't the brainchild of Pentagon
military minds at secret strategy sessions.
Instead what has become one of the largest grassroots veterans' groups in history began silently, in the heart of a serviceman wanting only to do the right thing.
When Ray Manzo came home from Vietnam in 1969, he carried with him more than the memory of a long costly war. Far from the 1st Marine Division, 7th Engineers, Bravo Company, 2nd Platoon where he served two years from 1968 to 1969, Manzo kept hearing an aching voice apparently ignored by top war strategists. What about us, it seemed to cry. What about us? What about us when the peace was signed? What about us - the ones who kept our promise to fight for freedom as long as we drew breath? What about our freedom? What about the nation's promise to us?
It was that silent, collective cry of American GIs left behind that refused to die in his head that prompted Manzo in 1987 to try in some small way to make things right. He began writing letters. Not sure of how to make his idea reality, he sent the letters to anyone he thought might give a care.
Soon people began to read the letters from the heart of the tough old Marine. Members of well-established vet organizations read them. Hard core biker club members read them. Newspaper editors tossed them in piles of letters to print, along with pothole complaints and letters of thanks to local firefighters.
Many ignored the plea he voiced, or just nodded agreeably as they threw it out with the day's trash. But some didn't. In fact, a lot didn't. Among those who took the letters seriously were groups dedicated to helping POW/MIA families.
Then one day Ray Manzo walked up to some vets manning several POW/MIA vigils near the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington and asked for help.
His idea: Host a motorcycle run in the nation's capital to show the country and the world that abandoned American soldiers in Vietnam still mattered to their fellow servicemen and the country for which they sacrificed their freedom.
From that day on, things began to happen. One guy he talked to that day was Walt Sides, Vietnam vet and retired Marine 1st sergeant. Sides, president of the non-profit Warriors Inc, also took him seriously and began seeking support to help make the run happen.
Another was Bob Schmitt, head of the Camp Brandenburg POW/MIA vigil. Schmitt contacted the National Forget-Me-Not Association for POW/MIA's Inc. and ask its director John Parcels for help.
Parcels, a retired major and former POW, who was released in March 1973 from a Vietnam POW camp, joined the effort. He secured the endorsement of other returned POWs including retired Air Force Col. Laird Gutterson, held POW in Vietnam for over five years and Larry Stark, a Navy industrial relations employee, also held POW in Vietnam for over five years.
Retired Army Sgt. Maj. John Holland first laid eyes on Manzo while manning one of the POW/MIA vigils. Manzo's idea seemed just the thing his American Foundation for Accountability of POW/MIAs could sink its teeth into.
Vigils like the one Holland operated took part in had just come into its own nationwide, but still needed something to grab public attention for the cause. Holland knew National Park Service regs and offered to navigate the sea of paperwork needed for such an endeavor.
What better date for the event than on Memorial Day, when America honored the sacrifices of its soldiers throughout its long history of liberty and justice for all? As the plan came together, even its organizers were surprised by the widespread response the run inspired.
Those conversations led to a meeting with Artie Muller, who served in the 4th U.S. Infantry Division during Vietnam.
Manzo explained his vision to Muller over coffee at a diner in Summerville, New Jersey. As he listened to the impassioned Marine's words, Muller saw in Manzo's dream something vets could get a hold of and run with.
And run with it they did. Pooling talents and resources, vets found a common cause they could all support. Muller started to work on getting transportation for interested participants, as well as needed permits for the motorcycle run
Instead what has become one of the largest grassroots veterans' groups in history began silently, in the heart of a serviceman wanting only to do the right thing.
When Ray Manzo came home from Vietnam in 1969, he carried with him more than the memory of a long costly war. Far from the 1st Marine Division, 7th Engineers, Bravo Company, 2nd Platoon where he served two years from 1968 to 1969, Manzo kept hearing an aching voice apparently ignored by top war strategists. What about us, it seemed to cry. What about us? What about us when the peace was signed? What about us - the ones who kept our promise to fight for freedom as long as we drew breath? What about our freedom? What about the nation's promise to us?
It was that silent, collective cry of American GIs left behind that refused to die in his head that prompted Manzo in 1987 to try in some small way to make things right. He began writing letters. Not sure of how to make his idea reality, he sent the letters to anyone he thought might give a care.
Soon people began to read the letters from the heart of the tough old Marine. Members of well-established vet organizations read them. Hard core biker club members read them. Newspaper editors tossed them in piles of letters to print, along with pothole complaints and letters of thanks to local firefighters.
Many ignored the plea he voiced, or just nodded agreeably as they threw it out with the day's trash. But some didn't. In fact, a lot didn't. Among those who took the letters seriously were groups dedicated to helping POW/MIA families.
Then one day Ray Manzo walked up to some vets manning several POW/MIA vigils near the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington and asked for help.
His idea: Host a motorcycle run in the nation's capital to show the country and the world that abandoned American soldiers in Vietnam still mattered to their fellow servicemen and the country for which they sacrificed their freedom.
From that day on, things began to happen. One guy he talked to that day was Walt Sides, Vietnam vet and retired Marine 1st sergeant. Sides, president of the non-profit Warriors Inc, also took him seriously and began seeking support to help make the run happen.
Another was Bob Schmitt, head of the Camp Brandenburg POW/MIA vigil. Schmitt contacted the National Forget-Me-Not Association for POW/MIA's Inc. and ask its director John Parcels for help.
Parcels, a retired major and former POW, who was released in March 1973 from a Vietnam POW camp, joined the effort. He secured the endorsement of other returned POWs including retired Air Force Col. Laird Gutterson, held POW in Vietnam for over five years and Larry Stark, a Navy industrial relations employee, also held POW in Vietnam for over five years.
Retired Army Sgt. Maj. John Holland first laid eyes on Manzo while manning one of the POW/MIA vigils. Manzo's idea seemed just the thing his American Foundation for Accountability of POW/MIAs could sink its teeth into.
Vigils like the one Holland operated took part in had just come into its own nationwide, but still needed something to grab public attention for the cause. Holland knew National Park Service regs and offered to navigate the sea of paperwork needed for such an endeavor.
What better date for the event than on Memorial Day, when America honored the sacrifices of its soldiers throughout its long history of liberty and justice for all? As the plan came together, even its organizers were surprised by the widespread response the run inspired.
Those conversations led to a meeting with Artie Muller, who served in the 4th U.S. Infantry Division during Vietnam.
Manzo explained his vision to Muller over coffee at a diner in Summerville, New Jersey. As he listened to the impassioned Marine's words, Muller saw in Manzo's dream something vets could get a hold of and run with.
And run with it they did. Pooling talents and resources, vets found a common cause they could all support. Muller started to work on getting transportation for interested participants, as well as needed permits for the motorcycle run
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