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By
Linda Bordner U.S. Veteran Dispatch Staff Writer March 2001 |
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From then on each
annual event attracted greater
numbers of vets, non-vets, bikers
and non-bikers. But to call Rolling
Thunder a motorcycle run is to
grossly understate its impact. More
and more, word got out that the
various activists organizations
affiliated with Rolling Thunder were
the ones vets could turn for help in
countless areas. Help with the small
stuff - like who to call to get
needed forms for the endless benefit
jungle was hand in hand with bigger
stuff, like how a family of a MIA
could appeal the killed on paper
status of their missing loved one.
The Rolling Thunder movement had
taken on a very real, very vital
life of its own.
Meanwhile, by 1991 the bike run just kept growing. The '91 Run To the Wall at Rolling Thunder IV was 45,000 strong, with an estimated 20,000 bikes taking part.
Proudly flying the Stars and Stripes beside stark black POW/MIA flags, riders cut a striking picture as black leather on blue jeans met shining chrome in a deafening thunder of unison.
By now the Pentagon north parking lot had become
something like a reunion spot for vets young and
old alike. Often it was the only time old war
buddies saw each other, and every year more
familiar faces appeared. Each mile of pavement
held special meaning for the thundering vet
procession.
It began at the Pentagon, military seat of the nation. Up and over the Memorial Bridge they rumbled, to descend down the street past the Capitol, where political policy dictated the fate of American soldiers since before these riders were born. Waves of bikes rolled along Constitution Avenue, symbolic of the rights and freedoms they committed to die for.
The route wasn't complete without a pass by the Commander in Chief's place on Pennsylvania Avenue where White House executive orders mean ultimate life or death for American servicemen in conflicts a world away.
In solemn tribute the cavalcade finally reached the Vietnam Vets Memorial where speakers gave voice to absent patriots: Lost in battle. Lost in shifting policy. Lost in paperwork. But lost in the hearts of these proud Americans who fought beside them? Never.
On Capital Hill, professional number crunchers predicted the whole Rolling Thunder "thing" would fade fast like the insignificant fad they considered it to be. Those who didn't see it fading away wished very hard it would. After all, this was just a bunch of disgruntled vets out in force to make a little engine noise, right?
Maybe the group's greatest strength was that nobody could convince them they would never be heard. Or maybe telling them they were doomed to fail fired up their "never say die" American spirit. Whatever the reason, these guys, far from disappearing, just got stronger.
Rolling Thunder VI (1993) took on international support, as bikers from other countries, including Australia, Canada and South Korea rode with the U.S.
Over 50,000 motorcyclists made the run in 1994. With Rolling Thunder support, Delores Alfond, chairman of the National Alliance of POW/MIA Families and Dan Wood, president of New Jersey Forget Me Nots attempted to hand deliver a letter to President Clinton. The message objected to the wink-eye policy that administration adopted toward Vietnam's dismal lack of honest POW/MIA accountability.
Blocked in their efforts to get the letter to the President, Rolling Thunder's leaders staged a roaring protest. As the bikes began to pass the White House, they slowed down, then halted when columns of bikes had filled the streets around the White House. For the next few minutes, the ear shattering roar of thousands of bikes revving their engines literally vibrated the windows of the White House.
Ironically the patriotic protest staged in support of the men and women who put their lives on the line for America each day was generally dismissed as just rabble rousing by a Clintonisquely charmed press.
It began at the Pentagon, military seat of the nation. Up and over the Memorial Bridge they rumbled, to descend down the street past the Capitol, where political policy dictated the fate of American soldiers since before these riders were born. Waves of bikes rolled along Constitution Avenue, symbolic of the rights and freedoms they committed to die for.
The route wasn't complete without a pass by the Commander in Chief's place on Pennsylvania Avenue where White House executive orders mean ultimate life or death for American servicemen in conflicts a world away.
In solemn tribute the cavalcade finally reached the Vietnam Vets Memorial where speakers gave voice to absent patriots: Lost in battle. Lost in shifting policy. Lost in paperwork. But lost in the hearts of these proud Americans who fought beside them? Never.
On Capital Hill, professional number crunchers predicted the whole Rolling Thunder "thing" would fade fast like the insignificant fad they considered it to be. Those who didn't see it fading away wished very hard it would. After all, this was just a bunch of disgruntled vets out in force to make a little engine noise, right?
Maybe the group's greatest strength was that nobody could convince them they would never be heard. Or maybe telling them they were doomed to fail fired up their "never say die" American spirit. Whatever the reason, these guys, far from disappearing, just got stronger.
Rolling Thunder VI (1993) took on international support, as bikers from other countries, including Australia, Canada and South Korea rode with the U.S.
Over 50,000 motorcyclists made the run in 1994. With Rolling Thunder support, Delores Alfond, chairman of the National Alliance of POW/MIA Families and Dan Wood, president of New Jersey Forget Me Nots attempted to hand deliver a letter to President Clinton. The message objected to the wink-eye policy that administration adopted toward Vietnam's dismal lack of honest POW/MIA accountability.
Blocked in their efforts to get the letter to the President, Rolling Thunder's leaders staged a roaring protest. As the bikes began to pass the White House, they slowed down, then halted when columns of bikes had filled the streets around the White House. For the next few minutes, the ear shattering roar of thousands of bikes revving their engines literally vibrated the windows of the White House.
Ironically the patriotic protest staged in support of the men and women who put their lives on the line for America each day was generally dismissed as just rabble rousing by a Clintonisquely charmed press.
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