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Thursday, May 30, 2024

The sounds of thunder

He snapped awake at 0500, a full 30 minutes before the alarm was set to go off. For more than 30 years, he had been waking up at 5 a.m. It didn't matter which time zone he was in or even if it was daylight savings time. When the big hand was on the 12 and the little one on the five, he was awake.

(WRITER’S NOTE: I wrote this for a magazine and Capitol Hill Blue in 1998. It became my most requested column for reprinting in other publications and for other web sites. As I prepare to leave for this year’s Rolling Thunder, it is reprinted here as a reminder that we must honor those who wear the uniform and serve our nation. A video about the traveling Vietnam Veterans Memorial appears at the end of this article.)

He snapped awake at 0500, a full 30 minutes before the alarm was set to go off.

For more than 30 years, he awakened at 5 a.m. It didn’t matter which time zone he was in or even if it was daylight savings time. When the big hand was on the 12 and the little one on the five, he was awake.

He crawled into the shower and lay there for 30 minutes, letting the hot water loosen up his muscles and numb the throbbing pain of too many arthritic bones broken in too many places over the years.

The water limbered him up enough to pull on some faded blue jeans, t-shirt and leather vest. It took some effort to pull on the boots, but he managed. Then he strapped on the leather chaps. Three cups of coffee and several accompanying groans later, he headed into the garage where she was waiting.

She didn’t get much use these days, but she didn’t complain. Instead, she waited patiently under the tarp, waited for Memorial Day weekend to come around, knowing he would polish her up and head out onto the open road.

He worked for the better part of two hours, polishing the chrome, checking the oil level and the tire pressures. Then he climbed aboard, kicked the stand, fired her up and headed into the morning air.

Not much traffic on Arlington’s Washington Boulevard on a Sunday morning. A few cars. Some slowed to take a look at the gleaming Harley Road King. Few noticed the gray-haired, middle-aged rider. He nosed into the parking lot of Bob & Edith’s Diner on Columbia Pike and parked besides a half-dozen other Harleys. He noticed two he expected to be here were not.

“Afternoon, did we sleep in this morning?”

“You know me chief. Just couldn’t get up.”

“We weren’t sure you would make it. Heard you were hard down.”

“Will be in about two weeks. Go under the knife on 12 June.”



He looked around.

“Where’s Crowder?”

“VA Hospital in Albuquerque. He’s fading.”

Damn. Each year, the list of those who don’t make it got longer.

“What about Horsely?”

“Laid the bike down on 50 in Indiana three months ago. DOA.”

Well, at least it wasn’t age. Or maybe it was. A younger man might have survived.

For the next 90 minutes, they ignored the ravages of age and worries about cholesterol and hardened arteries, wolfing down pork chops, bacon, eggs and hash browns, talking about days that have long since passed.

“They say we will have a quarter million out today. Maybe more than a hundred thousand bikes. Kinda miss the old days when there only a few hundred of us.”

“Yeah, at this rate, there will be more out there than who actually served. Getting hard to tell the wannabes from those who were in the shit.”

“I can tell. Always could.”

“Hey, remember the guy who showed up last year with the Vulcan? Thought he was gonna get killed. Bringing a Jap bike to Thunder. Ain’t right.”

“Saw some Jap bikes on the way in this morning. Some German ones too.”

“Yeah, times change.”

They finished and headed up Columbia Pike to the Pentagon, joining a mass of bikes and the thunder of un-muffled exhausts in the parking lot. He opened the saddlebag and pulled out the same American flag and black POW-MIA flag he had used for the past 11 years. Along with a Boonie hat.

An hour later, they were in line, pulling out, headed for the Memorial Bridge and the Mall in Washington. Rolling Thunder was under way.

He’d been on the first one, more than a decade earlier, a much smaller group of riding their bikes into Washington to protest the U.S. government’s inaction on resolving the nagging issue of what happened to too many American servicemen who were unaccounted for Prisoners of War or still listed as Missing in Action.

Back then, the local law refused to cooperate and the veterans groups looked askance as the mostly long-haired group of motorcyclists who looked more like Hell’s Angels than those honoring a forgotten war.

Thunder had grown through the years, along with the awareness that Uncle Sam had not done right by those left behind in Southeast Asia. The longhairs were still there, the heart of the movement, but Thunder now included bank clerks, accountants and the widows and children of men who were left behind. Now they got police escorts and the Vets groups were more tolerant.

As he crossed Memorial Bridge, a number of those in the crowd stepped out to slap the hands of those coming in. A young woman handed him a small American flag. He stuck the flag in his handbrake.

They circled the Mall before parking and heading to the Wall. Officially, it is called the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Those who were there just call it the Wall. It takes a while before some Vietnam vets can go there. Some never get up the nerve.

He walked the length, scanning the dark service for names he knew. He always found them, even when he didn’t want to. A young man who had one day to go when a mortar round took him out. Names and faces that still clear in his memory after 30 too many years.

He knelt and prayed with his buddies before leaving. Then they rode back across the Potomac and visited Arlington Cemetery to say hello to some others who didn’t make it.

People looked at the small group of gray-haired men in their motorcycle leathers and gave them a wide berth, not sure of what brought such a dangerous-looking group out to a place of honor on Memorial Day weekend. But it didn’t take long for the rough-looking crowd to quickly outnumber those in their Sunday best.

Later, they sat at Hard Times Cafe in Arlington and wondered how many more Rolling Thunders it would take before the federal government finally did something.

“How much longer we gonna keep doing this?”

“Until we get some answers.”

Then they parted, promising — as always — to keep in touch during the year but knowing — as always — that they probably would not see or talk to each again until next year’s Memorial Day weekend.

He wheeled the Harley back into the garage, listened to it idle for a few minutes, and shut her down, covering her with the tarp.

Once inside, he unstrapped the leather chaps, took off the boots, and put them away.

Until next year.

The Vietnam Veterans Moving Wall is a documentary that my wife and I shot in 2003 to tell the story of a the traveling Vietnam Veterans Memorial during a visit of one of the memorials to Fairview Heights, Illinois, near Scott Air Force Base and St. Louis. It features Adrian Cronauer, the former armed forces DJ portrayed by Robin Williams in “Good Morning Vietnam.” After his Vietnam service, Adrian managed Channel 27 in Roanoke during the late 60s and we became friends during my tenure at The Roanoke Times. Adrian later served in the POW and Missing in Action office at the Pentagon and retired two years ago. He and his wife, Jean, now live in Troutville.

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3 thoughts on “The sounds of thunder”

  1. Good points Carl. We also must take responsibility for the actions of our government because we voted for each and every one who guides our actions and sadly the reasons for the actions.

    Not to many of us were around when Ike made that fabulous warning speech. What is worse, is that few cared enough to understand the meaning of his words. I remember reading the words of the PNAC when they wrote “What Bush (43) needs is another Pearl Harbor.” I remember wondering if Bush indeed took his eyes off the Constitution and the American people and focused instead on extending a threat of terrorism to be his personal responsibioity.

    After 911, terrorism was on the lips of every elected official and the script from the government to the American people read like a science fiction novel.

    However Memorial Day is a day of respect for those armed service members to be remembered.

    We have the government we voted for. We have the voters that we trained to follow the removal of terrorists. Our voters are sheep following our leaders who get their orders from above. Sorry but that does not make for a legitimate Republic.

  2. Memorializing our fallen men and women in uniform is well and good, but possibly this annual event should focus its attention on surrounding the White House in protest over these PNAC engineered offensive wars of agression all in the name of fighting ‘terrorism’, in addition to guarding and facilitating the development oil and gas pipeline resources.

    Possibly if thousands of these ‘macho dudes’ on putts surrounded the White House revving their Harley’s along with posters demanding that we exit these far off regions, along with a cessation of our new “offensive” rather defensive military posture, we wouldn’t continue to fill up cemetaries with the bodies of our fine young men and women in uniform, all lives lost for naught in these seeming end times for our now failing Constitutional Republic.

    I’m retired military, 30 years USN. This modern era military is a perversion of what our Constitution and “grounded” leaders, both military and civilian would want for this nation.

    Eisenhower warned us concerning a rogue, out of control MIC. These shadowy usurpers along with their Congressional running dog faciilators have hijacked this nation along with its founding document. The war on ‘terror’ is both the MIC and a politician’s “wet dream” come true; I.E., an endless conflagration against a noun, no different than their engineered war on drugs. There’s no one to parley or sign a peace accord, but allows them to bleed a nation financially white. Unfortunately too, it’s all a debt based paradigm.

    Seemingly we are facing the “Twilights last gleaming” of this great experiment in freedom and justice for all. : |

    Carl Nemo **==

  3. I remember your article and thought about it this morning as I rolled my old bones out of bed and into my “situation room” here in my office. I wondered if you would be running into (figure of speech) Sarah Palin this year.

    The last time I was in D.C. we did the usual tourist things until we got to the “wall.” The impact was too much for me. I don’t think my kids had ever seen me in tears before and got me away quickly. I had the same problem just south of San Francisco when we visited the Cemetary from WW2.

    In the presence of this much death from wars, seems to question my emotional evolution and I return to my own dark ages as women commonly do. Thank you Doug for keeping on your tradition which I know has been as painfully emotion.

    We need to know that every man and woman who died and wounded in combat are remembered.

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