Freedom Riders

0 Comments | Insight on the News, July 5, 1999 | by Sean Paige

Each Memorial Day, bikers from all U.S. points east and west rumble into Washington to focus national attention on the sacrifices of American veterans.

It was all black leather and Purple Hearts at the 12th annual Memorial Day weekend Rolling Thunder motorcycle rally in Washington. An estimated 100,000 bikers, many of them military veterans, rode in to show their true colors -- red, white and blue -- by honoring the dead, demanding an account of the missing, and receiving the belated welcome home many never got.

Gathering by the thousands in the shadow of the Pentagon, rumbling chrome horses carrying outlaw-club members, yuppie weekenders, and motorcycle evangelists had a common goal -- to remind a nation, much of which was off at the beach, of those who sacrificed for freedom, paid its ultimate price, or still may be out there somewhere, unaccounted for. For many participating veterans, old wounds were opened, cauterized and healed by the warmth of half a million spectators lining the parade route past Arlington National Cemetery, over the Memorial Bridge, and past marble temples to earlier American heroes.

"It's the `welcome home' that these vets didn't get" a rider from North Carolina tells Insight. "Most of the bikers I know tend to be veterans and to be concerned about the prisoner-of-war, missing-in-action issue," explains another from Michigan. "It's real personal for them -- they know people on the wall [Vietnam War Memorial]."

Named for a devastating U.S. bombing campaign during the war in Vietnam, Roiling Thunder organizers hoped their event similarly would impact the conscience of America, focusing attention on captured or missing airmen, soldiers, sailors and Marines who many in the movement believe still are alive. Much more than just another biker rally, "This event promotes public awareness that your government should not leave you behind or leave your loved ones wondering what happened to you" as one put it.

Megan McGarvey, who rode in for Rolling Thunder from North Carolina with a friend, knows firsthand about that nagging uncertainty. Her father, Lt. Col. James McGarvey, a Marine flyer, vanished from the skies above Vietnam on April 17, 1967, and remains unaccounted for. Five years old at the time, McGarvey can't help wondering not only what happened to her dad but what growing up with him would have been like. "We're all a product of the events that happen in our lives, and losing my father was the most significant. I can't help wondering where I would be today if Daddy had come home" explains McGarvey.

"It's a very emotional day, but it's also a comforting and healing day," McGarvey says of her second Rolling Thunder rally. "There is no greater gift to my family than these people paying tribute to my father and keeping that awareness alive."

It all began in 1984, according to Rolling Thunder founder and national president Arthur "Artie" Muller, an Army sergeant in Vietnam who, upon learning of the possibility that "the government left brothers behind" began to talk about doing "something radical" that would raise awareness of the issue. The nascent group decided a motorcycle rally was the right answer. "It would have been swept under the rug years ago if it weren't for what we've done with Rolling Thunder," Muller says of the POW/MIA issue.

Denim and black leather mixed with camouflage as the bikers began to pack the sweltering staging area near the Pentagon. T-shirts, vests, ponytails, bandannas, shades, tattoos, beer guts, belly buttons and biceps were on full display -- all the signs, protocols and cliches of a biker culture that struts and savors its individualism yet is united by love of the machine, the personal freedom it represents, and those who fight for that freedom.

Emotions ran high for veterans, some of whom would be riding in Rolling Thunder and visiting the wall for the first time. But everyone Insight interviewed attested to the healing power of the sometimes-painful event. "It's good to open up an old wound, clean it out, and let the healing process take place" says former Marine R.C. Busha, a Vietnam vet who rode to Rolling Thunder from Prescott, Ariz.

"So many veterans ride motorcycles because it gives you a sense of freedom," another participant says, explaining the affinity between machine and ex-serviceman. "You get on a bike and you feel that freedom of the road," says another. "In an automobile you can see America, but on a motorcycle you feel America."

So how does America "feel" to veterans who rode in for Rolling Thunder from the country's four corners? The pilgrims tell Insight it's much more welcoming than it was when they returned from Southeast Asia in the sixties and seventies. Many who live along the route traveled by the California-to-Washington "Run for the Wall" contingent greeted its 200 riders with honking, waves and broad grins. Riders tell of car passengers holding up hand-scrawled "Thank You" signs at the sight of the cross-country parade.

But bikers report being particularly touched by stops in two places. In Window Rock, Ariz., capital of the Navajo Nation (and home to 16,000 veterans, including about 150 surviving code talkers from World War II), the group was treated to a meal and honor dance, or powwow, traditionally held to welcome home warriors. And in tiny Rainelle, W. Va., which began its love affair with the riders when they were detoured through the town a decade ago, they also received a heroes' welcome. A ceremony on the football field of a Rainelle school (where the bikers were invited to camp for the night, after a meal hosted by the local Moose Lodge), included presentation of colors, autograph-signings by the heroes, and talks with youngsters about the Vietnam War and POW/MIA issues. "This is a wonderful opportunity for the kids to have hands-on social studies;... they are getting a chance to talk with a piece of living history" says school principal Monica Venables. "Here we are enjoying such wonderful freedom, but it's worth reminding that it's at a cost."