2018 FNG Story submitted by Thomas Sprague
My beloved Daddy was Killed in Action (KIA) on June 7, 1968 in Vietnam- thus, Memorial Day, June 7th, and Father’s Day always felt like a 1, 2,3, gut, heart, soul punch each year. I carefully avoided any Memorial Day events my entire life. Since June of 1968, I have recited the pledge of allegiance with my right hand over my heart and my my left hand behind my back with my index and middle fingers crossed. Even though my dad was career USMC, he was the nurturing parent and we all adored him. He was the embodiment of loving kindness, patience, integrity, strength, passion and a hilarious sense of humor. Needless to say, his death left a huge hole in the fabric of our family soul.
In the summer of 2017, I left Santa Fe, NM and bought a one way ticket to New Zealand. I was planning to immigrate to New Zealand and spend the rest of my life in a monastic setting. I shut down my website of 20 years for Healing Retreats, and gave away all my belongings save my car and some clothes. I went to California to bid family and friends farewell. I made one last trip to my dad’s grave at the Serbian Cemetery in Los Angeles, CA and fully thought I’d never return unless for a family emergency or death.
Three days before I flew to New Zealand, I had coffee with a childhood friend whom I had run into at an event. Because I had joined SDIT (Sons and Daughters in Touch, a private Facebook group for Vietnam Gold Star sons and daughters) I was becoming more at ease with actually speaking about being a Vietnam Gold Star daughter—language that was never used prior. My childhood friend Ken apparently had a passion for documentaries unbeknownst to me. As I was sharing some of the miraculous unfolding of what I thought was my last “Healing Retreat” I led, he suddenly got sparked with an idea to do a documentary about how I had in effect “raised myself from the dead” since my father’s death and used the tools on myself first, then applied them for the healing of others. After our meeting, I sat in my car dumbfounded as God revealed a “movie trailer” vision of how my time in New Zealand would unfold, and it wasn’t at all what I expected… in other words, the New Zealand “plan” was now dust and this “project” with Ken was God’s Will. Both Ken and I had felt the “buzz” that comes when a project clearly has God’s handwriting on it. I didn’t have the courage to share this with anyone at the time, so I went ahead and flew to New Zealand and returned to the USA within two months time. I met with Ken and he simply told me to start writing the story.
Since everyone thought I was still in a far away country, instead of returning to Santa Fe, NM, a friend in El Dorado Hills, CA suggest I come to her home to write the story and be away from any and all distractions. I started writing a week before Christmas and completed the first rough draft by April. A few days before Christmas I took a walk in this new neighborhood after writing all day. I passed a home that was flying the USA flag alongside the POW/MIA flag. The still small voice whispered to me to ring the doorbell and introduce myself. I ignored it and continued walking. I was afraid perhaps that a PTSD Vietnam Vet would not appreciate the intrusion. When the voice repeated itself for the third time I finally surrendered. Taking a deep breath, I rang the doorbell and promptly stepped back, ready to make a mad dash just in case… As the door slowly opened I heard a man speaking on the phone. Oh dear, I had interrupted a phone call. Once the door was fully open and I saw his kind, blue, soulful eyes. I knew I was in no danger at all. He was wondering what I had to sell perhaps, so I said, “I’m sorry to interrupt you but I noticed your flags and I’m a Vietnam Gold Star daughter”. I think that was the first time I had ever uttered those words to a stranger. He was a large husky man with an unassuming demeanor and he very quickly said into his phone, “I have to go, something has come up and I will call you back” and he hung up and came towards me to hug me and asked, “Can you please repeat that?” As we embraced, and I cried, I felt like I was with the brother I never had, but always wanted in our family had suddenly materialized and I was safe, warm, and held in a knowingness about the War like never before.
His name is Don Burns, and his road name is “EZ”, and he certainly embodied kindness, patience and a calm presence. God could not have picked a better brother for my journey. He told me about Run for the Wall (RFTW), which I had never heard of before and I confess, at the time, I thought – what a great pilgrimage these Vets do, but I would never get on the back of a Harley after all these years. He made me promise I would send him an email with my information and my dad’s and I did. He gave me his card and my housemate was astounded when she innocently asked, “how was your walk?” and I tossed his card on the counter for her to see.
I went to the Northern California Run for the Wall lunch the following month and again assured myself that there was absolutely no way I could ever do this for a myriad of reasons: I don’t do well in crowds, I’m too sensitive, I have low back issues, I’m emotionally empathic and I would be in constant overwhelm. The list appeared endless as to why I could never participate. Not to mention that visiting The Wall always seemed to elicit a gigantic inner turmoil of emotions that simply wanted to be acknowledged and simply allowed, but were always politely stuffed back down for fear of upsetting others.
I eventually shared with Ken about meeting Don (EZ) and the RFTW mission. We had no money for our project and just the thought of entertaining the idea of traveling with The Run to participate in its Mission to get to DC seemed absurd. However, the more I simply prayed, it seemed I was being led to participate with RFTW on some level. I attended my second Northern California RFTW lunch with the local group and EZ showed up with a picture of my dad and announced to the group that he would be riding for my dad that year. Bam! The depth of how this landed in my heart is impossible to convey in words, suffice it to say that the purity and soulfulness of it touched me profoundly. And, I noticed I was still terrified of getting on the back of a Harley. It had been 30-years and I had memories of crashes, although no broken bones but I was all too well aware of the inherent dangers of motorcycles.
By the next N. CA lunch meeting, I was feeling at ease with the group and easily embracing the other Vietnam Vets and Gold Stars that were attending, as well as the civilians who support the mission. Ken and I had a phone conversation, surprising me to no end, he simply said, “I don’t know what it is, but we have to be in DC. We have no funding, so let’s just each pay our own way and we’ll figure it out as we go along”. Wow, I truly had no idea Ken was like me, a “jumper”, one who is willing to leap without a parachute, follow the mystery, and not worry about earthly details! I had certainly chosen the right person to do this project with! He said he would drive up in April for the next lunch and interview EZ and me for the project. In the meantime EZ kept mentioning we needed to go for a “ride” so he could see how I handle on a bike. I skillfully kept avoiding this “ride”.
Needing funds to get to DC, I did what I know how to do… I scheduled a weekend retreat for mid-May (that I teach), and that gave me enough funds to purchase my airfare to DC, and then meet-up with the Central Route for Day 10. I would be done teaching the Wednesday prior to Memorial Day, so I’d fly into DC Thursday. It seemed God’s Grace kept leading the way though I still worried about being in crowds and my innate sensitivity. While praying one morning, the inspiration for a “Go Fund Me” to fully cover my remaining hotel costs came. I had never done a Go Fund Me and felt quite wary of it, but I had to surrender yet again. I posted it on Facebook simply stating a Gold Star Daughter was making a pilgrimage to The Wall. I didn’t say it was me, and I simply just let it be. I was stunned to say the least, and with each donation, I found myself bawling. With the exception of one of my dearest friends who is an amazing civilian and “gets” my profound loss, each donation came from others profoundly touched in their own way by the war—a Vietnam Vet started with the first donation and I wept. Next a Gold Star widow, two childhood friends whose dad’s served in Vietnam, but returned home with deep wounds, and then a few Gold Star Vietnam children. They all had already made the supreme sacrifice. I was incredibly touched and it seemed the tears were never going to stop.
EZ had to spoon feed me step-by-step as it was a lot of information to assimilate the details of the RFTW. He told me I would be receiving a ticket to ride through Arlington National Cemetery on Saturday morning, and RFTW is the only group with this permission, and only 400 bikes do this each year with FNG’s on the back. I would be an FNG. He then hinted that it would be good for me to ride with them for some of the journey, and again I worried about my low back issues, being on a bike, being with “this” particular crowd, etc…and I kept resisting. We were raised by our “strict” Marine mother who had forbade us to cry about our dad the day we got the news, the day of his funeral, and basically anytime we began to show emotion about it, so I surmise I was also afraid I might cry, even though on some level, I knew I couldn’t be with a better crowd in which to allow my tears to flow.
In April at our last lunch, I was finally going to jump on the back of the Harley with EZ and the group after our lunch. My specially ordered t-shirt had arrived which had a cross inside a heart and the words, “Semper Fi Daddy” underneath, so I wore my shirt and prayed! I trusted EZ, he was the big brother I had needed since 1968. He filled a “hole” that I didn’t even know existed prior to meeting him. I hopped on the back of his Harley and thought, if we die, I’m good, as truth be told, a part of me has always looked forward to dying since 1968. Ken stood by capturing all of us on video, and as soon as our pack pulled out onto the road, I got “it”. My body was flooded instantly with “the mission”. It suddenly all made absolute perfect sense. Wow. Robert “Old School” Reavis gave me my road name that day. My body flew up a bit when we hit a hard railroad crossing, my helmet strap was flapping in the wind, my earrings and ponytail as well… so “Dangles” was my road name and it fit.
Now of course everything had changed, and I wanted to go “All the Way” but alas my retreat, that I was teaching was planned and full. My heart ached. There was no possible way to change things, so I had to surrender. My flight into DC Thursday wasn’t arriving until 7PM, not enough time to get up to the Central Route lodging. So we planned the next best thing, Ken would show up early Friday at the host hotel where I was staying, and he would drive me west to meet up for the last day of the Central Route’s journey. EZ had been discussing this with me for awhile, but I didn’t quite understand and I was attempting to avoid being on a Harley. Now all that had changed.
The Missing Man Coordinator was a man named Tom “Bones” Pogue, and EZ told me I needed to call him. Just like with EZ, as soon as I heard Bones’ voice on the other end of the phone, I knew I was “home”. It was astounding to me that Bones was not a Vietnam Vet as his heart and soul was cut from the same cloth of depth, genuineness, care, and love. If this was the “crowd” I was going to be around, I had nothing to fear. If I had any expectations or fears left, they were skillfully being burnt up in a huge bonfire of blazing love to reveal a simple spaciousness that soothed my soul.
I had never met other Vietnam Gold Star “kids”, save for a long ago picnic and Christmas event in 1968 that was actually a horrid memory, as we all were shell shocked and shattered, and never saw one another again. On The Run were some “wall siblings” (those whose dad’s name are also on The Wall) that I would be meeting, and words can not convey what this meant to me as well. I had already connected with them via our private Facebook group, and had talked to some on the phone, but being able to meet face-to-face and hug is just beyond description.
Early Friday morning before Memorial Day had finally arrived! Making the drive from DC to meet up at RFTW’s meeting spot was amazing. I had visceral memories of living in Quantico, VA with Daddy and our family, and my heart was singing as my body recalled this entire area with fondness. Wearing my special t-shirt which matched the color of the blue sky reminded me of our happy times in this state. EZ had told us to be on time and we were early. Waiting for the bikes to finally roll in seemed like an eternity, my excitement was palpable!
Vroom, vroom and here they come! Platoon leaders, road guards, motorcycles galore and there I was obviously an FNG trying to contain my overwhelming emotion and excitement! My big brother EZ told me where to wait for him. I met my first “wall sibling”, Sandy who was also an FNG who had started the morning riding in the Missing Man formation for her Daddy, also a Marine and we exchanged quick hugs and tears as I was escorted by EZ to our spot and to meet Bones. As soon as I saw his soulful eyes, I said “Bones” as I went in for a hug. Two other RFTW brothers came up and introduced themselves as friends of Jed’s and gave me bear hugs. I was truly “home” here. Bones showed me the Missing Man chalk drawing and dedication he had made for my Daddy and it was perfect. And then it was “time”….something that had been building for months, perhaps 50-years was about to begin… I was going to ride Missing Man Formation for my beloved Daddy on the back of a Harley in the beautiful state of Virginia behind a police escort.
As we pulled out, it wasn’t lost on me that the last time I was in a police escort was 1968, as we rode in a black limousine following the flag draped coffin in the hearse ahead that carried my beloved Dad. Almost 50-years later I was now riding on a Harley, hair blowing in the wind, heart, soul and body finally mended back together, full deep breaths and easily allowing any tears to flow. Wham, the presence of My Dad was there as soon as we entered the road. Ohhh the love, the love was so palpable, strong, deep and overflowing… that is what brings the tears now. Sure perhaps always a hint of sorrow of what could have been, but the love is so thick, I can breath it, taste it, smell it, and touch it with my hands it seems. “Dangling” in the wind through the veils of time and space is the palpable essence of shimmering love… Mmm, was it my Daddy who whispered to Old School the idea of my nickname of Dangles?
Dear Lord, what a day this is… the sky is azure blue, a few soft fluffy clouds here and there as I ride with my brother who simply gets “it”, no words necessary, and behind me, a long flowing sea of souls on motorcycles committed to the same mission and whom are my “family”. I don’t use the word “family” flippantly, for the word alone means we “belong together” and I belong to them as they belong to me. My healing is their healing, and their healing is my healing. Together, we will love the war out of one another for the rest of our days. As we pulled into the host hotel, flags are waving, people are cheering, and I’m happier than I ever have been. All of my many years of individual healing, leading healing retreats, prayers, and such has all been deeply exquisite and lovely, but “THIS” was the missing piece. Thank you Holy Spirit for insisting I ring the doorbell. My brother EZ opened up so much more than his front door.
To be continued RFTW, to be continued…. so much love and gratitude to each and every one of you,
Anastasia Kurilich (Dangles)
I was interviewed in DC by a local TV Station.
I had the privilege of joining this run for the first time this year in 2016. The idea was planted in my mind in 2015 from a few gentlemen I had met during Rolling Thunder. They had me traveling across the country with no idea what exactly I was about to get myself into. Only the promise that it was an adventure that would open my eyes to ,many things, especially the treatment of our military service people.
I had a basic concept as I watched it and read about it numerous times, but this was entirely different and was worth the time I spent getting to know this group. Tough, rigid, well organized, and yet kind, caring, and complete awareness of why this Run means so much to so many. While on this trip, I had a rider ask me… why are you here? You aren’t even military. I wondered the same thing at first. But after several days and numerous conversations with others… it came down to this: I may not be military, but I believe that everyone who has made the commitment to protect and serve this country takes tremendous courage, and shows tremendous bravery and sacrifice, on so many levels. Because of that… I am in awe and believe that these same individuals deserve my utmost respect and gratitude. It’s up to me to show it, and this event is a perfect way to do that.
I wondered why I was doing this, as I sat on my bike that morning in Ontario, CA. The answer: We ride for those who can’t. 2017 is fast approaching and I already feel the anticipation building. Looking forward to meeting more wonderful people and being part of something that makes a difference with all who have sacrificed.
I’m an in-country Vietnam Veteran. I’ve owned motorcycles most of my life. Currently I own two. The 1989 Honda Goldwing I bought new in 1990 (last years model). Twenty-six years later and 90 some thousand miles later, I bought a 2011 Harley Electra Glide Classic with 21K on the clock.
I hope to make this ride in 2017 with my son and grandson. They will ride the ‘wing. They’ll fly down from their residence in Oregon and we’ll ride out on the Southern Route. After the event in D.C., we hope to ride back with some of the group that ran the Central Route back to Kansas City, KS where we’ll split off and head towards Oregon. After getting them home, I’ll give the ‘wing to my son and ride home to Southern California.
My name is Harold DePuy road name “Grumpy”. I am a retired Army Sergeant First Class and VietNam veteran. It was a dream of mine to do Run For The Wall some day. Funds were always short and Patriot Guard missions were a priority. In 2013 I was told to get off the Harley due to health problems. So I sold the Harley and prepared to spend my time at home doing not much of anything.
I was talking to some friends one day, and they suggested I get a trike. Well I knew I could never afford a Harley trike, and didn’t really see myself on a Can-Am. So I figured I would look around for parts and build a VW trike. I thought it would take about two-years to build. One day I drug a transaxle into my garage, and the build was on. Eight months later the trike was finished and registered. Over the next couple years changes were made to upgrade the trike including a new 1776cc engine.
The 2016 RFTW was coming into Las Cruces, NM, and I went to Barnett Harley Davidson to greet them as I had always done for several years before. But that day I told myself I had to go with them, no matter what. The trike was ready, and I felt I definitely was, too. So that evening I packed with the help of my wife and son. At 4:00AM I was headed back to Las Cruces, NM. I registered and was welcomed as never before by several riders, and was assigned to the 9th platoon. Eventually I ended up at the back of the pack because the performance cam and big carburator put out a high amount of exhaust fumes. I didn’t care, I was doing the Run For The Wall!
I was actually living my dream. I had no rooms reserved, and saw the Southern Route itinerary booklet for the first time that morning. I was as fresh as an FNG, as you could get. I learned real quick what I needed to do, with Road Guards encouraging me along the way. The tail gunners were tolerating the gas fumes. My wife downloaded the itinerary from the RFTW website, so she was booking rooms for me the whole way.
We made it to Monroe, LA to the City Hall Wreath Laying. When it was time to leave, the trike would not start. The ignition and starter burned up. Bill from the Shriners came to my rescue. We had the trike back on the road by 6:00PM. Thinking that I was good to go for the rest of the mission was only the beginning of many challenges that lay ahead of me. Coming into Chattanooga, TN the number 3 spark plug blew out of the engine. And forgetting to put the trike in gear caused it to get away from me and roll down the steep bank. I had to dune buggy the thing back up the embankment with three cylinders. The support truck hauled the trike to Thunder Creek Harley Davidson where the service manager called for help, since they didn’t work on VWs. Stateline Wagons came to the rescue. They hauled the trike to their shop and had me on the road again the next day.
Coming into Roanoke, VA, just short of the D-Day Memorial, I broke an exhaust valve spring. After making the repair, I missed the D-Day Memorial. I pressed on to Lynchburg, VA. By this time several riders were commenting on how determined I was to make it to DC. Well we rolled into Arlington, VA on schedule. I stayed in DC for three days before heading back home.
On my return trip back home to El Paso, TX. I burned a hole in the number 3 piston. I was dead in the water. I called the guys at State Line, and Nick said to get a room and that he would send a truck to get me and the trike. The next day the truck showed up, and we went to Chattanooga, TN where they pulled the engine out and replaced it with a brand new engine. I wanted to cry. How could these guys be so kind to someone they barely met? What true Americans! They kicked me out without charging me a dime.
The rest of the trip home was great. No problems. I missed a lot of stops due to all of the break downs, but the bottom line is, I made it!!!
Plans are in place to make The Run again in 2017… This time on a Harley Street Glide. I plan to see the guys at State Line again, and Thank them. And next year I will start the run in Ontario, CA. The trike will have to sit this one out. Is it May yet?
I had heard about Run For The Wall from my fellow Legion Riders, but for nearly three years after leaving the Navy I could barely walk, much less ride any significant distance. In 2014, I followed my brother John “Opie” Picray, Paul “Bugle Boy” Hobbs and David “Duke” Bentley west, in my sedan with my civilian sister in the passenger seat, as we all headed for California. We promptly became the group baggage wagon.
We joined the Run in Rancho Cucamonga, CA and I proudly pinned my FNG button on my vest. The next ten days were emotionally turbulent, to say the least. I left every Run stop either ahead of the pack (preferably), or way behind it so as not to get fouled in the following traffic. Consequently, I missed a lot of the experience of the Run that year. I swore I would never “cage it” again. Two crucial parts of my experience were great, however. We camped nearly the entire trip, and I made several friends! And Rick “Dragger” Behymer proudly carried me into Arlington on his passenger seat.
After physical therapy, I realized riding my motorcycle worked out the same muscles, and I embarked on a personal mission to avoid having to do those nasty exercises again. As a result, I was able to ride further than ever before. I made plans to redo my FNG experience on two wheels in 2015 with a Navy sister, who would be going for her FNG Run. We were so excited! We rolled out half a day behind schedule, headed for Ontario, CA. That last day of travel was brutal! We rolled for nearly 18 hours, from Gallup to Ontario. Finally, we arrived just in time for a few hours’ sleep Tuesday morning.
My friend was on a trike, so she was in a different platoon than I was. Electing for a staggered platoon, Eamon “Boomer” Tansey put me in Platoon 7 under Brush’s capable leadership. I would learn later that all my friends from 2014 were in Platoon 8. Day Six from Wentzville, MO to Corydon, IN, I tapped out because I was too sleepy to safely ride with others. Leaving the ramp in Evansville, IN, I was trailing the pack when we rolled past a trike flipped into the median. Don’t Stop! Keep rolling, get out of the way! I spent the next 82 miles praying it wasn’t my friend, and that whoever it was would be ok.
When I got to Corydon, IN, I had a voicemail from my friend’s husband that it had been her, and that she was in the hospital and he was on his way there. The chaplains mobbed me the second I got off the phone, and my camping friends (especially “Bounce”) took it from there. I put on my best military bearing, ate my dinner as quickly as I could, and set up camp. The next morning, it hit me hard. I was a basket case. Everybody says they have problems with “darned allergies” on the Run; not me. I was crying my eyes out inside my helmet at 65mph. Again, not safe for others to ride with, so I trailed the Pack again.
When Platoon 7 (consisting mostly of HD’s) went 2 up, and decided to become a side-by-side platoon, my little Honda Shadow 750 couldn’t quite manage it due to the difference in gearing, so I transferred to Platoon 8, the “Crazy 8’s” with my camping friends. What a difference! 7 was good to me, but 8 was like family! Thanks to Brush’s daily instruction, I had no problems at all keeping my intervals in a group of mostly metric bikes. We rode proudly into DC at a 2 foot interval, shifting like mad several times per minute! I learned the hard way not to ever again buy gloves that had a seam across the thumb pad.
When we got to the host hotel, one of the bartenders kindly let me bury my left hand in an ice pan.
I’m glad I went in the sedan in 2014, since it taught me what to expect, but I probably won’t cage it again, if I can help it. I much prefer being part of the Pack! By the end of the 2015 Run I was living on 5 hour energy shots and Black Black caffeine gum, but it was glorious agony. I came home and slept for a week. It took another week to get most of the feeling back in my hands!
My brother has described the Run as a pilgrimage, and that’s exactly what it is: it is sacrificing the comfort of normal life, enduring sometimes harsh weather, and jumping out into The Unknown. It is also a Mission: learning to trust yourself and your machine, covering the flank of the rider next to you against traffic, and trusting the riders around you to do the same.
When it all comes together, seeing your platoon stretching out in front of you, sweeping through curves in that one gloriously perfect moment of synchronized harmony. It is a sight that will imprint itself directly on your heart. It will also put the biggest grin on your face to remember it when you get home, show up in sweatpants around other motorcyclists, and get asked, “Do you ride?”
I don’t just ride anymore, I Run!
Name: Charles (Chuck) Wright
A Life Changing Experience
For those of you who have never experienced the loss a spouse due to suicide, all I can say is that you are very fortunate. My loss came May 20, 2011. Six years after her retirement from teaching Seventh Grade Math for thirty years and tutoring three and four nights a week afterwards, My wife took her life in the woods a half mile behind our house. It took four days before volunteers found her; without a doubt, the worst four days of my life. I could never explain the feelings and emotions I experienced during that period. She left a two page letter telling me how much she loved me and that her actions were not my fault but due to her continued failing health. She asked for me not to have any memorial or even obituary. She only wanted cremation and nothing else. No directions as to where her ashes were to be placed. It was my decision to scatter her ashes from a helicopter over a beautiful peaceful area in
the Appalachian Mountains; an area we had toured many times on my motorcycle. I no longer have my riding partner; it’s like I’m missing part of my bike.
The tragedy of losing my wife now supersedes the other continuing tragedy that I have experienced in life. Using the word “continuing” is due to the fact that as a Platoon Sergeant, the bodies of three of my Marines lost in the last combat action of the Viet Nam War, May 15, 1975, have
never been recovered. The pain, horrors and extreme miseries I experienced for four days searching for my wife somewhat ended when she was recovered and put to rest. The families of PFC. Gary L.Hall, LCpl.
Joseph N. Hargrove and Pvt. Danny G. Marshall have had to endure the like for over 39 years now never having had the opportunity to experience closure by laying their sons to rest. Their loss has weighed heavily on my mind for years and has now been elevated as I relate my own experience to what their families must be going through. Fighting depression is one hell of a battle experienced by many vets, (and civilians). Tough times never last, tough people do; Many times I have to ask myself, “Why?”
Monday May 19, 2014, (the day before the third anniversary of losing my wife) I rode my 2003 Harley-Davidson Ultra motorcycle from my home in central Alabama to Meridian, MS. to meet up with 350+ other military vets on their bikes at the Meridian Agriculture Center. The group had started their trip several days before in California as the Southern Route of the “Run For The Wall” on their annual journey to Washington, D.C. to honor those who never made it home. I read somewhere that some crazy Marine had started this RFTW thing back in 1989 so I thought this would be the ride I belong on. Maybe it would ease some of the painful memories of those four days in May 2011. Besides the Southern Route there is a Central Route and a Midway Route all starting in California, and all finishing in Washington D.C. on Memorial Day. The theme for the ride is always, “We ride for those who no longer can.”
Spent that night in Meridian on the ground in a small tent outside the Agri. Center as several others did who opted not to pay for a room. In the morning my body was telling me to remember my age and in the future to shell out the money for a room. My plan was to ride with the group all day on the 20th, spend the night in Chattanooga then back home the next day.
After departing Meridian we stopped at a VA Hospital in Tuscaloosa, AL. and visited other Vets for lunch; always a pleasure to hear stories from some of the older vets and thank them for their service, and our freedom. Next stop Asheville, AL. for fuel and a break, then on to Chattanooga for the night.
First time I had been on a road trip since I lost Cindy. Riding the roads we had been on so many times before was getting to me and the thought of riding through an area the next day not far from where I had spread her ashes was something I did not think I could handle and convinced myself that going home would be the best idea now that May 20th was coming to a close.
We had supper at and donated by Thunder Creek Harley-Davidson, then after a short period of socializing everyone departed to various hotels nearby.
Not having reservations and not really wanting to socialize anymore I opted to search for a room a little further away from where everyone else was staying; actually about 10 miles away.
After checking into a Hampton Inn I made preparations to head home in the morning (not caring if I actually made it or not). Removed my wristband and tape on my bike identifying me as a registered biker with the “Run For The Wall” and started to settle in for the night. Heard what I recognized as a Harley pull in nearby and wondered if it was someone with the RFTW group since as far as I knew I was the only biker there.
Around 10:30 that night I walked outside (was on first floor) and towards the lobby to get some ice. About five doors down I noticed another Harley-Davidson similar to mine; had a USMC Gunnery Sergeant sticker, a Drill Instructor Association sticker, plus one that really stood out, “Mayaguez Recovery,” which was the last combat action of the Viet Nam War.
WHO THE HELL WAS THIS PERSON?
There were only a little over 200 of us that were on the operation, May 15, 1975. Looked for lights on in nearby rooms and saw none so I left a note on the bike for him to contact me in room 151 before leaving in the morning, as I was heading home at daylight.
At 0530 (5:30 am) there’s a knock on my door… it had been 39 years since the operation so we had to announce our names and immediately hugged each other. We really did not know each other while in the unit, but the fact we were there together is all it took to be Brothers (besides being Marines).
I knew that it was a Marine who started the “Run For The Wall” in 1989 from California and was in awe when I found out that the crazy Marine was standing in front of me; Retired Marine Gunnery Sergeant James Gregory, aka Gunny. Told him to go outside and look at my bike which was covered. When I removed the cover I’m sure if you looked close enough you would have seen tears in both of our eyes.
Sign on front of my bike:
HALL HARGROVE MARSHALL
BRING THEM HOME!
Those three Marines were the main reason he started the “Run” and for all the other guys who never made it back…… We were riding for all of them.
He and his wife, Patti just got in town to join the run the night before. They had been at the Annual Mayaguez Reunion in Branson, MO. I was going to go but had some mental and emotional issues relating to May 20th that made me cancel a few days before.
We were the only ones associated with the “Run” at that Hampton Inn, which was several miles from the main group. Gunny said for me to come down to his room as he wanted to show me something. Not knowing Patti was in the room, off I went barefooted and only a pair of gym shorts. Went a few doors down, met his wife and was shown pictures on his laptop of the Mayaguez Reunion they had attended the day before.
James told me they choose the Hampton Inn away from the main group to ensure they would get a full night’s sleep since once they’re around their “family” all night socializing is too hard to resist and they were already worn out from being on the road for several days.
Informed them I would have breakfast with them and then head back south. Well, like a true Marine, he informed me that I would be going to D.C. with them and not home (and riding along side of them)… sooo, after breakfast, off we went.
Believe it was somewhere around Bristol, TN, that Gunny suggested we peel off from the main group and take a more scenic route through the mountains to Wytheville, VA, where we were to spend the night.
To say the least, it was scenic alright. Confident I was following someone who was familiar with the area, the ride was very enjoyable, (even though some of the roads did not seem to be traveled often). My comfort soon turned to concern when Gunny’s GPS directed us to turn left up ahead into what was actually a farmer’s driveway. Was it time for me to turn on my GPS since Gunny’s Piece of S___ was leading us astray? Without hesitation though Gunny was up and running in a new direction… while I was praying he may have relatives in them there hills to help us out. Soon we were back on a well-traveled highway, (one which I swear we had been on earlier). Eventually we did arrive in Wytheville a little behind the main group. Laughing about our adventure, Gunny stated his mind drifted off to how we met up in Chattanooga and he wasn’t paying attention to where we were.
They introduced me to some very interesting Viet Nam and Middle East Vets; Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines. They also had their own personal stories worthy of more recognition than they will ever receive. Many supportive people also made the ride wearing patches on their vests stating, “Maybe we weren’t there, but WE DO CARE. Their support as true Americans can only be described as invaluable and sincerely appreciated. All welcomed me to join their family.
I felt like the Honored Guest of the man who started this run after he got on stage and told the story of our meeting in Chattanooga. Literally everyone there knew â€œThe Gunnyâ€ and had high respect for his
There were several former and retired Marines riding with the Run For The Wall but James and I were the only ones with customized helmets; Mine on left, his on the right.
To this day, we are still scratching our heads as to how in the world did two Retired Marines, the only two, (as far as we know) end up staying at the same Hampton Inn just a few rooms apart.
The only two associated with The Run For The Wall, whose main group were in hotels several miles away.
Two Marines who had not seen each other in 39 years and shared experiences of the last combat action in Viet Nam.
Two Marines who have been haunted for years by the loss of three fellow Marines 39 years ago.
Two Marines proud enough to mount the Marine Corps emblem on the front of their helmets long before seeing each other again in 2014. Both of us being Ex-Drill Instructors… and that’s just some of the things Ex-DIs do.
And two Marines riding Harley-Davidson Ultra Classic motorcycles (but only one without his partner).
As Patti stated at breakfast, “Our meeting in Chattanooga was meant to be.”
One of the true heroes, a WWII Vet welcomed us to Lynchburg, VA. I had the honor to meet and thank this man for our freedom that he fought for on Omaha Beach during WWII.
James and Patti had to leave early heading back home to Charleston, SC, so I ended up touring DC pretty much on my own. (Democrats must have laid out those streets.)
Actually I wanted to be alone anyway when I visited “The Wall” for the first time to find the names of Hall, Hargrove and Marshall. “Mission Accomplished”
Spent the night in Arlington, Virginia then headed back home 721 miles with three 30 minute nap-stops. Rode back by myself with “years to come of fantastic memories,” and something to finally look forward to next year.
Thanks Patti and James (Gunny); meeting both of you made May 20th bearable.
Charles (Chuck) D. Wright
Name: Steve Decker
Being a Viet nam vet, to join the Run for the Wall in Las Cruces, New Mexico. However, I had to take a job in Athens Georgia and move. Well finally in 2010, I was able to break free from work and join the ride. I had to join the group in Tennessee.
It was worth the wait. Although somewhat of a stressful ride, with riders you have never ridden with, it was about the coolest ride I have ever done. The people who we met along the way opened their arms and hearts. Gave me faith again in American people.
This was my first trip to the wall. A friend asked me to place an article for him at the wall. When I made it to the wall, I placed the article at the wall and stood up to see the names of two of my high school friends names. It really set me back. It hit me so hard.
I wanted to ride again this year, but due to a Nam injury, I must have eye surgery. I am currently blind in my right eye and to do the ride, you need all of the eye sight you can get. It would be unsafe for those around me for me to try to go.
I with you all a safe ride and hope to be able to go next year.
Name: Bryan Merritt
City: Vine Grove
While I was deployed to Afghanistan I had already made up my mind that I was buying a Harley. I finally decided on the Fatboy. I returned in September of 2009 and my bike arrived in October of 2009. While I was working at Fort Knox, a friend of mine mentioned the RFTW and I inquired but waited to do the online registration so I had to register in the morning while they were in Corydon IN. As soon as I got there to register I realized that everyone there was family because hugs were coming from everywhere. I was basically keeping it under cover that I was still on active duty. Not that I am ashamed of it but it just never came up in a conversation. But also let me say this, I am still on active duty and my plans are to attend 2011. If my wife is going to go then I will link up again in Corydon but if not I will take the Southern Route and link up in TN.
I loved the entire run but mostly enjoyed Rainelle. The looks on the kids faces when we arrived and the entire time we were in the gym handing out things. I also loved the fact the town opened up and accepted us all in as family. The thunderstorm that came through was Gods way of cooling us off.
When we arrived in DC I was running around like a little kid not knowing what to do until I linked up with some of the ones who had been there several times. Then we went to Arlington and then to the wall. I had heard several stories about the feeling but never knew until I got there. As soon as you start down the trail to the wall it feels like everyone who is on the wall is standing there watching you. This is one memory that I will keep with me forever.
My advice to anyone, if you have never been then you need to go. I had always heard stories growing up about the Vietnam Vets being crazy and all these other stories. When I took this ride I realized as a Vet that they are going through the same crap that we are going through. So from one Vet to others, don’t ever feel like you are the only one suffering from whatever it is. Take the ride and talk with the other Vets around you and you will see. Also don’t think of them as strangers but think of them as
your brothers and sisters.
Name: Ron Meadows
Your Phone: 618-447-6362
In Feb of 2009 I purchased a 2001 Yamaha 650 V-Star. I wanted to do a part of the ride from Wentzville to Mt. Vernon. I met with the ride and remember it as one of the most emotional days of my life. I spent thirteen months in Nam with the Third MAF. As I rode I kept remembering all the faces and names of those I spent time with. Some were as fortunate as I and some not. The following year, 2010 I met again in Wentzville and totally enjoyed the ride to Mt. Vernon. All the riders, the speakers, platoon leaders, road guards, fuel team and everyone I met were wonderful people and made me feel welcome and appreciated although they new nothing about me other than I am a Vet. I really wanted to go on to DC with the group however, due to a lack of finances and a larger bike I would leave sit at the fuel stop in Mt. Vernon and watch as they all rode off to Indiana. Broke my heart.
This year of 2011 I will be going to DC. I have purchased a Harley Roadking and May cannot get here soon enough for me. The only regret I will have is not being an FNG this year because I will not be able to do the Arlington Cemetery ride. I will after forty-two years finally have my parade that I never had.
I thank all who make this RFTW possible and in 2012 maybe I will be able to go to California and be able to ride all the way.