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May 26, 2007

Dear Coalition Friends,

As we move into the Memorial Day weekend, here are reminders of different aspects of the National Mall's place in our remembrance:

The annual National Memorial Day Concert on the West Lawn of the U.S. Capitol takes place Sunday at 8 p.m. and is broadcast live on PBS. Read more about the performers and other local Memorial Day activities here.

An article in Bloomberg.com, below, describes the neglect of the lovely DC World War I Memorial near the Lincoln Memorial and the attempts by the local DC Preservation League to protect it. For those of you who don't know this monument, take a look at this photo link.

A New York Times story, also below, tells of the veterans who take part in Rolling Thunder's annual motorcycle pilgrimage to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial on the Mall, a tradition now twenty years old.

 BLOOMBERG.COM

Time, Neglect Leave D.C.'s 'Great War' Memorial in Sorry Shape

By Mike Di Paola

May 24 (Bloomberg) -- It's a warm, cloudless day on the National Mall in Washington. Tourists snap photos in front of the World War II Memorial's ostentatious fountain. Not far away, others pay tribute at the Korean War Memorial, where 7-foot-tall stainless-steel soldiers are frozen in a somber march.

Between these two popular sites in West Potomac Park one monument is largely ignored: the District of Columbia World War Memorial, a classic peristyle nicely situated in a shaded grove. While it has a prime location not far from the Reflecting Pool, few people take the short walk off the more well-traveled paths to have a look. They don't know what they're missing.

Built in 1931, the memorial is made mostly of Vermont Imperial Danby, a lightly veined white marble. Gustavino tiles line the inner and outer dome, which is held aloft by 12 fluted Doric columns. It's a simple, elegant structure, framed by oak and elm trees with colorful patches of azaleas. The names of the 499 D.C. vets killed in the Great War are inscribed around the base.

This impressive and moving memorial is suffering from neglect. A structural survey last year revealed chipped stones, faulty drainage and bacterial growth, among other problems. Today I see stains, cracks in the marble and some weathering on the dome's underside.

'Most Endangered'

In 2003, the D.C. Preservation League put the memorial on its Most Endangered Places list. When no remediation was done, the league included it again last year.

``There's always pressure for new memorials, and there's only so much money to go around,'' says Rebecca Miller, the league's executive director. The group is exploring ways to raise funds from the private sector for restoration ``because it doesn't seem like it's a priority for the Park Service.''

While there is some structural damage that needs attention, the site could also use some better signage and lights. ``Unfortunately things take a long time to get done,'' Miller says. ``It really comes down to money. All the other monuments are lit, but not here -- and there's not a single sign. This would never happen if this were the World War II Memorial.''

I walk over to that bigger, more popular monument, which has its own ranger station. I ask if they have any pamphlets or information on the D.C. Memorial, and for a moment they don't know what I'm talking about. No, they have no pamphlets.

Sousa's Baton

Is this noble little structure overlooked because it's just a D.C. tribute, and not a national monument? It wasn't always that way. When the memorial was dedicated on Armistice Day 1931, Herbert Hoover and General John ``Black Jack'' Pershing were on hand to honor the sacrifice of D.C.'s fallen. Architect Frederick H. Brooke had designed the monument to accommodate the 80-member Marine Corps Band, and John Philip Sousa himself waved the baton for what must have been rousing renditions of ``Stars and Stripes Forever'' and the newly named national anthem, ``The Star-Spangled Banner.''

``It's safe to say the memorial has a dual purpose,'' says National Park Service spokesman Bill Line. ``It's a D.C. memorial, and at the same time, a World War I monument.'' While Line admits that signage for the site could be better, he says he's not aware of any major public complaints.

Perhaps there would be a greater fuss made if a few more souls stopped by for a look at this forgotten memorial. In fact, it's the National Mall's only monument to the Great War -- a conflict that slipped further into obscurity earlier this year when the war's last U.S. veteran to see combat died at 108 years old. Only four other American WWI vets are known to be alive.

The D.C. World War Memorial, unique among the modern statements made elsewhere on the mall, is worth remembering -- and preserving.

(Mike Di Paola writes about preservation and the environment for Bloomberg News. The opinions expressed are his own.)

To contact the writer of this column: Mike Di Paola at mdipaola@nyc.rr.com .

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THE NEW YORK TIMES

May 25, 2007

American Journeys

Mission for Memorial Day: Always Remember

By JENNIFER MILLER

IF you traveled on one of the nation's Interstates in these last few days before Memorial Day, you might have encountered an unusual sight: bikers by the dozens stretched half a mile down the highway, their motorcycles flying military banners and spewing exhaust.

They are an intimidating bunch. Sheathed in leather from the neck down, they look like physical extensions of their bikes. But these riders are no motley crew. They are members of Rolling Thunder, a nationwide network of veterans and their supporters. Their destination: the Rolling Thunder Memorial Day rally on the National Mall in Washington.

"In D.C., people were mouthing 'thank you' and crying," Deno Paolini, a Vietnam veteran from Reno, Nev., recalled of his first trip to the Mall. Mr. Paolini said that the Washington run is one of the few times he feels appreciated for his service. In Washington, he said, it "began to make sense."

Rolling Thunder, which has thousands of members, was founded in 1987 when some Vietnam veterans and advocates for P.O.W.'s and M.I.A.'s befriended one another on the mall. They were looking for a special way to promote their cause. Ray Manzo of Hoboken, N.J., now a former marine, suggested motorcycles. The idea grabbed them. Masses of bikes descending on Washington would literally sound like Rolling Thunder, the code name for the bombing campaign over North Vietnam.

In its first year, the Memorial Day rally drew 2,500 bikers. Now, nearly two decades later, hundreds of thousands of bikers join in.

"When you put 200,000 bikes together," said Michael DePaulo, a Vietnam veteran from Berkley, Mass., who helps organize and run the rally, "it sounds like a B-52 strike."

One rider is Steve Britton, a former marine from Dillon, Colo. With his leather vest, cowboy boots and grizzled mutton chops, he resembles a sheriff in a western. And like many of his comrades, Mr. Britton is very much a modern cowboy. "I love the freedom and the air and the bugs in my teeth," he said of his attraction to motorcycles.

Riding also renews Mr. Britton's sense of self-worth, which he said he lost after he received hostile and indifferent receptions upon returning from Vietnam in the late 1960s. He said post-traumatic stress disorder and alcoholism prevented him from holding a steady job. "I was at the point where I was saying, 'God, either kill me or cure me,' and I really didn't care which."

But Mr. Britton turned to Christianity, joined the Christian Motorcyclists Association and found salvation on the open road. He carries a small Bible on his annual ride to Washington. The art on the cover depicts handlebars and shining headlights. The caption reads: "Hope for the Highway."

He serves as a chaplain for Rolling Thunder bikers. "That's why I go on the ride," he said. "To be able to share with people, to pray with people."

Mr. Britton pilots a bright purple Honda Gold Wing. His bike is equipped with plush purple seats and velour arm rests. He fills his five-CD changer with Randy Travis recordings and keeps a pouch of Twizzlers on the dash to tame his cigarette addiction. At gas stations, he drinks cups of black coffee; even at 65 miles an hour, the bike can lull a rider to sleep.

Mr. Britton is one of 50 or so Rolling Thunder bikers who meet in California and ride their motorcycles to Washington each spring. They call themselves Carry the Flame, and they take an Olympic-style "torch of remembrance" to soldiers' families who are unable to visit the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. The bikers stop at Harley-Davidson outfitters and V.F.W. posts to conduct flame-lighting ceremonies.

Most of the Carry the Flame riders are veterans who say they see the 10-day, eight-state, 3,000-mile journey as a powerful expression of identity and pride and a way to cope with the past.

"The ghosts get let out of the box," said King Cavalier II, a founder of Carry the Flame. He said that during the ride from California to Washington "full-grown 250-pound men break down like babies" because the experience makes them confront memories and emotions that have "been repressed for 30 years."

Mr. Cavalier grows somber and becomes teary-eyed when he stops in small towns to meet the parents and siblings of those who never returned from Vietnam.

He is not a veteran himself but rides in memory of his father, a career Air Force man who, he said, spent a lifetime fighting for complete military benefits (he received full disability status six months before he died, at age 90). "This is my service," Mr. Cavalier said of his involvement in Carry the Flame. "To quit would be like going AWOL."

Like many of the riders, Mr. Cavalier is also a member of Rolling Thunder National, an affiliated organization founded in 1995 that works year-round for veterans' rights. Rolling Thunder National has 80 chapters in 28 states. While most of its members are veterans, mostly from the Vietnam era, Rolling Thunder National estimates that 40 to 45 percent are not.

Mr. Britton tries to help Iraq war veterans who suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. He calls the motorcycle his tool - his way of reaching out.

But riding also lets Mr. Britton experience the emotion of combat. "I'm an adrenaline junkie," he said, "and having been in a war situation, you don't get that buzz doing many other things."

It takes 10 days for the Carry the Flame riders to get from California to Washington. The veterans on the trip say they are not accustomed to the camaraderie that develops on the road; even those veterans in the group who have families say they generally feel a sense of isolation.

"We're all loners, and that's what you see here. That's the common thread," said Mr. Paolini, a small, wiry Vietnam veteran who rides with a cigar in his mouth and an iPod in his pocket. "But I'm here with these people, these wonderful men," he added, looking at the rows of bikes and the veterans milling around under the trees. "We've shared in this experience."

Mr. Britton agreed. "You don't get the same brotherhood in the civilian world that you get in combat," he said. "And all of us have looked for that since we've come back."

THE veterans may have felt disrespected and disenfranchised, but tearing down the road cross-country from Barstow in California to Tuba City in Arizona, from El Reno in Oklahoma to Washington with military flags ripping the air, is a kind of psychological remuneration.

For them, freedom is not an illusory ideal but a physical thing composed of leather, chrome and whatever element the sky might throw in their faces.

And they know that some experiences cannot be had in a car.

A couple of days into the 2005 trip, Mr. Cavalier remembered leading his riders through a mountain pass outside Angel Fire, N.M., with Mr. Britton and Mr. Paolini following single file as they wound their bikes into the chilly heights. As the men began their descent, an eagle and two ravens burst from a cluster of trees. The eagle fled its pursuers, shooting into the blue sky. Suddenly, it swooped toward the bikers, gliding beside them for a quarter mile or more - just another rider out on a beautiful day.

"The bike is a totally different world," said Germán Fernandez of Corona, Calif., another Vietnam veteran who was riding with Mr. Cavalier. "It's not for everybody, but the ones who like it get on, and they never get off."

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