Ray and Harry didn\u2019t know each other in Vietnam, but you wouldn\u2019t know that from the way they talk.
\n\u00ab\u00a0There\u2019s nobody like this guy,\u00a0\u00bb Harry \u2026<\/b>
\nRay and Harry didn\u2019t know each other in Vietnam, but you wouldn\u2019t know that from the way they talk. \u00ab\u00a0There\u2019s nobody like this guy,\u00a0\u00bb Harry tells me with a grin on his face. \u00ab\u00a0Nobody else could bring thousands of people across America to Washington, all for our veterans.\u00a0\u00bb I met Harry Dill and Ray Manzo, veterans of the 7th Marine Engineer Support Battalion, by chance at a bar in Arlington, Va. They were in town for a reunion, but it wasn\u2019t just to trade war stories or catch up with long-lost friends. For them, it was a chance to help people. Since 1987, Ray has organized the annual meeting of Rolling Thunder, a motorcycle ride through Washington, D.C., that at its peak saw more than a half-million bikers burn rubber to commemorate soldiers who never returned home. What started as an event has evolved into a community, an opportunity to forge new bonds and preserve old ones. Out of everything Ray did in Vietnam\u2014the man won a Bronze Star for his valor in battle\u2014he says nothing compares to the mission of Rolling Thunder. He tells me it\u2019s God\u2019s purpose for him. \u00ab\u00a0There was one firefight where everyone around me was wounded or killed,\u00a0\u00bb he said. \u00ab\u00a0In that moment, I truly think God wrapped his robes around me and said, \u2018Ray, be safe. I need you for something else.'\u00a0\u00bb And Ray did something else. After coming back from Vietnam, the Philadelphia native felt estranged from his fellow countrymen. He recalls heckling from college students and protesters for serving in an unpopular war and accusations of being a war criminal from people who did not know anything about him. All he could think about were his brothers-in-arms who remained over there. It ate at him every day. \u00ab\u00a0We had a saying in the Marines, \u2018No man gets left behind,'\u00a0\u00bb he said. \u00ab\u00a0I believed in that. I still do.\u00a0\u00bb At first Ray wrote letters to newspapers across the country, pleading his case for the American people to remember the troops we left behind. Through the early 1970s, more than 2,000 U.S. soldiers remained unaccounted for. Most newspapers met his letters with nothing more than a polite decline, wishing him well. That\u2019s when he decided he had to do more. Ray\u2019s idea began with only a few thousand riders from biker clubs nationwide in 1987. The bikes would drive through the nation’s capital in an attempt to send a message to lawmakers: Bring our boys home. What started small grew bigger year after year. Eventually it wasn\u2019t just about Vietnam either: Thousands of veterans and their families would come to Washington to raise awareness for prisoners of war from every major American conflict from Korea to Afghanistan. \u00ab\u00a0It\u2019s about paying respect to those who made the ultimate sacrifice and protected our freedom,\u00a0\u00bb Ray said. \u00ab\u00a0I\u2019m just an average Joe. It\u2019s not about me, the money, or anything else. It\u2019s about those men.\u00a0\u00bb A few beers later, Ray and Harry got to talking with me about their time in Vietnam, their families, and everything in between. Harry, a publisher in Charlotte, N.C., came up for the weekend to see Ray and his friends. He tells me he never talked about the war with family or friends. It\u2019s something he\u2019ll only discuss with fellow Marines. After being isolated for a year by the coronavirus (Rolling Thunder was canceled last year), both men\u2019s faces glowed. In a bar where everyone seemed under 30 and the latest hip-hop track was playing, the two veterans were unbothered, just happy to be back in each other\u2019s company. Our corner booth was a time machine to a different era. As the two talked to me about their lives and their time in Vietnam, I couldn\u2019t help but notice a sense of sunny optimism in their voices. They talked with concern, even indignation, about the rise of China, the disarray of American education, and the state of Congress, but both still think America\u2019s best days are ahead. The good judgement of the American people, they told me, hasn\u2019t changed and won\u2019t change. \u00ab\u00a0I believe that most people want the lives their parents had, or something like it,\u00a0\u00bb Harry said. \u00ab\u00a0The genius of the Constitution lets that happen.\u00a0\u00bb I was born almost 30 years after the fall of Saigon. The first American boots hit the ground in Vietnam when military advisers arrived in the country 60 years ago. Every year, there are more Americans born who will never understand what the war was like, nor appreciate it in full. I grew up on stories of the war from my grandfather, but there will soon be a generation that has no living connection to the conflict. For some, it may end up just another glossed-over page in a middle school history textbook. That won\u2019t happen, Harry and Ray told me, chuckling at my incredulity. Americans are proud people. We are proud of our military, our history, and our people. Those who don\u2019t want to forget never will\u2014even if they themselves can\u2019t remember. As we got up and shook hands\u2014the two were off to a hotel to see more Marine friends\u2014Ray looked moved. With a twinkle of conviction in his deep blue eyes, he said God brought us together that day. I couldn\u2019t help but agree. I certainly wouldn\u2019t forget them or their service, even if it\u2019s not something I can remember myself. Their memory will persist through the bikes that return to Washington every year, through the star-spangled flag that’s raised high. And somewhere even decades from now, Harry and Ray will be sitting at a bar, laughing.<\/p>\n