The Battle for Indianapolis

We were met on the outskirts of Indianapolis by two mounted police and a police car. The police told us that they were escorting us to the park in the center of town where arrangements had been made to receive us at a war memorial. Veterans groups from the towns we had passed through had called ahead and made arrangements with the media and officials. A time had been set up for our arrival at the war memorial. The police had told us that we were running a little late so we picked up the pace to get there on time.We arrived at the memorial on schedule, but the place was deserted. Not a soul from the media, nor public officials. My greatest fears were now realized. In this strong veterans city a media blackout had been planned. We and the two mounted police sat on our horses for almost an hour and waited. It was becoming apparent that the word had been put out the the newspapers, radio and TV stations, not to cover the story. In every major city so far we had been met with full media coverage. Indianapolis I knew, with its nation veterans headquarters, was a key point in raise the issue. I had a talk with the policemen and told them how strange it was that in a strong veterans oriented town no media attended the press conference. They agreed and didn't understand what was go on and why the media didn't show up. I told them of my past experience, on the first ride to Washington with media blackouts. Both of the police officers were also veterans and in total support of our effort. I asked where the largest newspaper in town was located. They told me it was just across the way, opposite the park. I said I had a plan and asked for their help. I told them that if the four of us rode over to the newspaper and sat on our horses, on the sidewalk, at their front door it might get the newspaper's attention. The policemen were more than a little upset that the paper was trying to bury these missing soldiers and agreed to the plan. This was going to be a chess game, move and counter move. I wasn't worry, after all what was the paper going to do, call the police.The four of us sat on horseback at the paper's front door for less then ten minutes, when a reporter came flying out of the floor with a note pad in her hand. She looked up at us on our horse and said, "Gee whats going on?" I started to explain that we were riding across American for the POWs. She was already familiar with the story from the coverage on the wire services. I explained how a press conference had been arranged at the war memorial and how strange it was that for the first time in the hundreds of miles we had traveled so far, the media didn't show up. She tried to rationalize the situation by saying it must have been a mix up from the assignment editor. I looked at her and asked if she thought that that same mix up had happened to every other paper and every other radio and TV station. She thought about for a minute and her eyes went wide when she realized that it was impossible. She finally said, I guarantee you it will be in the paper. I called her three days later and she told me that her phone hadn't stopped rings from people trying to contact us. Another noticeably absentee were any officials from the national headquarters of the America Legion. All hope of enlisting their support now died. We were one third of the way across America, we were far off schedule, and winter would be upon us in a few months. Again, all seem lost. Was this going to be the end? It was one thing to across the country in the spring and summer, in a heavily populated part of the country. What lay ahead of us was a thinning population and open country and what we didn't know at this time was that we would be riding into one of the most sever winter on record. The prospect of being found frozen to death wasn't very appealing. We lingered in Indianapolis for a long time trying to come up with a solution. A V.F.W. post (Veterans of Foreign Wars), had invited us to their post that night. We rode out and tied the horses to a tree in their yard. Word must have gotten out that we were broken. They were having a dinner that night, it felt good to eat. After the dinner, they went around selling scratch ticket. One of the man, sitting with us, bought one and asked me to pick one out. I told him I didn't gamble and was not very lucky. He insisted so I picked one and won twenty-five dollars. He bought another one and had me pick it. I said save your money the chances of winning again were not never good. He insisted again and again won twenty-five dollars. I was amazed at my luck. A third time the same thing, I was starting to get a little suspious by this time as to the the honesty of their raffle. The results of the fourth card was the same. We thanks everyone for their help and when outside to ride back to where we were staying. As we got closer to the horses (it was dark) something seem wrong. My horse was standing their with no saddle. Barry's horse had its saddle loosen. It seem that someone was in desperate need of two saddles. Or was it something else? We'll never know. I rode bareback that night.Have you ever sat back and thought about the truly great people you've met in your life. These people were not great for the funding they so slyly gave us, but for their warm and generosity and their welcoming nature. If you don't yet know what make America great, its the people. I feel truly blessed to have had the opportunity to meet so many good people in this country. These are the people you never hear about, who go about their business and do no harm, but do good. Sure we have a lot of obnoxious idiots here, but they are far outnumbered by the good people of this country.

476 miles from Washington, Richmond, IN

The miles was starting to get to us. Like they said, "its not the years, its the mileage." Each day wore on us and the horses. We reached Richmond by the end of that day. Again veterans groups were waiting for us, along with the media. We passed out press packages with government reports. Again the town halls helped with making copies of the paper work. We met many good people in Richmond, I wish I could record their names, but the years and the many miles have dulled my memory. These people and all the rest of the public along the way was how we were able to ride across America and accomplish this task. We met with the public officials, the media and at night spoke at various organizations. It was becoming routine. I started to become well versed in answering the reports questions. Even the public speaking was becoming easier to do. I now had a format for the speeches. I would begin with a poem;The war is over, so its saidall men are home, or else they're deadDon't you know that I want to cryThat some of us have refused to dieWhere are your ears, my countrymenWhen refugees tell you the state I'm inDon't you know that I live in hellWith nothing but my soul left to sellI've watched friends fade, one by oneDespair killed them, not a gunI too may go this wayOr find freedom on execution dayBut you my friends can never be free If you're one that's abandoned meThis emotional verse, I would come to see, silenced large, noisy convention halls with thousands members. As I spoke these words I would hear the crowd quieting the others that were still talking, as they strain to listen to this stirring verse. A silence would fall over these massive convention centers as I told the world about our missing men. I would than speak of the many reports of live sighting of American soldiers from refugees that had escaped from Viet Nam. In closing I would ask each of them, to not abandon these men, but to bring the news to they hometowns and generate support for them. After awhile, this public speaking became routine. I could walk up to the podium without the hesitation of my first attempts at public speaking. I knew what I had to say and in what order to say it.There I was, a no body from a side street in America, giving speeches to huge crowds and doing media interviews. It was an uneasy feeling. I could have never imagined myself in this position. Reporters often asked me, "why you, why are you the one do this." I didn't know the answer to that question, so I would jokingly said, because I had the horse and others didn't. When I look back on it, I know why. I had lived my life believing in the greatest of this Country and wanted that continued for future generations to also have. Maybe it was all the reading I had done on history, that told me that Nations survive only by the participation of its citizens. When people made a big deal about me doing this, I tried to remind them that as far as I was concerned, I was just a messenger. I came to realise along the way that I was also representing millions of good people in this Country that felt the frustrations of our now mega government, that represented them and were very worried about how they were being represented. The glory, fame and notoriety of the ride were a pain in the butt, no pun intended. I have to continue later. I can't stress enough the fact that the ride across America was only possible because of the spirit of the American public. We as a nation, were, are and will be civilization's greatest hope. Yes even with all of our short comings in our society, have the best chance for the advancement of the human race. Some of you that have never been to foreign counties may only see the negative side of our Country, but today in the world people are still hacking each other up with machetes to solve their differences. Backward nations still violate human rights. Even with all the dirty political tricks to stop us, that I mentioned in the first section of this blog which were expected, we still have the best governmental system in the world. Yes, we may have some sleazy politicians, but for the most part we have many that truly love this Country.If you are under thirty years old and hate some of the things in this Country, relax. There was an old saying, If you're not a communist at twenty, you have no heart. If you're still a communist at thirty, you have no brain. The young often have lofty ideals. World peace, a world without hungry children, save the blue speckled turnip. As you mature you will see the world in its realities. Many parts of the world live in darkness and without opportunity. Why else would millions of illegal alien want to come to this Country if not for a chance at a better life, in a country with a descent government. I see a lot of talk on the Internet from people that believe that they have the answers to foreign policy, as though they have access to all the intelligence reports. I have a great deal of respect for the people, that have dedicated their lives to keeping this Country and my children safe, in the intelligence community. They are true, unselfish Americans that deserve the thanks of a grateful nation. Unfortunately, its the ill informed, half wits that raise their voices the loudest. Back to ancient history.Indianapolis, would be the breaking point of this endeavor. Either we would be able to raise some sorely needed funding and get this better organized or face the possibility of failing. Barry and I were accomplishing our goal of generating public opinion and support for these missing men, but the cost in human terms was taking its toll. While we were able to sometimes sleep in a bed and eat most days, our energy levels continued to weaken. This was due to my shortcomings. I had a real problem with asking for help. I had never had to do that before. If people didn't volunteer it, I didn't want to bring it up. Sorry Barry. It was stubborn pride on my part I know. Anyway, we would be in Indianapolis in a few days, the national headquarters of the American Legion. I felt sure we could we get some help from this veterans' organization. When I left the service, I didn't join veterans groups or trade unions or fraternal organizations, not that I thought that there was anything wrong with it, it just never occurred to me. I didn't grow up with that example. I just made my own way through life, looking back on it, it was probably a good idea. Veterans groups and others, had been paving the way for us calling ahead to the next towns, setting up the media interviews and arranging to met with the public officials for their letters of support. We rode along route 40 that took us through Cambridge City, Dublin, Kightstown, Greenfield and into Cumbland on the outskirts of Indianapolis. On horseback you can watch the gradual change of the terrain. We left Pennsylvania's mountains and descended into West Virginia's hill country. As we entered Ohio the hills grew smaller, than opened to near flat country of the Midwest, Throughout the Midwest I found warm and friendly people. This was truly the heartland of America. The media interviews were by now also becoming routine. It seem that they always started with, "When were you in Viet Nam or how long were you in Viet Nam." My stock answer became, What makes you think I was ever in Viet Nam. The reporters were always surprised to find out I wasn't in Viet Nam. I would than ask them what made them think that this was something that should concern just Viet Nam vets. These were American servicemen being held by a foreign power after the war ended. This should be of concern to all Americans. They were the sons and husbands and fathers that put on a uniform and did their duty for this Country. Were we now to just turn our backs on them. Is this what America has become, I asked the reporters. After thinking about it, the reporters got the message.

Tornado country

As we approached the Indiana border a man in the parking lot of a diner stopped us. He invited us in for a cup of coffee. His name was Tom McKinney. Tom had served as a Marine infantry officer in Viet Nam. We talked for quite a while. The horses needed the rest and so did we. I was greatly impressed by this quiet warrior. After leaving the service Tom became a Bible teacher, evangelist, missionary and author. We spoke of the hardships of the trip and the hoping to have the resolve to finish it. Tom encouraged us to trust in the Lord. I told him that that was at times all that kept me going in the bleak parts of the trip. Tom gave us each a Bible and a copy of a book he had written called "Live Free." He autographed the book with the inscription, to Ron a man with something special in his heart, who devotes his live to the freedom of forgotten men. I thanked him for the kind words. As I thumbed through the Bible he had given me, I found a hundred dollar bill he had placed there. Barry's Bible also had one. He asked for my home address, for over twenty years now I have received his monthly newsletter. He was a man I was very proud to meet. He lived the principles of God and Country.We rode into the center of a small village the sky had been turning dark. Suddenly an air raid siren started to sound and people started running in all directions. I looked at Barry and said I wonder what's going on. Barry didn't know either. A pick up truck came to a quick stop next to us, the man rolled down his window, pointed his arm towards the sky and yell, "tornado". Oh shit, I thought to myself. What do we do now? Coming from a part of the country where I had never seen a tornado, plenty of hurricanes, but no tornadoes, I wasn't sure what to do. The winds started to pick up and soon the streets were deserted accept for two guys on horses who didn't know which way to go. What do we do with the horses? The winds were now like a strong hurricane and if the tornado past close by us we were dead. We tied the horses to a strong tree and run inside a gas station. Thoughts of my horse flying through the air kept entering my mind. Would nature put a stop to our ride, where the bureaucrats had failed to? In twenty minutes the wind was dying down. We went out to the horses expecting to see only the reins still tied to the tree. the horses were still there, shaken but the noise of the wind, but still there. The tornado had moved off in a different direction. We calmed the horses and walked them for awhile. We had been through scorching heat, heavy rain storms, lighting and now this. Nature was the one force that we could do nothing about. We were out there exposed to whatever nature threw at us and had to learn to deal with it. The sun came back out soon and we rode on. Cars were back on the roads and waving as they passed us. I stop to buy some envelops and stamps. It had been a while since I had a chance to write to my eight year old daughter. I sent her the keys to the cities that I was presented with. With no TV or radio, those long nights under the stars gave me a lot of time to think about her and home.

Dayton and Wright-Patterson Air Force Base

We pressed on with a few days rest behind us. The spirit of the public kept us going. We were on our own, there would be no support from our home base in Massachusetts behind us. What lay ahead was any one's guess. We had made it this far and were succeeding with our goal of informing the Nation and bring it squarely to their attention. The miles were starting to take their toll on us and we were only 400 miles into the crossing. I wonder if I could be able to do the whole trip. Would we receive the same support from the rest of the Country? That would turn out to be wishful thinking.Here in the well populated heartland, It had been relatively easy, we eat almost everyday, a few times a week we sleep in beds and were never far from a town. I knew that it would change with the terrain. For now we would reach Dayton in a few hours. Along the road we received word that a nearby town wanted to present us with their letter of support. Barry rode to that town for the letter and I would meet him in Dayton the next day. A man from a veterans group stopped me on the road. He had the phone number of a reporter that wanted to talk to us. I followed him to a pay phone and spoke to the reporter. The reporter asked what time I would arrive. On horseback that is always hard to tell. I told the reporter that if they could tell me exactly how many miles it was from where I stopped to where they were I would be able to tell them. I knew that at a walking pace we were covering about 4-5 miles an hour. the reporter said they thought it was either 12-18 miles to their location. That didn't help.Arrangements had been made for me to spend the night at Wright-Patterson Air force Base. After meeting with the city officials I was lead out to the base. The military police escorted me a few miles from the gate to an open field where I could camp for the night. I hobbled my and let her graze on the green grass of the field. I was told that I couldn't lit any fires, which didn't make any difference since I didn't have anything to cook. Night had fallen, I unrolled my sleeping bag and went to sleep early. I was awaken about midnight by the lights and sounds of a jeep approaching. I got up to see who it was. A man got out of the jeep and walked into its lights. He was the commanding general of the base. The general was concerned about the state of affairs that were strangling the effectiveness of the military at the time. We spoke for almost an hour. He explained to me his concerns of government policies that he felt were not in the best interest of this country. We talked about the changing attitudes that the country was going through. I explained that it was one of the reasons I had decided to get involved. We as Americans were loosing our voice. Too many people felt hopelessly trapped in changes at their didn't agree with and powerless to effect change. I told him that this policy of leaving men behind and pretending they didn't exist was the last straw for me. I would not be represented by the bureaucrats in Washington this way. I was a citizen with a voice and had never believed that government could operate without hearing from the public. I told him of the division in the Congress, how some were fight not only to have these men returned, but were fight for the principles this Country stood for. This was the message I hoped the people were getting. He told me I was setting a good example for the country to follow. I said I could do no less, I had a daughter to raise in this country and I had a obligation as a citizen of this country.I don't know if the general thought that I would somehow have a voice, after this trip, that politicians would listen to, if he did he was wrong. My intend was to follow the example of Cincinnatius and return to my own life afterward. I met up with Barry the next day, a few more interviews and we were on our way again. On the other side of Vandalia we stopped to water the horses at a roadside lake. We were met by some people that told us we were expected in Englewood. Somewhere outside of lewisburg we were invited to a family's home for the night. Time has clouded the names of all the wonderful people we met along the way, but there were many. It was another hundred miles to the next major city of Indianapolis, Indiana and the national headquarters of the American Legion. I hoped that there, we could raise some necessary funding and better organize this effort.

Pass the 400 miles mark

The hot summer continued as we rode along route 40 in Ohio. The public response continued to grow, people sought us out for information. Groups and organizations were contributing to the effort in many ways, making photo copies, arranging for places to spent the night, bringing grain for the horses and numerous other ways. This endeavor was now being fueled by the American public. I felt proud to be an American. This is was the reaction I had come to believe existed in what the media mistakenly calls "the silent majority". There was nothing silent about the public response when it came to our missing men. How I wished that the families of these missing men could have seen the outpouring of support for their sons, fathers and brothers, from the public. I knew that the North Vietnamese would be monitoring the American press. On the first horse trip, I had refused to leave the million signature petition at the United Nation. I instead brought the boxes of signatures to the North Vietnam mission in New York and dumped them on their desk. Two of their security men ran into the office and we just starred at each other for awhile. The voices raised in America would be heard in Hanoi (the capitol of Viet Nam). For some reason it seem that everyone with a horse that I met had always dreamed of riding across America. I didn't know why. The months of riding I did to prepare for this trip, didn't help. Exhaustion and fatigue were our constant companions. Riding isn't a matter of just sitting on a horse, you have to use virtually all of your muscles in riding. Do that for 10-14 hours a day and you begin to understand what live was like for the people that lived in the past. We met so many good people along the way, we spoke to everyone across the broad spectrum of the population, from the mailman on the street to the governors and mayors and everyone in between. It became plain to see what a great country we had and that it was worth preserving. Only the public can preserve the values and traditions of this great land. That is done by speaking out and making sure that our elected officials never forget who put them in office and who can remove them. Tucker, sat back in Massachusetts with nothing to do. the phones had stopped ringing week before and the local Massachusetts media was determined to keep the story out of sight of the people in Massachusetts that might have risen in support. This I was to learn, was a common method of controlling the public. Isolate the active people in their area. Deny them access to the public and keep them from gathering local support. Our plan to recruit members from across the country into Friends of POWs in order to present a strong lobby to the politicians was crushed by by the stoppage of mail. We had been distributing membership forms to thousands of people, but none arrived at our PO Box. It was somewhere in this area that I spoke with a CIA man. He caution me to watch my back. The thought of being run down by a trailer truck and the effort being stopped in that manner was always in the back of my mind. We had a hard enough time riding our horses on the streets with all the bad drivers out there. Whenever possible we had police escorts accompany us. We had a warm greeting throughout the Harmony and Springfield area. the amount of involvement from veteran and civic groups kept growing. I never expected the amount of demand there would be for public speaking. There was not only the almost daily media interviews and talk shows, but we were being asked to address all types of civic groups now. this was slowing down our progress. Finally I came to the decision to take every opportunity to tell as many groups as possible the facts of the missing men. After all that was what I was out here to do, tell the world about them and not to forget them.Sometimes, even in rural areas, people would invite us to spent the night at their homes. In this modern day some people had lost the ability to calculate distance. When I asked how far away their house was, I was at times told 10 or 15 miles away. On horseback, especially at the end of a long day's ride, it was too far and we would find a place way the roadside to camp for the night. I appreciated the offers and felt bad when we couldn't accept. I know that these people were in their way trying to do their part in this.By the time we reached Dayton, cars were stopping us to take pictures of their grand kids on the horses with us, asking us to sign autographs, we had become public figures in a way I didn't anticipate. When people called us heroes, I tried to remind them that the only true heroes, were the men we left behind in Viet Nam. It wasn't easy going from a private person to a public figure. I pitied the celebrities that had to live their lives this way. I resolved that it was just a part of the job and had to put up with it as a representative for the missing men. I welcomed the times I could get off of my horse and be unrecognized for awhile.Route 40, was a historical road called the National Road, one of the first roads leading into the newly opened Ohio territory in the early 1800s. The land was relatively flat and the soil virtually without stones. It was easy to see why people in New England had abandoned the farms with its stony soil and moved west to the new Ohio frontier. throughout Ohio I had notice that the pioneers bought with them the names of New England towns that they had left. In Springfied we left route 40 and rode onto High Street to the city center. We spent a few days in Springfield speaking at different places. In the large cities, the horses had a chance to rest up, as we were driven around the city by veterans groups to various interviews and speaking engagements. What we left behind in each city and town was a public that was well informed of the situation. Next stop was Dayton.

Columbus, Ohio

We were met at the outskirts of Columbus by two police cars and two mounted police, that escorted us to the state fairgrounds to met the governor. A brisk wind kept the flag unfurled as we rode through the city streets. the police escort lead us to the fairgrounds. It was the opening day of the state fair. We were lead to a spot and told the governor would arrive soon. We sat on our horses and waited. A small group of eight or ten people surrounded cameramen from every TV station in Ohio approached us. This is the governor someone say. I didn't know which of the men was the governor, half of the group wore short sleeve shirts, the other half, undercover state police, wore jackets.We dismounted and I took out the proclamation. I stood between my horse was on my right side and Barry's horse was on my left. The governor stepped forward and gave us a warm welcome as the TV cameras rolled. I as about to present the governor with the proclamation, when Barry's tall 17 hand saddle bred horse bought him foot down on my foot and pressed all of his weight down on his front feet.Chaos erupted. I yelled, you son of a bitch, in pain, as I hit his horse with my elbow to get him off of my foot. The cameramen stepped back in shock, the governor's bodyguards quickly surrounded him. It happened so fast that no one immediately realized what was happening. As I tried to raise my now broken foot, everyone seem a little amused. fortunately the media cut that part out of the evening news.The governor had the police drive me to the hospital for x-rays. The horse had cracked three bones. I left the hospital with a large cast on my foot and carrying one boot. After two weeks I broke the cast off and put my boot back on. A hotel in Columbus had offered us complimentary rooms during our stay. I felt good to sleep in a bed again. Columbus veterans had lined up some talk shows and other speaking engagements at Rotary clubs, schools and organizations. The mounted police stabled our horses while we were in Columbus. I'm sure the horses appreciated the rest stop. Hundreds of packets of information were printed and distributed. Mayors from surrounding towns off of our route invited us to their towns. Barry made several day trips to towns close by as I hobbled about Columbus speaking. We had to decline many of the invitations from the more distant towns, but asked them to write letters of support for us to bring to Congress. I left left Columbus with the cast on my foot and one boot in the saddlebag. As we rode out of town, people stopped us with apples for the horses and buckets of water. After four hours of riding a man asked where we were spending the night. I told him wherever we happen to be at the end of the day, we never knew. I had a small two man tent and a sleeping bag tied to the back of my saddle. Barry, in true mountain man style had a bedroll and a canvas ground cloth.

Route 40 to Harmony and Springfield, Ohio

The hot summer continued as we rode along route 40 in Ohio. The public response continued to grow, people sought us out for information. Groups and organizations were contributing to the effort in many ways, making photo copies, arranging for places to spent the night, bringing grain for the horses and numerous other ways. This endeavor was now being fueled by the American public. I felt proud to be an American. This is was the reaction I had come to believe existed in what the media mistakenly calls "the silent majority". There was nothing silent about the public response when it came to our missing men. How I wished that the families of these missing men could have seen the outpouring of support for their sons, fathers and brothers, from the public. I knew that the North Vietnamese would be monitoring the American press. On the first horse trip, I had refused to leave the million signature petition at the United Nation. I instead brought the boxes of signatures to the North Vietnam mission in New York and dumped them on their desk. Two of their security men ran into the office and we just starred at each other for awhile. The voices raised in America would be heard in Hanoi (the capitol of Viet Nam). For some reason it seem that everyone with a horse that I met had always dreamed of riding across America. I didn't know why. The months of riding I did to prepare for this trip, didn't help. Exhaustion and fatigue were our constant companions. Riding isn't a matter of just sitting on a horse, you have to use virtually all of your muscles in riding. Do that for 10-14 hours a day and you begin to understand what live was like for the people that lived in the past. We met so many good people along the way, we spoke to everyone across the broad spectrum of the population, from the mailman on the street to the governors and mayors and everyone in between. It became plain to see what a great country we had and that it was worth preserving. Only the public can preserve the values and traditions of this great land. That is done by speaking out and making sure that our elected officials never forget who put them in office and who can remove them. Tucker, sat back in Massachusetts with nothing to do. the phones had stopped ringing week before and the local Massachusetts media was determined to keep the story out of sight of the people in Massachusetts that might have risen in support. This I was to learn, was a common method of controlling the public. Isolate the active people in their area. Deny them access to the public and keep them from gathering local support. Our plan to recruit members from across the country into Friends of POWs in order to present a strong lobby to the politicians was crushed by by the stoppage of mail. We had been distributing membership forms to thousands of people, but none arrived at our PO Box. It was somewhere in this area that I spoke with a CIA man. He caution me to watch my back. The thought of being run down by a trailer truck and the effort being stopped in that manner was always in the back of my mind. We had a hard enough time riding our horses on the streets with all the bad drivers out there. Whenever possible we had police escorts accompany us. We had a warm greeting throughout the Harmony and Springfield area. the amount of involvement from veteran and civic groups kept growing. I never expected the amount of demand there would be for public speaking. There was not only the almost daily media interviews and talk shows, but we were being asked to address all types of civic groups now. this was slowing down our progress. Finally I came to the decision to take every opportunity to tell as many groups as possible the facts of the missing men. After all that was what I was out here to do, tell the world about them and not to forget them.Sometimes, even in rural areas, people would invite us to spent the night at their homes. In this modern day some people had lost the ability to calculate distance. When I asked how far away their house was, I was at times told 10 or 15 miles away. On horseback, especially at the end of a long day's ride, it was too far and we would find a place way the roadside to camp for the night. I appreciated the offers and felt bad when we couldn't accept. I know that these people were in their way trying to do their part in this.By the time we reached Dayton, cars were stopping us to take pictures of their grand kids on the horses with us, asking us to sign autographs, we had become public figures in a way I didn't anticipate. When people called us heroes, I tried to remind them that the only true heroes, were the men we left behind in Viet Nam. It wasn't easy going from a private person to a public figure. I pitied the celebrities that had to live their lives this way. I resolved that it was just a part of the job and had to put up with it as a representative for the missing men. I welcomed the times I could get off of my horse and be unrecognized for awhile.Route 40, was a historical road called the National Road, one of the first roads leading into the newly opened Ohio territory in the early 1800s. The land was relatively flat and the soil virtually without stones. It was easy to see why people in New England had abandoned the farms with its stony soil and moved west to the new Ohio frontier. throughout Ohio I had notice that the pioneers bought with them the names of New England towns that they had left. In Springfied we left route 40 and rode onto High Street to the city center. We spent a few days in Springfield speaking at different places. In the large cities, the horses had a chance to rest up, as we were driven around the city by veterans groups to various interviews and speaking engagements. What we left behind in each city and town was a public that was well informed of the situation. Next stop was Dayton.

Columbus, Ohio

We were met at the outskirts of Columbus by two police cars and two mounted police, that escorted us to the state fairgrounds to met the governor. A brisk wind kept the flag unfurled as we rode through the city streets. the police escort lead us to the fairgrounds. It was the opening day of the state fair. We were lead to a spot and told the governor would arrive soon. We sat on our horses and waited. A small group of eight or ten people surrounded by cameramen from every TV station in Ohio approached us. This is the governor someone say. I didn't know which of the men was the governor, half of the group wore short sleeve shirts, the other half, undercover state police, wore jackets.We dismounted and I took out the proclamation. I stood between my horse was on my right side and Barry's horse was on my left. The governor stepped forward and gave us a warm welcome as the TV cameras rolled. I as about to present the governor with the proclamation, when Barry's tall 17 hand saddle bred horse bought him foot down on my foot and pressed all of his weight down on my foot. Chaos erupted. I yelled, you son of a bitch, in pain, as I hit his horse with my elbow to get him off of my foot. The cameramen stepped back in shock, the governor's bodyguards quickly surrounded him. It happened so fast that no one immediately realized what was happening. As I tried to raise my now broken foot, everyone seem a little amused. fortunately the media cut that part out of the evening news.The governor had the police drive me to the hospital for x-rays. The horse had cracked three bones. I left the hospital with a large cast on my foot and carrying one boot in my hand. After two weeks I broke the cast off and put my boot back on. A hotel in Columbus had offered us complimentary rooms during our stay. I felt good to sleep in a bed again. Columbus veterans had lined up some talk shows and other speaking engagements at Rotary clubs, schools and organizations. The mounted police stabled our horses while we were in Columbus. I'm sure the horses appreciated the rest stop. Hundreds of information packets were printed and distributed. Mayors from surrounding towns off of our route invited us to their towns. Barry made several day trips to towns close by as I hobbled about Columbus speaking. We had to decline many of the invitations from the more distant towns, but asked them to write letters of support for us to bring to Congress. I left left Columbus with the cast on my foot and a boot in the saddlebag. As we rode out of town, people stopped us with apples for the horses and buckets of water. After four hours of riding a man asked where we were spending the night. I told him wherever we happen to be at the end of the day, we never knew. I had a small two man tent and a sleeping bag tied to the back of my saddle. Barry, in true mountain man style had a bedroll and a canvas ground cloth.

Ohio and the heartland

Funds were gone, our line of communications was cut. All hope was quickly vanishing. Than a miracle happened. News of the journey for the POWs was spreading faster than I could have imagined. People were talking about POWs and they were mad and indignant. The American public responded to the plight of our missing men as I had imagined they would. Homer Tutor, a father of one of the missing men came out to met us and added his son's story to the local newspaper article. I still have fond memories of what a great man he was and what he had to endure. Homer gave me a hunting knife that belonged to his son and asked that I carry it across the Country in his memory. I still have that knife in a display case along with other pins and tokens that people asked us to carry across America.

After a couple of days without any food to eat, Mike, Anne and John, quit and rode home. Mike's horse had injured a leg and couldn't continue. A veteran's group said that they would get the horse back to Massachusetts. Barry and I continued without the support van. Town halls were allowing us to use their copy machines to print more copies of the government reports we were distributing to the media and the public. People were pitching in to help. by the time we reached Cambridge there was a ground swell of support rising up. It was working. As we rode through towns we had the opportunity to speak to people on the streets and explain about the missing men. I had received information about a bill in congress that called for the full accounting of the men missing in Viet Nam. There were many people in Washington fighting also for these men. Several congressmen had offered a reward of one million dollars in gold to any Vietnamese that could smuggle a live American out of Viet Nam. There were also congressmen that refuted to support the bill. One such congressman represented the district we were now in.

On a local radio talk show, I informed the people of his district of his failure to support the bill and asked that they light up his switch board with phone calls. They did. If it was going to take stepping on political toes to get this congressman's attention, I was happy to do so. I wasn't a political person and I wasn't there to play political games. These people in Washington may at sometimes forget who is in really in charge of this Country, I still believed it is "We the People," if we don't surrender that right.

We rode along route 40 to New Concord. When we arrived in town people came out of the stores to cheer us on. We did the media interview, which were becoming a daily thing. We passed out copies of the reports and we were joined by a woman on a horse that wanted to ride with us for the day. That night Barry and I camped by a lake on the roadside. It was a hot summer. The sun woke me at daybreak. It was already 90 degrees. We hadn't had an opportunity to wash since a family invited us to spend the night at their house, a couple of days before. It was early and the lake looked so inviting. I took my clothes off and left them by the shore. I climbed on my horse and rode her into the lake, she was a good swimmer. As we were swimming in the lake, a car stopped near our camp and two women began fishing near my pile of clothes. Soon Sue, the woman that rode with us also drove in with some hamburgers she had bought us.

I looked at the three women and thought, OK, what do I do now? I continued to swim for a while and saw Barry pointing out my clothes to Sue. They were laughing. Finally I rode my horse out of the lake, got down and picked up my clothes and say good morning the the women fishing and went into some bushes to dress. Barry and Sue were still laughing when I came out. We sat down and eat the hamburgers. Sue gave me the directions to a TV station where I was to do a talk show at that day. Barry and I mounted our horses and Sue followed in her car. After a couple of hours of riding, Barry started to feel sick to his stomach. It was food poisoning. He asked how I felt. I said I felt fine. Sue took Barry to a hospital and I went to the TV station for the talk show. Well, wouldn't you know it, half way through the talk show my stomach started to turn over. I tried not to let on that there was anything wrong. I felt like I was turn green in living color. As we talked about the POWs, I was hoping not to be sick on camera. Luckily I was able to hold off being sick until after the show.

That night we camped in a pasture with some cows. We were able to turn the horse loose to roam. The horses enjoyed the freedom. In the morning the horse were kicking up their heels running around the pasture. We saddled up and the horse still wanted to run, so we were off at a gallop. Cars passed us waving and cheering.

Again veteran's group were helpping by calling ahead on our route and making arrangements for us. We were to meet with the governor of Ohio at the opening of the Ohio state fair and present him with the proclamation we carried from the governor of Massachusetts, in a few days. Towns were sending police cars out to escort us from town to town. People that passed us in their cars were pulling over to take pictures of us. I felt like we were a two man parade. People cheered us and wished us good luck, they said they were happy to see us take a stand for what was right.

This continued through the towns of Hebron and Whitehall, people inviting us to spend the night at their homes. It seem like the public wanted to participate in any way they could. They couldn't ride across America with us, but they wanted to be part of an America that took a stand for these missing men. If you can't ride with us, you can write letters to your representatives, you can talk to your friends and neighbors and make sure that these men aren't forgotten, I would tell them.

It was somewhere in this area that a man came up and asked me, "do you know that you are famous?" I had to stop and think about this for a moment. I wasn't out here to become "famous." I was still the kind of shy guy. I said thank you, but its the POWs that I'm trying to make famous. We are safety home, they are not.

The media too, was starting to focus on the horse trip and us instead of the POWs. I had to keep reminding the reporters that we were here on a matter of live or death for these men and to not waste space in their stories about the details of the horse trip, but stay focused on informing the public of this issue. I have taken the responsibility of telling the country of these men, who I am isn't important, I'm just the messenager. Homer and his son and every others son, husband, father, brother, that didn't come home were important.

Horseback across the American Continent

The journey begun on may 15, 1984. It started at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave in Washington D.C. There were a hand full of reporters; strangely, they were all foreign reporters. None of the American press had shown up. I was about to start a second trip by horseback. Six months earlier, I had ridden from Massachusetts along the Boston Post Road, on horseback, to Washington carrying an American flag for the prisoners of war left behind in Viet Nam. I'll get into how I got involved with the POWs/MIAs later on. Mayors and public officials tied red ribbons to the flag to represent their cities. By the time I got to the White House, the flag represented at least 30-40 million people. Regan was the president at this time and I hoped to draw his attention to these abandoned servicemen. Anyway to make a long story short. A colonel Childress came running out of the White House as I sat on my horse at the White House gate. Now the story had received much news coverage between Providence, R.I. and Baltimore. The good colonel took the flag, handed me a half filled box of presidential matches, said "thanks for coming" and ran back into the White House. Family members of the missing men had told me of the government's attempt to keep the issue out of the public eye, hence the horse trip and flag pubic awareness campaign. We had raised the issue, in the press, along the heavily populated northeast corridor to Washington's front door. Washington pretended not to notice. Not surprisingly, I also never heard from any of the Massachusetts "representatives" in Washington.

Living behind the Iron Curtain of Massachusetts maybe a subject for a blog at another time. The battle for the return our servicemen was joined. The final battle of Viet Nam. What the politicians failed to realize was that I might well be a "country bumpkin" on a horse to them; I was the stubborniest "country bumpkin" as far as informing the Country about these missing men. They would find that the more opposition they threw at me, the harder I would fight. I should also mention that while I was in the service during Viet Nam, I did not serve over there.

For years, the only ones raising the issue were Viet Nam Vets and that was wrong. These were American servicemen serving in our name. Now it looked like it was up to We the people to take responsibility for them. As I sat on my horse at the White House gate staring at my half filled box of presidential matches and wondering, OK, what do I do now? I began to realize the full extent of the effort to keep these missing men out of the public consciousness.

I had already taken notice of the newspapers that tried to "kill the story" by refusing to report it as I rode through their area and met with their public officials. Such as the day the mayor of Philadelphia presented me with a replica of the Liberty Bell, the Philadelphia Inquirer was noticeably absent from the ceremony at city hall, so after the ceremony I rode over to their building and sat on my horse at their front door for an hour.

I should also mention that I hate tyrants in any form. Especially those that betray a public trust. The Bill of Rights gives the public a right to a free press; it does not give the press a right to manipulate the news or keeo it from the public. Only four newspapers on that first ride tried to kill the story by not reporting it. Besides the Philadephia Inquirer, there was Newark, NJ, of course the New York Times and one other in CT. The name of which escapes me now. I will leave out the treachery of the Brockton Enterprise (my local paper) and the Massachusetts media in general, for another time.

While in Washington, I was introduced to people at AIM (Accuracy in Media), Stars & Stripes (a military newspaper) and the National League of POW/MIA Families. By this time, word had spread of my arrival among Washingtonian involved with the POWs. I was asked to make a return trip by horse back to Boston, stopping off at the United Nations to deliver a petition with a million signatures, for the release of these missing men.

For most of the country, the publicity trip by horseback had gotten the public attention the issue needed. Public opinion was being generated. People were talking about POWs and asking questions. In case no one knows, public opinion is the only motivation for our elected "representatives." Five people on horseback made the return trip.

At the United Nations, we were mobbed by reporters and met by family members of the missing men. We finished that trip at my house in Massachusetts where we immediately fell into the black hole of the Massachusetts Media. The story had carried across the nation on wire services and was reported wherever a free press still existed. It had worked beyond my expectations. I had sensed that the American public wasn't the uncaring, stay home and mind your own business, public that the media tries to convince us we are. People simply didn't know of all the reports of live sighting of American servicemen still being held by the North Viet Namese.

I had not planned to become so involved, I had intended only to use my sense of history to lend a hand for these missing men. This one trip to Washington would be my contribution. The hardships of six weeks in a saddle, faced in the October weather of the northeast gave me an instant education in long distance riding. Despite the lack of media reporting in Massachusetts, by word of mouth people involved with the POWs sought me out.

Than disaster struck. My conscience would not leave me alone. The job has just begun and there was more work to do for these missing men. They were trapped in foreign prison camps and relying on their fellow Americans for help. Could I now turn my back on them? I came to this country from Rome, Italy when I was two years old. Sure, I had to fight my way through the first four grades while I learn to speak English. Then in the ninth grade, a teacher asked me if I would be interested in holding the flag every Thursday at the West Junior High School assemblies.

It’s a funny thing, but standing on a stage holding, the flag while hundreds of other students stand and pledge alliance to the flag has an effect on you. It makes you think about all the people that struggled to create this country out of nothing but shear determination and the example for the world that it’s become. Not only for the economic opportunities, but also for the relative peace and security it offers to our children. Our government is not perfect, but it will only be what we make it. There we have a choice. We can either sit back and complain or we can take charge of our own destinies. The choice is always ours. We have a great country and I understood that it didn’t become great all by it’s self. What has always make America great was its citizens. People willing to stand up for what they believed in.

OK, where do we go from here? We rode to Washington but no one there was listening. We should take it to the American People from coast to coast. We should have had two years to plan such an undertaking, but those men didn’t have two years to wait. In six months, we would have to leave. Planning this trip would be much more involved than getting on my horse and riding to Washington by myself. How should it be structured? If we are going to take on this enormous task, it will have to have the desired effect the first time.

The symbolism of the horse in American history would portray the underlying message, that the principels of America’s past should not be forgotten. Fifty riders would be needed to represent each of the States. They should each carry a state flag. At least two trailer trucks would be needed to carry food and supplies.

The commissioner of Veterans affairs for Massachusetts contacted the other states’ veteran's commissioners and requested state flags. Soon the Veterans Affairs commissioner called me and said that he was starting to get letters back from the other commissioners saying that they were sending their state flags to our P.O. Box. Weeks pasted and no flags were arriving at the P.O. Box. The commissioner had forwarded their letters to me. Sure enough, half a dozen states had mailed the flags already. Not to seem paranoid but I started to sense the fine hand of interference. I called each of the commissioners that sent letters, by phone and confirm that they indeed had sent the flag. Strangely, after confirming that the flags had been sent, the flag that I confirmed would show up at the P.O. Box, all post marked weeks before.

OK, I expected opposition of those shadowy figures that lurk in the background. I dated each envelop with the date of arrival and after I had received two dozen I brought the envelops in to the chief postal inspector in Boston and showed them to him. He scratched his head and said he couldn’t figure out how it was being done. He started an investigation and soon all the flags were arriving on time. I might as well take the time to record some of the other “dirty tricks” thrown at us to prevent the ride across America from happening. I was calling on local businesses and asking for donations of computers, trucks, supplies, etc. and was getting positive responses. As time went on, the promised supplies were not materializing. As I contacted each of the donors, each had changed their mind for unexplained reasons. It was as if someone was walking right behind us and talking the donors into changing their mind, but that couldn’t happen in the land of the free.

I spoke at a convention of V.F.W. post commanders for the state of Massachusetts and asked for their financial support. They voted to support us. We would have to write a letter to each of the individual posts, requesting funding. They even voted to pay the postage and mail the letters themselves. Well again, nothing was showing up at the mailbox. I went into the Massachusetts State House where the State V.F.W. office was located and found the letters sitting in a corner. I asked the state commander why the letters hadn’t been sent out. Gaby the state commander told me that he had heard a rumor that the trip wasn’t going to take place. I said to him, “on the strength of a rumor you left those letters sitting in a corner without even calling me and asking.” By this time, I had twenty-six riders from the New England states alone waiting to ride. I went over and picked up the letters. Gaby said “your not taking them”. I told him that I had bought and paid for the letters and envelops, if he wanted to stop me from taking my property he was welcomed to try. I mailed the three hundred letters, two replies with twenty dollars each came to our P.O. Box.

The IRS, at this time, sent both my father and I notices to be audited. I called the IRS and explained what I was doing, I never heard from them again. The pressure was on full tilt. Funding, supplies and equipment had all disappeared. The announced start date of May 15th was approaching fast. Calls from riders coming from other states were coming in. I sat and took inventory of the assets we had left. A toy store had donated fifty toy horses and riders and a number of toy trucks with which we were studying the logistics that would be involved in moving a large group across America. We had incorporated as Friends of POW/MIA, I had spoken at the local high school and a dozen students had volunteered to staff the office of the non-profit organization we had set up to handle communications between the riders and others across the Nation trying to contact us. These were the days before cell phones and the internet. This base of operations was headed by Tucker, a disabled Viet Nam Vet that I grew to respect immensely. In those dark days, as failure loomed high on the horizon, we took stock of the options we had left to us. It was either scrub the trip completely or begin it on schedule with the little resources I had.

Did I mention before that I was the stubborniest “country bumpkin” on a horse that these political hacks would ever meet? I had two horse and two thousand dollars left to my name. Somehow, this ride was going to take place, in one form or another. May 15th would find at least one person on horseback at 1600 Pennsylvania in Washington. So it began. I didn’t know how I was going to do this. Many people had told me that “you can’t ride a horse across America, in this day and age.” Somehow, my sense of history told me that they were wrong. If I have learn anything from history, it was that people could accomplish the near impossible, but only by firm effort.

I paid a man five hundred dollars to transport myself and two horses to Washington. It was May 15th. Nine in the morning was the appointed time sent in the press releases to the Washington media. I had found a veteran at the Viet Nam Memorial that would ride the other horse for a week. We arrived at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave to find seven or eight reporters, all from foreign newspapers waiting. I explained the purpose of the ride to the press and estimated it would take nine months to reach California. We left Washington without fanfare. People on the streets looked at the two men on horseback and wondered what was going on. We rode north forward Frederick, Maryland and reached the outskirts by nightfall.

In the days before the interstate highways were built, cities were connected by, what are now secondary roads. We Left Frederick on the old Frederick Road and cover the thirty miles to Gettysburg, PA that day. We arrived on the outskirts of the Gettysburg National Military Park and checked into a campground. I was fairly well familiar with the battle of Gettysburg and Lincoln’s Gettysburg address from history classes in school, or so I thought. I had often found reference to the battle in Civil War books I had read. The next day I wanted to see this famous site for myself. A local man I had met at the campground offered to show me the sights. He like many people that live in the Gettysburg area, in the shadow of this terrible and honorable place, know its history quite well and preserve it.

As we walked the well-groomed pastures of the battlefield and I listened to his descriptions of the events that took place here, I could feel an energy here. 75,000 men from the army of Northern Virginia met and fought 97,000 men from the Union army of the Potomac. After three days of fighting, there were 51,000 causalities of the blue and the grey. Thousands of soldiers never left this place and to me their present or the memory of them can still be felt.

The people of Gettysburg labored for a long time to bury the dead and clean up the carnage. For years after the battle, bodies of dead soldiers were still being discovered in remote places. It’s a credit to the people of the area that they have kept this solemn place and its memory intact for future generations. The reading I had done about Gettysburg didn’t prepare me for this day. In the books are recorded the names of Lee, Meade, Longstreet and the other generals. Here you meet Samuel, Joshua, Billy, Johnny and the other Americans that to me fought in America’s great family feud. History isn’t names, dates and places. History is the story of what people have done. History was also, what I was using to present the issue of our missing men to the American public.

I believed that carrying a proclamation to governors across the country on horseback would get people’s attention long enough to understand that American servicemen were still being sighted in prison camps. My spell-check wants me to change servicemen to server members, as you can see I didn’t. I refuse to bow down before the alter of politic correctiveness. I’ll leave that to idiots running for public office and the growing number of effeminate men in this country.

On a personal note. I met a woman that worked at the campground and had an opportunity to spend several days talking with her. I delayed leaving for another day so that I could see her again. On the outside change that she ever reads this blog, I still think of her from time to time. Had I not been on such an important project, I might have never left Gettysburg.

We met with a reporter in Gettysburg and explained the purpose of this journey. I also showed him copies of declassified CIA reports of live sighting of American servicemen that I was given in Washington. The next day, after reading the newspaper, many people approached us to shake our hand or ask questions about the POWs and express their support. My assumption had been right. It wasn’t that the public didn’t care; they just didn’t know the facts.

For years, the only news coverage was little blips in newspapers that didn’t give the public any information and were quickly replaced by the next day’s headlines. Bob the brother of a missing man, that got me involved with the POWs, had explained that the problem in getting news coverage was that there was nothing new to say. That when I came up with the idea of just presenting it in a way. For years, veterans had been trying to raise the issue by such things as riding their motorcycles to Washington in support of the missing men. When I looked at the problem I saw that first, it hadn’t given the public time to absorb the information as the whole thing was over in a day or two, secondly, Washington wasn’t listening.

I learned a lot on the first horseback trip to Washington. Its success was in the fact that no knew about the upcoming trip and so there was no time to mount opposition. It took over two weeks to arrive in New Haven, CT where the first newspaper said they weren’t interested in writing a story. The reporter I spoke to was a Viet Nam Vet and he couldn’t understand his editor’s reason for not writing a story. I had designed the trip for the media’s benefit. Horse, flag, riding hundreds of miles through cities. For a industry that professes to be in the business of selling newspapers, I thought their behavior was strange. I wondered what business their were really in. This was the first part of my education in how big media works in America. By the time, I finish all the horseback riding I could have earned a degree in media deception. It became a battle of wits. Move and counter move, not unlike a chess game.

These media moguls believed that they were the only one that have access to public opinion. They are wrong and I was only to happy to point them out to the public in local radio and television shows I spoke at. Every day we would speak to one or two hundred people on the streets alone. Those people in turn spoke to their friends and neighbors, who in turn spoke to people at work and so on and so on. We used not only the media, but generated public opinion also by word of mouth. The long slow horse trip was designed to give the public the time needed to stimulate public opinion and get people talking about the POWs. The public than took the news into the surrounding towns not on our route. Each person that expressed shock at the government reports we showed them became an advocate for those missing men.

The ride to Chambersburg, the next town, took about seven hours during this day many drivers waved and wished us luck. Another newspaper interview here introduced us to Barry a twenty-five year old who had been planning a horseback trip to the Rocky Mountains. Barry was into mountain men and their life style. He had his own horse, a full set of buckskins w/fringe, bowie knife and black powder rife. I explained to Barry what we were doing and asked him if he wanted to join us and make his trip count for something. Barry agreed to ride with us, but needed a few days to prepare.

While waiting for Barry, the Vet from D.C. that started the trip with me wanted to go home. An Veteran from Chambersburg named Mike, who had served in Viet Nam during the evacuation in 1975, also wanted to make the trip. Another man named Joe had driven from Connecticut to find us in his van. He would drive along and be the point man. Anne, Mike’s girl friend now decided that she also wanted to come. It seemed that things were starting to look up.

We were underway again; three riders and an accompanying van to carry supplies. I had sent the newspaper articles back to Tucker at the office. In this articles were printed our organization’s address and an invitation for the public to join Friends of POW/MIA. Their ten-dollar membership fee was needed to help fuel this project. Tucker had sent copies of the newspaper articles, and details of the riders carrying the governor of Massachusetts proclamation across America, to the Boston newspapers and television stations.

The Boston media ignored them and remained silent. They seem determined to starve us into submission. Feeding five people and three horses quickly depleted the fifteen hundred dollars I had started in Washington with. The response from the public had been tremendous, once they learned of the reports of live prisoners. Many were outraged at the government’s lack of action and asked how they could help. Join our organization, write letters to your representatives and talk to your friends and neighbors about writing letters I would tell them.

In one of the declassified reports, a Viet Namese man reported talking to an American prisoner after the war had ended. The soldier asked him to “Tell the world about us, tell them not to forget us.” (In Viet Nam, American soldiers referred to America as the world). I was determined to do just that. I can’t tell you how many times I saw tears in peoples’ eyes when they learned of the situation. “How could the government do this to our men, became a common question the public asked me.

By the time, we reached the next town of Mc Connellsburg; news of the ride across America for the POWs had arrived before us. People in cars were waving and shouting out support. People on the streets were stopping us to shake our hands and wish us good luck. The momentum in public opinion was starting to build. I had seen the reaction of the public in my six weeks trip to Washington. I knew that if our elected representatives needed public opinion (pressure), to do their jobs, it was more than available on this issue. People were willing to take the time to write letters, not just make phone calls, because politicians consider a letter more serious than a phone call. The POWs struck at the heart of America.

As we rode across the rolling hills along of route 30, I asked Mike, who was a musician, to help me write a song that we could sing as we rode. For the next few days, we worked on lyrics for the song. Here are the lyrics;

Let’s ride across America
And set our brothers free
Bring them back from Viet Nam
Back to their families

Let ride across America
And give a mighty roar
Hey! Hanoi, don’t you know
We ain’t gonna take no more

Our brothers back in Viet Nam
They ask the question, why?
Did you leave us here for all these years
Did you leave us here to die

Don’t you know we fought for you
We tried to keep you free
Bring us back to America
Back home to our families

Now, come on brothers, come on sisters
Come along with me
Grab a horse and ride along
We need your company

Together we can do it
Their freedom we can bring
Until they’re all home again
We’ll all have to sing

We ride across America
To set our brothers free
Bring them back from Viet Nam
Back to their families

We ride across America
And give a mighty roar
Hey! Hanoi don’t you know
We ain’t gonna take no more

The bureaucrats in Washington
Just don’t give a damn
They say there’s no Americans
Left in Viet Nam

They say they brought them all back home in 1973
But we know better
So we ride
Across this country

Now brothers if you hear this song
Take it to your heart
You are not forgotten
And you are still a part

Of a Nation that believes
In freedom for all
Come on all Americans
And answer this call

To ride across America
And raise a mighty roar
Hey! Hanoi don’t you know
We ain’t gonna take no more

On horseback is how we make this ride
Cross this mighty land
From Washington to Los Angles
One mile for each man

And if you think we’re joking
Just come along with me
And we’ll ride across America
To set our brothers free

This song helped to pass away the long hours in the saddle, riding through the open country between towns. It lifted our sprites and reminded us of our purpose. In a few more days, we would be in Pittsburgh, the first major city. Local veteran organizations were helping by contacting the media in towns ahead of us. I wondered how we would be received by the media. Would they try to shut us down as the Massachusetts media had done?

We were met in Pittsburgh by veteran’s groups and a police escort the city had provided. The media was out in full force, newspaper, radio and television, I breath a sigh of relief. The Pittsburgh City Council asked that I speak at their next council meeting. By this time, buying gas for the van, printing copies of government reports, feeding three horse and five people, had finished the available funds I had. We were stuck in Pittsburgh. The local newspaper ran a story on our situation and I made an appeal for tax deductible donations to the organization. Tucker, back in Massachusetts, received one twenty dollar donation from a marine veteran of Viet Nam. I suspected that more people in Pittsburgh sent donations that were never received. Again it looked like we were going to be starved into quitting. While in Pittsburgh we had the help of an artist that worked for a utility company. She had designed some art work for us and had us over for dinner. One day she said she had to talk to us. Her voice was shaking and she was very nervous. She said she had called the office back in Massachusetts. She told me that she had spoken to me. I looked at her, surprised. I haven't left Pittsburgh, I told her. she said the voice on the phone was my and she was told that the trip had been canceled. I understood immediately what was happening. I wrote Tucker a letter and addressed it to his home. In his letter back to me, he told me he had received several phone calls aday from people trying to contact us, but lately the phone had all but stopped ringing. All of our lines of comminications were being cut off. Again things started to look bleak. I got the group together and explained what was going on. I suggested that they go home and I didn't know how, but I was going to finish this and somehow make it to California. They said they would stick it out as long as possible. I met another person in Pittsburgh that knew Ted Kopple, the TV news show host. They called him and told him what we were doing. They asked him why more wasn't being said about the POWs on his news program. Shortly after, Ted Kopple did do a program on POWs. We left Pittsburgh the next morning, heading west. I now had six dollar left. we brought a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, some cookies and drinks. by the end of that day we had crossed into Wheeling, WV. There we met with veteran groups and the W. Virginia media. Ohio was just on the other side of the river that ran through town. Early the next morning we crossed the river into Ohio. By nightfall we were in Cadiz, Ohio. We found that we had been expected, as Pittsburgh's TV stations service this part of Ohio. I believe it was here that I started to ask the mayors for a letter of support for the POWs. I wanted to make it offical that cities and town across America supported the return of our missing men. I asked the mayors to address the letters to the Congress of the United States.