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WASHINGTON, D.C., May 29Thousands of people were lining the streets. It was May 29, Rolling Thunder Sunday in Washington, D.C., and the Run For The Wall was about to start. Impatiently pacing, I was scanning the crowds for one individual in particular, a Marine in full dress uniform. This particular marine had captured my curiosity. For the past several years, I had seen him in his dress uniform standing on the double yellow lines holding a salute for every biker in the Thunder procession. He would stand at attention from start to finish. This was a feat that would last over four hours and display the meaning of intestinal fortitude. I was on a quest to talk to this marine. I had tried in vain calling all the usual suspects from the Marine Corps, but no one knew anything on the subject. Only later did I find out this marine was a lone wolf, not a sanctioned poster boy for The Corps.Noon was fast approaching and you could hear the collective roar of bikes getting ready to run their pilgrimage. I took one more long look around the corner of Constitution Avenue and then I saw him. Moving with a half swagger and half march, the marine approached, his family in tow, and he headed toward his appointed spot just shy of the turn onto Constitution. As he walked you could hear the loud shouts of "Semper Fi" which were in turn answered with a guttural "hoorah!" Along the way, he shook hands and stopped often to kneel down and talk to kids. You could feel his energy as he drew nearer and heard him speak. His demeanor was stern, but kind, and when he spoke he looked directly into your eyes. With a firm handshake, he agreed to give me a few minutes at the end of the run after the last bike rolled by. I in turn assured him a cold bottle of water when he was done. I knew he would need it.A giant rock of a man was assigned to help guide motorcycles to the left and right, a road guard if you will. The marine began to take his position in the center of the street when a young boy wearing a Marines shirt walked up to him and in the blink of an eye, they were doing push-ups in the middle of the road. Suddenly, the call came out that the Run For The Wall was about to start. People were quickly cleared from the street. The roar of machines grew louder and the unrelenting lines of bikes appeared. In one smooth mechanical motion, the lone marine cocked his salute as bikes began to roll by.The marine is Staff Sergeant Tim Chambers. I spoke to his mom, Diane Desantis, his grandmother Anne Desantis, his girlfriend, Mariam Ebrahimi and his buddy Nathan Linkof. Tim was one of six kids in a very active household. He came from a lineage of military folks as his father was a marine in Vietnam and his grandfather was in the Coast Guard in World War II. Tim?s family came from the small town of Silverton, Oregon.Tim spends hundreds of hours helping out various charities, advocates for veterans' benefits and their causes and visits veterans' hospitals. Tim's card explains what he is all about. He is starting a charitable organization called "Tim-for-America" whose centerpiece is, "improving the quality of life of our youth, the less fortunate and heroic veterans." His aim is ambitious, but simple: Get people involved and volunteer to help.After more than four hours, the last bikes finally came over the bridge and slowed down to pass by Tim. When the last escort motorcycle rode by, Tim cracked his salute in perfect military precision. He did a left face and walked toward his family. The surrounding crowds erupted into applause and people came from everywhere to shake Tim's hand and thank him. He would in turn thank every person for being there. Although sweating, Tim seemed no worse for the wear.Tim explained that for several years, when he was stationed in D.C., he would wear his uniform during Rolling Thunder and walk around talking to people. He would shake hands and thank veterans and their families. He listened to their stories and their plights. Tim decided that he wanted to do something to show that he cared. He spontaneously, in full uniform, stepped into the road during Rolling Thunder 2002 and gave his salute to the riders in the Run For The Wall. The next couple of years his spontaneous salute evolved in to a planned event. This year, he was invited by The Rolling Thunder organization, which flew his family in from Oregon and Tim from 29 Palms, California.As I walked away, it struck me that I hadn't asked the most important question. I turned around and called him, "Sergeant Chambers, why the salute?" His response was effortless and profound, "It's about the pain. A lot of these heroic guys still hurt and if I can relieve their pain for just one brief moment, then I've done my job."
WASHINGTON – Now and again a person may stumble across events that will impact their life with the force of a wrecking ball. For Staff Sgt. Tim Chambers, he found himself overwhelmed with indecision tearing his mind in every direction.His quandary: how to reach each and every veteran’s emotions and heal their pain with respect and compassion.Chambers’ spontaneous march into the middle of the street seven years ago to render honors to the thousands of veterans riding in Rolling Thunder was his answer. A salute was his method.During the ride that takes place Memorial Day weekend every year, Chambers stands with his hand on his makeshift memorial at 23rd and Constitution Avenue and the lone Marine addresses the crowd.“This is for my brothers and sisters and your fellow patriots. It stands here in honor of those in Iraq and Afghanistan. This is their memorial,” he said.Boots, a rifle, flack jacket and Kevlar were displayed proudly at his feet. Families of fallen service members donated personal effects of their loved ones to symbolize their body and spirit.“The bullets of morality fire more true than our lead,” continued Chambers. “I stand here to show respect and welcome these veterans home who returned at a time filled with negative sentiment for their service. We have not forgotten.”The rolling thunder from thousands of motorcycles emerged from Memorial Bridge and Chambers’ heels slammed together, his fist lined his trouser seam and his right hand snapped to a stern salute perfectly aligned with his brow.By noon, sunshine engulfed the morning mist and echoes of encouragement joined with the roar of engines in a symphony of compassion as the Rolling Thunder procession made their way through the district.As veterans rode passed Chambers, shouts of “Semper Fi” and “Ooh-rah” emerged through the rumble of exhausts.“Semper Fi, thank you for your service,” Chambers replied while looking directly into their eyes.Chambers later said that it look as if many of the veterans’ eyes who rode by still had remnants of the thousand yard stare acquired in combat. However, Chambers’ eyes held the thousand yard stare of sincerity.“I haven’t been deployed so I have to do everything, everything I can to make a difference on the home front. I can’t grasp what these and current combat veterans have gone through but I can keep giving what I do,” he explained.Occasionally veterans, some wearing jean jackets weighed down with patches, medals and patriotic pins, would stop his bike and march to Chambers’ position to show his gratitude by returning a salute.“I consider it my homecoming,” said Robert L. Seltz, who served as a corporal from October 1970 to April 1972 in Vietnam. “Seeing staff sergeant up there gives me pride. I want to stick my chest out, walk taller and hold my head high.”Seltz explained that over the years, seeing Chambers’ strength standing for hours has given some veterans, including himself, the courage to finally confront the pain they kept inside for so long.After an hour of holding his salute, discomfort began to set in. Salt rings grew around his collar and his face turned dark red, but he did not falter as there were still thousands of veterans left to honor.“I do this for the pain,” he explained. “It’s all about the pain. A lot of these guys still hurt and if I can relieve their pain through mine just for one brief moment, then I’ve done my job.”After three hours and seven minutes, the statuesque Marine stumbled back and dropped to his knees as the last motorcycle passed. He stood slowly regaining his strength and balance and placed his hand on the memorial then closed his eyes and prayed.Throughout the day hundreds of emotional veterans thanked him for his efforts and shook his hand. Each time Chambers said, “No, it was my pleasure. Thank you.”Before the ride began, veterans threw and placed flowers at Chambers’ feet in a salute to him, but the flowers took on an unintended and more profound symbolism for one girl. As he stumbled back from exhaustion, a young red-headed girl walked up to Chambers wearing emotions on her face.“Thank you so much, my name is McKenzie,” she told him. “I lost my father in Iraq five days ago…” she buried her face into Chambers’ shoulder.After a long embrace, he walked with her to where the flowers were thrown and whispered, “These were thrown down here for your father. You may never hear this but he was a hero. He preserved freedom and left behind a legacy of leadership that will continue to save lives.”Chambers said he never found out her full name or who her father was, but he will remember the moment for the rest of his life.Chambers said coming to Washington for the past seven years has been quite a journey. This year, he accompanied Carry the Flame, a non-profit organization raising awareness about the needs of veterans, through every state across Interstate 40 and participated in the name readings of the fallen from Iraq and Afghanistan, rendering a salute at each location. The journey also lead him to console and break bread with more than 200 ‘Gold Star’ families.“When you meet a gold star mom, time stops,” explained Chamber’s wife Juls. “They have given so much and have made the biggest sacrifice of their son’s and daughters to America. It is just as important to honor the families as it is to honor the fallen.”Chambers said his determination to thank each and every veteran is what drove him to this street seven years ago and is what keeps him going today.Chambers said the events on Sept. 11, 2001, helped instill the conviction to stand on the corner of 23rd and Constitution Avenue for so many hours.“I’ll be here for the rest of my life. The only thing that can take me away would be a deployment,” Chambers said.Chambers has ambitious goals for next year’s Memorial Day and hopes he can reach out to even more veterans than ever before.“I want to line the side of the street with children saluting the veterans as they pass,” explained Chambers. “The median spanning the whole street will be filled with dedications from ‘Gold Star’ families of their loved ones and perhaps one day these items will grace a memorial dedicated to the heroism of the generation fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan.”
The video means a LOT more when you can read the story behind it...
thanks for that logan. got a wee bit choked up just now.
