Wendy Borowski has a group of patriotic Chicago-area bikers to thank for the granite wall memorial that honors her son and more than 2,400 other American soldiers who have died in Iraq.
Determined to honor the soldiers’ sacrifice during the hostilities and not years later, the middle-aged Harley-riding friends spearheaded the creation of the Middle East Conflicts War Memorial on the banks of the Illinois River.
Their spartan wall is one of a host of homespun memorials popping up across the country, not the traditional sort sponsored by governments or veterans’ groups. Instead, these are grass-roots efforts begun with spontaneous gestures, on roadsides, in town squares and outside bases.
“In past wars, we had to wait years to have those who gave their lives remembered like this,” said Borowski, her finger tracing the name of her son, Army Spec. Brandon J. Rowe of Roscoe, Ill. “To have it here and now means so much to so many families.”
As the conflict in Iraq drags on, the names on the charcoal colored walls here keep mounting. Next Saturday, at a ceremony marking the third anniversary of the memorial, another 990-plus names of Americans killed in Iraq will be written in stone. Two more walls will be added to the existing five.
The bikers, who call themselves the Illinois Motorcycle Freedom Run, said the idea for the conflicts’ memorial was born out of patriotic anger. Cooch–Tony Cutrano, 46, of Palos Heights–was visiting his buddy Greaseball–Jerry Kuczera, 52, of Chicago–in the spring 2003, when an image flashed on the TV screen of a protester defacing an American flag.
“We looked at one another and asked, `Is this how we want our guys dying over there to be remembered?'” Cutrano said. “We knew we had to do something.”
The two bikers put out the word through their network, and their freedom ride was born, June 22, 2003, in Chicago’s south suburbs.
Hundreds of bikers roared 70 miles down Interstate Highway 57 to St. Anne, Ill. There, they honored the memory of Marine Capt. Ryan Anthony Beaupre, who quit his accounting job to fly military helicopters. He was killed in Kuwait on March 21, 2003, in a helicopter crash.
The service the bikers held that day was meant to honor more than Beaupre. The bikers wondered how they could honor not just the Americans killed in war, but also those who were victims of terror in the Middle East, such as the sailors of the USS Cole attacked in Yemen.
“That’s when we decided to build a wall,” Cutrano said.
The group settled on Marseilles because it is a small town, just off Interstate Highway 80, with a sweeping vista of the Illinois River. The Illinois National Guard deploys from here before its overseas missions.
At first, town officials were skeptical.
“To think of crowds of bikers coming through, I was a little reluctant,” Police Chief James Hovious said.
But after doing some background checks, town leaders joined the project. They helped negotiate a 100-year lease for the land for $1 per year and encouraged businesses to donate resources and materials.
The memorial opened the weekend of June 18, 2004. Bikers and those who know the dead gathered last year and plan to return every anniversary weekend to add names. Like many of the mom-and-pop Iraq War memorials across the country, this one was built with donations of money, material and labor.
Visitors come day and night, organizers say, but no one is sure how many, maybe a few dozen every week. Often they come looking for the name of a loved one
Sometimes, they place combat boots at the foot of the wall or dog tags, maybe a camouflage hat. More often, a tiny American flag appears, with a framed photo of a dead soldier in a crisp uniform.
Borowski’s son died in a firefight in Iraq in the early days of the war, March 31, 2003. He was 20. His name is on the center of the five walls, the 30th one down and the 30th one across.
“Here we have something we can touch now, not later–a place where we can remember and to come and grieve,” Borowski said as her 9-year-old grandson stenciled his uncle’s name from the wall.
Still, if it weren’t for an overpass sign on I-80 and word of mouth, few people would know the memorial exists. It’s likely that nationally many of the dead American soldiers’ families don’t know their loved ones’ names are written here, wall organizers say.
The memorial is cared for by a local teen, Adam Boaz, who cuts the grass, shines the walls and cleans up the mess geese leave.
Boaz, 17, wonders if someday his name will be on the wall too. He plans to join the ROTC in college next year and later serve his country.
“I look at all these names and know what they gave their lives for,” said Boaz, the son of a chief petty officer in the Navy. “I plan to join the military too, and who knows.”
Organizers don’t know how many more panels they will need. As the wall honors the continuing war on terror in the Middle East, town folk fear that eventually they will have a huge memorial.
Already, the gratitude runs deep.
“It will be here forever,” said Borowski, who visits several times a year. “That means a lot to me.”
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etorriero@tribune.com
