- A Veterans Day ceremony was held at the National Museum of Industrial History in Bethlehem
- The keynote speaker was Tim Chambers, known nationally as 'The Saluting Marine'
- Chambers expressed his perspective that veterans are sometimes under-appreciated in society
BETHLEHEM, Pa.— On Saturday at the National Museum of Industrial History, where Bethlehem Steel once stood, more than 100 veterans, many on motorcycles, came to pay their respects. Some were joined by family members, children and grandchildren.
The keynote speaker was Tim Chambers, known across the county as The Saluting Marine.
His wave of news coverage started in the wake of the 9/11 attacks, standing in the middle of Rolling Thunder parades in Washington, D.C., and holding a steady salute until every motorcycle passed.
The entire procession can take up to five hours, and he once did this with a broken arm. Chambers grew up in Silverton, Oregon, but now lives nearby in Lebanon, Lebanon County.
Showing up in a T-shirt and jeans instead of his usual dress blues, he agreed that he sort of "went rogue." He explained, sorrowfully, that he had just lost his father to longterm health effects of the war — Chambers attributed his father's death to Agent Orange exposure — and visibly held back tears while the other speakers prepared to introduce him.
At one point he even took a step away from the stage to gather his composure. Periodically, one of the leather jacket-wearing veterans from various motorcycle groups would come over and put a hand on his shoulder, a show of support that Chambers appeared to appreciate.
"What we need more of is simple action, not money, but action."Tim Chambers, "The Saluting Marine" in Bethlehem
When it was his turn to speak, he said what one former serviceman in the crowd later described as "what we were all thinking": he reminded those in attendance that veterans need more help than they typically get.
"What we need more of is simple action," Chambers said at the podium. "Not money, but action. Because today, I'm standing for all of my veterans. And that's why I'm not in my dress blues today. I'm here as Tim, a fellow veteran."
After saying that, he clarified that he was not trying to criticize any individual politician in attendance, but more of a general social commentary about how veterans are treated.
He also connected the industrial history of Bethlehem, including Bethlehem Steel, and lamented the hardships that former steelworkers (many also veterans) endured when the factory closed down.
After Chambers wrapped up his speech, veterans wearing leather motorcycle jackets practically lined up to give him hugs and shake his hand.
Steelwork and wartime
Another speaker at the event was retired Bethlehem Steel Chairman Curtis "Hank" Barnette.
Barnette wore a custom lapelled jean shirt with a classic red and white Bethlehem Steel logo sewn on the pocket, right over his name in ornate white fabric letters, and a Bethlehem Steel-branded necktie.
It was reminiscent of something he might have worn while walking the factory floors of Bethlehem Steel in the 1970s, on his way to his office as a company attorney. He remained at the helm of the company until its closure.
Barnette served with the U.S. Army Reserve beginning in his college career and moved through intelligence roles to the rank of major and title of commanding officer. At one point, he served in an intelligence role for several years in Frankfurt, Germany.
Starting his speech, Barnette said quite simply: "We are the land of the free, because of the brave," which evoked some nods and verbal agreement from the crowd.
Barnette then acknowledged the logistical role that Bethlehem Steel played in wartime efforts throughout the 20th century.
"It is here that steelworkers over the years worked to build transport, and to defend America," Barnette said, pointing across the road to the now-rusty steel stacks.
"So on this revered Veterans Day, we pay our deepest respect to those who have served our country on active duty in the Armed Forces," Barnette added.
A ship a day
After the event, Barnette explained the demands of the steel factory were intense — he even said at one point, they were responsible for having a new warship ready every single day.
Barnette said this was only made possible by a sense of duty, and a patriotic belief in the goals of the country, that many of the workers at the steel plant shared deep in their hearts.
Barnette also expressed how difficult it was to be caught in the middle of the closing of Bethlehem Steel. As the CEO, he was in charge of holding the press conference in which he told the world that the giant company would be closing, as well as personally informing many employees, whom he'd known for decades, that they would no longer have jobs at the Bethlehem plant.
He also explained some of the factors that led to the plant's close, and how he said the decision was a few years in the making, and sadly, a necessary one, from his perspective.
A subtle kind of sadness
At the end of the ceremony, those who showed up on motorcycles quietly spoke to their fellow veterans, many wearing sunglasses, and hats pulled down slightly over their eyes.
There were no visible tears in the audience, but there was sadness. It was behind beards, tattoos and bandanas, but it was there — it just took a deeper look to see it — and even then, it wasn't readily apparent in every veteran standing in the crowd that day.
What the sadness looked like, in some of those who came out to the ceremony, was a blank stare at the ground, a longer-than-usual pause before replying to a friend, or chain smoking.
One member of a veteran biker's group, as his crew got ready to roll to their lunch destination sat on his Harley Davidson motorcycle, appearing to zone out and almost forget what his next movements were supposed to be.
After a sudden, surprised-looking jolt, he started up the engine, flicked his cigarette out, and motored up to join his crew on the road.
His crew of about a dozen other veterans, in the same motorcycle club, waited patiently for him. When he caught up, one nodded at him and made a gesture to guide the way — making sure nobody in their group would be left behind, no matter what.
