It started with a single phone call on a quiet Tuesday afternoon. The funeral director’s voice wavered as she explained: Richard “Doc” Patterson, a 71-year-old Vietnam veteran, was about to be cremated by the state — all alone.
No family. No friends. No military honors. His own children refused to show up.
Doc had dedicated thirty-two years as a combat medic, saving lives under enemy fire — yet now, he was set to pass away forgotten. The director made countless calls seeking help, until finally she reached us — the Iron Brotherhood Motorcycle Club.
When she said, “He has no one,” I didn’t hesitate.
“He’s a veteran,” I told her. “He’s one of ours. We’ll be there.”
That very night, I sent a message out to every biker group I knew:
