April 23rd
By Cynthia Beaudette of the Muscatine Journal

MUSCATINE, Iowa — A distant, low rumble swelled into a thunderous roar and set Muscatine streets vibrating Friday morning.
For the mourners attending the funeral of Muscatine resident Todd “Hoss” Stratton, this sound of hundreds of motorcyclists was familiar, comforting.
Stratton, 36, a member of the Sons of Silence biker club, died Friday, April 14, in a motorcycle accident near Columbus Junction.

His untimely death signaled the traditional, nationwide call for camaraderie and support that goes out when a fellow biker dies.
Stratton’s funeral was attended by members of several clubs including the Chosen Few, Tenth Souls, Bond Slaves, the Association of Recovering Motorcyclists, Iron Horsemen, the Christian Motorcycle Association and the local Circle of Pride. One by one, the bikers dismounted and walked into a sea of warm embraces and friendly greetings, their black-leather riding gear striking silhouettes against the sunny, blue-skied morning.

“It humbles you,” said Stratton’s brother, Fritz Stratton of Muscatine, as he watched the growing line of brotherhood arrive at the Geo. M Wittich-Lewis Funeral Home in Muscatine.
 “I always questioned what kind of group he hung out with,” Fritz said. “Now I know. This is a tight-knit group. 
“There’s people from Florida, California and Maine who drove two days to be here.”
Stratton’s mother, Clara Stratton, cried when she saw that the bikes had filled the funeral home parking lot and lined the sides of Mulberry Avenue.

Tom Sawyer, a Burlington biker from the Christian Motorcycle Association, said members of his faith-based group pray for all their fellow bikers. Members of all the clubs meet at rallies and other biker events throughout the year, Sawyer said.
“Each person here recognizes his own mortality and understands your fate is not always in your own hands,” said Sawyer. “When a club member dies, the loss is felt by all of us.”

Captain, a 35-year Iron Horsemen member who traveled from Mississippi, preferred to use his biker moniker rather than his legal name as he talked about tradition. 
Bikers began rallying for one another’s funerals for the same reason the biker clubs developed, Captain said: To provide a nationwide family for the many members who never felt like they had a loyal and stable home.

He said the tradition of large numbers of bikers traveling to fellow bikers’ funerals began sometime in the 1940s. The honoring of one another was of especially great significance in the 1960s, Captain said, when many young bikers died in the Vietnam War.
“A lot of us, but not all, come from broken homes,” said Captain. “And we have a lot of  Vietnam vets. The bikers formed their own brotherhood.”
He looked out over the swelling sea of leather-clad mourners and smiled.
“There is no high like this,” he said.

Jeff Johnson, a member of the Christian Motorcycle Association, traveled from Danville, Ill. to pay respects to Todd Stratton, whom he met once in 2005.
“There’s a strong bond among us,” said Johnson. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

As the funeral service began, the Rev. Eugene Hall, whose biker name is Chaplain Highside, described the loyalty and dedication bikers have for one another.
“This brotherhood is a gift of self,” said Hall, a Sons of Silence member from Kansas. “It means taking on one another’s problems, enemies and even their dreams. It’s a covenant relationship that surpasses understanding to anyone who wasn’t part of Hoss’ world.”
Hall  said Stratton’s death is a reminder that time is a gift that no one can invent or buy.
“The biggest crime in the world is to take this gift and return it unopened,” said Hall. “Hoss lived each day to the fullest.”
 Stratton once worked as a cowboy on a New Mexico ranch. He had also been a truck driver. At the time of his accident, the veteran of the U.S. Air Force was working in construction.

Fritz spoke of his brother’s candor, recalling a scene at the death bed of their father, Raymond Stratton, in 1999.
After listening to his family fret over his father and continue to ask Raymond what he needed, Todd asked a different kind of  question.
“‘Do you just want us to leave you the hell alone?!’” Fritz said, quoting his brother.
That story marked one of the many times the service was punctuated with laughter.

Out on the funeral home lawn, the air carried the scent of sun-warmed leather as hundreds more bikers gathered around a speaker that piped the service outdoors.
When the service ended,  Stratton’s casket, a U.S. flag waving from it, was pulled by a motorcycle, followed by a stream of bikes headed for Muscatine’s Memorial Park Cemetery.

At the cemetery, J.M. (Dago) Marchellino, a recording artist from Carroll, Iowa, sang his original song, “Give Me Wind to Put My Wheels In.” In a rugged voice edged with emotion, the 27-year Sons of Silence member sang: