Weekend Warrior for Wounded Soldiers
 Molly Josephs
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(7/17/2008) On Friday and Saturday nights the band of brothers at the Stephen Talkhouse on Main Street in Amagansett stands guard at the door, collecting cash, stamping hands, and coping with the crowds (and occasional cuckoos) lining up to squeeze into the bar to hear some of the biggest live acts this side of Lower Manhattan. Among this brotherhood is a man whose job description doesn’t at all match that of the rest. He is a schmoozer, a talker, a money-raiser, and his name is Reginald Cornelia, Reg for short.
Mr. Cornelia sits on a bench outside the club, behind a table covered in pamphlets and merchandise near the door where the drinkers, dancers, and rock ’n’ rollers wait to enter. He is there to spread the word about and collect donations for the Wounded Warrior Project and Soldier Ride, a rehabilitative cycling program conceived at the bar at the Talkhouse.
Wounded Warrior organizes the rehabilitative Soldier Ride bike treks throughout the country to help soldiers wounded in combat reclaim an active lifestyle. Next week, the Empire State Challenge will take riders — veterans, as well as friends, family, and other supporters — from Manhattan to Montauk; the third leg starts and finishes on Saturday, July 26, at the East Hampton American Legion Post in Amagansett. The Empire State Challenge is being held in memory of Jordan C. Haerter of Sag Harbor, a lance corporal in the Marines who was killed in Iraq in April.
Mr. Cornelia will accompany the cyclists in a van. At the end of the day he will return to the spot he occupies almost every weekend night: the bench in front of the Talkhouse.
From before sunset until 11 at night, Mr. Cornelia sits behind his table, informing people and raising money. When he is not expressing admiration for the men and women he seeks to help, Mr. Cornelia shares snarky jokes with Tek, Nick, Johnny, Phil, and the other members of the Talkhouse gang.
Tek Vakaloloma, a native of New Zealand now living in East Hampton, drove cross-country in 2004 with Chris Carney, the founder of Soldier Ride. Despite his rugby-playing toughness and the intimidating impression given by his big size, Mr. Vakaloloma, a Talkhouse bouncer, is full of compassion for the wounded veterans. “It’s a humane thing to help a fellow human being out,” he said. “It’s not about me being from New Zealand, it’s about helping these kids.”
The Wounded Warrior Project is apolitical, uniting everyone who wants to help returning soldiers, according to Mr. Cornelia (who ran unsuccessfully last year on the Republican ticket to become an East Hampton Town trustee and who has served on the Springs School Board). Conservatives, liberals, celebrities, and children have participated in road events; audience members heading into the club for a night of music are unexpectedly inspired to help.
Just before an opening act takes the Talkhouse stage, Mr. Cornelia stands before the microphone and introduces a short, inspirational film. Phil Vega, the bandanna-wearing bartender, turns on the projector. The background music begins. Interviews with veterans are interspliced with words from celebrity supporters. To the background beat of U2’s “Beautiful Day,” the camera catches the famous long-distance bike rides of Chris Carney and his veteran friends, many of whom lost limbs at war in Afghanistan or Iraq.
Although he is not featured in the film, Mr. Cornelia has played a big role in the history of the Wounded Warrior Project. His involvement began before the 2005 ride, when Peter Honerkamp, a Talkhouse owner and good friend, became anxious that the group would not be able to find a driver for the van and U-Haul that trailed riders. Mr. Cornelia volunteered and was soon on the road, traveling cross-country for three months with Mr. Carney, Sgt. Ryan Kelly, and Sgt. Heath Calhoun.
Mr. Cornelia thinks the world of the Soldier Ride.
“It’s been the greatest thing that I’ve done,” he said. “It has meant almost more to me than anything in my life.”
He loves to reminisce about the people they met and the hospitality they found as they made their way across the country. In Kansas, they “could not pay for a thing,” and went to a baseball game for free. Another time, he said, smiling at the memory, “Cops pulled us over. We thought they were going to give us a ticket. They gave us a check for two grand.”
Although he is not in Kansas anymore, Reg Cornelia has not lost his drive to help the soldiers. A Vietnam War veteran himself, Mr. Cornelia said, he wants to “see these guys get treated better than we did.”
Despite the long hours he puts into the cause, Mr. Cornelia does not think of it as a sacrifice. “The dirty little secret of it is we get more out of it than [the soldiers] do,” he said. He added that he believed Don Sharkey, the East Hampton building inspector, summed it up when he said it “was a life-changing experience.”
Despite his self-acknowledged ability to “regularly piss people off,” Mr. Cornelia said, the Talkhouse crew keeps him around.
Mr. Honerkamp, he said, had once told him, “The bottom line is, the soldiers love you.”
“I love these guys so much and I respect their dedication and attitudes,” Mr. Cornelia said. “If that’s true, I can’t think of a higher compliment.”