Angels Among Us

I think it was my first post last summer, when I wrote that summers are great here in Gunnison, CO.  From Memorial Day through Labor Day, there is some event happening every weekend.  Good old all-American activities like a weekly farmer's market, local bands playing downtown each weekend, an Art in the Park festival, a super fireworks show, and the balloon festival.

This weekend is no exception, while maybe not quite as all-American as the previous weekends, this one is off to an interesting start.  This weekend more than 300 members of the Hell's Angels motorcycle gang are staying in town.  It's not quite like the old days when the town would empty when Bonnie and Clyde came to town.  But the town definitely prepared.  About 150 policemen and state troopers from other areas of the state came to provide extra law enforcement.  The strategy of the police seems to be to shadow each group of cycles wherever they go.  If you see more than five motorcycles going down the street, they have a police car alongside or behind.  Still, I have seen several arrests being made.  But overall, so far at least, not too much excitement.  Hopefully it stays that way. 

The Angels last came to town in 2002.  According to news reports, they were very well behaved.  In the three days there was only one murder!  Oh yeah, and a rape.  Guess the bar for good behavior is set a little low where the Hell's Angels are concerned.  As the national security director for one of my accounts said, "They are trying hard to remake their image, but for each picture you see of one of them with a Santa sack full of toys for kids, I can show you a picture of a dead body."  Kind of puts them back in perspective.  

My only other experience with the gang was with one of the members back in the 1980's when I had the book store.  One of my most regular customers was a guy named Charlie.  He was a Hell's Angel that had moved from California a few years earlier.  He looked just like you would picture a Hell's Angel.  Long stringy black hair, a leather hat, a leather vest with the Angel's colors on the back, big black leather boots, spiked leather gloves, and spiked leather armbands.  And of course, the cigar.  When I bought the store, I made it non-smoking.  Charlie had no problem with the new policy.  He just broke the cigar into pieces and chewed it.

Charlie came in just about every Sunday.  During football season, he had the habit of arriving just as the Cowboys (knew I had to work them in here, didn't you?) came on the radio.  And Charlie loved to talk.  He would talk for hours about mystery novels.  Mickey Spillane was his favorite.  I don't think I ever read a Spillane novel, but I knew the story line of all 100+.  He did turn me onto a a couple of good writers.  I especially liked the noir style of Jim Thompson that Charlie recommended.

What really made Charlie interesting was his mode of transportation.  When he came to Texas, he fell on some hard times.  An accident destroyed his motorcycle and left him with a bit of a limp.  He replaced his Harley with what we now call a "townie" bicycle.  If you aren't familiar with the townie, it is a throwback style of bicycle that looks like the bicycles that were popular in the 1950's and 1960's.  Especially in small college towns like Gunnison, townies are cool now.  In Texas in the mid and late 1980's bicycles weren't cool.  And townies especially weren't cool.  They were just old and cheap.  And to further add to the image of the leather and spike clad Hell's Angel riding through the city on an old style baby blue bicycle, add a wire basket to the handlebars.  Oh yeah, fill the basket with paperback mystery novels.

I once asked Charlie why he hadn't replaced his Harley.  He had a good job at a factory in Grand Prairie that made either Colt revolvers or ammunition, I can't quite remember which.  He was saving every cent possible to make his dream come true.  His goal was to buy a hearse and convert it to a home on wheels.  When I sold the book store, Charlie was still riding around Arlington, TX on an outdated rickety bicycle.  

One day, several years after I had last seen Charlie, I was driving in the usual heavy traffic near the campus in downtown Arlington.  While I was sitting in the left lane, a hearse passed me on the left and pulled into the left turn lane.  I glanced over at it and saw the famous Hell's Angel colors in the back window.  When my light turned green, I slowly passed the hearse and looked over.  The windows were covered with black curtains, each with the Harley Davidson logo.  The front window was rolled down and blue cigar smoke was rolling out.  There in the driver's seat, complete with scraggly beard, leather hat, and big smelly cigar sat Charlie looking as happy as could be.  

I would bet the back was filled with Mickey Spillane novels too.  I guess dreams do come true.  

More Childhood Pyromania

Like I said yesterday, one of my few regular chores was taking out the trash and as I got older, burning it.  In our small town, the city only picked up our trash a couple of times a month.  So, we burned it in our trash barrels at least a couple of times between pick-ups.  I don't remember if there was a regular pick-up schedule, or if Don just came by when he had time.  He was kind of the do-everything city employee.  I think he was the maintenance department, animal control, and waste management department combined.  Anyway at least a couple of times that I can remember, Don provided our entertainment on a summer day.  Burning trash in the barrel and an irregular pick-up schedule was a dangerous combination.  Trash burned the day before the pick up would not be flaming, but would be smoldering.  Smoldering trash compacted on top of the other trash would eventually produce a flaming garbage truck.  I remember Bobby and I racing our bikes down the street trying to keep up with Don as he sped through town to the city dump with flames trailing out the back of the truck.

I also remember a scary trash burning incident with Jeff. We had difficulty getting the trash in his alley to burn.  His parents had their own gas tank, unfortunately within fairly easy reach of the trash barrels.  After several failed attempts to get the trash to burn, we had the brilliant idea to pour gasoline on the trash.  The tank had a long hose and just reached the barrel.  A few cautious shots of gasoline were dumped on top of the trash.  Being reasonably intelligent boys, we took the hose back to the tank before trying to light the trash.  Jeff lit a match on the side of the barrel and tossed it in.  Instantly there was a fwoomp and the flames shot up out of the barrel, just like in the cartoons!  And just like in the cartoons, the trail of gasoline that dripped down the side of the barrel to the ground and along the wooden fence toward the gas tank also lit up.  I stomped on as much as I could and Jeff ran for the water hose, which of course reached almost to the fire.  Fortunately for us, the gasoline trailed out into the dirt of the alley before crossing back into the grass to the gas tank.  The gasoline burned off before the flames had a chance to get back to the dry grass.  That was end of my trash burning career, and probably for Jeff too.

Back to Don, the city worker, he also drove the truck that sprayed for mosquitoes in the summer.  That was another form of entertainment for Bobby, Jeff, and me.  We would chase behind the truck on our bicycles, inhaling the ddt fog that would keep the mosquitoes from carrying us away.  There's a line in a James McMurtry song titled, 12 O'Clock Whistle,that says about DDT, "that stuff won't hurt you none, the neighbor lady'd say, but encephalitis, now that'll ruin your day. "If you like country-folk-rock music, I'd recommend James McMurtry.  And this one,It Had to Happen, is my favorite album. For some reason, this song reminds me of spending time in the summer with my Grandma Mae. Besides how can anyone resist a song that successfully works "encephalitis" into its lyrics!