When the war ended, Olson and his friends ended up in San Bernardino. They rode big, loud Harley-Davidsons. They rarely associated with anyone else. But they didn’t become what we now know as the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club. Other units had used the name Hell’s Angels—most notably the 11th airborne division and the famously hard-drinking 303rd bomber squadron in North Africa and Europe—so it could have emerged from another source. It’s far more likely, however, the name’s origin came from area bikers who came into contact with Olson and his friends and wanted to emulate them. There’s no doubting they were cool.
All over America groups of young men were springing up who liked to ride bikes, party and live on the edge of the law or just outside it. Motorcycles were cheap; many were sold as army surplus after the war, and the men who rode them tended to cluster together because they didn’t always fit into conventional society very well or at all. Of course, not all motorcycle riders in the late ’40s, or even the majority of them, were outlaws. But the few that were tended to stand out and make things bad for the others.
The image of the antisocial trouble-making biker in a black leather jacket invaded widespread consciousness in the summer of 1947. Two motorcycle enthusiast groups—far from outlaws—organized a get-together for July 4th in the farming town of Hollister, California. Sanctioned by the American Motorcycle Association, the ride expanded to include races and hill-climbs. More than 4,000 bikers descended upon the town of 4,500.
Two groups in particular, the Pissed Off Bastards of Bloomington and the Booze Fighters, arrived with more on their minds than racing up hills. Drunk from the start, the Bastards and Fighters started racing and performing dangerous stunts in the streets, fighting, throwing beer bottles through windows and generally terrorizing the locals. Hollister’s seven-man police force was helpless and called in 40 highway patrolmen who established a sort of informal martial law. Bars were closed, a threat of tear gas was made and the bikers skulked out of town. Those who remained were the 50 or so who were seriously injured—Frank McGovern of Chico had his foot nearly severed in a racing accident—and the more than 50 who wound up in jail.
Although the stories of a drunken orgy of violence that have circulated about Hollister are generally exaggerated and the famous photo that appeared in Life magazine of a shirtless biker passed out on a Harley was later admitted to be faked, the popular image of the rowdy biker was cast. Police chief Fred A. Earl called it “the worst 40 hours in Hollister’s history.” Joyce Lane, superintendent of nearby Hazel Hawkins Memorial Hospital, told the press that drunk and injured people were being admitted “too fast to keep accurate records.” The AMA quickly distanced itself from the maelstrom by issuing a press release that labeled the troublemakers “outlaws” and referred to them contemptuously as “1 percent” of an otherwise law-abiding fraternity of riders. To this day, both “outlaw” and “1-percenter” are terms with great resonance among motorcycle gangs, and both are considered valuable titles to be earned.
After Hollister, a prominent Pissed Off Bastard named Otto Friedli split with the club and formed his own group on March 17, 1948 in Fontana, just west of San Bernardino. He called it the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club. They weren’t much different from other clubs, except for the cool name. It got even cooler in 1954 when Otto’s club merged with San Francisco troublemakers and Hollister veterans, the Market Street Commandos. The new members, now called the Hells Angels San Francisco Chapter, paid their mates back with what would later become a world-famous and fiercely protected trademark, the winged skull logo.
Later that year, Hollywood released a film that would do more for bikers than anything they could have done themselves. Inspired by the short story “The Cyclists’ Raid,” which was loosely based on the Hollister incident, The Wild One is about a biker gang that invades a motorcycle race and then clashes with a rival gang. Many consider Marlon Brando’s portrayal of Johnny, the troubled, brooding biker, to be his best work. Johnny is seduced by the romantic, lawless life of the bikers, but is decidedly at odds with the pointlessness of their violent existence.
The film was a massive critical and financial success and it rocketed Brando to the apex of stardom. His rebellious look and style set the standard for alienated youth everywhere. Millions of wannabes popped up overnight and, even 50 years later, the leather jacket and jeans look still works on today’s streets.
But the real bikers found Johnny to be a bit of a sissy. He didn’t get it. All thoughtful and sensitive, he was a square pretending to be a rebel. Hell, he even rode a Triumph (Brando’s bike in real life). No, the bikers preferred the film’s villain. Based on notorious Booze Fighter Willie “Wino Willie” Forkner, Lee Marvin’s Harley-riding Chino was derided by many as a sadistic brute. But to many bikers, he was the epitome of cool. So impressive was he that San Francisco Hells Angel (and later chapter president) Frank Sadilek rode to Los Angeles the day after he saw the movie to buy a replica of the blue-and-yellow striped shirt Marvin wore as Chino. Sadilek wore the shirt every day until it fell apart years later.
Armed with the new logo and the best bikes (Harleys only, no Indians or “foreign crap”), the Hells Angels were everything the legion of young men who saw The Wild One wanted to be. These weren’t the pilots, paratroopers and bombardiers who took to motorcycles to relieve the tediousness of life after combat. These were more ordinary young men, rebelling against a post-war America that promised so much, but left many behind. Although it was a time of unprecedented wealth and freedom, not everybody got a piece and not everybody wanted to throw on a fedora, drive to the factory and come home to a wife, kids and a mundane house in the suburbs. Joining the growing trend towards franchising (McDonald’s was emerging in the same area at the same time), Hells Angels chapters started sprouting up all over the west coast.
One of those disaffected young men was Ralph Hubert Barger Jr. Born on October 8, 1938 to a working-class family in a run-down stop on the highway appropriately called Modesto, Barger didn’t have a great start in life. His dad was working down the road laying pavement on Highway 99 and his mother would take Sonny (as Ralph Jr. was called) and his big sister, Shirley Marie, on the bus to visit him every weekend. Whether it was the stress of handling two young children without a father or something she saw on her visits to Ralph Sr.’s motel, Kathryn Carmella Barger left the kids with a babysitter and ran off with a Trailways driver to Twentyninepalms, California.
There would be no picket-fence upbringing for Sonny. With mom out of the picture, he and his sister moved in with their grand-mother in Oakland, one of the most violent and racially divided cities in America. Sonny was what they used to call a “problem child” and dropped out of 10th grade in 1955 to join the army. He finished 13 months of basic and then advanced infantry training before the army realized he was too young and gave him an honorable discharge. After that, he meandered pointlessly from one job to another—including a stint on a potato chip assembly line—before he bought a bike and started a club.
On April 1, 1957 (a date still tattooed on his arm), Barger’s club became the Oakland Chapter of the Hells Angels. A year later Friedli went to prison and a new national president was needed. Through the force of sheer charisma, the wiry, fidgety little man from Oakland won the job. Barger immediately went to work. He moved the Hells Angels headquarters from Berdoo (as the Club rechristened San Bernardino because it was too long to fit on their jackets) to Oakland. Writing up a code of behavior that included things like a $5 fine for fighting between members and the ban on messing with another Angel’s “old lady,” he made a blueprint for a franchise that would eventually spread across the U.S. and a dozen other countries.
Despite their rebellious aspirations, Barger gave the Hells Angels a pseudo-military hierarchy and they have become one of the most stringently self-policed organizations in the world. Each chapter has a president, either elected or unchallenged, who has ultimate control of all club decisions. Despite his power, the president of one chapter has no ju
risdiction over other chapters. Even the national president has no immediate power over other chapters, although he is always listened to and treated with respect and even reverence. The chapter president rides on the front left of the Angels’ two-column formation. Beside him is his right-hand man, the road captain. His duties are to take care of all the unpleasant necessities like planning trips, carrying cash and dealing with police. Behind them ride the vice-president, the president’s choice to stand in for him when needed but not necessarily the next in line for his job, and the secretary-treasurer, who controls meetings, fines and dues and keeps a list of all members’ names and addresses. After these come the full-patch members of the club. The last of these is the sergeant-at-arms, who acts as the president’s bodyguard, club enforcer and general tough guy. Bigger clubs may have an assistant enforcer who rides alongside the sergeant-at-arms. Behind them ride the honorary members, who are retired members or close associates like lawyers, bail bondsmen or motorcycle parts suppliers who have helped the club in the past. At the very end are prospective members and other associates. As in a pack of wolves, everyone knows his place and any deviation from the established order is immediately and brutally put down.
Nobody is lower than friends—associates of club members who have no official rights and wear no colors but may be invited to parties or on rides. Friends who want to apply for membership must meet some qualifications. “Someone who comes around the club and wants to join must have a good motorcycle, a Harley-Davidson,” said Clarence “Addie” Crouch, former vice-president of the Cleveland Chapter. “He must be white and 21 or older.” A woman from Ventura, California, once attempted to sue the Hells Angels to gain membership, but failed because the club receives no government funding. “We don’t get any money from the government; they can’t make us do anything,” said Barger years later. “Even if they could, we wouldn’t do it.” An applicant is expected to do everything he’s told by anyone above him. He must also withstand a lot of “mud checking”—being beaten up by club members. Although he is expected to fight back, he will often be attacked by groups of two, three or more and usually knows better than to show a full member up by winning.
After a period that usually ranges from three months to two years in which the friend has proven himself trustworthy, the club members will vote on his status. Only if he receives 100 percent support from club members will he be promoted to a hangaround. Now he has more rights: he may be allowed in the clubhouse to work and he gets to hang around the clubhouse preventing the curious from getting close. A hangaround’s primary duty is to keep a distance between club members and the public, but he may be asked to do anything by a member and he must do it. Chad Proctor, a former hangaround in Vancouver, described his life under the members as “intolerable” and called his bosses “tyrannical.” But such is the allure of the Hells Angels that many young men fight for the opportunity to go through the procedure.
As his status rises, so does his risk. While a transgression by a friend may just result in his dismissal, it gets tougher for hangarounds. They are expected to be available to do any task a member dictates and they are on call 24/7. If a hangaround breaks a rule, he’s exiled from the club forever. “If he does not go through a mud check, they run him off,” said Crouch. “They beat him up, take his motorcycle, take his old lady, whatever; they run him off.”
A hangaround is given three opportunities to become a prospect and must get 100 percent approval. If he fails, he’ll be exiled. Unlike much of the operation of the Hells Angels, there’s no set of rules surrounding the prospecting process. If a hangaround proves his worth and exhibits the right attitude, he’ll be approved. The prospect’s life is still tough, but in many ways is better than a hangaround’s. He’s allowed full access to the clubhouse and, far more important, he gets his colors. A leather jacket with the death’s head logo and a top rocker (the text above the crest) that says “Hells Angels,” the colors are said to be more important to a Hells Angel than any other possession or woman. The colors are precious and the rules around them are complex and absolute. They can’t be touched by a non-member without punishment. A Hells Angel who forgets to wear his colors to a party or meeting will likely be beaten by other Angels. If he loses his colors, he will probably be exiled forever. To desecrate an Angel’s colors is said to be an offense punishable by death, even when done by other Angels. The Angels are fiercely proud of their colors and will not tolerate imitators. Wannabes have had their unearned death’s head tattoos removed by knife.
A prospect gets his full patch (the bottom rocker identifying which chapter he belongs to) when he becomes a member. Traditionally, the initiation ceremony for a member is as awful as everything he’s had to endure thus far, and more disgusting. In a ritual that was as profane as the Cosa Nostra’s is regarded as religious, the new member was forced to undergo a shower of vomit, urine, feces, blood and ejaculate and forbidden to wash his jacket ever again. What followed was a party where the initiate must prove his ability to withstand beatings, drink dangerous amounts of alcohol and perform sexual feats with women supplied by the club. The initiate was then given nine days to get a tattoo of the Hells Angels’ logo (complete with rockers) and the date he joined. Most chose to tatoo an arm, but other body parts have been used, including the penis of some more dedicated members. If a member left the Angels honorably, he had to get the date of his departure added to his tattoo. If he was kicked out, he’d have his tattoo removed by other members. Although a few Hells Angels veterans have claimed that initiates must kill a person to gain full membership, that claim is almost universally regarded as a myth.
As horrible as it sounds, men lined up to join the Hells Angels. Existing motorcycle clubs either eagerly applied for acceptance or were forced to do so as the franchising operation sought dominance. For the next few years, the Hells Angels enjoyed riding, drinking and partying with celebrity status. They had so much notoriety and confidence that Barger found the chutzpah to express his hardcore patriotism by writing Lyndon Johnson in 1964 to offer help for the military in Southeast Asia.
Dear Mr. President,
On behalf of myself and my associates I volunteer a group of loyal americans in Viet Nam. We feel that a crack group of trained gorrillas would demoralize the Viet Cong and advance the cause of freedom. We are available for training and duty immediately. Sincerely,
Ralph Barger Jr.
Oakland, California
President of Hells Angels
Things changed later that year. Two girls—one 14, the other 15—claimed to have been gang-raped by Hells Angels at a Labor Day run in Monterey. Although one of the girls later refused to testify and the other failed a lie-detector test, the damage was done. The Hells Angels emerged from the Monterey rape case an altogether different organization.
Members “Terry the Tramp,” Marvin “Moldy” Gilbert, “Mother” Miles and Filmore “Crazy” Cross were indicted in the case and their defense was expensive. Despite their notoriety in the early ’60s, the Angels were not rich. Still at that point a social club dedicated to bikes, booze and broads, many members committed some petty crimes to supplement paychecks, but were not riding to get rich. A few sold drugs, but nothing major. More often, the bikers would rent themselves and their vicious reputations out to the mafia as debt collectors and enforcers. The Hells Angels who were employed generally worked in low-paying menial jobs; Barger himself worked in a warehouse. By this time, Harley-Davidsons were becoming expensive and notoriously prone to costly breakdowns. Cops had it in for bikers and the constant barrage of tickets, bail and workdays lost for court appearances depleted the club’s reserves. The club charged dues, regularly fined its members for minor infractions and needed a constant supply of beer, booze and food for its parties. Even the most decorated Hells Angels edged close to homelessness since keeping the club going and their bikes running was more important than things like rent.
Although a few younger Angels used and dealt things like marijuana on a s
mall-time basis, the Hells Angels traditionally disdained illegal drugs. But it was a desperate time. With four brothers behind bars needing bail and lawyers, the club was on the brink of collapse. At a meeting, one member spoke about a friend who earned tons of money making a new kind of drug in his kitchen with ingredients bought at a pharmacy or grocery store. The other members listened and the Hells Angels, perhaps reluctantly, entered the crystal meth business.
Methamphetamines are stimulants that dilate the pupils and produce temporary hyperactivity, euphoria, a sense of increased energy and tremors. Crystal meth is the much more potent and smokable form of the drug. According to the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency:
Methamphetamine is neurotoxic, meaning that it causes damage to the brain. High doses or chronic use have been associated with increased nervousness, irritability and paranoia. Withdrawal from high doses produces severe depression. Chronic abuse produces a psychosis similar to schizophrenia and is characterized by paranoia, picking at the skin, self-absorption and auditory and visual hallucinations. Violent and erratic behavior is frequently seen among chronic, high-dose methamphetamine abusers.
It was the perfect drug for the Hells Angels. Made up of small white flakes or shards—earning it the nickname “ice”—crystal meth is easy to hide in a jacket or a motorcycle. In fact, many attribute the nickname “crank” to the fallacious idea that bikers hid the drug in the crankcases of their Harleys. Even better, since it was made locally in informal “labs,” the notoriously xenophobic Hells Angels didn’t have to rely on any “foreigners.”
It was the ’60s and the times were indeed a-changin’. The primary market for drugs was the burgeoning population of young people who were growing increasingly anti-establishment, but in an entirely different way than the Hells Angels were. Although they didn’t care much for government and its rules, the bikers were fiercely patriotic and considered the legions of antiwar youths to be “commies.” The animosity was not reciprocated. Hippies and their associates were as seduced by the biker mystique as anyone, maybe more so. When journalist Hunter S. Thompson was living and riding with the Hells Angels, he introduced them to pioneer hippie Ken Kesey. A strong advocate of drugs as a mind-expanding tool, Kesey traveled around the country in a multicolored school bus with a group he called the Merry Pranksters. He decided to put the two groups together and on August 7, 1965, the Hells Angels and the most prominent hippie group got together with assorted cultural and academic noteworthies for a summit and party.
Jerry Langton Three-Book Bundle Page 31