The 'house on the hill' is where I grew up. It actually sounds like there was a house built on top of a hill out in the middle of nowhere. That was not the case. Our house was build in a suburban neighborhood of track homes. The area was at the base of the foothills in the south area of San Jose, California. The streets were sloped perfectly for bicycles and skateboards.
Our lot had a steep slope on one side. This was perfect for the club brothers to wash one of the Prospects down the hill with the garden hose in an attempt to wake him up, after nearly overdosing on pills. Silly men.
Jami and I spent a great deal of our time making mud pies in the backyard. When mom called us into the house, we usually had to walk through the garage to disgard our muddy shoes and jeans. It did not mater what was going on in the garage, and there was always a group of bikers hanging out.
Jami and I made our way through the garage, holding hands. "Hurry!", mom said, as she guided us by our shoulders through the warriors, preparing for battle. The garage was filled with men, in different areas of the garage. They all had weapons in their hands. Some were sharpening knives; others were wrapping up chains; some were cleaning guns, and even cutting off gun barrels. The Warlords and Hell's Angels were tight and would engage in war against other clubs. Mom was 'property' of Little Joe, President of the Warlords M/C. Because of this, we were treated like royalty, from what I remember of Little Joe.
Spaghetti Joe always seemed to be assigned to watch over us during these outings. This time Jami and I went with them. I do not remember much of anything, other than this scene and the one I've already described of Spaghetti Joe reading to us in the car at Kings Drive-In.
"Believe me, we'd have more than a few scrapes and wars between chapters, particularly Frisco. But mostly, we'd fuck with other clubs. One in particular, the Gypsy Jokers. During the sixties, the Jokers were originally based in San Francisco, Oakland, and San Jose. - After one blowout in Oakland when someone's old lady got manhandled, we cut up a mob of Gypsy Jokers real bad." - Sonny Barger, 'Hell's Angel: The Life and Times of Sonny Barger and The Hell's Angels' (pg. 34)
Our lot had a steep slope on one side. This was perfect for the club brothers to wash one of the Prospects down the hill with the garden hose in an attempt to wake him up, after nearly overdosing on pills. Silly men.
Jami and I spent a great deal of our time making mud pies in the backyard. When mom called us into the house, we usually had to walk through the garage to disgard our muddy shoes and jeans. It did not mater what was going on in the garage, and there was always a group of bikers hanging out.
Jami and I made our way through the garage, holding hands. "Hurry!", mom said, as she guided us by our shoulders through the warriors, preparing for battle. The garage was filled with men, in different areas of the garage. They all had weapons in their hands. Some were sharpening knives; others were wrapping up chains; some were cleaning guns, and even cutting off gun barrels. The Warlords and Hell's Angels were tight and would engage in war against other clubs. Mom was 'property' of Little Joe, President of the Warlords M/C. Because of this, we were treated like royalty, from what I remember of Little Joe.
Spaghetti Joe always seemed to be assigned to watch over us during these outings. This time Jami and I went with them. I do not remember much of anything, other than this scene and the one I've already described of Spaghetti Joe reading to us in the car at Kings Drive-In.
"Believe me, we'd have more than a few scrapes and wars between chapters, particularly Frisco. But mostly, we'd fuck with other clubs. One in particular, the Gypsy Jokers. During the sixties, the Jokers were originally based in San Francisco, Oakland, and San Jose. - After one blowout in Oakland when someone's old lady got manhandled, we cut up a mob of Gypsy Jokers real bad." - Sonny Barger, 'Hell's Angel: The Life and Times of Sonny Barger and The Hell's Angels' (pg. 34)
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