
A MOMENT OF SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION
Featured


I was over fifty when I went back to complete the bachelor’s degree I’d started in January of 1979, at the age of twenty-two. It ultimately took me thirty-five years, gate-to-gate, to limp across the stage at the University of Texas and collect my degree in December of 2013, at the ripe old age of fifty-seven.
With honors, if you please! 😏

Anyhoo, as an English major, one of my classes was on poetry, and one day we were presented with a sonnet by William Shakespeare:

We followed that up with a modern-day retelling of the sonneteer’s great love by poet Harryette Mullen, from her book Sleeping with the Dictionary (2002, University of California Press, Oakland).

Then we were pressed to create our own. Me being the biker what I are, I decided to have some fun with it. As you will see (at least, I hope you see), I relied heavily on stereotype for broad comic effect. 😏
I’m pretty sure I also got an A on the assignment. 🤣

* Obligatory (but still true) Disclaimers:
First; I really have never met any of the models from Easyriders, and have no idea what kind of women they are. The characterization is used here only for effect, in keeping with the narrator’s ‘voice’, and does not reflect my own or The Shovel Shop‘s opinion of said models.
Second; and I cannot stress this enough: this is not a description of my wife, or any woman I have ever been involved with! I swear! 😆
Anyhoo, I hope y’all enjoyed this brief meander down the garden path. I’ve been busy getting Jackie and I, The Shovel Shop and MMMoMMA settled in our new quarters at San Antonio, Texas. We will resume our regularly-scheduled chaos ASAP.
‘Til then, ride free, ride safe, but most of all, ride! 😎

In an episode of the 1950s television show Highway Patrol, aired 2 April 1956, two motorcycle club members (Clint Eastwood as ‘Joe Keeley’ and John Compton as ‘Nick West’) ride their stripped-down Harleys into a small town and stop at a café for breakfast. They are shocked when the café owner (Jack Edwards as ‘Bernie Sills’) confronts them with a shotgun, forces them outside and orders them to leave.

It turns out the café owner’s wife (Paula Houston as ‘Mrs. Sills’) was injured during a ‘motorcycle raid’ by a renegade club eight months earlier. Sills just assumes that because Joe and Nick are on bikes and wearing leather jackets, they must be part of that renegade club.

As his wife calls the Highway Patrol, her husband menaces and provokes the bikers until Nick snatches the shotgun from Sills and punches him on the jaw. Joe drags Nick away, they jump on their bikes (accurately customized in the fashion of the day, BTW) and roar out of town.

When Sills learns that his wife has called the Highway Patrol, the first thing he does is hide the gun. Then he lies to the responding officer, who is also on a motorcycle, telling him the cyclists started the trouble, that they’re dangerous and so on. Relying on the café owner’s words, the motorcycle cop sets off in hot pursuit of the bikers, only to be struck and fatally injured by a distracted trucker who runs a red light.

Sills is there when Broderick Crawford (‘Chief Dan Mathews’) shows up, and does his best to convince the head cop that those ‘cycle bums’ are responsible for the patrolman’s crash. He swears out a complaint against the bikers for ‘disturbing the peace’, infuriated that a more serious charge can’t be laid against them immediately.

Back in his squad car, however, Mathews questions the café owner’s story — he doubts two bikers would take on an entire town — and tracks them down solely to question them as possible witnesses. When he hears their version of the morning’s events, he is incensed that Sills lied to him, so Mathews sets a trap for Sills. He outfits one of his motor patrolmen with a customized Harley and a borrowed motorcycle club jacket, and sends him into town to stop at the café.

Sure enough, Sills goes off on the ersatz ‘biker’, knocking over his Harley, beating on it with the stock of his shotgun, and threatening to shoot the ‘biker’. Sills even admits he’s using the same shotgun he used on Joe and Nick.

At that point, Mathews and his driver appear, having witnessed the entire incident, and arrest Sills on two charges of assault with a deadly weapon. As he tries to weasel his way out of the trouble he’s in, the café owner’s wife calls him a bitter old fool, and vows to tell Mathews the truth about the incident with Joe and Nick.


I tracked this episode down because, as a longtime biker, I’m interested in anything and everything to do with our history, and this episode is part of that history.
The ‘outlaw biker’ of today first became an identifiable character in the summer of 1947, when the town of Hollister, California, hosted a Gypsy Tour (a large motorcycle rally) which included races, hill-climbs, tire-kicking and socializing. This event was sanctioned by the AMA – the American Motorcycle Association, as it was then known – and drew a large number of ‘straight’ clubs: mom-and-pop touring clubs and sport-minded racing clubs.

However, a small number of clubs, with names like Galloping Goose and Boozefighters, and comprised primarily of recently returned World War Two combat veterans, were more interested in partying than anything else, and began drinking, brawling, racing and performing motorcycle stunts on the town’s main drag.

Some windows were broken, some people were arrested, and the overwhelmed local police called the Highway Patrol in to assist in restoring order. This was finally accomplished by commandeering a dance band and a flatbed truck to serve as a stage. The damages were paid for on the spot, and the roughhousing came to a halt as the rebels took to the streets to dance!

It would have been a non-story but for the efforts of an enterprising (and desperate) photographer named Barney Peterson. The San Francisco Chronicle sent Peterson to photograph the reported carnage, but he reportedly arrived too late to capture anything but the peaceful aftermath. According to witnesses, the photographer, eager to secure his commission, artfully arranged broken beer bottles beneath a bike parked at the curb, to make it look as if the town were awash in drunken revelers, and then grabbed a local fellow named Eddie Davenport and posed the visibly intoxicated Davenport on the bike with a bottle in each hand.
The resulting photograph appeared in LIFE magazine two weeks later, and seared the image of bikers as drunken louts and ruffians into the consciousness of Americans from coast to coast. Similar shenanigans at a rally the following summer, in Riverside, California, cemented that image.

The AMA reportedly insisted that ‘99% of all motorcyclists are upright, law-abiding citizens,’ and announced that the clubs misbehaving at Hollister and Riverside would be ‘outlawed’ by the AMA. This merely meant that its members would be barred from taking part in AMA-sanctioned competition – a harsh punishment for a club that cared about winning trophies and national titles.
However, for a band of hooligans that described itself as ‘a drinking club with a motorcycle problem,’ the way the Boozefighters MC did, being ‘outlawed’ was a badge of honor. It wasn’t long before certain outlawed clubs (and those that aspired to be) devised a diamond-shaped 1% patch, which marked them as proud members of the 1% of all motorcyclists who did not fit in the AMA’s neat white-picket-fence world. They would be the elite, the baddest of the bad.
A few years after the ‘riot’ at Hollister, author Frank Rooney published a highly fictionalized version of the Hollister story in Harper’s Magazine, reinforcing the stereotype of bikers as thuggish ruffians, now made even more dangerous by traveling in well-organized, almost paramilitary packs under the direction of a psychotic leader. Naturally, death and destruction ensue.
Rooney’s ‘Cyclist’s Raid’ and the real-life events at Hollister and Riverside helped inspire Stanley Kramer’s 1953 film The Wild One, which featured a smarmy motorcycle club leader (Marlon Brando as ‘Johnny Strabler’) opposite a far more realistic biker named ‘Chino’ (Lee Marvin) and his outlaw club, The Beetles. That, in turn, led to the April 1956 airing of the Highway Patrol episode titled ‘Motorcycle A’.
So why is this relatively unremembered half-hour television program worth all this verbiage? Well, kids, it stands out because, unlike The Wild One or Rooney’s fiction, or a lot of newspaper reports of the day, the bikers in this Highway Patrol episode are not the bad guys!
See? History, made fresh right here! 😁
And just to show that Highway Patrol wasn’t a one-off for Clint Eastwood’s riding abilities, here are two more pics of the man on wheels.


A Facebook friend reposted a two-year-old screed about late-model wankers with their heated handgrips, windshields, stereos and security systems, and I felt moved to respond. As is my wont, I got windy about it. Here’s what he wrote:

To which I replied:
I don’t even like needing a windshield on a motorcycle, and wouldn’t run one if I hadn’t broken my damn back, but I have never seen the purpose of stereos, GPS systems and such. Get your Prius out of the garage, if you need all that shit!


Still, I remember in the early ’70s, cats mounting alarm systems on their rides because…. hey! If some motherfucker gets off with your bike, the odds are you’ll never see it again. Most broke tramps I knew had everything they owned in that machine, and no insurance company was gonna cover a custom bike. You and your bros were all that stood between your bike and the forces of evil.
I’ll never forget sitting at a party back in ’73: we’re all getting drunk and high and grooving to the tunes on the turntable, and all of a sudden we hear a fucking police radio right there in the room with us! Turned out to be the remote for the new alarm system on Al’s Sporty. It could receive a signal from the alarm module if anyone fucked with his bike. No one knew until that instant that it could also pick up radio transmissions! 😱 Talk about freaked out! 🤣
I’ve never had an alarm system on any of my bikes, but I also avoid parking them where I can’t keep an eye on them. If the bike’s not in my line of sight for any reason, it’s locked up tight and I’m checking on it at infrequent intervals. Gotta keep them thieves on their toes!

….if the bike’s not in my line of sight, it’s locked up tight and I’m checking on it at infrequent intervals. Gotta keep them thieves on their toes!
I remember sitting at local beer joints, watching as those of us who rode took turns hopping off our barstools and checking the parking lot. It looked kinda funny, seeing us go up and down like a whore’s knickers, but we all knew none of our rides were safe unless we watched out for ’em.
And it wasn’t just paranoia. I had a customer come in the shop with a Sporty shock that was bent almost in an ‘L’. Naturally, I asked him what happened, thinking he’d been t-boned by a cager. Nope. He was at a titty bar on the north side. He recalled parking his bike and passing a cluster of UT frat boys leaving as he walked in. Nothing happened, he said – no harsh words or dirty looks or anything – but a few minutes later one of his buddies walked in and said ‘Man, what happened to your bike? It’s layin’ on its side out there.’
Turned out someone – presumably the frat boys – knocked his bike over and did a fandango on it: stove in the fuel tank, bent the handlebars, fucked up the gauges, broke the mirrors, et cetera. 🤬🤬🤬
A few months later, I was sitting in a titty bar on the south side, rapping with a friend, and told him that story. He got this sick look on his face, jumped up and ran out the door. I just sat there, kind of amused, figuring he’d be right back…. but then he didn’t come back, so I went to check on him.
As I push my way through the double doors to the parking lot, I see Doc on one side of his bike, and a young couple standing on the other. Doc’s finger is in the guy’s face – he’s obviously pissed – and I’m thinking ‘Oops! Looks like we’re fixing to get down.’ I hit the second set of doors like a freight train, and as I do the chick turns to me and chirps ‘Oh, you think you’re bad?‘ 😲
WTF? 🤷🏻♀️
The guy already looked like he was about to wet himself, with Doc growling at him, but when the chick said that the dude went bone-white, like he was about to faint right there. 😆
Turned out that when Doc walked out the guy was just about to throw a leg over Doc’s Triumph. The kid wasn’t a thief – he was just an idiot showing off for his girlfriend – but Doc told me later that when he hit the parking lot, all he could do was point at the guy and say ‘Don’t!‘ His hand was shaking from the adrenaline rush, he said, and the one word was all he could muster in the moment. By the time I came barreling through the doors, Doc had caught his breath and was just detailing the young man’s near-death experience for him, in great detail. 😈
Then the chick mouthed off at me, making everything worse. 😏
Oooooh, it could have gone sideways real quick-like, but we checked the bikes over, made sure nothing was damaged, and the kid (who apologized the whole while we were out there) insisted on buying us both drinks. He must have had a come-to-Jesus discussion with his girlfriend, too, because before we were done with our free drinks the girl came over, knelt beside my chair and begged my forgiveness. She even kissed my hand! 😲
Damn, I had a hard time keeping a straight face! 😆
Of course, all that happened before ‘biker’ became synonymous with ‘middle-aged empty nester‘ and ‘man-bun-wearing hipster’. 🙄
Once upon a time, in the dark ages of the pre-internet world, there was a magazine called Easyriders.

Easyriders was the brainchild of several California-based riders – Lou Kimzey, Joe Teresi and Mil Blair – who dreamt of a rag for bikers, by bikers, with none of the usual mealy-mouthed product reviews, and clean-cut models posed aboard factory-fresh machines from Europe and Japan.

No, this new mag would be for hardcore bikers, patchholders and independents who lived, breathed, slept and dreamt motorcycles: preferably big American motorcycles like Harley-Davidson and Indian. The first issue trumpeted the new title as ‘For the Swinging Biker.‘ They later identified as ‘Entertainment for the Adult Biker.‘



Within its pages, Easyriders featured handbuilt choppers – genuine rigid-framed, long-forked machines with psychedelic paint jobs, sky-high sissybars, glistening spokes and heavily chromed engines like the ones featured in the magazine’s namesake movie. They were laid-back, long-legged beauties – dream machines – and in the ’60s and early ’70s many a young man (your humble narrator included) lusted after them. We looked for them at custom car and motorcycle shows, built plastic models of them, pressed our noses to the windows of Dad’s station wagon whenever one rumbled past and, naturally, pored over magazines about them.




Choppers may have been works of art, but for most builders they were much, much more. Those workhorse v-twin engines – the ones that carried police officers through city traffic, and gave Mom and Pop a breath of fresh air and outdoor life at the end of a workaday week – were broken down and rebuilt, and in the process they were blown, stroked, bored and balanced to achieve ultimate performance in flat-out style. We’re talking balls-to-the-wall, explosive power.

The bikes may have been built for cruising the highway with a chick on the p-pad and a fart sack strapped to the forks, but the engines were built for red-light racing and the quarter-mile, popping wheelies and other displays of brute acceleration. These weren’t upstart Jap scrap that whined like angry hornets, or prim European motorbikes with finely tuned suspensions and muted, throaty exhaust notes. You weren’t going to see choppers competing in Timed Trials challenges, or road-racing on the Isle of Man. They were, with few exceptions, big, loud, powerful, gas-guzzling, straight-line-balling, quintessentially American machines.



Easyriders was the first biker lifestyle magazine to make it beyond a handful of issues, and reach a national (and later international) readership. Others, like Colors, produced by East Coast biker Phil Castle, and the California-based Choppers, created by signman-turned-customizer Ed ‘Big Daddy’ Roth, were short-lived and regional. You weren’t going to find issues of those magazines on the rack at your local 7-11 store, and by 1971 both had gone out of print.

Easyriders, on the other hand, endured, in part because it was so much more than just shiny paint and polished chrome plating. The magazine swiftly became the big dog on the block, its readership dwarfing titles like Big Bike, Custom Bike, Street Chopper and Supercycle, because Easyriders went farther than any of those titles dared. The rag truly was ‘entertainment for the adult biker’.

For starters, Easyriders had bare-breasted models draped over choppers or curled up against the bikes’ owners: real biker women – often the bike owner’s ol’ lady – with tattoos, pimples and other ‘flaws’, showing more skin than other bike rags would dare.

They also began a feature (copied from Big Bike, a title editor Lou Kimzey created and edited prior to joining forces with Joe Teresi and Mil Blair) called the Ol’ Lady Contest, in which women (or their proud significant others) could submit photographs for the chance to win cash and prizes, and be named ‘Ol’ Lady of the Year’.

Later, in a barely-perceptible nod to gender equity, they began including small (usually one- or two-page) spreads on bikes owned and built by women, titled Foxy Riders.


There was also Spider’s Leg-Wetting Facts column (later renamed Taking It Easy, as shown above) that featured humorous factoids and anecdotes culled from the mainstream press and other bike rags. Farther back in the magazine were pages of jokes, too, usually submitted by readers.

Miraculous Mutha, depicted above, purported to be an overweight, disease-riddled ‘mama’, doling out advice to the lovelorn and wayward in Miraculous Mutha Tells All, below. Her responses to readers’ letters were frequently lewd, lascivious, and more than a little perverse. Readers loved her!

On a more serious note….

In the magazine’s back pages, one feature allowed bikers to offer up A Tribute to Brothers Lost, while a separate feature titled Male Call helped incarcerated bikers hook up with pen-pals and potential post-release lovers. Another page of classifieds called Choppershopper let bikers reconnect with brothers, announce events, clear potential club names for conflicts, and trade and sell motorcycle parts.



An Asstrology column made random appearances, along with word games, crossword puzzles and the like. Easyriders also ran an occasional Downtime column with reviews of new music, books and movies of interest to bikers. Finally, there were letters to the editors: some poignant, some profane, some laugh-out-loud funny. The editors’ often-acerbic replies were often even funnier.


Easyriders also featured tech tips. Some were useful articles about motorcycles: how to decide what rake you needed for your chopper, or tune a Mikuni carburetor, or how to decipher Harley-Davidson’s Byzantine numbering system, so aspirant chopper builders could determine what year and model engine they were looking at when shopping for the Big Twin or Sportster engine of their dreams. Experienced bikers knew that a dodgy set of numbers could result in confiscation of the rider’s motorcycle by police. Rest assured, if the cops took your bike, you lost everything connected to it, even if you had receipts for every nut and bolt!

There were also handy ‘tech tips’ on how to conceal weapons, drugs and other contraband, grow marijuana and make prison tattoo machines, alongside interviews with controversial characters like Ku Klux Klan leader David Duke. These articles – and adverts for White Power t-shirts, swastika belt buckles and devices for smoking leafy products 😏 whilst riding your machine – were gradually phased out when prison and military censors began banning the magazine. Because so many bikers were in prison or serving in the military, the publishers of Easyriders went to great lengths to be sure the magazine was available to all, even offering free subscriptions to prison libraries.

In a regular feature titled Easynews, the magazine also included political news relevant to bikers: the progress of helmet laws and other anti-biker legislation, R.I.C.O. 1 prosecutions of Hells Angels members and other outrages. When ‘safetycrats’ in Washington used federal highway funds to blackmail states into enacting mandatory helmet laws, Easyriders and A.B.A.T.E. 2, the homegrown Motorcycle Rights Organization (MRO) the editors created, led the fight against the mandates.

Through the 1970s, ’80s and ’90s there was a push-and-pull contest between pro- and anti-helmet law factions, which resulted in a patchwork quilt of requirements across the nation. One state might mandate helmets for all riders, while another only required them for riders under the age of twenty-one, or eighteen, or on machines over a certain engine size. To obfuscate the issue even more, in later years a wave of bills across the nation permitted riders to doff their helmets if they carried a certain amount of health insurance, which would cover them in the event of a motorcycle crash. Enforcement was unsustainable, and those states effectively became free choice states again.

But helmet laws weren’t the only issues facing riders. Some states attacked the ‘chopper lifestyle’ by mandating seat and handlebar heights, chain guards and front fenders, full-length rear fenders, turn signals, restrictive mufflers and more.
A motorcycle like my shovelhead could earn me a ‘seat too low’ ticket in certain jurisdictions, because I ran a frame-mounted butt bucket saddle on that low-slung OEM rigid wishbone frame. I never ran the sky-high apehangers some riders opted for, but my ‘baby apes’ were probably tall enough to get me ticketed in some states, and I have twice been ticketed for ‘exhaust too loud’. On both occasions I had brand new mufflers recently installed on my bike.

Elsewhere, motorcyclists were being profiled by law enforcement officers – stopped and treated like armed-and-dangerous felons solely for being bikers – and businesses were discriminating against riders, with ‘no motorcycle attire’, ‘no club colors’ and ‘no motorcycle parking in lot’ signs popping up at bars, restaurants and other premises.
I recall a run from Austin to Lake Buchanan, in a pack of thirty or so bikes. We stopped at a roadhouse in rural Burnet County for lunch. As we were leaving, we found ourselves surrounded by law enforcement of all stripes – local police, county sheriff’s deputies and state troopers – with weapons drawn as they confronted us. We were put through the mill. License, registration and vehicle identification numbers were slowly and laboriously checked via radio, one at a time, to drag the process out. Bikes were searched and riders questioned as we sweltered in the blistering sun for over an hour – and the sum total of their efforts was one (1) arrest for an outstanding traffic warrant!


In another instance, I was attending a bachelor’s party for a friend. Despite the fact that we were all sober riders, he wanted his party to include a tour of the topless bars around Waco, Texas.
The evening began with an excursion to a dive outside the city limits, with fully nude dancers. The first thing I saw, as we entered the bar, was a drunk crashing to the floor after leaning his chair back too far, and the naked teenager on stage raising her hands in fright, screaming ‘I never touched him!’
Later in the evening, we arrived at a ‘swanky gentlemen’s club’ in the city proper, and sure as hell, there was a sign saying ‘No Motorcycles in Parking Lot.’ The groom-to-be and most of our party were content to park in the lot next door, go in and carry on the festivities. Me, I do my best to avoid spending my money or time in places where I’m not wanted, so I stayed outside and rapped with the bouncers, most of whom were riders themselves!
And, for the record, there are damned few ‘gentlemen’ in those so-called ‘gentlemen’s clubs.’


For me, one of the biggest differences between Easyriders and other magazines was that ER published short fiction about the biker lifestyle, by writers like Larry ‘Rabbit’ Cole (above) and Jody Via 3, and humor by psychotics like former Mouseketeer J.J. Solari.

Some of the writing was mediocre, but most was outstanding. There was real talent on display in those pages: well-crafted stories with vivid characters and dramatic arcs worth following. Easyriders was a huge influence on me as a teenage wannabe in the early ’70s, and was still the biker rag of record when I began riding later in the decade. I take great pride in the fact that my first manuscript sales — fiction and non-fiction — were to Easyriders, and I consider Lou Kimzey my first editor and mentor in the world of writing.

Easyriders also ran the occasional poem, usually an ode to brotherhood or a motorcycle or, less frequently, the good woman who made it all worthwhile.


Notably, the magazine’s editors broke with traditional publishing practice by accepting handwritten manuscripts – unheard of in that era – because most prison inmates did not have ready access to typewriters.

In another groundbreaking move, Easyriders made a practice of publishing motorcycle-themed illustrations and paintings by talented artists like Duffy Duggan, above, and cartoonist Hal Robinson, below.

Most noteworthy of these was the godfather of chopper art, David Mann, who first broke out with a series of posters painted for Ed ‘Big Daddy’ Roth of Choppers Magazine fame. Mann created his first masterpiece centerfold painting for Easyriders‘ third issue in October, 1971. The artist – the Frederic Remington of the biker world – painted large centerfold paintings for the monthly magazine, and story illustrations, even as he cranked out book covers, centerfolds and illustrations for other publications. Despite that workload, the artist produced at least one piece for every issue of Easyriders from October, 1971 until his retirement in June, 2004. David Mann passed away in September of that year, but his paintings continued to appear in Easyriders and her sister publications for years afterward.
You can learn about David Mann and see much more of his artwork here.

IN THE WIND

One of Easyriders‘ more ingenious innovations was their In the Wind pages, where they offered readers cash (above) for ‘good, in-focus’ photographs of bikers at play, riding, partying, brawling or posing with their machines, and women, usually flashing their breasts for the camera.

There were often older photographs, resurrected from Grandpa’s old picture album: proud farmers and sales clerks, and their bemused sisters or girlfriends, posing with Popes, Thors and Excelsiors. There were Allied soldiers aboard strap-back Harley J-Models and WLAs, Triumphs and BSAs, and their German counterparts on BMWs and NSUs. Other pages might teem with photos submitted by readers in Europe, Asia, South America and Africa, each with their own biker subculture.

And, of course, there were hundreds and hundreds of pics of bikers, male and female, outlaw and straight, on original or restored classics or wild-as-fuck radical customs. They were jamming down the road, hair floating in the breeze and tight grins on their faces, or scowling at the camera and flipping the universal biker salute – one raised finger – to friend and foe alike. They were drinking beer, wrestling in the mud of a campsite, or tearing a motorcycle apart beneath a tree as friends gathered to offer assistance….

….and women, in denim and leather or not much of anything, baring their all at a rally, packing behind their ol’ man or geared up and gripping the bars of their own machines. All ages, all shapes and sizes, but most pretty and slender and lithe enough to curl up behind a man as they blast down the highway together, her feet on the high pegs of that rigid frame and her arms around her man.

I called In the Wind ‘ingenious’ because, while the editors paid for photos they published in the magazine itself, they reserved the right to use any and all submitted photographs free of charge in a spin-off magazine called In the Wind. It featured page after page of readers’ photographs, very little editorial content, and ran through well over a hundred and fifty issues. Aside from layout and pasteup, it couldn’t have cost much to produce, and every issue sold by the tens of thousands.

I submitted a number of photos to the magazine’s for-pay column, but only ever saw them in later issues of In the Wind.


Realizing that they had a good thing going, Easyriders‘ parent corporation, Paisano Publications, soon sought to expand the brand into a world-wide empire. First came the In the Wind magazines. These were followed by Iron Horse, a magazine more dedicated to metric riders. Still the same hard-partying, hard-riding biker ethos, but with more Triumphs and Hondas than Harleys and Indians.

Later, we saw titles like Tattoo, which cashed in on (and helped fuel) the passion for skin art sweeping the nation in the ’90s and ’00s. Another spin-off magazine was V-Twin, intended as a ‘family friendly’ version of Easyriders. No topless women, fewer four-letter words…. 🙄 Worse still was VQ, a magazine ‘for the connoisseur.’ 🤢


Other cash cows turned up. There were Easyriders products like t-shirts, hats and scarves, which grew into a full-sized catalog insert in the magazine every Christmas season. Then came brick-and-mortar Easyriders stores – franchised outlets as advertised above – that sold clothing and custom parts. Some even tried to be full-service motorcycle shops, with bikes for sale and mechanics on duty.

Then there were the Easyriders Rodeos and other events: a series of prepackaged biker parties – mini-rallies, really – at venues around the country. These events were heavily sponsored by corporations like Custom Chrome, Chrome Specialties, Barnett and others, all purveyors of parts and equipment for Harley riders. At the rodeos, there were diversions like burnout contests, barstool races, poker runs, girly shows and live music, wedged in between the ceaseless marketing of products by Easyriders and its sponsors.





Some say it was overreaching that killed Easyriders, but I have a different theory.
For decades, Easyriders remained the ‘biker rag of record’, in part because it was as ‘biker’ as any of its readers: tough, take-no-bullshit and ready to rock. However, that brutal bastard, time, and the harsh realities of print publishing eventually took their toll.

For instance: at its onset, the magazine’s editors swore they would never be beholden to any corporate master, and hence would never accept advertising from the Harley-Davidson Motor Company or its dealers. They held out for seven years, but ultimately the money was too good.

They also vowed they would never do new bike reviews or test rides. They eventually did….

Very few magazines can survive on subscriptions alone. The money had to come from somewhere. I’m sure the magazine’s publisher shrugged and said ‘Well, why not the MoCo?’ 🤷🏻♀️

The Motor Company has offered riding gear from its earliest days, but when AMF (American Machine & Foundry, best known as the primary outfitter for bowling alleys) merged with Harley-Davidson in 1969, more effort was made to market ‘stylish’ clothing. Imagine leisure suits of sky-blue suede (seriously!) and his-and-hers t-shirts and jackets. When the two companies split again in 1981, marketing began in earnest, and Motorclothes was born. Old-school riders grouse that Harley dealerships look more like fashion boutiques nowadays. A common plaint is They used to hate us. Now they want to BE us!
They’re not wrong.
During the AMF years, Harley-Davidson struggled to counter the outlaw persona many street bikers affected: the long hair, beards and tattoos, black t-shirts, ragged jeans and greasy leather. Dealers refused to serve ‘chopper riders’ or work on modified motorcycles, and corporate headquarters demanded that dealers spruce up their premises and run off the undesirable Easyriders element. Austin’s own Austin Motorcycle Company, a family-owned franchise since the 1920s, surrendered its franchise in the late ’70s rather than comply with the Motor Company’s demands.


However, the MoCo’s new owners – most former executives of the AMF-owned division – recognized a cash cow when they saw one, and Motorclothes stores and catalogs were soon teeming with fashions aping the look of those hardcore bikers HD once shunned. Witness their willingness to have their advert placed right beside Spider’s crude, frequently misogynistic column.

….but it was the publishers’ abandonment of the outlaw ethos upon which the magazine was founded (see Harley Owner’s Group advert, above, for example) that hurt the magazine the most. Gone were the grungy patchholders and those generous four-page features on the radical chopper some hardworking Harley lover crafted in a drafty garage with nothing but sheet metal, a crackerbox welder, swapmeet parts and bleeding knuckles.


In their place were Harley owners posing with made-to-order machines (see above) that they’d purchased in a shop and paid someone else to customize: ‘RUBs’ and ‘Rolex Riders’ who wouldn’t be caught dead mingling with the street bikers who made the magazine what it was. Builders like Arlen Ness and Rick Doss and pseudo-clubs like the Hamsters were given loads of press, with photos and glowing articles. Meanwhile, old school builders’ efforts were relegated to a tiny spread titled ‘Readers’ Rides’. No one seemed to remember or care that, back in the day, featured bikes were all ‘Readers Rides’! 🙄

Gone, too, were the women we loved: those hardcore biker gals and dewy-eyed fender bunnies who brightened the pages of every issue. They were replaced by polished, airbrushed professional models who had obviously never been near a motorcycle until the photographer hired them for a shoot. These were women wearing too much makeup, ridiculous high heels that had no place in the rough-and-tumble biker’s world, and…. and…. they just weren’t our people. 🤷🏻♀️

Easyriders went under in 2019, after almost a half-century in print. As noted above, its quality and integrity had waned considerably in its final decades, even as print publications in general were hemorrhaging readership, so few longtime adherents mourn its passing. However, an upscale clothier has acquired and is attempting to revive the title as a ‘less trashy’ and ‘more inclusive’ publication. Some wag described it as ‘GQ for Bikers,’ but I think Easyriders beat them to the punch with VQ. 🙄
I’ve only seen two issues of the ‘new’ Easyriders and am thus far not impressed. 🤷🏻♀️

1) R.I.C.O. (Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act of 1970) was written for use against organized crime outfits like the Mafia, but prosecutors quickly realized it had implications far beyond that narrow aim.
For instance, federal prosecutors used R.I.C.O. to go after board members deemed responsible for the Savings and Loans crisis of the late 1980s and early 1990s. One unique feature of R.I.C.O. was that it permitted civil as well as criminal prosecutions. Civil trials require a less stringent burden of proof than criminal trials and, with R.I.C.O., prosecutors could seek triple the estimated damages of any violation. Hapless board members of S&Ls found themselves in court, targeted not because they were guilty but because they had the deepest pockets.
R.I.C.O. was also used to prosecute Hells Angel spokesman Sonny Barger and other members of the Oakland HAMC chapter. However, the fed’s case collapsed when they were unable to prove a ‘pattern of behavior’, or link the alleged illegalities to club policy. Barger, et alia, walked free, leaving prosecutors red-faced, frustrated and bitter.

2) A.B.A.T.E. was alternately styled ‘American Bikers Against Totalitarian Enactments’ or ‘American Bikers Aiming Toward Education’. Both monikers applied. The group did fight against mandatory helmet laws, and laws restricting the customization of motorcycles, as numerous states enacted laws regulating seat and handlebar heights, requiring chain guards and front fenders, even mandating the length of rear fenders and the height of sissybars.
However, the group also fought for motorcycle rider education, to train new riders in street survival skills, and driver awareness campaigns to make motorists more aware of (and, it was to be hoped, more respectful of) motorcyclists in traffic.
I acted as State Awareness and Safety Coordinator for A.B.A.T.E. of Texas. In that capacity, I developed and spearheaded a statewide billboard campaign, and helped promote a tripart Safety and Awareness Rally which gathered motorcyclists together in three cities across Texas, to raise awareness of our cause. As a state officer for A.B.A.T.E., I was also involved in efforts to bring mandatory rider education to the state, and create a statewide training program for novice cyclists and the instructors who would train them. In my spare time 😆 I also edited the group’s newspaper, and designed a number of popular fundraising t-shirts.


3) In researching this article, in a deep dive search for some of my favorite Easyriders writers, I unearthed the tragic tale of Jody Via. Jody was one of my faves from back in the day, capable of fashioning darkly compelling crime yarns from bolts of whole cloth….
….except that, per police, Via’s ‘yarns’ weren’t fiction at all. They say he was effectively recounting crimes he himself had committed during a murderous spree across Pennsylvania and Ohio in September, 1972, and selling them for publication!
First, we have Good Samaritan Harry Hoffman. Mr. Hoffman was a kindly gas station owner who stopped to help what appeared to be a young couple stranded at roadside. Hoffman took them back to his service station, and even made a fresh pot of coffee so they could warm up from the chill night air. For his troubles, Mr. Hoffman was bound, shot in the head and left for dead in the back room of his service station. He survived, and later identified his attacker in court.
Next, we have nineteen-year-old college student Jane Maguire, who fell for Via’s ‘stranded’ ruse and offered him a ride. Her body was discovered in a highway rest area. She had been raped, bound, shot in the head and left for dead. Sadly, Ms. Maguire did not survive.

Via, who had holed up in his wife’s home, was arrested, charged with and convicted of the crimes, and received a life sentence. While serving that sentence, Via began submitting poetry and short stories to Easyrider, which published several of his works. He later sold some pieces to Outlaw Biker magazine, as well.

However, in 2019, investigators working the September 1972 cold-case murder of twenty-nine-year-old salesman Morgan Peters, in Pennsylvania, were directed by two of Via’s ex-wives to look at Via’s published writings. There, in the stories Via sold the biker magazines, police found detailed descriptions of each of his crimes, including the as-yet-unsolved slaying of Peters. Via, still in prison for the rape and murder of Jane Maguire, was charged with Peters’ slaying in 2019. He was seventy-five years old.
I have yet to learn what became of those charges or the defendant.
Man, that took a dark turn, didn’t it? 😮

The graphic novel has become so much more than a comic book for grownups. There’s art, social commentary, humor, brilliant storytelling and…. oh, yeah…. actual knock-yer-eyeballs-out ART in them thar pages! 😁

Proof of concept: a long-running online graphic novel titled Android Blues by artist/author Steven Stahlberg, formerly of Georgia and points east, now living in Sweden.

As Mr. Stahlberg tells it, he began writing a script ‘way back in 1995, while living in Hong Kong. In 2014, after nine years of effort, he turned his would-be film script into an online comic, instead, that he made available for free.

Working on his own, Mr. Stahlberg spent the next ten years 😮 painstakingly producing one brilliant page after another: well-written, lusciously-illustrated pages, mind you, telling a compelling tale of suspense, rebellion, liberation and romance. Even better, he did it without an ounce of help from any so-called ‘artificial intelligence.’ This is real art for real humans, BY a real human! AI need not apply! 👍🏽


Mr. Stahlberg posted the final, eagerly-awaited page of his magnum opus in July of this year.

Now, in response to requests from fans like me, the artist/author (and fellow motorcyclist) is publishing a hard copy of his book.

To that end, he has established a Kickstarter — publishing books is no cheap date, it turns out, and especially not art books with high-quality reproductions of the artist’s work — so I’m encouraging anyone who enjoys art and storytelling to visit his Kickstarter campaign, get in line and eagerly await your opportunity to support this excellent artist/author and all-around nice guy, and help him fulfill his dream (and mine) of creating a hard copy edition of Android Blues.
NOTE, 31 December 2024: The book is complete, and as of November, 2024, the artist was shipping copies of the first signed editions. If you missed your shot at the first run, you may still be able to order copies by contacting the artist at his Facebook page.

However, I hasten to add that Mr. Stahlberg is not ‘just’ the author and artist behind a brilliant graphic novel. Oh, no, dear readers! He has a huge body of independent work. I’ll post a few here, to give you a taste, and encourage you to follow up on your own. Definitely worth tracking down!

Per usual, this artist originally caught my eye because he created some pieces with motorcycle themes. ‘Broomy’ was the first: a series of takes on the futuristic biker woman who just happens to be a witch, as well, and a patch-holding member of the Hell’s Witches MC (Motorcycle Coven) in Jacksonville, Florida.


In the moto-inspired genre, there was also this piece:

Farther afield:








Steven Stahlberg may also be found at Facebook, Instagram, X (formerly known as Twitter) and Patreon.
NOTE, 31 December 2024: The book is complete, and as of November, 2024, the artist was shipping copies of the first signed editions. If you missed your shot at the first run, you may still be able to order copies by contacting the artist at his Facebook page.



THE BIKERIDERS (1968)
I first discovered Danny Lyon’s 1968 book The Bikeriders in 1980, when I came across a hardback first edition in a used book store, and what a discovery it was!

Danny Lyon is an award-winning lensman who spent the early days of the 1960s with the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), documenting the Civil Rights Movement in the Deep South (above). In his first week in the South, Lyon was arrested, and spent a week in a cell beside a beleaguered Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King, Junior.

Upon release he was threatened with lynching by racist cops (like those pictured above) but persevered to become SNCC’s official photographer, documenting many of the key moments in the Civil Rights Movement’s quest for justice and racial equality.

He also became lifelong friends with SNCC organizer and future Congressman John Lewis (above) and was at the Congressman’s side in the final days of Mr. Lewis’ life.

After his efforts in the Deep South, Lyon — already a dedicated rider — returned to Chicago, enrolled in university there, and became a member of the Chicago Outlaws Motorcycle Club.

As a full-patch member of the Outlaws, Lyon (aboard his beloved 1956 Triumph Thunderbird, above) rode and partied with the club, but also photographed Outlaws and patchholders from other clubs, their wives and girlfriends, motorcycle racers and mechanics and others involved in the motorcycle scene.

He also conducted low-key, casual interviews with Outlaws and other clubbers, their old ladies, and some of the racers he’d met at tracks from Illinois to New Hampshire.


The resulting book was groundbreaking in many ways. For starters, it combined Lyon’s technically brilliant and compassionately soulful images of the motorcycling world with transcripts of his interviews, in a format never before seen in American publishing. It also made him one of the first observers (after Hunter S. Thompson of Hell’s Angels fame and Tom Wolfe, who wrote The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test) to document the rising phenomenon of ‘outlaw motorcycle clubs’, and his book the first photo book about bikers ever published. Finally, it made his the very first book about clubs written by an actual member of a club, and giving voice to rank-and-file members of those clubs.

Sadly, The Bikeriders received little notice when it was first published, and quickly went out of print. As psychotic as I have always been about reading and collecting books on motorcycling and other topics of interest, I’d never heard of Lyon or his book when I found that first edition hardback at Half-Price Books on Lavaca Street in Austin in 1980, but gladly paid the $4.95 for my copy….

….and by-the-by, as of this morning, those same first edition / first printing hardbacks were selling for anywhere from $1000 to $1850! 😮 Not that my copy is for sale anytime soon — as a biker and historian, the book is a precious resource — but it’s nice to know I scored one hell of a deal! 😆

For a long time, at least amongst the bikers I rode with, no one had ever heard of Danny Lyon or his precious little book. I stashed the slender volume on a shelf in my ‘permanent library’, and only showed it to people I really thought could appreciate this rare gem I’d uncovered.

However, with the advent of social media I saw more and more people raving about his groundbreaking photojournalism: The Bikeriders, his monograph on the Texas prison system, his work with SNCC during the Civil Rights Movement of the early ’60s, his report on the destruction of Lower Manhattan and much, much more.








THE BIKERIDERS RIDES AGAIN, 1997 to 2014
Beginning in 1997, reissues of The Bikeriders began to appear. Some were über-expensive slip-cased collectors’ items, priced in the hundreds, but in 2003 Chronicle Books released a more reasonably priced revised edition, which gave Lyon’s work a second chance at the immortality it deserves.

The new release included a number of ‘lost’ photographs — many in color like the one above — that the photographer unearthed from a forgotten file cabinet in the offices of Magnum Photos, where Lyon was an associate from 1967 to 1975.

The 2003 edition also included new remarks by the author about his personal history with the Outlaws Motorcycle Club, and why he hung up his colors. For those of us interested in the history of bikers, this was dynamite stuff!



Apparently, filmmaker Jeff Nichols (Take Shelter, Midnight Special and Mud) agreed with that ‘dynamite’ assessment, because he took Lyon’s book — the photographs, interviews, and Lyon’s personal remarks — as inspiration for a new full-length feature film, also titled The Bikeriders and starring current A-list actors like Austin Butler (Elvis and Masters of the Air), Jodie Comer (Star Wars Episode IX and Killing Eve), and Tom Hardy (Band of Brothers and Inception).








Reading reports about the upcoming film and synopses of the plot, and viewing the trailer for the film, I feel certain the storyline depicted in the film will be heavily weighted by Lyon’s later remarks about his tenure with the club. The film’s ‘rise and fall’ arc seems to reflect the photographer’s disillusionment with the club’s turn from a band of rowdy hard-riding roughnecks to a grimmer, more dangerous organization.

I’m still excited to see the film. If nothing else, a ‘biker flick’ from A-listers like Butler, Comer, Hardy and Nichols will become part of biker history, along the lines of The Wild One and Easy Rider.

The Bikeriders may well have the power, as those films did, to impact the future of biker life in America and around the world. However, I am NOT expecting a happily-ever-after ending for Kathy, Benny, Johnny and the boys.

Guess we’ll find out this weekend, eh? 😆






It should come as no surprise that swag for The Bikeriders film is already flying off the shelves. The other day I posted on Facebook about a $1250 ‘Vandals’ jacket on offer from Schott Brothers, the same purveyors of leather goods who crafted Marlon Brando’s famous ‘Perfecto’ jacket for the 1953 film The Wild One. They are now offering a ‘D-Pocket Jacket’ like the one Tom Hardy’s character wears in the film.


Then there’s the photo book VANDALS: The Photography of the Motion Picture ‘The Bikeriders’ (2024), which is available through Amazon, Schott’s website, and goddess knows where else….

….and, of course, official merch from the filmmakers themselves, including denim jackets with Vandals MC ‘colors’ printed or embroidered on the back, matching ball caps, t-shirts, hoodies and sweatpants (sweatpants? 😮 Really? 😱).

I am not pimping for these mercenary fecks, BTW; I’m just alerting you, gentle reader, to exactly WTF is going on in the motorcycling world, for better or worse. 😱

Those of us who have been riding for a while are having flashbacks to Sons of Anarchy and all the relentless marketing surrounding that production. To this day, people are showing up at motorcycle events wearing official ‘support’ t-shirts and pirated copies of SoA colors, and YouTube teems with videos of people warning riders of issues with faux club colors, like the ones the couple below are sporting.

Just for the record: DON’T!
I’d love to hear back from anyone who’s seen The Bikeriders movie. I’ll do my best to respond to comments ASAP.
Shalom!

The full text of ‘Cyclists’ Raid’ by Frank Rooney, as published in Harper’s in January, 1951. Read my remarks about Rooney’s story and the incident at Hollister, on which it is based, in my previous post.











As a bonus, I am including the articles mentioned in my previous post, that were published in The San Francisco Chronicle and The Hollister Free Lance on the Monday following the ‘riot’ over the 1947 July 4th weekend.

If you’re a biker, you know that Hollister is not just an über-hip clothing line for spoiled mall rats. No, Hollister — a small farming community in Southern California southeast of San Jose — is the birthplace of the American Biker, that enduring trope perpetuated by media and entertainment ever since that hot July 4th weekend of 1947, when a ‘riot’ broke out during a motorcycle rally.

The scene at Hollister was a familiar one: a small town, eager to bring in tourists who might spend money at local businesses, built a racetrack at Veteran’s Memorial Park, and began hosting motorcycle races and ‘Gypsy Tours’: popular family-friendly gatherings sponsored by the American Motorcycle Association, as it was then known. The events were well-attended and profitable, and in most cases the worst local authorities had to deal with was a few Drunk and Disorderly arrests and some hospitalizations due to injuries suffered in motorcycle crashes on and off the track.

However, the 1947 event, one of the first held since the guns of World War Two fell silent, drew a new breed of rider. These were not the nice Mom-and-Pop ‘straight’ clubs pictured above, that frequently appeared at these events in matching uniforms, riding pristine motorcycles kitted out with numerous factory-approved accessories.

No, these were rough, hard-bitten young men — most of them combat veterans who had seen the worst the world had to offer in the killing fields of Europe and the South Pacific — and they roared into town en masse aboard stripped-down, hopped-up motorcycles unlike anything those at Hollister had ever seen before.

These were rattletrap bombers with front brakes and fenders removed, and rear fenders ‘bobbed’ as short as possible. Chain guards, windshields, engine guards, saddlebags — anything that might increase weight and wind-drag, and slow the machines down — were all shitcanned in favor of better performance, until all that remained was the bare essence of a motorcycle: a massive engine, rigid frame and springer forks, two wheels, a petrol tank and a saddle.


These men also came sporting motorcycle club sweaters or jackets with new, more menacing names — Boozefighters, Thirteen Rebels, Galloping Goose (in military argot the ‘goose’ was the upraised middle finger we call ‘the bird’) and more — and they came not to sit docilely in the stands watching as racers on the track went round-y-round, but to ride and race and party themselves, and that is exactly what they did.




The Boozefighters MC, led by ‘Wino Willie’ Forkner, described itself as a drinking club with a motorcycle problem, and did their level best to live up to that claim. Other clubs, in turn, tried their best to keep pace.







The much-ballyhooed ‘riot’ was really nothing more than a lot of rowdy behavior along Hollister’s main drag, including impromptu drag races and riders doing doughnuts in the street, and raucous drinking in the bars. At one point, it’s reported that a rider did pilot his motorcycle into a bar. In the tumult, some furniture and glassware were damaged, and promptly paid for by the offender.

Still, local law enforcement felt overwhelmed, and called for reinforcements from neighboring counties and the California Highway Patrol. The cops geared up, corralled the partying bikers on the main drag, and commandeered a flatbed truck for use as a bandstand. They pressed a dance band into service, and the rest of the night proved playwright William Congreve’s contention* that ‘Music has charms to soothe a savage breast.’





However, at around the time the band began to play, photographer Barney Peterson arrived in town. Peterson was a freelancer dispatched by The San Francisco Chronicle. His brief was to bring back pictures of the reported mayhem, but all he found was a street filled with happy dancing bikers and civilians, a parking lot full of motorcycles, and a few riders sacked out for the night on the courthouse lawn. In other words, b-o-o-o-o-ring!

Desperate to preserve his commission, Peterson improvised. As eyewitnesses confirm, he found a motorcycle parked at the curb — a stripped-down Harley-Davidson knucklehead with no front fender, and a seaman’s bag tied across the rear fender behind the saddle. Perfect! He carefully arranged a bunch of empty beer bottles on the street around the motorcycle, even cadging some from a nearby café, to symbolize the debauchery he assumed had taken place prior to his arrival. Yeah, that will do! Finally, he recruited a local fellow, a drunk named Eddie Davenport, to climb aboard the artfully staged motorcycle and pose for some photographs. Bingo! The editor’s gonna love it!

A series of images were made, including the most infamous: the ‘Cyclist’s Holiday’ photograph (above) which the magazine LIFE published in their July 21st issue, along with an overheated blurb about the ‘4000 cyclists’ who allegedly ran amok in the peaceful city of Hollister. Barney Peterson’s posed and staged photo of farm boy Eddie Davenport — he of the slack-jawed, glassy-eyed gaze and two-fisted drinking style pictured above — struck terror into the hearts of pearl-clutching newspaper and magazine editors, chiefs of police and other dignitaries across the nation. Other Peterson creations showed Davenport holding a club jacket belonging to a member of the Tulare Raiders Motorcycle Club named Dave. No word on whether that was Dave’s Harley, or whether Dave approved of his jacket being sported by a non-member.

However, as he’d hoped, Peterson’s editor did love his photo, but they weren’t alone. The photograph hit the wire services, and was immediately picked up by LIFE.
The response to LIFE‘s publication of Peterson’s staged (and libelous) photograph was immediate. Three weeks later, the magazine’s August 11th issue included Letters to the Editors from motorcyclist Charles A. Addams, film star and cyclist Keenan Wynn, and Paul Brokaw, who edited the magazine Motorcyclist at the time.

All three correspondents complained of the negative coverage.
Mr. Addams wrote that the 4000 riders reportedly in attendance were not members of a single club, as the magazine alleged; that 50% were members of the American Motorcycle Association and the other 50% ‘mere motorcyclists out for a three-day holiday’; and that roughly ‘500 made the event the debacle that it was.’ I checked, and it appears certain Mr. Addams was not the infamous New Yorker cartoonist who created The Addams Family. How cool would that have been? 😏

Keenan Wynn, who later took film star and fledgling desert racer Lee Marvin under his wing, and showed Steve McQueen what dirt bikes were for, wrote ‘I have taken it upon myself to… straighten out what will obviously be an extremely bad impression of motorcyclists.’ He went on to decry the reckless behavior of the wild ones at Hollister, and noted that riding under the influence ‘as our friend in the picture seems to be doing, is one of the fundamental “don’ts” of riding…’ Wynn also felt obliged to cite some examples of ‘safe and sane Hollywood riders,’ like Clark Gable, Randolph Scott, Ward Bond and Andy Devine.

Motorcyclist Editor Paul Brokaw expressed his shock at the photograph, and was perhaps the first in print to call Barney Peterson out for his chicanery, noting that the picture ‘was very obviously arranged and posed by an enterprising and unscrupulous photographer.’ Brokaw also called out the ‘mercenary-minded barkeepers’ who continued to serve obviously intoxicated customers, and the ‘small percentage’ of riotous motorcyclists, ‘aided by a much larger group of nonmotorcycling hellraisers,’ who actually caused all the fuss.
Brokaw went on to damn LIFE for ‘sear(ing) a pitiful brand on the character of tens of thousands of innocent, clean-cut, respectable, law-abiding young men and women who are the true representatives of an admirable sport.’
LIFE responded to the criticism by including, in the same issue, a lengthy ‘presentation of law-abiding, respectable motorcyclists,’ which included photos of Mom-and-Pop clubs and motorcycling fashion trends.





The ‘riot’ at Hollister probably would have faded into the mists of time and memory, had it not been for Barney Peterson’s photograph, but the next stage in the evolution of the biker image was even more nefarious. A hack named Frank Rooney took the bare bones of what happened at Hollister and fashioned them into a lengthy, perverse short story titled ‘Cyclists’ Raid‘.
I am convinced the title’s echoing of LIFE‘s ‘Cyclist’s Holiday’ is not a coincidence.

In his lurid saga, Rooney portrays the bikers as a paramilitary pack of marauders who chose the small nameless town from a list of possible destinations, and even did reconnaissance in advance of their arrival, going so far as to learn the names of hotel keepers and filling station managers. They ride into town in formation aboard matching motorcycles, and their leader, ‘Gar Simpson’, declares them to be ‘Troop B of the Angeleno Motorcycle Club.’ In casual conversation, Simpson reveals the club’s plan to expand across California (‘We’re forming Troop G now.’) and other states: ‘Nevada — Arizona — Colorado — Wyoming.’

The riders quickly take over the accommodations in town, including the hotel operated by the story’s main character, Joel Bleeker, a widowed former Army officer and combat veteran with a comely seventeen-year-old daughter. The club members proceed to drink, to sing raucous songs, to ride their motorcycles up and down the street (and eventually the sidewalks), but never ever remove the green-lensed riding goggles they all wear, even at night, even inside the dining hall of Bleeker’s inn.

This is crucial to Rooney’s telling, because the goggles allow individual riders to remain:
‘standardized figurines, seeking in each other a willful loss of identity, dividing themselves equally among one another until there was only a single mythical figure, unspeakably sterile….‘
….so much so that when the ‘raid’ comes to its inevitably violent climax — a freak motorcycle crash which kill’s Bleeker’s beautiful daughter — Bleeker and his outraged townsfolk have no one to blame but themselves. The nameless, faceless riders are able to mount up and ride out of town, exempt from consequence by reason of their numbers and unremarkable sameness.

Rooney’s story appeared in Harper’s, a popular magazine that arrived by post in many American homes, issue after issue. It could not help but reinforce the ‘lesson’ of LIFE‘s ‘Cyclist’s Holiday’ pic: ‘Martha, those goddamned bikers are bad news!‘
A complete scan of the story ‘Cyclists’ Raid’, as published, can be read here.

Rooney’s story, dripping with pathos and armchair psychology, caught the eye of filmmaker Stanley Kramer, who used the Hollister stories as inspiration for his 1953 Marlon Brando vehicle, The Wild One, co-starring Lee Marvin, Mary Murphy and, in an uncredited role, character actor Alvy Moore, best known for his portrayal of county agricultural agent Hank Kimball on the 1960s television show Green Acres.

Kramer interviewed people who actually attended the July 4th gathering at Hollister, and came away with a clear idea of the story he wished to tell.

A script was commissioned. However, it placed at least some of the blame for the events on the townspeople themselves, who invited the bikers in, tolerated the more benign hijinks they engaged in, and profited from sales of alcohol, food and other commodities. Censors rejected the script as ‘pro-Communist’, in that it made money-grubbing merchants the bad guys. We all know that anyone making money is, by definition, a hero, right? 🙄

Kramer caved, and as a result, we ended up with a bowdlerized version of the story Kramer wanted to tell. The true anti-heroes of Hollister — those brave young men just back from a grueling war, eager to recapture the camaraderie of military life, celebrate their survival and blow off years’ worth of steam — were replaced by Marlon Brando, as stiff as his brand-new Levi’s and monogrammed Perfecto leather jacket, portraying ‘Johnny Strabler’ as a mewling teenager riven with Daddy issues, riding a shiny new British bike, mumbling already-dated ‘hep cat’ slang and mooning over Mary Murphy’s more mature waitress.

Meanwhile, Lee Marvin, an actual combat veteran with a Purple Heart to his credit, and a real-life rider himself, acted the ‘villain’ of the piece. In ‘Chino’, Marvin channeled the essence of ‘Wino Willie’ Forkner. He rode into town astride a road-weary Harley-Davidson Big Twin, clad in military surplus and thrift store garments the way many of the men at Hollister had been, waving a cigar and loudly greeting old friends.


Johnny Strabler was a dilettante, a poseur. Chino was a fuckin’ honest-to-god biker. Johnny’s leather jacket may rightly be considered iconic — it is a fashion staple to this day, even amongst people who wouldn’t go within ten feet of a motorcycle — but so is Lee Marvin’s portrayal of Chino. Talk to bikers you know. How many of ’em wanted to be Johnny Strabler when they grew up? and how many wanted to be Chino? I can tell you my answer!


There’s another chapter to this story, discovered after I completed my post about Hollister. If you’re interested, there’s a link at the bottom about an episode of the television series Highway Patrol that aired in April of 1956. Check it out!
I geek out about this stuff because I love our history as motorcyclists — all the influences that went into creating our lifestyle and all the ways that lifestyle is portrayed, interpreted and further influenced by attention from media and popular culture. The chain of events that lead from World War Two to Hollister, from Hollister to Harper’s, and from Harper’s to Hollywood, are just part of the fascinating origin story we all share.
As I write this, we are less than two weeks from the premiere of yet another biker movie; an A-list Hollywood production starring well-known actors like Austin Butler, Tom Hardy, Jody Comer, Norman Reedus and Michael Shannon.+ The Bikeriders, loosely based on photo-journalist Danny Lyon’s seminal 1968 book of the same title, promises to be yet another milestone in our unfolding story. I already have my tickets, and can’t wait to see what comes up on the big screen!

* Congreve, William The Mourning Bride, 1697. The original lines read ‘Music has charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften Rocks, or bend a knotted Oak.’
+ Just this afternoon, I received my copy of The Vandals: The Photography of the Motion Picture ‘The Bikeriders’. Woo-hoo!

NSFW content ahead. Brace yourselves.
😏
😏
😏
😏
😏
😏
😏
😏
😏
😏
….if the viewer is open and brave enough, they are going to meet an America few folks will talk about; a grim, hostile underbelly filled with proud white trash, loud motorcycles, barflies, brawlers, booze and sex and rock ‘n’ roll. George the Painter takes all of this in, and then flings it at the viewer like blood, sweat and spinal fluid, in violent knife-edged spasms of color, light and shadow.

The term ‘acquired taste’ was coined for characters like George the Painter, but I confess that it is a taste I have acquired. In my collection I have a number of his prints, purchased from the artist himself through the old The Horse / Back Street Choppers readers’ forum, where we were both frequent flyers in the early ’00s. I look forward to displaying some of them in the Adults Only section of MMMoMMA soon. 😏

♫ I’m trailer trash / drunk off my ass / and my savings went to liquor so I’m all out of cash…. ♫ © 2021 Caroline’s Daughter. 😆


When he chooses to, GTP can get downright representational, as with the Sporty above and the moonlit chopper below. I find that painting particularly evocative.

Others evince a technical mastery of light, color and shadow that nudges the neighborhood of realism, without fully crossing the line.



….and when he’s not painting blowsy barflies, GTP is capable of more pedestrian images.







Richie Pan was a renowned artist, tattooist and bike builder from New Jersey who was killed in an auto-pedestrian crash on his way home from the annual North Carolina Smokeout. I mentioned him in my article about David Mann, but GTP knew Richie Pan, had been tattooed by him, and painted two portraits of his friend.


As with David Mann, Edward Hopper and other favorite artists, George Frizzell will insert himself into his work at times, as with this oddly-named canvas: Intergalactic Attack Formation # 1….

….and this, where he demonstrates Leaky Latowski’s low-end torque.

Finally, in this recent canvas, GTP notes that he ‘wanted to paint a loser with a busted ass bike and it ended up being a self portrait.’ He was raffling off the original canvas, and noted, ‘I’ve been off my Shovel for long enough and this raffle will send some cash in the right direction!’ I can relate! If they were still on offer, I’d buy a ticket or two myself! 😎

However, like a lot of bikers, GTP seems to delight in the age-old game called ‘shocking the squares,’ and he plays it well!

GTP’s work is sometimes hard to look at – rude and graphic and in-your-face, much like the artist himself – and not everyone can hang with it. However, if the viewer is open and brave enough, they are going to meet an America few folks will talk about; a grim, hostile underbelly filled with proud white trash, loud motorcycles, barflies, brawlers, booze and sex and rock ‘n’ roll. GTP takes all of this in, and then flings it at the viewer like blood, sweat and spinal fluid, in violent knife-edged spasms of color, light and shadow.

If you can hang, study what GTP has created on canvas, and you will discover an uncompromising artist with a hard-core, anarchic sense of self, which makes him a Charles Bukowski of the painted word.


SHOVELHEAD LOVE
Like me, George loves his shovelheads, and they feature prominently in his art. I’m always glad to see my favorite Milwaukee motor represented, but….







If you’re really brave, read a few of GTP’s columns in back issues of The Horse / Back Street Choppers — the now-defunct biker rag that gave Frizzell a resident platform for his art and off-the-wall screeds — and you’ll see that George comes by his ‘fuck the world’ brand of hardscrabble individualism honestly. He is brutally forthright about living his life his way. Dilettantes and poseurs need not apply.

The Horse / Backstreet Choppers was a weak imitation of the OG Easyriders* magazine, which began in 1970, but The Horse did feature owner-built choppers in amongst all the pouty-lipped models, hipster-bearded and tattooed ‘old skool’ wannabes and eye-boggling graphics. The Horse / Backstreet Choppers was GTP’s home away from home for many years. They published his artwork and many of his rambling, overheated screeds. Those columns were later collected into a ‘bathroom reader‘ that is now out-of-print, and listed for stoopid money on eBay and Amazon.

In a documentary series, Richie Pan’s America, George said he wasn’t much of a writer, wasn’t much of a painter, wasn’t much of a bike builder, and yet he’s famous. 🤷🏻♀️
He also made a comment that speaks volumes about him, and about bikers in general. He said, ‘Being poor and destitute without a motorcycle is completely uncool, but you can be the same motherfucker and have a motorcycle between your legs — still have no place to live — and it’s cool….’
I don’t know about George, but in my career as a biker, I’ve been homeless, without a car, a job or bank account, but I’ve always had a bike, and yeah, that’s pretty feckin’ cool! 😎

George the Painter can be found offending the world in these locations (to name just a few): https://www.instagram.com/georgethepainter, https://www.instagram.com/fineartforw_hitetrash, https://georgethepainter.bigcartel.com/products, https://fineartamerica.com/profiles/george-frizzell/art/george+frizzell, https://www.facebook.com/GeorgeFrizzellJr,
And his latest endeavor, Chopper Hostel, billed as ‘a great place to hide the bodies,’ at https://chopperhostel.com/