Carl and the Hell’s Angels

This is a little story from my unproductive time spent in the U.S. Army. But it has little to do with me. This is Carl’s story. However, a little background is necessary.

We were stationed not more than a twenty-minute bus ride from Juarez Mexico. It’s just across the boarder from El Paso Texas. Jesus, I had always thought El Paso was only in Cowboy stories. But sure enough that’s what the sign said when I got off the plane. As you might expect, Army pay was minimal, a couple of hundred bucks a month and so stretching the dollar was of paramount importance. Therefore Mexico offered a frugal means to explore the rich historical aspects of a foreign country and experience the local customs and culture.

Yea right! We were a bunch of twenty something year olds hell bent for wine women and song however I don’t remember much singing. But it’s true you couldn’t beat the prices; twenty-five cents for a bottle of beer, thirty-five cents for a mixed drink and fifty-two cents for a roasted half chicken dinner with coke. Even on Army pay you could do quite well in Ciudad Juarez.     

That brings me to Carl. He was another draftee doing his time in boredom just like the rest of us. There was nothing unusual about him other than he kept a denim jacket in his footlocker carefully wrapped. These were his “Colors” and they were important to him. It seems our boy Carl envisioned himself as a member of a Chicago Motorcycle Enthusiast Organization named “The Cluchmen”. I had never heard of them at the time but as he defined it, they had a certain affiliation or association with the Hell’s Angels. Now them I have heard of. 

Carl had some good stories, as did we all. These were often related during intoxicated bouts in such wonderful places as: The Cave, The Blue American Club, and The Red Parrot among others. Solid family entertainment establishments all, with a “working staff “ egger to provide comfort for those so far from home (GI’s often need comfort).

Carl’s stories of fun and mischief sometimes bordered on, shall we say, unlawful, insane, dangerous and downright scary business. The general opinion was that these stories were exaggerated and possibly embellished by large quantities of alcohol and drugs. No harm done, by in large Carl was a stand-up guy. Well-mannered, kind to old people and children, the type of guy you might bring home to meet your sister.

One Saturday afternoon a few of us are having a beer down in Juarez at the Indian Club where the girls all wore head bands (Hey, no judgments – My age group all had a thing for Princes Summerfall Winterspring). Outside the sun is hot and the streets are noisy as always but inside it’s cool and quiet. Then, guess who stopped by for a cold one?.......
About thirty Hells Angels bang through the door; boots, chains, beards, Colors and all. The noise level jumps to a gazillion disables immediately. Women run for the back door, the bar tender starts pulling beer bottles out by the handful almost throwing them on the bar and anyone near the front door makes a hasty exit. It was like being in a Marlon Brando Movie. But this was no movie.

Our little group of four is not so lucky. We are seated to the rear away from all doors and windows. I’m thinking, “My weapon is back at the armory but I’m sure these guys brought their own. I hate being the only one in an ax fight without an ax.” Not that there would have been much of a fight given there numbers and size. Some of these guys looked like they eat engine blocks for breakfast.

Then there is Carl. He stands up and is in a dead stare at the Angles. You’ve seen this stare. It’s the same one that a fool gives to a growling Doberman. I immediately start to wonder if our bodies will ever be found. Too late, a few of the Angeles have noticed and are returning the stare. What happened next was fast and without hesitation. There is a Angel right up in front of Carl’s face breathing beer and smoke on him and he immediately reaches behind Carl’s head and crushes him to his chest while yelling, Mother #@*%#@.......... He lets him go and kisses the SOB while holding his head between big ugly hands. Carl returns the gesture with a, “How the #@*%#@ are you!” They know each other. I’ll be damned…. and thank you Jesus!

Well, up to the bar the bunch of us go, me checking my pants for wet spots. Introductions all around but I swear I don’t remember any of their names to this day. Learned a few interesting things about various symbols and badges on Angel Colors, whatever modesty I have prevents me from going into that here.

Found out that Angels also respect military service. They all do it or at least they all did it back then. The Marine Corps was apparently full of them. Thank God a few of them saw through Carl’s short hair and civilian dress. I suppose it was not that uncommon for them to run into associates doing there service time. Carl, who could almost pass for the boy next door flips like a switch. Everything changes, facial expressions, posture, even the sound of his voice. Talk about The Three Faces of Eve! Other than a clean shave and the dorky haircut he blended right in.
After a few more beers Carl left with them and we didn’t see him for the rest of the weekend. He got back to base Monday morning none the worse for ware. He was happier than usual for a few weeks after that. I guess he got his fix of the life he had put on hold. As for the rest of us that were with him that day a mental note was made by all not to introduce Carl to our sisters or anyone else’s sister for that mater. 

The next time he came back from leave he brought his bike back with him. Since I had a license and some experience on a big bike he let me ride it a few time. The thing was awesome; Chopped Triumph, Ape Hangers and the chrome and sound to go with it. Talk about riding a thunderbolt. That picture on the side is Carl in his Colors. I have no right to show his face so I cropped it out. I ETS’d (Got out of the Army) before him so I don’t know for sure what he planned to do when he got out. I can only assume he went back to the life he missed so much. I hope he met a nice girl, sold the bike and had a family, never letting his kids have a motorcycle. He was a good friend to me during that time and I can only wish him well.