RUDIMENTS, pt. 783
(how I almost got killed) pt.1
I'm moving sideways
for this one, just to show
something different and
make a point. I forget if
it was Maple Shade, or
Mont Holly - one of
those South Jersey towns.
It was 1995. I was in charge
of a statewide motorcycle
operation at that time, and
we were having a Legislative
Conference, for the weekend,
down in one of those motel
places that have a general
meeting room, and rooms
for people to stay. And a
breakfast buffet was thrown
in, yes, for the following
morning. There were a few
guest speakers, a few of
the usual personal injury
lawyers who catered to
motorcycle crash victims,
lawsuits, and damages. The
big competition between them
was who would throw the
best hospitality suite, for the
mingling, beer-guzzling and
always hungry, Bikers.
Lo and behold, I was to be
the keynote speaker, get
the thing rolling, watch it
and moderate it along the
way - keeping things to
schedule, programs to subjects,
speakers in their correct time
frames, music, live band, the
Saturday night dance and band
entertainment, for 130 or so
befuddled motorcycle people,
etc. Maybe more.
-
I was fronting for my little
organization, and nothing
was easy. The north of the
state had been feuding with
the south of the state, for over
8 years, on a previous incarnation
of this 'one-state' Biker/cyclist,
thing, which had broken up
over some stolen-money issue,
misappropriated funds, etc.
After long and tedious, and
scary and intense, negotiations
over a long period of time, I'd
managed to wrangle with some
6 or 7 other people to put away
their (blood)-feud, reunite, make
amends, and try it all again. The
name had to be changed, the
locations of things, the chapters
and meeting places. They fought
over 'the' and over 'a' - it was
like wrestling with snakes. This
Legislative Conference was to be
the first real try at everyone doing
things together, as a united front,
trying to get laws and regulations
moderated, or revoked. When
people say tit-for-tat, I found
out, they're not always talking
go-go bar - even though those
things were quite plentiful all
along those lonely highways
weaving through the southlands
of Jersey. These negotiating
meetings, long, cold Winter
nights, had a few of us leaving
from Metuchen (my office there)
to meet 'their' south contingent
at some hall in Wrightstown, NJ.
Well, the big, climactic meeting
anyway. The scary meeting. I
was with two very nervous-Nellies
that night - they were sure we'd
be ambushed along the southerly
roadways; they swore we'd be
done in by South Jersey Pagan
MC guys. We were watching
for vans or cars tailing us, etc.
In a nervous fit of quarrel, at
the outset, they'd had us stop at
the Americana Diner, in Lawrence
or whatever town that is, while
they strenuously argued, with
each other - get this now, it's
real - over whether the pistols
they were carrying should be
carried into the rooms of the
meeting that night loaded, or
unloaded, and if needed them,
would there be time enough to
load in that instant? Craziest
argument I'd ever had to sit
through - I said little. They
decided to go unloaded, in
case we got pulled over. I
wondered, would that even
make a difference? Their
hamburger platters had come,
I was pretty sure, with a side
order of paranoia.
-
Anyway, those negotiations
all went enough, no shooting,
we all made our agreements
and promises, over beers and
shots, talk and recriminations,
all forgotten. Wrightstown and
Ft. Dix, and all that military
stuff, all adjoin each other, and
Wrightstown itself is like a
sleazy, redneck, military town -
the kind of place where, on
liberty, the guys are always
sex-starved, there are (were)
go-go bars enough to go
around, needs satisfied -I
guessed - and a general lower
class fumbling at any sort of
respectability or conversation
past grunt and oink. It's really
not much of a place (and a
sad reflection, actually, on the
Military blowhards who always
brag about themselves).
-
Anyway, after this 'merger' thing
I wrote my news article about
the merger, and managed to call
the southlands 'agrarian South
Jersey.' That caused a new furor,
and they all took it as a slight.
I never was able to look at a
Jersey tomato again in the
same way. So, at this conference,
I'm thinking what to say, how
can I fill 20 minutes nicely, to
open a big deal legislative
conference with a light, but
informative and pleasant, set
of opening remarks. Well,
there's another story. First off,
to my surprise, the morning of,
this entire thing at the podium,
was to be filmed - for whom or
what I never knew, nor do
I know where it's ended up.
Wired for sound, cameras
focused, and little old me
at the stand. Right off the
bat (or, maybe, right off the
boat?) I go afoul - evidently
some sort of 'agrarian' South
Jersey Christian element was
present no one had told me
about. Jesus Riders MC, or
something. Speaking of the
organization, its unified growth,
expansion and new status, I
open with a joke. With the
new organization in mind, I
ask, 'Does anyone know what
Adam said to Eve on their
first night together?' No
response, even as I delicately
weaved the punchline into my
speech. 'Stand back, Eve; I
don't know how big this thing
gets.' Now, I thought that was
genuinely funny, germane,
and light-hearted too. I might
as well have called all their
mothers dogs. The silence was
deafening, and then, one or two,
boos, groans, etc. Not a big hit.
-
I moved on from there. Somehow,
in my thinking, I'd had it that
if I broached the subject of
Freedom and America - of
which all these Bikers were
always blabbing about, with
their flags and memorial runs
and patriotic gore - and showed
it to be untrue, it would hit home.
Boy, sure, that was what the
doctor ordered. I gave it good,
I went at them for flags, their
need for displaying flags ('you're
not sure where you are? Which
encampment's yours? How's
that go?). I dove at them for
the usual Biker's predilection
of being workers for towns and
counties, and municipal crews,
all living off the taxes of others
while bragging about their
inherited rights of freedom
and liberty and all that. Not
a smart move, on my part.
I hit them for joining Legions
and Elks and VFW's; for sitting
around drinking, instead of
riding - with their motorcycles
used mainly for bar-hopping an
boozing and getting all wrapped
up in their stupid turf-wars and
regional concerns having nothing
to do with anything except being
sure they had a good time - forget
Liberty and Freedom and their
rights and privileges, which
they were just letting be trampled
by every tin-horned Tom, Dick,
Jane, and Mary, political drooler
they ran across, and believing
every word of that glib BS that
was handed to them by low-life,
pandering politicians...And then
I simply, flat-out asked them,
'How's it feel to be wards of the
states, with your little motorcycles
allowed outside, but little else?'
-
The place erupted. I nearly got
killed, by my own people! North vs.
South all over again. Civil War redux.
But as I had just told them, this time
THEY were the slaves.
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