My baby sister Syl was flying cross the Pacific every week as her Oakland based airline had a contract with the DoD to carry fresh cannon fodder to Vietnam. Syl was an airline hostess and loved her role although she was always depressed after each flight knowing that several of the young guys they were taking east to war would not return. She told me that after every Vietnam flight she needed a day or two to forget the last one and get psyched for the next one. So, after the hard flights she would go out with her girlfriends and they would do the club scene in SF, mostly around Union Square where the high-end clubs welcomed beautiful woman. I was living in Madison at the time pursuing a doctorate and Syl regularly updated me via our calls when she would tell me about the newest hot spots where she and her mates would enjoy drinks, often some smoke, and perhaps a kiss or more with new male friends. She said it was their antidote to the war as they needed to dump the funk before the next flight. It was on one of those nights that her friends suggested they hit the Tenderloin district for a change of pace.
She met G that night. He was out with other club members gathering to celebrate their recently enhanced notoriety. One of the contemporary hipster writers had just come out with a bestselling book on One Percenters that identified their club as the leaders of the packs. Syl said the boys liked to meet at a pool hall in the Tenderloin that enforced a live and let live policy towards bikers. The pool hall was also well known for their excellent roast beef sandwiches. She took to G in a flash. Yes, he was a guero (white guy) with great abs, thick black hair, and a don’t screw with me attitude. Syl was also a gueirta but thoroughly Chicana. So, within a few minutes after walking into the pool bar she made her way to the pool table and laid down a ten, big money for those times. She walked to the other end of the table from G and said ‘let’s play’.
She quickly knocked all those balls where they belonged. Syl bragged to me later that she took fifty bucks from the guys and that they all paid. There were four other guys at the table and they all fell in lust with her that night and asked where she learned to play. Syl smiled and confessed that our dad had shown her how to use the stick since she was nine. So, Syl took their money, including 10 from G, and she became a newfound princess to that tribe from the day on. She knew they thought she was special and that even the aloof G liked her. While G didn’t drink alcohol due to some family history, he paid for two rounds for everyone. After the second round he asked Syl if she was Ok with leaving her friends and helping him with a job that needed to get done and then, if she was up for it, to see the sun rise at his cafe on the Bay.
She left with G and that evening they shared fragments of family history and a few personal tales. All this as Syl handed G gobs of cash to put through the bill counter. She said it was like processing cheese, but it was cash. G told her that night that he was the treasurer for his club. He also consulted with the club affiliates all over the US and overseas. Syl was impressed by G’s quiet way, this treasurer of the Oakland chapter of a big-time motorcycle club of One Percenters. It took them several hours to sort, bundle and count up the cash. It came to about twenty-five thousand dollars and G said that it was an average night.
G explained to Syl on that first night that he was a simple smoke and beer man, sometimes wine. He was clear that he stayed away from hard alcohol and drugs. His priorities were to maintain good health, keep his bike clean and ready, and ensure that his club’s finances were in order. Syl asked G if he had a current girlfriend and he said no and he asked the same of her with the same answer. After the money work was done they smoked a joint and talked even more. G said it was time for breakfast and the sunrise so they got on his bike and went to the Buena Vista overlooking the marina. Syl told me all this and more about the evening over that first call about G. I was away in Madison pursuing a doctorate and living a different life and she ended the call that night saying that she met someone who she wanted to know a lot more.
I was away at school throughout the first two years that they were dating and did not meet him. When I returned home, I leveraged my degree to get on the big business treadmill and was always on the road or in the air. I was a rising corporate guy and G did not fit into my social mix so I did not meet him throughout the time they were dating each other. I know it disturbed Syl that I was not friendly to G but she felt that as long as our father accepted him that was enough.
Syl enjoyed riding with G on the club runs and after a long one that took them into Montana they got married by an ordained minister who worked with club members. He was not a One Percenter and the marriage was legitimate. None of the family attended the wedding and I was glad that she decided to do it far from our home. I did not meet G until a year after they returned home. Our first meeting was a heavy one as my family had gathered to deal with an ugly situation and G was there to listen. The intervention solution meant dealing with a predator in-law and we were not in agreement how to do it until G spoke up and offered to fix the matter with no questions. We declined his offer but I was impressed by his words and demeanor.
G was very good to my sister, and I never saw him lose his cool, and I had some very interesting talks with him about the workings of the world. Syl and G invited me to crash with them whenever I needed a bed as I often used the SF and Oakland airports while on business trips. They lived in Alameda, so it was easy to get to the airports and once Syl and G had a baby boy I was happy to spend even more time with them.
Syl quit flying soon after B was born. G was a loving but stern father and Syl was an adoring mother. G’s club standing rose during this time as he masterminded an affiliate strategy that generated buckets of cash. Their club had a global brand and during G’s tenure they grew chapters beyond the US to include brothers in several European, Latin American, and Asian countries. G was totally focused on the Club’s growth and his family’s welfare and his club brothers held G in high esteem for his riding, thinking and financial skills.
All went well until Syl asked us all to attend a family meeting. I did not look forward to family meetings as they always focused on hard situations that required us to act in good faith even if it meant bearing our souls and dealing with ugly issues. At that family meeting Syl and G told us that his doctor had diagnosed him with pancreatic cancer and that his options were limited to chemotherapy and prayer. G said that he would do some of the chemo but no prayer. He said he would take the lumps and do the unthinkable and turn in his colors and spend all his remaining time at home with his family. We knew that the colors were the DNA of the club and that this was a momentous decision, one that could have hard consequences. We swallowed our condolences and agreed to his request. At the end of the meeting G smiled and told us that we were the best club members anyone could have and that he was proud to be one of us.
G died three months after the family meeting. He had followed through on turning in his colors and the Club accepted them with honor but told him he would always be a member. The family gathered together at a small chapel in the Oakland hills to say goodbye. G did not practice any of the faiths and my wife and I were probably the only ones in our family who still went to church or said an occasional prayer so the family asked me to say a few words at a short memorial service to be held just before cremation.
We had gathered at a chapel in the Oakland hills where we could see the San Francisco Bay spread out in the distance. There were only a handful of us at the memorial service and I had just started to say a few words when we heard distant motorcycle rumblings that quickly turned into a roar. We walked outside and looked with awe as a cavalcade of riders on their bikes rode up the hill and circled the chapel. It was surreal as the thirty or so riders all had on their colors with black bands on their arms or heads. They had come to say farewell to their brother, and we were honored to have them. S, the club president, walked to the open casket and asked me if he could say a few words. This was a powerful request from a club member who was considered the numero uno of the One Percenters. S was in remission from cancer that had devoured his vocal cords, so he spoke through a throat speaker, a device called an electrolarynx. I nodded my head and S went to the open cask, bent over and knocked his head against G’s forehead. Then he looked at all of us and said that G was a stand-up guy who took care of his club, his bike, and his family. He also said that G had once offered to take a RICOH charge for him but that they both beat the rap and the club prospered. S said all this is about a minute and then he and all the club members raised their fists to the casket and walked out. I caught S outside on his bike and thanked him for his words and invited him and his club members to join us for barbecue at Syl and G’s home. He said that he would attend with a few others later that afternoon.
I returned to the chapel, said a few words about G’s love for Syl and their son and our small family group left as the mortuary folk took G’s body for cremation. We went to G and Syl’s home and were reminiscing about G when we heard the thunder of bikes coming down the street. Syl asked me to greet the new arrivals and I took them through the house to the backyard where we were had meat smoldering on the barbecue and ice chests with beer and wine. S said it was a good day to say goodbye to a brother and that he hoped his own last ride would be as classy. He asked if it was OK to light up and I said of course. G would have loved seeing his club and family enjoying some good barbecue, cold beer and wine, and smoke. Even my two cousins in law enforcement who were with us at the wake put aside their badges and took a couple of photos with the club members. S even offered one of my legit cousins a joint but my cuz said no thanks and then he offered S a shot of tequila and they both drank to G. All of us shared shots that day and when the bikers left we called out the kids who were in the house to the yard and continued eating and drinking. I think G would have approved the way we chose to honor his last ride home, colors or not, club and blood friends celebrating his life.
