My Interest in Cycle Gangs
MY INTEREST IN CYCLE GANGS
I worked as an editor at the now defunct Boston Phoenix in the early seventies. A couple hairy bikers in colors kept stopping by the office requesting we do an article on them. "Because we're like interesting, man." So one evening I took the train to blue collar Randolph to hang out with the Rum Pot Rustlers in their clubhouse, an old garage in which the boys wrenched their rat Harleys.
Their president Wild Bill had a perfectly circular scar in the middle of his forehead. "One day I hear this yellin' so I go out on my front yard and there's a bunch of Wild Childs (a rival MC gang) doin' doughnuts so I tell them to get the hell off my lawn and one of 'em throws a beer bottle at me. Hit me dead center in the forehead and knocked me out."
Mostly they talked about gang rape. They didn't call it that. They called it "sharing" with their brothers. I dutifully wrote it up. They day after the article appeared three of them were arrested for gang-raping F. Lee Bailey's secretary whom they picked up in a bar. When I went to work the next day the secretary warned me to lay low--I was about to be deposed by the District Attorney. The publisher refused to supply me with an attorney. The entire editorial staff led by Carl Oglesby walked out in protest and I got my attorney.
In the days that followed Rum Pot Rustlers dropped by the office asking for me.
I was never deposed.
I began studying karate.
I worked as an editor at the now defunct Boston Phoenix in the early seventies. A couple hairy bikers in colors kept stopping by the office requesting we do an article on them. "Because we're like interesting, man." So one evening I took the train to blue collar Randolph to hang out with the Rum Pot Rustlers in their clubhouse, an old garage in which the boys wrenched their rat Harleys.
Their president Wild Bill had a perfectly circular scar in the middle of his forehead. "One day I hear this yellin' so I go out on my front yard and there's a bunch of Wild Childs (a rival MC gang) doin' doughnuts so I tell them to get the hell off my lawn and one of 'em throws a beer bottle at me. Hit me dead center in the forehead and knocked me out."
Mostly they talked about gang rape. They didn't call it that. They called it "sharing" with their brothers. I dutifully wrote it up. They day after the article appeared three of them were arrested for gang-raping F. Lee Bailey's secretary whom they picked up in a bar. When I went to work the next day the secretary warned me to lay low--I was about to be deposed by the District Attorney. The publisher refused to supply me with an attorney. The entire editorial staff led by Carl Oglesby walked out in protest and I got my attorney.
In the days that followed Rum Pot Rustlers dropped by the office asking for me.
I was never deposed.
I began studying karate.
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Mike wrote: "I took the train."not to Randolph
My memory may be a little rusty, Vincent, but I distinctly remember walking back to the train accompanied by a big rat.
Mike wrote: "My memory may be a little rusty, Vincent, but I distinctly remember walking back to the train accompanied by a big rat."In the early 70s there were no trains in Randolph. They didn't even open the Braintree Red line station until at least 1978.
Vince, you may be able to find the article on line.
Yes the line went out to the old Randolph station back in the early 70s then in later years it was shut done then a new station was opened up with more stops added to the line.
My sister hung out with a "Rustler". In the early 70's they were a small band of losers who were a wanna be biker gang.