Hell’s Angels. A Strange and Terrible. Saga by Hunter S. Thompson

At this point it was a tossup as to whether the Angels were bamboozling the press or vice-versa. Impartial observers and newspaper buffs found the truce very strange. Here was the Examiner, which had always viewed the Angels with fear and loathing, suddenly presenting them as misunderstood patriots. The Examiner has fallen on hard times recently, but it remains influential among those who fear King George III might still be alive in Argentina. The Tribune is the same kind of newspaper, but free of the confusing deviations that have come to charac­terize the Examiner. In 1964, for instance, the Hearst empire for­sook Goldwater, while the Tribune held the line. As it happened, Mr. Knowland had managed the senator’s successful California primary campaign, so there was not much doubt where the Trib­une stood — without much company — in November. In some circles the Tribune is seen as a classic example of what anthro­pologists call an atavistic endeavor. *

* It also turns a profit, unlike the Examiner — which in 1965 finally threw in the towel and merged with the Chronicle, now the only morning daily in San Francisco. Rather than fold altogether, the Examiner switched to afternoon publication.

Lucius Beebe was in a class by himself, and his opinions have not been a factor in any meaningful issue since the introduction of barbed wire to the prairies. . . but every now and then he would come up with a really classic screed, and for some reason the Chronicle continued to print them even after his death, in early 1966. In three years of reading the paper I had never encountered anyone who took Beebe seriously until several of the Hell’s Angels quoted his column to me — with straight faces and a certain amount of pride. When I laughed they got huffy. He’d compared them favorably to the Texas Rangers — and with the kind of press they were used to, that amounted to a gold-star breakthrough. I tried to explain that Lucius was a quack, but they would have none of it. Shit, this is the first time I ever ready anything good about us, said one, and you try to tell me the guy’s an asshole. . . hell, it’s better than anything you ever wrote about us.

Which was true, and I felt rotten about it. It had never occurred to me to compare Tiny to Bat Masterson. Or Terry to Billy the Kid. Or Sonny to Buffalo Bill. Even after Big Daddy put it all in a nut I still missed the connection. . . and then came Beebe, with his Texas Ranger linkage, which the Angels recognized immediately. Whatever else might be said about the Angels, nobody has ever accused them of modesty, and this new kind of press was pure balm to their long-abused egos. The Angels were beginning to view their sudden fame as a confirmation of what they had always suspected: they were rare, fascinating creatures ( Wake up and dig it, man, we’re the Texas Rangers ). It was a shock of recognition, long overdue, and although they never understood the timing, they were generally pleased with the result. At the same time they revised their traditional view of the press: not all reporters were congenital liars — there were exceptions, here and there, with the guts and keen understanding to write the real stuff.

5

He wore black denim trousers

and motorcycle boots

And a black leather jacket

with an eagle on the back

He had a hopped-up cycle

that took off like a gun,

That fool was the terror of

Highway 101

— Juke box hit of the late 1950s

The California climate is perfect for bikes, as well as surf­boards, convertibles, swimming pools and abulia. Most cyclists are harmless weekend types, no more dangerous than skiers or skin-divers. But ever since the end of World War II the West Coast has been plagued by gangs of young wild men on motor­cycles, roaming the highways in groups of ten to thirty and stop­ping whenever they get thirsty or road-cramped to suck up some beer and make noise. The hellbroth of publicity in 1965 made the phenomenon seem brand-new, but even in the ranks of the Hell’s Angels there are those who insist that the outlaw scene went over the hump in the mid-fifties, when the original faces began drifting off to marriage and mortgages and time payments.