Angelic Influence
In the fall of 1981 I ended up getting a job down in the Village at the Great Gildersleeves off Bowery and Bleeker (next to CBGB's). I literally had to step over stinky smelly falling down drunk homeless bums laying on the ground in their puke and feces when I got off the subway in order to get to my place of employment. How could anyone let themselves get so bad off I thought. Gildersleeves was a great gig. I could hit Aqueduct or OTB during the day and then head into Manhattan opposite rush hour. They had 3 different rock bands a night performing for CBS record execs.
The Hell’s Angels were the best part. I fit in well by appearance due to my long hair and beard. They were so cool. They would provide the additional excitement and resources I needed to experience total job satisfaction. My favorite Angel was California Teddy. He would always lecture me early in the evening before the crowd arrived on why I shouldn’t drink so much. They were always thinking of others those angels. After a fulfilling conversation, we would do lines of coke together off the bar. I just didn’t feel comfortable suggesting Teddy’s hypocrisy to him.
I still tried to keep my day job at the health food store in Times Square. I was a cashier, shelf stocker and all around knowledgeable health food consultant, after all, I was a member in good standing of the NYC Road Runners Club. I was just on hiatus. Talk about conflicting career paths. Of course as soon as the hangovers and cocaine wore off I would certainly go back to running again. One day, accidentally confusing careers, I came in to work at the health food store with a hangover (or more likely still drunk from the night before) and I caught 2 guys trying to steal some herbal tea to mix with the pot they were selling at Bryant Park across the street. They were indignant of my accusation and decided to call me out. I decided to do a Rambo and take it to the streets. By the time we got out on Avenue of the Americas, I had a machete looking me square in the eyes. Here I am, drunk hippie-looking wannabe health nut, in a street fight with 2 African Americans wielding knives and it’s lunchtime on 6th avenue and 41st street with thousands of people walking by and watching, all because of a box of herbal freaking tea. I ended up with a knife slit on my forearm, they ended rolling down the subway steps. Along comes a cop and he's asking me if I’d been drinking. Again, with the damn cops and my drinking.
I took the IRT #7 line and Q27 bus home as quick as I could to clean up the stool in my drawers and to get ready for the night shift. Once back downtown and behind the stick at Gildersleeves I started to unwind. My vodka and iced tea routine had started early on this particular night. The shift didn’t start until 9 and I usually left around 5 a.m. after cleanup. The next thing I remember, I woke up in Central Park in the bushes with 3 cans of warm beer in a brown paper bag. It was rush hour and I was going in the opposite direction back to queens. I made it home again without making eye contact with a single soul throughout the city and snuck into bed and slept it off all day. Another mission accomplished.
That night I made it back to the Bowery early and well rested although a little jittery. I ran into Teddy on the street. He was as cool, calm and collected as always.
He asked “What are you doing here?”
I said, “I’m working tonight and got in early”.
Teddy looked at me straight in the eyes and said “You don't remember what you did last night?”
I started to sink into a fear I’ve never known as I shook with a blank stare.
He said “You went after Sandy last night…you better get out of town man, you’re not welcome back.”
Sandy was the President of the East Coast Chapter. I had fucked up and I fucked up royally. I started a fight with the Hell’s Angels Chapter president and somehow survived. All the angels carried blades and why I never felt one pierce my heart is beyond my understanding.
I thanked Teddy for being so cool, I mean after all, we were tight. I wasn't an angel but I went to his place on east 3rd off of 1st just a couple of nights before to beg for a piece so I could take care of the guy who sliced me next time I saw him. Teddy knew I was fucked up.
The next day, I introduced myself to USMC Staff Sergeant Gonzalez, a recruiter in Flushing on Main Street and Roosevelt and inquired about the possibility of getting out of town quick. A few days later I was in boot camp singing lo rider left.