13 originals. Well, when Bush crowds squared up with somebody, he would put a hurtin on you, he would hit you just whatever was available. He. You what? A bottle, a chair, whatever. Whatever he a day in the day, a day depended on the degree of severity, you know.

He was a stand up guy. He was not something to toy with and he was very loyal.

And you saw the loyalty that he invoked from people, from different states, from different cities, different clubs, and then in turn, he would expect the same.

This is Matt Santos, Ga. Mansi was a former president of the Cleveland Hells Angels and a 20 year member. He was retired from the club in 1991, but he's been in a few life or death fights alongside my father and they are close friends in the 1970s.

He was a Louisiana country boy from down south.

I really don't know how he found his way up to Cleveland, but the first time that I recall meeting him, which was at Ted's bar up on Lakeshore Boulevard, right close to the border of Euclid and Cleveland, and I was in the bar with this other fella. And Dare's crouches in an argument with this guy named Paul Hawthorne. Paul Horne was a little bit of a tough guy in that particular far east side of Cleveland, somewhat of a bully, you know.

And anyway, they had an argument, evidently, because right when I walk in, they're arguing. And then next thing you know, they pulled guns on one another.

We're singing all day. You can't take me high tide. Low tide, you know. The time, the voting time in, we're going strong headed up down the river. I feel the revelation that I feel the change on the rise. I'm Jackie Taylor, and this is relative unknown. My real name is Jackie Crouch. Jackie Taylor is the name that was given to me by the US Marshals when I was seven years old and put into the witness protection program.

We were relocated and any ties to the Crouch name were cut off completely. Less than a year later, my father left and I'd only see him one more time before he killed himself and his wife and stepson in 2013.

Since then, I've been trying to fill in the blanks in both of our stories.

And what was in the blood for my father was from Shreveport, Louisiana, and like Mansi said, he was totally country and so was his family. Hideko woop woop, goodrow acid. That being Razali, earlier this year, I went to visit my cousin Tricia and Griffeth. Tricia's mom was my Aunty Frida, which is sister, and my Uncle Harry is her stepdad. Tricia lives in Luckie, Louisiana, and when I arrived, she and her son were trying to get their baby pigs back into the pen.

You don't let them out of the gate, OK? Oh, families on the fence in the middle. There I go for a moment. Oh, yeah. Boy, that where I got out of Boston. You know, we all got to. Now fits in there, yeah. So this is actually going to be my chicken coop. Oh, yeah. Are you going to rally around in the meantime?

Tricia got a fire going and we sat down next to it to talk. So the stories that mom always told me about Uncle Butch, there was mostly good stories, but now she would tell me that, like if she got picked on as she got older, you know, the guys would mess with her or something like that. Now, she would go and tell him and he would go and straighten him out. But as far as the violence or anything like that, you know, she didn't say what he did.

She just said he took care of it. That was all she told me. I know she was afraid of his temper. I never saw the temper. I just saw the kids. Yeah, I remember now the house, but we had so we used to have a house. But when he was growing up, I opportunity to be in and if I'm not mistaken, I think that's before he went to prison, he stayed on the houseboat because nobody knew where it was and nobody knew where he was.

But we did. But then I remember that after he got out of prison, he came and stayed with me for a little bit. He had a new name. But I never called him by the new name, I didn't know no Uncle Paul. All I knew was Uncle Butch is like, don't call me that. Oh, my uncle. No, you're not.

I asked Tricia and if she was ever afraid of what could happen to her. After my family was put into the safe house in Florida and placed into the federal witness protection program.

Me? No, I'm not scared of nothing. I'm sorry. I'm just not. No man, no bass, no nothing. I just I mean, I'm not people in the frying pan, you know, I was that I'll tell you a story. There was an ex-husband. He hit me. No mistake. First I hit him in the head, but the glass pan and it cracked bust his head open. Then he got up and hit me again.

Then I took the frying pan and knocked him smooth out and then called the purpose to come drag him off. Sorry, you know, so no, I was not nervous about anybody coming to look for me or, you know, or anything like that because, you know, I mean, Mama had warned us, you know, whatever you do, just be careful what you do and how you do it, you know, because there are people out there that are looking for your uncle and he might come through us to get to him.

And I was like, OK. And then I started hearing the stories, you know, about him killing people and people looking for him. And then people were, you know, looking for us and everything else, you know. And I was like, oh, wait a minute, you know, let me step back here and recognize what's going on here, because I know I wanted to know more about the way my father grew up.

His mother was deaf, and I can remember him teaching me some sign language. When I was little, Krishan was my grandmother's favorite.

Simay sounds, but she couldn't talk like me. And yet she always called me baby and she has a baby, you know. I mean, I can understand her because I was around her a lot, but some people, other people couldn't understand her, you know, but that's the way she would talk because she went deaf.

I got the story correctly from what I've understood from Mama that her and her mom had called the scarlet fever and her mom and dad ingraining went deaf.

According to an article in the Natchitoches Times printed on January 18th, 1918, when my grandmother was just two years old, it was meningitis, not scarlet fever, which tore through her house.

She was one of seven children. Her mother and three brothers died. And my grandmother lost her hearing. She went on to have six children of her own from three different men.

And my father, Clarence Addie Crouch, born in 1940, was her oldest here, a passage from his manuscript.

After my father died, my mother was left to raise all of us the only way she knew by walking four miles from daylight to dark, doing what the deaf people call selon, which is going into any bar and handed out little cards with an alphabet printed in sign language on them.

As the deaf community is very clannish. We children were raised in the deaf clubs every weekend where the jukebox was always turned all the way up and the sounds of screaming from the parents calling after their children was deafening. The children would scream at each other, too, over the years, I've seen my mother come home with a leg so swollen she couldn't walk for two days. Other times she was brought home by the police because she'd been robbed or raped or both.

Sometimes so beat up that she had to stay in bed for a week once someone threw sand in her eyes and it caused her not to see for a week. So she took two of us along with her to guide her around while she got enough money for food for us. My grandmother on my father's side hated my mother and tried for years to have all of us children taken away by the courts, so because of this, we went from town to town only with what we could carry in a suitcase trying to stay ahead of the law.

And grandma grandma had declared momma incompetent and we children were placed in a state home. By nine years old, my dad was sent by the juvenile court to an orphanage and at 10 he was sent to a boy's home, then he came back and began to earn a reputation.

Is the first nickname was Lulu. You all you can walk the streets, you move ahead or you get some balls.

This is my uncle Ed. I'd never spoken with that until a few months ago when I tracked him down living in a VA hospital in San Francisco.

It was like a prizefighter or something. They were unbeaten. Would you consider him a bully or did you call him up to protect you? Everybody loves the shit out of your hero.

Uncle Ed is Butches younger brother and as of this year, his only living sibling.

What was he like as a kid growing up with like having a guy like that is your brother is wonderful. He wonderfully me on the first day when I was 15 years old and we should go hang out of the car and my flashlight, light up the deer or the river or whatever, light up their eyes and they're like frozen in and they can't move to shoot them. He told me how to do that and how to take care of myself and to.

Don't live in Somalia, convince the U.S. you're going to kill you. Then you have to get a first thing in the morning and go tell them, take them out and to get in your car, drive and drive and drive back roads and stuff. And just if you don't know where you are and then bury them as deep as you can and then you don't even know where they are. So you can't be true to yourself.

Listen, you're all I need to know, as bizarre and disjointed as my Uncle Ed's memories of my father were, they helped to paint a picture of a teenager with no guidance, beginning down a path toward a life of violence. And sure enough, this article from the Houston press printed in 1959 was in my father's trunk. A 19 year old high school student accused of stabbing another youth after making sure the victim had no weapon was caught by police jailed after a brief chase was Clarence Lulu Crouch, who has a record of two previous arrests.

Crouch was charged with assault to murder following a battle in a hallway of an apartment building in which 19 year old Ben Allison was critically stabbed. Young Allison told police Crouch had crashed a party the night before and was thrown out by. He said Crouch threatened to get him and at midnight the following night, he showed up at Ellison's apartment, accompanied by five friends. The gang forced Ellison into the hallway to be sure he didn't have a weapon. Police were told, and the friends circled the victim to be sure he didn't escape, then crouched through a knife and stabbed him.

Ellison is still in a hospital recovering from two deep stab wounds in jail. Crouch refused to say anything.

My dad was charged with assault to murder with malice, and he was given a sentence of two to five years in prison in Huntsville, Texas, and this is where he begins his story on the very first page of his manuscript, Hate and Discontent.

These are his first words. If someone were to ask how I got involved in motorcycle gangs in the first place, I guess the answer would be that it all started in the Texas prison about six months before I got out in October of 62.

The guy in the next bunk noticed it first and snapped me to it. We were on the wind farm just outside of Huntsville, which was just off the highway.

Our banks were right next to the window and we could hear see this guy on a Harley as he went back and forth to work each day. He has some real nice pipes on that old hog and the sound would echo across into the window. It sounded like he was talking to us the sound of freedom as he would get on it all the way down the highway. Every day we would be there at six a.m. and five p.m. listening at the window.

When I got out, I made a promise to myself that I wasn't going back like everybody else. I got the five years for assault to murder because I'd cut up this guy named Ellyson at a party one night. But everybody in the joint seem to be there for the same thing, robbery, dope, burglary and checks, but all the time I was there, I only knew two guys who were in the joint for pimping.

So I started running as many whores as I could find, which Houston was full of them. And it was nothing to find some dirty leg in a bar or some clothes and sporter in a hotel downtown with the same old promise of her working long enough to get enough for us to open a bar. I ran 17 whores out of one house, made a lot of money, but damn, if I know what happened to it at one hell of a good time blowing all that money, though.

Then one day a cop car came sliding in the driveway and two cops in plain clothes came out with guns. I ran through the house and out the back door. As they came in the front, they started shooting in the closets and anywhere else they thought I was hot. When I got to my car, their car was blocking mine. And so I just jumped in their car and headed north. I stopped in this gas station and paid this guy to take me to Shreveport.

After this, I got me a forty nine pound chopper and I never wore a suit again unless I was in court. I let my beard grow and started only riding motorcycles. We all have something we're working on, perhaps it's a career change or finding a partner or procrastinating less. The hard part isn't really identifying these goals. It's taking action. Thanks to talk space online therapy, finding a therapist is easier than ever get matched with your perfect therapist right from your device and connect with them on your own schedule from anywhere at any time.

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Go to Talks Face.com and download the app. Make sure to use code unknown to get one hundred dollars off your first month and to show your support for the show. That's unknown. And talk space dotcom. The voice you hear screaming for people to go home belongs to Ralph Sunee. Father Sonny is a legendary founding member and former longtime president of the Oakland Hells Angels. Here, it's 1965 and the Vietnam War was raging. Sunny and a small group of angels are breaking up a Vietnam War protest in Oakland.

Five of them were arrested. And later, Sunny held a press conference where he read a letter he'd sent to President Johnson.

President Lyndon B. Johnson. Sixteen hundred, Pennsylvania. Washington, D.C.. Dear Mr. President, on behalf of myself and my associates, I volunteer a group of loyal Americans from behind the line duty in Vietnam. We feel that a crack group of trained guerrillas could demoralize the Vietcong and advance the cause of freedom. We are available for training and duty immediately. Sincerely, Ralph Barga, Hells Angels, Oakland, California. If the 1960s were about counterculture, nobody was more counter to the culture than Sonny Barger and the Hells Angels.

They were welcome to an acid party with Ken Kesey and his merry band of pranksters, and they provided security for the Grateful Dead. Here, Geraldo Rivera speaks with Jerry Garcia.

They in the Forage Club, and they aren't the Boy Scouts of America. The Hells Angels are a motorcycle club that is generally known as an outlaw motorcycle club that has had numerous brushes with the law. Does any of those kinds of things affect the way you feel about them? No, because I'm sort of an outlaw space myself, you know what I mean? I'm not heavy duty outlaw, but, you know. Are you afraid of the. No.

Sure. Sure. Why? Because they're scary, man. You know, they're all big, you know, and strong and good and all the violent spaces, you know, they got that covered, you know? I mean, scary is what one of the things Hells Angels are. The bike rider is put forth by the Hells Angels while a bunch of outlaws to come out of the West. Billy the Kid is here to tell him his biographer, intense young literary journalist named Hunter Thompson.

Author Hunter S. Thompson was as counterculture as it got, and he'd launched his career in 1967 with the book about the Hells Angels. This audio is from a television appearance that year where Cliff Workman, an original Oakland member, rode his bike into the studio and then had words with Thompson about why the club had a falling out with them.

All right, this man, if you got into a man's personal argument, that's an outright lie. No, no, this is my side of what happened. OK, you weren't there, weren't you? This is what this is what happened here. George was beating his old lady.

This is what happened, Tony Jones beating his old lady, I realized your junkie charges dog is Junkie George's dog bit him, right? I mean, isn't the prison. I didn't say if a guy wants to beat his wife and his dog bites him, that's between the three of. Right. Here came the peacemaker. He doesn't have a passion and he isn't in the club, you know, and is stiff. We watch you walk right up to him and you said only a punk beats his wife and dog and you backed up.

If there's anything you want. You want some of this. And you said no, but you got it anyway. And when he hit you, three or four others hit you, too. Workmans appearance may have reinforced the media's image of the anti-establishment, anti-social biker, but he also had a clear message for anybody listening, one that riders like him all feel.

Actually, there are none of us who care what anybody thinks. I don't give a damn if they don't like me or my motorcycle.

It's too bad a lot of us have always loved the anti-hero. And you love the power. You love the strength. And the more rules that some of us are handed, the more we like to push back.

Bill Gates has been riding motorcycles since 1965, and he's one of the most prolific authors on the biker culture with titles like The One Percenter, Encyclopedia and American Biker, The History, The Clubs, The Lifestyle, the Truth. And he says there's three main things that draw people to a motorcycle club.

The attitude and the machine can be one, really, because, you know, with motorcycles were for everyone. Everyone would be riding one and they're not and they don't. So you have those two things kind of coalescing the attitude in the machine, and it feels really good to jump on a bike and just go for some people. Others, they're scared to death. When you're talking about the group now, you bring a third feeling into the mix. Now you bring camaraderie into the attitude and the machine and that camaraderie.

There's nothing like it. It's not a family you're born into. It's a family you've earned your way into it. And so it's in many ways stronger than blood. And the part represents that brotherhood and it is sacred.

Just to give you a sense of the importance of the patch to my father, it was written in his manuscript hundred and one times the first Pache war after prison was with the rod benders, then the grim reapers. Then in 1966, he was a founding member of the Bandidos Motorcycle Club in Houston.

While Butch was riding around the south building Bandidos charters, the Hells Angels behind Sonny Barker were expanding across the country, both the numbers and reputation. I have been in the news myself. In 1969, the Hells Angels were invited to a free concert at Altamont Speedway in Northern California. They were allegedly given five hundred dollars worth of beer and access to the stage the Rolling Stones were headlining during their set. Things in the crowd got violent. And I'll try and stop it.

Hey, hey, people, sisters, brothers and sisters, brothers and sisters. Come on now. That means everybody just cool out.

As Mick Jagger tried to calm the crowd, an 18 year old man named Meredith Hunter was stabbed to death by an angel.

What happened here, anyway? He pulled out a gun. He did. The Hells Angels took the gun away from one of them, has it now. He showed it to me and the president put them down on the ground and he has got to step back and went over here to try to keep alive.

And when we got to the doctor pronounced him, Hunter was brandishing a gun. So the angel was acquitted on self-defense. But the scene in the aftermath was made famous in the Measles Brothers documentary Gimme Shelter.

Later that night, Sonny Barger called into a local radio station to speak his peace.

Mick Jagger had two people sit down. Well, you know what? You grab on Mick Jagger and ask him who told him to tell the people to sit down. That's when I told them to tell the people to sit down. And if anybody was there in the front row, he can remember me walking over and telling them, you know what? If you tell these people to sit down and be cool, the people in the back and see a little bit and they should get on and we can get it going.

And he's done it like this. Mick Jagger, like he was desperate dupes, man, you know, and as far as I'm concerned, we were the biggest suckers for that idiot that I can ever see. Some call what happened at Altamont, the end of the age of free love, and it forever tied the angels to the 1960s. By that point, my father had already turned in his Banditos patch and moved out to San Francisco to live with his brother Ed.

He traveled out there with the goal of becoming an angel. And after spending a year getting to know the members, he wrote that he was finally brought to Sonny Barker's house in Oakland to meet the man himself. Now, Sonny Barger is the kind of guy that has had the same phone number for years. Talks to people all across the states, you're asked down all the information you can about clubs and bikers and has all he can about the man in a certain town, how many bikers are in that town, their age and so forth.

Over the years, he keeps up with different clubs and their members. We got to the garage and Sonny started telling me that he had heard a lot about me over the last few years, which blew my mind because I was in complete all this man anyway. To me, he had been the one that started everything that I believed in for years.

It was like a god of some kind to me and a lot of people to have him tell me that he knew all about me for years was something else. Then he told me that a bunch of Cleveland brothers have been put in jail for killing two people in a bar called Bardos Cafe just a few years after they got their charter. He wanted me to go to Cleveland and help rebuild the Hells Angels there. So that if we took our time and we were cool, we could build something that couldn't be broken apart.

He told me all we had to do is be true to the patch and put it before ourselves because Hell's Angels was something bigger than all of us.

Once my dad got to Cleveland, he quickly got his Hells Angel patch, he began rebuilding the charter there and became the club's vice president to keep the charter strong. They needed to prevent other clubs from getting stronger in Ohio. And in 1971, an ongoing feud with an M.C. called the breed was coming to a head. According to my father, the angels were discussing the breed in their weekly meetings, which they called church. We had been doing a lot of talking in church about the breed and what to do about them.

We found out that they had come to Ohio and set up charters in Akron and on the West Side. Then a cop car pulled in front of the clubhouse one day and told us they had word that the breed were going to attack us at this bike show coming up. The man said that over 100 of them were supposed to show up. We were going to sell bumper stickers saying support your local Hells Angels. And we had already rented some space at the hall.

So there was no way we weren't going to the show. I figured all the out of town breed members would be staying somewhere in the same house together and they would be suckers for a couple of chicks. So I sent my girl Hillbilly, her friend Lee, and they were snatched up by them at the bar and taken to this apartment for two days. When they came back, they were screaming about wanting to go back and poison every mother fucker in that apartment.

They said that they were talking about some big meeting they had where they were going to go to a bike show and weren't leaving until they stripped all of us of our patches. During our next church, we talked about throwing grenades in the windows of the apartment or sending the girls over there with poison or hitting them with machine guns, but the theme of the whole meeting became that we were going to go in there as men and not go sneaking around and shooting them in the back like the punk shit that we expected them to pull.

We decided to put out word all the other charters for as many members as we could get to come to the bike show, Groover told me that he and a few other guys like Vinnie were coming in from New York. On Gruver got to Cleveland, I took him down to this shop where the owner had a knife sharpening business and he put a good edge on my buck knife, he told me that the knife was too sharp and only good for cutting meat.

Man Gruver laughed and said, That's all we use a buck knife for.

Anyway, it was Saturday, March 6th, 1971, and my dad, along with about twenty six other Angels members, headed down to a building called the Polish Women's Hall, which was the site of the motorcycle show. Matt Zanskar, who you heard at the beginning of this episode, was a hanger on at the time, trying to prove himself worthy of joining the club. He and another hang around arrived at the same time as my dad did with Gruver.

We all four of us show up at the same time at the door, Crouch acknowledges. Me and my friend, I'm basically a nobody. You know what I'm saying? Meet my friend. We're nobody's. We are walking in and all your sudden you see wall to wall bried. So whatever my new conversation was about, hey, there may be some trouble or to so that never would you expect it to be so wall to wall we could see nothing inside but bried patches the door.

There was a cop and he was telling everyone that they had to leave their sticks and clubs there with them. These couple of breed were telling him that there was no way they were going to leave their knives with him, and if you wanted them, you should try to take them off their legs where they had these skateboards. But the cop was uptight and looking all around for help and then just said, go on. We just blew by him yelling at the breed to get the fuck out of the way because Hells Angels were coming through.

There are about eight hundred people inside the Polish Women's Hall and just a handful of policemen, Mike Duggan was one of them. We were called in to go to Polish Women's Hall with two or three other cars, which would be six, possibly as many as eight officers, and this is supposed to be a motorcycle show for the Hells Angels.

That always is. The breed was told not to show up.

All of a sudden, they walked in in mass. Gruver leaned over and said, Bro, we better get down by that stage where everyone else is because I see some bried here from up in our area and they won't be bad. We had to plow our way down the aisle through all these bried those hours, pushing them to the side, they would turn around and see us, then start looking behind us to see how many more there was behind them.

I started yelling over my shoulder to Groover, the cops are going to shit when Sunny and all those Hells Angels from California start coming in. I don't know how two hundred Hells Angels are going to fit in here. Gruber picked up on it and was echoing me as we went along on the same thing over and over, back and forth to each other, we could hear the breed that we passed saying to each other, Did you hear what he said?

There's two hundred more Hells Angels outside coming in here in Sunny Borger's here to. But there wasn't any help on the way, which was trying to gain whatever mental edge he could, he and the angels were outnumbered by the breed almost seven to one. I was positioned at the back closer to the doors, and there was that sense, you know, they it's always hard to describe, but, you know, when you feel it, that underlying tension that like all of a sudden the temperature of the room is went down 40 degrees.

Crouch had some words for someone that was giving him the bad eye. He told me, why don't you give me some fucking head? So we're walking through here and and there was thirty two of us all together, you know that I think it was three or four of us that were hanging around. And this one cop that was there, he was counting them as the breed were coming in there were taking a head count those two hundred and five. And we walked through that crowd to get to where we wanted to be with basically our own people, you know, to see what the hell's going on there.

We got up next to the stage and our president, Freddy, said we better get it, because if they get it started, we ain't going to stop him. So he said, pass the word. We go in one minute, fuck these motherfuckers. I took a couple steps back and with my head to the breed, looked all up and down the line as word reached everyone. I was I and he made a little fist like pulling out from his chest.

And there was a sign we made to each other of Catch You later. To the left me was Matt and Whitey were about the same size at five foot ten and about a hundred and eighty pounds. But they both were real solid and powerful. Both of them were just leaning back against the stage with their arms crossed and looking relaxed. I heard Freddie say, OK, let's get it real low. And then he picked up this two by four foot sign that said Harley Davidson.

And as he threw it at him, he yelled, Fuck the breed. As the sign was coming down on these breed with a loud crash, I turned around and knocked this one guy out cold as he was looking up at the sign, flying through the air.

I'd always heard these fights called rumbles, but I never knew the reason until that moment. But all those motorcycle boots start stomping on that wooden floor started rumbling through that all like thunder. The sound kept growing louder and louder until I expected lightning to crack at any moment.

Plus there was this real loud, high pitched noise that I could feel almost vibrating in my head. Was turned out to be an electric guitar that was dropped by the guitar player when the fight broke out and it landed on the amp. So all the time the fight was going on, there was this real loud whine from the speakers on the stage.

It was vibrating that whole place. There was a member there from Oakland, he didn't know who I was. He broke a chair over my back, a wooden chair that brought me to my knees, but I jumped up. You know, there was a handful for everybody who didn't want to take your focus off what was in front of you or to the side of you. It was self-defense, combat as best as you could do, punch and kick and whatever you could do, you know.

In fact, the chair that Russell got me with, I ended up using that on a couple people. And then I noticed Groover. He hits the floor. I grab I drag him out of that inferno when the shit's getting down and I just drag them and put him up against the stage. And I see he's starting to turn pale. And I went back into the brawl.

At first the breed were backing up and we were charging into them. I punch this one guy that looked real young and I knew I caught him good and he was out. But as I turned to my right and punched another one out of the corner of my eye, I could still see this young guy standing. As I turned to hit him again, I seen something coming down at me from over him. And at the same time, I threw my left hand and seeing that it was a knife with one of those long double edged blades, it went between my fingers and the force of it drove my hand back down to my chest and the blade went in right over my heart.

But my hand was against my chest, holding it from going in all the way. And the kid fell to the side. And I seen this guy about thirty five standing there. He had been holding up the kid in front of him on the back of the kid's collar as the kid fell to the floor and out from between us, the guy step towards me and grabbed my left shoulder with his left hand, trying to drive the knife into my heart.

It was about my size and we were I and our faces were only inches apart. He had this grin on his face and he said, Die, motherfucker, die. I never even thought of pulling my buck knife up to this point, and that's all I remember doing, was just thinking about it and it was there in my right hand. The guy was pulling himself up as he was trying to pull the knife down into me. His eyes were above my now and I was pushing with all my might up with my left hand.

I hit him below the belt with my buck and pulled up. I thought I missed him because there was no drag on my knife, and then as we were looking at each other's eyes, I seen his expression change. He started slipping down below my level and I said, Oh, yeah, motherfucker, you die. You die. At the same time, I pushed his knife back out of my chest and he slid down with his eyes, still looking up at me and then rolling up and glazing over.

My legs were all wet and I seen it was blood, the smell coming up as his guts fell out and spilled down between us is when I knew I didn't miss him. That smell was all over me. I just went nuts then and I started slashing everyone with a broad patch around me that was about 20 feet away from any member and in the middle of all of these bried, when I felt this pain in my back and see nothing but a white flash on the floor.

When I fell, I was lying on my stomach and my arms were under me. I could hear someone saying, get his patch. I didn't know it at the time, but I was stabbed in the spine and was paralyzed from the waist down so all I could move was the top half of my body. As I tried to get the knife ready to slash out of the guy pulling on my patch, I heard him say he's still fucking alive.

And then another voice said, Kill him and hurry up and get his patch. I drew my arm back and at the same time he drew back the knife in his hand. We hit each other at the same time. He hit me in the chest right next to the other stab wound of my heart. And I hit him in the left side. And that book went all the way in and he let out as he fell over me at the same time, pulling the buck out of my hand and leaving his in my chest.

I pulled it out and blood started pumping out of the hole. I looked out and there was all this blood running real slow across the floor. Which took a couple of knife wounds, one in the back is what really hurt him and he gutted some guy. He stuck the knife in, and as he was going down, he kept driving that knife up into the chest cavity of the guy in front of him. There was a lot of blood.

There was a lot of blood. And the whole thing, it seems to me that it happened so fast, so fast, and with such intensity, there was people laying around. Debris laying around, people hobbling, crawling breed, we're were retreating, they we're running out of the hall, so I bolted out the door and I got the car and I brought it over and we loaded up some people and we got the hell out of there. The Cleveland Plain Dealer reported, quote, Dead and injured were scattered about the floor and cyclists were pouring out of the building trying to escape.

Nearby on Marble Avenue at Red, Patrolman Mike Duggan was pointing a rifle at a 20 year old Akron man. He tried to kill me, said Duggan. Here again is Mike Duggan. There was blood all over the place, blood in the street as they were flooding out and I had seen one individual bend over in his jacket right up enough to see that there was a large hunting knife. I grabbed him and threw him up against the telephone pole and he was considerably larger than I.

And he broke loose.

And then I gave foot chase right across the street from Polish Women's Hall.

And there was an alley when he ran in there. I saw him turn around and I saw motion and I saw the arm come down.

And then I saw the knife go past me a couple of feet. The man, a member of the breed, had turned around and thrown his hunting knife at Officer Duggan.

I saw the knife thrown. So what I did is and today I did be against departmental policy. I fired a warning shot over his head and he then surrendered and became compliant. And one of the things I have to get in here is one of the few times in my 20 years with Cleveland Police Department, they called a citywide alert, and that's any car available citywide. And all the six districts are traffic or any units.

Go to Broadway and marvel a large gang fight.

And they had brought in paddy wagons from the six districts. And I remember them just packing them with, you know, arrest.

It was just crazy policemen. I've never seen so many. And we probably wound up with close to 100 officers there.

The brawl made national news with headlines like Slaughter on Broadway and Worse Gang Battle in US. Five members of the breed were killed. Just one Hells Angel was stabbed to death. Gruver from the New York Chapter 85 arrests were made, including 10 Hells Angels indicted on first degree murder charges, one of whom was my father. Shortly after the brawl, Matt said as to become a prospect with the club and then later that year, he became a brother. You're involved in this Polish Women's Hall brawl.

You see people taking care of their own people. Brotherhood in the raw as far as having someone's back brothers taking care of their brothers, OK, you feel that energy.

And it's a culmination of of all those things that you can't even survive something like that and lay in, there is Groover, you know, he paid the ultimate price when you witness something like that and our part of it, because you would give your own life if you need to, you want to belong to that energy that you experienced, because those colors, those colors are that man.

See, as a member of the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club, you are that death had its on your back.

You are representing that and it represents you. Angels forever, forever angels. My dad had a lot of tattoos, I never understood Lulu was one of them.

I always thought that it was the name of a woman, not an earlier nickname.

But now I also understand where another tattoo on his arm came from.

It read me the earth turn into a ball of shit and we stepped on and turned into dry dog shit dust if your name is forgotten.

Yeah, Groover. And by the way, the word dried was spelled D-R, Y, Z.

The next time I saw Bush was in the county jail and he was in a wheelchair and he's smoking a joint and I says, how may I? There is nothing on the street right now. How the hell you got that? Says you want some of this. He's just walked down that hallway and punched that cop in the face. And you come here and we'll share it with you.

Next time, a relative unknown. From now on, we would make our own rules up as we went along and fuck the world, the angels put themselves on law enforcement's radar during Cleveland's most violent era. So this war began for control and bombs were a frequent weapon of choice throughout this conflict. I was saying over and over to myself, God, don't let that be something we did. It was a wild period of time and clear and totally out of control without the.

Oh, the darkness comes. Oh, through the Night said. Relative unknown as a creation and presentation of Sea 13 originals, a division of kadence 13 and Roomer Inc executive produced by Chris Corcoran, Zac Lovett, David Beilinson, Michael Golinski and Sooky Holly, written, produced, directed and edited by Zac Levit, produced and edited by Perry Croal. Our theme song is Change on the Rise by Avi Kaplan Original Music composed by Joel Goodman, Mixed and Mastered by Bill Schulz.

Production Support by Ian Mont and Lloyd Lockridge Field Recording by Rich Berner, Michael Golinski, Perry Croll and Connor waddingham production, engineering and coordination by Sean Cherry and Terrence Malick on Artwork, Marketing and PR by Kurt Courtney Josephine of Frances and Hilary. Chef, I'm Jackie Taylor and thanks for listening to Relative Unknown.

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