Frankie’s folks beat him with fists and yard sticks. The oldest of three in a middleclass family they struggled to survive in the post WWII era. He worked in his dad’s machine shop. At 15 ½ he bought his first motorcycle to his father’s chagrin and started to roam the back streets of Long Beach, CA and modify the bike, but then there were girls and unrelenting pressure from his mom to go to college. He didn’t fit in with the ivy league, upper middleclass school kids. He wore a tanker jacket, Levis and engineer boots.
He didn’t know shit, but had to find an escape from his confined, restrictive home in Long Beach. His options were slim, become a hippy or go to Viet Nam. A seaside brat he joined the Navy, attended electronic schools and ended up pummeling the Asian coast on a heavy cruiser. During his first return home he bought a new 1969 Sportster and had it modified before it left the dealership. In the service he learned to box and lift weights. He studied electronics and roamed the coast of Vietnam and ports throughout the South Pacific.
Whether he knew it or not he reveled in three aims, creativity through motorcycles, freedom through riding and the touch of a woman. He quickly discovered insincerity, power, control and evil in the service, but Frankie held true to his belief in fairness and freedom.
He fought to save his fellow sailors from confinement by the hands of power hungry Shore Patrol Officers. He stepped in when a gang attempted to fuck-up a fellow shipmate in the Philippines. He sought a sense of violent understanding and when to step into the fight and when to step away.
After his third tour in ‘Nam, he married his second love and during the confined periods on ship he wrote her adoring letters and studied motorcycle magazines. He dodged military treachery and ended up close to home, where he could ride, build a shop and start to customize motorcycles.
Soon, out of the service and attending college he had run-ins with clubs in San Pedro with Outlaws and Hangmen and then the Hells Angels and Hessians at the Chino run in Riverside. Not a joiner he was intrigued behind the desire to find a true brotherhood. Not a criminal or a drug dealer, he rode on the fringes of the law and ultimately hooked up with what he thought was the ultimate club.
Tested and tried he became a member and that’s when the treachery emerged, not outside the club, but within the organization. The party started and the brotherhood ended. Quickly, he learned the essence of the trick bag, the desire to separate brothers from their families and split chapters by dividing brothers. So many of these guys relied on the patch for everything in their lives, but the patch was not supported only used.
In a very short period he came face to face with club wars, drugs, informants, raids and conflicts within neighboring chapters. He watched, fought, and waited. It was New Years eve in Oakland and brothers from all over the state rode into party, they hoped. The chapter from the South Bay rode north with Jailbird Jay at the helm. Part American Indian with long sweeping jet black hair, he dealt meth and loved to pull a knife behind too much whiskey.
The stage was set shortly after one of the largest clubs in Los Angeles patched over and became members of the national organization. That club rode together since high school. They were brothers in a family way, having a blast roaming the streets of the San Fernando Valley. But as they became members of the larger body of outlaws with chapters all over the country and world, the treachery emerged. Brothers were turned against one another. Frankie learned quickly, never let anyone outside your chapter come between your members, or try to influence you against a brother.
The northern Califa goal was set to have the South Bay group disbanded with the SFV guys taking their place. Frankie witnessed problems and encountered members from the north who bad-mouthed his brothers who were members for decades and tried to turn him against his brothers. He wanted to fit in but knew something was very wrong.
He drove the back-up van north into the bay area and could sniff the treachery in the air. Some of his brothers were whisked away to be fed lies and deceit before the party. Frankie slid out the back and made his way to San Jose to visit another ex. He met her when she was in a jam, pregnant and without a home. He fixed her up, gave her a place, but her epileptic nature fed her mercurial mind with alternative issues. He moved her and her epilepsy drug soaked small child to her sister’s home.
He returned to Oakland the next morning where Jailbird Jay was terrified and wouldn’t last long. Old man Fred was assigned the presidency. Other brothers were moved around the city, split from their fellow members and told lies to turn them against one another. Like snakes crowded in a cave they turned on each other for acceptance and survival.
Oakland members roamed around the clubhouse when Frankie arrived. “You missed all the action,” Sargent said. “I want to meet with you in Los Angeles.”
“I’ll be there,” Frankie said and looked for his president, Jay, who was hiding in the shop. Frankie helped load old man Fred’s bike into the back of the van. Some of the brothers stayed behind hoping their welcome didn’t come with a deadly price. Fred was a long range trucker, forced to return to work. That wasn’t popular. He also didn’t fit in with the cool, cut-throat mob. Fred was old, big, bad and scruffy. He wasn’t popular with the slick crew, or those in control. They knew they couldn’t control the big man.
On the way back to LA, Fred told of the trap set for Frankie and his choice. He could step away from the club or fight several members of the Oakland crew. The fight wasn’t the issue, but he rapidly learned the violence lesson. In his first year in the club he encountered six fights. Each one was a roll of the dice, from death to imprisonment. Bottom line, it’s not about machismo at all. The wrong left hook could kill a man. Jailbird Jay stabbed a kid outside a North Hollywood bar. The kid never gave up seeking retribution for the injuries. Frankie relished the open door and gladly offered to step away.
Unlike Jay who was later assassinated, another member who was forced out of the club built a major motorcycle exhaust pipe manufacturing company and was inducted into the Sturgis Motorcycle Hall of fame.
Frankie worked in the industry successfully for 50 years, wrote books, built bikes, supported motorcycle rights, rode all over the country whenever he wanted, wherever he wanted to ride. He built Land Speed Record bikes and was ultimately inducted into three motorcycle halls of fame. He continues to support the industry, the history and the freedom to ride open roads today.
Another member, an older member quit the club and successfully designed custom motorcycle products. Since he was one of the original members he kept in touch and attempted to solve issues with brothers, while tending to his mother who suffered from dementia. He is still active.
The Southbay chapter was split and a small faction started a chapter north of Los Angeles. Some of the remaining Southbay members ended up in jail, died or were assassinated by other members.
