-=> JIM HOLSONBACK wrote to WAYNE CHIRNSIDE <=-

 -=> On 09-18-06 20:53 WAYNE CHIRNSIDE wrote to JIM HOLSONBACK <=-

 WC> Ok now that I've actually dwelled on it for time I do actually
 WC> recall running a few errants for free post injury.

 WC> Greq Beard dying from AIDS.
 WC> I got kerosene for him for his space heater for two years
 WC> after he became largely bedridden.

 JH> Good.

 WC> Prior to that I fixed Gregs van for him
 WC> a number of times either for free or parts cost
 WC> depending if they were required.

 JH> Good.

 WC> Oh yeah, and built an DC adapter for him to run his boom box in the
 WC> van for free.
 WC> I had the parts on hand.

 JH> Again, Good.
 JH> All those things were good things to do, Wayne.  No right-thinking
 JH> person would criticize someone for doing such things.  Those here who
 JH> have criticized you since you wrote about these acts are angry with you
 JH> for other things you have done, not for having done the above acts.

 JH> Note that no antisocial chest-thumping "I am/was a dominant
alpha male"
 JH> bullshit is involved in acts like these.  No personality-driven need to
 JH> try and establish yourself as being bigger, stronger, smarter, more
 JH> logical, more aggressive, badass biker-meaner, etc. than anyone else.

Care to know how the big bad biker persona evolved into reality?
I didn't set out to be big bad.
I just wanted to go to work, do my thing and go unwind
with a couple of beers at the end of the day in peace.
Was I allowed to do that?
No.
Being 6'6" tall and 260 LBS every mother's son whose girlfriend
or boss has ragged on him and has had a few beers picks
out the biggest guy in the bar to pick a fight with.
98 out of 100 times that would be me.
Only animal at 6'9" was bigger.

So I decided upon the strategy of going to one place and
not taking crap from anyone.
That was Dixie's Place
So for the first 4 month or so I had to deal with a number of
assholes.
I always found the fight ( such as it was) annoying and stupid
but I did get a reputation.
I also found by minimizing the account of those fights as the story 
came back to me caused those stories to grow even larger in epic.
Fine by me., fewer incidents.
Over the years I saved a few people from severe injury while hurting
no-one at all.
Worst casualty was me with a bite to the right forearm which is
clearly evident to this day.
Thanks a lot Brian, and I saved his butt from getting beat when 
he split Cajun's lip that same night.
So how bad am I?
Brian went right to the bone with that bite.
Yet he walked out of the place on his own power and vertical.

A couple of times I got a little going I felt the excitment of violence tug
at me but fortunately just at that point a wave of nausea would roll 
into me at the thought anmd i'd draw back from it.
So after the first four months and it being the sort of place only regulars
go to the next 15 years were largely uneventful.

Look, people of my stature can do what I describe,
there's nothing miraculous about it.
I know a woman that can match any feat I could do, she's 6'6"
as well and goes by the biker moniker "Tree" which seems somehow
appropriate.

So when people question my factual claims it's really bringing
back memories from happier times as I recall them.
Now if I made that stuff up I'd expect my stories would
change or I'd add new ones however they're immutable in truth and 
I am no longer even remotely capable of adding to them.
BTW Tree's ride was a 74 CI Full dress Harley Davidson.
Older Iron horse too, not any of that pansy aluminum 
Evolution Harley crap.
Attractive woman, half Israeli and half French.
Quite a temper on her as well.
Far, Far better off hitting me than her.
I once saw Tree knock a biker wearing colors unconsciouse 
with one punch while still seated at The Bell Bar in 
Saint Petersgurg Florida, she is legend and well known.
She'd warned him.
I liked her a lot
My best winning strategy was aimed at not fighting the fools.
A drunk wants to engage you in a fight.
I say hit me.
They say with a slack jaw "what" 
I shout right in their face HIT ME.
Then you move back just a bit to give then a psychological opportunity
to withdraw as if you stay in their face it forces their hand.
You'd be amazed, I don't recall that once evolving into a fight.
Stuff you learn along the way.
Someone would nail me when I wasn't looking, typically I'd fold them up
with my strength and long arm leverage advantage.
Then I'd draw back my left and inquire "would you care to
buy me a beer?"
End of altercation, no injuries and I get a free beer.
Least they can do for annoying me.
Redneck Don Brock came in one day and split poor 100 pound
Tina's lip wide open.
I invited him to leave, Right Now.
He cracked me in the temple with the thick end of a pool cue.
I smiled an evil smile and said "best get another pool cue Don."
Don beat a hasty retreat and never came back to what had
been his regular hangout.
I never laid a hand on him.
So there's another fond memory of better days recalled.
There are more but the best and juiciest are already out
there.
No blood, gore or injuries though as such is not in my nature.

So keep on questioning my accounts as in my circumstances a
trip of nostalgia into the past is a nice diversion from
my present _life_ such as it is.
The more clueless you are the happier I'll be.
I look forward to a great many happy memories past recounted.

Perhaps I'll throw in some I've either not recounted or seldom recounted
as in the story of Don Brock above

Don a few months later and elsewhere broke Tina's neck
but I didn't see it so he got off again.
Tina wore a halo for a few months.
We teased her a bit asking if the UHF stations came in well on that rig
that kept her head immobilized.
She'd reply, "don't make me laugh", another fond memory, Tina's smile.
I hope she broke the abusive relationship cycle.
I hope Tree is well.

You want to hear badass?
Ask me about Donna Fullford or Andrea if you've a strong stomach
for gore.
Highlight, Donna, inflicted 182 stitch cut on another woman 
with a utility knife over a quarter in the jukebox that wasn't even hers.
Devil's in the gory details of this one, go ahead and ask.
Highlight: Andrea, shot at Painter Tom's johnson rod missing
as she was inebriated.
Shot went through the femoral artery in his thigh.
No detectable pulse when he got to the hospital they virtually
poured blood into him and he lived. ( Bayfront hospital wasn't too far.)
My ears rang for an hour and a half from the shot but fortunately
I'd heard Andrea warn him twice so moved away and out of the splatter zone.
Interesting sort of a place Dixies.
Two worse in St. Pete back then as well.
Ah, the good ole days :-)


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