Hell's Angel: The Life and Times of Sonny Barger and the Hell's Angels Motorcycle Club
Sonny Barger, Keith Zimmerman, Kent Zimmerman
Language: English
Pages: 288
ISBN: 0060937548
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The only authorized, authentic book about the Hell's Angels Motorcycle Club by founding member, Sonny Barger—featuring a brand new introduction
Narrated by the visionary founding member, Hell's Angel provides a fascinating all-access pass to the secret world of the notorious Hell's Angels Motorcycle Club. Sonny Barger recounts the birth of the original Oakland Hell's Angels and the four turbulent decades that followed. Hell's Angel also chronicles the way the HAMC revolutionized the look of the Harley-Davidson motorcycle and built what has become a worldwide bike-riding fraternity, a beacon for freedom-seekers the world over.
Dozens of photos, including many from private collections and from noted photographers, provide visual documentation to this extraordinary tale. Never simply a story about motorcycles, colorful characters, and high-speed thrills, Hell's Angel is the ultimate outlaw's tale of loyalty and betrayal, subcultures and brotherhood, and the real price of freedom.
what was wrong. To my surprise he too was wearing a Hell’s Angels patch! His name was Vic Bettencourt, and Gardena was home to an early SoCal chapter of the Hell’s Angels. Vic took Ernie and me to their clubhouse, gave us the spare parts we needed—Bettencourt’s brother owned a Harley shop in Massachusetts—and helped me fix my transmission. Then they fed us and put us up for a couple of days. Vic told me there were Hell’s Angels in the San Gabriel Valley, Fresno, Berdoo (San Bernardino), and
Perryman has been a Hell’s Angel for over thirty years. He’s also one of my closest friends. He joined the Army at eighteen in his native Missouri. The first time he got leave, Albert robbed a gas station and got caught. He ended up getting a ten-year sentence in a New Mexico prison. He did seven years, was released, then moved to Sacramento, met some girl, and got married. Albert bought a forty-five-cubic-inch Harley-Davidson motorcycle, then went to his first Hell’s Angels meeting one night and
said that I needed to get over to Fat Freddie’s house, pronto. Another one of Freddie’s girls had just gotten out of the California Institution for Women, a women’s prison in Fontera, and she had some guns she wanted to sell, stashed from before she was in the joint. As I was planning on leaving the party, I asked Sharon to take the ride with me back to Oakland. I didn’t know if it was because she was a little high, but she still seemed scared of me. Rick assured her that it was cool and we left
Parkhurt’s spleen was ruptured after being kicked in. According to what I heard, when he was introduced he did all these crazy hand-jive gestures. When one of the Angels told him to “shake hands like a white man,” Parkhurst came back with a swift “Fuck you.” He was stomped to the floor and his enlarged spleen popped. After our guys left, his friends showed up and found him unconscious. Thinking he was loaded on reds, they probably fixed him with some crank and dumped him off at the emergency
probably fifty to seventy-five hard-core bike riders inside at any one time, and we stuck together. The security level of a prison defines the movements of its inmates. Prisoners in San Quentin are out of their cells at different intervals throughout the day. Folsom had no night movement, zero. At eight o’clock in the morning you could be out on the yard, but by three in the afternoon it was lockup, and that marked the end of your day. Folsom was the only maximum-security prison in the state at