“IT’S THE CATALYST FOR WILLING HELP FOR ANYTHING AT THREE A.M.”
“PROMISES MADE TO BROTHERS MUST BE KEPT.”
—Dr. Stephen “Skinz” Kinzey, Devils Diciples Motorcycle Club
When you put on that cut the world changes. You look in the rearview mirror a bit more and at the staring eyes all around you a bit less. You go to different public places. And you never go to the ones with the sign—even if you had been a regular.
Even your friends change; even those non-club—maybe even non-biker—friends that you felt would have no problem simply being in the mix.
“It’s funny. One of the things I remember so clearly is that the perception people had of me—even those who really knew me—immediately changed as soon as I embraced that lifestyle.
They were pensive. They seemed like they didn’t know me. They were cautious with what they said around me—how they acted around me. Friends, family, even other motorcycle riders acted like that.”
—George Christie, Hells Angels Motorcycle Club, retired
When you’re not on that bike and your colors are hanging up or draped over a chair, you look at them. Even a casual or passing glance is never a taken-for-granted blink. You see that cut and remember that day when you were patched in—even if it was forty years ago. You remember who was there. Who is dead. Who has gone on to another club—or another life altogether. Who is still there, riding next to you like this all began yesterday. And if it did, you think of all the years to come.
You think of the prospects and the hangarounds who welcome the indenture that will add grease to their acceptance.
Nothing in this way of life is thrown in the closet like seasonal sports-team jerseys. You wear those colors—in one form or another—every day.
Every day.
The world changes and the cautious looks in the rear-view mirror expand well into everyday life—well beyond the bike.
I was in a remote, high-desert clubhouse of an exceptionally high-profile club, and I got into a conversation with an exceptionally clean-cut member.
“I’m an officer in the military,” he told me, “and I’m very close to retirement.
“I’m loyal to both of these brotherhoods. My dream someday is to write a book about my parallel life over all these years; it’s been more than interesting! But I can’t do it now, of course, because it might affect my status and retirement.”
That’s affirmative.
Right after I spoke with him, I came upon an ATF publication, OMGs and the Military: 2010 Update. There, with plenty of surveillance photos, were fifty-one pages of names of military personnel along with descriptions of their “OMG” ties.
Working with fellow colleagues in the law enforcement community, it is ATF OSII’s [ATF Office of Strategic Intelligence and Information] goal to identify and report on all active-duty, reservists, and National Guard military members, DOD contractors, and State and Federal employees who are associates, hangarounds, prospects, or members of a documented 1% OMG or support club in the United States and abroad.
—ATF OMGs and the Military 2010 Update
That mirror just gets bigger. But so does the circle of brotherhood that will eventually eclipse those “pensive” peripheral friends and report-prone employers.
When you put on that cut and enter a clubhouse, ride in a pack, roll into an event, produce an event, drink in a bar, or eat together at a restaurant, it’s not just about the “uniform.” If it was just about the uniform, then every group and organization from the Cub Scouts to the Ohio State Marching Band would know this feeling.
They don’t.
This “uniform”—this patch—is so earned. It isn’t given. And everyone—inside and out—knows it. It’s power and it’s pride. And that’s the catalyst for the debates, the love, the respect, the occasional fight, and even the occasional “war.” It’s the catalyst for miles-long stretches of bikes at funerals, answered phone calls at midnight, and willing help for anything at three a.m.
Dr. Stephen “Skinz” Kinzey is an Associate Professor at California State University, San Bernardino. He is also a proud brother in the legendary Devils Diciples Motorcycle Club.
Skinz turns the letters of the word patchholder into an explanation of just what this feeling beyond the “uniform” means. He gives you an understanding of this lifestyle if you’re worlds away—and tells you what is required if ever you enter the worlds within.
The explanation actually becomes an oath of sorts—an oath that just might have a positive effect if the other 99% of humanity will get on board:
PATCHHOLDER
When someone asks you what it means or what it takes to be a patchholder and you’re searching for the right words—or for the times when you yourself need a little refresher on the subject:
—Skinz
Skinz’ “oath” may also add yet another square to the patchwork of definitions that is the patchholder and the one percenter. But that, too, is how it should be. Nothing that is truly alive, moving, and vital can really be burdened with a simple, one-dimensional classification.
And nothing screams with social-sway and machines-in-motion across this entire planet like the one percenter.
The rank-and-file who take the risks.
The ones who push back.
The tribes.
The “rowdy,” living by their own rules.
The outlaws.
The committed.