SEVERAL EVENTS SHAPED THE FUTURE OF THE VAGOS, setting the stage for Terry’s leadership style. Many factors influenced the ways in which the Vagos MC matured during the 1970s. One of them involved the nature of the motorcycles built by Harley-Davidson during the dark years when the company was owned by American Machinery and Foundry (AMF), which had purchased the company in the late 1960s. This precipitated a dramatic decrease in quality control. During this period Harley was shipping bikes to dealerships that were so poorly built they often had to be overhauled before leaving the showroom floor.

At the same time the manufacturers from Japan were beginning to build big bikes of their own, machines like the Honda CB750 and the Kawasaki Z1. The vast majority of riders bought the Japanese machines instead of the shoddy bikes coming from Milwaukee, but that was not an option for most members of one-percenter motorcycle clubs. The clubs had been created in large part by veterans of World War II and the Korean War, and many of them required their members to ride only bikes built by American companies. After the demise of Indian in the 1950s, that meant bikes built by Harley-Davidson, so club members were stuck riding Harleys regardless of how unreliable they had become.

The bikers were forced to search within their own charters for mechanically minded brothers then seeking the knowledge, expertise, and parts needed to keep their long, unruly choppers on the road.

When the Vagos first started out, the mechanical fragility of their chopped Harleys governed how far they dared travel from their home base. They had limited mechanical experience, but they had guts and a passion for freedom. They wanted to ride fast and be left alone to wander the streets in search of adventure. Club members gradually learned more about motorcycle mechanics and ventured farther from their homes in Covina and El Monte.

Even after they improved their mechanical abilities, other factors limited their freedom to roam. For example, even if they had the mechanical skill to fix a bike that broke down, getting parts could be a problem. For much of the 1960s and 1970s, and even into the 1980s, Harley-Davidson dealers wouldn’t have anything to do with marijuana-smoking, beer-swilling, long-haired bikers who sought parts, help, knowledge, or basic service work. Dealers turned them away and refused to work on modified motorcycles. The bikers were forced to search within their own charters for mechanically minded brothers when seeking the knowledge, expertise, and parts needed to keep their long, unruly choppers on the road.

As the 1970s got underway, help came from other sources. A chopper industry was growing like rust on the hull of a sunken ship. Society, cops, and Harley-Davidson wanted the worn-out, corroding hulk to remain on the bottom and deteriorate, but chopper riders wouldn’t accept failure. They hated cops, the Man, family life, the government—you name it. They didn’t trust anyone, and the Vietnam War and the Watergate era inflamed their inclination to distrust the establishment. They were young men in the search of true brotherhood. A wild, free spirit flourished, like a captured hawk released. They were warriors without a war, searching for a fight and unencumbered sex. They wanted adventure, and the lure of the open road proved irresistible, especially after the 1969 movie Easy Rider challenged riders to head across the country.

Most parts for choppers came from the hulks of old Harleys, but aftermarket components were beginning to appear from companies like Paughco. Paughco stamped out tin parts for other industries until the owner’s son, Ron Paugh, approached his dad with a hard-to-find Harley component, a bent tin primary cover, and the wheels began to turn. Soon the company was stamping out custom motorcycle parts. Still, chopper riders were a poor lot, always looking for a deal or a salvageable used part.

They were warriors without a war, searching for a fight and unencumbered sex.

In 1975, five of Terry’s brother Vagos took off cross-country in a flashy orange van to score motorcycle parts in club member Ron Keine’s hometown of Detroit. In the custom-painted party vehicle, Ron, Doc, Grubby, Ten-Speed, and Sandman flew along Interstate 40, through Albuquerque, New Mexico They planned to cut a dusty trail to Detroit, Michigan, where three of them grew up, but all hell broke loose in the rural open West.

It was the evening of February 8, 1974, when the brothers hit the road. The Vagos had a strict rule. The only excuse for missing a mandatory meeting was jail. They attended the February 8 meeting and peeled out. They had to return by February 15 for the next meeting. All five were in their twenties and they all had previous run-ins with the law, but for minor offenses. Doc Greer, Art Smith, and Ron hailed from Michigan. Tom Gladish and Sandman Smith were Californian natives. Doc and Art Smith were cousins.

Operating on a tight budget, they shared pancakes at a restaurant, because it was the cheapest bulky item on the menu. In some cases they choose beer over food, and Doc paid for gas with a stolen credit card. They flew through Albuquerque without stopping, but on the outskirts they picked up a hitchhiker from a commune, Kathy Ibrahim.

Ron stripped and jumped naked into her lap, and she freaked and started chanting Hail Marys, so they buckled to her fervent request to let her out.

“We got along with hippies,” Ron said. They were all a part of the same subculture. But the drunken bikers were too rowdy for Kathy’s sensibilities. Ron stripped and jumped naked into her lap, and she freaked and started chanting Hail Marys, so they buckled to her fervent request to let her out.

At a burned-out gas station and curio shop, Ron and the gang pulled off the freeway to take a leak. Digging through the charred debris, they discovered a pair of steer horns mounted on a plaque. Doc wanted to attach them to his chopper handlebars and threw them in the van.

Just up the road they picked up two male hitchhikers and offered them a beer. When they caught one of their guests stealing brews, Art Smith pulled Doc’s .22-caliber pistol out of the glove box and threatened the thieves. Spinning the gun in the old-fashioned Western style, it went off and clipped one of the hitchhiker’s ears. Doc was pissed, but they cleaned up the kid and discussed hauling him to a hospital. But because it was just a flesh wound, they dropped the two off on a deserted stretch of Texas highway to allow the Vagos time to escape, in case the hitchhikers filed a complaint.

They made it to Oklahoma before the cops pulled them over. The hitchhikers had filed armed robbery charges against the bikers even though they only took $1 from the hitchhiker for the beer he stole, and charges from Kathy Ibrahim were pending. The group spent the next five days in a Weatherford, Oklahoma jail. They thought it was a joke. When Ron was afforded his required phone call, he ordered a pizza, for which the cop smacked him with the receiver. Their only concern at the time was making the mandatory Vagos meeting on the 15th.

Spinning the gun in the old-fashioned Western style, it went off and clipped one of the hitchhiker’s ears.

During their stay in the Oklahoma jail, on February 12 a crow hunter discovered the castrated corpse of a transient college student roughly concealed under sage brush in a Tijeras Canyon gully. The outlaws were immediately charged with the brutal murder. The kid, William Velten from South Carolina, was shot in the mouth once. He fell back to the ground and while he pleaded for mercy, his assailant shot him four times in the head, slashed his chest with a knife, cut off his dick, shoved it in his mouth, and sodomized the dying kid.

The sheriff’s office panicked and immediately convinced magistrate James O’Toole to sign five warrants for the Vagos on March 12, 1974. Bond was set at $100,000 each for Ronald Bruce (Grubby) Keine, Arthur Ray Smith, Thomas Victor Gladish (Ten Speed), and Richard Wayne Greer (alias Orlando Peter Dilda). Orlando was also charged with armed robbery in Tucumcari, New Mexico.

On February 15, the Vagos were extradited to Tucumcari and incarcerated in the Quay County jail, the county where the hitchhikers and Kathy Ibrahim had filed charges. Bernalillo County Sheriff Lester Hay told the press on February 16 that they were good suspects, after deputies Robert Tena and Gilbert Candelaria drove to Tucumcari to interview the bikers. The article in the Albuquerque Tribune told of bikers with guns and knives who threatened the Tucumcari service station attendant, who claimed they threatened him, saying “We’ll cut you up like we did that guy back in Albuquerque.” The quote was a distortion from a hitchhiker’s statement. The bikers admitted to taking the steer horns from the charred curio shop remains, but they couldn’t figure out why the cops were making such a big deal out of it.

Sheriff Lester Hay stated he had a pretty young female eyewitness, Judith Frances Weyer, under wraps, who was in fear for her life from the Vagos. She was the hotel maid where Velten was supposedly killed.

It was a time of unbalanced power struggles. Small town authorities became over-confident, over-zealous, and believed they had the moral authority to make life and death decisions because they could and should for the good of the community. Communities were shifting under the long white noses of stuffed shirts, crisp ties, and pressed suits. Hippies smoked dope, painted desert landscapes, made macramé displays, and relished in the cultures of the indigenous Indians. The whitebread rule was rapidly losing its righteous popularity. The establishment needed this case to prove that grubby bikers and hippies were trouble and required control.

He fell back to the ground and while he pleaded for mercy, his assailant shot him four times in the head, slashed his chest with a knife, cut off his dick, shoved it in his mouth, and sodomized the dying kid.

Officer James Boman questioned the maid, who insisted she didn’t know anything about the murder, but gradually her story changed. It was a tough time in her life. She was estranged from her husband and had lost custody of her children. The detectives made her feel critical to the case, supplied her with information, and her story began to fall into place. On March 13, first-degree murder charges were filed against the bikers, and they were transported to the Bernalillo County Jail in Albuquerque.

“We figured any day now they were going to let us go,” said Ron. They had no idea they were murder suspects. “It was a whole lot of shit for that Kathy chick and the hitchhikers we took a dollar from.”

When the bikers found out what they were up against, they quickly reached out to their club brothers in California. The Vagos sent a club attorney, Allan Well of Redondo Beach. Because he wasn’t licensed in New Mexico, he hired an Albuquerque attorney, Ron Ginsburg, to serve as co-counsel. Although the maid’s testimony was shot full of holes and contradictions, she succeeded in convincing the grand jury. On March 20, less than a week after finding out they were murder suspects, the five Vagos were indicted. District Judge William Riordan set the trial date for May 6. The bikers were whisked off to the New Mexico State Penitentiary.

“They are dangerous and we don’t want to take a chance,” Sheriff Hay said in a public statement.

“They were trying to intimidate us,” Ron said, “to break us down, hoping maybe one of us would confess.”

They kept the prisoners separated and away from any form of communication. Even the attorneys had limited access. They were forced to drive to Santa Fe and wait for half a day to meet with a client. Even the attorneys’ letters were opened.

“It was a violation of attorney-client privilege for the prison to open our mail,” Ron said, “but they did it anyway.”

On March 20th, less than a week after finding out they were murder suspects, the five Vagos were indicted.

A number of critical case elements never made the news. In mid-April a thirteen-year-old boy discovered a .22-caliber Ivor Johnson pistol in the arroyo not far from where Velten’s body was found, nowhere near the Bel Air Motel. Ballistics tests by the State Police Crime Laboratory proved conclusively that the fatal bullets never came from the bikers’ revolvers. Meanwhile, assistant district attorney Brian Gross and his team of sheriff’s deputies rehearsed Judy, the maid witness, sometimes eight or nine hours a day. They busted her boyfriend, Jose Rivera, and used him to entice her to testify against the bikers, even promising to help her obtain custody of her kids, put her through secretarial school, and provide assistance until she could get a better job. They promised her the moon but only kept one promise; they held her in protective custody, where the press and the defense attorneys were denied access to her.

They locked Jose down in the same prison with the Vagos. He was assigned the duty of picking up trash in the yard. One day an object smacked Ron’s cell bars. It was a granite stone wrapped inside an old, discarded sock.

“I grabbed it, and there was a note inside,” Ron said. “After I read it, I passed it around to the other guys. The note said Judy Weyer was lying. She hadn’t seen the murder and didn’t know anything about it. The note was signed by Jose Rivera.”

The original trial date was May 6, and then it was postponed until May 20. In the meantime, sheriff’s deputies contacted a young woman who stayed at the Bel Air from February 7 until March 4. Shelley Fish, sixteen, had moved to Maryland with her husband, a Marine sergeant. She was asked to fly out, at the court’s expense, to identify photos of the bikers, and was promised that it would take one day, at the most.

Shelley remembered meeting five surfers from California who registered at the motel under the alias Mr. and Mrs. Butts. The surfers stayed in room 45. That was supposedly the location of the Velten murder.

“Weyer claimed she watched Ronald Bruce, “cut and carve on the victim’s chest.”

Shelley flew out, took one look at the photos of the bikers and the van, and told the investigator she didn’t know them and never saw them before. They accused her of lying. The cops questioned her for several days and took her return flight ticket away. Her husband tried to call her, but authorities wouldn’t allow him to talk to his wife. He threatened to take legal action against the Bernalillo County Sheriff’s Department, and after two weeks of questioning, officers drove her back to the airport, with strident instructions not to discuss the case with anyone.

On May 21, the twenty-seven-year-old Bel Air Motel maid testified at the trial of the five Vagos. Judith Frances Weyer claimed she watched Ronald Bruce, “cut and carve on the victim’s chest.” She stated on the stand that she saw the Vagos torture the young Velten. “I saw Greer shoot the victim through the head with a gun and then hand the gun to Gladish, who shot him four times.”

During the second day of the trial, she testified that the victim was tied with one arm to the bed and the other arm to a chair.

“He was gagged with a towel from the motel,” she said. One of the Vagos (Clarence Smith), she continued, “ . . . held me about three feet from the victim and made me watch the cutting.”

The case shifted just seven days into testimony and Arthur Ray Smith was acquitted, although the polygraph expert said Smith lied when he denied knowledge of the killing. District Court Judge William Riordan ordered the trial to proceed for the other four as the prosecution rested its case. Defense attorneys Ronald Ginsburg, Alice Hector, Allen Well, and Hank Farrah told the Albuquerque Tribune, “One down four to go.”

Unfortunately the case didn’t turn in a positive direction for the other four.

Terry brought a John Wayne-style of violent stability, coupled with a bottomless notion of family, to his growing leadership style in the San Gabriel Chapter in California. By then, Terry had accepted the role as vice president of the San Gabriel Chapter. His abusive childhood brought out a fervent need to protect his brothers.

Terry brought a John Wayne–style of violent stability, coupled with a bottomless notion of family, to his growing leadership style in the San Gabriel Chapter in California.

To fight the case and pay the attorneys, Terry’s club was forced to organize, sell bikes, hold auctions, and mortgage homes. They hired an investigator, and Sandman’s folks sold their home. But their efforts were to no avail.

On May 31, 1974, Judge Riordan had the jury bused to the Bel Air Motel to view the alleged crime scene at the shabby, bungalow-built, stucco dive surrounded by sand and tumbleweed. The police had stripped room 45 bare. There wasn’t a stitch of furniture inside the bare walls, and no floor covering existed. The jury members were not allowed to speak to the motel owner, Nila Baer.

The acquitted Vago, Arthur Ray Smith, testified that the Michigan-bound Vagos never stopped in Albuquerque. “We never stopped in Albuquerque, never saw the Bel Air Motel and never met William Velten Jr.” he said.

Velten’s body was found in an arroyo in the Sandia foothills, more than ten miles north of Central Avenue, and time-of-death estimates came in at February 8. The body was badly mutilated and emasculated.

Smith was called back as a defense witness.

“We were in Los Angeles on February 8th,” he said. “We were drinking beer and working on a motorcycle.”

The defense used gas station credit card receipts to show their whereabouts on February 8 and 9.

Terry’s brothers were hastily convicted of first-degree murder on June 5 and sentenced to die in the New Mexico gas chamber.

“That night in West Covina, Grubby snatched an open container ticket with me,” Terry said. “We were out drinking at the Lost Inn, then at Jerry the Jew’s bar in Covina. Grubby was driving an old Cadillac and being a jackass. There were four of us in the car when we were pulled over.”

But stories didn’t connect. Arthur Ray Smith still faced charges of burglary, larceny, and false imprisonment. According to district attorney Brian M. Gross, he broke into the burned-out John Henry Restaurant and Curio Shop in Tijeras Canyon, 200 miles east of Albuquerque.

The cops and the district attorney were anxious for a quick conviction and recruited Jose Antonio of El Paso. He was awaiting trial on charges of rape and contributing to the delinquency of a minor.

“I never saw those defendants before, but the district attorney’s office threatened me with charges if I didn’t talk for them,” Jose said. “Things would be arranged so my charges would be dropped,” if he testified that the defendants were in the Bel Air on a particular date.

The trial was rough, but they had alibi witnesses and proof of their activities on February 8 and 9. The only evidence against them was Judy Weyer’s testimony, and it was weak and disheveled. They all believed they would be found innocent.

Terry’s brothers were hastily convicted of first-degree murder on June 5 and sentenced to die in the New Mexico gas chamber. Although no real evidence connected the bikers to the crime, it was an election year. The political climate in the small, conservative town demanded a hanging, and the Vagos stumbled into the noose.