Hells Angels - Exile on Front Street: my life as a Hells Angel ... and beyond

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To my wife, Nikki, and my children Moriya, Aubree, and Finn.
My story is, most of all, about you.
And to the memory of my son Georgie, may the wind always be at your back. Rest in peace.

People confuse the outlaw and the criminal. Some outlaws commit crimes, but the real outlaw isnt a criminal by trade. Hes someone who refuses to live by societys established norms of behavior. He has an internal code and answers only to his own sense of honor and right and wrong. The outlaw doesnt conform; he rebels. He doesnt accept; he questions. In the end, the outlaw might change and adapt, but he bends for no man and wont let his life be defined by someone else. Jesse James was an outlaw, but so was Albert Einstein. Ive been many thingsfather, son, husband, leader, brother, and friendbut through it all, I was always an outlaw.

G EORGE C HRISTIE

I hadnt planned on writing a book when I quit the Hells Angels. After more than three decades as president of the Ventura charter, peacemaker and spokesman for the club, I was perfectly happy to step down, quietly run my businesses, be the best husband and father I could be, and ride off into the sunset.

Then the club leadership did what theyre so good at doingthey turned on me. My former charter, a bunch of guys I had looked out for like they were my own blood and had called brother, voted to change my status two weeks after I quit. All of a sudden, I was officially out bad, no contact. Given some of the characters who wear the patch in good standing, thats a low bar. Its the worst label in the outlaw motorcycle club culture. Its reserved for rats, hopeless drug addicts, and other lowlifes who have disgraced the patch.

To make matters worse, tough talkers inside and outside the club spread the lie that I had been kicked out, ignoring that I quit first. It gave all kinds of peoplemany of who had never even met me and didnt know melicense to spout a lot of nonsense. In the outlaw world, they call it being put out on Front Street. It means youre exposed and unprotected, a target for anyone from law enforcement to your former club brothers to complete strangers. So anybody with an ax to grind tried to rewrite history, saying I had been expelled in disgrace. Some spread the particularly dangerous lie that I had cooperated with law enforcement. Never mind that four months after I quit, I was indicted and wound up doing a stretch in federal prison. Had I rolled on anybody, I wouldnt have done a day.

Out bad versus stepped down may seem like a difference without a distinction. But its important to me. I left on good terms having done my best for a club I loved and given it absolutely everything I could. Those terms were changed after I left, by people with their own agendas. Theyve done their best to tarnish my name and reputation ever since. Simple as that.

I wont lie. It stung. It was a pure betrayal. At a point I thought, Enough is enough. The sad truth is that you can stand silent only so long until people take your silence as an admission of something. Ive found that the more I keep quiet, the more people put words in my mouth. So I wanted to set the record straight. Thats when I decided to write this book.

A mans measure is a lot more than the most obvious parts of his life. My story goes well beyond the Hells Angels. As the best Hells Angels like to say, The man makes the patch, the patch doesnt make the man. Thats why I also wanted to reveal the man behind the patch and put the lie to some simplistic and offensive stereotypes about the men who ride motorcycles as a life rather than a hobby.

You could say I was born and raised to be an outlaw. As a member of an isolated immigrant culture, as a surfer, and even as a Marine in the Vietnam era, I lived on the edges, always belonging to outsider groups. So the denim vest of an outlaw motorcycle club member fit comfortably right from the start. Unfortunately, what it means to be an outlaw has changed since the early days. When I first became a Hells Angel, the idea was to share a love of motorcycles, freedom, and partyingto live as you pleased, not as society dictatedwith a bunch of rowdy, like-minded individuals. These days, the life is something much different. A lot of club members rarely ride. The Hells Angels Death Head patch is currency. Brotherhood has become just another overused word.

* * *

The story of how the outlaw culture and I got from then to now is complicated. The best I can do is to write the simple truth, as brutal as it may be. A lot, both good and bad, happens over forty years spent in the outlaw world. Especially if youre a family man, as a lot of outlaws are. The personal side is often a surprise to people who meet me. Thats another part of what Im hoping to explain, the reality beyond the dramatized fiction. Undercover cops and informants who have written about the club paint members with one brush. In those books, were one-dimensional criminal scum. Most outlaws who write about the life are just as bad. According to them, were heroic freedom fighters living only to ride, feeling no pain, misunderstood by the rest of the world, and endlessly and unfairly persecuted by law enforcement. Like all of life, the outlaw truth cant be written in black or white. Its infinite shades of gray.

Gray being gray, others may remember differently. But this is all the absolute truth as I recall it. Throughout this book Ive made every possible effort to re-create conversations and events faithfully. Ive researched crucial events, asked others who were there. Ive sifted through police records, court transcripts, and newspaper articles. If Ive failed to be accurate on any point, it isnt for lack of trying or a desire to deceive. I mean no disrespect to anyone, but Im also not trying to be diplomatic. Ive never been one to worry about what other people think, and Im not going to start now. I dont owe anybody anything. I started out to write this book knowing that I was going to step on some big toes. I dont care. I just want this to be an honest accounting. The real story, my story, scars, flaws, and all. No regrets.

* * *

That means talking about all Ive done as a Hells Angel. Honestly, Ive been ready to kill for the club, for nothing more than a piece of fabric sewn on another piece of fabric. That willingness is the price of admission. But I also want to explain what Ive done outside the club. Ive been a devoted father, trying to support my children as best I could. I was a dedicated martial artist, bike builder, and businessman. I wasnt always the best husband to my first wife, and every day I put the lessons I learned in that relationship in practice making my second marriage successful. Ive lost one child, and Im working hard to ensure I never bury another.

Both those aspects of my lifeinside and outside the clubhave been affected by law enforcement. Thats a gray area as well. I remain friends with a lot of local cops. Many people Ive come across in law enforcement maintain a sense of decency and common sense. They gave me some basic respect and I gave it back. (Something many in the club never liked about me.) The feds are another matter. Sometimes, especially at the federal level, agents and prosecutors blur the line between outlaw and cop. They are driven individuals who are often more about the win than they are about any sense of right and wrong. That part of my story is a cautionary tale for any freedom-loving American. Love or hate outlaws, the legal system in this country needs fixing. Outlaws, like a lot of people on the margins, are canaries in the coal mine when it comes to the erosion of constitutional rights.