MOTORCYCLE ENTHUSIASTS REPRESENT TRIBAL CULTURE
Waco – William English said it best. A Marine veteran of combat in Iraq, at some point he told a person in authority, made a statement in the form of a question by asking:
“Do you think I’d take my WIFE to a gunfight?”
Police arrested the couple just moments after they arrived at the bloody scene of a 90-second firefight in the parking lot of Twin Peaks Restaurant on May 17, 2015. Like all the 177 arrested that day, they faced a charge identical to all the others, of engaging in organized criminal activity, their bond set at $1 million in order to “send a message,” though the state law says it’s illegal to set bail so high that it is a punitive measure, designed to deny folks their freedom while a criminal charge is pending.
English won their freedom when he and his wife faced an examining trial before a visiting judge, James Morgan, formerly of the 220th Judicial District at Comanche. Though Judge Morgan told their attorney, Paul Looney of Hempstead, “You make a good argument, Mr. Looney, but I think it’s one for a jury,” it’s not over until it’s over.
Later, authorities dropped the charges against the couple after the Marine who made it home to Brenham alive asked his incisive question about where his interlocutor thought he would take the War Department.
It was a question dripping with the sarcasm of the veteran practitioner of organized violence, the kind of man who’s been to hell and back and can recognize an L-shaped ambush when he’s walked into one expecting a civic functio – and made it out alive, only to face serious charges leveled by the inscrutable forces of law and order – for his own protection.
He is not alone. He is a family man, has brothers around, walking free, behind bars, and in the graveyard. Some are grandfathers, others uncles, cousins, but every one of them is a brother.
Their numbers grew when they got home from World War II and collected $50 unemployment compensation for 52 weeks – “the fifty-two fifty club” – as veterans who returned from overseas, waiting for the wartime economy to re-tool and gear up for the prosperity of the Pax Americana to come.
Getting around was a hassle. There weren’t any cars.
What cars available were old, worn out; there weren’t any pieces for them. America was plumb fresh out of bearings, pistons, spark plugs, distributor wires, fan belts, tires, batteries, and everything else it takes to make the flivver locomote down the boulevard.
The gearheads amongst the soldiers and sailors, Marines and Airmen found the motorcycles, first thing. They spent their back pay on anything they could get, and little shops sprung up all over stateside, presided over by the kind of dudes who are sharp enough to cannibalize, improvise and pluck the doo-dads necessary to make them run, screw them on, and tune them up.
In their mad, heart attack dash to run the roads and drink the brew, get back to the business of being young men, they behaved tribally, picking their leaders by the usual way that sort of thing is done.
They exercised the territorial imperative in its most primitive form, hardened by war, tempered by the discipline of organized combat, forged in a free country, riding for the glory, their collective honor on parade.
Like any tribe, they developed the coloration that would distinguish them from any enemies who might cross their paths, their “colors,” and an entire culture was off to the races.
The tides have turned.
There is a movement afoot worldwide that dictates the notion that people like the fifty-two, fifty club ought to be protected from themselves, their judgment not quite as sharp as that of THE MAN, the prehensile fingers and toes of the POLICE STATE reaching out for that fabled brass ring, looking to carve out a new niche to sit upon – up there on the devil shelf in some little chapel of idolatry and arcane worship of the authoritarian, anal retentive mind.
The peacocks will not strut in their self-chosen “colors.” That’s a clear cut indication of membership in an organized crime street gang, an outlaw motorcycle gang, it says here – right here – in the manual. And then, there’s the goofy-looking paint jobs on the cars they drive.
One may read the back story and find a link to the motion for mandamus relief by clicking here.
People like Bill English got jerked up, their bodies, phones, motorcycles, cash, ID and clothes seized and searched on statements of probable cause with no particular complaint mentioned. They were held incommunicado in a privately operated jail – a dungeon deemed unfit by the federal government to detain persons in this nation without legal authority.
When it came time to hear a motion to disqualify the person who made this decision, the District Attorney, who by making that decision crossed the line from being a prosecutor to taking up the cudgel of the policeman, they learned that he had lied to the Court in direct testimony from the witness stand, his rightful place in any court action to come, as the necessary witness testifying in support of the allegation of complaint made by he, Reyna, the prosecutor, acting as a cop.
His major decision, the one upon which all the others were seemingly predicated: Arrest everyone wearing “colors.”
And so, under certain circumstances, for our own protection, we may not wear items of personal adornment of our own choosing, pending a decision by the prosecutor, who may be acting independently of the U.S. and Texas Constitutions, the Code of Criminal Procedure, the Code of Hammurabi, The Talmud, the Torah, The Ten Commandments, the Quran, and both ecclesiastic and Masonic jurisprudence in making a POLICE decision.
The cops all testified that what they had in mind was more along the lines of capital murder, attempted capital murder, aggravated assault, disorderly conduct, assault with a motor vehicle – those kind of non-conspiratorial, more direct crimes against persons, and not the amorphous and tinfoil-hatted selection of ENGAGING IN ORGANIZED CRIMINAL ACTIVITY.
Gimme a break, over here.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Abelino Reyna, District Attorney. May we succeed in making him famous throughout our state, the nation, and hopefully, the world. He deserves Legendary status. Believe it.
Today, the Chief and Associate Justices of the three-judge panel of the Tenth District Court of Appeals sitting at Waco must decide if Abel Reyna and his staff should be replaced by a Special Prosecutor Pro Tempore.
Aside from those who did actually assault others with fists, revolvers and pistols, whips, chains, brass knuckles and what have you, most “offenders” merely ran for cover and lay on the floor or the pavement while they waited for the police to clear the crime scene.
There is abundant video evidence of who did what.
It’s almost like a Hollywood movie, since the cops and state troopers set up cameras to catch the full details of the ambush they laid, and Reyna and the defense attorneys subpoenaed closed circuit television footage from the Twin Peaks Restaurant, the neighboring cantina, Don Carlo’s, and surrounding businesses.
But that’s not the end of it.
Police stopped motorcyclists and detained them, prevented them from traveling into Waco; they have retained the phones confiscated nearly two years ago, gleaning the pictures, phone numbers, text messages and every bit of the information to be found on them. In short, the cops are steadily carrying out the agenda of a New World Order that would deny Americans the freedoms afforded by their Constitution.
Why were the Twin Peaks 177 there?
They were there to hear a report from members of the U.S. Defenders Legislative Strike Force on the status of a set of proposed bills addressing the notion of Constitutional Open Carry of handguns, an $18 million “motorcycle safety fund” gleaned from registration fees and unspent by a Governor and Legislature hell bent to balance its budget, and other safety and traffic considerations under scrutiny by state Legislators as they affect motorcyclists.
This was arranged by the Confederation of Clubs and Independents, an organization dedicated to coordinating the efforts of a crowd of people dedicated to freedom.
What happened represents a full frontal assault on the principles of the Republic, as described by B. Franklin, Printer, of Philadelphia, a member of the Constitutional Convention presided over by another hardened war veteran, General George Washington.
He was instrumental in the insertion of the precise language in that instrument, that Americans would enjoy a “republican” form of tripartite, federalized leadership limited to only certain powers, the rest reserved for the states.
Part of that limitation of powers is that the federal government, so actively pursing a RICO prosecution against leadership elements of the Bandidos Motorcycle Club, is not to interfere with the free association of people who wish to meet together to discuss freely what they may choose, be it religion, politics, sports, weather or anything else one ought not mention in a Texas beer joint where the folks are either in a belligerent mood, the Legislature is in session, or both.
If I can clear the departures gate at the door of the McLennan County Courthouse, pass the security inspection with my pen, my notebook, and my pocket change and ID, I will be there to hear the arguments in support or rebuttal of the motion to replace Abel Reyna as the prosecutor over the Twin Peaks cases.
After all, it’s for my own protection.
I am sincere.
So Mote It Be.
The Legendary
Jim Parks
