It was a Sunday night. The year was 1977, I had just married my first wife and rented a house about a mile from my parents' house. As there was no garage or outbuildings at my rented home I kept my chopper in the shop behind Momma and Daddy's house rather than leaving it outside in the weather. After a day of riding I dropped my young wife off at our house and rode to my parents' to put up my bike and bring my car home.
As I rode from our home to Mom and Dad's I heard motorcycles and police sirens in the distance but as I was riding well within the limits of the law with all my ducks in a row I wasn't concerned about it.
When I came to the stop sign at the intersection of Textile and Willard I stopped, made sure the road was clear then turned left to travel the 60 to 70 feet to Mom and Dad's driveway. Suddenly, I found myself blinded by high-beam headlights and a spotlight and heard the roar of a huge V8 engine barreling straight at me!
Rather than try and make the driveway I turned straight into the yard and powered my bike up the bank. In those days Willard Street was still a dirt street and I had not yet built the sidewalk and retaining wall that separates our property from the street today.
The car barreled right up into my yard chasing me on my motorcycle and had I not been able to get behind one of the huge oak trees in my front yard he would had run me down. And I had no idea who he was or why he was doing so. Still blinded by the spotlight and the high beam headlights I heard a man's voice shout, "Cut off the motorcycle or I'll shoot!"
At no time did the car display blue lights or a sirene.
I cut off the bike then heard another sound. It was the slide of my Daddy's 12 guage Remington Pump shotgun just inches behind the head of what I could then see was a Greensboro Police Officer. "You shoot my boy and you'll never live to tell it," my Daddy said without a bit of hesitation in his voice.
The officer looked around. It was summer, no one had air conditioning back then. At least a dozen neighbors were out in their yards watching the goings on. Across the street, my best friend's father had a rifle leveled on the GPD officer. He slowly holstered his .357 revolver, got back in his car and as soon as he cleared the gathering crowd left as fast as his patrol car would get him out of East Greensboro.
But it didn't end there.
In those days I would have just kept my distance from GPD and let it go. Not that I liked it but I was close enough to the edge that I really didn't want to stir them up. If you know what I mean. But Momma, being a momma and all, wasn't going to have it and she pressed the issue. She pressured me, Daddy and the GPD.
So we called about filing a complaint and an officer was sent out to talk with us. Now remember, this was 1977 and technology wasn't what it is today. The officer showed us a big black box in the trunk of his patrol car and told us that with that box they were able to record the whereabouts of every GPD car at any given time. Daddy and I both drove trucks for a living and Daddy just happened to have his truck at home that day. Daddy then lead the officer over to his truck, opened the door and pointed to a big black box called a Trip-o-meter. "You're a lying Son of a bitch!" Daddy shouted.
I've only heard my Daddy use such language a few times in my entire life. You see, the black box in the trunk of the GPD cruiser was in-fact, a trip-o-meter exactly like used by hundreds of thousands of truck drivers all over the country at the time. Exactly like the boxes Daddy and I used daily. The Trip-o-meter of 1977 could moniter speed, idle time, miles traveled, time of day and nothing more. Drivers sometimes used them to beat trumped-up speeding tickets. That officer left without saying another word.
A few days later another GPD officer with even more stripes came out to see us. This one explained that GPD was going to follow through on the complaint then produced what he claimed were documents from Raleigh proving that I was driving on a revoked drivers liscense and revoked liscense plates for failure to pay my insurance. He said they would get back to us about scheduling a date for a hearing.
Knowing I couldn't work without a drivers liscense, our boss let Daddy and I go to Raleigh the next day where we got copies of the real documents and brought them back to the Guilford County District Attourny's office. As luck would have it, somehow Daddy knew the DA at that time and the two of them were willing to work things out. At that point Daddy put his foot down and said enough is enough, he stopped Momma from pushing GPD and GPD quit pushing me.
But that wouldn't be the last time. GPD had a hand in these 2 Greensboro murders. I know, I wore the Strokers MC patches from the day of their founding until the day we folded. The first and the last.
As I rode from our home to Mom and Dad's I heard motorcycles and police sirens in the distance but as I was riding well within the limits of the law with all my ducks in a row I wasn't concerned about it.
When I came to the stop sign at the intersection of Textile and Willard I stopped, made sure the road was clear then turned left to travel the 60 to 70 feet to Mom and Dad's driveway. Suddenly, I found myself blinded by high-beam headlights and a spotlight and heard the roar of a huge V8 engine barreling straight at me!
Rather than try and make the driveway I turned straight into the yard and powered my bike up the bank. In those days Willard Street was still a dirt street and I had not yet built the sidewalk and retaining wall that separates our property from the street today.
The car barreled right up into my yard chasing me on my motorcycle and had I not been able to get behind one of the huge oak trees in my front yard he would had run me down. And I had no idea who he was or why he was doing so. Still blinded by the spotlight and the high beam headlights I heard a man's voice shout, "Cut off the motorcycle or I'll shoot!"
At no time did the car display blue lights or a sirene.
I cut off the bike then heard another sound. It was the slide of my Daddy's 12 guage Remington Pump shotgun just inches behind the head of what I could then see was a Greensboro Police Officer. "You shoot my boy and you'll never live to tell it," my Daddy said without a bit of hesitation in his voice.
The officer looked around. It was summer, no one had air conditioning back then. At least a dozen neighbors were out in their yards watching the goings on. Across the street, my best friend's father had a rifle leveled on the GPD officer. He slowly holstered his .357 revolver, got back in his car and as soon as he cleared the gathering crowd left as fast as his patrol car would get him out of East Greensboro.
But it didn't end there.
In those days I would have just kept my distance from GPD and let it go. Not that I liked it but I was close enough to the edge that I really didn't want to stir them up. If you know what I mean. But Momma, being a momma and all, wasn't going to have it and she pressed the issue. She pressured me, Daddy and the GPD.
So we called about filing a complaint and an officer was sent out to talk with us. Now remember, this was 1977 and technology wasn't what it is today. The officer showed us a big black box in the trunk of his patrol car and told us that with that box they were able to record the whereabouts of every GPD car at any given time. Daddy and I both drove trucks for a living and Daddy just happened to have his truck at home that day. Daddy then lead the officer over to his truck, opened the door and pointed to a big black box called a Trip-o-meter. "You're a lying Son of a bitch!" Daddy shouted.
I've only heard my Daddy use such language a few times in my entire life. You see, the black box in the trunk of the GPD cruiser was in-fact, a trip-o-meter exactly like used by hundreds of thousands of truck drivers all over the country at the time. Exactly like the boxes Daddy and I used daily. The Trip-o-meter of 1977 could moniter speed, idle time, miles traveled, time of day and nothing more. Drivers sometimes used them to beat trumped-up speeding tickets. That officer left without saying another word.
A few days later another GPD officer with even more stripes came out to see us. This one explained that GPD was going to follow through on the complaint then produced what he claimed were documents from Raleigh proving that I was driving on a revoked drivers liscense and revoked liscense plates for failure to pay my insurance. He said they would get back to us about scheduling a date for a hearing.
Knowing I couldn't work without a drivers liscense, our boss let Daddy and I go to Raleigh the next day where we got copies of the real documents and brought them back to the Guilford County District Attourny's office. As luck would have it, somehow Daddy knew the DA at that time and the two of them were willing to work things out. At that point Daddy put his foot down and said enough is enough, he stopped Momma from pushing GPD and GPD quit pushing me.
But that wouldn't be the last time. GPD had a hand in these 2 Greensboro murders. I know, I wore the Strokers MC patches from the day of their founding until the day we folded. The first and the last.
