Cops Say They're Devilish, Members Say They're Angels
NEW YORK (AP) -- Bart Darling, his hair cropped close to his skull and his motorcycle club's colors on his back, explained the prerequisites for Hells Angels membership: Respect is earned, not given. Bad boys are welcomed, not rejected. And one last thing:
"We don't beat up freaking women.''
Oh, those crazy boys next door.
The neighborhood around the Angels' Manhattan headquarters, long a flashpoint for controversy, was buzzing again this week after a brutally beaten woman was found outside the club's front door. But while police and local residents malign the notorious motorcycle gang, the Angels insist they're the victims.
"They're trying to put a bad jacket on us,'' said club member Brendan Manning after New York police in riot gear stormed the Angels' headquarters. "They're trying to say we're women-beaters. That's not our trip. ... They took something and made a big mountain out of an unfortunate thing.''
The unfortunate thing happened to Roberta Shalaby, 52, of Brooklyn, who was found unconscious outside the motorcycle club's East 3rd Street headquarters. Police arrested and released one of the Angels, who now plans a civil rights lawsuit against the NYPD.
That may sound absurd, but the Angels have collected more than $800,000 in the last seven years from lawsuits against the city.
A 1999 settlement over the police failure to obey a search warrant provided the Angels with a $565,000 windfall, while a September 2001 settlement of $247,000 came after police conducted a warrantless search of the headquarters.
"That's close to $1 million from the taxpayers of New York City to the Hells Angels,'' said their lawyer, Ronald Kuby, who expects to file suit next week against the NYPD on behalf of Angel Richard West.
The Angels' history transcends its recent legal successes. During the 1960s, its California members memorably assaulted gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson and were blamed for a fatal stabbing at the Rolling Stones' Altamont concert.
The New York headquarters has a history of its own. The chapter president, Paul Casey, pleaded guilty in 1987 to drug conspiracy, manufacturing and distribution.
Three years later, two Hells Angels were arrested after a Fourth of July party where fireworks ignited inside a metal garbage can sent shrapnel flying across the block. A 14-year-old boy was killed when he was struck in the throat by pieces of the can.
Even Kuby, at a news conference where an NYPD sergeant took pictures and notes, acknowledged his clients were "scary guys.'' Neighbors along the generally quiet residential block where the Angels headquarters opened in 1969 agree.
One 35-year resident, speaking on condition of anonymity for fear of reprisal, said the Angels have calmed down in recent years -- although they remain an intimidating presence. Locals cross the street rather than walk past the headquarters, and no one dares park outside the club, she said.
On a weekday afternoon, with nary a parking space in sight, a half-dozen motorcycles were sitting curbside outside the club with room for several more.
"No Parking Except Authorized Hells Angels,'' reads a large sign attached to the front of the Angels' six-story building. Four surveillance cameras hang above the first floor, and a red park bench allows the Angels to hang out in front of the building.
Reputation aside, it's impossible to argue one thing: The Angels are sticklers for punctuation. In 1987, Manning was on trial for methamphetamine distribution along with Casey in Manhattan federal court.
The morning after opening statements, one of the Hells Angels in attendance -- holding the day's newspaper -- approached a reporter and asked if he had written the article inside. The reporter said yes, and the biker leaned forward.
"It's Hells Angels,'' he said quietly. "No apostrophe.''
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