Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Paranoia grips
Hells Angels gathering
By RON BROCHU
Squads dotted Highway 210 like flies on a turd Tuesday night in Carlton, mustering a full show of law enforcement to meet a real or imagined threat posed by the national gathering of Hells Angels.
Suddenly, the sky was filled with red and blue lights as several cars gathered at the entrance to the Lost Isle, the Carlton bar and grill where bike traffic was becoming heavy. From a distance, it was evident cops and Angels were engaged in a tense discussion. Members of the motorcycle club slowly walked closer to investigate, followed by non-members who were visiting the tavern out of habit and/or curiosity.
The scene was a classic face-off, explained one Angel, who added that law enforcement in Carlton was heavier than the group typically encounters at its national gatherings.
“It’s a waste of time and money,” he said of the massive show of force.
But it’s exactly what local authorities had planned, according to local cources with ties to police. All along, the goal was to make northern Minnesota very unattractive to Hells Angels, hoping they’d never return. Officers were forced to cancel vacations in order to maximize their numbers. Bottom line: Stop bikers whenever possible, check identifications, registrations -- anything that might discourage their return.
“It’s just driving money away from the area,” a local biker, unaffiliated with Hells Angels, lamented inside the tavern. “It sucks.”
By any analysis, the bar scene was strictly tame, if not downright lame. Despite live music, few people danced. Most Angels hovered close to the bar, joking with others who obviously were long-time friends. Unlike most bar scenes after 10 p.m., nobody was falling-down drunk or lacing every sentence with “F” bombs.
Despite the hassle outside, members of the worldwide motorcycle club declined to express disdain -- at least not for the permanent record. The club never comments to reporters, said a Minnesota member known as J.R., and Tuesday night would be no exception.
“But feel free to stay and enjoy the time you spend with us,” he added.
The same decision was passed down when The Reader sought an interview Monday night.
“Maybe somebody else will talk to you, but I won’t,” a young
Angel said at the bar, quickly walking away. A larger crowd in the parking lot
stood in unison behind a makeshift spokesman.
“We’d rather keep this private,” he said politely.
Media shizzle
Tough editors, of course, fire reporters who leave a news scene without demanding cooperation, whether it intrudes upon busy cops, grieving relatives, bleeding crime victims or, in this case, a private gathering. Newsroom bosses not only want the story, but they demand expert color commentary from professors, authors, sociologists – virtually anybody having a thousand-dollar job title.
But to what end? In droves, readers are dumping newspapers coast to coast despite 72-point headlines that beg “READ ME!” One angry subscriber once brought the issue home during a local complaint session that was impossible to forget.
“You call it a 72-point head? I call it ‘Murder Font,’ ” he barked at a group of editors who were trying to downplay his concerns. “You put the ‘Murder Font’ on a cover story that wasn’t worthy of page 12,” he said while being ignored.
In recent weeks, local media have slapped Hells Angels with the “Murder Font.” Even as a few bikers quietly gathered Monday night in Carlton, local stations reported that Superior and Douglas County cops had coached business owners on how to deal with the two-wheeled visitors.
“Call 9-1-1,” said an official-looking letter as it was panned by the camera.
That, of course, is good advice whenever there’s danger. But what constitutes danger? Is doing business with a motorcycle club more dangerous than walking behind the YMCA – a downtown murder site that some news organizations wrongly confused with Central Hillside?
Danger? What danger?
Despite official warnings, the idea of meeting the Hell’s Angels was a popular notion as this week began. People having a variety of backgrounds expressed little fear about driving to Carlton to have a beer with the group. Perhaps that’s because the warnings weren’t accompanied by evidence convincing anyone of real danger. Few took much stock in historical references to a fatal stabbing at the famous Altamont Speedway, where the Rolling Stones hired Hells Angels to provide concert security.
That event occurred in 1968. That’s NINETEEN SIXTY EIGHT, as in 41 years ago. Many current Angels weren’t even born then, and Mick Jagger didn’t need Viagara. References to a 2002 scuffle between Angels and rival group in Laughlin, Nev., also failed as a deterrent, even though two murders occurred (both of the victims were Hells Angels).
Looking at the big picture, how many murders have been perpetrated in the Duluth area since ‘02, most between people who knew each other well? People aren’t stupid. The world is a violent place, and it’s constantly getting worse. Violent crime drama is relentlessly blasted across TV screens day and night. It’s no wonder that people show little fear of living on the edge.
That desire, let’s not forget, is being fed well by the news media. Hells Angels never sent out a news release announcing their visit. They never invited reporters or anyone outside of the club to their gathering. The entire frenzy was created by the law enforcement community and editors who felt the need to ring an alarm.
Catch 22
Cops, unfortunately, are damned if they do and damned if they don’t. If no crime is linked to the bikers, people will say police overreacted. If the opposite happens, people will say they left the public ill-prepared. And if a rival club invades the gathering, such as Wisconsin’s “Outlaws,” people will complain police substantially underreacted.
Editors, however, may just be milking another overfed cow - grasping for low-hanging fruit far outside the Garden of Eden. By next week, we’ll learn if they rang a bell that didn’t need to get rung. For without the press pimping a story that lacks any real hook, few people would even know Hells Angels came within 1,000 miles of Carlton.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Like Michael Jackson,
Americans losing the battle
By RON BROCHU
We’re a sorry society. In the height of a major recession, as America inches closer to ruin each day and people lose their homes and savings, our shining achievement is to glorify a celebrity who died from an overdose of prescription dope.
Yeah – dope. Michael Jackson apparently died from legal medicine that’s no different than the prescription amphetamines (“White Cross”) or sedatives (“Reds”) that killed thousands of indescript teens in the ‘60s and 70s. He was a junkie whose doctors are no more innocent than street pushers.
Let’s concede up front that Jackson was tremendously talented. No argument that he excelled at his craft. His music and choregraphy inspired millions. Yet he was a mixed bag. Jackson said openly that sleeping with young boys was admirable adult behavior. How would any of us react if we learned our children were sleeping in the same bed with an adult hockey coach, cleric or Scout leader?
Jackson isn’t the first celeb to get away with behavior that would send the rest of us behind bars. The American justice system, despite claims to the contrary, favors the rich – those who can afford top lawyers. An average screw head from Central Hillside or North End will end up with an assembly line public defender that gets paid the same stipend win or lose and has little incentive to carry any case beyond bargaining with an overworked prosecutor.
The double standard, however, matters little to star-struck Americans, who by the millions begged to attend Jackson’s memorial service. Those same individuals don’t cross the street to demand government accountability or attend a military funeral. If life were fair, they’d be judged by their priorities. Instead, they’re judged by their collection of CDs, ATVs, snowmobiles and other meaningless junk.
Doomed generation
There’s enough blame to go around, but the tail-end baby boomers – those of us who graduated from high school in the late 60s and early 70s – fueled Jackson’s career and sired today’s self-indulgent young adults. As teens, we preached high ethics and demanded change, but soon became Rolex revolutionaries, forsaking our ideals to chase the easy money – just like our materialistic parents.
All said, we created a sad state of affairs for America, including the Twin Ports:
• On the financial front, our strongest institutions are for sale to the highest bidders – often ones from China, Europe or India – because we’ve lost our financial sensibilities. Profits that should have been reinvested into new rail lines, factories and technology have instead been handed to institutional investors whose only allegiance is to the almighty dollar – not the United States. As they redirect our lifeblood into tax-free foreign safe havens, it’s possible America could be overtaken in a bloodless coup as overseas investors gradually purchase our banks, manufacturers, even our government debt. The evidence is just up Highway 53, where foreign corporations are taking over Iron Range mines and funding future developments. Does anyone believe these absentee owners will care about our area in any responsive or charitable way?
• Big government reeks like an armpit rag and exhibits no signs of meaningful life. Congress reflects the whims and wishes of corporate, government, union and religious lobbyists. All who enter soon become millionaires brainwashed by the Beltway mentality. Meanwhile state governments – witness Wisconsin and Minnesota – are little more than partisan bickering halls where Republicans and Democrats take turns forcing failed economic strategies on weary taxpayers.
• Cities like Duluth have fallen hard. Our decades-long dependence on state and federal money made us complacent when mayors like Gary Doty played tough with inquisitive reporters while giving free reign to union reps and mediocre managers. Now, we’re paying for our apathy, driving down broken streets, dumping overflow sewage into our drinking water and paying outlandish taxes.
Where's the beef?
Mayor Don Ness, Gov. Tim Pawlenty and President Barack Obama are among a select group of politicians who are making tough decisions, yet they need help. But from where?
There was a time when strong leaders emerged from the business community. Where are they today – on the city, state or national level? For instance, who is the most civic-minded, active business leader in Duluth? In Minnesota? Nationwide? Why are you drawing a blank?
Locally, organized labor clearly has more standouts than business. Alan Netland, Craig Olson and Ken Loeffler-Kemp are far more recognizable than anyone in the business sector. And their activism has paid off for union members – whether taxpayers can afford their victories or not.
Such is the outcome when citizens ignore civic responsibilities, focusing more on garish entertainers than real world problems. The same can be said for the news media, which spends more time investigating which drug offed Jackson than which banks are getting lavish taxpayer handouts, more time promoting hockey rinks than investigating Doty’s municipally paid health insurance.
It’s almost inconceivable. Fifty years ago, nobody could have predicted the popularity attainable by a celebrity who institutionalized the on-stage genital grope. Nor would they have seen General Motors die for lack of innovation, or Chrysler for producing crappy engines.
Have we been sold out, sold ourselves out or both?
It really doesn’t matter; nobody seems to care – not so long as the unemployment checks continue. Unfortunately, however, the stimulus package is likely to fail. Economic and moral recovery can’t be purchased like some kind of Stairway to Heaven. Times have changed. They’ve changed for the worse.
This story was originally published in the July 15 Reader Weekly.
We’re a sorry society. In the height of a major recession, as America inches closer to ruin each day and people lose their homes and savings, our shining achievement is to glorify a celebrity who died from an overdose of prescription dope.
Yeah – dope. Michael Jackson apparently died from legal medicine that’s no different than the prescription amphetamines (“White Cross”) or sedatives (“Reds”) that killed thousands of indescript teens in the ‘60s and 70s. He was a junkie whose doctors are no more innocent than street pushers.
Let’s concede up front that Jackson was tremendously talented. No argument that he excelled at his craft. His music and choregraphy inspired millions. Yet he was a mixed bag. Jackson said openly that sleeping with young boys was admirable adult behavior. How would any of us react if we learned our children were sleeping in the same bed with an adult hockey coach, cleric or Scout leader?
Jackson isn’t the first celeb to get away with behavior that would send the rest of us behind bars. The American justice system, despite claims to the contrary, favors the rich – those who can afford top lawyers. An average screw head from Central Hillside or North End will end up with an assembly line public defender that gets paid the same stipend win or lose and has little incentive to carry any case beyond bargaining with an overworked prosecutor.
The double standard, however, matters little to star-struck Americans, who by the millions begged to attend Jackson’s memorial service. Those same individuals don’t cross the street to demand government accountability or attend a military funeral. If life were fair, they’d be judged by their priorities. Instead, they’re judged by their collection of CDs, ATVs, snowmobiles and other meaningless junk.
Doomed generation
There’s enough blame to go around, but the tail-end baby boomers – those of us who graduated from high school in the late 60s and early 70s – fueled Jackson’s career and sired today’s self-indulgent young adults. As teens, we preached high ethics and demanded change, but soon became Rolex revolutionaries, forsaking our ideals to chase the easy money – just like our materialistic parents.
All said, we created a sad state of affairs for America, including the Twin Ports:
• On the financial front, our strongest institutions are for sale to the highest bidders – often ones from China, Europe or India – because we’ve lost our financial sensibilities. Profits that should have been reinvested into new rail lines, factories and technology have instead been handed to institutional investors whose only allegiance is to the almighty dollar – not the United States. As they redirect our lifeblood into tax-free foreign safe havens, it’s possible America could be overtaken in a bloodless coup as overseas investors gradually purchase our banks, manufacturers, even our government debt. The evidence is just up Highway 53, where foreign corporations are taking over Iron Range mines and funding future developments. Does anyone believe these absentee owners will care about our area in any responsive or charitable way?
• Big government reeks like an armpit rag and exhibits no signs of meaningful life. Congress reflects the whims and wishes of corporate, government, union and religious lobbyists. All who enter soon become millionaires brainwashed by the Beltway mentality. Meanwhile state governments – witness Wisconsin and Minnesota – are little more than partisan bickering halls where Republicans and Democrats take turns forcing failed economic strategies on weary taxpayers.
• Cities like Duluth have fallen hard. Our decades-long dependence on state and federal money made us complacent when mayors like Gary Doty played tough with inquisitive reporters while giving free reign to union reps and mediocre managers. Now, we’re paying for our apathy, driving down broken streets, dumping overflow sewage into our drinking water and paying outlandish taxes.
Where's the beef?
Mayor Don Ness, Gov. Tim Pawlenty and President Barack Obama are among a select group of politicians who are making tough decisions, yet they need help. But from where?
There was a time when strong leaders emerged from the business community. Where are they today – on the city, state or national level? For instance, who is the most civic-minded, active business leader in Duluth? In Minnesota? Nationwide? Why are you drawing a blank?
Locally, organized labor clearly has more standouts than business. Alan Netland, Craig Olson and Ken Loeffler-Kemp are far more recognizable than anyone in the business sector. And their activism has paid off for union members – whether taxpayers can afford their victories or not.
Such is the outcome when citizens ignore civic responsibilities, focusing more on garish entertainers than real world problems. The same can be said for the news media, which spends more time investigating which drug offed Jackson than which banks are getting lavish taxpayer handouts, more time promoting hockey rinks than investigating Doty’s municipally paid health insurance.
It’s almost inconceivable. Fifty years ago, nobody could have predicted the popularity attainable by a celebrity who institutionalized the on-stage genital grope. Nor would they have seen General Motors die for lack of innovation, or Chrysler for producing crappy engines.
Have we been sold out, sold ourselves out or both?
It really doesn’t matter; nobody seems to care – not so long as the unemployment checks continue. Unfortunately, however, the stimulus package is likely to fail. Economic and moral recovery can’t be purchased like some kind of Stairway to Heaven. Times have changed. They’ve changed for the worse.
This story was originally published in the July 15 Reader Weekly.
Dear Mr. Fantasy,
bring back our youth
By RON BROCHU
Thermometers redlined as Clapton fans flooded the Mississippi Valley Fairgrounds on a sweltering 1973 Saturday afternoon. We arrived two hours late, despite a numbing southward blast down Highway 61. Fortunately, the concert was running hours late; tickets to enter the expansive outdoor field still remained available even to those who frantically fumbled with Quad Cities maps in search of the hallowed stadium.
The gruesome Davenport trip had been hastily planned after hearing a promo on Beaker Street, the famous alternative rock show broadcast nightly on clear channel KAAY. Our ride, a ’66 Mustang, wasn’t fitted to roar down the sleepy Mississippi. The pony wasn’t equipped with air conditioning, moon roof, reclining seats or tilt wheel – just a lean 289 that screamed like a ferret on speedballs. It was the quick, unrefined ticket for young Americans who wanted cheap thrills without buffed cowhide, chilled cup holders and wrap-around safety bubbles.
The aging beast had seen its best days but still offered enough juice for a couple teen freaks aimlessly searching for the American dream. In fact, guilt pangs emerged when we parked her in a farm field way outside the concert grounds, carefully avoiding lumps of hay that might ignite under sizzling header mufflers. Yet the desire to secure Clapton tickets trumped all else as we rushed the gate in ripped jeans and surplus Army shirts. The $9 cost seemed expensive, but British legends didn’t often pass through the bloody Midwest.
When tickets eventually sold out, the mood turned ugly. Angry kids climbed the fence and were met by paid guests swinging broken fifths of Annie Green Springs and Mad Dog 20/20. Such was the talk -- perhaps true, perhaps false – that quickly spread through the crowd, which was packed shoulder-to-shoulder in this far-away field.
Musically, it was a strange time. Paul McCartney had just formed Wings, and Clapton’s latest release was 461 Ocean Boulevard. Rock was morphing into pop, and pot-heads disliked it almost as much as disco.
When Clapton finally took the stage, he was accompanied by Yvonne Elliman – a far cry from earlier legends including Jack Bruce, Duane Allman and Steve Winwood. Preferably, he would have performed hits from the Cream era, but he disappointed the gaggle of stoners. Yet the concert was unforgettable, if only because it featured Slowhand.
Old geeks and wrinkle freaks
Those dusty memories surfaced last week before Clapton and Winwood took stage in St. Paul. It wasn’t dubbed a reunion concert, but the pair previously collaborated as Blind Faith, an unforgettable one-album supergroup that also included Cream drummer Ginger Baker and talented bassist Rick Grech.
Unlike the Davenport gig, where the outdoor venue overflowed with life, Xcel Center had a country club aura, with overstuffed, hair-challenged throwbacks carefully navigating steep stairways in their $50 polos and $80 chinos.
The pairing of Clapton and Winwood proved exciting, but didn’t thrust 50- and 60-somethings into mosh pits. Quoting Winwood’s Rock and Roll Stew, youth and zeal were “Gone, Gone, Gone.” Like the aging performers, we had become senior citizens or, in hippy lingo, wrinkle freaks.
The dream is dead
During their interpretation of Voodoo Chile, the British pair clearly demonstrated the difference between true musicians and Top 10 artists, although some fans didn’t seem to connect with the underground Hendrix piece. It presents more raw emotion than typically flows from the speakers of their Infinity and Lexus SUVs.
The concert was fabulous, exceeding expectations, but the spectacle of 10,000 aging rockers feebly trying to be hip was, quoting a Cream hit, quite the Bring Down. It demonstrated that the entire rock generation lost its direction and sold out to the highest bidder.
Music that one promted an generation to seek a higher plane became simply entertainment. Clapton and Winwood are alive and well, but the child is gone; the dream is dead.
This story was first published in the June 26 Reader Weekly.
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