from Fearless Puppy on American Road by Doug "Ten" Rose
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Life at the hostel was predictably relaxed and friendly. Drama didn’t
like hanging out there. There were a few exceptions.
There are many wonderful folks with shaved heads in America today. During
the time of my stay at the hostel, there were fewer. Back then, there were
two basic varieties of folks commonly known as “Skinheads.” The anarchists
were the lesser known group. They were tolerant of diversity. The more
famous group was not. Those folks were the neo-Nazis.
These neo-Nazi Skinheads had a whole lot of people that they didn’t like,
and even hated. The fact that these Skinheads had never met most of the
folks that they hated didn’t seem to slow the hating down any.
Most of us, if we don’t like someone else, just don’t speak to that other
person. We stay away from that person. Our misguided hairless brothers
didn’t see that as the thing to do. They thought it necessary to tell people
that they didn’t like them. This combination of not liking too many people
and feeling obliged to tell all of them about it made the Skinheads some
very busy people.
It seemed that they figured to kill a few birds with one stone by having a
rally in Bellridge. Good choice. For a town our size we had an overabundance
of gooks, spics, niggers, kikes, faggots, lesbos, commies, women’s-libber
bitches, and assorted immigrant types. If all these folks could be informed
of the hatred in just one speech, at a single location, that would save the
Skinheads a lot of traveling time and strain on the vocal cords.
Bellridge is easily accessible from the bigger cities of Albany, Boston, and
New York. There were about enough Skinheads in each to fill a thimble.
Neo-Nazis weren’t as popular in the American Northeast as they were in some
other sections of the country. Whoever organized everything figured it a
good idea to have the rally in a place that all available like-minded and
shear-crowned folks could easily get to. A bigger crowd would publicize the
Skinhead cause more efficiently.
I don’t know about the other contingents, but the Albany Skinheads hadn’t
made hotel reservations before they left home. I know this because on the
night before the rally (and planned counter-demonstrations by local groups)
they came to the hostel. Six of them showed up while Jack was in the office
with Ted. I was ten feet away in the living room, folding laundry. Jordan
was sweeping while chewing my ear off about corporate hypnotism of consumers
and the murder of the American small town by shopping malls.
This also made sense.
Each individual Skinhead had some strong similarities to the others. There
were minor variations in height, weight, and skin tone, but they were all
white-skinned, shave-headed, and had a combination dullard-and-pissed-off
look on their faces. They each had a demeanor that made them look about as
smart as a box of rocks. Unfortunately, most of them were built like a box
of rocks as well.
The guy who fronted the group barked at Jack. “We want rooms. And where does
this town keep the girls?”
“I’m sorry, we’re all filled up,” Jack answered. A Cross, Star of David, a
Shiva and Buddha amulet always hung visibly from Jack’s neck. The leader of
the Skinhead pack took notice of them. He snarled with a poorly manufactured
“You Jew Bastard! Bullocks! We were told there were over thirty beds in this
flophouse and there ain’t but five fucking people about. Now be a good lad
and give us some fucking rooms before things get difficult.”
Jack politely asked him to take his troops down the road. The chief Skinhead
again voiced his displeasure in a very unpleasant way. Unfortunately for
him, after the part about our “scraggly gook” residents left his mouth, he
got a sudden inspiration telling him that one stupid action might be worth a
thousand stupid words.
I didn’t know that Jack was also among the martial arts people in the house
(quite good at it—one of those darker colored belts). It became obvious when
the unfortunate front man took a swing at him. Jack ducked, dropped to the
ground, and threw a sweeping kick that broke the front man’s ankle. He did
this all in one fluid motion that, although sadly attached to violence, was
a work of art.
The far Skinhead pulled out a knife. Jordan promptly nullified it with the
broom’s stick end just as Ted reached the same wrist and snapped it.
“Oops!” said Ted. “Sorry.” Teddy had only wanted to disarm the attacker but
since Jordan had already taken care of the basics, the force of Ted’s
defense sort of passed through (and broke) that far Skinhead’s wrist.
The rest of the Chromedomes froze. Margaret had already called the police.
They arrived to haul all the bad boys away to hospitals and jails.
I guess the word got out to the rest of the Skinhead groups regarding the
type of reception they could expect from our citizenry. The
counter-demonstrations took place without anything to counter. The Neo-Nazi
rally never happened. They must have figured it more productive to move
their festivities to another location.
A lot of things have gone downhill over the past thirty years, but the
quality of the folks in America who shave their heads seems to have improved
quite a bit.
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