I know a little about music, the blues, southern rock, a little country, Chevy's, Harley's. The music I listen to is good or it wouldn't be in my story. Being single had been good for me. Glad to have been a Marine Combat Veteran!
It's taught me two things: 1) If I'm scared, it's only a dream! 2) Don't sweat the petty! Pet the sweaty. It don't mean NOTHIN! , that's number three, but back to 2. Don't sweat the petty! Are ya catchin' on?
I lived alone with my Dobie (like Alf, he ate a cat), right next to a junkyard. I heard from the yard that this insurance company had a 1967 Z-28 for sale. I purchased it for $350. The Z was 12 years old, had a blown motor and needed a new front clip. When the insurance company said yes to my bid, I almost peed my jeans.
Got the Z home, pulled the hood grill fenders- they would be replaced- that junkyard had it all. I pulled the motor and 4-speed tranny. That 302 V-8 was an honest to goodness Factory Hot Rod Motor. The Factory claimed 290 HP, for insurance companies would require you to buy risk, if HP was 300 or more. Chevy 302s were like 400 HP. 850 cfm carb, which was actually too much carb, resulting in bogging off the line, easily fixed with a 650 CFM Holly. The '67 motor had a rod through the block, but no sweat. There sat a '69 302 in my neighborly junk yard-'69s had more Horsies. With the '69, I could leave the '67 motor for a long Minnesota winter project, as this motor had a rod through the block. Chevy 302s use the same block as a 283. With a little machine work....voila! A 302!
Now I tore down the '69. I had a good bud- TJ- who was a fellow Vietnam veteran who knew how to build fast Chevy motors. TJ had a Harley Shovelhead that needed to be rebuilt. We traded jobs. I did the body work on the Z, all but the painting. I would use a rattle can primer from the Holiday gas station. Oh you look pretty! A nice paint job does not make your vehicle fast!
TJ became my roomate after I had moved to the Gravel Pit. We drank a lot of Jerimiah Weed. In those days it was cheap. We would then beat the hell out of each other. We had started out boxing, but in time we would get crazy for a while. Being bored vets, we needed a way to blow off the “bullshit”. Fast cars and bikes, along with a couple of 4x4s. His was a 1976 C-20 4X4, a '65 El Camino,and a 1970 Shovelhead. I had that '67 4x4 C-20 A 75 stroked Shovelhead. That Z-28 I drove infrequently, kept it covered in the garage. We lived in an underground dwelling we called the “Bunker” on the edge of the pit, oh yeah, we were armed to the teeth.
This was before the Survivalist Asswholies and that bunch, you know the ones who like to play Soldier, dressin' up in their Camo. The difference is, we were real combat Veterans. Our favorite saying: ”Want some fun? Come on fuck with us.”
TJ wore a pair of 357s along with an AK-47 he brought out of the Nam. He had been a door gunner on a Huey, graduated to Crew Chief on his second tour. I had a WWII M1 Carbine that I converted to full auto and had brought home from Nam five 30-round Banana Magazines, the NVA Ammo pouch carried them just fine.
I don't care for pistols, so my “next to the bed” was a cut down 12-gauge. It was called a “streetsweeper”. My backyard was 1000 acres of private gravel pit that I worked and played and had plenty of fun in. We had a couple of Husqvarna's dirt bikes and a Volkswagen-powered dune buggy someone gave us. On weekends, we filled it with our coolers, lots of ammo, steaks and charcoal.
Anyhoo, we both had a lot of Shit goin on. The local “fuzz” feared us. They had called the vet center, and after some negotiation, we let this fellow vet enter the compound. This vet counselor came daily. We became good friends.
One fine day, TJ entered the VA medical center. TJ HAD QUIT DRINKIN! and he became a vegetarian. It took awhile 'til the VA gave TJ 100% for PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder). With back pay, he bought a house with a couple of garages, 75 miles to the north.
I moved an old hooker friend into the Bunker. She rode a custom Shovelhead, and took up where TJ left off, only she liked coke. She beat hell out of me, after clubbing me with a 2x4, I fought back. I went to jail. It was during this time that I was disarmed by the courts. I can no longer own or buy a gun, even though I have never used or threatened to use a firearm on anyone who wasn't a Viet Cong.
Anywhoo, TJ found a new girlfriend- he liked dumb blondes- and being I wasn't drinking, we began talking again. One morning TJ came out of his new house and slipped on the ice, breaking his hip. He called me, I called an ambulance, and met him at the VA. They did surgery, which left him on crutches. TJ's hip wouldn't heal, so the VA told him to eat meat.
My son Joe and I had left his Caprice at TJ's. Some time later, we went to pick it up one morning but no one answered our door knocks, so we drove to the back of the property to pick up Caprice. That's when TJ came out of his house shooting, firing them 357s at us. We got behind a couple of big elm trees. I heard that familiar crack of a round cracking past my ear. All that was needed was the smell of gunpowder!
I yelled that it was us. He fired again. I called him an SOB and told him how lucky he was, that I was gonna let him live. Driving past TJ, I was so fuckin' mad at him I couldn't stop! We left. I never saw or talked to TJ again. If it had only been me I woulda given him some slack, but my son was along- he had been cool through this whole shoot up!!
The meat TJ was eating to cure him, killed him! He had started riding with a Jesus Club. He needed someone to rebuild his bikes and being that I wasn't available, TJ joined the local Jesus Bike Club. I heard the head Dick Blesser got TJs two bikes!! Politicians, Pimps and Preachers been pickin’ our pockets since time began.
Anyhoo TJ died of cancer within a year of starting to eat meat. No one told me of his funeral! “Singh Loi” TJ...
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