Last week, ‘Love those biker stories – part 2’ ended with Snoopy shooting out the jukebox at Uncle Willos bar (back in the ‘70’s). The owner was out of town when it happened. Snoopy thought he’d really be mad but his response was:
“Oh, that’s not too bad.” Then he proceeded to describe to Snoopy what ‘bad’ looked like.
Now, I’ll get out of the way and let Snoopy tell the rest of the story himself:
My boss told the story about when he ran a route in S. Dallas – he was called in to service or replace a jukebox. Since he had just serviced that box, he wondered what could be wrong and he soon found out.
It seems that there were two black gentlemen standing at the box, selecting songs. Then, two other gentlemen of the same persuasion stepped thru the front door – one with a .45cal and the other with a 12ga pump. They emptied both weapons into the guys at the box, reloaded and emptied them again before leaving.
“No one in the bar saw nothin!” he said, ending his story with one last statement; “I couldn’t even use the needle out of that box. Now that’s a shot up jukebox!!”
I hadn’t been at the bar for very long when I got into one of those ‘anus clenching’ adventures. It was a Friday, I think, about 7pm, when I got word “Cops in the parking lot” so, I felt it was my civic duty to go and talk to these officers but first, I left instructions that went something like this: “Mickey (my ole lady), take my .45, Johnny take this 20ga and do something with it and Susie take this weed.” Then I was on my way to meet the cops.
However, I never even made it to the doors when they walked in - the first thing they said was “Who’s this Snoopy character?”
I figured I was busted so I said “Right here.” and walked on over to face the music.
These guys were what we used to call Harness Bulls . . . over 6’4” and way over 300lbs . . . you know ‘good old boys’.
I got about 3ft away and the nearest one grabs me and starts HUGGING my neck! Well . . . after I did a drawers check, I asked ‘What’s up?’
He said in his best Texican “We sure are glad you started to work here because our calls have dropped to almost nothing around here.” After I started breathing again I told them I was only doing my job . . . they said to keep doing whatever I was doing cause it was working.
Hallelujah! So I went back to selling weed and busting heads – I mean . . . didn’t they tell me to “Keep it up?”
I had this attitude because I was never raised or knew what a normal family life was. I never knew my real father; only had a pill pushing, woman chasing, step-dad. I used to say that I was a “professional drug dealer” and was proud of it. Later I’ll tell you how this sent me to Federal Prison and had the Dallas Police shoot a’72 Chevy Van completely out from underneath me!
Now I’m not saying bikers are racist, it’s just the lifestyle we lead. We only had one black guy who would regularly come to Willos and sometimes he would bring a friend.
Getting back to Willos, everything went along for about 6 months after I started . . . then the swingers joint across the street started having Tuesday night as ‘Ladies Night’. In other words, ladies drink free so, not to be unfriendly . . . we sent our girls over to show our neighborly kindness.
It went along nicely for a few months until (you remember the black guy) he stayed later than usual on a Tuesday and found out about Ladies Night. It started with him then +1, +2 until the bar across the street went from a swinger’s joint to a pimp and whores bar and they didn’t like the white boys across the street.
Everything bounced along for a couple more months until someone’s 19 year old son walked in to the swinger’s joint with his really pretty girlfriend. They were expecting free drinks for her, but what they got was far different. A couple of guys came dragging him back into Willos about five minutes after they left.
His face was all busted up and bleeding very badly. As I was trying to find out what happened and get him on the way to Parkland Hospital, his girlfriend told us ‘as they were walking toward the swinger’s joint, a guy was standing outside the front door, but then he went inside’. It seems, just as the couple cleared the front door, this guy blindsided the kid with a beer pitcher.
When the people standing around me heard this, everybody jumped up and started across the street to “Take care of this!” They all emptied into the parking lot, heading for the Singles joint. It took about two minutes of both groups mixing it up, then the skirmish headed back across the street toward me.
I headed out with the shotgun first and then told my ole lady to hand me my .45. When they saw my shotgun, it was like Moses parting the waters. Most just scattered but a couple guys really thought they might be bullet proof and I was just the one to prove them wrong!
The advancing crowd went from 50-55 to about 6 in 15secounds but, this one really buff, young guy thought by tearing his shirt off it was going to scare me . . . WRONG.
Don’t forget to check back Wednesday for another story from Country. Anyone that has read any of his stories won’t want to miss a one.
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