BB-80036 Yesterday’s Closet
Yesterday’s Closet
Blueboy Library
BB-80036
Murray Montague
$2.25
Yesterday’s Closet
Blueboy Library
BB-80036
Murray Montague
$2.25
Foreword
Keith Youngs and Roy Cooper led a settled, sedentary life, happy with each other and life. All of that was threatened by that fateful knock on the door. Keith suddenly was faced with all he wished to leave behind, but no one could say no to Cal and really mean it—and Cal was on the run.
“The motorcycle is obviously a sexual symbol. It’s what’s called a phallic locomotor symbol. It’s an extension of one’s body, a power between one’s legs.” So wrote Dr. Bernard Diamond, University of California criminologist, in 1965, when the Hell’s Angels and other notoriously renegade motorcycle clubs were riding the crest of a wave of violence, pushed on by the tide of sensationalized reports of their demented behavior.
They were entirely anti-social, proving this over and over again with their fighting, their raping, their use of drugs, their total disregard for the welfare of anyone outside their circle of outlaw bikers. Like children, they’d do anything on a dare. Their entire behavior was like that of bad little boys—the club, the uniform, the love of excitement, the need to flout authority. It was suggested by Hunter Thompson, author of the most intimately authoritative book on the outlaw cyclists, that indeed they were nothing more than men who’d somehow gotten stuck in puberty, and who banded together to share in their irresponsibility. They enjoyed every moment of their notoriety and they still enjoy a certain following of fascinated fans of their exploits. But now the renegades are getting old…
This is the story of one of those old originals, his passions and his desperate needs, as he tries to hold onto a world that’s left him behind. He is a boy in man’s clothing, a thirty-plus pre-adolescent, full of brags and bluster and fluff, volatile and erratic, with the emotional trigger mechanisms of a boy and the lusty force of a man to be set off by those triggers.
And this is the story of the vapid little motorcycle groupies who followed and still follow the overgrown boys with their overblown bikes, those sullen-faced little beauties who were last seen riding off on the back fender of a screaming Harley-Davidson. What was their final destination at the end of those long wild rides across the country? What sort of imprint—sexual and otherwise—did days and nights of speed and narcotics, sex and profanity, have upon those boys who rode off with those men?
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