Toughness has many definitions, and sometimes the roughest and toughest people you’ll ever meet, have the most sensitive side.
In the 1960s, my father, “Little John,” rode with an outlaw motorcycle club throughout Los Angeles, California. I remember the club meetings held at our little house. Motorcycles, patch holders, and loud pipes lined the curbs and sidewalks up and down the block way into the wee hours of the morning.
As a boy, this environment had a considerable influence on me. There would be the usual drinking, smoking, and hell-raising, but there was also serious business discussed. I came to appreciate the biker lifestyle, and I found that these people all had something in common.
Hidden behind the rough and sometimes threatening exteriors, was an innocent and vulnerable side. A side that only their closest brothers and sisters in the club would ever see, and they would protect this part of themselves with all they had. Sometimes in the most violent of ways. “It was the best of times and the most frightening at times.”
Years later, when my father was succumbing to the effects of cancer, he showed me his sensitive side. He made me promise that I would not prospect for any outlaw clubs. “The times they were a-changing” as the song goes… and a new bread of bikers was emerging in the early 1980s. My father saw the darkness on the horizon and didn’t want me entering into that part of the storm.
From that moment on, I honored my father’s last wishes though I continued to ride as an Independent and carry on the rebellious family tradition.
In the late 1980s, I began writing songs about my travels through life. I performed the original material with a group of great and talented musicians in and around Las Vegas. I was known for riding my custom motorcycle up on stage at the beginning of the show, then riding off at the end while the band played my song, “Johnny Bad Boy,” with a vengeance.
But when the music industry spiraled off into Grunge and Rap, so did my world. Reality suddenly came crashing down upon my Rock and Roll dreams.
The party’s suddenly stopped. The barroom fights ended, and the hope of fame, fortune, and purpose faded away into the night. I found myself completely alone. So I did what all good bikers do - I closed the door and locked myself away from society.
Shortly after, a back injury at work left me entirely immobile for over a month. I started reading books, lots of them on topics like ancient philosophies, religions, physics, and screenwriting. Within three weeks, I had written my first story. It was a turbulent tale based on events from my childhood.
“Writing allows a person to put their thoughts out there without being rudely interrupted.”
I discovered that I truly loved to write. It took me to a fantastic world of possibility — a new way to “Buck the System,” so to speak. I envisioned my stories as if they were an old movie playing out in my mind while I wrote down what I saw. Soon, I had several screenplays completed.
Little did I know, at the time, that each story, in sequence, was slowly leading me away from the darkness that my father had spoken of, and toward a new understanding and perspective.
Years of hard work and adversity later, in 2016, my beautiful girlfriend, Shari, oddly suggested that I write a children’s book, inspired by the birth of her first grandchild. A complete 180 degree turn from the type of stories I had written in my younger days.
My mother came up with the theme based on her years of working for the US Department of Agriculture, and it all flowed together perfectly. In fact, “Cotton, the little plant that snored".would become my first published book. It virtually opened the door I’d been hiding behind and gave me a way to spread joy and happiness to people of all ages.
“Never judge a book by its cover, nor the author.”
I had discovered that the innocent and fragile side within myself, and facing that sensitivity gave me the power to change my world and the world of others positively.
True love and compassion are stronger than any force I had ever experienced, and I’m here to tell you that the pen, or pencil, is indeed mightier than the sword. Writing is the therapy that transformed me into the “Writer of Wrongs,” I am today.
I can think of no better way to organize my thoughts and dreams, than on a quiet ride in the countryside, with the winds of the past storming through my mind.