OFF THE WIRE
CONCORD, N.H.—Police officers and outlaw biker gangs often stand on
common ground. Both attract the young and adventurous who value order,
discipline and brotherhood. And on weekends tens of thousands of cops
routinely trade their cruisers and badges for choppers and club colors.
The
bond doesn't mean a free pass for criminal motorcycle gangs, but even
some within law enforcement worry that too many officers believe bikers
are just misunderstood Robin Hoods. And empathy from officers who
emulate or even aspire to the outlaw life can put police or the public
at risk, gang experts warn.
"They're supposed to be putting them
in jail, not schmoozing with them, not socializing with them," said
Charlie Fuller, a retired special agent with the federal Bureau of
Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. "That's a no-brainer to me.
You have a huge security issue for the whole department. Here's a cop
that's hanging with them socially. What's he telling them? What are they
asking him?"
The relationship between police and criminal biker
gangs — dubbed Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs or 1 percenters because they are
said to represent the fraction of motorcycle enthusiasts who operate
outside the law — came into focus following the May 17 shootout
involving rival gang members, including a retired San Antonio police
officer, that left nine people dead in Waco, Texas.
Police on
hand at the meeting fired at least some of the shots once violence
erupted, but a photo showing some of the dozens the arrested bikers
sitting calmly on curbs using cellphones under seemingly nonchalant
police guard earned the ire of critics. Some wondered if police went
easy on the bikers.
A 2014 ATF report said biker gangs count
working police officers, firefighters and 911 workers as members. The
report details a California Highway Patrol dispatcher listening to the
scanner and tipping off her husband, a Hells Angel prospect, that the
police were headed to a fight he was involved in. The husband took off
before the cops arrived. In another instance, the dispatcher ran a
license plate for undercover agents working on a weapons sting against
her husband.
In New York City, Detective Wojciech Braszczok is on
trial, charged with joining a mass of angry motorcyclists — though not a
gang — who assaulted an SUV driver during a wild highway chase in 2013.
Braszczok said he didn't intervene because he thought it could
compromise his unrelated undercover work.
The gulf between outlaw
biker gang and motorcycle club is vast, and the great majority of the
law enforcement or veterans clubs perform community services year round,
like delivering toys at Christmas or the Patriot Guard Riders, who
provide a rumbling motorcade — and a buffer against protesters — at the
funerals of fallen soldiers.
Still, Laconia police Chief Chris
Adams, whose New Hampshire town will attract hundreds of thousands of
bikers to its annual Motorcycle Week starting on June 13, said he has
seen some officers instantly transform when they're wearing club colors
instead of their uniform.
"Some of them won't look at you or talk
to you," Adams said. He called the fuzzy lines between police and
bikers a "valid concern."
Adams said his department maintains a
"working relationship" with the region's dominant motorcycle gang, the
Hells Angels, to address problems big and small.
"I think it can
be helpful," Adams said. "It can be as trivial as a parking problem.
Rather than towing 50 bikes, 'Hey, can you get these bikes out of
here?'"
Look around during Laconia's Bike Week — or at any of the
other big rallies like in Sturgis, South Dakota, or Daytona, Florida —
and you will see the colors of law-abiding motorcycle clubs made up of
police, firefighters and veterans.
The Blue Knights, among the
most recognized law enforcement clubs, has almost 20,000 members in 640
chapters in 26 countries, but there are others sprinkled all over the
country. The Blue Knights International, based in Bangor, Maine, did not
return a call and email seeking comment.
Steve Cook, who leads
the Midwest Outlaw Motorcycle Gang Investigators Association, says some
of the legit clubs go to "totally embarrassing" lengths to ingratiate
themselves to criminal gangs.
"They're going to a 1-percent gang
and asking permission to start their club up," he said. "You've got to
pick a side. You're either a cop or a biker."
But the very existence of law enforcement clubs can stoke violence, Fuller said.
In
2008, Seattle police Officer Ronald Smith was charged with felonies
after shooting a Hells Angels member during a bar fight. Smith belonged
to the Iron Pigs motorcycle club, made up of police and firefighters.
The charges were later dropped.
And in 2012, two officers who
belonged to a law enforcement motorcycle club were involved in a bar
fight with bikers in Prescott, Arizona.
"They want to be like
them, but not them," Fuller said of the law enforcement clubs. "It
agitates the real 1-percenters that cops want to come and imitate them
at all."
Jay Dobyns, a former undercover agent who infiltrated
the Hells Angels for the ATF, worries that chumminess between biker
gangs and the more benign law enforcement motorcycle clubs can lead to a
perception that cops will go easy on the outlaws.
When Dobyns was undercover, he said, cops from motorcycle clubs would try to cozy up to the outlaw bikers.
"I'm
talking about the clean-cut law enforcement officers who wear a uniform
and ride around in marked cruisers every day; then Saturday comes
around and they put on a black bandanna and black T-shirt and scowl at
everybody," he said.
The gang members were having none of it.
"'We're
never going to be friends,'" was how "true believers" in the bike gang
reacted to such interlopers, Dobyns said. "Some of these cop clubs don't
get that."
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