Confessions of an Old Hooligan, pt. 1
My brothers and I grew up in the house of a master mechanic. In the garage behind our home, there was always an automobile up on jacks, a motorcycle or two to the side, and enough extra bike parts hanging from pegs on the wall to practically build another. Accompanying all the machinery, there were stories in abundance. One would never know it by observing this stooped, white haired, soft-spoken senior chap, but in his younger years, Dad was a hooligan, a 50s greaser (think “Fonz” from the old “Happy Days” sitcom. I’m not exaggerating), even a bit of a renegade during his overseas stint in the USAF. Even now as he recounts these stories to me, some I’m hearing for the first time, I can see that glint of mischief in his eyes, as memory carries him back to those heady days of his youth and young adulthood. Here’s a few of my favorites, in his own words-
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