Baltimore, probably the toughest SHARPs in the nation, against four of us. But those Sharpies wanted to know before they even thought about starting anything if we were Axis. That’s how notoriously ruthless the Axis crew was.
We used some girl’s long-distance phone card to call the Axis Skins. If they’d sent even two of their best guys that probably would’ve been enough for us to handle those SHARPs. But they didn’t send two. Axis turned out in force, nearly half their crew, about two dozen of the meanest Nazi skinheads in America. The next night, the Baltimore SHARPs were not given the option of backing down; Axis didn’t give options.
That brawl on the beach was the nastiest fight I’d been in to that point. It was a real, honest-to- God rumble. No guns or knives, just fists, combat boots, and anything within grabbing range. I got clocked in the head with a beer bottle; I returned fire with a chunk of loose railing one of the Axis monsters had ripped off the boardwalk stairs with his bare hands. When it was all over, every last one of those fifteen SHARPs was rolling around in agony on the sand.
The Axis crew spent the rest of the night celebrating with us in the pavilion. Everybody got totally shitfaced. As usual, I was one of the drunkest guys at the party. But I wasn’t so drunk that I forgot one of the Axis leaders had told me I was a hell of a fighter. I don’t think I could have been more proud if Bobby Clark, the Flyers’ legendary captain, had turned up at the South Philly ice rink to tell me I was a good wingman. I passed out that night feeling like I’d just won the Stanley Cup.
Goddamn Gerbils
TOWARD THE END OF SUMMER, MATT AND I CAUGHT A RIDE out of Wildwood. He moved back home and I moved in with Dan Bellen, who lived in one of the townships on the outskirts of Philly. I’d crashed at Dan’s a few times since he made the switch from punk to skinhead. When I showed up in August carrying my duffel bag, his mom realized I didn’t have anywhere else to go. She offered to let me live with their family on the condition that I had to go to school, not just register. It seemed like a fair trade: a little bit of homework in exchange for sharing a roof with Dan, his mom, and his grandma.
A few days after I moved in, I got a job cleaning cages at a pet shop. It wasn’t glamorous, but it let me give Dan’s mom some money. She didn’t ask me to pay her, but it seemed like I ought to. Besides, I liked working at the pet shop. I gave half of my first paycheck to Dan’s mom and spent the rest on my own gerbil family.
I dug an old leather trunk out of a back corner of Dan’s pigsty of a room and turned it into a gerbil mansion. By the next morning, I understood why the pet shop kept gerbils in metal cages. We had gerbils running all the hell over the place. Dan’s grandma pitched a fit when one ran between her feet. I did everything I could to convince her it wasn’t a rat, but she wasn’t buying it. She screamed at Dan and his mom to get the rats and the rat-boy out of the house. Dan’s mom ordered us to round up the rodents before his grandma blew an artery.
I put about a week’s worth of food out in what was left of
the gerbil mansion, hoping to lure my little buddies back to me. The next morning, most of the food was gone, but the mansion was still empty. The next afternoon when I got home from work, I found little chalk outlines of gerbils on the kitchen floor.
“ You’re a riot, Dan,” I yelled out into the living room. I knew he was trying to be funny drawing those outlines, but it ticked me off anyhow. I liked those gerbils, and I was worried they were going to get hurt running loose in the house.
“I hate to be the one to break it to you,” Dan said, as he clomped into the kitchen. “But we brought in an exterminator.”
“Yo, Frankie!” Louie Lacinzi leaned his head through the doorway. “Youse should’ ve seen those things explode when Danny and me whacked ‘em with a
We used some girl’s long-distance phone card to call the Axis Skins. If they’d sent even two of their best guys that probably would’ve been enough for us to handle those SHARPs. But they didn’t send two. Axis turned out in force, nearly half their crew, about two dozen of the meanest Nazi skinheads in America. The next night, the Baltimore SHARPs were not given the option of backing down; Axis didn’t give options.
That brawl on the beach was the nastiest fight I’d been in to that point. It was a real, honest-to- God rumble. No guns or knives, just fists, combat boots, and anything within grabbing range. I got clocked in the head with a beer bottle; I returned fire with a chunk of loose railing one of the Axis monsters had ripped off the boardwalk stairs with his bare hands. When it was all over, every last one of those fifteen SHARPs was rolling around in agony on the sand.
The Axis crew spent the rest of the night celebrating with us in the pavilion. Everybody got totally shitfaced. As usual, I was one of the drunkest guys at the party. But I wasn’t so drunk that I forgot one of the Axis leaders had told me I was a hell of a fighter. I don’t think I could have been more proud if Bobby Clark, the Flyers’ legendary captain, had turned up at the South Philly ice rink to tell me I was a good wingman. I passed out that night feeling like I’d just won the Stanley Cup.
Goddamn Gerbils
TOWARD THE END OF SUMMER, MATT AND I CAUGHT A RIDE out of Wildwood. He moved back home and I moved in with Dan Bellen, who lived in one of the townships on the outskirts of Philly. I’d crashed at Dan’s a few times since he made the switch from punk to skinhead. When I showed up in August carrying my duffel bag, his mom realized I didn’t have anywhere else to go. She offered to let me live with their family on the condition that I had to go to school, not just register. It seemed like a fair trade: a little bit of homework in exchange for sharing a roof with Dan, his mom, and his grandma.
A few days after I moved in, I got a job cleaning cages at a pet shop. It wasn’t glamorous, but it let me give Dan’s mom some money. She didn’t ask me to pay her, but it seemed like I ought to. Besides, I liked working at the pet shop. I gave half of my first paycheck to Dan’s mom and spent the rest on my own gerbil family.
I dug an old leather trunk out of a back corner of Dan’s pigsty of a room and turned it into a gerbil mansion. By the next morning, I understood why the pet shop kept gerbils in metal cages. We had gerbils running all the hell over the place. Dan’s grandma pitched a fit when one ran between her feet. I did everything I could to convince her it wasn’t a rat, but she wasn’t buying it. She screamed at Dan and his mom to get the rats and the rat-boy out of the house. Dan’s mom ordered us to round up the rodents before his grandma blew an artery.
I put about a week’s worth of food out in what was left of
the gerbil mansion, hoping to lure my little buddies back to me. The next morning, most of the food was gone, but the mansion was still empty. The next afternoon when I got home from work, I found little chalk outlines of gerbils on the kitchen floor.
“ You’re a riot, Dan,” I yelled out into the living room. I knew he was trying to be funny drawing those outlines, but it ticked me off anyhow. I liked those gerbils, and I was worried they were going to get hurt running loose in the house.
“I hate to be the one to break it to you,” Dan said, as he clomped into the kitchen. “But we brought in an exterminator.”
“Yo, Frankie!” Louie Lacinzi leaned his head through the doorway. “Youse should’ ve seen those things explode when Danny and me whacked ‘em with a
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