Guru Das and the Hells Angels…
“Swamiji called out "Gaura prem-ananda hari hari bol!” In a voice that was simultaneously sweet and grave, he recited paeans glorifying the past preceptors in our spiritual lineage. We collapsed on the floor, bowing down. We all alighted and sat upright silently, as the Swami was now going to speak. The Swami settled into his raised seat. “Thank you very much - all of you nice young boys and girls - for coming and…” We heard pounding on the wall - a loud thump from next door. Framed pictures shook. Again there was a thump. “…chanting this Hare Krishna mantra with us.”
The Swami didn’t miss a beat. He stopped talking, called me over, beckoned me closer. My ear was right near his mouth. I felt privileged. “What is that sound?” he asked. “I don’t know, ” I answered. “It is coming from next door.” Next door war the God’s Eye Ice Cream parlor, which was the hangout/hideout of the Hells Angels as well as headquarters for the Diggers, an anarchistic organization run by Emmett Grogan and Peter Coyote that believed all goods and services should be free. The banging continued.
“Go see what is making that noise,” Swamiji requested. “Ask them to stop.” “Yes Swamiji.” I said. Why me? I thought. I’m wearing a robe, I’m high from the kirtan, and now I have to face the Hells Angels. Cloth versus leather, finger cymbals versus knives, japa beads versus brass knuckles, “born to lose” instead of Hare Krishna, and chariots instead of Harleys.
The Swami again addressed the congregation. “I see you, so many bright-faced people chanting and feeling blissful by chanting these holy names…” Excusing myself, I went out into the cool night air and started to breath more easily. I heard loud laughter from inside the God’s Eye. “Yes,” I thought, “inside God’s eyes, certainly Krishna would protect me.” But my throat was dry as I knocked on the door.
A scar-faced, yet handsome, Hells Angel opened the door. He wore swastikas and lots of black leather. He stared at me. I held his eyes and stared back. Six more Angels encircled me. Then a tattooed BORN TO LOSE arm waved me inside. Resolutely, but quietly, I said, as humbly and non-confrontational as I could, “The Swami is about to speak. We were wondering if you could party less heartily.”
They didn’t say anything. I persevered. “The thumping on the wall interrupted him. Many folks would like to hear him speak, and you can come too if you like.” One of the Angels stared at me a while longer. Then he smiled and said, “It was your singing that made us dance, but the wall got in the way! Hey, if the Swami wants to speak, that’s okay with us. Your Guru is heavy, man!” His gap-toothed smile embraced me. I thanked them all.
As neighbors, we would eventually come to know each other and get along well. They came over for free feasts, a stick of incense, or a cup of sugar. After my meeting with them, they always quieted down when they heard the kirtan stop, because they knew the Swami was speaking.“
- Guru Das "By His Example”
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