Who Says Angels Will Raise the Devil?

Why are we so skittish about a thousand or so Hells Angels rolling into Ventura? After all, it’s been 29 years since “Cycle Savages” hit the big screen, and times have changed. Haven’t they?

Ventura Police Chief Richard Thomas reacted to news of next week’s gathering with the puckered anxiety of someone learning about a termite infestation. He has indicated that the welcome extended by the boys in blue to the boys in black will be “constitutional.”

Is that enough hospitality for you?

I once received a “constitutional” welcome from an old girlfriend’s parents: a cot in the basement, next to the furnace, and a reminder that trains back to the city left six times daily. Perfectly constitutional.

But we can lay out a plusher welcome mat than that. Restaurants can create special desserts built around Hell’s Angel food cake. Empty-nesters with an extra room or two might want to open their homes for a few days, if not their liquor cabinets, gun racks and wallets. What about a banner across Main Street: “Hell-o, Angels!” Why not treat the Angels like the visitors all of them are instead of the fugitives a few of them may be?

Yet Mayor Jim Friedman has said he would prefer a convention by a big civic organization like the Rotary.

My goodness!

Has he never heard the raucous banter at such groups’ weekly luncheons? Has he never witnessed members brutally extorting money from those who miss a meeting? Has he eaten the chicken? There are many fine civic groups, but we should take care in what we wish for.

After all, Ventura has long dreamed of tourists, yearned for them the way a gangly teen might yearn for a prom date. But now that they are at the doorstep--well . . . it’s just that these particular tourists are a bit . . . um--no offense now. . . but just a wee . . . bit . . . scary.

It hurts me to see this. Our leaders evidently cling to the ancient notion of the Hells Angels as looting, raping, drug-dealing nut cakes, maiming for fun, killing at will, drinking lots of Old Milwaukee.

Talk about bad press! Any Hells Angel will tell you--sometimes very forcefully--that it’s not a gang but a fraternal organization, a group of mainly middle-aged guys who get together for good-hearted fun and good works, like raising money for kiddie museums. Ya got that, pencil neck?

Judging from the schedule for their seaside getaway, who could disagree? Nowhere is there any mention of drop-kicking kittens off the pier. Instead, it’s mainly seminars for the continuing education credits that today’s Hells Angel needs to keep pace with the constant changes of his profession.

Now the Angels might tell you they don’t do seminars, that they are just coming to town to party. But they actually tend to be a shy lot when it comes to talking about their softer side. I happen to know that this year’s get-together--Fun-fest Ventura ‘98!--will explore some highly personal topics with the warmth and sensitivity you would expect at a good group therapy session. The Angels might come on like Sean Penn, but deep down they are really Stuart Smalley.

They’re good enough. They’re smart enough. And, doggone it, people like them.

Little wonder, then, that health concerns will be a high priority next week, as demonstrated in a forum called:

“The Hells Angels Heart-Healthy Diet: Did you know that tofu has a high fat content? That a cup of natural peanut butter has more protein than a cup of raw steaming beef guts? Here is a beginner’s session on how to bulk up without artery-choking cholesterol or crazy-making steroids. You can be the healthiest-ever 400-pound guy called Tiny!”

As always, technical concerns will take center stage. Witness the sure-to-be-packed:

“Cranio-Facial Realignment and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: Interesting new uses for the standard socket wrench. Things your mama never told you about jumper cables. Why they call it a ball-peen hammer and other handy information about the tools of the trade.”

As the Angels pass into their highly publicized mellow period, many of the older wing flappers also happen to be thinking hard about The World Beyond. That may be why they keep forgetting that their jeans are slipping so far down.

In any event, this session with the Rev. Bud “Big Carburetor” Hexley will be a favorite: “Ride Your Hog Into Heaven: A preacher who has done more time than Methuselah, Rev. Bud lights up the path for all who care to follow, and you will care to follow. Among the knotty, age-old theological issues he explores: Where is it written ‘Thou shalt honor thy wimpy public defender who can’t read a search warrant without moving his lips?’ Also, how many Hells Angels can dance on the head of a pinhead?”

Again, the Angels may deny they have any lofty plans like these next week. But I’m telling you, they do. In fact, I can also report some other activities that are planned--none of them the kind that any city would be ashamed to host.

For bashful Angels, there will be assertiveness training.

For afflicted Angels, there will be a physician eager to give advice on an ailment the toughest motorcycle guys mention only in whispers: Hell’s hemorrhoids.

Wives and “significant others” also will enjoy a full slate of activities. No lounging by the hotel pool for these Hell’s belles!

While their Angels are hard at work in seminars, the ladies will hear from an expert panel on: “Balancing Your Life: Juggling the conflicting demands of family, career, outstanding warrants, repo men and flashbacks from the Sixties.”

After lunch, they will board a bus and buy leather goods at the outlet malls in Oxnard and Camarillo. Then it’s back to Ventura for a quick tattoo, and finally a jaunt inland for the heady sight of the poppy fields in the Antelope Valley.

Needless to say, the Angels and their belles alike will visit children’s wards, bringing a message of cheer and towing along a reporter or two to spread the good news. They might also stop in to see acquaintances laid up with broken bones and multiple contusions and wish them well on their way to court.

And we can’t do any better for these folks than a “constitutional” welcome?

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Steve Chawkins is a Times staff writer.