The Fairfield Gospel

Many thanks to CAIRN: The St. Andrews Review for publishing this piece. There’s no online link for this story that I’m aware of, but I’m willing to auction off my contributor’s copy if you’d prefer something more tangible.

Interview 1: Anonymous, East Fairfield

What do I remember about the guy? Turned this town upside down. Ask anybody. Go talk to the minister. He led the charge.

Me? Heck, I don’t know. How much space are they giving you for this article?

Two thousand words, huh? I guess a few questions wouldn’t hurt.

Sure, I remember. This used to be a quiet neighborhood. Not even the buzz of a lawn mower on a Saturday afternoon. So yeah, I noticed. This guy made an impression right off. Every day was marked by the growl of a two-stroke engine.

I’m not sure. I’m no motorcycle expert. I think it might have been a Kawasaki. I didn’t care for the noise it made, I can tell you that. He was always revving the engine, popping wheelies up and down the street. Had a real presence about him.

His looks? Oh, about what you’d expect. Long hair, beard. You know the type.

That’s right. Everybody loved him at first. I didn’t get the fascination. The guy couldn’t even get his gas-oil mix right.

Oh, sure. My children were still living at home back then. They couldn’t stop talking about him. They were enamored like everyone else. I found drawings of tiny motorcycles and hearts all over my daughter’s homework. This went on for a year. My son started nagging me for a motorcycle about the same time. Said he wanted to join up with the guy, as if the twelve fellas he already had following him around didn’t make enough noise.

Yeah, like I said, at first he was the toast of the town. Every time I looked out the window I expected to see my neighbors laying palm branches in the street. It was that crazy for a while.

Well, what are you still talking to me for? Go see the minister. He’s the one that got the noise ordinance passed. The city didn’t waste time making it law either. They were just looking for a reason to haul him in.

Do I think it got out of hand? That goes without saying. The minister held weekly meetings at the church to rally folks against the guy. Lots of people went. Heck, I attended a few myself.

No, I wouldn’t describe it that way, not at first. Someone suggested putting sugar in his gas tank. Nothing serious; but after a few months it got unruly. Someone even proposed dragging the guy to the outskirts of town and tying him to a tree.

No, I don’t remember who said it.

Sure, it could have been the minister. I couldn’t say for sure. I didn’t stick around. I just wasn’t that worked up about it.

That’s right. Folks ran him out of town eventually. Convinced one of his biker pals to turn on him. It seemed to have worked, too. He disappeared for three or four days before blazing through town one last time.

I don’t know. I wasn’t marking the calendar. You can write that it was three days in this article of yours, if you want.

His disciples? Cronies, I called them. I used to see them around. Most of them are gone. Lit out for parts unknown after their leader left town, except for the poor fella that turned him in. He committed suicide. Back then it made headlines in every newspaper. I bet the one you work for has it on file.

Sure, people still speculate. Isn’t that why you’re here?

That’s a good question. I suppose everyone’s a little ashamed of how they acted. I think that’s why so many people still regard his mother fondly. Ask around. Most folks think he’ll come back one day.

Judgment Day. Yeah, some people call it that.

Me? What do I care? It’s a free country. He can do whatever he wants.

What’s that? Oh sure, I miss how quiet it used to be. People talk now. I mean, they’ve always talked, it’s just now you can actually hear them. That probably doesn’t make any sense to you, but it’s true. Heck if I can explain it.

No. If it’s all the same I’d rather you leave my name out of it. I don’t want anyone knocking on my door because of some silly article. No offense.

Interview 2: Mary Stewart, Wayside Drive

A retrospective, you say. That sounds nice. I’m not sure how much help I can be, though. We didn’t see each other regularly.

Yes, I’d call him a friend. Most folks were split right down the middle. You either loved him or hated him.

Dated him. My word! Who told you such a thing?

Oh, dear. Is that what she thinks?

No, it isn’t true. We never dated. He didn’t date anyone to my knowledge. He wasn’t girl crazy like folks suspected.

How would I describe him? He was a kind man. He got me out of a jam the first time we met. I had my demons, I can tell you, but he saw something in me no one else did.

That’s true. He stopped by from time to time looking for a home-cooked meal. I never turned him away. Why would I?

Oh sure, people talked. I never paid it any mind. It’s not like they were private dinners; he brought his entire gang along every time. They practically ate me out of house and home.

His mother? Yes, we were close. We met frequently, especially after they ran him off. Those were difficult days.

Excuse me?

Oh, you mean afterwards. Yes, he came by. He was a little banged up. For a minute I didn’t even recognize him. I thought the young man who mows lawns in the neighborhood was getting an early start.

Clingy? I suppose that’s one way to put it. I was just so surprised. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. Once I started hugging him it was hard to let go.

No, he was all-business. Said he needed me to go tell everyone he was okay. That was the last time I saw him.

I don’t know. I guess he knew my words wouldn’t be sufficient. The boys he ran around with were a little fickle. Tommy said he showed up at his place later on showing off all his bumps and bruises. Apparently it left quite an impression.

Do I miss him? Not a day goes by that I don’t think about him. You know, it’s funny. I think I’ve got a bigger crush on him now than I ever did back then. Oh, but don’t write that. People have enough to talk about as it is.

Interview 3: Father Canard, Fairfield Chapel

He was a nuisance. What more do you need to know?

You’ve got it all wrong. He was trouble from the get-go. I was just looking out for the best interest of this community.

Listen. The noise ordinance was a means to an end. There was no secret plot. I only wanted to clear the air with him. That motorcycle of his made a god-awful racket. It gave people crazy notions. Something had to be done.

Thirty grand! That’s ridiculous. I didn’t offer anyone money, much less one of those bums in his gang. I just wanted to talk.

Yes, we met eventually. He didn’t do much talking, though. Said regular folks could answer my questions. Ha! I didn’t waste my time. I’d heard the name they’d given him—Motorcycle Messiah—it was blasphemous!

No, that’s not how it happened at all. I snagged my coat on the doorjamb in my rush to get to the chapel that night. I didn’t tear it intentionally.

I can’t answer that question. It was a big crowd. People were up in arms. What could I do?

So they roughed him up a little. What’s your point?

I don’t like what you’re implying. I was as surprised as anyone when they found his motorcycle at the bottom of the quarry. Suicide I always said, same as that other member of his gang.

His body? Not that I know of. I suspect his gang had a hand in removing it before the proper authorities arrived.

Yes, I’ve heard the rumors. They come and go. Someone spotted him up near New Haven a few years back; before that it was Mount Pleasant. Vacuous claims. They just add fuel to the fire, just like this article of yours.

Yes, you can quote me!

Regrets? No, I don’t regret anything. Whatever happened to him was of his own doings. Folks would do good to remember that.

Interview 4: Simon Godrich, Roxburough Road

Don’t apologize. It confuses lots of people. You can call me Peter. It’s on everything but my birth certificate at this point.

No. I’m not sure why he chose us. We’d just gotten back from a three-month stint at sea when he introduced himself. He recruited me and my brother Drew right there on the wharf. The Barclay brothers were there, too. Jim and John. They were already big into motorcycles. You could hear them coming from a mile away. He took to calling them “Sons of Thunder” on account of all the noise they made. Drew and I were new to the bike scene. Riding was more of a weekend hobby for us. But that changed.

Who else? Let’s see. There was Phil and Bart. Tommy. Matt, he was an IRS agent. We were a motley bunch. Simon Jessup. We called him the Fanatic. He was a huge Dodgers fan.

What sticks out the most? I don’t know. The time he rode his motorcycle across that flooded street was impressive. I still don’t know how he managed it. I tried to follow him, but ended up swimming in five feet of water. The day he modified his bike is memorable, too. I’ve got pictures around here somewhere. We called it the transfiguration. Understand, we’re talking about a two-stroke Kawasaki. He transformed that motorcycle into the finest set of wheels in town. Then there was the time he washed our bikes—all twelve of them. It took him all afternoon. I told him not to touch mine, but he insisted. The guy was one of a kind.

No, I’m not just saying that because we were friends. No one knew their way around a bike like him. Complete strangers brought their bikes to him. Scrap heap material, more often than not, but he always managed fixed them.

Early on, you mean? Yeah, it was like being famous. Everybody smiled and waved. Someone different invited us to dinner every night.

How long? I guess it was about a year; then things started going sideways.

Yeah, he saw it coming. He tried to tell us on several occasions. He even gathered us together for a big hurrah down at the Sizzler before it all hit the fan.

No, I didn’t believe him at first. I mean, they were still sending out reporters to interview us for the six o’clock news.

Remember? I was there. Those were wild times, especially once the noise ordinance went into effect. Cops were pulling over anyone on a motorcycle. The thirteen of us were hard to miss. They used to chase us up and down the shore. I’ll never forget the night that patrol car went through the guardrail. It’s a miracle no one was hurt. The newspaper ran the story on the front page: shore road madness sends pigs into ocean. The police department didn’t care for the headline. I think the paper got into some trouble for printing it.

No, we couldn’t. They were watching our homes. We started hanging out in Garden City to dodge the scrutiny.

The night the authorities showed up? No, I don’t think crazy is the right word. It rattled me, that’s all.

Yeah, I cut the guy. Nicked his ear. It bled like crazy. The whole thing got blown way out of proportion. I mean, they didn’t even press charges.

That’s right. I followed them. They didn’t take him downtown, though. They took him over to the chapel and had a big powwow in the parking lot with Father Canard.

Did I deny him? I don’t see how that’s relevant now. You can’t imagine what it was like. The church secretary came over and practically interrogated me. She kept on saying, ‘You’re one of them’ over and over again. I’m not gonna lie to you, it riled me up. I told her where she could stick it.

Yeah, they beat him up right there in the parking lot. Did a real number on him. There was nothing I could do. They ran him out of town the next day.

His motorcycle? The minister did that. Helped him spread that ridiculous suicide claim. It’s a shame really. That bike was without equal.

Sure, he came back for a little while. Two or three weeks, I guess. Made sure we all knew he was okay. Tommy gave him an old Harley from his collection to ride. That’s what he rode out on eventually.

You mean the books I published? Yeah, it surprised me, too. I never thought so many people would read them. I still get fan mail pretty regular.

You don’t say. I’m glad to hear it. Bring a copy by sometime. I’d be happy to sign it for her.

My pleasure. Hope this helps set the record straight. Feel free to call if you have any more questions. My number’s in the book.