The “Warlock”

 

The “Warlock”

 In the 1970-71 time frame, post-divorce, I was living alone in Midtown Manhattan and working as a supervisor in my career profession, with Process Engineering, Caltex Petroleum Corp.  My official IRS address at this time was in Savoy, Massachusetts, 170 miles north, where my kids were being raised by my mother.  I spent Monday through Friday working in the City, and the weekends in the Berkshires with my kids and extended family.

 A summer attraction at that time, was “Windsor Pond”, a beach, pavilion and recreational area about 3 miles from my mother’s house, and owned by my brother-in-law’s father, Karim Ziter.  One side of the pavilion was a bar and grill, serving a full range of beers, wines and liquor.

 I had known Karim Ziter for years, long before his son married my sister.  As things developed, I end up tending bar for Karim, part time, on some summer weekends, so I was familiar with the pavilion, bar and environs.

 This one particular Sunday, I was not tending bar at Windsor Pond, I was running errands in nearby Adams, Massachusetts.  When I arrived at the pavilion and bar that afternoon, there was a large crowd milling outside of the premises, with none of the crowd inside. The crowd advised that Karim was inside holding a biker gang member, who had become violent and destructive, at bay, with a pistol.

 Now, I am not a particularly brave or rash person, but is was evident to me that Karim was in need of some help.  No one in this fairly sizable crowd of friends and neighbors obviously was about to do anything positive, other than “watch the show”.

 So, I went inside, and Karim appeared relieved to have some backup.  He instructed me to “go in the back and get the shotgun”.  Karim’s wife and daughter were in the back of the pavilion, and found the shotgun, but not the shells.  We scrambled around trying to find the shells, but to no avail.  We couldn’t find them, so after ensuring that the State Police had been called, I took the empty shotgun into the main pavilion area, and placed it on the counter across from where Karim sat holding a small pistol.

 Karim’s pistol did not seem to be much bigger than .32 caliber, which probably would have pissed off the big, burly biker if he were shot.  It turns out that the biker was actually a member of the fierce Warlocks biker gang.  And there we were, Karim with a puny nickel-plated small caliber pistol, and me, with an empty shotgun.  Although, of course, the biker didn’t know that the shotgun was empty.

 We sat that way for an interminable time, probably a half hour or so, with the biker making threats. but taking no actions.  Karim later told me that before I came in with the shotgun, this guy was about ready to cover the 25-30 feet between them, and try to take the small pistol away from him.  The shotgun thwarted that, since the biker thought that I had him in a crossfire.

 A Massachusetts State Trooper finally arrived, arrested the biker, and normalized the situation.   When I told the cop about the empty shotgun, he patted me on the back for contributing to keeping the biker docile, at the same time admonishing me for being so dumb.

 Since the Warlocks had a reputation for violence, Karim was somewhat fearful that this guy would come back, in force, with his “crew”.  Thankfully, this never happened, but I’m sure Karim bought some shotgun shells, just in case.

 What lesson did I learn from this incident?  This was not exactly my first rodeo.  I had to evacuate my family out of Beirut, Lebanon during the Six Day War in 1967, just after proximate, violent riots.  Also, I was a drinker back then, and had been in several tight situations, both foreign and domestic.

 What I learned is that people are like sheep.  They will rarely get out of their comfort zone, no matter what the situation.  But there are some situations in this world where, no matter how unpleasant or potentially dangerous, when one needs to take action.  Not out of bravery or bravado, but because it’s the right thing to do.  I’ve pretty much lived my long life this way, and some may call me a “cowboy”, “mais, non, je ne regrette rien”.

Ray Gruszecki

July 17, 2021