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KABAR...

Discussion in 'News' started by SF1, Jun 5, 2005.

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  1. SF1

    SF1 12oz Elite Member

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    KABAR...

    Discussion started by SF1 - Jun 5, 2005

    Kabar,
    I'm calling bullshit on your whole "life story". Surfer turned Biker anarchist, turned Marine Vietnam Vet, with Hobo thrown somewhere in the mix. Turned rightwing internet propagandist on a GRAFFITI Forum?
    I'm also mad suspect about your intentions for even being here.

    :haha: :haha: :haha: :haha:
     
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  2. oh so modern

    oh so modern 12oz Member

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    oh so modern - Replied Jun 5, 2005

    second that.
    one love.
     
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  3. SF1

    SF1 12oz Elite Member

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    SF1 - Replied Jun 5, 2005

    ...
     
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  4. KaBar2

    KaBar2 12oz Senior Member

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    KaBar2 - Replied Jun 5, 2005

    Oh, ye of little faith. Are you sure you're not a police officer, Officer?

    Nevertheless, here's the scoop, as best I can remember it..

    1960 (or so) I lived in the South Park Addition, on Southwell Street. It was a working class white neighborhood---pretty rough even then. Ever seen the movie "The Outsiders?" Kind of like that. I haven't been back there in a long time, but trust me, it is a serious gang-banger hellhole now, about 99% black. The cops call it "The War Zone," because it was built right after WWII (1947) and a lot of the streets are named after WWII battles---Tarawa Street, Okinawa Blvd., Pelieu Street, etc., and also because there is constant gang warfare.
    I went to Kelso Elementary School, a couple of blocks from my house.

    A half mile or so west from my house was the Santa Fe "New South Yards" (now it's a BNSF yard, they dropped the "New" and it's just BNSF South Yard.) Behind a Fed-Mart store on Mykawa Road was the T&NO jungle (Texas & New Orleans) which had been there a long time. The T&NO Junction has been there well over 100 years. It's near the cormer of Griggs and Mykawa Road. The Fed-Mart long ago turned into a Fiesta Store. Where I-610 Loop is now was a huge empty field that went for miles east and west. It was land that had been purchased in the early 1950's for the I-610 Loop, part of the bypass which would allow military traffic on the Interstate to go around Houston. We played and built forts and tree houses, etc. in that big field. My friend Dusty and I used to spy on the hobos in the jungle behind the Fed-Mart store. They used the water faucet on the back of the store to get water, wash clothes, take a bath, etc.

    The Santa Fe line that goes south out of New South Yards goes south to Virginia Point, and then across the Galveston Bay Causeway to Galveston's freight yards. When I was about 11 or so (1961), we hopped a slow-moving Santa Fe freight to Galveston in the middle of the night. Dusty, Gary, me and a couple of other kids whose names I cannot remember. Once we got on it, we were all scared shitless because we had no idea where it was going, and it did not stop until it got to Galveston. Where we got off is now a big grain elevator yard, full of grainers. I don't remember anything but boxcars back then, but I was just a kid. Shortly after we got off, another one headed back to Houston rolled north, and we got on that one and rode back to New South Yards, and got off about two blocks from our bicycles, hidden in a ditch.

    My family sold the house on Southwell, and moved to a city within Houston called West University. Today, this is a very upscale, ritzy part of town, but back then it was a working-class suburb. I ran into a guy I knew from South Park, an older kid (16-17) named Denny. Denny's grandmother lived in Galveston. He spent the summers there, and had tried a new thing: surfing. The boards were long and heavy. The first board I ever saw was made of balsa wood covered with fibreglas (which was kind of new back then.) My parents would not buy me a board until I proved I could ride one. Denny taught me to surf "straight-off Adolph" style: no turns, no climbing and dropping. The summer of 1963, Denny worked at a surfboard rental stand on the beach next to the 25th Street pier, which has the Treasure Isle Hotel on it now. Across the street was the Surf Drive-In, where we ate lunch every day. I was in heaven. Because Denny worked there, I got to use surfboards for free, as long as I waxed them up for tourists. I spent all day surfing, scoping out the teenaged girls in bikinis, and helping tourists try to learn to surf. At the end of the summer, I bought a beat-up 9'6" "pop-out" (mass-produced) pintail from the surfboard rental business. The owner was getting rid of all the older, less attractive boards. It was a major piece of shit, but I was SO PROUD of it. It was so heavy (about 40 pounds) I could barely carry it if there was any breeze whatsoever.
    I surfed winter ("shorty" beaver-tail wet suit) and summer every chance I got all through junior high school and well into high school. In 1964, my father and I built a board, 9'2", with a composition skeg, a built-up tail block and built-up nose blocks. The blocks were built of white pine and redwood, sandwiched together (this was popular then--today it's totally passe'.)
    I got part-time jobs, first working at a Baskin-Robbins 31 Flavors ice-cream shop, then as a busboy at a Chinese restaurant. I saved all my wages and tips and bought a brand-new 9'6" three-stick Jacobs when I was 16. It cost $196, a HUGE amount of money back then for a high-school kid. That same board today would cost around $1400.

    In 1967,two major things happened. My parents got divorced, and that summer, I went to California with several of my older surfing buddies. They were on a one-last-fling trip, before they had to report for duty to various branches of the military, mostly Navy or Air Force. My cousin was a ground-pounder in the Army, in Vietnam. We were worried sick he would get killed. The Vietnam War was in full swing. EVERYBODY was against it just about, especially anybody of draft age. It was the "Summer of Love" in San Francisco. When we got to S.F., it was overwhelming. We went to Haight-Ashbury, and it was like being in a carnival side show of freaks. I fell in love with being a hippie, smoking dope, the whole deal. It was like an entire neighborhood of runaway kids, and hardly a responsible adult to be found anywhere. People sold marijuana and LSD right out in the open. It was like "What cops? There ain't no cops." We were stunned. We went back to Southern California to a town called Encinitas, and stayed with a hippy commune called Noah's Vibrations (I swear this is true.) Because I was under age, I slept up on the flat roof of the commune with all the other kids younger than 18. We surfed all the spots in Encinitas, but especially Swami's and Stone Steps. we also used to drive south to Cardiff and surf there. Once in a while, we'd surf Cotton's Point or Trestle's, on the Camp Pendleton Marine Corps Base. When the summer was over, all my best friends went into the service. I was really bummed out. When school started, just about everyone I knew was getting high, and participating in the anti-war movement. The leadership was from Students for a Democratic Society (SDS.) I joined a high-school group that mimicked SDS called SUDS (Student Union for Democratic Schools.) There were anti-war marches and protests all that winter, and major partying going on on the weekends.

    Within SUDS, we met many SDS members (college kids) from University of Houston, St. Thomas University, Texas Southern University and so forth. They had an "underground" newspaper called Space City News. There were several "SDS" houses scattered around the city, especially in a new "hip" neighborhood that was more-or-less Houston's Haight-Ashbury, called "Montrose." At one of the SDS houses, I met anarchist college kids for the first time. The SDS house had a library made up of all the books the SDSers didn't want to haul home. They gave me a copy of The Floodgates of Anarchy, by Stuart Christie and Albert Meltzer, which I still have. I got the address of the Black Flag Group in London, and wrote them, asking if they knew Christie's address. Stuart wrote me back, and we started a correspondence. Here I was, 17 years old, corresponding with some of the best-known anarchists in the world! I guess it sounds lame ass now, but I was really excited to be accepted as an equal by these guys in London. I started trying to form a Houston anarchist group. I also corresponded with writers from Freedom!, the oldest continuously-publishing anarchist newspaper in the world.

    I threw myself into the anti-war movement. Most of my friends were into "The Movement" too. We surfed Galveston, Freeport, Sargent Beach and Quintana Beach. Easter vacation, we went to South Padre Island, near the Mexican border. Every summer, I went surfing in California with various groups of friends, all through high-school. I was not a good student, and had to do an extra semester to graduate. I got out of school in 1969. My girlfriend and I ran away to California (where I had lots of contacts) and wound up camping for most of the summer in Pfieffer Big Sur. We hitch-hiked all over. I had already had a big confrontation with the draft board in Houston, and had applied for conscientious objector status. I got a passport, and was preparing to go to Canada if they denied me C.O. status. My girlfriend and I broke up at the end of summer. She went to Austin, to the University of Texas. I was accepted as a C.O., and went to work in a rehabilitation hospital, taking care of paralyzed men and boys. I worked there for two years, and during that time was organizing and trying to build a bigger anti-war movement. I met some guys from the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW.) They were philosophically about as close to anarchists as anybody I had found. The IWW is pretty much an anarcho-syndicalist union. We had an anarchist group of about fifteen people, of varying ages and committment levels. I joined the IWW when I was 20.

    In 1971 (I think) President Richard Nixon ended the Draft. All of us in the Houston anti-war movement were sort of stunned. It was like disbelievingly "We won?" The U.S. removed all troops from Vietnam in 1972, but almost immediately after Nixon ended the Draft, the anti-war movement just completely disappeared. Boom. Overnight. We would go to a demonstration, and where we had thousands a month before, it would be the same 250 radicals. The Communists over here. The Trotskyists over there, the Democratic Socialists in a third group, and a little knot of anarchists. Virtually no "regular people," just "activists." Where the fuck did everybody go? I finally had to accept a bitter truth---they were only interested in their own selves. They didn't give a shit about Vietnam, the Vietnamese people who were being slaughtered by the million, or "fighting the system." It was all about me, Me, ME. The "Me" Generation had arrived. I was fucking furious.

    More later.
     
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  5. GnomeToys

    GnomeToys 12oz Elite Member

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    GnomeToys - Replied Jun 5, 2005

    I don't really see what the problem with his stories are, but this has nothing to do with me so I'll just post this:

    [​IMG]
     
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  6. POIESIS

    POIESIS 12oz Member

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    POIESIS - Replied Jun 5, 2005

    oh brother...
    this should be closed for 2 very obvious and legitimate reasons.
     
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  7. GLIK$

    GLIK$ Dirty Dozen Crew

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    GLIK$ - Replied Jun 5, 2005

    Firstly, me and Kabar's e-peronalities dont click. Two different ends of a spectrum i suppose.

    But, if the head of a secret government agency came to me and asked who I would rather have cloned, it would be Kabar, because SF1... I can not seriously understand how you're smart enough to keep breathing.

    About Kabar's life stories being far fetched, believe it or not.. some people actually leave the cities theyre born in! And sometimes these lead to wacky little happenings.

    Slow your roll with your fucking calling out cops there little buddy. You aint not Columbo.
     
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  8. KaBar2

    KaBar2 12oz Senior Member

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    KaBar2 - Replied Jun 5, 2005

    One of my surfing buddies was also into motorcycles. This was pretty common, the surfer crowd also was into building hot rods and motorcycles . (Some of the wealthier surfers also were into snow skiing, but from Texas you have to go to Colorado to get any decent skiing. We were working-class surfers. No trips to Colorado.) This guy joined the Bandidos MC, and I would see him once in a while with some of his Bandido brothers. He was still real friendly with all of us that had known him before he became a Bandido, but if he was with them, he was kind of stand-offish.
    I had owned a whole series of smaller motorcycles. The U.S. motorcycle market back then was Harleys, a few Indians that were still running, and lots of British bikes and German bikes. Nortons, Triumphs, BSA's, MotoGuzzi's, Zundapps and BMW's, etc. Honda's machines were considered insignificant. Kawasaki, Suzuki, etc. were only very rarely seen. I'm not sure when they started getting imported in big numbers, but it could not have been before 1966. In 1968, Honda brought out the "flat four" CB750. It was an instant success, but I did not know anyone who owned a Japanese motorcycle until the late 1970's. Everybody wanted Harley's, or British bikes.

    I bought a used 1961 Volkswagen "Kombi" micro-bus in 1969. It had rear doors on both sides and a 37-1/2 hp engine. I equipped it with a full-length roof rack and painted it 14 different colors. I got stopped by the cops about 50 times that summer. It was cheap to run, but slow as Christmas. It was okay for local transportation around Houston, but I didn't trust the VW for long trips. For long trips, I hitch-hiked.
    While I was up in Chicago on IWW business, some guys wanted to catch a freight train west to the coast. Since I was young and fearless, I went along, and I discovered I really enjoyed it. I met Rufe, and travelled with him for a while. I learned all about "living on the bum." That was when I just lost all fear of being broke.

    I was living in a "collective" that published an underground newspaper called Abraxas. I always thought it was a lame-ass paper, but it was an IWW shop, and I was hoping it would turn into something bigger. I was the editorial cartoonist, among other things.

    I met my first wife when we got a call from another collective that needed help. They had a self-described "lesbian" woman there whose estranged husband (supposedly a Klan member) was harrassing the house, shooting at them, etc. We agreed to help, and went over there at night in a borrowed car to pick her up on the fly. It was all quite exciting. We were all carrying guns, ready to shoot it out with the bad guys, which fortunately turned out to be not necessary.

    The first week or two, she didn't leave the house at all in the daylight. After a while, I started escorting her out for walks at night, always packing. Strolling around the neighborhood we got to be pretty good friends--turned out she wasn't a lesbian after all. She asked me to move into her room, which was supposed to be the "gay women's room." It kind of pissed off the other women in the collective that Diana wasn't gay, for some reason. She had a lot of petty ass arguments with them. Then the collective turned down a proposition by me and another guy to start a construction company, and I said "Fuck it." Diana and I left, and headed for California. We had $35 to our names, which she was very worried about, but I knew we could survive. We hitched all over, and later caught freight trains. Since I was in the IWW, she joined too. We travelled all over the west coast, to Canada, and eventually to Chicago, for the IWW Convention. (The GHQ of the IWW is no longer in Chicago, these days it's in Philadelphia, I think.) Diana was a very tough chick. She was not in the slightest bit afraid to hitch all the way across the U.S., but she did not like riding trains very much. But she did not complain, ever. She found conflict and danger to be a little thrilling, I think.

    Eventually, we moved back to Houston and got married. It didn't last. I had started having second thoughts about being a C.O. during Vietnam (the South Vietnamese were defeated in 1975) and I found myself feeling that I had made a mistake. Jimmy Carter was President. I trusted Carter's decisions. I enlisted in the Marine Reserves, went to Boot Camp, and when I returned, found out Diana had been cheating on me. We divorced. I went back into the Marines (this is called "augumentation to the regulars") and served the rest of my four years. I got out as a sergeant, honorable discharge in 1980. I remained in the inactive Reserves until 1982. There was only one conflict while I was in, with Iran, in 1980, when President Reagan was elected. Our battalion was stationed on Okinawa then, and my battalion (2nd Battalion, 1st Marines, known as "2/1") was the "primary air contingency battalion" for the Western Pacific. It's a rotation deal. The first month there, the BN is "tertiary air contingency battalion." (That's third-in-line.) The second month, the BN is "Primary" (first.) The third month, "secondary," and so forth. If the shit hit the fan, we would be first to go. Everybody believed that as soon as Reagan took office, he would immediately attack Iran, because Iran was holding 14 young Embassy guard Marines as hostages. The Marine Corps was really furious, the entire Corps was ready to go slaughter the shit out of the Iranians, we were just waiting for a green light. The day Reagan took office was the 444th day they had been in captivity. They were being beaten, kept handcuffed and blindfolded 24-hours a day, and just mistreated in general. Three days before Reagan took office, we were placed on alert. The battalion went crazy, preparing to be launched, certain that we were to be "First to Fight." ("First to Fight" is a Marine Corps motto.) We were working twenty hours a day, inspecting, repairing, re-inspecting weapons, equipment, radios, etc., etc.

    What we didn't know was that Colonel Oliver North had cut a secret deal with Iran. It is now known as the Iran-Contra Scandal. As Reagan took office, Iran immediately released the hostages and allowed them to be flown home. It looked, to the rest of the world, like the Iranians were scared of Reagan. In fact, it was COL North and his Stinger missles deal from Israel that got the Marine hostages released. And we went on stand-down status, much to my relief. I had little desire to die in Iran, but for a few days it looked like we were fixing to jump on the airport at Tehran and kick some ass.

    A few months after we returned from The Rock (Okinawa,) I got out of the Marines, and moved to San Francisco. My girlfriend and I got married, my second marriage. About a year later, my daughter was born in San Francisco. We moved to Washington State, shortly after I had a motorcycle accident, to be near her parents. I was in the Washington National Guard for a year, in a tank battalion. I joined a motorcycle club in Walla Walla, WA. We had 54 members, mostly Harley riders, but we would accept any marque.

    While there, my wife and I both got a 2-year community college degree, me in Machine Tool Technology, her in Accounting. We moved again, back to Houston. She finished her BS in Accounting at University of Houston, then I went to Nursing School and became an RN.

    In 1993, the BATF attacked the Branch Davidians in Waco. There was a 51 day stand-off, then, while the FBI attacked them in combat engineer vehicles (read "tanks") the entire building burned to the ground, killing 80 people, including about 20 children, of all races. The exact count is unsure, due to the intense fire.

    I joined the militia, as soon as I could find them. Since they were pretty secretive, it wasn't easy, but eventually I located a contact. I was active in the militia about seven years. I don't believe that Bill Clinton and Janet Reno had any idea how close they came to setting off a civil war. It was pretty close. If the Feds had done another Waco, "boom."

    The Oklahoma City bombing drove the militia movement underground. The members are still there, they still have all their weapons and equipment, but they are "inactive." They do not train out in the open any longer.

    After the militia went into stand-down, I started hiking on my own. I started checking out the old hobo jungles I knew about, and started cleaning them up. Kind of like "urban camping."

    I still ride freight trains once in a while, and I love to build new hobo jungles and keep my old ones cleaned up. I leave fresh water, firewood and canned food for the boys. I started going up to the National Hobo Convention in Britt, Iowa. It's a lot of fun. You ought to try it some August.

    So. That's the story, and every word is true. Hope you enjoyed it.
     
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  9. ODS-1

    ODS-1 12oz Elite Member

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    ODS-1 - Replied Jun 5, 2005

    I just skimmed through that. All I saw was references to motorcycles and militias.
     
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  10. KaBar2

    KaBar2 12oz Senior Member

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    KaBar2 - Replied Jun 5, 2005

    I don't know why it annoys me to be called a liar. Like it makes any difference, anyway. LOL.
     
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  11. CACashRefund

    CACashRefund 12oz Loyalist

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    CACashRefund - Replied Jun 5, 2005

    Dont worry about SF1,
    Last night he "exposed" me as a police officer, it made for pretty good comedy, especially since he is not kidding. He really believes that im a cop.
     
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  12. villain

    villain 12oz Veteran Member

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    villain - Replied Jun 5, 2005

    Hmm... Interesting.

    So lets see some of your art Kabar....
     
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  13. SF1

    SF1 12oz Elite Member

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    SF1 - Replied Jun 5, 2005

    ...
     
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  14. casekonly

    casekonly 12oz Veteran Member

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    casekonly - Replied Jun 5, 2005

    kabar is good people. he enjoys setting the kisd straight.
    besides, his stories are cool. just enjoy them.
     
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  15. fatalist

    fatalist Dirty Dozen Crew

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    fatalist - Replied Jun 5, 2005

    word, the man is no fraud!
     
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