Searching For My Identity (Vol 1) - Edward Winterhalder

Searching For My Identity (Vol 1) (eBook)

The Chronological Evolution Of A Troubled Adolescent To Outlaw Biker

Edward Winterhalder (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2023 | 1. Auflage
360 Seiten
Blockhead City (Verlag)
979-8-9858817-2-1 (ISBN)

Volume 1 of Searching For My Identity is a chronological autobiography of an outlaw biker that covers his life from troubled adolescent in the sixties to prominent leader of a notorious international motorcycle club in January 2001. Intended for the general public and those in the academic community that find the outlaw biker aspects of anthropology, criminology, sociology, psychology, ethnography, deviant behavior, criminal justice, pop culture and humanities interesting, this is an extremely unique opportunity to learn about the lifestyle. Due to the growing recognition of motorcycle clubs and outlaw bikers in pop culture, interest in the topic has recently exploded worldwide creating an insatiable demand for information on the secretive subculture that most people find intriguing, but most people are oblivious to the truth-the majority of the world's motorcycle club members are legitimate hardworking men that rarely cause anyone problems. Contrary to the meth-addicted violence prone image regularly portrayed by the media, most of today's outlaw bikers are productive contributing members of society that love motorcycles and the lifestyle, and the only thing they're guilty of is having too much fun on the weekends.Wondering if the primary cause of his psychologically skewed mind was the result of inherited behavior or learned behavior, Winterhalder recalls his life as a founding member of the Oklahoma Bandidos; the assimilation of the Rock Machine in Canada; the Quebec Biker War; his unsuccessful deportation; and the murders, assassinations, betrayal and drug use that contributed to his disillusionment and eventual departure from the organization.Although the book includes some of the storyline found in Out In Bad Standings and The Assimilation, the narrative incorporated from those titles has been updated, revised and rewritten in a more professional manner, and features an additional fifty-thousand words about the author's life never published. Before reading Searching For My Identity (Volume 2): The Chronological Evolution Of An Outlaw Biker On The Road To Redemption, the publisher recommends a comprehensive review of Searching For My Identity (Volume 1): The Chronological Evolution Of A Troubled Adolescent To Outlaw Biker.

Chapter 1

The Very Beginning

June 1955 To September 1967

The day after I was born in the summer of 1955 my birth mother gave me up for adoption and I was sent to a foster home. At the time my biological father had no idea what was going on—my mother was in the process of getting divorced from him, and they had no contact with each other. As soon as he became aware of my fate my father petitioned the court in Hartford for custody but was unsuccessful. I’ve often wondered if this inauspicious beginning contributed to the path I took in life—adventure, recalcitrance, and misadventure—which eventually led to the world of outlaw bikers.

Six months later I was adopted by Warren and Helen (Dolly) Winterhalder. The childless couple resided in Hamden, a quiet suburb of New Haven, Connecticut. Warren was a World War II veteran and business forms salesman, and his wife a homemaker. I spent the first few years of my life playing in the backyard of our Gorham Avenue home, and attended kindergarten nearby.

Not long after I turned six we moved to a brand-new house in the center of a middle-class neighborhood in Northford, a town of less than one-thousand residents. A thirty-minute drive from Hamden, our new home was a three-bedroom, split-level house on Carlen Drive, which was a cul-de-sac. On the north side of the turnaround area at the end of the street was a pond, on the south side a large field where the neighborhood kids played baseball and football, and between the pond and field was a basketball hoop. The pond had a man-made dam, and there was a narrow bridge over the dam just wide enough for a human or bicycle to cross.

My earliest memory of the neighborhood was my mom allowing me to walk our dog, Skeeter, for the first time. I had to work hard to convince her that I could handle the canine, which weighed about as much as I did. Not long after Dolly handed me the leash Skeeter must have seen a cat, and the chase was on. I must have looked like a flag on a flagpole as the dog dragged me across the cul-de-sac. By the time she got Skeeter to stop running, I had suffered my first case of serious road rash. My pants and shirt were ripped open and I was a mess, bleeding all over the place.

In September of 1961 I started first grade at the William Douglas elementary school in Northford. I was nothing special, just another new kid on the block, but I did manage to get run over by a bunch of fifth graders playing football at recess time, causing my left leg to fracture below the knee.

When I was eight-years old I transferred to another school in Northford, along with every other student who had completed second grade. My only memory of the Stanley T. Williams elementary school is when president John F. Kennedy was assassinated on November 22nd of 1963. All the teachers were crying and the children were dismissed an hour early—school was even closed for the next few days. Everyone I knew was excited to be out of school until we found out that every TV channel had nothing on except news about the murder.

One day I was exploring the woods on the other side of the pond and discovered a yellow jacket hornet’s nest in a hollow at the base of a tree. I was fascinated with the little creatures, but not knowing a thing about them, I put my hand into the tree to see what would happen. It didn’t take long to find out, and as a result of my stupidity I was stung more than fifty times. It took my mom an hour to pull out the stingers and apply baking soda to my wounds.

By the time fourth grade rolled around I had figured out that I was smarter than most of the other kids. I was basically a straight A student, and spent a lot of time reading. Although I liked to read, I also loved watching television. Among my favorite shows growing up were Bonanza, Wagon Train, Route 66, and Mission Impossible. I found out years later that my biological father was an actor on Wagon Train—there I was glued to the television set, unknowingly watching my real father acting in one of my favorite westerns.

I soon developed a fascination with Myron Floren, who played accordion on the Lawrence Welk show, and as a result convinced my parents to let me take accordion lessons at the Betty Revegno music studio in Wallingford. Eighteen months later I was lucky enough to win first place in a state competition for ten-year old accordion players, but soon discovered the instrument wasn’t very hip—I decided the guitar was a much better choice.

My mom and dad wouldn’t let me have a guitar or take guitar lessons, so I continued my accordion lessons just so I could learn from a guitar teacher at the studio. I would go there early, and she would let me sit in the room and watch the sessions. After my accordion lesson I was able to borrow a school-owned guitar and practice what I had learned. It would be years before I could put all those guitar lessons to work, but I eventually did.

Until September of 1966 my life was fairly normal, with the exception that most of the neighborhood kids ostracized me for being intelligent. Like most kids my age I wasn’t good at sports, and failed miserably when given the opportunity. Despite the fact, I joined an organized Little League baseball team for a year and got to warm the bench, play outfield and second base. At an early age it was obvious playing sports was clearly not my forte and I moved on to bigger and better things.

When I was ten my entrepreneurial spirit began manifesting itself—I started shoveling snow, mowing lawns, and helping out at a dairy farm that bordered the neighborhood. The work didn’t pay much, but provided enough money to purchase vinyl LP records from my favorite musical artists at the local discount store.

A favorite pastime of mine was watching new houses get built in the neighborhood. This was the era of urban sprawl, and houses were going up left and right. For reasons unknown to me at the time I was fascinated with the construction process—it was as if building was ingrained in my soul. Thirty years later I learned that my biological father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were all master builders and carpenters. The apple definitely doesn’t fall far from the tree, and I eventually followed in their footsteps.

It was around this time that my parents told me I was adopted—this revelation changed my perspective on life in general. Although initially I was a little surprised when I heard the news, the stark reality of the situation explained a lot of things. Although the thought had crossed my mind, now I knew for sure why I was so different from my adopted parents in appearance, mentality and character.

The constant bickering that had been occurring in my home on a daily basis for as long as I could remember also had a profound impact on my childhood, and still does today. Warren would start drinking as soon as he got home from work, and then start arguing with Dolly shortly thereafter. My adopted parents would quarrel about everything, even mundane issues like the location of ornaments on the Christmas tree. They argued before dinner, during dinner, and after dinner—it never stopped. In the summer of 1966 I started avoiding the situation by not coming home after school, and eating dinner at a friend’s house whenever I could.

My adopted father was an average man who carried a lot of emotional baggage from the sudden death of his father when he was twelve. In hindsight I suppose it’s likely that Warren was self-medicating, but I was too young to understand the concept. Although my mom was proud of my high intellect, my dad resented it. One time he got very upset when I managed to put together a Christmas present I received—Warren had been unable to assemble the toy and must have been embarrassed, because he never bought me another present that required assembly.

Until this time I didn’t have any close friends, and loneliness was my constant companion. Music was an escape mechanism that allowed me to avoid the reality of my home life, but that was no longer keeping me pacified. I was beginning the search for my identity, but didn’t know it.

I was transferred to the junior high school in North Branford for the start of sixth grade in September of 1966. Northford was part of North Branford, and I had to travel about five miles on the bus to get to school, which I thought was a long way to travel!

The sixth graders from North Branford were different, and I soon fell into what some would say was the wrong crowd. These kids didn’t mock me for being smart, or condemn me for my lack of talent on the sports field. They accepted me as one of their own, and soon I was one of the group’s leaders and main instigators. My new friends were from the ‘other side of the tracks’, but I felt at home with them for reasons I didn’t understand. Since I had been raised as an only child all my life, it’s quite possible that for the first time I felt what it was like to have brothers.

During my sixth-grade year I went through a massive amount of change. Until then I had been a model student and diligent son, but now I was starting to question all types of authority and developed new friendships that would have a monumental impact on me. The first and foremost was Peter...

Erscheint lt. Verlag	1.5.2023
Sprache	englisch
Themenwelt	Literatur ► Biografien / Erfahrungsberichte
	Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
	Sachbuch/Ratgeber ► Geschichte / Politik
	Sozialwissenschaften ► Ethnologie
	Sozialwissenschaften ► Soziologie
ISBN-13	979-8-9858817-2-1 / 9798985881721

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