Almost 60 years after what locals called the
”
worst 40 hours
”
in Hollister history, the reverberations of the famed 1947
motorcycle invasion can still be felt throughout the city.
Almost 60 years after what locals called the “worst 40 hours” in Hollister history, the reverberations of the famed 1947 motorcycle invasion can still be felt throughout the city.
The drunken debauchery that accompanied the 1947 Hollister hill climb and races has become legendary. What actually occurred during that raucous weekend has been buried in myth, blurred by time and embellished by many who were there. But, the facts of that fateful weekend are more interesting than the fiction surrounding it.
Motorcycles, Mobs and Mayhem
It started when about 3,000 bikers thundered into Hollister on the morning of July 4, 1947, for the annual Gypsy Tour motorcycle races and hill climbs at Veterans Memorial Park and the Lavagnino Ranch west of the city. Although two additional police officers were hired in anticipation of the weekend’s festivities, the bikers proved overwhelming, according to newspaper accounts of the incident. The town, which had about 4,000 residents at the time, was nearly taken over by bikers. The impromptu fiesta gained momentum throughout the weekend. By Friday night, San Benito Street had become a combination drag race strip and target range for beer bottles. Nearly 50 people were arrested on charges ranging from public drunkenness to indecent exposure. Another 50 were injured and treated at Hazel Hawkins Hospital, roaring out of town before paying their bills.
“The annual Gypsy Tour swept to a near-tragic climax here Saturday night as some 30 California Highway Patrolmen armed with tear gas guns clamped in formal martial law on downtown Hollister in the face of several thousand riotous motorcyclists,” read the opening of the July 7, 1947, Evening Free Lance newspaper article. “After virtually taking over the town for almost two days, disregarding the orders of city police, marching an angry delegation to the police station with indignant demands, the cyclists were dispersed without bloodshed and order was restored to San Benito Street.”
The weekend grew increasingly tense when a “rebellious sentiment among the cycling crowd” spurred a group of bikers to gather in front of the police department to air their grievances about perceived police persecution. The group demanded more lenient treatment and even threatened “to bust open your jail if our pals aren’t turned loose.”
A mobile orchestra mounted on the back of a truck distracted the milling mob and prevented the conflict from escalating.
The Aftermath
By Sunday morning, the mob was gone. The “hoodlums” who stayed behind were either in the jail, the hospital or too drunk to ride. City workers cleaned up the mess, which included a half ton of broken glass. Others totaled up the cost of unpaid hospital bills. And city officials spoke out.
“They will learn that they cannot enter a town and tear it up without paying the bill,” Ted Holthouse, then chairman of the city’s park association, told the Free Lance after the motley mob moved out. Local police, unable to identify the ringleaders who had started the mayhem, called the motorcyclists “hoodlums” and “rowdies.” A local physician called them “constitutional psychopaths.”
The San Francisco Chronicle flew in a reporter and photographer to cover the “Havoc in Hollister” Friday night. Many other reporters and news outlets called the Free Lance newsroom long-distance to get the scoop. Free Lance editors did their best to help out fellow journalists at The Associated Press, United Press, International News Service, Chicago Tribune, Oakland Tribune and San Francisco Examiner. And after day full of phone calls, one local newsman fled to Gilroy “to obtain at least temporary respite from the jangling phone bells.”
The Legend Lives
Even the most mundane reports of what happened in 1947 seem exaggerated to those who were there carousing with the cyclists.
“(The invasion) was all stretched out of shape,” veteran Boozefighter Gil Aranas told the Free Lance last July over a beer at Johnny’s Bar and Grill. “We just went from one bar to another, just like everyone else. But the damage had already been done.”
Longtime Hollister resident Frank Chavez was 13 years old when the legend was born. Chavez blames the legend and exaggerations on the Time-Life photographer who later admitted to posing the infamous drunk-biker-on-a-hog photograph that appeared in Life Magazine in July 1947.
“That photo fooled everyone,” he said. “Now a lot of people will tell you they really raised hell, but they didn’t.”
Hollister resident Paul Arballo remembers the “invasion” as being much milder than the wild newspaper and magazine copy it spawned.
“Well one guy did ride his bike into the Smoke House (tavern), but he was taken out of town very quickly,” the 70-year-old said. “Nothing like ‘The Wild One’ ever happened here.”
The 1947 legend inspired the 1953 cult film “The Wild One” starring Marlon Brando.
Yet the myth of that fateful Fourth of July lives on, said Charisse Tyson, owner of biker Mecca Johnny’s Bar and Grill, the final resting place of 1947 legend and original Boozefighter Wino Willie Forkner’s ashes.
“We wouldn’t have anything to draw people here without it,” she said. “We would have no tourism.”
Hollister Mayor Robert Scattini, an unwavering supporter the modern-day reincarnation of the 1947 rally, believes the legends of that first rally will live on for decades to come.
“It put Hollister on the map,” he said. “That’s why people continue to come here, year after year. It’s become tradition.”
Brett Rowland covers public safety for the Free Lance. He can be reached at 831-637-5566 ext. 330 or
br******@fr***********.com
.
