The Flanders Hotel in Ocean City, with the Copper Kettle Fudge shop bottom left
Flashback #2 - To the May Day When the Hell's Angels Came to Town -
Just back from Florida, Bay Shores manager Jack Murray drove over the causeway to Ocean City to see Mr. Kirkman at his penthouse apartment atop the Flanders’s Hotel. Parking on 11th street Murray walked in the back door and stuck his head in the barber shop to pay his respect to his old friend the barber, and let him know he was back in town. He then walked into the lobby and took one of the elevators to the top floor and walked down a long hall, and made a right and walked to the end of the corridor to the single door and knocked.
A young girl in a black French maid’s outfit answered and let him in and escorted him back to the living room, that had wrap around windows with spectacular panoramic views of the Flanders’s pools, the boardwalk, beach and ocean horizon.
“That you Murray,” Kirkman said, and Murray was a bit startled to turn around and see Mr. Kirkman sitting on a commode in a bathroom with its door open. A proclivity shared with other contemporaries with enormous power – President Johnson and Gen. LeMay, Kirkman seemed to enjoy making decisions and barking orders while relieving himself on his ivory seat, gold handle toilet that was next to a low picture window that gave a view of the Copper Kettle Fudge shop across the street and the pavilion across the boardwalk.
“I know why you’re here,” Kirkman said, “and I don’t want to have anything to do with Harry Anglemeyer,” as he looked out the commode window at his former next door neighbor's fudge shop and apartment.
“You know the legal status of his case,” Murray said emphatically.
“The status of his case is – a previously convicted con man currently serving time for preying on rich homosexuals and blackmailing them has confessed to targeting Anglemyer, killing him and taking his ring – and he will soon be entering a guilty plea in court. It’s all covered.”
“You mean covered up,” Murray said.
“My police sources in Florida tell me that the ring was pawned in Fort Lauderdale by one of my boys, a bouncer from the Dunes, and I understand that there’s another witness too.
“I know all that,” Kirkman said. “The witness had previously applied for a job as an Ocean City fireman and Mr. Stretch has hired him, so he’s now working for Mr. Stretch.
“Well my man is holed up in Florida and is afraid to come back to work if he’s going to be questioned about this, “Murray said.
“He won’t be questioned. You can tell him it’s safe to come back,” Kirkman reassured him, dismissing Murray with a wave of his hand.
As he was leaving through the door, Kirkman added, “And don’t come back to see me about this again. Mr. Stretch is handling this problem, go see him and keep me out of it.”
Around the same time Jack Murray left Kirkman’s apartment, Mayor Waldman was leaving the Lincoln Hotel where he had just given a short speech on the status of the town to the daily luncheon meeting of the Riverboat Club. The increases in the summer tourist business has been good for everybody, the tax rolls are fine and there will be no increases in taxes for the foreseeable future.
The mayor didn’t mention the incident he had with the Hells Angels earlier that morning. Even though the whole showdown only lasted a few minutes, the experience unnerved him and it stayed in the back of his mind, and he knew he hadn't heard the last of it.
Walking across 9th Street, the mayor walked down Wesley Avenue, past Dr. Townsends house with the big pillars, past Dr. Smith and Chris Montagne’s house with the wrap around porch, and stopped to say hello to Mrs. Somers, who was watering her flower and talking to her next door neighbor Mrs. Miller.
Mrs. Somers was related to the Somers family who founded Somers Point and once owned all of the barrier island that is now Ocean City, while Mrs. Parker Miller was the widow of Mr. Parker, the first year 'round resident of the island, a shipping insurance man who handled the Lifesaving Station crew and all the shipwreck matters for Loyds of London and all the shipping insurance companies. Mrs. Somers worked as a sales clerk at Copper Kettle Fudge, had been hired by Harry Anglemyer, and she stopped the mayor to shake his hand and ask about the Anglemeyer murder case, much to the astonishment of the staid Mrs. Miller, who stood back, somewhat aghast at the question.
The mayor said in a reassuring tone that there would be an announcement, “someone confessed and we shall see justice soon,” he said as he continued to slowly walk awkwardly on. Cutting through the Knight’s Pharmacy parking lot the mayor crossed the alley and took some mail out of the slot in the door and let himself in the small one man travel office. With travel posters on the wall the mayor walked behind the one desk, and as he sat down he opened his mail o the copy of the Nation magazine.
Although officially a conservative Republican, one of his constituents had given him a holiday gift subscription to the liberal publication and he found some of the articles interesting and stimulating, even though he disagreed with them, but was quite startled to read that May 17, 1965 issue.
The mayor could feel his blood suddenly begin to boil as he quietly read to himself the first few lines of the featured article: “Last Labor Day weekend newspapers all over California gave front-page reports of a heinous gang rape in the moonlit sand dunes near the town of Seaside on the Monterrey Peninsula. Two girls, aged 14 and 15, were allegedly taken from their dates by a gang of filthy, frenzied, boozed-up motorcycle hoodlums called “Hell’s Angels,” and dragged off to be ‘repeatedly assaulted.’”
The mayor stopped and thought of his own two teenage daughters, and continued reading:
“Some 300 Hell’s Angels were gathered in the Seaside-Monterrey area at the time, having convened, they said, for the purpose of raising funds among themselves to send the body of a former member, killed in an accident, back to his mother in North Carolina. One of the Angels, hip enough to falsely identify himself as ‘Frenchy of San Bernardino,’ told a reporter who came out to meet the cyclists: ‘We chose Monterey because we get treated good here; most other places we get thrown out of town.’”
The mayor winched, and picked up the phone and asked to speak to Mister Stretch, the Public Safety Commissioner.
Flashback #2 - To the May Day When the Hell's Angels Came to Town -
Just back from Florida, Bay Shores manager Jack Murray drove over the causeway to Ocean City to see Mr. Kirkman at his penthouse apartment atop the Flanders’s Hotel. Parking on 11th street Murray walked in the back door and stuck his head in the barber shop to pay his respect to his old friend the barber, and let him know he was back in town. He then walked into the lobby and took one of the elevators to the top floor and walked down a long hall, and made a right and walked to the end of the corridor to the single door and knocked.
A young girl in a black French maid’s outfit answered and let him in and escorted him back to the living room, that had wrap around windows with spectacular panoramic views of the Flanders’s pools, the boardwalk, beach and ocean horizon.
“That you Murray,” Kirkman said, and Murray was a bit startled to turn around and see Mr. Kirkman sitting on a commode in a bathroom with its door open. A proclivity shared with other contemporaries with enormous power – President Johnson and Gen. LeMay, Kirkman seemed to enjoy making decisions and barking orders while relieving himself on his ivory seat, gold handle toilet that was next to a low picture window that gave a view of the Copper Kettle Fudge shop across the street and the pavilion across the boardwalk.
“I know why you’re here,” Kirkman said, “and I don’t want to have anything to do with Harry Anglemeyer,” as he looked out the commode window at his former next door neighbor's fudge shop and apartment.
“You know the legal status of his case,” Murray said emphatically.
“The status of his case is – a previously convicted con man currently serving time for preying on rich homosexuals and blackmailing them has confessed to targeting Anglemyer, killing him and taking his ring – and he will soon be entering a guilty plea in court. It’s all covered.”
“You mean covered up,” Murray said.
“My police sources in Florida tell me that the ring was pawned in Fort Lauderdale by one of my boys, a bouncer from the Dunes, and I understand that there’s another witness too.
“I know all that,” Kirkman said. “The witness had previously applied for a job as an Ocean City fireman and Mr. Stretch has hired him, so he’s now working for Mr. Stretch.
“Well my man is holed up in Florida and is afraid to come back to work if he’s going to be questioned about this, “Murray said.
“He won’t be questioned. You can tell him it’s safe to come back,” Kirkman reassured him, dismissing Murray with a wave of his hand.
As he was leaving through the door, Kirkman added, “And don’t come back to see me about this again. Mr. Stretch is handling this problem, go see him and keep me out of it.”
Around the same time Jack Murray left Kirkman’s apartment, Mayor Waldman was leaving the Lincoln Hotel where he had just given a short speech on the status of the town to the daily luncheon meeting of the Riverboat Club. The increases in the summer tourist business has been good for everybody, the tax rolls are fine and there will be no increases in taxes for the foreseeable future.
The mayor didn’t mention the incident he had with the Hells Angels earlier that morning. Even though the whole showdown only lasted a few minutes, the experience unnerved him and it stayed in the back of his mind, and he knew he hadn't heard the last of it.
Walking across 9th Street, the mayor walked down Wesley Avenue, past Dr. Townsends house with the big pillars, past Dr. Smith and Chris Montagne’s house with the wrap around porch, and stopped to say hello to Mrs. Somers, who was watering her flower and talking to her next door neighbor Mrs. Miller.
Mrs. Somers was related to the Somers family who founded Somers Point and once owned all of the barrier island that is now Ocean City, while Mrs. Parker Miller was the widow of Mr. Parker, the first year 'round resident of the island, a shipping insurance man who handled the Lifesaving Station crew and all the shipwreck matters for Loyds of London and all the shipping insurance companies. Mrs. Somers worked as a sales clerk at Copper Kettle Fudge, had been hired by Harry Anglemyer, and she stopped the mayor to shake his hand and ask about the Anglemeyer murder case, much to the astonishment of the staid Mrs. Miller, who stood back, somewhat aghast at the question.
The mayor said in a reassuring tone that there would be an announcement, “someone confessed and we shall see justice soon,” he said as he continued to slowly walk awkwardly on. Cutting through the Knight’s Pharmacy parking lot the mayor crossed the alley and took some mail out of the slot in the door and let himself in the small one man travel office. With travel posters on the wall the mayor walked behind the one desk, and as he sat down he opened his mail o the copy of the Nation magazine.
Although officially a conservative Republican, one of his constituents had given him a holiday gift subscription to the liberal publication and he found some of the articles interesting and stimulating, even though he disagreed with them, but was quite startled to read that May 17, 1965 issue.
The mayor could feel his blood suddenly begin to boil as he quietly read to himself the first few lines of the featured article: “Last Labor Day weekend newspapers all over California gave front-page reports of a heinous gang rape in the moonlit sand dunes near the town of Seaside on the Monterrey Peninsula. Two girls, aged 14 and 15, were allegedly taken from their dates by a gang of filthy, frenzied, boozed-up motorcycle hoodlums called “Hell’s Angels,” and dragged off to be ‘repeatedly assaulted.’”
The mayor stopped and thought of his own two teenage daughters, and continued reading:
“Some 300 Hell’s Angels were gathered in the Seaside-Monterrey area at the time, having convened, they said, for the purpose of raising funds among themselves to send the body of a former member, killed in an accident, back to his mother in North Carolina. One of the Angels, hip enough to falsely identify himself as ‘Frenchy of San Bernardino,’ told a reporter who came out to meet the cyclists: ‘We chose Monterey because we get treated good here; most other places we get thrown out of town.’”
The mayor winched, and picked up the phone and asked to speak to Mister Stretch, the Public Safety Commissioner.
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