Andy The Moose

Winky’s was the fore-runner of McDonald’s. Everything they started with we at Winky’s had 10 years prior, including the company that made the very same meat patties. At the tender age of 15, in 10^th grade, I was able to secure a job there as a cook, sweeper, cleaner, cashier, what-ever. I needed the one-dollar an hour so bad that I made myself indispensable, and by the time I entered my senior year I was working 50 or 60 hours a week or more bucking for another promotion, this time to assistant manager, which would bump me up to a whopping $1.75 per hour, a substantial raise considering that my previous promotion had lifted me from a buck an hour to $1.25 per.

The Winky’s in McKees Rocks was a very popular place during the late 1960’s and the early 1970’s. At 17 cents per burger and 23 cents per cheeseburger and 17 cents for a small fry (and we had by far the best fries in town) there were often lines out the door for hours at a time; mostly during lunch, dinner, and after show or bar time. Even with the first price increase the burgers were still 20 cents and the “Big Wink” (think Big Mac) was only 40 cents.

I managed to get my loudmouth, arrogant younger brother a job there though he complained about the work and often didn’t show up. I covered for him as best I could because he needed the money too as did my family, as much as the left-overs that I managed to bring home nightly, in great quantity, sometimes even by accident. There was always a bit left over when we closed, we made so many at one time (50 burgers at once for instance) that I was told, off the record, to take any left-overs home to my most needy family. Everybody, even me by then, knew that we were the poorest family in town.

Across the 4-lane street, a major state route, was an Eat n Park. Beside us sharing the same parking lot was a White Tower. Directly behind us was the police station and one of the worst housing projects in the entire state of PA. There were 12 bars, 4 dance clubs, 3 private clubs (Elks, Vets, Legion) a cinema, a cigar and dirty book store open 24 hours, and a liquor store. Two steel mills, a paper mill, several specialty steel shops and the main work yard for the railroad as well as the Ohio River were a golf shot’s distance away. The second-worst housing project in the state was on top of a huge hill over-looking it all and the junction was “home base” for the motorcycle gang “The Pagans”.

Into this crowd I embarked, almost every night, usually at midnight or 1 or 2 a.m.; walking homeward bound with my bag of goodies for the folks at home, accompanied by my brother when he worked and 1 or 2 of the girls who worked there. I was to see them safely home, it was just expected. The direct path to our house was a mile and half, and really, it was up a very steep hill for the last half-mile or so. That’s if I went directly home.

Most nights I had someone to walk home, often several. I used this opportunity to practice my “rap”, as I had the girls un-divided attention all the way home; for at least 30 minutes unless we dallied, as I liked to.

The “project” people and the “bar” people were a tough crowd on any given night, but the Pagans were a force to be reckoned with. I made my peace with them through the generous donation of a large bag of “left-overs” whenever they were there when we left, which was regularly. Joey was the leader and his younger brother Chas was part of his muscle, but they were many, many more of them, 30 or 40 and more many nights. Andy The Moose was their main enforcer; at 35 he was as big as a barn and tough as a wild cat. 6 foot 4 inches tall, 350 pounds of fat and mostly brute strength. He was also crazy as a loon and everybody knew it. His reputation was wide and well known. People had been hurt badly, gone missing, or completely, brutally beaten by him in front of so many people that everybody either steered clear of him or just said “High” and kept on going. Joey usually had him under control but one could never tell when Andy The Moose would snap, or would be ordered to. He enjoyed his job as enforcer for the Pagans and was well paid for it.

Eddie (my rather foolish younger brother) was sitting on the curb waiting for me to get done waiting with one of the girls while her ride showed up. I was happy to wait for her ride this evening because to walk her home put me about 2 miles out of my way. Much easier to sit with her at the bus stop b.s. ing than walk a total of 4 extra miles after a 14 hour work day not counting school, which I often blew off in order to get more hours at work. The fact that I was permitted to do this is another story all in all. Joey, Chas and a couple dozen Pagans’ were hanging around as usual, drinking, smoking reefer, goofing off and laughing at my efforts to seduce the young maiden. Well fed by my “left-overs”, they were just conversing and keeping an eye on things at their “hang-out corner” while we waited for her mom to pick her up before heading home ourselves.

Along came a few dozen more, who begin to pester me about food. All I had left was a small bag for the house and I told them so. No problem, they went to the White Tower (open 24 hours) and ordered; those that were hungry, that is. Next along was Andy The Moose, who immediately after parking his extremely loud Harley asked Eddie for some food. Eddie said that we had none left, to which Andy The Moose replied, jokingly I’m sure, “Well, go back in there, turn everything back on and fry me up a couple”. My stupid, loud-mouthed brother answered back, of all the things he could have said while sitting on the curb talking to an enforcer for the Pagans while surrounded by at least 50 more Pagans including the leader, “FUCK YOU”.

Oh my. I looked up and saw it coming as I stood to move towards them, leaving the girl momentarily alone on the bus stop bench. Andy The Moose ran towards my sitting brother and perfectly executed a kick at Eddie, who was a sitting duck so to speak. If his head were a football that field goal would have been good from 45 yards or more. Not only did I see it but at least 50 or 75 other people saw it too; and most of them had heard the entire conversation leading up to the encounter. That was no way to talk to an enforcer for the Pagans, that’s for sure, particularly when he was with his gang; but that was really out of line for Andy The Moose to kick a 16 year old kid in the head like that when he was sitting down not even looking.

“Damn it” was my first words, followed by a scream of rage as I saw Eddie’s ear hanging on by a thread. Blood was everywhere and he was crying, trying to put his ear back on. What a rotten development. Here I was, end of a long day, trying to make time with some chick, and now I have to defend my brother’s inexcusable actions. But Andy The Moose’s actions were at least as bad, so momentarily the crowd was neutral.

Yelling “Kick my brother in the face you fat pig, I’ll kill you” I was already regretting what was about to happen but nevertheless I ran headlong at him and caught him by surprise. My 17-year-old 160-pound body leveraged his perfectly and knocked Andy The Moose over; unfortunately he landed on me with all 350 pounds. He then began to methodically hammer at me, hitting me all over my body. I was protecting my face, which was about all I could control with him on top of me, but he did clobber the top of my head several times, which hurt like hell, I don’t mind saying. He yanked me up by the scruff of my shirt collar and landed a haymaker from all the way back in right field directly to my jaw, which knocked me sprawling out into the 4-lane road and landed me on the hood of an approaching automobile who somehow thankfully managed to stop as I landed on the hood of his car.

Andy The Moose came in quickly for the kill, and again was on top of me pummeling me everywhere but my face, which I continued to somehow protect. He lay on me, and I on the hood of this car, looking through the windshield at an astonished driver who obviously wasn’t about to get out of his vehicle to assist me under these circumstances as I’m sure it must have looked like a major riot was happening when in reality everyone (about 200 or so now, as all traffic had stopped and the nearby bars had emptied out to watch and see what the hell’s going on here) was just observing except for me and Andy The Moose, and of course Eddie but he was obviously completely out of it. I remember thinking that I could have sold tickets to this event.

He reached way back with his huge right hand for what surely would have been the final blow. As he leaned right I twisted the same direction and we both fell off of the car’s hood, with Andy on the bottom, me on top, and all 500-plus pounds of us following his head directly to the pavement of the street. Whack. Ugh, what a sound. I never want to hear that sound again though it sure was a blessing that night.

At once blood came gushing out of every orifice on his head. Blood was coming out of the back of his head where he landed; his eyes, his nose, his ears, and his mouth. I whacked him a couple-three times on the nose and eyes while he was lying there to make sure had had a couple black eyes and a broken nose to show for his troubles, then kicked him in the balls a time or two. Jumping up before the crowd could get close, I pretended to get ready to kick him again while they watched, stunned, then pulled back my last kick and said “Hmm. He’s not worth it. Going kick my brother again?” Of course he was unconscious and couldn’t answer, that was said for the crowd’s benefit.

With the police station being about 75 yards away and in an almost direct line of sight the cops were there as I spoke. Joey, the Pagan leader, and his brother Chas had come over to me and I thought “oh-oh, their gonna finish up”. But they just stood there, amazed, as did everybody else who by now consisted of about 300 or more people not counting the just now arriving cops. Nobody said a word as the cops sent Eddie to the hospital in an ambulance and hauled me and a very groggy Andy The Moose to the jailhouse. We were follow by Joey, Chas and a few others the cops had selected to “help straighten this out”, including the driver of the car. It certainly didn’t appear to make a lot of sense. A 160-pound Catholic High School kid had just whipped the tar out of Andy The Moose, a feared member of the most feared motorcycle gang around.

My parents were hastily summoned, and my Mom brought with her a younger brother, Uncle Gil, an ex-para-trooper, and they too stood there in dis-belief. “Danny did that? To him?” was about all the words they, or anybody, could come up with. There were so many witnesses (none of whom had a clear view of the other side of the car where we (his head, I should say) landed that in fact that is exactly what was decided had happened. There were far too many witnesses all saying the same thing. “Andy The Moose kicked his brother in the face and Danny took exception to it and whipped him good. What would you do in the same circumstances”? Only I knew the truth, and I wasn’t telling. Andy The Moose, drunk out of his skull to begin with, had no recollection and nothing other than his black eyes and broken nose and bloodstained shirt and swollen balls to show for his efforts.

Myself I had no marks showing, though my ribs and top of my head, fortunately covered well by my long locks, hurt plenty. Andy The Moose, on the other hand, looked like he had been put through a meat grinder, and he looked like that for several weeks so many people who hadn’t actually seen this happen but had heard about it and well knew who had done this to him eventually saw Andy The Moose walking or riding around looking like death warmed over, for almost a month.

My Mom wanted charges pressed and for Andy The Moose to do hard time for what he had done to her favorite son, Eddie. Joey, the leader of the Pagans, whom I still had to deal with practically every day, just wanted Andy The Moose back, no problems. “All is forgotten”, he said to me and the Manager of Winky’s. “Danny only did what anybody would do to protect his family. I can’t believe he beat him that bad but I saw it with my own eyes.” Chas and Andy The Moose and the rest of the Pagan’s would do whatever Joey said, but they wouldn’t stand by and watch this go to a trial, because Andy The Moose would surely have been sent to jail. It was left to me to negotiate a settlement, and I did so by refusing to testify. My Mother was aghast! I finally convinced her by convincing the Manager of Winky’s that we did not need a war with these Pagans; it could not possibly be good for business, and that he should speak to my Mother.

I got the promotion at work the following week and soon I went from 2 tickets to the Prom and no date to having my choice of dates. A few years later when I applied for a job driving a taxi I was recognized as “the Dan Mc” who had whopped Andy The Moose of the Pagans’ and not only was I hired I soon became the Union Representative of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters. “Don’t mess with him,” they would whisper about me but I could hear, “and don’t mess with his family either. He don’t like that.” I’d laugh and not tell anyone what I was laughing about, but then I did that often and still do.