Hambrick's Quarter Pound

This story takes place in the summer of 1964 in Hayward, California.  I had cooked hamburgers in Miami for Royal Castle all through high school.  They had cheap fifteen-cent hamburgers, five-cent birch beer served in frozen mugs and a thirty-five cent breakfast of eggs, grits and toast.  They hired young school kids and old alcoholics with questionable backgrounds.  Anyone willing to work for less than minimum wage as a “trainee” for three months.  They would then bump you to minimum wage and called it a raise.  Actually it was the bare minimum required by law.  The “trainee” dodge was just a money saver.  Tipping was not allowed.  You could however eat all the burgers you wanted.  Minimum wage in the early 60’s was $1.15 an hour.

I heard that California had higher wages so I drove out to Hayward in 1964 with a friend to seek my fortune.  I was eighteen so employment opportunities were limited.  I got a job at the Hambrick’s Quarter Pound Giant Burger on the night shift.  This shop is located just next to the Hayward Plunge, the public pool.  The job paid $3.45 an hour but you had to join the Culinary Workers and Bartenders Local.  I made a down payment of $20 and agreed to pay the balance of $300 at the end of three months.  Since I would be back at school in three months I wasn’t worried.

I got trained by the outgoing night shift employee.  Since it was not busy at night the job mostly entailed cleaning the machines, sweeping and mopping the floor and scraping the grill.  The old night shift guy looked really old.  Hell, he was probably in his 30’s.  This is of course no longer funny.  I think his name was Bill.  He had dirty blonde hair, was slightly built, stood about five foot six and had a black eye.  On the last day of my training Bill explained the black eye, which was now a really pretty shade of purple.  Bill said that a local motorcycle gang had jumped him and given him his shiner.  That gang was now banned from the Quarter Pound.  I was instructed that if they came in I was to run into the back office, lock the door and call the Hayward Police.

Hambrick's Giant Burgers, 24134 Mission Blvd, Hayward, Calif.

I had known motorcycle clubs in Miami.  The Little River Rats were teenagers who rode around on Cushman’s, old BSA’s and Triumphs.  If they were really bad they owned a zip gun and shot holes in trashcans for amusement.  I thought Bill overreacted.  Bill then rounded out my education by pointing out the small all-night restaurant across the street that fronted as a brothel.  Big rigs would pull in, drivers would order a cup of coffee, chat up a waitress and the two of them would exit a side door and walk across an alley to the nearby hotel.  On slow nights you could watch the whole transaction.

Current Picture Hambrick's, Motorcycle Parking around back.

I began my night shift without incident.  I could get all of my cleaning done in a couple of hours and just had to wait on a few kids after dates and the occasional drunk.  At Royal Castle one of the old timers had taught me how to short out the jukebox.  The counter had a chrome box with a music menu and push button controller.  A patron would put in a nickel for one song or six plays for a quarter.  The actual jukebox with the 45-RPM records was in the back.  The two boxes were connected with a multi strand wire.  All you needed to do was to cut through the wire insulation and short out a couple of wires.  This wouldn’t give you any selection but would play music all night.

Jukebox Controller Mounted on counter

I picked a slow night for my assault on the jukebox.  The ten counter stools were empty and I had just served a couple at the walk-up take out window.  There were no other cars in the lot.  I used my pocketknife to slice the wire under the counter.  I sat on the floor as I stripped off the insulation.  I would then use a fine piece of bare wire to act as my temporary short.  This was the delicate part where I needed to place the short wire so that it could be activated by a mere squeeze of the outer insulation.  I heard the door open and the shuffling of feet.  I announced from under the counter that I would be right with them.

When I finished my “excellent-if-I-do-say-so-myself” job I saw the folks who had entered.  There, standing not more than four feet from me, were about twelve to fifteen Hells Angles.  This was 1964 so I had never heard of the Hells Angels but I could see the difference.  These were not teenagers on Cushman’s these were adults on Harley’s.  Not just ordinary adults but adults who had last bathed during the Eisenhower administration.  As an eighteen year old the whole scene was frightening.  I looked back at the twenty feet that stood between me and the back office door.  It might as well have been twenty miles.  No way would I make it before something bad happened.  I didn’t know what bad that might be but common sense told me I needed to think of something.

I asked if there was a leader of this group.  All eyes moved in the direction of the alpha male who identified himself as Dirty Ed.  Now his name may or may not have been Ed but the dirty handle fit him like a glove if it referred to his personal hygiene.   I moved in Ed’s direction and explained my dilemma.  I told him that I would be fired if I served his group and the boss happened to drive by and see them sitting at the counter.  The tribe began to grumble so this was not a good sign.  I then explained that I had a solution.  Ed listened.

Hell's Angles

My offer was that I would serve all of them if they would move their bikes to the back area of the shop where they wouldn’t be visible from the street.  They could then send one or two to the take out window where I would take their orders.  Since I had heard that they were banned at all of nearby all night establishments this would help them too.  I further explained that if I was fired they would just be going through this all over again with the next guy.

Ed thought for a moment and then gave a quick hand signal.  Everyone left through the front door.  Their bikes were cranked and they move behind the shop.  Two members came to the take out window and placed several orders.  They paid their bill, ate on their bikes in the back and eventually left.  It was a good night.  I had music and just enough time left to air out the place.  They had left a peculiar odor and I think my underwear needed changing.

Roughly What I Saw From Behind the Counter

About once or twice a week motorcycles would roar into the rear parking area and the whole sequence would be repeated.  On slow nights I would go out back and talk to them when there were just a few in the group.  It seems I had arrived at a time when the old local gang was being brought into the Hells Angels.  The old gang was the Hayward Question Marks.  They all sported a question mark tattoo on their forearms.  They decided to join the larger Hells Angels.

After I left Hayward and returned to Miami I remember seeing a Life Magazine article on the now famous Hells Angels.  In the list of colorful names included in the article I recognized one.  The names mentioned were:  Little Jesus, the Gimp, Chocolate George, Buzzard, Zorro, Hambone, Clean Cut, Tiny, Terry the Tramp, Frenchy, Mouldy Marvin, Mother Miles, Dirty Ed, Chuck the Duck, Fat Freddy, Filthy Phil, Charger Charley the Child Molester, Crazy Cross, Puff, Magoo, and Animal. In the pictures thought I recognized a few faces behind the dirt, but who knows.