GREBO
“Now when I spoke to God/I knew he’d understand/He said, you stick by me I’ll be your guidin’ hand/But don’t ask me what I think of you/I might not give the answer that you want me to.” (Fleetwood Mac).
Coming from outside of Biker culture, the term Greaser was being collectively applied to those of a motorcyclist appearance. It is alleged to originate from a military habit of naming mechanics as Greasers (or Grease Monkeys), because of the oil and muck they were smeared with as a result of their occupation. Bikers into D.I.Y. repairs were occasionally well gunged, yet it is also understood that some gang members cultivated a grubbiness over their tattered clothes and persons for effect. However, in the UK, it had also been associated with Teds who used hair cream to style their coifs. It is possible that any reason, or a combination of the three, caused the nickname to be associated with motorcyclists.
From outside of biking, the basic idea of Greaser, or the foreshortened Grebo, implied that someone was undesirable. It was also used within biking to mean a person impersonating a bona fide motorcyclist. Frequently bikeless, they often wore inexpensive military blousons (often in cut-off style) instead of the denims worn by others (some further difficulties of ID arise here, because ex-military gear was also popular among Bikers). Slogans or images were crudely applied to these garments in biro. Instead of the leather biking jacket, a (‘joke’) PVC item of the kind used by commuters rather than enthusiasts was often worn. White paint put similar crudities amid the plug chains and a smattering of studs, while an uncleaned, let alone polished bike chain acted as a belt - and an alleged weapon. Of those who dressed this way, many were simply wannabe motorcyclists who were short on cash. What this imagery created was a kind of Proto Punk.
With the availability of sex and drugs becoming part of subcultural allure, youths who were part of the pseudo phenomenon increased in numbers. They infiltrated virtually every youth camp, under the impression that they could gain something without putting anything back in. Their behaviour was reminiscent of those working under-cover for the drug squads, who desperately attempted to assume the correct behavioural modes. Tracky Angels was the name applied to certain biking impersonators in South Yorkshire, in the UK. Some wore denim and leather, and sported tattoos and badges bearing bike marques. But that’s where their biking ended. Because Tracky was short for Yorkshire Traction, which is a bus company, and these Angels were among their passengers. They were not to be confused with people who’d had to leave or were going to fetch a bike. And it’s not that it wasn’t kosher to wear your leather jacket anywhere you choose. But the Tracky Angels’ crash-helmets were pure pseud. They carried them for pose, pretending they’d got where they were going by bike (even prior to the compulsory helmet laws).
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Though it had originated as a taunt, some gangs adopted the name Grease to underline the filthy image they enjoyed projecting onto the public. Meanwhile, bike enthusiasts recognised and used Greaser or Grebo, to refer to themselves in the same way that ‘Outlaw’ had been adopted. It became a bridging term between Rocker, motorcyclist and Biker.
At this time, the Skinheads and Suedes (with not-so closely cropped hair) had evolved from the Mod scene. Some of them continued a cycle of violence directed at Rockers, Grebos (and Blacks). This they did whether or not the victims were part of any biking club or gang. The Skinheads were infiltrated by militant groups who infused some of them with racism. This was based on the eugenic, super-race ideals of the Neo-Nazis - not entirely dissimilar to some bike gang ethics. Beyond the acts of inter-youth digressions, it was a greater threat to society than any genuine biking occupation.
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The biking (as opposed to pseudo) Grebo was a motorcycle enthusiast before anything else. Like other riders before them, when they weren’t riding or out socialising (or for that matter at work), they would congregate in each other’s garage or shed to work on the bikes. A radio would usually be playing, often tuned to a Pirate radio station transmitting underground music (Stations Radio One and Luxembourg played too much pop). The term underground was being applied to forms of rock that were becoming known as progressive; like Yes, Wishbone Ash, and heavy metal; including Deep Purple and Led Zeppelin. It also embraced a gamut of sounds, from the Third Ear Band (who made you feel like Macbeth’s ghost), to King Crimson, who made saxophonic cacophony in songs like their 21st Century Schizoid Man.
During the late 60’s - early 70’s, people still rode and venerated the café racers and similar naked customs, but were now being influenced by the US chopper idiom. As the chopper arrived in 70’s UK, Americanism was viewed dimly. The older generation had seen Yank influence as bad; their saying concerning American servicemen went: “Over-paid, over-sexed and over here”. Meanwhile, there appears to be no UK term for bobber. Special was a name often applied to one-off bikes, but had become a little jaded if not pretentious. The term custom, though regarded as a tainted Americanism, began to fill that space in UK bike-speak.
Choppers and customs were regularly featured in the UK bike press of the times, along with advertisements for the various bolt-on items like seats with back-rests and rigid (or hard) tails. There were discussions regarding the virtues of choppers in the UK. Letters in bike periodicals described chopping as turning the art of motorcycling into a circus act, saying that serious riders wouldn’t resort to dangling themselves from cow-horn or ape-hanger handlebars. Others argued that the addition of bolt-on goodies wasn’t true customising; but they were the only way that people without engineering or artistic ability could get near to it.
Among those who couldn’t run to the cost of the various items and work involved, the adaptation of weird and older parts featured in the bitza-based custom concept. If the rider preferred not to be off the road during this transformation, it would be a gradual process of mutation.
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As the steel works began to close down and re-locate, public houses that had once quenched the steel workers’ thirsts were happy to serve anyone who walked in and ask for beer. One in South Yorkshire became the haunt of a mix of wannabe Bikers, pseud Rockers and Grebos. The juke-box was loaded with Hendrix, Deep Purple, Status Quo and Black Sabbath. Apart from occasional appearances by out-of-town visitors, there were seldom if ever any motorcycles present. As the pub emptied at closing time, the clientele were often taunted by Mods on their way home from discos. Some reacted, others just ignored it if they could. The objective of this pub’s occupants was more involved in getting pissed to rock music, than any adulation of bikes.
A hundred yards up the road was the Fitzwilliam Arms. It had a small off-shot room, where a loose biking club congregated. Above the fire-place there were several number-plates fixed to the wall. They belonged to those who’d departed the Road Burners club forever. The juke box and appearances were similar to those back down the road. Some called themselves Grebo, but in the car-park my little red James was put to shame by machinery that stirred the blood. There were more girls and crash-helmets (which were now compulsory), and more life, less posing. As opposed to the café-racing theme, the Road Burners would ride from pub to pub. One night, shortly after my first biking accident, I was outside a chip shop with a mate on a popular route. Just around a corner, the police had set up a check-point, flagging down every bike that came. My friend held my chips while I hobbled into the road and waved my crutches - about twenty bikes were thundering towards us. We felt it our duty to divert them, and save them from any unfair scrutinization. It was not they who were nipping up the road to create havoc at the local disco, and we felt that recrimination arising from defective motorcycles wasn’t the way to deal with that.
The Road Burners whom I met rode everything from the latest Kawasaki triples, through Bonnevilles and Spitfires to Scotts. They were more motorcyclists than Rockers, and by dint of their upsurgent identity, they were less Grebo, more Biker.
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During this transitional period, paper back books and films telling the story of the various US rebel biking groups were appearing. Some just noted the content, but others felt that that lifestyle was representative of their own. They consisted of people into bikes who were being mislead by over-reactionary lawlessness. There were others who already did the criminal thing, and became attracted to biking through its hard Outlaw image. Some of these sprawled about in cafés, planning burglaries over games of pinball. The idea of breaking the law excited them. They were getting spending money, selling the spoils to second-hand dealers and getting a buzz out of it. For others, the ride was more important than any ‘up-yours’ kudos. You only get to hate coppers if you do things to attract the wrong interest. It’s the law’s fallibility that we all come to resent. That, and the seemingly conniving collection of revenue gathered by pestering motorcyclists.
In identifying a genuine Biker, you learned to read the signs. Not the insignia or other appearance, but the body language, terms of speech, their eyes, and their souls. If someone felt Biker, trust worked in either direction.
The ideals of many biking outfits were often portrayed on their clothing. One new item appeared that had a marked presence and significance among Bikers. A cut-off is usually a denim jacket with the sleeves hacked off, not tidily removed. Leather cut-offs (made from bike jackets) also had the lining removed, and in either case, the older, the better. Inherited from American Outlaw types, it was a unique piece of clothing. It was not a fashion statement, nor was it a practical item. It was in itself, a virtual social comment, and its decoration compounded an ethos, an ideology. The cut-off signaled a break away from the original fraternity, even from the Rocker contingent. As it stole across the Atlantic, it heralded the changes, not just in the fringe ideals, but into actual Bikerdom.
Cut-offs were mostly worn as a kind of waistcoat over the actual biking jacket. Some maintain that this was so that all the badges and paraphernalia could be attached to it, leaving the bike jacket water-proof; but just as many jackets were also festooned with trinkets, making that idea obsolete. In any case, it looked good to the wearer, and some die-hards would wear the cut-off without anything underneath. If the wearer had tattoos, these were then revealed, making an impressive image. Not very sensible on a bike (a bee up your armpit can be fatal), but the appeal was irresistible for some. Typical insignia on the cut-off would be a gang name across the back, German and other militaria, and enamel badges with bike names. You could wear your heritage like tribal dress.
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New gangs were appearing during these times, whose image was Outlaw based. Even among existing clubs, the rebel element was making similar changes. Not many members wanted the fighting side of things - they were just Bikers doing their thing. This would include some resentment towards the way Bikers were treated. But a fair comment among individualists can transmute into irresponsible action. Gangs were usually started to organise likemindedness, but often got out of hand - some were even founded on negativity. Aggressive and dominant members pushed themselves forward and created something based on an ideology that came from outside of biking. It seemed that gang culture was falling over itself to be miserable. Much of it was purely imagery over actual biking. The clubs were becoming more symbolic, and less functional. This underlines how some rebel and Grebo types were merely including motorcycling in their image, rather than basing their lifestyle on it.
Such gangs had a typically odd ethic concerning property and personal values. Theft from larger concerns or wealthy individuals was considered kosher, because they are able to absorb the loss, if they noticed it at all. Yet there was a strange parallel. They would steal parts from or inflict damage onto scooters, which were valueless as Mod property. They did the same to bikes belonging to other gangs, and to bikes they presumed belonged to straights.
For the female members, gang life was a chance to escape from the mundane, like school, employment and even unemployment. More an attraction for adventurous females, the gangs suited their alpha roles. Gang leaders were usually male, however their counterparts existed in the female sector. Some higher-ranking females actually had power over lesser males. Similarities with wolf-packs might have been noted by intelligentsia, but they were embraced by gang members.
The females’ leather-clad image was allegedly part fetishist and part new female sexuality. The media were portraying women as mystical, yet ultimately tamable; a stereotype for the female Biker. Control over such aggressive girls was an expression of male virility. To be seen with a girl on the saddle wasn’t so much a romantic progression as a status symbol. The politics of power that most youths were resisting, were redolent in gang society. Comparatively, in some more bike-oriented clubs, females were able to establish whatever role they wanted; either as girlfriends or riders in their own right. They were not cast into the peripherals as property. The downside of gang life for females was a secondary role, not just to the males, but to the bikes as well. Females also found the glamour of biking spoilt by the need to care for drunken blokes, and to lend them cash to pay the courts for misdemeanors (which debt often went unpaid to either party).
During the 70’s, hire-purchase had become popular in the UK. People were able to live beyond their means by acquiring articles first, then paying later. It allowed society to look more affluent than it actually was. It allegedly put more bikes on the road, however many people didn’t have the collateral to support such finance. The gender difference in wages was high - around 75%, thus girls found it harder to indulge in hire-purchase because the repayments would still be too high. The fact that either gender were reliant on income if they wanted to ride their own machine put a strain on the decision to receive further education. They were not working class members of clubs by choice, merely people who saw their biking (and or club) requirements as most important and urgent. In any case, the education system at this time was an industry-oriented drudge.
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Like the Rockers before them, the Grebos indulged in dancing, not so much of the rock and roll-styled bop or disco shuffle, but something in between. One dance actually called Grebo was a favourite. Legs apart, hands on your hips, you leaned forwards from the hip and twisted to the right, twice. Then repeat to the right. Partners faced each other, more than two formed a ring.
Another popular dance was very similar to a Mod dance called Woolly Bully. Hands on hips again, you kicked your right leg forwards and across to the left, twice, whilst jumping on the left foot. Same again with the left. Repeat until exhausted. Other improvised forms would descend into chaos, and some people danced more dangerously than they rode. Where the formalised biking dances originated is not clear, but they were adapted across the US and UK.
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During this time, the Rocker hair-style was getting longer, and beards were becoming common, as yet other cultural ideals entered the biking world. In its much hairier early 70’s guise, biking was recognising a brief history, which it was deriving from the preceding few decades. People of 50-plus years of age were wearing similar clothing as the entry-level riders. Through the commingling and compression of generations into one scene, for the first time in biking history, an extended family became apparent. Among many riders, some of whom were disenchanted with their contemporaries, and others who felt a remoteness despite their solidarity as friends or club members, it sparked a quest for a cultural heritage.