Joe Nelson Fights The (White) Power

Joe Nelson contiunes with part II of the Orange County White Power saga.

I really didn't think this needed clarifying, but in light of some comments to Part I, let me be very clear: Double Cross and Joe Nelson are not down with any racist movement or ideology, we think it sucks. In publishing these tales, we are letting Joe take us to a time and place in hardcore where this shit creeped up. The below images are examples of the stuff that was circulating by WP types in the hardcore scene. I can't believe I have to actually clarify this, but: WE DO NOT SUPPORT THESE VIEWS.

Thanks and enjoy... -Gordo DCXX

You Tube footage of the Geraldo brawl

Things were quiet on the Western Front for a while. The Nazi skins were not seen anywhere really except on the occasional Donahue or Morton Downey Jr. show. They also gained international notoriety with the infamous "Geraldo Brawl", where John Metzger and a couple buddies ended up in an all out fight with security and other Geraldo guests. During the fight Geraldo had his nose busted by a flying chair. They were now at the peak of their fame, the absolute pinnacle.

I started to think that maybe with all this new found national media attention they weren't as interested in the occasional Aggression or Battalion of Saints show. All the better, I rationalized. I had my 2 stickers, which was 2 more then I had ever hoped for anyway. A lot of us started to grow our hair out as well. The last thing we wanted, especially with the Nazis infiltrating the suburban airwaves, was to be mistaken for one of them at the mall or something.

Around my town of Huntington Beach, a couple of pretenders to the Aryan throne did arise. There were gangs with names like SFU, which is perhaps the most original gang name ever, since every city has at least 3 under the same name, and the Huntington Beach Skins. They weren't as organized though as the Metzger gangs. To me they seemed like amateur hour. I mean for Christ's Sake, they didn't even have any stickers to hand out. How the hell can you run a racist group without stickers?

Then the "Battle of St. Simon Jude Fair" happened. In fairness to the WAR and AYM skins, the H.B. Skins were very minor league, especially for a White Pride/Power type outfit. After all, their leader was a Hispanic kid, and one of the number ones was a Jewish dude, who had a swastika tattoo, and was nicknamed "Cornball". With people like that running the gang it was obvious they would self implode before ever being a real threat to us.

Skinheads on the prowl, Photo: Ken Salerno

However, on a fall night there they were en masse at the annual St. Simon Jude Fair. The kids I ran with were called the O.C. Sloth Crew, and we were considered a gang by some as well. So the fact that we were there at the church fair too meant that there were now 2 local gangs in the same motherfucking place, at the same motherfucking time. It was only a matter of a word or look being thrown before there was an all out brawl happening in the parking lot.

It wasn't even much of a fight, but being boring ass Orange County, where it took place, the local paper reported on it. My friends and I also now had an enemy, but not the one we really coveted, not the real Nazi Skins. It did mean however that we would get to spar with these fucks for a while. It meant we were now able to get some real combat training under our belt. After all, we knew the other skinhead gangs were practicing daily on the lone gay kid, or maybe even if they had a good day, hit the mother lode per se, the occasional single suburban black kid. At least we wouldn't be completely rusty if we ever came across the menace again.

I also started to hear from agents around the country that there were similar problems happening with bush league skinhead gangs. While I was traveling I ended up encountering one of them in Allentown, PA at a Gorilla Biscuits, Insted, No For An Answer, Beyond show. I also heard a tale of Pat Dubar of Uniform Choice fighting off all the Dallas Nazis armed with nothing more then a Gatorade bottle. The menace was indeed national, and infesting the hardcore community everywhere.

The hardcore community retaliated of course, in the BEST way it knew how too...by writing a series of anti-racism songs, and printing shirts that said things like "Fuck Racism". Wow, that will really show em'! I'm sure when the Germans were bombing London on a daily basis, Churchill thought, "My God, if only I can find a great mosh part for this song I'll have the bastards right where I want them." I knew better. I knew that the only thing the Nazis would ever understand was direct violent retaliation. After all, in a war, which this indeed was, you can't sing your way to victory.

D-Day came. It didn't happen on the Normandy Coast though. No, this D-Day occurred at the County Club in Reseda, CA. It was actually the last place I thought I'd ever see The King Of The Skins, and his cronies at. They seemed to be a primary San Bernardino or San Diego County based army. Reseda was Northern Los Angeles, and it was our turf...well, at least the clubs were. At first nobody really cared that they were even there. A couple of kids from another skinhead type group who called themselves S.H.A.R.P., (Skinheads Against Racial Prejudice) were making a huge fuss about the Nazi presence in the parking lot. They were almost more annoying to me then the Aryans. At least with the WAR/AYM people you knew where they stood, no matter how twisted and perverted their beliefs were. The S.H.A.R.P.'s only stood for a haircut. They were ludicrous human beings really. I remember the argument outside we had with the S.H.A.R.P. leader.


"We have to do something about it," he cried. "They can't be here, we need to team up and stand up to them!"

In my General Patton moment I retorted with "Fuck Off, maybe we should just team up with them and kick you and your communist nerd friends' asses instead."

The S.H.A.R.P. leader babbled on for a while about their tradition, and something about how the "Skinhead" look came from Jamaican Moonstompers in the late 60s...I eventually turned to him and said "Jesus Christ are you still talking to me about this?" Inside I knew though that the little moonstomper was right. Today was the day, and they would probably have to help us rid the punk world of the scum once and for all.

Once inside the club I approached my "friend" David and his gang. I figured I'd determine how many there were, and at the least get another sticker for my collection from them. At first he didn't even recognize me, since my hair was now grown out. He introduced me to his girlfriend, who called herself "Eva Braun" if you can believe it. She actually had a couple of cuter girls with her, which was about as shocking a thing you could find at a show in those days. Nazis at shows Sieg Heiling the bands all night was commonplace, but one cute girl? No fucking way. That just didn't happen.

Sarcastically I asked if they had any new stickers, and to my surprise, Eva Braun handed me one that had what I imagine was the Aryan idea of a dream girl, a full figured blonde holding an M16. It had a message as well stating something like "My man is a real racist..Is yours a wimp?" Some gibberish like that.

"Rad...thanks" I said.

I returned back to base, and reported on the numbers of the enemy. Twenty maybe? Weapons? None I could see. We talked for a while about the best strategy to attack them, and concluded we didn't really have one, and that it was weird to just attack somebody first without being attacked. "Fuck, we suck" I said, "We've waited for this day, and now that it's here...we don't even really care. Oh well."

Then out of the blue and from the Country Club stage came Big Boss, a rock of a man, who I'd watch fight everybody throughout the years, and never come close to losing. He was a legend, and one of our greatest allies in the scene. Behind Big Boss stood the Chorus of Disapproval guys, including our very own "Street" Regis Guerin. Big Boss was shouting at the Nazis, who in between my undercover mission and failed strategy summit had started sieg heiling. There wasn't even a band playing yet either. They were just Sieg Heiling the empty stage. Obviously they'd gone completely mad, and Big Boss was not going to have it. Not tonight. It was ON!

Frank and crew charged the Nazi skins from the front swinging at all of them wildly, and we immediately attacked their left flank from our position, and when we met in the middle it was a full on war. Guys picked up chairs and started bashing the Aryan Warriors with them. Big Boss was dropping 2 - 3 of them at a time, while the tougher dudes from our platoon like Scott Sundahl, Brett Page, and Greg Brown were head butting them and doing wild WWF type maneuvers off the tables into them. Together we pushed them into the streets of Reseda, and the battle continued out there.

Somewhere in the melee the S.H.A.R.P, skins joined up increasing our number to an overwhelming majority. The Nazis were falling in heaps left and right. They were getting brutalized. They were done. I watched David flee in terror, nose bloodied, into an alley. If he had a slingshot to hurl at us it never materialized. It would be the last I ever saw of him. Some of his followers held their ground a while longer, but eventually succumbed to the constant assault of fists and feet. As they all retreated, somebody from our side screamed, "You thought Hitler was cool? That's what you get."

It was over. We had won. The Nazis were never seen at a show I attended ever again. Eventually after a series of betrayals, the entire Metzger organization collapsed, ending with a crushing defeat inside a Portland, OR civil courtroom in a wrongful death suit. As for me? WelI I ended up going home after the show with one of Eva Braun's friends who had stayed behind. I guess I felt that a true warrior gets to take the losing armies one cute woman with him. I mean that's what Genghis Kahn would have done, right?

I remember back at this girl's house hung a full on Nazi flag, a collection of 45's from the English Nazi Rock band Skrewdriver, and on her bedside table an 8 X 10 of a smiling Tom Metzger, displayed proudly like one would a boyfriend. As I lay there in her bed staring at this creepy picture, trying not to think of the "father" issues she obviously had, and reflecting on the war which had just been waged, I said to myself, "one day I need to talk to this fucker, this Tom Metzger, and get some answers as to what happened here, during this time in our lives". In the year 2002 I would finally get that chance, and although no real answers came from our discussion, I did get a funny fake Christmas card out of it.

The Skinhead salute, Photo: Ken Salerno