In Memory
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for dear brothers and sisters who have gone before me have safeguarded and paved the way.”
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The members of First Mountain ABATE were shocked and saddened by the death of Dave Berry on December 23, 2003. Dave was known for his "Route 66, Your Unauthorized Harley Dealership" in Edgewood, Moriarty, and Albuquerque. He was a tireless advocate for motorcyclists' rights through his work with First Mountain ABATE, as State Deputy Coordinator for ABATE of New Mexico, and as a board member for the New Mexico Motorcycle Rights Organization.
Dave was known to virtually the entire motorcycling community in New Mexico, and will be keenly missed. Our love and support are with our Chapter Coordinator, Patty Berry, and the rest of Dave's family as they adjust to their loss.
On this page we share some of the readings from Dave's memorial service, including Reverend Mad Jack Kaplan's poems "Dave Is In The Wind Again" and "Partners."
Two Hangmen
by Mason Proffit
As I rode into Tombstone, my horse his name was Mac,
I saw what I'll relate to you, goin' on behind my back
It seems that folks were up in arms, a man now had to die,
For believin' things that didn't fit the laws they'd set aside.
The man's name was "I'm a Freak", the best that I could see,
He was the executioner, a hangman just like me,
I guess that he'd seen loopholes, from workin' with his rope,
He'd hung the wrong man many times, so now he turned to hope.
He talked to all the people from his scaffold in the square,
He told them of the things he'd found, but they didn't seem to care
He said the laws were obsolete, a change they should demand,
But the people only walked away, he couldn't understand.
The marshall's name was Uncle Sam, he said he'd right this wrong,
He'd make that hangman shut his mouth if it took him all year long,
He finally arrested Freak, and then he sent for me,
To hang a fellow hangman, from a fellow hangman's tree.
It didn't take them long to try him, in that court of law,
He was guilty then of thinking, a crime much worse than all,
They sentenced him to die, so his seed of thought can't spread,
And infect the little children, that's what the law had said.
Well, the hangin' day came round and he walked up to the noose,
I pulled that lever but before he fell I cut him loose,
They called it all conspiracy, and then I had to die,
So to close our mouths and kill our minds, they hung us side by side...
And now we're two hangman, hangin' from a tree,
That don't bother me, at all.
Two hangman, hangin' from a tree,
That don't bother me, at all.
Partners
What tired old hands placed you
there long ago?
How many tales of the road
do you know?
Old scooter you've aged brittle and hard,
your tires are worn, your chrome is scarred.
You were owned by some hard fisted
biker no doubt,
Who is now old and leathery and, like you
worn out.
Who when riding through rainstorms
to head to the coast,
At times trailed the pack, and ate dust
like a roast.
Your paint is all scarred and burned
from the sun,
How many ol' ladys have you
made pack up and run?
Did you witness the courage
of stouthearted men,
Who faced into the wind,
as they say they did then?
Those worn old chaps lying there
by your side,
Could they tell of the rides, restless and wide?
Were those conchos once shiny,
now covered with rust?
Were those patches once new,
now covered with dust?
Did the legs those chaps covered once stride
through doors,
And mingle with honeys on old dance hall floors?
Did those legs that they covered,
love a sweet laughing maid,
Were those chaps hung over your seat,
as they danced and played?
Can you smell the hard liquor,
remember the fights,
Brothers playing poker,
far into the night?
Old scooter now sits,
in that old wooden shed,
Spokes and rims rusty,
and with the leathers of the dead.
You've known men of courage,
and foolhardy deeds,
Who fought with their fists,
road big iron steeds.
The end of the trail must come to the best,
but you served many your purpose,
Now you may rest.
—R. M. J. 85'