It started way back when I was in my twenties.  My wife Marie and I were in our first apartment at Cornell Mannor.  It was a dump but it was cheap. At the time we had a giant, fat white cat named Scrounge.  We noticed another tenant often playing with Scrounge in the window.  One day Marie and I were returning from a very successful crabbing trip.  There was this guy once again playing with our cat in the window.  We introduced ourselves and ended up giving him a few dozen crabs.  Once you give a Jersey boy free crabs you have a friend for life.
    The neighbor's name was John.  We called him Crazy John. He was a wild sort of guy for sure.  As we got to know him we discovered that he was a member of the Pagan Motorcycle Gang.  OK.  He was known as Dog House among his fellow Pagans. 
      We gradually became very good friends with Crazy John, hung out with him, and through him met other Pagans.  We met his girlfriend, Dianne, who later became his wife, and her son Jamie.  We were good friends for many years. My daughter Kate was born then.  She later called him Uncle Crazy John. 
      Marie and I and sometimes Kate attended Pagan barbeques, Pagan camping trips, Pagan Parties, and even a Pagan wedding.  It was never like "Look at us! We're bad! We hang with the Pagans!"  We never thought of it that way.  They were simply our friends, like any other friends.  I believe that if we had hung with them for some kind of status they never would have accepted us. 
     We were close friends with Crazy John for about twenty years.  When he was fifty he was on his way to a camping trip with Dianne.  He started feeling sick so they drove to a hospital.  He got out of the car to walk to the Emergency Room but never made it.  He had a massive heart attack and died on the spot.  He lit his candle at both ends and paid the ultimate price. 
    Dianne moved to Florida and we eventually lost contact with her, Jamie, and the other Pagans.  So what did I take from all of that?  The Pagans are listed as an Outlaw Motorcycle Gang.  Some of them are involved in some dicey stuff for sure.  But they all work respectable day jobs.  Crazy John was an IT guy for an insurance company.  They own homes in our neighborhoods and pay taxes.  Their children attend the same schools as ours.  Beyond their colors, big Harleys, and leathers they are the same as most of us.