I’ve met Loose Bruce on various occasions since embarking on
this writing project. A self-proclaimed ‘crusty old biker,’ Bruce looks and
dresses the part: his sun-tanned skin has the handsomely weathered look of a
man who has logged thousands of miles on the open road, with windblown,
pony-tailed hair never restrained by a helmet. One of the reasons Bruce
migrated to South Carolina from Tampa, Florida was because there isn’t a helmet
law here.
Clad in leather and denim, Loose Bruce is a quintessential
outlaw biker.
On the surface at least.
Ask him about his wife, or his relationship with God, and
that crusty façade crumbles – revealing an incredibly spiritual, sensitive and
sage soul on a mission to reach others for Christ through his testimony and
witness.
When I met Bruce, he was at Amber Island having some work
done on a large skull piece on his stomach. Albeit an incredible work of art,
what caught my attention was the tattoo located on his upper right chest. The
piece depicts an urn cradled in the hollow of a dead tree and juxtaposed with
these images of death are flower blossoms, a mushroom and the essence of smoke
spiraling out from the top of the urn.
The tattoo is a memorial for Bruce’s wife Cynthia Marie
Darty Harrison. She was killed in a tragic automobile accident in April 2011.
“That represents that with death you have life. Her spirit
is going to Heaven via the smoke coming out of the urn. Then you have flowers
and the mushroom growing out of the dead tree, see?,” Bruce explained. “That’s
to represent the new life that comes with that death. That’s what that
represents. And to me, in my way of thinking, she’ll ride with me you see?
She’ll ride with me forever. Via that memorial.”
The way the story goes, Bruce came to Pickens County South
Carolina, from Tampa Bay Florida, with a suitcase in one hand and a TV in the
other. He landed a job in a local sawmill where he met a guy by the name of
David.
David was a rough fellow, according to Bruce. Drunk. Since
David didn’t have a car, Bruce offered to give him a lift home from work. There
Bruce met Cindy, and the rest was history.
The way Bruce tells it, “his wife
was my wife, only he didn’t know it yet. She was from Alabama and I was from
Tampa and we met and fell in love in the Carolinas.”
When they first met, for Bruce, it was like love at first
sight: “She had them spandex bicycle
shorts on, and I thought, man, who’s this foxy woman. Then she jumped over the
table and punched her man David in the head for some infraction,” Bruce
recalled.
“And I said ‘boy’ that’s my kind of woman. You know, back-up. Living
the biker lifestyle you want your old lady to be able to back you up in case
someone brings a chair over your back. You know?”
Cindy wasn’t as fond of Bruce. He says she couldn’t stand
him, but his deep-seated sensitive soul eventually won her over.
On Christmas Eve the two went to see some light displays.
Bruce looked at Cindy and said:” You know these lights are beautiful. But not
as beautiful as you.”
“That changed her way of thinking about me,” said Bruce.
“And we got to know one another.”
So another Christmas Eve rolled around and he said: “I don’t
care if I have to whip your old man’s ass, I have to kiss you. I have to know.
She kissed me and, boy, sparks flew. And the fella’s Dad was there that
Christmas and he walked over and told his son – he says ‘that man right there
is fixing to take your wife.’ Because he saw the connection."
Bruce grew up in an era where a man’s word was his bond.
Cindy was a married woman, but eventually, her husband got in a bunch of
trouble with the law. Busted for drugs. Cindy had three children, ages 5,6 and
7. After fate stepped in and removed Cindy’s husband, Bruce stepped up and made
his move.
“I told her, well, Cindy, you know I love you. I’ll take the
whole package. Kids and all,” he said. “So we moved in together. I was born in
a time when your kids are your kids regardless. They were my children and we raised
them the best we could.”
Bruce and Cindy Harrington were married for seventeen years.
There are times when I feel disadvantaged as a writer
because I cannot capture in words, try as I might, the emotion an individual
displays when they are talking about someone they love. The hint of tears in
his eyes, coupled with raw warmth of his voice, overwhelmed me with the
infinite love Bruce continues to feel at the very mention of his
wife’s name.
Listening to him talk was like watching Love Story, Out of Africa
or countless other versions of Hollywood love stories – only this story is
true, and while it might not have been without flaw, it was genuine and
tangible. I couldn’t help but feel tears well up in my own eyes and say a
silent prayer that somehow, some day, someone would – could love me like that.
“We had our ups and downs, but every couple does. She knew
what I was thinking before I’d say it. And she loved to ride – just like I did.
Her motor-cycle name was Hippie Chick. She always wore fancy flowered shirts
and beads,” said Bruce. “We’d ride around. We’d go to the flea market. We’d
come back and you couldn’t see the bike for all the stuff. And she was back
there. My passion. My soul mate. She was special.”
And in an instant, like a snap of the fingers, Bruce’s life
was forever changed in April 2011.
Bruce, Cindy and friends of theirs were at a bike show.
Everyone had been drinking.
“We had a little argument about this, that and the other,
and I said I’m going home. She said well I’m going with Steve [one of their
friends and neighbor]. I went home and went to bed. I didn’t think nothing
about it. Sleep it off you know,” said Bruce. “Policeman woke me up and told me
she was dead. I didn’t believe it. He just kind of threw her rings on the
kitchen table. I balled my eyes out. I cried. I asked God why. Then I loaded a
gun and was fixing to go kill him.”
As he walked out into the sunlight of his front yard, Bruce,
loaded rifle in hand, heard a voice.
“It said, ‘Son, go put that rifle up. I’ve got things for
you to do.’ And it didn’t come from my mind; it came from my heart. I went and
hung it up. I walked back out into the yard and I fell to my knees. And I
prayed for God’s help,” Bruce recalled.” He sent one of the brothers from my
church over to my house the next morning. I come out looking like 30 miles of
bad road – hung over. Hurting. In pain. The woman I loved dearly is gone now.”
Billy hugged Bruce and told him God loved him. Invited him
to church that Sunday. Bruce hasn’t missed a Sunday service since.
“Soon as I walked in that door, God was like – ‘Son. I got
this,’ he said. “I get a little teary over it still. I know in my heart that
it’s going to be alright. I miss her. I’ve got a lot of fond memories. The rose
that’s tattooed there [and Bruce points toward his right upper arm] was on the
back of her vest. Very same rose. She’s still riding with me.”
Bruce believes he has touched a lot of people with his
story. I don’t doubt it. His story certainly spoke volumes to my heart.
“This has changed my whole life. I think of myself as a
child of God. The way I used to think – I’d cut your throat in a minute. Screw
with me and we’re gonna fight,” Bruce chuckled. “But now I think Lord help
them, see, they know not why they do it. God has called me to witness to folks.
To tell them what He has done in my life.”
“They look at a cat like me, and when they first see me, they think Good Lord! Outlaw biker. But they feel that presence when I’m there. That joy. They see the joy in my heart and want to see where I’m getting it. See that’s what God wants me to do. I like to hear myself talk. So I might as well talk about God.”
Bruce affectionately refers to himself as a crusty old
biker, and in many ways he is. The label suits him.
It would be easy to look at the leathered, crusty Harley
exterior and make any number of stereotypical assumptions about the soul housed
in the interior. I’m not a gambler, but I would be willing to bet that the
majority of those would be misconceptions.
Loose Bruce exemplifies the notion that one cannot judge a
book by its cover. As the Hippie Chick
who loved him learned, sometimes you’ve got to take a leap of faith and hold
tight for the ride.
