GAY BARS, MURDER, DANGER

 Now that I have your attention, you are forewarned that this post might be offensive to some people.....

.....but you're not easily offended, are you?

I admittedly enjoy writing about my reckless, unconventional, sordid past, because it's in very stark contrast with my present bland, boring, hermitized existence. My past vices and perversions might be shocking to some people, but I make absolutely no apologies. I'm glad that I experienced the wild side of life and its inherent dangers.

Recently, I accidentally discovered a video on YouTube that jolted my memory. It recounted the savage murder of Danny Lockin. Lockin was a 34-year-old dancer and actor, who is best remembered for portraying the role of Barnaby Tucker in the 1969 film Hello Dolly starring Barbara Streisand.

Lockin in Hello Dolly, 1969

 

One night in August, 1977, Danny Lockin was at The Mug - a gay bar in Garden Grove. He happened to meet up with Air Force Veteran Charles Leslie Hopkins, who was a regular customer at The Mug. The two left together and went to Hopkin's apartment. It isn't exactly clear what transpired that fateful night, but Hopkins tortured and murdered Lockin - stabbing him over one hundred times.

Due to incomprehensibly lenient California laws, Charles Hopkins only served four years in prison. When the homicidal maniac was released, he got married and sired four children. His long, slow death from cancer, I suppose, was appropriate karma.

 

The Mug

So, why is this of interest to me?

During the time of Danny Lockin's murder, I was a frequent customer at The Mug and knew the local bar "scene" very well. It was an extremely dangerous time for many reasons. Garden Grove is a city in Orange County, California - which, at that time, was infested with vicious vice cops, homophobic psychopaths, and other assorted undesirables. There were also several Orange County serial killers who targeted gay men - including Randy Kraft and William Bonin. Delving into the seedy underworld of hedonistic pleasures was very risky business.  

ghost of my past
during my turbulent youth

 

In my youth, I divided my time between Orange County and Hollywood. The two places were only about 25 miles apart but seemed more a distance of light years.
Orange County - which consists of a haphazard conglomeration of many cities crammed together - was once a strictly white, conservative, Republican area of Southern California. Things began to change after the Vietnam War, when a massive influx of Vietnamese refugees infiltrated Orange County. Most of them were good, hard-working people....but that also happened to be the time when seedy "massage" parlors (featuring Vietnamese women) began cropping up on every street corner.

Some parts of Orange County remained unblemished, but suddenly adult bookstores and porno theaters began appearing in certain areas. By the 1970s there were about a dozen gay bars in Garden Grove - which, ironically, was more than there were in Hollywood.

My familiarity of Orange County came from the fact that my parents lived there. I went to college in Orange County. I also got my first job as a security officer there, my first gig as a pianist, and (strangely enough) my first job as a movie extra. I even met John Wayne there. 

My (transitory) fascination with the bar scene culminated in Orange County. I got into the  habit of bar-hopping on Garden Grove Boulevard, where most of the bars were located. I'd often start in early evening and traverse from one bar to another, until 2:00 a.m. closing time. By then I'd be so thoroughly drunk that I didn't care what I did or who I went home with.

My two favorite bars were the Tiki Hut and The Mug, but I also frequented The Saddle Club, Rumor Hazzit, The Iron Spur, and DOK West. DOK was more like a disco/nightclub. Since I didn't like to dance, it was the least desirable haunt on my agenda.

The Mug seemed to attract a host of sleazy characters. That's where I met the guy who turned out to be a Nazi. When I first went to his house and saw a startling array of Nazi flags displayed in the living room, I knew I was possibly in trouble. After a drunken night of rough debauchery (use your imagination), he showed me the sizeable collection of loaded guns that were stashed under the mattress of his bed. I was astonished (and relieved) that none of those guns went off.

The Mug is where I also met a handsome green-eyed blond, who was born in Mexico but spoke fluent German. It was an unnerving surprise when I discovered he was heavily into SM. He had an array of wicked-looking whips and buckled belts - and begged me to beat him. My hesitation only served to make him grovel on the floor and cry (real tears). Since pain is the very least of my hedonistic pleasures, my half-hearted attempts with the belt were met with annoying moans of displeasure. I faked my way through an evening that was much more tortuous for me than for him.

Am I revealing too much?
Relax. I'm being very conservative with my descriptions. 

I'm not in the least surprised that a murderous maniac was a "regular" at The Mug (I'm referring to the aforementioned Charles Hopkins). I never met him, but I did meet a few others at The Mug that seemed to belong in his lethal category. One drunk and drugged middle-aged man whom I met up with was acting so dangerously bizarre that I sensed major trouble and made a quick escape through his bathroom window.

By far, the very worst and most dangerous incident I ever experienced didn't happen via the bar scene - but it did occur in Orange County.
I was in my early 20s, working as a security guard in a large (well-known) store and warehouse in Santa Ana. I worked the midnight shift and was there entirely alone until 7:00 a.m. 

The janitor - who was supposed to leave at midnight - began staying overtime. He would hang around with me for hours, annoying me with nonsensical (and disturbingly strange) conversations, and following me on my hourly patrol around the building and yard. I felt extremely uncomfortable with him tagging along, but reluctantly endured his company.
When he began making sexual advances, I politely but firmly declined.

To condense an very long and complex story, the janitor murdered a young (daytime) employee at the warehouse, who looked very similar to me and had the name John. He hid the body right outside, near my office door. I was unknowingly there all night with a corpse - which wasn't discovered until dawn!

This incredible story is so intricate, with so many bizarre twists and turns, that I couldn't possibly reveal everything in a restrictive blog post. I plan to write a very detailed account in my (upcoming) memoirs.

I will say that - from things he told me - I very strongly suspect the janitor murdered other people (including his wife!). He was extremely knowledgeable about medications, drugs, and poisons. Astonishingly, he confessed that he once drugged and raped a (male) security guard.
Was this truth or wishful fantasy??

He vanished after the warehouse murder incident and was never caught. That was about forty years ago. Since he was in his fifties at that time, I seriously doubt that he would still be alive.

There are many more horrifying details concerning this story that I haven't yet told. I truly believe that he had planned to murder me - for reasons that I won't reveal here.

I've had an extraordinary and highly unusual life. I've always maintained that my most interesting adventures happened when I lived in Hollywood but - in retrospect - my time in Orange County afforded a potent surplus of incredible adventures.

Cheers, Jon