Born in Los Gatos California and raised in Barstow, Fubar raced off road motorcycles and played around with old cars as a hobby.
Some have said that he was a Hell raiser, and he did manage to get in a little trouble now and again, on one occasion as he was standing before a Judge he was offered jail time or Army time. He picked Army time and wound up in Viet Nam. He reached the rank of Specialist 4 and was discharged as a disabled veteran. Fubar never said much about that time of his life.
He was a carpenter by trade and could pound nails with the best of them. Given a choice though, he would rather play than work. He did both hard.
We called him Fubar (Fucked up beyond all repair), a name given to him by my fiancé. I sponsored him into the Boozefighters and he passed his Prospect period with flying colors, taking the oath on February 23, 2001.
Yes, Fubar was a Boozefighter alright; he wasn’t afraid of anything, but had a good attitude about everything. He liked hanging out at Big Daddy’s motorcycle shop. One day we were all sitting around Big Daddy’s swimming pool, (Fubar was a Prospect then) and Streak asked for a beer, from another Prospect, who chose to ignore his request (that Prospect never did become a Boozefighter). So, Fubar jumped up to get Streak’s beer and someone said “you need to be barefoot”; didn’t faze him, he just kicked his boots off and ran over to get the beer. That was our brother. If it needed to be done, however it needed to be done, he was going to do it. A lot of us were glad he was just barefoot and not bare naked.
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