Guy Bouchard had nothing but smooth, open road in front of him in his quest for power as a biker gang leader after being named chief of one of the city's top biker gangs in 1967.
As a child Bouchard was dazzled by the biker gang that growled their way down the streets near his home in Rosemont.
He was transfixed by their jackets featuring a logo with intersecting pistons and the word Montreal Motorcycle Club beneath.
"I remember seeing them around 1963 driving along Beaubien, I was very impressed. Those guys were my idols," he said.
Soon Bouchard and his friend Robert Bonomo started motoring down on their small scooters to the Hot Pistons clubhouse on Hochelaga.
As Bouchard grew, so did his motorcycles as did his influence within the gang.
By 1967 the club soured on its leader and needed to pick a new boss.
"They wanted a leader who wasn't drunk or stoned. About 95 percent of the members voted for me and at 17 I became the youngest biker president anybody had ever heard of."
At its peak the Hot Pistons had about 125 members but Bouchard concedes that the active membership during his time was about 40.
During his reign the gang would convene at their clubhouse in a basement apartment on Bellechasse between Iberville and Delorimier.
Bouchard had a job making purses at a leather factory but being president of a biker club was like another full time job, overseeing finances, hierarchies, initiations but no criminal acts were asked of those who joined.
"But if we saw someone seemed scared or ran at the sign of conflict, or chatted too much, then we'd kick him out," Bouchard tells Coolopolis.
"These guys weren't all angels, some robbed banks or other places but that had nothing to do with us. They didn't wear the logo when they did it. We weren't a criminal organization," he said.
The Hot Pistons had company in Rosemont, as the Popeyes and Devils Disciples also rolled around those streets and the two had started a small war in 1966.
Bouchard, whose gang had nothing to do with the friction, was nonetheless frequently questioned by police.
"I was often harassed by police. They'd ask if so-and-so was in my club or if I knew who it was. But we didn't even allow drugs in our clubhouse. Back then drugs were sold by hippies and it was all hash and a bit of LSD, but bikers didn't deal drugs and we didn't have it in our clubhouse."
Bouchard befriended some well-known villains along the way, including Yves "Apache" Trudeau, who headed the Popeyes before going on to become one of the province's most prolific hit men, later confessing to 45 murders after turning informant.
"We spent a lot of time together and we'd talk about stuff just like anybody else. He was always very nice to me but he had eyes like Charles Manson, you couldn't trust him too much."
One day in 1968 Bouchard was waiting for a female friend to visit.
But when he answered the door it was the police who arrested him on charges of concealing stolen goods.
Police questioned him for 10 hours in a police station on Masson, then put him in Parthenais for four days to await arraignment.
Bouchard has never eaten meat since his childhood - an aversion which he describes as an "allergy" - so he was practically starving after a few days of harsh questioning by police and unwelcome sexual advances by hardened inmates.
"It was a shock to me."
He was broken and was ready to plead guilty even though he knew he was not.
Just as he was leaving to face a judge, Bouchard had to leave the jail to fetch his brown paper bag full of his personal items.
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"It was about 3 a.m. and a guard, a young guy about 25, took me into an empty cell to talk with me. He said, 'I've looked in your file and they have no evidence against you. Plead not guilty.'"
Bouchard did just that and the judge gave him a mere $100 fine without a criminal conviction.
"I think of that guard as my guardian angel," said Bouchard.
"Let's just say prison didn't agree with me. Later on I saw the officer who had so cruelly treated me during that long questioning and when I asked to speak to him you could see he was scared that I'd yell at him. Instead I just said 'thank you.'"
Bouchard said that even back then he knew a scared straight program exposing delinquents to prison conditions would be a winner because that very exposure had set him on the right path.
After that ordeal Bouchard was still, nonethleess, head of the Hot Pistons.
When police called for a sit down with four of the gangs in February 1969, Bouchard showed up in good faith hoping that all parties would learn to get along.
The Popeyes and Hot Pistons said they would be willing to participate in a new program which would see the city offer a shared facility to the four clubs.
The Devils Disciples and Satan's Choice walked out out of the meeting with police officer John Delzell.
The land that the city had put aside on Sherbrooke St. E. came with a nice paved surface for motorycle feats, facilities for members to build their own clubhouses and even paid electricity.
"The bikers came for about a week but they figured it was a way for the police to better spy on them so they stopped going," said Bouchard.
About two weeks after that meeting Bouchard attempted to broker peace between the two feuding gangs at a meeting he set up at Champlain Bowling on Iberville.
But the two gangs showed up armed and both suspected Bouchard - who was entirely unarmed except for his good intentions - of setting them up.
Police jumped in quickly, however and no harm was done.
Trudeau put the word out that Bouchard was not to be blamed for the meeting going wrong or by the sudden appearance of police.
But by this point the bad experience in jail and the other headaches had him re-evaluating his life on a Harley.
Bouchard then had some other life-changing news: his 16-year-old girlfriend told him that she was pregnant on June 13, 1970. Less than a month later he married her.
He sold his bike and met everybody from his gang at one last evening and told them that he was gone and they would not be welcomed at his new home.
"I knew what sort of things could happen. I'd seen bikers put things into the drinks of women," he said.
Yves "Apache" Trudeau told Bouchard that he'd be welcomed back at a high position if he ever decided to return to the gang but instead Bouchard went on to a straight life working a variety of jobs, raising a family of three and eventually retiring from a longtime job as superintendant at a condominium complex.
Bouchard's childhood friend Bonomo eventually became an early member of the first Hells Angels chapter in Quebec. He was the only friend Bouchard kept in touch with, but the two kept a strict rule of never discussing illegal business. Their friendship ended in the mid-90s when Bonomo was accused of some heavier crimes.
The Hot Pistons also eventually disappeared and its members either found other occupations or joined other more criminalized biker gangs. One former Hot Piston who made headlines was Gilbert Groleau, a tiny 5'0" biker who later organized a bomb scare to bring attention to bad prison conditions at Bordeaux Prison in 1976. Groleau attempted to speak to Claude Poirier of CJMS but the bomb went off and he was killed near the Voyageur bus terminal.
"It was a mistake for me to take the presidency of the Hot Pistons," said Bouchard. "I'm not the kind of guy to play with guns and knives and never much liked drugs or drinking but I think that's what also what they liked about me."
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| Guy Bouchard Hot Pistons chief, in 1969 |
He was transfixed by their jackets featuring a logo with intersecting pistons and the word Montreal Motorcycle Club beneath.
"I remember seeing them around 1963 driving along Beaubien, I was very impressed. Those guys were my idols," he said.
Soon Bouchard and his friend Robert Bonomo started motoring down on their small scooters to the Hot Pistons clubhouse on Hochelaga.
As Bouchard grew, so did his motorcycles as did his influence within the gang.
By 1967 the club soured on its leader and needed to pick a new boss.
"They wanted a leader who wasn't drunk or stoned. About 95 percent of the members voted for me and at 17 I became the youngest biker president anybody had ever heard of."
At its peak the Hot Pistons had about 125 members but Bouchard concedes that the active membership during his time was about 40.
During his reign the gang would convene at their clubhouse in a basement apartment on Bellechasse between Iberville and Delorimier.
Bouchard had a job making purses at a leather factory but being president of a biker club was like another full time job, overseeing finances, hierarchies, initiations but no criminal acts were asked of those who joined.
"But if we saw someone seemed scared or ran at the sign of conflict, or chatted too much, then we'd kick him out," Bouchard tells Coolopolis.
"These guys weren't all angels, some robbed banks or other places but that had nothing to do with us. They didn't wear the logo when they did it. We weren't a criminal organization," he said.
 |
| Bouchard is now a proud father |
Bouchard, whose gang had nothing to do with the friction, was nonetheless frequently questioned by police.
"I was often harassed by police. They'd ask if so-and-so was in my club or if I knew who it was. But we didn't even allow drugs in our clubhouse. Back then drugs were sold by hippies and it was all hash and a bit of LSD, but bikers didn't deal drugs and we didn't have it in our clubhouse."
Bouchard befriended some well-known villains along the way, including Yves "Apache" Trudeau, who headed the Popeyes before going on to become one of the province's most prolific hit men, later confessing to 45 murders after turning informant.
"We spent a lot of time together and we'd talk about stuff just like anybody else. He was always very nice to me but he had eyes like Charles Manson, you couldn't trust him too much."
One day in 1968 Bouchard was waiting for a female friend to visit.
But when he answered the door it was the police who arrested him on charges of concealing stolen goods.
Police questioned him for 10 hours in a police station on Masson, then put him in Parthenais for four days to await arraignment.
Bouchard has never eaten meat since his childhood - an aversion which he describes as an "allergy" - so he was practically starving after a few days of harsh questioning by police and unwelcome sexual advances by hardened inmates.
"It was a shock to me."
He was broken and was ready to plead guilty even though he knew he was not.
Just as he was leaving to face a judge, Bouchard had to leave the jail to fetch his brown paper bag full of his personal items.
"It was about 3 a.m. and a guard, a young guy about 25, took me into an empty cell to talk with me. He said, 'I've looked in your file and they have no evidence against you. Plead not guilty.'"Bouchard did just that and the judge gave him a mere $100 fine without a criminal conviction.
"I think of that guard as my guardian angel," said Bouchard.
"Let's just say prison didn't agree with me. Later on I saw the officer who had so cruelly treated me during that long questioning and when I asked to speak to him you could see he was scared that I'd yell at him. Instead I just said 'thank you.'"
Bouchard said that even back then he knew a scared straight program exposing delinquents to prison conditions would be a winner because that very exposure had set him on the right path.
After that ordeal Bouchard was still, nonethleess, head of the Hot Pistons.
When police called for a sit down with four of the gangs in February 1969, Bouchard showed up in good faith hoping that all parties would learn to get along.
The Popeyes and Hot Pistons said they would be willing to participate in a new program which would see the city offer a shared facility to the four clubs.
The Devils Disciples and Satan's Choice walked out out of the meeting with police officer John Delzell.
The land that the city had put aside on Sherbrooke St. E. came with a nice paved surface for motorycle feats, facilities for members to build their own clubhouses and even paid electricity.
"The bikers came for about a week but they figured it was a way for the police to better spy on them so they stopped going," said Bouchard.
About two weeks after that meeting Bouchard attempted to broker peace between the two feuding gangs at a meeting he set up at Champlain Bowling on Iberville.
But the two gangs showed up armed and both suspected Bouchard - who was entirely unarmed except for his good intentions - of setting them up.
Police jumped in quickly, however and no harm was done.
Trudeau put the word out that Bouchard was not to be blamed for the meeting going wrong or by the sudden appearance of police.
But by this point the bad experience in jail and the other headaches had him re-evaluating his life on a Harley.
Bouchard then had some other life-changing news: his 16-year-old girlfriend told him that she was pregnant on June 13, 1970. Less than a month later he married her.
He sold his bike and met everybody from his gang at one last evening and told them that he was gone and they would not be welcomed at his new home.
"I knew what sort of things could happen. I'd seen bikers put things into the drinks of women," he said.
Yves "Apache" Trudeau told Bouchard that he'd be welcomed back at a high position if he ever decided to return to the gang but instead Bouchard went on to a straight life working a variety of jobs, raising a family of three and eventually retiring from a longtime job as superintendant at a condominium complex.
 |
| Gilbert Groleau |
The Hot Pistons also eventually disappeared and its members either found other occupations or joined other more criminalized biker gangs. One former Hot Piston who made headlines was Gilbert Groleau, a tiny 5'0" biker who later organized a bomb scare to bring attention to bad prison conditions at Bordeaux Prison in 1976. Groleau attempted to speak to Claude Poirier of CJMS but the bomb went off and he was killed near the Voyageur bus terminal.
"It was a mistake for me to take the presidency of the Hot Pistons," said Bouchard. "I'm not the kind of guy to play with guns and knives and never much liked drugs or drinking but I think that's what also what they liked about me."