While their teacher stood still on the roof yelling that they were all going to die, motorcycles jumped into the rushing floodwater to save 23 kindergarteners.
The water was already up to the windows of the school bus, and it was going down fast. Everyone else was using their phones to film, but these bikers in leather didn’t wait.
I saw the biggest, most tattooed man break down the emergency exit with his bare hands from the bridge. His arms were covered in blood. His brothers formed a human chain through the brown water, which had already stolen three cars.
“Don’t touch my students!” the instructor cried. “I called 911!” “The real heroes are on their way!”
But the real heroes were already there, with their Hells Angels patches heavy and soaked and their motorcycles left on the road as they fought against time and current to get to the babies locked in that yellow death trap.
Every half minute, the water level went up by an inch. You could still hear the kids’ screaming even though the flood was so loud.
That’s when Mia, who was only five years old, pushed her little face against the glass and yelled the words that made every rider jump into what appeared like certain death:
“My brother is in the water!” He can’t swim! “He’s not moving now!”
Tank jumped through the glass that was smashed and inside the bus that was full of water. He didn’t come back. The bus started to turn over, and it dragged him and the kid with it.
What happened next is why twenty-three families owe their children’s lives to the most feared biker gang in America. It’s also why I’ll never judge someone by their patches again.
While I was driving home from work, the sky opened up in a way I’d never seen before. Later, the weather service said that there had been twenty inches of rain in two hours. The kind of storm that happens just once per hundred years.
It was too late for cars to get off the road before it flooded. I was able to get my truck over the bridge just as the water started to rise. That’s when I noticed it: the school bus full of kindergarteners from Riverside Elementary was swept off the road and stranded against a concrete barrier, but it was tipping dangerously as the water rose.
Miss Peterson, the teacher, had crawled out through the roof hatch and was standing on top, swinging her arms wildly. But she wasn’t going back for the kids. She was just standing there, yelling at her phone.
The motorcycles showed up at that time.
About fifteen Hells Angels were caught in the storm like everyone else. They drew up behind the line of stopped cars that was getting longer and longer. Without saying a word, they saw what everyone else saw: a bus full of kids that was about to become a tomb.
The first person to get in the water was Tank. He was 6 feet 4 inches tall, weighed roughly 300 pounds, and had tattoos that would make most people want to cross the street. He jumped from the bridge without thinking and fell fifteen feet into the raging floodwater.
“No!” Miss Peterson shouted. “Don’t go near them!” You don’t have permission! The fire department is coming!
Tank was already at the bus, and the current was trying to take him away. The water was now chest-high for the kids. A few of the little ones were gasping and holding their heads up.
Tank roared at the teacher, “Open the damn door!”
“I don’t have the keys!” she shouted back. “The driver had them!”
The driver was nowhere to be seen. Later, I found out that he had fled away as soon as he saw the first signs of flooding, leaving the kids inside.
Tank didn’t spend time on fights. He swam to the back of the bus and started hitting the emergency exit. I saw his hands turn into raw meat as he punched the safety glass again and again.
More folks on bikes joined in. Gasoline. A spider. Shoes. Names that would make parents in the suburbs tighten their wallets, but they were building a human chain to fight the current that was trying to wash them all downstream.
The youngsters were getting on the bus. The children were crying. Some people were praying, and five-year-olds were praying like they had seen in movies, with their eyes closed and hands clasped.
At that point, Mia yelled about her brother.
Marcus, who is three years old, shouldn’t have been on the bus. Later, I found out that Mia had slipped him in because their mom worked two jobs and couldn’t afford daycare. He was sitting on the floor between the chairs when the water came in.
He was down now. Totally down.
The tank finally broke through the glass. His hands were hurt, and the brown water surrounding him turned red with blood. He pushed through the opening and got inside.
“Get them out!” he cried at his brothers. “NOW!”
They started to let kids through the broken glass. Through the chain of people, hand to hand. These big guys, who had skulls, flames, and doom tattoos all over them, were acting like these babies were made of glass.
While Spider was crying, he gave Diesel a little girl. “You’re fine, princess.” You’re fine. We understand.
The water was up to the windows now. The bus creaked and moved, tilting more.
Tank was plunging into the murky water to find Marcus. Up for air, gasping, and then back down again. I was worried he would pass out from losing so much blood because the cuts from the glass were bleeding a lot.
Miss Peterson was still on the roof and continuing talking on the phone. She yelled to someone, “They’re gang members!” “They’re touching the kids!” and “Call the police!”
“Shut the fuck up and help, lady!” Boots shouted at her as he pulled another child off the chain.
But she didn’t move. When babies are drowning, fear, rules, or anything else can hinder someone from doing something.
The bus started moving again. A horrible screeching sound from metal. It was going to change.
“EVERYONE OUT!” The tank yelled from inside. “IT’S GOING!”
But he didn’t show up. He walked down again to find Marcus.
The last child that could be seen was pulled through the glass. Saved twenty-two persons. Tank was still inside, looking around.
The bus rocked. Forty-five degrees off. There was a lot of water that came in through the damaged window.
“Tank!” Diesel screamed. “GET OUT!”
Nothing. There was just brown water streaming through the windows.
Then, just as the bus was about to roll over, Tank’s head broke through the water. He clutched Marcus close to his chest. Marcus was limp and blue. But all of a sudden, the window was under water. No way out.
Tank did what he needed to accomplish. He took a big breath and went into the water. He swam with the kid through the window that was under the water. But the current got to him. Took him off the chain.
Spider broke up and jumped after him. The chain broke. The riders spread out in the water, each fighting to stay afloat while searching for Tank and Marcus.
I lost track of them in the noise. The car flipped over completely and sunk into the ocean. If Tank hadn’t gotten everyone out…
Then I saw them fifty yards down the river. Tank had Spider, and Marcus still had Tank. They were being forced toward a solid post. The impact would kill them.
More people jumped off the bridge. This time, a new chain appeared that went over the river. Boots grabbed Spider’s hand just before they hit. The force almost tore them apart, but they stayed together.
They pulled them to the bridge’s support. Tank was out cold, and Marcus’s arms were still over him. The kid wasn’t breathing.
Diesel worked on Tank as Spider gave the child CPR. These “thugs” fought for the lives they had just saved in the midst of the water while clinging on to concrete.
Marcus threw up water. Started to cry. The most beautiful music I’ve ever heard.
Tank’s eyes blinked swiftly. “Are the kids?” he inquired in a quiet voice.
Diesel said, “All safe.” “Every last one.”
The fire department came twenty minutes later. Twenty minutes later, it was all over. At first, they gained a lot of attention in the news, but then videos from phones started to come out. People saw videos of Hells Angels diving into floods. Tattooed arms bringing fearful kids to safety in videos. Videos of the teacher standing on the roof and doing nothing while “criminals” saved her complete class.
When Tank got to the hospital, he needed sixty stitches in his hands and a blood transfusion. Three broken ribs because the river threw him into some debris. Hypothermia. But he was still alive.
All twenty-three kids made it.
The next day, parents started showing up to the Hells Angels clubhouse. Not to whine, but to offer thanks. Moms crying and hugging these warriors in leather. Fathers shook hands that were hurt and couldn’t converse because they were crying.
Sharon, Mia’s mom, dropped to her knees in front of Tank. “You saved my two babies.” I don’t know what to say.
Tank, a big man who had bled to save babies he had never known, knelt down next to her. “Ma’am, we all would have done the same thing. That’s how you do it. You aid kids who are in trouble.
“But everyone else just stood there…”
“Then they aren’t all that important,” he said simply.
They let Miss Peterson go, not because she was scared—everyone is—but because she tried to impede the rescue on purpose and called 911 to say that the motorcyclists were a threat while kids were drowning. The tapes of her calls were really terrible.
The driver of the empty bus was accused with putting kids at danger. There were twenty-three charges against him.
But the vision of the Hells Angels—those famous, feared, and often hated Hells Angels—putting their life on the line for youngsters they didn’t know was the one that resonated with everyone.
A month later, at the town meeting where they were being honored, Tank stood on stage with his hands bandaged and shivering a little.
He said, “People see these patches and think they’re criminals.” They perceive a threat. They see someone they should be terrified of. But we are also fathers, boys, and siblings: “We’re just people who were in the right place at the right time when people were needed.”
He looked at the crowd, and a lot of them had crossed the street to get away from him before that day.
“We’re not heroes only because we helped those kids. We saved them because they needed help and we were there. That’s it. That’s all we need to know before we do anything.
Little Marcus, who was feeling better and stronger, ran up to the podium and grabbed Tank’s leg. The big biker picked him up and held him carefully with his hands, which were still healing.
Tank’s voice trembled when he stated, “This little man is the hero.” He lived for almost three minutes underwater, fighting to stay alive. All we did was give him another chance to fight.
The applause lasted for five minutes.
Now, two years later, the Hells Angels are invited to every school event. They read to kids, teach them how to be safe on bikes, and hold fundraisers to buy new playground equipment. The same people who used to be seen as the biggest threat to the community are now some of its most important protectors.
Tank’s hands will always have scars from punching through the glass. He is proud of them and calls them “battle wounds.” “From the only fight that ever really mattered.”
Mia and Marcus go to the clubhouse every week. Their mom brings cookies. The bikers teach kids about bikes, brotherhood, and helping others no matter who they are or where they come from.
And what about Miss Peterson? She left, but not before writing a letter to the newspaper and finally admitting what everyone already knew:
“I was the teacher.” It was my job to keep those kids safe, but when the moment came, I couldn’t move. My fear and bigotry got in the way of my duties.
The Hells Angels didn’t think twice. They didn’t care about laws, responsibilities, or the appropriate way to do things. They saw youngsters who were ready to drown and did something.
They are the heroes. I am the warning about how bias can keep us from seeing people as humans.
The picture that went viral across the world shows Tank holding Marcus while standing in floodwater. Both of them are wet, Tank’s blood is mixing with the muddy water, his Hells Angels vest is damaged, and his face displays a mix of exhaustion and relief.
The picture changed how people in the country thought about bikers. Instead of seeing them as threats, they saw them as the people who step in when no one else does.
But that’s what they did. The Hells Angels came when the tide rose and twenty-three kindergarteners killed.
And death lost.