Three street-bred, neighborhood bikers got together one afternoon, twenty years ago, and hoisted a couple of cold ones. “We’re either always riding or always partying. I think it’s time we give something back. We should do something for charity,” rumbled Tux with his Wolf Man Jack voice. Doc piped in, “Yeah, we should raise money but not keep it. Give it away.” “Let’s do something for kids,” said Rebel. The three got together a bunch of their road worn pals and bought toys. They met at their favorite watering hole, the infamous “Glenn’s Bar” in Queens, slugged a few shots to warm up on the chilly winter day and rode off to the Bernard Fineson Hospital in Howard Beach.

The pack dismounted their bikes, crushed out the last embers of frosty cigarettes, collected their donations and headed into the hospital. All hospital administrators were glued to the windows as the loud pipes echoed against the brick sided building. Like a Western gang seizing a town, the group of leather-clad chrome ranchers and their ladies strolled through the front doors. Their boots echoed a lonely song against the stark hospital walls with changeling key chains serving as the jingle bells. Nurses and doctors shuffled about closing doors and rushing to head the gang off at the corridor pass. “Can we help you,” asked the nervous, perfectly coifed female administrator. “Yeah, we come here to give toys to the kids,” said Tux as he wiped off melted icicles from his Fu-Man Chu ‘stache. The hospital administrator eyed the motley crew, certain that they had ulterior motives. “Okay. May I ask who you are and why you came here?” she asked. “We’re bikers and we came here cause, we want to be charitable we decided.” said Tux. Don’t worry, I’m a doctor” said Doc. The crowd roared with a quick laughter and cleared their throats when they noticed the horror in the woman’s eyes. “Eh, we got places to go. Where do ya want the loot?” asked Rebel. His gal nudged him with an annoyed “shutup” look.

The hospital administrator led them into a lounge to drop off the toys, “You can place them here. Thank you.” “Well, we came her to see kids too. We wanna see the kids and give ‘em the toys,” said Tux behind his black sunglasses. So they were cautiously led to the playroom where the children were gathered for playtime. Upon seeing a number of leather-clad look-alike Santa men, the kids stood at attention wide-eyed. “For us?” quipped one little boy with his hands clasped together ready to receive any kindness. The bikers descended upon the little ones hoisting them in the air and saddling them on their knees. The children squealed with delight. Most of them were to sick for a home holiday experience. Some were abandoned by frightened parents. There was a special bond that afternoon between desirous children and strong, cuddly bikers.

Twenty years later, the Toy Run still exists sometimes between 10,000- 20,000 strong. Riders from all over the tri-state area and as far away as Florida travel to participate in the Run. The run gathers at Glenn’s Bar, although the establishment is long gone. Memories of cemented good times and lasting friendships haunt the corner there and unite everyone again as one big family each December. Across the street is Jahn’s Ice Cream Parlor still wearing the same thin threads for the last fifty or so years. During the hey day of the bar, many motorcycles have greeted the front window pane of the establishment, sending riders sliding across the glass polished floors, but the bikers are still very much missed since Glenn’s disappearance. The neighborhood has never been the same and no bar that has tried to take Glenn’s place has ever lasted.

Officially organized now by the Independent Bikers, Carmine Antonelli and Dean McNamara serve as the directors of the Toy Run and the Independent Bikers. Like tough street Italian style, they holler for everyone to saddle up, “ya know what I mean? Fahgetabouit. Let’s go. Get on yer fuckin’ bikes.” Thousands of patches and T-shirts are sold as collectible items and the organization makes a good buck to put towards sponsored summertime festivities for the hospital. New Yorkers go all out for the Toy Run, decorating their bikes, their kids, themselves in holiday flair. Big Mugger drives his ol’ Red Ford Pickup Truck as Santa’s sled, topped by a hippie elf that arranges the tremendous amount of donations so they don’t fall out and trip up the two-wheeled ensemble that follows.

New York’s finest leads the parade and blocks traffic. Spectators line the entire route, cheering and rallying for the dedicated family of riders. This is a seriously happy event. One that the hospital counts on year after year. A number of local restaurants and bars sponsor Toy Run celebrations after the event. The event proves that the Independent Bikers and the participants are one of the most charitable and generous of NYC souls when it comes to riding and donating. For twenty years, they’ve made the lives of mentally challenged adults and children at the Bernard Fineson Hospital special. Saddle up and don’t miss the Independent Bikers Toy Run next year.