March 25-31, 2004

city beat

Irish Eyes a-Frownin'

Sinn Fein's boss rues a local deportation.

by Brendan McGarvey

Just before St. Patrick’s Day, Sinn Fein leader Gerry Adams attended a fundraiser at the Hyatt Regency hotel at Penn’s Landing. There, he met prominent local Irish-Americans including former City Councilman Francis Rafferty and electricians union boss -- and possible future mayoral candidate -- Johnny Dougherty.

Adams, once an elected representative in Northern Ireland, has spent time in prison. He was also shot by pro-British paramilitary gunmen. Today he heads Sinn Fein, a political party closely allied with the Irish Republican Army. Both Adams and Sinn Fein are part of the ongoing Northern Ireland peace process.

Adams tells City Paper he’s been talking to the Bush administration about John McNicholl, an Upper Darby resident who was snatched up by Homeland Security agents, charged with being a terrorist and deported in July. "The John McNicholl case is of particular disappointment," Adams said. "He was just lifted off the street and shipped home."

Feds allege that 30 years ago, McNicholl was a member of an IRA splinter group called the Irish National Liberation Army (INLA). Accused of gunning down a Royal Ulster Constabulary police officer in 1975, he was arrested and allegedly tortured, but he escaped from prison and made his way to America. He got married and moved to Upper Darby, where he and his wife raised three children. A union member and a volunteer in children’s sports programs, McNicholl was also active in his local Roman Catholic church and various Irish-American charities.

"The United States grew out of people who came here to start new lives," Adams said. "They became very good citizens and very, very good contributors to American society."

Because those who fought British rule in Northern Ireland are still considered a likely target of pro-British and anti-Catholic paramilitary gunmen, sources in law enforcement familiar with McNicholl’s situation say his life is in danger. Two years ago, gunmen sprayed bullets into the McNicholls’ home in Ireland.

Relatives and friends are working to get the decision reversed. To that end, various local Irish-American groups have begun distributing "Bring John McNicholl Home" buttons and literature.

The deportation caused "an awful lot of disappointment in the Irish-American community," Adams

said, "and certainly I share that disappointment."

Last Saturday night, the Hells Angels threw a party inside a nondescript, two-story building that normally serves as the South Philadelphia String Band’s clubhouse. It sits in the shadow of the oil refineries, at the end of a small block of rowhomes behind Philadelphia Gas Works. Neighbors describe this ugly little corner where Southwest Philadelphia, South Philly and Grays Ferry meet as "the Irish end of South Philly."

The party marked the one-year anniversary of a local Hells Angels chapter deep in the heart of enemy territory. (For biker gangs, Philadelphia has long been considered the domain of the Pagans and of the smaller but equally vicious Warlocks.)

As temperatures dipped below freezing, middle-aged, big-bellied, bearded men in thin leather jackets emblazoned with the infamous Hells Angel death head stood outside sipping beer. Some jackets were missing the name of local chapters but had the word "Prospect" on the front.

Prospects are wannabe bikers still undergoing the arduous initiation process used by the Hells Angels to weed out undercover cops, weak-willed criminals, potential informants and turncoats. Some, however, are bikers who defected from other gangs and now want to pledge their allegiance to the Angels.

Nearly 100 Hells Angels from California, New York, Maryland, Virginia, New Jersey and across New England attended, as were a few Nomads, an ally club.

Because they were partying in Pagan territory and the threat of gang violence was very real, a police helicopter hovered overhead. Sometimes it buzzed behind the Sunoco refinery and suddenly reappeared, causing curious bikers to glance heavenward.

A small squad of tough-looking Philadelphia highway patrolmen, sporting their own leather jackets and motorcycle boots, were also on hand. "That’s fine," a Massachusetts Angel told another. "Let them be our security tonight. The taxpayers are paying to keep us safe."

Opposite the clubhouse stood a line of camera-toting plainclothes officers, among them local organized-crime investigators, New Jersey and Pennsylvania state police, and a fed. They photographed anyone who entered or exited the building. "They know who we are," one officer told City Paper. "Now we know who they are."

From inside a red pickup truck parked in the A-Plus Sunoco lot a block away, two scruffy men surreptitiously videotaped every Hells Angel who wandered over to buy a cup of coffee. Onlookers speculated they were Pagan spies trying to locate former high-ranking Pagans who "patched over" to the Angels.

City Paper attempted to interview many Hells Angels but only a prospect from Manassas, Va., had anything to say.

"We’re not a gang," he said, pointing to the letters MC (motorcycle club) on his leather. "We’re a club. Like it says on the jacket."