Guardado’s open casket was framed by a collection of patches reading, “Hells Angels Brotherhood, Filthy Few, and Frisco Forever.” Speeches from friends and family described a man with endless compassion for his family and his brothers in his motorcycle club.
“He always made you feel welcome, always made you feel like you were the most important person in the room,” said Fat Freddy, one of Guardado’s many friends. “ Just keep him in your hearts like we all do.”
Despite Guardado’s apparently open demeanor, the media was very clearly not welcome at either service. I was turned down for interviews with multiple Hells Angels and then approached by a younger member who asked, with either a drawl or a slur, “Can I help you?” After I identified myself as a reporter and asked if he would like to be interviewed, the thick man took the unlit cigar out of his mouth and said, “I figured you were, I think you should get the hell out of here.” I took his advice.
Onlookers formed a crowd of their own on surrounding sidewalks with neighbors and curious passersby stopping to look at the spectacle. I figured this might be safer territory. A smiley man with a grey wispy mustache stood above the others on a stoop.
“I came to pay my respect to him,” said Dennis, a Daly City native who declined to give his last name.
Dennis said that he did not know Guardado, but said that the Hells Angels were and important part of San Francisco’s culture and that he was sorry for their loss.
“It’s a part of the San Francisco life and a part of the Bay Area,” he said. “It’s going to be really moving when you hear all the motorcycles revving up their engines.”
Police were also very well represented at the gathering. Daly City police Capitan Eric Wollman said they had been preparing for about a week.
“We have sufficient officers to deal with whatever comes up,” he said, but that so far, everything was moving smoothly.
“The vigil went very well. It was very organized, they came in and they came out. Everything went fine, we had absolutely no incidents,” he said, speaking before the procession.
All talk was drowned out as scores of bikers started pouring out of the mortuary to the burial site at Cypress Lawn Cemetery. The roar was deafening and chrome blinding, the smell of exhaust and leather old leather permeated the air. The procession formed a mob of bikes over a mile long, a fitting tribute for a man who, by all accounts, was larger than life.