How a group of US bikers are trying to stop child abuse

At the Killmeyer’s Old Bavaria Inn, a waitress in full costume serving out pints of water and soft drinks might be surprised to hear the conversation between this group of leathered-up motorbike riders.

“We need someone to man the bounce house [bouncy castle] line,” says Popeye. “We will need people to stand at the entrance, be on the grills, hand out trifolds, manage the carpark – it’s going to be a lot of work for everyone. But if it goes how we expect it to go, this will be the fundraiser of the year.”

Popeye, standing at the head of the table, with three knuckleduster rings on each hand, has several badges on his jacket, reading: “Keeper of the children” and “No child deserves to live in fear”.

He is the president of Staten Island’s chapter of Bikers Against Child Abuse (BACA), a group of men and women who only identify themselves by their road names and who dedicate their free time to respond to the calls of abused children. Their aim is to develop a bond with the children and their legal guardians and to help empower them to testify against their abusers in court.

Sergeant K Thompson from the Kansas City Police Department, the city in Missouri where BACA was founded in 1995 by clinical social worker John Paul “Chief” Lilly, tells The Independent that their detectives said BACA has done “great things”.

“They have witnessed positive interactions with BACA and the group has made a lot of difference in children’s lives,” she says.

Popeye also points to a preliminary 2014 study, carried out by Dee C Ray, PhD, a BACA member and director of the Child and Family Resource Clinic in Denton, Texas, which posed questions to the caregivers of 35 children to measure how they coped before and after BACA involvement. The study suggested that the bikers helped to reduce stress, emotional distress, behavioral difficulties like getting along with other children and improve “kind and helpful behaviour”.

One issue is that many abused children are not abused by strangers – it is often someone they know or even someone they live with.

Popeye says he knows this is a problem, which is why the security officer in their chapter, Adrock, is so important. Things could always get hairy.

BACA will also work with parents who have split custody, and will even talk to other kids who are bullies.

“They might have something going on in their own lives, and we can see if there’s anything they need,” he says.

Comprehensive science around BACA results may be lacking but the enthusiasm at the monthly meeting is hard to dismiss.

Over plates of bratwurst and baskets of pretzels, Vice President Demo, a father of two with a shaved head, asks everyone to stand and observe a moment of silence for the children.

April is Child Abuse Awareness Month and has been an extremely busy month for Doc, head of events, a bubbly woman in purple scrubs, with festivals and fundraisers every weekend. At least two more are scheduled for this weekend, and everyone is expected to help out.

The hard work so far has paid off. Ozzy, the treasurer, one out of four women in the group, joyfully reveals that they have raised more than $6,000. That money will be spent on the kids that need help – from therapy and medical costs to blankets and teddy bears.

Cowboy, the agency liaison officer in a baseball cap, says he has secured another meeting with the Staten Island Youth Justice Center, part of his plan to get BACA on the map when it comes to the police, the district attorney’s office and social services.

The hierarchy and the rules are strongly respected here. There is no drinking at the meeting. The word “mandatory” is said often. Volunteers are expected to be present and proactive for at least 80 per cent of all activities, meetings and every time a child needs help. The Christmas and summer parties are also mandatory.

But Popeye insists that BACA is not a motorbike gang, or a vigilante group, or a social club. He even hands out a list of rules to all members as to how they can avoid being associated with biker gang Hell’s Angels.

“If someone is here for any other reason than to help the kids, it’s for the wrong reason," he says.

They can’t afford to take a wrong step. Everything they do and every penny they spend is overseen by the International Development Chapter and the New York State Board.

BACA has grown to house multiple chapters in 48 states in the US and in nine countries, from Malta to Germany.

Social media has been key in expanding the organisation – it was how most of the members learnt of BACA.

One man, who is at the meeting for the first time, explains to the group, “I can’t think of anything I support more than your mission. I saw a video on Facebook and it really tugged on my heartstrings.”

But as Popeye and Doc reel off an ever-growing to-do list, the same man raises his hand. He has three kids and a wife – how can members donate so much time?

Vice President Demo responds. He tells the story of the first time he met a BACA child in Long Island. A four-year-old girl with brain cancer had been abused and had been too scared to sleep in her bedroom at the front of the house “for years”. But the night before BACA was coming, he said, she was “so excited” to hear the motorbikes roar through the neighborhood that she slept in her own bed.

“When I saw the kid that was it,” he says in his American-Italian accent, tears welling in his eyes. “I don’t want to say that moment that was ‘the paycheck’ because those kids are the warriors. We understand you have jobs, lives, a funeral – but you never say ‘no’ to a kid.”

The process for new members is long and not for the faint-hearted. They have to attend three monthly meetings before they get an international background check.

“It was explained to me when we went to get fingerprinted that we are bikers and not boy scouts,” says Popeye. “You might not have a totally clean record, but anything to do with child abuse or domestic violence are immediate disqualifications. Anything else we review on a case by case basis.”

They then attend several so-called “mock level ones” to learn how to interact with children – normally featuring Popeye’s nieces or daughters of Adrock, the road captain and head of security.

After intensive training, members eventually become “patched” – a BACA patch is sewn on to the back of their jacket.

The Independent is not allowed to photograph it as it could easily be replicated, says Popeye, although the patch is now plastered all over YouTube.

The red represents the “blood” of the abused children, the white their "innocence", and the skull and bones are the “death” of that abuse.

“The patch does nothing except entitles you to work harder,” Popeye says to the interested volunteers.

It also allows members to take up an office within the chapter and become a “primary” contact person with a child, as long as they are always accompanied by one other cleared member.

“Level two” is when the child feels afraid or when there is an immediate threat – and the call for help goes beyond that of a “level one”.

The primary contact member would rope in his or her chapter, and even other chapters in the state, and station themselves around the child’s house 24 hours a day, seven days a week until either the child feels better or the threat is no longer apparent, Popeye says.

He adds that Texas once manned a child’s home for 23 days straight, with BACA members working in shifts.

The Staten Island chapter was only approved in March. So far only one child has been referred to them via a distict attorney in Brooklyn, which The Independent was unable to confirm. Ozzy, who is also the child liaison officer, took the call from the child’s guardian, and tells the group she will check out if the case is “legit”. She won’t give details about any children in front of non-patched members.

Popeye, who works in emergency services, blames the con artists and scams after 9/11 for a lack of agency trust in New York, which quickly evaporated any feeling of “lovey dovey”.

“There is no agency that will send us their kids – yet,” he says. “They don’t know us.”

At the end of the meeting, everyone hugs and kisses goodbye before going their separate ways.

On the drive home near midnight, Ozzy complains, laughingly, that Popeye talked so much at the meeting that she “almost fell asleep with her eyes open”.

She spends at least four hours every day doing what the members call "BACA business" on top of a full-time job.

Popeye scratches his biker moustache.

“I just want the new people to understand what they are getting into,” he says.