Many people have had extremely interesting stories and experiences throughout their lives, and love to embellish them, and that is a good thing. But me, not so much. However writing an “About” page is necessary as people want to know the background of the person who writes the story, book, or blog they are reading. While I find it easy to write about subjects I’m interested in, or if I’m helping other people write a bio or create an ad for their business, I find it awkward to write about myself, and I don’t want to come off as glorifying or bragging about the things I did in my past life, some of which are better left unsaid.

I’ve been on a perpetual learning curve for as long as I can remember. And even though I think I know a thing or two about a thing or two, not a week goes by that I don’t learn of some extraordinary history of the world, the founding of America, or the deep wisdom from the Bible that I’m compelled to stop and marvel at my ignorance.

The following is a short synopsis of my last 50 trips around the sun and what led to the creation of the Outlawed Am3rican. Out of respect for your time, I’ll be as brief as possible so as not to bore you with lengthy commentary.

 I was born in Los Angeles, California, in 1948 to Ray and Helen Vigil, a WWII Iwo Jima veteran and a rural farm girl from Derry, New Mexico. Two impoverished, hard-working young people with uncertainty and great optimism for what the American dream offered them.

At the age of 8, Diamond Walnut Co (now Sun-Diamond) transferred my father north to Stockton, where we settled in the country on East Hwy 4. My parents, sisters, and I attended St. Linus Catholic Church as a family. My most inspiring memory of my father was that I never heard him utter a word of profanity in my presence.

Early on, I developed a love for art and became the resident artist of Cool at Franklin High School during the age of Hot Rods, Choppers, Surfers, and Rock’n Roll music. After graduating in ’66, I taught myself to airbrush t-shirts, painted murals on automobiles and motorcycles and learned hand lettering, pin stripping, and gold leafing from Louie Federico, my brother, from another mother. (Louie was a VERY talented sign artist and hated that people referred to him as the Mad Striper when in his deadpan sense of humor thought more of himself as just being pissed off).

I applied my artistic skills primarily to the Hot Rod-Biker culture throughout the San Joaquin Valley. As a sideline, I distributed large quantities of vegetable matter that put illegal smiles on long faces. This led to the “Outlaw Biker” lifestyle and future life-altering encounters with international drug smugglers that stripped me of any innocence I may have thought I had… had I the sense to stop and think about it. But hey, isn’t this what the “’60s were all about, Freedom Baby! “Do your thang bro!”.

In ’68, I began living outside man’s law and, more importantly, God’s law. The freedom from conscience allowed me to embrace the lifestyle necessary to reach the “Top” of the subculture. I rose through the ranks of the area’s 1%’er Outlaw clubs, becoming acquainted with members of the Hells Angels and forming a close friendship with a Nomads member who later asked me to help him start a club charter in Stockton. As a non-conformist, the Outlaw life came naturally to me. Having been “Outlawed” because of my beliefs about our rights and freedoms being suppressed, I fearlessly opposed big government and considered myself a Patriot.

During the dry seasons in the San Joaquin Valley, I worked for the Operating Engineers. When winter 1970 arrived, I operated a road grader at the newly opened Bear Valley Ski Resort alongside a friend whose father held the snow removal contract. We called ourselves “Snow Pilots” as I would grade the snow into rows for the loader operators, who would scoop it up and “pile it here, and pile it there”. 

I became good friends with many of the locals, including a physicist who retired after selling his invention to the Russian government, a former CIA agent, an heir to the Wells Fargo Bank, and actors Clint Eastwood, Robert Conrad, and other well-known celebrities. Locals were mostly affluent kids from wealthy families who worked as waiters, busboys, cooks, etc, during weekends just so they could ski during the week. It was a party for them, a perpetual spring break.

One cool-quirky individual I grew close to could have been a twin brother to actor James Colburn. I nicknamed him Riley after the character in the 50’s TV sitcom “The Life of Riley”. In his world, trust wasn’t earned easily.  We hit it off. He trusted me. That meant something. He became a key player in the future of my outlaw career, as I ended up moving a lot of snow for him. His best friend’s father was a well-known judge in California, and I named the two of them “Riley and the Judge” as a term of endearment. 

In ’74, I met Diane Pratt, who became my best friend and the love of my life. We married in August of ’76, the bicentennial year, and I became a father in August of ’77.

“Riley” was an international drug smuggler, a vocation that complemented my outlaw lifestyle. One night, while shooting pool, he asked me if I knew anybody who worked at the port (The Port of Stockton is he only natural outlet for the waters of the Central Valley, and a major deepwater “inland” seaport that connects to the Pacific Ocean). I paused, knowing exactly what he meant, then continued my shot without a word. When we came back “down from the hill” I set out to find an answer to Riley’s question. Eighteen months later, we smuggled four tons of hash from Afghanistan into the Port of Stockton, and then we stole it out of the Port of Stockton.

At that time, Afghanistan was being invaded by the Soviet Union. The Mujahideen Freedom Fighters needed weapons to resist the Russian invasion. I felt a patriotic duty to help, and selling hashish was a twofer: the profits would buy arms for the Freedom Fighters, and as a proud American patriot, I would make a lot of money. Reflecting on eighteen months of planning as I left my house that morning, I knew I was either going to go to prison, die, or make a lot of money. I made a lot of money but quickly learned what greed and “the love of money” can do to a trusted person.

Back at home with Diane, our two lifestyles meshed in Diane’s kitchen, where dinner was always on the table, and club members were frequent guests. However, I kept her and our family separate from my activities and club involvement.

In March of ’83, my lifelong friend Ben Britt invited me to a “meeting” his inlaws had been insisting that he come to, but having run out of excuses, he promised them he would attend “a”  meeting and coaxed me into accompanying him, thinking it a clever ruse to use me as his excuse to “cut-out” early.

The “meeting” turned out to be a four-day revival service scheduled at a large Pentecostal church that unexpectedly lasted six months. Hindsight revealed that the joke was on us, for after feeling compelled to attend ten continuous nightly services, “where I heard answers to questions I didn’t know to ask,“ Ben and I accepted Christ and made a one-eighty-degree turn from our wayward lifestyles. But behind the scenes, it was an answer to Diane’s prayers that brought me to my knees.

In October of ‘83, I opened up a one-man sign shop where my clients ranged from corporate enterprises, Hospitals, farmers, and mom-and-pop businesses. I fabricated commercial signage and worked to include meaning and symbolism in most of my projects. I mostly applied my hand lettering, pinstriping, gold leaf, and airbrushing skills to Hot Rods, Motorcycles, and Big Rig trucks.

Stockton is an agribusiness community and was ground zero for the Heavy-Haul Trailer manufacturing industry. I was fortunate to have had a personal relationship with each of the 3 companies that produced them, and they contracted me to apply my pin striping skills to some of the most giant Monster trailers of the day. Also, the Peterbilt dealership was just down the street from the shop on old Highway 99, and I was fortunate that they thought enough of my work that they sent their customers’ brand-new trucks (mainly the independent owner-operators) for me to apply my skills to them.

I built many relationships with the Truckers, and it was out of our conversations that I came to recognize how they were being “Outlawed” through State and Federal regulations on their trucking equipment, permits for traveling across state lines, rising insurance, fuel costs, and unjust taxation. The ripple effect this was having on small businesses across the country was alarming, and what I saw began to paint a picture of things to come.

The sobering facts of what I learned became the impetus that formulated a vision for a unique symbol to serve as a clarion call for those who still believe in the principles that built this great nation. A symbol to represent America’s Western culture, heritage, and the Judaeo-Christian faith it was founded.

After much research and Godly inspiration, I settled on the name “Outlawed Am3rican”, a movement started over two hundred forty-five years ago by 56 men who pledged their Lives, Fortunes, and Sacred Honor by signing a parchment of paper that became known as the Declaration of Independence… and also became their death warrant. These men, who held a deep conviction that God created men to be free, became the 1st Outlawed Am3ricans.

I have employed my God-given talents to empower individuals with a profound awareness that no American is exempt from defending our history and our Constitution. This mandate represents a sacred and inalienable duty that can only be fulfilled by remaining ever vigilant, diligently contending for our nation’s Christian Faith and Heritage, and therefore preserving our culture and traditions.

 No brag… Just fact.

Having the experience of living a life outside the law and coming face-to-face with real evil, I learned firsthand what can happen with a changed heart and mind.

Developing a passion for helping men become the leaders they were intended to be, I co-founded and hosted a monthly “All City Men’s Breakfast” that ministered to over eighty men. I was also a bored member of a committee that hosted an annual conference attended by over a thousand men. Donating my time and expertise, I created their brand, logo, produced promotional videos, and printed materials. I  also designed their t-shirts and built a reusable backdrop for their annual conferences.

At the same time, I served an organization that hosted one of the most esteemed events in San Joaquin County. Modeled after the annual Presidential Prayer Breakfast, it was initially intended to reach the civic and business community and was well attended by more than 800 county leaders.

I also developed their logo and created a brand that was inspired by the Great Seal of the Office of the President of the United States. Those closest to me know the extent of my involvement and how dedicated I was to making an impact to help usher God’s presence into our community. I believed that by changing the hearts of our community leaders, we could change the hearts of the community, but after twenty 25 years, I was Outlawed from that organization for having a vision by a clique of “good ‘ol boys” who collectively lacked one (as well as a backbone).

That said, the most rewarding accomplishment is having been married for forty-eight years to the same woman. Diane and I, both “God-fearing Americans, have raised three daughters, a son, seven granddaughters, one grandson, and three great Sons-In-Law. WE taught them that Freedom  is an American birthright, and standing for  Faith, Family, and our Republic is our responsibility as Patriots, and as Am3ricans.

They are our greatest blessing… next to a relationship with Jesus the Christ (Yeshua).

More to come…

Blessings,

Outlaw Ed