Remembering The Late Danny Bifield – Hell’s Angels Forever!

Danny Bifield never pretended to be an angel. That’s because he was a member of the Hell’s Angels. Now, that comes with a load of baggage or pride, depending on your perspective.

As a kid reporter, I was fortunate to interview the so-called guys and dolls of the city; wayward characters cops said were this and that. I learned that sometimes the cops were worse than the guys they tried to put away. Yes, it happens. I know from experience.

Danny Bifield spent more than half his life in the joint.

A few weeks ago, I listened to a phone message, marked Colorado.

“I am Daniel Eugene Bifield, the son of “Diamond Dan.”

(His dad was called that because of his glitter for jewelry.)

In so many words he said my dad didn’t do the things he was accused of doing.

I wasn’t sure what that meant. I returned the call but no answer.

I poked around to learn that his father had been killed in a recent motorcycle accident, struck by a car in North Carolina, according to news reports. After decades in prison, accused of being “the most dangerous man in Connecticut,” by the feds (yes, it makes for good headlines, but not reality) Danny jumped back on his bike for a freedom ride, wiped out by a woman behind the wheel of a Nissan.

When I was 24 years old I interviewed Danny Bifield. It’s among my favorites. From my book Connecticut Characters:

In September 1982 I conducted a big house interview with Danny Bifield, who was described by federal authorities as “the most dangerous man in Connecticut. “ The feds maintained he was an enforcer for the mob. The interview took place at Somers Correctional Institute a day before Bifield went on trial for escaping from a Bridgeport jail on September 23, 1981. The feds had won a conviction of Bifield for conspiring to make and collect extortionate loans and assaulting a Milford man who was late in making payments. Awaiting sentencing on the loansharking conviction, Bifield escaped and led federal authorities on a six-month manhunt before his capture in Colorado.

Bifield was a tough guy romantic figure. Face to face in prison fatigues, Bifield did not look like the typical Hell’s Angel. Yes, he was powerfully built, 6’3, 220 pounds and tattooed. But he had stylishly dirty-blond hair, and his unmarked face as handsome as a fashion model. Female readers would write and call me with indignation, defending Bifield’s honor, chastising media reports as demonizing. Bifield certainly was a Hells Angel, but admittedly no saint. Still, he argued, the feds had branded him something he was not.

Bifield was about 30 years of age during the interview. He’s still in federal maximum security lockup and likely for the rest of his life as a result of charges that took place after our interview.

Some excerpts from the interview first published in the September 22, 1982 issue of the (now deceased) Fairfield County Advocate.

“Being called the most dangerous man in Connecticut is a joke. My friends poke fun at me because of the label. ‘Here comes dangerous Dan’ they’ll say.

The FBI put that label on me because I’ve had my problems with them and because I’m a member of the Hell’s Angels. I know I’m not perfect. I’ve done things wrong. Ever since I was a kid I could never listen to authority. I was a wiseguy. I didn’t get along with my step father. If I wasn’t home by a certain time, he’d tell me not to come home at all. So I was on my own since I was 15. I’d steal, sell drugs, to make a living. How else could I do it? You know, it’s funny though, I even have a brother who’s a Trumbull cop. How about that?

I’m sure you all want to know how dangerous I really am. I’m dangerous to a degree. Isn’t everybody?

For instance, anyone who disrespects me, disrespects the club, I’ll put a good beating on them. Some people are into stabbing, some people are into shooting, I’m into using my hands. I’m pretty good with my fists, but I don’t break legs and arms and kill people like you’ve been led to believe. You’ve also been told that I’m a freelance enforcer for the Mafia. I’m the guy who’s supposed to go around collecting money for the mob. Now I’ll tell you where all that started.

My troubles began when the feds accused me of killing Tommy “The Blond” Vastano.

On January 28, 1980 Vastano, a reputed member of the Vito Genovese crime family, was found shot to death in the yard of his Stratford home. Vastano had been called to testify just days earlier before a federal grand jury probing organized crime activities in Connecticut. Vastano returned home at 1:45 a.m. When he got out of his car he apparently recognized his attacker, according to witnesses, shouting “Oh no! Oh, no!”

Two shots were fired and he fell to the ground. The hitmen then apparently ran into the fenced-in yard, stood over the fallen man and fired three more shots.

Bifield was never arrested for the murder of Vastano, but he carried the accusation.

“I was in New York the day that murder took place. I was driving my uncle’s car and I got stuck in the city when the wheel fell of the car on the FDR drive. I got the car towed and the next day when I got back to Milford my friend holds up the paper and says, ‘They can’t blame you for this one.’ From what I understand, the next day the feds got a phone call from somebody who said that Danny Bifield and the Hell’s Angels are the ones who did it.

All of a sudden the feds raided the gas station in Milford where I used to hang out; they raided my home in New York, and raised homes of my friends. They had a warrant for blood-stained clothes, a .357 magnum and any paperwork to a silver car but they came up with nothing. The word was out that the Hell’s Angels were having this big war with Tommy The Blond. It was supposed to be an organized crime hit. The mob hired us to do all their work for them. But it doesn’t work like that.

The origin of the feds “Most dangerous man” declaration was included in a report written by federal probation officer David Pond.

“Informants told (the feds) I snorted enough cocaine to float the entire city of Bridgeport. That’s a lie. Okay, I get high; I’m not gonna deny that. They had these informers who say Danny Bifield is a real bad-news guy and he’s done a ton of rapes.

So I became famous from that probation report. I’m the most dangerous man in Connecticut – a man with a record of burglaries, breach of peace, larceny, a marijuana bust, a weapons charge. That damn report made me famous. I was in the news all the time. Girls began sending me nude pictures, wanting me to marry them. I liked that part. But let me tell you what I got for that reputation. For being the most dangerous man in Connecticut, I got 20 years – 20 fucking years in prison for being the most dangerous. The judge had no alternative but to give me that sentence because of all the heat from the government, because of the “the most dangerous man” and Tommy The Blond.”

U.S. District Court Judge Warren Eginton sentenced Bifield to a 20-year prison term in connection with the loansharking case. Prosecutors had requested the stiff penalty because of Bifield’s criminal history.  During the interview Bifield admitted to “putting a beating” on a guy but it had nothing to do with owing money.

“I didn’t extort the money. The government twisted the whole thing around. And I end up getting 20 years for that. There are murderers who get less time. They couldn’t get me for Tommy The Blond so they tried something else.

While Bifield was awaiting sentencing, he was incarcerated in the Bridgeport Correctional Center, a holding facility from which he escaped. Bifield said he was suffering from a kidney stone and complained about lack of treatment in the corrections facility.

“I broke out of prison because I was in pain. They wouldn’t give me any medical treatment. I was urinating blood, puking, keeling over and they wouldn’t do a thing. Not once had I thought of escaping because I thought I had a shot at winning the appeals.

It was about 9:45 p.m. on September 23. I was sitting in the day room of the prison watching television. I felt like I wanted to die. They wouldn’t give me any medication. There was this guy next to my cell, I asked him to call for some medication – a shot of anything, I didn’t care what it was. When I went down near my cell – I couldn’t believe it – the door and window next to my cell was wide open.

When I saw the window open I said fuck this. I had no shirt on, just khaki pants and shoes. I needed some kind of medical attention, so I knew I could get it in the streets. I crawled out the window of the second floor, walked on the edge and jumped about 20 feet to the ground. I was all alone.

The first thing I did was to make my way to New York to get some medical treatment. In a couple of weeks’ time I went to Florida. From there I took a love boat into the Bahamas. I went to see a couple of doctors, but they wouldn’t issue me any medication. They wanted me to check into a hospital. I would have been caught so easily had I done that.

I stayed in the Bahamas for a couple of months, spent some time on the beach, but stayed in the hotel most of the time because I was sick. I flew from the Bahamas back to Florida because I knew they were on my trail. Then I took a bus to Colorado. I had a stash of money — $5,000 or $6,000 – with me. Of course I made some money over there. You go to the Bahamas, there’s a ton of drugs. So I sold drugs.

A girl accompanied me the entire trip. I called her up just once before I left Bridgeport, told her I was sick and needed help. I rented an apartment in Denver, stayed there for a couple of weeks. I was still sick – passing stones. I was watching television in the afternoon, and I knew the feds were right on me. I was too ill to run.

I wasn’t going to let them come up here and shoot me. I figured I’d surprise them. I put my ear to the floor and I heard them talking about me downstairs. “How can we get that son of a bitch,” I heard them say. I put my clothes on, went downstairs, I had a knife on me – a legal knife – and I didn’t want to give them any excuse to shoot me, so I went outside where there were a lot of people. They came out with the guns and said hold it. They handcuffed me, threw me in the squad car and took me down to police headquarters.

Then they brought me to the Kansas City Airport. There were guards with sniper rifles, another had a machine gun – I felt like Public Enemy Number One.  On the flight back to the New Haven airport, there were four men. One had a machine gun; another had a sniper rifle. I told them I had to go to the bathroom. They said wait a minute, and they took out two more guns. I asked them if they were going to take these chains off me. They said no way. So we go to the airport in New Haven and my pants were unbuttoned. I didn’t care. They said the television crews are here – button your pants. I said all of a sudden, the cameras come and we all have to look presentable. So a deputy marshal was there fastening my pant buttons. With all we’ve been through, all of a sudden they have to worry about my pants.

When I was first brought to Somers the prison guards were really scared of me. They wouldn’t let me out of my cell unless there were four or five guards surrounding me. After they got to know me, they’d say “You’re not like they made you out to be.” Anybody who knows me knows that.

I figure I’ll be discharged from prison in about 13 years. So I’ll be about 43 years old. Maybe this reputation as the most dangerous will ease and I can go on with my life. But I have no regrets. I’ve done everything. I’ve traveled here and there, had a ton of women, had my decent share of money, nice cars and motorcycles. I’ve kept my sense of humor through it all. I’m proud of what I am – a Hell’s Angel.”