There was a gang of bikers once that tried to run their town – Sioux City, Iowa, I think. They had like a hundred guys, and they all souped up their bikes so they’d make this huge roar. Then they’d race around town and try to scare the bejeepers out of everybody. This worked for like six weeks and then everybody in town lost their hearing so they weren’t scared anymore. Then they had a city council meeting and the townspeople decided to fight back. The bikers moved to table the fight, but they were outvoted and there was a big rumble. And the bikers lost. Badly.
And the bikers realized they couldn’t live in a city where the people who go to city council meetings could beat them up, so they left for a town where they figured nobody could beat them up – Wimp Junction, Kansas. Population 408, nobody under 65 or over 150 pounds. They roared around town, set fire to things, bought lots of beer, barbecued stuff – and then the town council met, and there was another fight, and the bikers got beat up by the people of Wimp Junction.
So the leaders of the biker gang decided to set their sights lower. Fighting towns and losing, they figured, was a sure way to whittle away their reputation as tough guys. So who could they pick on and keep their “street cred” intact? They tried to fight some bunny rabbits, but the rabbits used their teeth – well-honed from years of eating carrots – to drive them into the wilderness. The bikers had to camp out for three nights, each taking watch shifts to make sure the bunnies didn’t come back. They picked a fight with a billboard, but it fell over on them and when they tried to get the $39.99 muffler special promised in the ad the mechanic said no. The final straw, though, was when they lost a fight to a baseball card of Billy Ripken – the one with the swears on it. The card sold the bikers to a dealer in Des Moines for eighteen cents.
So that was the last straw, and the bikers figured they’d have to give up being bikers and take up a profession more suited for a bunch of wormy losers, like going back to middle school. But while drinking their rations of Sunny D one morning, the bikers caught a glimpse of someone on TV that would change them forever. Richard Dreyfuss. Who couldn’t take that guy, they figured? And so they rode out to Hollywood as fast as they could (30 MPH) to meet their destiny.
The sad thing was, though, that Richard Dreyfuss’s secret power is that he’s immune to attacks by biker gangs. Anybody else can take him easy – a bunch of grandmas could beat him into submission in like four seconds. But when bikers try it, it doesn’t work. So they showed up at his house, and he sat there on the porch as calm as could be. And the lead biker – Duane, I think – said, “It’s over, Dreyfuss – we’re taking you OUT.” And Richard Dreyfuss just stood up and said “Bring it.” Thirty seconds later, he was walking across his lawn, which was covered with bikers writhing in pain.
Later, Richard Dreyfuss wrote a screenplay about it – that was the storyline for the original draft of Mr. Holland’s Opus – but the studios rejected it and hired some guys to write the script we all know and love today, about a music teacher who robs banks and flees into space. Great flick.