The existence of the National Crime Syndicate has been known for many years by those who studied organized crime in the days before the FBI acknowledged that such an animal existed.
In 1961 Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy and his aides decided to launch a campaign against ‘‘the enemy within” and looked about for the best method of attack. Kennedy was perhaps the first Attorney General of the United States to have personal insight into the problem, and as brother of the President, he had the political muscle to force rival federal agencies into a semblance of cooperation. Yet he knew that unless and until the American people recognized the reality of organized crime, little could be achieved.
Somewhat cynically, despite the best motives, Kennedy and his advisers decided to limit their attack. They recognized that the National Crime Syndicate was too vast, too sophisticated, too insulated, to be understood by the average citizen. On the other hand, the Mafia was compact enough, crude enough, exotic enough, to capture the imagination of people who thought of organized crime in terms of Al Capone and The Untouchables.
Equally important was the necessity of getting J. Edgar Hoo- ver’s FBI into the battle. Thanks largely to Hoover’s refusal over the decades to admit that organized crime existed, the FBI knew next to nothing about either the Mafia or the National Crime Syndicate. Yet in the eyes of the public, the FBI was an elite group. If a war on organized crime was to be believable, the FBI had to participate.
La Cosa Nostra was created as a public image. This simple device of giving the Mafia a new name worked wonders. Hoover was taken off the limb where he had perched so long, and citizens had a new menace to talk about with tales of blood oaths, contracts for murder, secret societies. Kennedy knew the picture was some thirty years out of date, but at least it offered a point of departure.
The author has maintained for years that if every member of the Mafia (or La Cosa Nostra) were jailed tomorrow, organized crime would be just as powerful as ever. And in fact the FBI has jailed many of the top leaders of the Mafia in the nine years since Kennedy took office; yet the National Crime Syndicate continues to exert its influence on the economy, on govern- ment, on international affairs.
Ironically, the National Crime Syndicate has benefited by the emphasis on La Cosa Nostra. The real leaders of crime have remained hidden while the nation’s law enforcement agencies have chased minor punks. And naive is he who believes this de- velopment has been accidental.
Where the National Crime Syndicate is concerned, matters of such importance are not left to chance. Research reveals that non-Mafia leaders of crime have been hiding behind the vendetta-ridden society for decades. It took the Kefauver Com- mittee in 1950, for example, to disclose the fact that behind the old Mayfield Road Mob was the Cleveland Syndicate.
Over the years the name of Meyer Lansky has appeared again and again—but always in the shadow of someone else. When at- tention centered on Luciano and Lepke, Lansky was in the background. When it shifted to Costello and Genovese, Lansky was still there. During the uproar over La Cosa Nostra, Lansky became almost invisible. One would assume that the mere fact he has survived while the Capones, the Lucianos, the Costellos, and, yes, the Lepkes and the Zwillmans have been murdered, deposed, or jailed would at last, inevitably, bring him to the forefront of public attention. But such is not necessarily the case.
Yet any careful study of Lansky will reveal that he has done more than survive. He has been the key man in almost every sit- uation involving other top hoods, and he has pulled the strings in every important move made by the National Crime Syndicate. While there is, unhappily, no such thing as a Mr. Big con- trolling all crime, Lansky has been for years the Chairman of the Board. Crime is too large, too sophisticated for a single man to control, but more than anyone else, Lansky has shaped and guided it. Thanks largely to Lansky, organized crime has changed from an ugly growth on the body politic capable of being removed by surgery to a cancerous part of our economic and political systems. Small wonder then that we prefer to hunt down the punks rather than deeply probe the basic illness of Our society.
Most crime books are usually based on the findings of law enforcement agencies since there has been little independent re- search in the field. As one who has spent thousands of hours studying and comparing official files, I know the data may be biased, is certainly incomplete, and can be unreliable on occasion.
Many professionals who may not be so naive depend upon their sources for their livelihood. The writer who offends the FBI, for example, will find all doors closed when he returns; a crude form of censorship is exercised by some official agencies, and a writer who lacks the time and contacts to do his own re- search is at their mercy. If he wants to continue writing, he must trim his sails. When the FBI says La Cosa Nostra runs crime, the professional must concur.
Over the years I have had access to files on federal, state, and local levels. I have supplemented the data they contained by talking to politicians, gangsters, and involved citizens. I’ve visited the plush casinos of Las Vegas and the Bahamas, as well as the meanest bust-out joints of Cicero and Biloxi. I sat alone with Robert Kennedy in a Louisville hotel room and heard the first whisper of Joe Valachi’s song. I’ve talked with black numbers writers who wore their fingernails long to prove they did no physical labor. The wives and the mistresses of gangsters have told their secrets, as have elderly madams and young pros- titutes. Castro’s mistress told me her story, and I obtained access to the diary of Mrs. “Trigger Mike’’ Coppola.
During those years, I might add, I was indicted in Louisville, cited to show cause why I shouldn’t be held in contempt in Fort Lauderdale, and held under guard as a witness in Cincinnati.
I've been offered $250,000 bribes and been threatened with murder. Attempts to frame me have been made, and I’ve been smeared as anti-Semitic from coast to coast by gangsters who used religion as a cloak.
And I’ve sometimes played the curious role of middleman, relaying to a dedicated agent information obtained by a dedi- cated agent of another agency. Luckily there are such investigators in all agencies who put crime fighting ahead of empire building.
The book that follows is based on data supplied by no one agency or individual. I have drawn upon dozens of sources, some of them conflicting, and I have filled in the gaps with in- formation supplied by gangsters themselves. The result may not be the entire story, but I have made every effort to see that it approaches that elusive goal more closely than anything yet published.
Some readers may question the dialogue quoted at intervals in the pages ahead. The dialogue is based on the best recollections by several important associates of Lansky of the actual words spoken. I have attempted to disguise the sources quoted. In some cases, of course, the individual was not present but obtained an account of the conversations from someone who was there. In other situations, dialogue is reconstructed from actual tape recordings.
Obviously, then, this book couldn’t have been written had the author not promised to hold in confidence the source of such material. I can be justly proud, I believe, that—like Lansky—my word is respected in the more intelligent circles of the underworld. Good police reporters will know what I mean.
The gangsters know, as does the FBI, that on more than one occasion I have risked jail rather than violate a confidence.
The story that follows concerns the life of one man. But this life, this man, perhaps better than many books (some of them mine) I hope will convey a picture of crime as it truly exists in America—and show how it became as powerful (and generally misunderstood) as it is today.
In this book I try to show that organized crime is not the province of any one ethnic group or secret society. Just as no such group has a monopoly on virtue, neither does one have a monopoly on evil. Yet, until this simple truth is accepted, there can be little of lasting value achieved in a war against what, after all, is but an extension of our cherished free enterprise system.
Equally essential is recognition that without political and economic corruption there could be no organized crime syndicate, and no Chairman of the Board.
HANK MESSICK
Fort Lauderdale, Florida
***
(...)
Money had been needed to survive in the old country. It had purchased protection from the ignorant population, from hostile officials of corrupt governments. The lowest of the low, no Jew had dared appeal to law or force for his basic rights. The bribe had become his basic tool.
In the new land, however, the children of immigrants soon recognized that more than immunity from persecution could be purchased. Properly used, money could be an instrument for power in a society where wealth was easier to achieve. And with power still more money could be made and more power obtained.
Meyer Lansky, as Maier soon called himself, was physically unimpressive. At maturity he stood only 5 feet 414 inches tall and weighed less than 136 pounds. But his brown eyes were sharp beneath a mop of brown hair, and his face had a pinched, hungry look. His teachers in Public School 165 and, later, in Public School 34 recognized his intelligence. He was eager for knowledge. At the same time they noted a passion for secrecy and a self-control that seemed remarkable in so young a boy.
Despite his size, his classmates respected him and even the bullies of the schoolyard sought his friendship. Meyer Wassell, an oversized boss, took orders from Lansky on occasion. One day a teacher asked why.
“The little guy has brains,” said Wassell.
Friendships made in those days survived for years. Indeed, some of Lansky’s classmates ultimately became part of his organization and their loyalty remained steadfast.
More than fifty years later, Wassell was operating the plush Singapore Motel in Bal Harbour, north of Miami Beach. It was Lansky’s headquarters, a fact Wassell defiantly admitted. At the same time he deposited a check for $25,000 with the local Optimist Club to be held until someone could prove that organized crime had anything to do with the motel. It was a safe gesture. Long before, Lansky had learned the arts of insulation. He owned men, not property, and they were bound to him by bonds of respect, loyalty, and fear.
**
But Lansky was more than a skilled mechanic. He was a nat- ural businessman unencumbered with ethics or respect for law and justice. There were plenty of hoods too lazy to steal when they could rent, so Lansky began supplying autos as well as doc- toring them. Siegel, now called Bugs by almost everyone—but never to his face—joined Lansky in the auto rental agency. He proved most adept at stealing enough vehicles to meet the de- mand. A customer could order almost any make or model in the morning and pick it up the next day, complete with techni- cal improvements provided by the skilled mechanics who now worked under Lansky’s direction. If in the course of business the car became hot, it could be returned for remodeling.
The next step was obvious and provided the basis for the formation of the Bugs & Meyer Mob. Using the rental business as a base, Lansky began contracting to haul booze. If a gangster was expecting a shipment, he could hire Lansky to pick it up at the designated place and haul it to its destination. For added fees, Lansky would provide enough men to ride shotgun and thus guarantee delivery. If, on the other hand, the hood wanted a rival’s shipment hijacked, Lansky could provide the muscle and the machines to do it.
Young, daring, and completely ruthless men were needed.
Thanks to Lucania’s advice, Lansky had been carefully selecting men for several years. His gang soon acquired a reputation for courage, audacity, and efficiency. Lansky, meanwhile, built up a personal reputation of being a man of his word. He lived up to his contracts to the bottle and to the bond. In a society where the double cross was the rule rather than the exception, this reputation for honesty became a tremendous asset. In decades to come, in multimillion-dollar deals, the word of Lansky was enough. As much as anything, it made him a leader respected even in the Mafia, where the stab in the back was considered admirable as long as it was successful.
From the activities of the Bugs & Meyer Mob eventually developed Murder, Inc. Lansky and Siegel proved that controlled violence, even murder, could be profitable; but as they moved up the ladder to leadership, and organization replaced chaos, the bribe largely supplanted the bullet. Specialists in violence remained, but they became an elite group concerned more with internal policing than with external aggression.
The Bugs & Meyer Mob in the mid-twenties was not adverse to free-lance activity. If between contracts there was time to spare, a loft job or a bit of hijacking on their own was in order —after all, they had payrolls to meet.
On the whole, morale was high in the Bugs & Meyer Mob.
The men considered themselves specialists and were convinced their continued value depended on giving full service on contract jobs. The mood was different, however, when called upon to work for themselves. Understandably, perhaps, some men felt they deserved a cut of the profits, and one or two even attempted to take it.
Such a man was John Barrett, an ex-con whose uncle first hired Lansky and taught him the tool and die business. No doubt Barrett thought that sentiment was on his side, but he underestimated Lansky—a man who didn’t cheat and had no intention of being cheated. The loft job had been a big success. It was fingered by Jake Lansky, Meyer’s hump-shouldered and dense younger brother. Jake had secured a job with the Bronx Fur Dressing Company, and he arranged details that led to the profitable venture. Upon checking the loot, however, Jake reported that some valuable furs were missing. Suspicion pointed to Barrett.
A few nights later, leaders of the gang met at the home of Louis Buchalter—later to be feared as the terrible Lepke.
While not a member of the mob as such, he was a close friend of Lansky’s and a power among Jewish gangsters. His advice was wanted, especially since the accusation had been made by Jake, and Meyer wanted to be completely objective.
It was more of a court-martial than a trial and it didn’t take long. Faced with the cold-eyed Lepke, Barrett soon confessed his crime.
“It ain’t fair,” he blurted, “for us to take all the risks while he”—¢gesturing at the impassive Lansky—‘gets most of the gravy. On jobs like this there ought to be a better split.” “Balls,”’ said Bugsy, who took more risks than anyone. Siegel owed Barrett $2,500, but of that he said nothing. Some thirty years later, Barrett told the story to the FBI and complained the debt was the real reason for the trouble. By then, of course, Siegel was dead and Lansky was more powerful than ever. The decision was quickly made. The men went out to their car. Bugsy took the wheel as usual. The Lansky brothers and their chief gunman, Sam ‘‘Red” Levine, got in the back. The trembling Barrett had no choice but to take the dangerous seat beside Bugsy. He sat waiting for what he was sure would follow —a bullet in the back of the head.
That very subject was being discussed. Levine, an efficient killer, wanted to do it that way. Meyer, the efficient business- man, saw no need to get blood all over the car and make necessary an expensive cleaning job. “Hit him on the wing,” ordered the boss.
A few blocks from Lepke’s house, where a Jewish ceremony known as bris was occurring, Siegel slowed the big car to a crawl. “Get out,” he told Barrett. Puzzled but relieved, Barrett jumped from the still moving car. He landed on his feet and kept moving. From the back seat, Red Levine took target practice. The first bullet struck Barrett in the body. He spun around, staggered to the gutter, and dropped. Satisfied, Siegel gunned the motor and the car sped away.
It was not very efficient, and Siegel blamed Lansky. For Bar- rett wasn’t dead. Police found him a few minutes later and rushed him to a hospital. On the basis of his mumbled remarks, a search began for the gunmen. But the search wasn’t pushed with much vigor; Barrett was an ex-convict, a punk, and gang killings were too common to get excited about.
Nevertheless, Siegel and the Lanskys had to take precautions for a few days. Siegel resented it, blaming Meyer’s small economy for the trouble. Meanwhile, in the hospital Barrett made a quick recovery. Police urged him to sign a complaint, which he promised to do upon leaving the hospital. After all, he explained, he wanted to be in hiding when the cops went after the Bugs & Meyer Mob. It sounded logical enough.
Shortly before Barrett was to be released, Daniel Francis Ahearn came calling with a covered dish of chiboni. It was liberally dosed with strychnine, sprinkled on by that master chef Meyer Lansky. Barrett expressed thanks but no thanks—he just wasn’t hungry. Ahearn left the food behind just in case, and Barrett told a nurse to put it in the garbage can.
Nevertheless, he got the message, and when the cops returned, he told them he had changed his mind about signing a complaint.
Much has been written of omerta, the legendary code of silence imposed on Mafia members, but it isn’t peculiar to the Mafia. Most criminals refuse to talk. Basically, they consider their affairs are none of the square world’s business. To be called a stool pigeon is the worst insult in the underworld jungle; many non-Mafia gangsters have gone to the chair unwilling to talk. On the other hand, plenty of Mafia hoods have broken omerta to save their own skins.
Barrett did not talk and lived to be reinstated in the good graces of Meyer Lansky. His uncle, who had been a second father to Meyer, interceded. Barrett returned the stolen furs, and nothing more was said about the debt Siegel owed him —apparently that was considered canceled by Bugsy’s speed in driving away before Levine could put another bullet in him.
There was a strange sequel to the affair in 1928, however. A rare argument between Lansky and Siegel developed, and the reckless Bugsy accused his partner of being soft. To rub it in, he recalled the Barrett episode. Lansky only smiled, knowing full well the younger man would soon calm down and apologize. Present during the argument was Ahearn, the man who delivered the poisoned chicken to Barrett. Not understanding the real affection between the two men, or perhaps seeing a chance to become a hero, Ahearn slapped Bugsy and ordered him to shut up. The handsome Siegel went white with rage but turned on his heel and left the room. To Ahearn’s surprise, Lansky also walked away without a word.
Next evening Ahearn was walking along Broome Street on the Lower East Side. It was almost midnight. A car driven by Jake Lansky drove alongside Ahearn. Siegel sat beside Jake— on this trip he wanted his gun hand free. Barrett, the cause of all the trouble, was in the back seat with another man.
The car stopped. Siegel stepped out and shot Ahearn twice— in the face and arm—got back into the car and rode away. The cops arrived and so did Pete Bender, a friend of Ahearn. In answer to the inevitable question—who did it?—Ahearn muttered Lansky’s name. It was Lansky’s fault, he felt, for not appreciating Ahearn’s efforts and for not stopping Bugsy.
On March, 1928, Lansky was charged with felonious assault pending the outcome of Ahearn’s battle for life.
Meanwhile, Bender, another would-be hero, went gunning for Lansky. He didn’t return. Next day the felonious assault charge was dropped and replaced with a charge of homicide. Word was that Lansky had killed Bender. But informants could whisper all they pleased; no body and no witnesses were found. Three days later, all charges were dropped and Lansky went back to his home at 125 South Third Street, Brooklyn, a free man.
Ahearn lived and in 1957 told the true story to federal officials, then trying to find grounds on which to deport Lansky. But Bender was never seen again. This time, or so went the gossip, the guns of the Bugs & Meyer Mob had been more accurate.
By 1928 the confusion of the early years was coming to an end. Following Rothstein’s withdrawal from the business, Frank Costello and William “Big Bill” Dwyer emerged with the best organization, and despite the hijacking efforts of Legs Diamond it continued to grow. Eventually Rothstein withdrew his support of Legs, and the white-haired young man became a target. He proved agile enough to survive Rothstein, however, but was finally blasted in the bed of his mistress by a team of Dutch Schultz's killers.
Late in 1925, however, Dwyer and Costello were indicted on assorted smuggling and bribery charges. Dwyer was convicted a year later, but Costello ultimately beat the rap. He needed allies, so he joined forces with the emerging Broadway Mob headed by Joe Adonis. At a meeting in the Claridge Hotel, where headquarters were established on the twelfth floor, the problems of supply were discussed. Costello’s old organization was in shambles and new sources were needed. An obvious one was the Bahamas. The docks in Nassau and West End were loaded with liquor bought in England and Canada, and the Bay Street Boys who ruled the islands were eager to do business. ‘There was one difficulty, however. Sam Bloom of Chicago, backed by the guns of Al Capone, had achieved something of a monopoly in Nassau and was supplying most of the Midwest, including Cleveland, with illicit booze.
Capone was a local boy, however, who had been tutored by Johnnie Torrio—another product of the East Side of New York. What’s more, Lucania was his cousin and enjoyed friendly relations. A telephone call was made, and in a few days Bloom appeared at the Claridge ready to talk business. His prices were high, but he agreed to deliver 10,000 cases a month from Nassau.
Conditions being what they were in New York, Bloom decided he needed some local muscle. And opportunity dawned for the Bugs & Meyer Mob. At Lucania’s suggestion, the Bugs were hired by Bloom to protect his shipments against hijackers and his person against kidnapping. Quite a kidnapping racket had developed. Inevitably, once an individual achieved considerable wealth in the booze business, he became a natural target of less fortunate gangsters. The law offered such a person no protection. Indeed, the code of the underworld required that police be left out. Sometimes the payment of a large ransom was sufficient, and the beer baron or rumrunner was released.
Often as not, however, if his kidnappers feared his power for revenge, the money was taken and the victim dropped at sea with concrete overshoes. In later years those unimaginative gangsters who were unable to adjust to Repeal tried to carry on the racket by kidnapping legit guys or their children, but the leaders of the mob had more sense. J. Edgar Hoover, the youthful head of the FBI, might warn that kidnapping was the new menace, but the emerging crime syndicate knew better.
As usual, the Bugs & Meyer Mob lived up to its contracts.
Siegel handled the actual guard duties, commanding a crack group of killers so tough that even the Dutchman, as Schultz was called, shied away. Lansky played the part of the diplomat. In his calm, reasonable fashion, he was able to dissuade rival gang leaders from attacking his convoys by pointing out that all would profit if a reliable source of booze could be maintained.
Not only did Lansky win immunity from attack, but also in many cases he persuaded the rivals to join the Combination, as it was becoming known. Charles “King” Solomon of Boston was one of the first. Solomon’s sphere of influence included most of New England, and on his team were such stalwarts as Joe Linsey, Hyman Abrams, and Mickey “the Wise Guy” Rocco. Lansky’s friendship with these lieutenants was to outlast his association with Solomon.
Similarly, a working agreement was reached with the Cleveland Syndicate headed by four men of Jewish extraction: Moe Dalitz, Morris Kleinman, Sam Tucker, and Louis Rothkopf.
They had achieved domination of the smuggling trade over Lake Erie from Canada and were men after Lansky’s heart.
Willing and able to use violence if necessary, they depended largely on logic to convince Mafia elements of the Mayfield Road Mob to cooperate for the common profit. Such tough gangsters as Tony and Frank Milano, Al and Chuck Polizzi took orders from Dalitz and Company and got rich.
Even the flood of booze across Lake Erie was insufficient at times to meet the demand and had to be supplemented. Lansky worked out an arrangement whereby the boys could buy from New York in times of shortage and, conversely, sell to New York if a shortage developed there. It was a profitable deal and led to a lasting alliance that has continued until this day.
Bloom was quite shocked, however, when Lansky submitted his first expense account. It totaled $30,000. He demanded that the Combination pay it. Lucania, seeing an opportunity, suggested that Lansky and Siegel be brought into the outfit as equal partners. After some grumbling—and several more expense accounts—his plan was accepted.
Within a few months Lansky knew more about Bloom’s business than did the gentleman from Chicago. And suddenly Bloom, who no longer had a contract with the Bugs & Meyer Mob, began having problems. Somehow, part of his shipment vanished en route to New York. He demanded payment for the missing cases, claiming with some justification that it was the Combination’s duty to protect the cargo. Leaders of the Combination stalled. By 1929 Bloom claimed they owed him $500,000.
One day, Joe Adonis walked into the headquarters and asked for $100,000 to be paid to Bloom on account. The Combination’s accountant handed it over. That night Bloom vanished from his apartment at 307 West Seventy-fifth Street and was never seen again.
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