It's Only Me- Chapter 6- Politics, Working and Brandy

Kings Highway was an epicenter of political activity in the 60's. Every local as well as state and National hopeful was obligated to appear at East 16th Street and Kings Highway outside Dubrow's Cafeteria to make his case. (There were virtually no women candidates then.)

From 1964 through 1968 we greeted John Lindsay for Mayor, Robert Kennedy for Senator and later Hubert Humphrey for President. Humphrey appeared with Mahalia Jackson the African American gospel singer. Humphrey was lackluster but I remember that Mahalia Jackson shone! She could've done without the microphone.

Each candidate kept a local office where they stored the pamphlets and buttons that the neighborhood kids would clamor to get by the bagful and then hand out. Capitilizing on the free labor of mostly uninformed chidren was a staple of NY politics back then. But some of us were involved out of a sense of history, or a desire to belong to something that would invlove them on the periphial of the adult world.

Steve Solarz had an office around the corner from Seth's apartment and when he ran for Assembyman in 1967/8 I was up there most of the time. As a result of running back and forth for coffee and sandwiches at Arkins Luchenette I eventually got a part time job working there. The place was called Ruby's after the owner Rueben Arkin.

The place was your typical Brooklyn "candy store" with a newstand and magazine rack out front at the open front counter. Walking in was a delight. There was a rack holding candy and gum. Along the wall was a massive selection of comics and magazines from Popular Science to Mad and all the rest. And to top it off the whole place was done in wood and mirrors. It was the typical "candy store."

My job was behind the counter, washing dishes, cups, mopping the floor and making malteds and ice cream sodas. Eventually I was allowed to fry things and make sandwiches.

Overseeing the whole operation until about 3:30 each day was Ruby's mom- I don't remember her name but I do recall the face. She was a refugee from some European country- she had arrived befor the beginning of World War II. She wore dark glasses- I'm not sure why- but she could be mean as a snake. The dishwater was never hot enough to suit her taste and I always used too much ice cream in the malteds.I can still hear her saying, "You're going to put us out of business!"

Still, it was a wonderful place to work and Ruby had a secret life.

About the time of my working there, several of my friends and I had started smoking pot. At the end of the day when we would close the store Ruby would be listening to jazz on the Black Liberation Station WBLS which played the jazz that Ruby had loved so much in his youth. He used to go to the Cotton Club in Harlem as a young man to dance to all the greats. He saw Cab Calloway, Lena Horne,Duke Ellington and even Louis Armstrong play there. He also picked up some unusual habits for a man his age- so it was quite a surprise one night when he closed and went to the back for a moment. Coming out form the curtained storage area with a sly grin, he instructed me to "pull the front shade." Turning the radio up loud he looked at me and said-"Wanna smoke some reefer?" I was shocked- but not really- Ruby was an animated and very vocal person. I thought he was cool but had no idea he smoked. So this became a ritual- we would close- sometimes early- and smoke pot.

One day I asked him what he did on the days the store was closed. He told me- "When Francis and the girls get on my nerves I pull some tobacco out of the end of my cigar- press some grass in the end and light up. They never know the difference."
I often wonder if this little secret went to the grave with him, or if he eventually got busted by one of his kids.

Around this time and through my association with Ruby, I got a job with one of his customers, Murray, from Murray's Liquors, also on Avenue U. This was a strange deal in that Murray was Jewish and couldn't/wouldn't work the Sabbath. But it killed him to pass up the trade on one of the busiest nights of the week. So, in direct opposition to the Torah, he had another Jew, me, 14 or 15 years old, taking the money and selling the booze for him. I would sweep up and close, placing the money in a previously agreed upon place. I would take my share of the money and a couple of bottles of Hiram Walker Blackberry Brandy. This was my drink of choice at 14 and a half.

I shared my liquor with Mark Shorr and Jeffrey Goldenkranz. Mark and I used to meet at 7:30 in the morning and walk to James Madison High School, drinking about a half pint on the way. Then we went to gym class and then home. It was a good system.

Jeff and I would hook up later in the day, before I would go to work at Ruby's and have a drink. It was also around this time that we began to push each other in the direction of smoking pot. We were both keenly interested in it- partly due to the influence of the music, which was all slanted toward the growing "drug culture."

"Mafia Summit" by Gil Reavill (2013)

Depending on where you lived in America prior to 1957 determined what you called the mafia. In Los Angeles it was the “Combination”; Chicago had the “Fix”; New York had the “Mob”; and everyone knew they were connected. That is, everyone but J. Edgar Hoover, who didn’t admit the Mafia even existed until after the release of the Valachi papers in the early 1960’s. And since Valachi referred to the syndicate as La Costra Nostra, or, “This Thing of Ours”; rather than the Mafia; Hoover still insisted that he was right. There was no Mafia. Essentially, Hoover saved America from the Communists, but in doing so,  gave it to the mob.

Gil Reavill has done a superb job in researching, as well as writing, this detailed history of the mob in America, while telling the story behind the infamous Apalachin Conference in 1957 and the repercussions which evolved from that incident.

New York State Trooper Sergeant Edgar Croswell had been keeping an eye on local resident Joe Barbara for years. Their first encounter involved gas siphoning during the last days of the Second World War. But when Sgt. Croswell noticed an assemblage of high priced, late model automobiles; dozens of them; parked at Mr. Barbara’s home one morning in November of 1957, he ran the plates, and changed the course of the history of the mob in America. He also shook up J. Edgar Hoover’s little fiefdom, which had been busy chasing Communists for so long that they didn’t even have a clue about this organized  criminal element, and how far they had penetrated our very own government.

Along with the story of the Summit the author has also told the story of the syndicates in the various cities across America and how they became united. Tracing the mob wars back to the Castellammarese clan he draws a clear picture of how the power struggles of the past led to a nation-wide criminal organization which held ownership in legitimate businesses; using the profits to buy politicians and evade the law for decades.

The first real mob “convention” took place in 1928 in Cleveland. It was held at the Statler Hotel for the express purpose of deciding who controlled what territories. This was a result of the Castellammarese ‘war”. The meeting was called by Joseph Porrello, also known as the Sugar Baron. That meeting was broken up before any real progress could be made, but is acknowledged as the first summit of its kind.

The next time the mob held a meeting was in 1929 in Atlantic City. That meeting was spoofed in the hit movie “Some Like It Hot”, with many of the characters bearing similar, if not exact nicknames of the mobsters who attended the conference.

After that was the 1931 meeting held in Chicago at the Congress Hotel. This meeting was held to codify national commission to settle disputes.  By 1946 the mob leaders met again in Havana to discuss the new business of trafficking in heroin. Present at that meeting were Albert Anastasia, Vito Genovese and the newly freed; and deported; Lucky Luciano, who flew into Cuba from Italy with a fake passport.

One of the most interesting parts of this book was how far into our everyday life the mob had gone. Take a bottle of soda as an example. The main ingredient was sugar, and as such, it was a valuable commodity, ripe for manipulation. Cuba was important not only for gambling and drugs, but sugar as well. When Castro took over in the late 1950’s, we lost our sugar holdings, which affected the price of a bottle of soda for millions of Americans.

One of the reasons we went to such great lengths to overthrow Castro was sugar, which was vital to the still thriving, tax free bootleg liquor industry in America. Local bootleggers could not simply buy a thousand pounds of sugar locally without arousing suspicion. It had to be bought on the black market, which is where the mob came into play. The price of sugar rose drastically after Castro took over, and cost the mob a tremendous amount of money in lost profits here at home as well as in the casinos in Havana.

The story of the Summit at Apalachin on November 14, 1957 is well known. The images of mobsters, dressed in expensive suits, running through the late fall woods, slipping and sliding in their pointed toes shoes is a part of our culture. But the story behind the officer who precipitated the raid, and the light which was shed upon the existence of the mob in America, is a story that has never really been told in such detail as by Mr. Reavill. His attention to the details of the history leading up to the Apalachin Summit; as well as the results of exposing the connections of the various crime families in America; is fascinating and informative.

With an appendix listing the names and details of the various bosses, coupled with a chapter by chapter section of notes; along with an extensive bibliography; make this a lively and educational read for anyone interested in the history behind all of the movies about organized crime in America. 

Forty Two

It has been 42 years since Robert Kennedy was killed in Los Angeles. He was 42 years old. So much has been written about that night and his subsequent death that there is little to add.

I was 13 and a half when Kennedy was shot. Coming, as it did, on the heels of Martin Luther King's murder, 8 weeks earlier, it was one of those events that leaves you changed in some measure. There is a loss of confidence and security in all that surrounds you.

In the years between 1962, when I received my first transistor radio, and the end of the decade, I got most of my news and music through a flesh colored apparatus known then as the "earphone." They came with the radio. And every night when I went to bed I put the radio beneath my pillow and the "earphone" in my ear. With the lights out and the music on I traveled far and wide in search of that indefineable "something." And sometimes I'd get it. The night of June 4th was one of those nights.

Just past 3 AM in the early morning hours of June 5th, I was listening to WMCA Radio 56 (560 on the AM dial) when the news broke that Robert Kennedy had been shot at the Ambassador Hotel in L.A. No one was awake. Even back then I was a lousy sleeper, frequently keeping the radio turned on beneath my pillow all night, waking at intervals to check on the news, or search for a favorite song.

Roaming the dial from one end to the next at nighttime brought in some extraordinary places. I would jot down the names of the cities and the names of the stations. Addressing the postcards to the stations in such faraway places as Colorado, I would inform them that I had received their signals in New York City and at what time. I usually got back a postcard thanking me for listening. I had dozens of these and considered myself somewhat akin to the early radio listeners and the crystal headsets they wore.

But this event was so astounding, so mesmerizing. In the dark everything is magnified, senses are enlarged and the mind's eye gives sharp focus to the words being spoken. It was that way this night as I lay there listening to the reports coming in.

All through the next day I watched and waited with the rest of the world to see if Robert Kennedy would pull through. There was no way I was going to sleep that next night. This was a drama that had to be seen through until the end. And that end came sometime around 4:30 AM when Joeseph Mankiewicz tearfully announced the death of Robert Kennedy. The rest is history.

The world has changed in dramatic ways since those days. The ways in which we receive our news 24/7 has brought the world closer in some measure. But I will always remember, and even long for, the days when I got my news through the "office" beneath my pillow, flesh colored "earphones" in place, searching for the next "big thing."

"L.A. Noir" by John Buntin

This book is a real page turner. Los Angeles has a very colorful and sordid history. From the 1920's through the 1960's is like one big film noir story.

In this book Mr. Buntin explores that history and the characters involved in the making of the legend that Los Angeles has become. This story involves Bugsy Seigel, Mickey Cohen, Clark Clifford, Billy Graham and a host of others. The Billy Graham-Mickey Cohen connection is truly amazing all by itself. The whole book is one long narrative of how crime, vice, politics and religion play such a large role in our daily lives. In this case the connection of these forces shaped the direction of a major city.

If you have ever seen the movie "LA Confidential" you will be amazed at how much of that movie was taken from real life. "Bloody Christmas" really did happen in 1951 Los Angeles. This was a time when people left bottles of whiskey on the corner for the police to pick up for the annual holiday bash at Central Division.

Illegal wiretapping, beatings, prostitution and gambling are the mainstays of Organized Crime and Los Angeles is determined to keep Organized Crime out of the city. They had their own "Combination" going and wanted no competition. The battle was on for control of the city and its' criminal enterprises.

With the advent of the Kefauver Committee in the 1950's Robert Kennedy enters upon the scene as counsel for the hearings. This role helps pave the way for his brother John's Presidential run in 1960. And Los Angeles would be the site of that years Democratic Convention. It is also the city where Robert Kennedy would be killed in 1968 at the height of his own Presidential campaign.

There is a scene in the movie "Mulholland Falls" in which Nick Nolte and his fellow detectives take an out of town hood and throw him off a cliff. If it seemed far fetched in the film- it wasn't. In real life it actually happened- more than once.

The book is gritty and carries the tension of the struggle between law enforcement and the Mob on every page. The personal peculiarities of Mickey Cohen and his henchman make dramatic and sometimes amusing reading.

The book is extensive and follows the history of crime in Los Angeles from the 1930's through the racially charged times of the Watts Riots in 1965 and beyond. It is well written and has an extensive bibliography. And through this book I have learned that Mickey Cohen wrote an autobiography. You can be sure I will be reading that one!