Joseph Bruno's Blog, page 87

Joe Bruno on the Mob – Jacob "Gurrah" Shapiro – The Brawn Behind Lepke's Brains.

He was a gorilla of a man, with a chest like a circus strongman and the temperament of a killer, which was exactly what he was. Yet, Jacob "Gurrah" Shapiro had the intellect of a rock, which is why he needed the "brains" of one of the best criminal minds of all time — Louis "Lepke" Buchalter to help him succeed in a life of crime.

Shapiro was born on May 5, 1899, in Odessa, Russia, the son of Russian Jews. His family immigrated to America and settled on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Shapiro spoke with a thick Russian/New York accent, like his mouth was full of marbles. His favorite expression was "get out of here." But the way he said it sounded like "Gurrah dahere," hence his pals shortened that to "Gurrah," a nickname that stood with him the rest of his life.

Shapiro first met Lepke when they were two crooks trying to steal from the same pushcart. Shapiro, then 18, decided that this kid Lepke, who was two years younger than him, was the perfect partner for someone like him, whose answer to all problems was "let's just kill the bum."

Lepke decided there was big money to be made in the labor union rackets. So he enlisted the brawn of Shapiro to terrorized certain union locals into submission, which meant Shapiro was usually beating someone to a pulp, which he enjoyed immensely. When enough union members had been corrected, Lepke and Shapiro, who were then known as the "Gorilla Boys," took control of the union. As union bosses, they would skim union dues off the top, and take kickbacks from the business owners, who wanted to avoid labor strikes.

Lepke, with Shapiro's help, strong-armed his way to the top of the national crime syndicate. With partners like Lucky Luciano, Dutch Schultz, Albert Anastasia and Meyer Lansky, the "Gorilla Boys" were making so much money shaking down the unions, they became known as the "Gold Dust Twins." Of course, in these types of endeavors, to keep everyone in line, sometimes someone has "to go," or get killed. Lepke was put in charge of what the press called "Murder Incorporated, with Anastasia and Shapiro being his main weapons. When Shapiro wasn't killing people himself, he was in charge of recruiting more killers for the cause.

In the mid 1930′s, Special Prosecutor Thomas E. Dewey went on a mission to end the national crime syndicate. Dutch Schultz called an emergency meeting of the nine-member crime commission syndicate, where he said the only way for him and his pals to stay out of jail, was to whack Dewey. Shapiro and Anastasia agreed with Schultz, and Lepke was pretty much undecided if this was the proper course of action. Yet Lansky and Luciano's logic prevailed, and the final vote was 8-1 against killing Dewey. Schultz objected, saying he would take care of the matter himself, and for this, he was gunned down two days later, before he could cause any more trouble with the law. This decision not to kill Dewey haunted Shapiro as long as he lived.

In 1936, Dewey indited Lepke and Shapiro for violating the Sherman Ant-Trust Act. Dewey accused the duo of conspiring to restrain trade in rabbit skins through their Protective Fur Dressers Corporation. Dewey claimed Shapiro and Lepke used threats of violence, and sometime violence itself, to fix prices and reduce competition.

The trial, which took place in October 1936, was merely a formality. Shapiro and Lepke were both convicted, but not jailed. They were out on bail, and while they fought for an appeal, both decided to take a powder. Strangely enough, Lepke's appeal was upheld and a new trail ordered. But Shapiro's conviction stood.

While Lepke was hidden in Brooklyn by Anastasia, Shapiro laid low in New Jersey; then he took a trek out to the Mid West. Without Lepke to console and control him, Shapiro was a broken man. All he knew how to do was administer beatings and kill people. Suddenly, Shapiro started getting severe chest pains and panic attacks. Not being able to go back to his old life, and too sick to continue in his new life, on April 14, 1938, Shapiro inexplicably turned himself into the authorities. He was sentenced to life imprisonment, with no chance of parole.

While Shapiro was locked up in a federal penitentiary in Atlanta, and Lepke on death row in Sing Sing Prison in New York, after being convicted of murder, Shapiro somehow smuggled a note to Lepke. It said, "I told you so," meaning they should have killed Dewey when they had the chance.

Shapiro died in prison of a heart attack in 1947, utterly convinced the worst mistake he and Lepke ever made was not killing one more person.

Joe Bruno on the Mob – Louis "Lepke" Buchalter – The Only Mob Boss Ever to Be Executed By the Government

Louis "Lepke" Buchalter – The Only Mob Boss Ever to Be Executed By the Government

Joe Bruno on the Mob – John Allen – The Wickedest Man in New York City

He was a con artist, drunk, murderer and a pimp, who ran one of the most obscene dance halls in the history of New York. For the vastness of his transgressions, John Allen was dubbed "The Wickedest Man in New York City."

John Allen, the youngest of eight sons, was born in 1823, in upstate New York. His father was a prominent Presbyterian minister and two of Allen's brothers became Presbyterian ministers too, while a third became a Baptist minister. The rest of his brother absconded to New York City and became burglars, crooks and confidence men, who owned various bawdy bars in the Lower East Side of Manhattan.

Allen's father sent him to the Union Theological Seminary, hoping young John would pick the righteous path, rather than the wicked road his brothers had chosen in New York City. Allen studied religion for a few months, then packed his bags and joined his evil siblings in downtown Manhattan. Allen's brothers showed him the tricks of their trade, and in no time, Allen became proficient at the crimes his brothers taught him. One of his brothers became suspicious of Allen, when he realized the police in the area seemed to know what they were going to do, before they did it. His brothers accused Allen of being a stool-pigeon. He reluctantly admitted they were right, which induced his brothers to beat him to a pulp and cast him out into the street.

In 1855, Allen met and married a known criminal named Little Suzie. Little Suzy's specialty was rolling drunks, after she seduced them with sex, then put knockout drops in their drinks. While Little Suzie plied her trade in the waterfront district of the 4th Ward, which included Cherry, Water, Dover and Catherine Streets, Allen got a job working for a waterfront crimp, who ran a boarding house for sailors. Allen's job was to entice sailors into the crimp's establishment, where they would get the sailor drunk, then drug his drink. When the mark was out cold, they robbed him, then carried him to an outgoing vessel, where he was shanghaied to faraway places.

One day, Allen was stupid enough to have a drink with his boss, and the next thing he knew, he was on a ship to South America, not to return to New York City for a full six months. Soon after he hit Lower Manhattan, Allen's former boss was found beaten to death, courtesy of an iron belaying-pin, which was a device used on ships to secure lines of rigging. Allen was the obvious suspect, but since the cops had no evidence, and because the dead man was so intensely disliked by everyone, no charges were ever brought against Allen.

Allen reconnected with Little Suzie and they went to work for Hester Jane Haskins, called Jane the Grabber, who ran several houses of ill repute in the area surrounding Sixth Avenue and Thirtieth Street. The Allen family's job was to travel all throughout the northeastern states, and bring back young girls, with the promise of getting them well-paying jobs. Of course, when these poor girls were introduced to Jane the Grabber, she immediately beat them and drugged them, and forced them to work in her brothels. This went fine for Allen and Little Suzy, until Jane the Grabber got greedy and started abducting women from prominent families, including the daughter of the Lieutenant-Governor of a new England state. Feeling the heat from the police was inevitable, they quit their jobs and headed back to the evil confines of the 4th Ward. Good timing for them, since Jane the Grabber was soon arrested and sent to prison for a very long time.

In 1858, the Allens opened John Allen's Dance Hall at 304 Water Street, which became known as one of the most licentious establishments in New York City. Allen dressed his twenty or so "dance girls" in short skirts and red-topped boots, with sleigh-bells circling their ankles. All types of vice and sexual obscenities were performed in private rooms, and sometimes right out in the open, so much so, journalist Oliver Dyer wrote in Packard's Monthly that John Allen was "The Wickedest Man in New York City." Allen was so proud of his new moniker, he made up business cards, saying:

John Allen's Dance Hall

304 Water Street

Wickedest Man in New York:

Proprietor

John Allen's Dance Hall was so prosperous, in just ten years, Allen banked more than $100,000, making him the richest pimp in New York City.

Soon, Allen came up with a new angle to make even more cash. Falling back on his seminary experience, he decided to turn his dance hall into a semi-religious experience. In spite of what was going on inside his joint, Allen placed a Bible in every room, and on Saturday nights, he gave away copies of the New Testament as souvenirs to his guests. In time, he held religious sing-a-longs, where his scantily-clad girls would sing spiritual songs, while Allen read from passages of the Bible. Showing no shame, Allen placed on every bench and table in his dive the popular hymn book "The Little Wanderers Friend."

Yet Allen's intended windfall never materialized. His usual guests fled his premises and headed for other joints like The Haymarket, McGuirk's Suicide Hall and Paresis Hall. So Allen decided to go with another gimmick and turn his business into a place for local clergymen to hold marathon prayer meetings. Men like the Reverend A.C. Arnold paid Allen $350 a month to hold such meetings, and Allen even thickened the crowd by paying "newly reformed sinners" 25 cents a head to take part in the festivities. Allen was so certain he would hit the religious jackpot, he closed down his dance hall completely, putting a sign on the outside door saying, "This Dance Hall is Closed. No gentlemen admitted unless accompanied by their wives."

Yet Allen overlooked the power of the press. In an expose' on Allen and his motives, the New York Times ran a series of stories exposing Allen in absolutely the worst light. Immediately, the duped Reverends stopped holding prayer meeting at Allen's establishment, causing his cash flow to stop completely. Allen tried opening his bawdy dance hall again, but his previous customers chose to stay away. After a few months of losing money, Allen closed down his dance hall completely.

Allen disappeared from the public for a while, then resurfaced in late 1868, when he and Little Suzie were arraigned in the Tombs Police Court for stealing $15 from a sailor. The Allens were released on $500 bail, which they promptly jumped and fled to places unknown. "The Wickedest Man In New York City" died from causes unknown in West Perth, Fulton County, New York, in October 1870.

After Allen's death, a New York Times reporter revealed for the first time Allen's true intentions when he appeared to go all pious. Allen had confessed to him; "I duped them religious fellers because I thought I could make more money out of silly church folk than I could out of bad sailors."

Joe Bruno on the Mob – Francis "Two Gun" Crowley – The Puny Killer

 

They called him a "Half-Pint Moron" and "The Puny Killer." But for a short three-month period, Francis "Two Gun" Crowley was the most dangerous man in New York City.

Crowley was born in New York City on October 13, 1912. His German mother was not married, and as soon as little Francis saw his first light of day, she gave him up for adoption. It was rumored his father was a cop, which explained his hatred for anyone in a blue uniform. He was brought up by a woman named Anna Crowley, and he took her name, calling her his only mother.

By the time Crowley was 18, despite the fact that he stood only five-foot-three inches and weighed 130 pounds, he was already a full-blown criminal, and a murderer. He teamed up with hulking Rudolph "Fats" Duringer, who was said to be the largest man ever to sit in Sing Sing's electric chair, and the Mutt and Jeff crime team soon started terrorizing New York City.

On February 21, 1931, Crowley, Fats and another unidentified male busted into an America Legion Dance Hall in the Bronx. They were uninvited, and when a slew of Legionnaires tired to toss them out, Crowley began firing with two guns, which gave him his nickname "Two Gun" Crowley. No one was killed, but two men were injured, and Crowley was now hunted by the police for attempted murder. He was cornered in a office building on Lexington Ave, but he shot his way out of arrest, plugging Detective Ferdinand Schaedel.

Crowley continued his crazed crime spree in rapid fashion. First, Crowley and his crew robbed a bank in New Rochelle. Then they staged a home invasion at the West 90th Street apartment of rich real estate investor Rudolph Adler. Crowley shot the feisty Adler five times, and just as he was ready to fire the final bullet into Adler's skull, Adler's dog Trixie went into attack mode and chased Crowley and his crew from the apartment.

In Crowley's first murder involvement, he wasn't even the shooter. On April 27, 1931, Crowley was driving a stolen car with his pal Fats in the backseat. Fats was busy trying to make moves on dance hall girl Virginia Brannen, who had just come along for the ride. Brannen told Fats to keep his hands to himself. This did not please the hulking gangster too much, so he shot her dead. Crowley and Fats discarded a bloodied Brannen outside the St. Joseph Cemetery in Yonkers.

After finding Brannen's dead body, the police put out an all-points bulletin for the big and tiny psychopaths. On April 29, Crowley was driving a green Chrysler on 138 Street in the Bronx, when a passing police car spotted him. The cops sped in hot pursuit after Crowley, firing shot after shot at the speeding Chrysler. Crowley returned fired, and somehow he managed to escape. The next day, the police found Crowley's abandoned car, riddled with bullets and smeared with bloodstains. The manhunt for Crowley continued.

On May 6, Crowley was smooching in a car with his 16-year old girlfriend Helen Walsh, in a secluded spot on Morris Lane, in North Merrick, Long Island. Patrolmen Frederick Hirsch and Peter Yodice approached the car and asked for Crowley's identification. Instead of drawing his wallet, Crowley pulled out a pistol, firing. He shot Hirsch to death and wounded Yodice, before he fled the scene.

Now branded a cop-killer, the daily newspapers brought Crowley instant fame. The New York Daily News wrote: "Francis Crowley, who glories in the nickname Two Gun Frank, and is described by the police as the most dangerous criminal at large, was hunted throughout the city last night."

On May 7th, the police traced Crowley to a top floor apartment on West 90th Street. Crowley was holed up there with Fats Duringer and Helen Walsh, and what transpired next will forever be known as "The Siege on West 90th Street"; the most fierce gun battle in the history of New York City. Two detectives first tried to enter the apartment and take Crowley and his crew away peacefully, but Crowley would have none of that. He screamed through the door, firing lead, "Come and get me coppers."

The detectives retreated down to the street, where they were joined by an estimated one hundred police officers, rushed in from all parts of the city. Crowley yelled down at the assembled cops, "I'm up here. Come and get me."

Over the course of the next several hours, and while an estimated 15,000 onlookers gawked from the streets and open tenement windows, more than 700 bullets were fired into Crowley room. Crowley had an arsenal himself and he brazenly returned fire. Helen Walsh and Fats Duringer reloaded Crowley guns for him, as they hid safely under the bed. At one point, the police cut a hole in the roof and dropped gas canisters into Crowley's room. Crowley calmly picked up the canisters and threw them out the window, overcoming several police officers below. Finally, a dozen cops broke down Crowley's door, and with four slugs in his body, the police were finally able to subdue Crowley. Fats Duringer and Helen Walsh gave up without a whimper.

The newspapers had a field day with this one. Crowley was described as "A Mad Irish Gunman" (even though he was actually German), with "the face of an alter boy." Crowley and Fats were convicted of the murder of Virginia Brannen, and Crowley of the murder of patrolmen Frederick Hirsch. They were both sentenced to die in the Sing Sing electric chair.

In jail, Crowley kept up his tough guy act. He made a club out of a wrapped-up newspaper and some wire from under his bed. Then he tried to fight his way out of prison, by cracking a guard over the head with his handmade club. His escape attempt having failed, Crowley set fire to his cell, then took off all his clothes and stuffed them into his toilet, flooding his cell. For this, Warden Lewis E. Lawes forced Crowley to sit naked in his cell for several days, until the young maniac quieted down.

On his last days on earth, Crowley mellowed a bit. A bird flew into his cell and he nurtured it. He also began drawing pictures, for which he had more than a little talent for.

On December 10, 1931, Fats Duringer got the juice first. After Fats and Crowley hugged a last goodbye, and Fats started his last lonely trek down the hall to the chair, Crowley told a guard, "There goes a great guy, a square shooter and my pal."

Crowley was not so charitable to Walsh, whom he refused to see, even though she visited the prison almost every day. "She's out!" he told the newspapers, "She's going around with a cop! I won't look at her!"

On January 21, 1932, Crowley followed the same path to the electric chair that his old pal Fats had traveled. After the black leather mask was pulled over his face, Crowley's last words were, "Send my love to my mother." The lever was thrown and Francis "Two Gun" Crowley was executed at the tender age of nineteen.

Joe Bruno on the Mob – Vincent "Mad Dog" Cole – The Baby Killer

 

He was known throughout the underworld as the "Mad Mick," but when he gunned down five children in Harlem, killing one poor kid, Vincent Cole became forever known as "Mad Dog" Cole.

Vincent Cole was born on July 20, 1908 in Gweedore, a small town in County Donegal, Ireland. When he was an infant, his parents relocated to America, settling in a cold water flat in the Bronx. After five of his siblings died from either accidents or disease, his father left the family, never to be seen again. Cole's mother died from pneumonia when he was seven, and Cole and his older brother Peter were taken by the state of New York and put in the Mt. Loretto Orphanage in Staten Island. The Cole brothers stood at the orphanage for three years, both being beaten repeatedly for insubordination. Finally they escaped and insinuated themselves into New York's Hell's Kitchen, where they became members of the notorious street gang called The Gophers.

Soon the Cole Brothers were working as go-fers for the infamous bootlegger Dutch Schultz. They were paid a hundred bucks a week to do Schultz' dirty work, which included a few killings when necessary. Finally fed up with Schultz' known cheapness as far as paying his crew, Cole approached Schultz and demanded he become a full partner. "I ain't your nigger shoeshine boy," Cole told Schultz. "I'll show you a thing or two."

Cole started up a small gang, which included his brother Peter, and his girlfriend and future wife, Lottie Kreisberger, who did little more than keep Cole company. Cole's first move on Schultz was a brazen daytime robbery of Schultz' Sheffield Dairy in the Bronx. Schultz was so angry at Cole's treachery, he thundered into the 42nd Precinct and told a room full of cops, "I'll buy a house in Westchester for anyone in here who can kill that mick (Cole).

Cole then set out trying to lure Schultz' gang members away from Schultz, and into Cole's gang. Through an old school acquaintance named Mary Smith, the Cole brothers set up a meeting with one of Schultz' top boys, Vincent Barelli. When Barelli rebuffed their advances, they shot him dead. Mary, horrified at what she had just seen and unwittingly set up, tried to escape, but Cole chased her down and shot her in the head in the middle of the street. A few days later, members of Schultz' gang machine-gunned Peter Cole as he was driving in Harlem. The death of Peter Cole precipitated a large scale war between Vincent Cole and Schultz, which resulted in at least 20 killings.

Needing fast cash, Cole accepted an assignment from Italian Mob boss Salvatore Maranzano to kill Lucky Luciano and Vito Genovese, in Maranzano's midtown office. Maranzano paid Cole $25,000 up front, with another $25,000 due upon completion of his task. Cole was in the lobby of Maranzano's office building, with a machine gun hidden under his coat, waiting for the elevator, when three men rushed out of the stairwell and plowed right into him. Knowing who he was, the men told Cole they had just killed Maranzano, and for Cole to beat it before the cops arrived. Cole smiled, did an about-face and exited the building, whistling happily, knowing he had just pocketed twenty five grand for doing absolutely nothing.

To further inflate his bank account, Cole started kidnapping top aids of gang leaders, like Owney "The Killer" Madden, an Irishman himself. Madden paid Cole $35,000 for the return of his partner Big Frenchy DeMange, who was co-owner with Madden in the Cotton Club in Harlem. Cole then kidnapped Madden's front man at the Stork Club, the very popular Sherman Billingsley. Again Madden paid the ransom and Billingsley was soon back at the Stork Club, happily in fine heath.

Next on Cole's hit list was Joey Rao, Schultz' top numbers man in Harlem. Rao and a bunch of his boys were standing in front of their Helmar Social Club on East 107th Street, divvying out pennies to neighborhood kids, when Cole and his gang came barreling around the corner in a touring car. Cole let go with several blasts from a machine gun, missing Rao and his men completely, but instead striking five children. Little five-year old Michael Vengali took several bullets in the stomach, and he died before he could be rushed to the hospital.

The New York City newspapers ran frightening headlines about the "Baby Killer," and dubbed Cole — Vincent "Mad Dog" Cole. And like any "mad dog," the public and the underworld demanded that Cole be put down. New York City Mayor James Walker offered a $10,000 reward for anyone who provided information that led to Cole's arrest. Madden and Schultz upped the ante, each offering $25,000 to any mug who could put the "Mad Dog" down with bullets.

Cole hid out in various parts of the northeast, before finally returning to New York City with Lottie. They were holed up in the Cornish Arms Hotel on West 23rd Street, when the cops, acting on a tip, barged in and arrested Cole. His trial was expected to be a slam-dunk for the prosecution, but the brilliant legal tactics of Cole's lawyer Samuel Liebowitz got Cole off the hook.

After the trial, Cole held court with the press outside the Criminal Courts Building. He told the reporters, "I've been charged with all kinds of crimes, but baby-killing was the limit. I'd like nothing better than to lay my hands on the man who did this."

Cole was back on the streets, but still a marked man for the mob. He married Lottie at City Hall, but they were constantly on the run, moving quickly from place to place. On February 1, 1932, four men busted into a home in the north Bronx, gun blazing. They shot a table full of people playing cards. Two Cole gang members were killed (Fiorio Basile and Patsy Del Greco), and another one wounded. Also killed was Mrs. Emily Torrizello, who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and another woman was wounded. Two babies in their cribs were left untouched. Cole showed up at the house a half hour later, just as the police arrived.

Cole was on the run again. He wound up back with Lottie at the Cornish Arms Hotel. Cole decided this was a good time to start kidnapping again, but this time with a twist. He phoned Madden and told him he wanted $100,000, to not kidnap Madden. "Imagine how the Dagos and Kikes is gonna feel when they have to shell out a hundred grand to save your sorry ass," he told Madden. "Pay me now, up front, and I'll save you the trouble."

Madden said he needed some time to think about it. On March 8, 1932, Madden phoned Cole and told Cole to call him from the phone booth at the drug store across the street from his hotel. At 12:30 am, Cole strode into the New London Pharmacy on West 23rd Street and headed for the phone booth in back. While he was talking to Madden on the phone, a man with a machine gun hidden under his coat, calmly walked to the back of the drug store and opened fire. Cole's body was riddled with 15 bullets. Hearing the commotion, Lottie arrived a few minutes later to see her husband's tattered dead body.

Lottie Cole refused to speak with the police, but she cried to someone standing nearby, that their life savings, at the time, was a measly hundred dollar bill she had stuffed inside her bra. This proved that Vincent "Mad Dog" Cole, despite his dreadful bite, had died doggone broke.

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Joe Bruno on the Mob – Jack "Legs" Diamond – The Gangster Who Couldn't Be Killed

 

Jack "Legs" Diamond was shot and injured badly so many times, he was called "The Gangster Who Couldn't be Killed."

Diamond, born on July 10th, 1897, of parents from Kilrush, County Clare in Ireland, spent the early years of his life in Philadelphia. After his mother died from a viral infection when Diamond was thirteen, he and his younger brother Eddie fell in with a group of toughs called "The Boiler Gang." Diamond was arrested more than a dozen times for assorted robberies and mayhem, and after spending a few months in a juvenile reformatory, Diamond was drafted into the army. Army life did not suit Diamond too well. He served less than a year, then decided to go AWOL. He was soon caught and sentenced to three to five years at the Federal Penitentiary in Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.

Diamond was released from prison in 1921, and he decided that New York City was where he could make his fortune. Diamond and his brother Eddie relocated to Manhattan's Lower East Side, where they fell in with an up-and-coming gangster named Lucky Luciano. Diamond did various odd jobs for Luciano, including a little bootlegging, in conjunction with Brooklyn thug Vannie Higgins. Diamond's marriage to Florance Williams lasted only a few months (he was never home). But his luck changed, when Luciano introduced Diamond to Arnold "The Brain" Rothstein, a notorious gambler and financial wizard. This was the break Diamond was waiting for and he made the best of it.

After starting out as a bodyguard for Rothstein, Rothstein brought Diamond in as a partner in his lucrative heroin business. When his pockets became full enough with cash, and his need for Rothstein diminished, Diamond, in concert with his brother Eddie, decided to branch out on their own. They figured they could make a bundle hijacking the bootlegging trucks of other mobsters, including those of Owney Madden and Big Bill Dwyer. This was not a very good idea, since Madden and Dwyer were part of a bigger syndicate of criminals, that included Luciano, Dutch Schultz and Meyer Lansky. In no time, Diamond was persona non grata in the gangster world, and free pickings for anyone who wanted to get rid of him.

In October of 1924, Diamond was driving a Dodge sedan up Fifth Avenue, when at 110 Street, a black limo pulled along side him. A shotgun fired at Diamond from the back window of the limo, but Diamond was too quick to be killed. He ducked down and hit the accelerator, without looking where he was going. Luckily, he was able to escape his shooters and drive himself to nearby Mount Sinai Hospital. The doctors removed pellets in his head, face and feet, and when the cops arrived to question him, Diamond dummied up.

"I dunno a thing about it," Diamond told the fuzz. "Why would anyone want to shoot me? They must of got the wrong guy."

Soon Diamond became friends with a gangster not looking to kill him. His name was "Little Augie" Orgen. Orgen installed Diamond as his chief bodyguard. In return, Orgen gave Diamond a nice share of his bootlegging and narcotics business. This friendship went just fine, until October 15, 1927, when Louis Lepke and Gurrah Shapiro gunned down Orgen on the corner of Norfolk and Delancey Street, with Diamond supposedly standing guard over Orgen's safety. Diamond was shot in the arms and legs (probably by accident), necessitating another trip to the hospital. Upon his release, he made nice with Lepke and Shapiro, and as a result, the two killers gave Diamond Orgen's bootlegging and narcotics businesses, as a reward for being stupid enough to get in the way of bullets meant for Orgen.

Now Diamond was on top of the world. He had plenty of cash to throw around, and he became a mainstay in all of New York City top nightclubs, usually with showgirl Kiki Roberts on his arm, despite the fact he was still married to his second wife Alice Kenny. Diamond was seen regularly at the Cotton Club, El Fay and the Stork Club, and his picture was frequently in the newspapers, which portrayed Diamond not as a gangster, but as a handsome man-about-town. Soon Diamond was part owner of the Hotsy Totsy Club on Broadway between 54th and 55th Street, with Hymie Cohen as his fronting partner. The Hotsy Totsy Club had a back room where Diamond frequently settled business disputes, usually by shooting his adversaries to death, then carrying them out as if they were drunk.

Diamond's downfall started, when on July, 13, 1929, three unruly dockworkers got loaded and started a ruckus at the bar of the Hotsy Totsy Club. Diamond jumped in, with his gang member Charles Entratta, to stop his manager from being throttled. "I'm Jack Diamond and I run this place," Diamond told the dockworkers. "If you don't calm down, I'll blow your (expletive) heads off."

Talking didn't work and soon the shooting started. When the smoke cleared, two dockworkers were dead and one injured. As a result, Diamond and Entratta took it on the lam. While they were in hiding, Diamond decided that before he could go back to doing what he was doing, the bartender and three witnesses had to be killed. And soon they were. Cohen turned up dead too, and the hat check girl, the cashier and one waiter disappeared from the face of the earth. Diamond and Entratta, with everyone out of the way who could possibly harm them, calmly turned themselves into the police and said, "I heard we were wanted for questioning." No charges were ever brought against them, but Diamond realized New York City was no longer safe for him, so he closed the Hotsy Totsy Club and relocated to Greene County in upstate, New York.

From upstate New York, Diamond ran a little bootlegging operation. But after a few months of impatience, he sent word back to gangsters in New York City, namely Dutch Schultz and Owney Madden, who had scooped up Diamond's rackets in his absence, that he was coming back to take back what was his. This put a target right on Diamond's back, and he became known as the "clay pigeon of the underworld."

Diamond was sitting at the bar of the Aratoga Inn near Arca, New York, when three men dressed as duck hunters barreled into the bar and filled Diamond with bullets. The doctors gave him little chance for survival, but four weeks later, Diamond walked out of the hospital and told the press, "Well, I made it again. Nobody can kill Jack Legs Diamond."

A few months later, as Diamond was leaving an upstate roadside inn, was shot four times; in the back, leg, lung and liver, but again, he beat the odds the doctors gave him, and survived. He was not so lucky in December of 1931, when after a night of heavy drinking at the Kenmore Hotel in Albany, he staggered back drunk to his nearby boarding room and fell asleep. The landlady said afterwards that she heard Diamond pleading for his life, before she heard three shots. Apparently two gunman had burst into Diamond's room, and while one held him by his two ears, the other put three slugs into his brain.

The killers escaped in a red Packard, putting an end to the myth that Jack "Legs" Diamond was the gangster who couldn't be killed.

Joe Bruno on the Mob – Dutch Schultz – The Nuttiest Mob Boss Ever

 

Mob bosses come in all shapes and sizes. Some are brilliant. Some are just plain dumb. Almost all are homicidal maniacs. But only one was a certified lunatic, and his name was Dutch Schultz.

Schultz was born Arthur Flegenheimer to German/Jewish parents in 1902 in the Bronx. His father abandoned the family at an early age, and young Flegenheimer took assorted jobs, including one at the Schultz Trucking Company. But despite his legitimate work at the trucking company, young Flegenheimer took up with a gang of crooks, who during Prohibition, did a little illegal importing of hooch from Canada to New York City on the side.

When he was pinched for the first time by the cops, Flegenheimer gave his name as Dutch Schultz, which was the name of the son of the boss of the Schultz Trucking Company. Later the headline-happy Schultz would tell the press that he changed his name to Dutch Schultz because it fit in the newspaper headlines better than Arthur Flegenheimer. "If I had kept the name of Flegenheimer, nobody would have ever heard of me."

Schultz quit the trucking business and decided he could make a mint off the Harlem numbers rackets, where it was reported that the locals bet a staggering $35,000 a day. Schultz set up a gang that included crazed killer Bo Weinberg, mathematical genius Otto "Abbadabba" Berman and Lulu Rosenkrantz, who could kill with the best of them too. Schultz and his crew invited the black gangsters, who ran the numbers show in Harlem, to a meeting. When the black gangsters arrived, Schultz put a 45 caliber pistol on the table and informed them, "I'm now your partner." And that cemented the deal.

Yet Schultz was not happy with just making a ton of cash off the numbers in Harlem. He wanted to make ten tons of cash, or maybe even more. So he enlisted the genius mind of Abbadabba Berman to rig the Harlem numbers game so that he could achieve his goal. The "Harlem Age" newspaper, instead of using the New York Clearing House Reports for its daily three-digit number, instead used Cincinnati's Coney Island Race track to post the winning numbers. The only problem was that Schultz owned that particular race track. So all Berman had to do, was go over the thousands of slips bet that particular day, and before the seventh race at the track, he knew which numbers Schultz did not want to win. Then one phone call to the race track, and like magic, the final numbers were altered for Schultz' monetary benefit.

Schultz had one simple rule that helped propel him to the top. If someone stole a dime of his cash, that person would soon disappear. His long-time lawyer J. Richard "Dixie" Davis, who was Schultz' conduit to the crooked politicians who protected Schultz' flank, once said, "You can insult Arthur's girl. Spit in his face. Push him around — and he'll laugh. But don't steal a dollar from his accounts. If you do, you're dead."

Two such men, who were deposited into the hereafter by Schultz, were Vincent "Mad Dog" Cole, who was ventilated by a dozen bullets in a New York City phone booth, and Jack "Legs" Diamond. After Schultz' men pumped several bullets into Diamond's head in an upstate hotel, Schultz said, "Just another punk caught with his hands in my pocket."

The killings of Diamond and Cole propelled Schultz into the big time, and soon he became an equal in a syndicate of gangsters that included Lucky Luciano, Louie Lepke, Meyer Lansky, Albert Anastasia and Joe "Adonis" Doto. While all the rest of the crew were immaculate dressers, Schultz dressed one step above a Bowery bum. Even though he was raking in millions, Schultz never paid more than $35 for a suit and $2 for a shirt. Lucky Luciano once said of Schultz, "Dutch was the cheapest guy I ever knew. The guy had a couple of million bucks and he dressed like a pig."

As for his insistence on not dressing up to his mob stature, Schultz said, "I think only queers wear silk shirts."

As time passed, the rest of the syndicate grew weary of Schultz' erratic ways. One such example of his lunacy, was when Schultz, in order to beat a tax-evasion case in upstate Malone, New York, converted to Catholicism in order to butter up the all-Catholic jury. His scheme worked and he was acquitted on all counts.

Another time, at a syndicate meeting, Schultz became upset over a wise crack Joe Adonis made about Schultz' chintzy clothes. Schultz, who had a bad case of the flu, grabbed Adonis in a headlock and blew hard into his face. "See you (expletive) star. Now you've got the flu too." Adonis did indeed catch the flu from Schultz, which did not make him and the rest of the syndicate particularly happy.

Schultz' downfall was his insistence that the syndicate kill New York City Special Prosecutor Thomas E. Dewey, who was on a mission to crack down on all the mobs, especially Schultz'. Schultz called a meeting of the nine-member syndicate and demanded Dewey's head on a plate. The other members thought killing Dewey was a horrible idea, because they were convinced if Dewey was offed, an avalanche of criminal investigations would surely fall down on their heads. Schultz' proposal was voted down 8-1.

Schultz stormed from the meeting, saying, "I still say he ought to be hit. And if nobody else is going to do it, I'm gonna hit him myself. Within 48 hours."

The other syndicate members, knowing Schultz was not one to bluff, immediately voted unanimously that Schultz was the one who had to go. And quick, before Dewey was dead.

On October 23, 1935, the day following the fateful votes, Schultz, Berman, Lulu Rosenkrantz and Abe Landau sat in the Palace Chop House and Tavern in Newark, New Jersey, ostensibly to discuss how best to do away with Dewey. Schultz was in the bathroom, when Charlie "The Bug" Workman and Mendy Weiss burst through the front door — shooting. Berman, Rosenkrantz and Landau got it first, each being shot several times, before expiring. Then realizing Schultz was not at the table, Workman rushed into the bathroom and plugged Schultz once in the middle of the chest, right above the stomach.

Schultz was rushed to the hospital and lay delirious for two days. His spouted such idiocies as, "Oh Duckie, see we skipped again." And, "Please mother, crack down on the Chinaman's friends and Hitler's commander." And, "Louie, didn't I give you my doorbell?"

Schultz' temperature rose to 106 degrees, and on October 25, he fell into a coma and died. His former pals on the syndicate, overjoyed and a more than little relieved, divided Schultz' prosperous operations equally amongst themselves.

Joe Bruno on the Mob – The Civil War Draft Riots of 1863

 

Never in the history of New York City, or any place on this planet, has there been a more brutal mass insurrection than the New York City Civil War Draft Riots of 1963.

The seed was planted for these riots, when in March of 1863, President Abraham Lincoln issued a proclamation, called The Conscription Act (or Enrollment Act), stating he needed 300,000 more men to be drafted into the Northern Army, to beat back the Southern Rebels in the Civil War. This act required that every male citizen between the ages of twenty and forty be drafted into the war. Each man who joined was given a bounty of up to $500 to enlist, but the gravest inequity was that for the sum of $300, a man could buy himself out of being drafted. The rich could afford the $300, but the poor could not, which led to the Civil War being called "A rich man's war and a poor man's fight."

New York City (which was only Manhattan at the time) had over 800,000 citizens, of which more than half were foreign. Of that half, half again were poor Irish, who had no desire to fight in a war to end the slavery of Negroes, whom they intensely despised. These poor, low-class Irish people settled in the Five Points and Mulberry Bend areas in downtown Manhattan. And also in the 4th Ward, near the East River. In these slums, gangs like the Plug Uglies, the Bowery Boys, Roach Guards and Dead Rabbits committed atrocious crimes, and this is where the Irish draft rioters began their bloodthirsty march.

Lincoln announced that Draft Day in New York City would commence on Saturday July 11th. On that day, with only minor disturbances throughout the city, 1,236 men were drafted, and it was announced that the draft would continue on Monday morning. Yet the seeds of discontent were planted during the rest of the weekend, spurred on by an article in Saturday evenings "Leslie's Illustrated," which stated, "It came like a thunderclap on the people, as men read their names in the fatal list, the feeling of indignation and resistance soon found vent in words, and a spirit of resistance spread fast and far. The number of poor men exceeded that of the rich, their number to draw from being that much greater, but this was viewed as proof of the dishonesty in the whole proceeding."

As Monday morning drew near, the poor slum-living Irish populace began planning how to voice their displeasure, and it wouldn't be pleasant. At 6 am Monday morning, men and women started spilling out of the downtown slums and they began their vicious march to the north. At every street more discontents joined their forces and the group became so huge it split into two groups. It is estimated that eventually 50,000 to 70,000 people took place in the four-day Draft Riots, and the New York City Metropolitan police had only 3000 men to beat the rioters back.

As the rioters moved north along Fifth and Sixth Avenues, they finally turned east and made a beeline toward the main draft office at 46th Street and Third Avenue. Police Superintendent John A. Kennedy, realizing trouble was brewing, dispatched 60 police officers to guard the Third Avenue draft office and another 69 to guard the draft office at Broadway and 29th Street. The rioters on Third Avenue were led by the volunteer firemen attached to Engine Company 33, known as the Black Joke. They consisted of members of the Plug Uglies street gang, who had now stopped traffic completely and were pulling people out of their carts. Signs in the crowd were held saying "NO DRAFT!!", when suddenly someone in the crowd shot a pistol up into the air and the riots commenced.

The mob threw bricks and stones at the draft office, breaking all the windows in the building. Then they surged forwards, thousands of them, while the 60 cops tried in vain to hold them back. The rioters stepped over the unconscious police, and as draft officials jumped out rear windows, the mob set fire to the building.

Meanwhile, Superintendent Kennedy had left Police Headquarters at 300 Mulberry Street, wearing civilian clothes as a disguise. He took a horse carriage to 46th Street and Lexington, but when he saw the smoke, he jumped out of the carriage and proceeded on foot. He was immediately recognized and beaten to a bloody pulp, until he was unconscious. A good Samaritan saved him, when he announced to the mob that Kennedy was dead. Kennedy was covered by a gunny sack and put in a wagon, which drove him to Police Headquarters. When he was examined by doctors, Kennedy was found to have 72 bruises on his body, and over two dozen cuts.

The rioters then attacked the Colored Orphans Asylum on Fifth Avenue and 46th Street. As the rioters stormed the building, 50 matrons and attendants snuck 200 Negro children out a secret back door. The mob rush in, stole blankets, toys and bedding, then set fire to the building. One little Negro girl, who was accidentally left behind, was found hiding under a bed. She was dragged out and beaten to death.

All through the streets of New York City, angry Irish mobs chased Negroes, whom they blamed for the drafts in the first place. The Negroes, who were caught, were beaten to death and sometimes hanged. As their dead bodies hung from trees and rafters, mad Irish woman, glee in their eyes, stabbed the dead Negroes' bodies, while the mad crones danced under lit touches and sung obscene songs.

Finally, Mayor George Updyke wired the War Department in Washington for help. During the next three days of unspeakable mayhem, while hundreds of buildings were being burned down, innumerable business looted, and Negroes killed for no other reason than the color of their skin, the United States Militia, armed, trained and 10,000 strong, stormed New York City to quell the riots. On Tuesday, July 14th, New York Governor Horatio Seymour, stood on the steps of City Hall and said to the assembled crowd, "I have received a dispatch from Washington that the draft is now suspended." He was booed and jeered, and the riots continued for two more days.

It is impossible to estimate how many people were killed in the four days of riots. The New York Post reported that the bodies of the rioters were shipped across the East River and buried quietly under the blanket of darkness. Police Superintendent Kennedy put the dead total at 1,155 people, but that did not include those buried secretly at night. Of the tens of thousand of rioters involved, and despite the brutal murders of scores of Negroes, only 19 people were tried and convicted of any crimes. Their average prison sentence was a mere five years.

Diarist George Templeton Strong summed up the disgrace of New York City when he wrote, "This is a nice town to call itself a center of civilization."

Joe Bruno on the Mob – The Astor Place Theater Riots of 1849

   

One of the worst riots in New York City history took place on May 10, 1849, and it started over an impassioned disagreement over who had the better Shakespearian Actor, the United States, or hated mother England.

British actor William Macready was considered to be the most accomplished actor on both sides of the Pond. Yet Macready, who called himself an aristocrat, was a snob, who looked down on America in general, and their inferior actors in particular. One of those actors who caused Macready to sniff in superiority was Philadelphia-born Edwin Forrest, a self taught thespian, who was the darling of the rough and tumble New York City crowd. To make matters worse for Forrest and his followers, the New York City aristocracy much preferred the foreigner Macready to the home-grown Forrest.

In 1848, Forrest, on a mission to prove to the world he was the equal of any actor alive, traveled to London, England to play Hamlet. Even though he dined with Macready the night before, when Forrest took to the stage, he was brutally hissed by the audience. Forrest's performance was panned viciously in the London newspapers and repeated in the American press. Forrest blamed this on Macready and by the time he arrived back in the United States, there was a global feud ready to explode.

Two New Yorkers were instrumental in fanning the flames of discontent concerning the rude treatment of their home boy Forrest in England. One was Captain Isiah Rynders, who owned the notorious Empire Club on Park Row and was the boss who controlled all the vicious gangs in the Five Points area. The other was E. Z. C. Judson, who wrote under the pen name of Ned Buntline. Both men hated the English, and in the weekly newspaper "Ned Buntline's Own," Buntline turned a mere heated actor's dispute into an international incident.

The tension mounted, when it was announced in the New York press that Macready would make a four-week "farewell" appearance in America, commencing on May 7, 1849. His first show was scheduled to be at the new Astor Place Theater on Astor Place in Manhattan. As soon as Macready graced the stage with his presence, Rynders rose from his seat, and in concert with hundreds of his gang thugs in attendance, they peppered Macready with rotten eggs, ripe tomatoes and old shoes. Macready, incredulous at the blatant disrespect for his great talents, thundered off the stage. He canceled the rest of his four-week engagement and vowed never to appear in the United States again.

This caused great consternation among the blue-bloods of New York City society. Quickly they assembled a petition with 47 signees, that included Washington Irving and Herman Melville, begging Macready to stay and continue his tour. Macready, against his better judgment, caved in and agreed to give it one more try. The news hit the papers that on May 10, just three days after he was crudely chased from the stage, Macready would appear as Macbeth, again at the Astor Place Theater. Oddly enough Forrest was also opening that night, playing Spartacus in "The Gladiator," in a playhouse a mile south of the Astor Place Theater. The newspapers played up the rivalry, and the British crew of a docked Cunard liner said they would make their presence known at Macready's performance, lest an unruly American mob again tried to insult their boy.

This incited Captain Rynders to plaster New York City with thousand of posters saying, "Workingmen, shall Americans or English rule this city? The crew of the English steamer has threatened all Americans who shall dare to express their opinion this night at the English Aristocratic Opera House! We advocated no violence, but free expression of opinion is to all men!"

New York City mayor Caleb C. Woodhull anticipated a riot and he sent 350 policemen, under the command of Police Chief G.W. Matsell, to the Astor Place Theater to quell any possible disturbance. In addition, General Sanders, of the New York Militia, assembled eight companies of guardsmen and two troops of Calvary to patrol the area around the playhouse.

When the show started, all 1800 seats had been sold, with the pro-Macready crowd vastly outnumbering the pro-Forrest crowd. It was estimated that more than 20,000 people stood outside the theater, making Astor Place from Broadway to the Bowery one large sea of discontent.

At 7:40 the play started and the first two scenes played without any interruption. But when Macready strode majestically on stage for the third scene, all hell broke loose. Captain Rynders and his gangs hooted and hollered and hissed at Macready. Outside, the angry crowd, sensing the animosity inside, started to bum-rush the theater. They threw rocks and stones, breaking all the theater's windows, and just because they could, the mob smashed all the street lamps in the area.

The police attacked the angry mob with clubs, but to no avail. The mob screamed "Burn the damned den of aristocracy." The police was getting the worst of the riot, and at 9 pm, the first of the militia arrived. They too were pelted by bricks and stones. Ned Buntline was at the head of the angry mob chanting, "Workingmen! Shall Americans or Englishmen rule? Shall the sons whose fathers drove the baseborn miscreants from these shores give up liberty?"

Chief Matsell, himself hit with a 20-pound rock in the chest, gave the order for the militia to shoot into the crowd. And they did just that, hitting men, women and children, and even a lady who was sleeping in her bed 150 yards from the theater. When the dust cleared hours later, 22 people were killed and 150 were injured. Five of those injured, died within five days. 86 rioters were arrested, including Ned Buntline, who received a year in jail and a $250 fine. Captain Rynders escaped without arrest or injury, only to torment the city for many years to come.

The lawmen were not without their own injuries. Over a 100 policemen and militia were injured by rocks and stones, and another 6 were shot. But none died. The next night another mob tried to burn down the Aster Place Theater, but they were beaten back by a new battalion of militia that had been brought into the city in case of further disturbances.

On the night of May 12, another crowd assembled at the New York Hotel, where Macready was staying, screaming for him to come out and be hanged like a man. But Macready somehow slipped away. He boarded a train to New Rochelle, and then to Boston. From Boston, he sailed to England, never to set foot in America again.