L.A. Noir (42 page)

Back in New York City, Mike Wallace wasn’t entertaining visions of the silver screen. Instead, he was trying to save his job. ABC’s promises to back Wallace through controversies were now forgotten. Instead, John Daly, the head of the network news division, stepped forward to deal with the man he saw as a loose cannon. A minder was assigned to vet the script before every show and to monitor Wallace’s performances on the set—“a balding, humpty-dumpty kind of guy,” as Ramrus recalled him. He was also humorless. Typical of the petty obstacles the show now faced was the minder’s reaction to a proposed question for the architect Frank Lloyd Wright:

“Objection,” came the response from the minder. “Indecent question.”

“What’s indecent?” replied Wallace and Yates, innocently. The answer, of course, was the thought that had arisen in the mind of the minder.

For the most part, Wallace just brushed aside objections of this sort and did what he wanted to do. Still, the new regime was demoralizing. Although ABC eventually settled Parker’s suit for $45,000, ABC’s insurer, Lloyd’s of London, took a dim view of the controversy. It insisted that henceforth a lawyer monitor every show, complete with cue cards. When Wallace approached a controversial subject, the attorney (who sat just outside the range of the camera) would hold up a “
BE CAREFUL
” cue card. The most dangerous conversational forays resulted in
“STOP”
or
“RETREAT
” cards. This was no way to run a TV show whose entire point was to be daring and provocative, and it took its toll. That December, ABC had another brush with a libel lawsuit after Wallace guest Drew Pearson charged that Senator John F. Kennedy’s Pulitzer Prize-winning
Profiles in Courage
had been ghostwritten. In the spring of 1958, Philip Morris announced that it would not be renewing its sponsorship of
The Mike Wallace Interview
. Wallace’s days as a national TV personality seemed numbered. The following fall, Wallace left ABC and returned to local television on Channel 13, a station even smaller than his old employer, Channel 5. Not until 1963, when Wallace managed to convince CBS News president Dick Salant to take a chance on him, did Wallace get another job at a network, this time as the host of a radio interview program and the anchor of the new
CBS Morning News
. In 1968, Wallace finally got another shot at a show that offered to make him a national media star. That program was
60 Minutes
.

      MEANWHILE, back in Washington, D.C., Robert Kennedy was puzzling over a question. In keeping with Hamilton’s suggestions, the investigations subcommittee had taken a close look at the behavior of Teamsters Union officials in the Pacific Northwest. They had uncovered disturbing evidence of stolen funds, including evidence that implicated Teamsters president David Beck. They had also discovered that Kennedy’s friends in the New York press had been right: Certain unions—the Operating Engineers, the Hotel and Restaurant Employees, and, again, the Teamsters—did have long histories of involvement with organized crime.
There was also evidence that tied emerging Teamster leader Jimmy Hoffa to organized crime figures in Detroit, Cleveland, St. Louis, Minneapolis, and Chicago. As he considered these connections, Kennedy found himself mulling over a larger question: Was the Mafia a national, coordinated criminal enterprise, or did the phrase simply refer to the hierarchy of Italian organized crime in any given area? On November 13, 1957, Kennedy put that very question to his old acquaintance Joseph Amato, a Mob specialist with the Bureau of Narcotics.

“That is a big question to answer,” Amato replied. “But we believe that there does exist today in the United Sates a society, loosely organized, for the specific purpose of smuggling narcotics and committing other crimes…. It has its core in Italy and it is nationwide. In fact, international.”

The very next day, Kennedy and the world received definitive proof that Amato was right when New York state police decided to investigate an unusually large gathering of luxury cars and limousines at the home of Joseph “Joe the Barber” Barbara outside the little town of Apalachin (pronounced “Apple-aykin”) in western New York. When the state police officers arrived, Barbara’s guests leapt into their cars and fled—running straight into a state police roadblock. Other gangsters ran into the woods, including (most likely) James Lanza from San Francisco, Sam Giancana of Chicago, Tommy Lucchese of New York City, and Joseph Zerilli of Detroit. Fifty-eight men were arrested. Only nineteen of the men (all of whom were Italian) were from upstate New York. The rest of the guests appeared to have come from cities all across the country and even from as far away as Cuba. John Scalisi had come from Cleveland. Santos Traficante had come from Havana. James Lanza had come from San Francisco. Frank DeSimone (the Dragnas’ longtime attorney, now the family boss in his own right) had come from Los Angeles. Twenty-three of the men came from New York City and northern New Jersey, including Joseph Profaci, Joseph Bonanno, and Vito Genovese. All told, the group’s members had been arrested 257 times, with more than a hundred convictions for serious offenses such as homicide, armed robbery, trafficking in narcotics, and extortion. In their pockets the police found $300,000 in cash.

It was clear that New York state police had stumbled across what appeared to be a board meeting of the Mafia. Newspapers across the country trumpeted the arrests. As astonishing as the fact that a massive international crime organization existed (and was meeting at some wiseguy’s house in upstate New York) was the list of legitimate businesses these men controlled. They included “dress companies, labor organizations, trucking companies, soft drink firms, dairy products, coat manufacturers, undertaking parlors, oil companies, ladies’ coat factories, real estate projects, curtain, slip
cover and interior decorating, ships, restaurants, night clubs, grills, meat markets. Also vending machine sales, taxi companies, tobacco distributors, awning and siding firms, automotive conveying and hauling firms, importers of food and liquor, grocery stores and food chains, labor relations consulting firms, cement firms, waste paper removal, strap manufacture, liquor and beer distributors, textiles, shipping, ambulances, baseball clubs, news stands, motels, hotels, and juke boxes,” to name just a few. In short, the underworld had burrowed deeply into the fabric of American business.

Back in Washington, Robert Kennedy had a simple question: Who were these men? Seven years earlier, the Kefauver Committee had introduced Americans to gangsters Joe Adonis and Frank Costello (whose nervous hands were famously televised during the Kefauver Committee’s hearings in New York). But names such as Vito Genovese were unfamiliar. Kennedy’s first reaction, naturally enough, was to turn to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. When the bureau failed to produce dossiers on these figures, Kennedy personally paid the director a visit, barging in (without an appointment) and demanding that the bureau provide the McClellan Committee with everything it had on this collection of hoods. Hoover was forced to reveal the humiliating truth. The bureau (in Kennedy’s words) “didn’t know anything, really, about these people who were the major gangsters in the United States.” Disgusted, Kennedy and his aides turned instead to the FBI’s minnow-sized rival, the Bureau of Narcotics, which was able to offer investigators a wealth of information on the activities of the men arrested in Apalachin. There was also one police department whose knowledge stood out—the LAPD.

One year earlier, the LAPD intelligence division had bugged a room of Conrad Hilton’s Town House hotel, where up-and-coming Teamsters leader Jimmy Hoffa was meeting with three residents of Chicago. At the time, Hoffa was in the middle of a heated campaign for the presidency of the Teamsters Union. According to an LAPD memo on the meeting (which later turned up in the files of the Chicago Crime Commission), the men in question included Marshall Caifano, who oversaw Chicago Outfit activities in Los Angeles, and Outfit boss Murray Humphreys. The memo stated in no uncertain terms that “a member of the Executive Board is being taken before these men singly, and they are advising members of the Executive Board in no uncertain terms that Hoffa is to be the next President of the Teamsters Union.” Sure enough, that fall Hoffa was elected president of the Teamsters.

The news from Apalachin—and the LAPD intelligence division’s ability to tie Hoffa and the Teamsters to the Chicago Outfit—caused Kennedy to reconsider the depths of the corruption he had uncovered. The McClellan
Committee had begun its work in 1956 by focusing on dishonesty and corruption in the clothing procurement program of the military services. That, in turn, had led to the discovery that gangsters such as Albert Anastasia and Johnny Dio had become deeply involved in both the textiles unions and the textiles business. Apalachin had revealed an even broader horizon of organized crime, one in which the underworld preyed upon entire industries and whole communities.

“The results of the underworld infiltration into labor-management affairs form a shocking pattern across the country,” Kennedy wrote one year later in his best-selling book
The Enemy Within
. “[T]he gangsters of today work in a highly organized fashion and are far more powerful now than at any time in the history of the country. They control political figures and threaten whole communities. They have stretched their tentacles of corruption and fear into industries both large and small. They grow stronger every day.”

Parker himself couldn’t have put it better. As Kennedy realized what a profound danger organized crime posed to the American way of life, he grew even more appreciative of the work the LAPD was doing. He also began to seriously consider Chief Parker’s idea of creating a national clearinghouse for intelligence information. Naturally, in the course of their work together Parker and Hamilton told Robert Kennedy all about the activities of Mickey Cohen. Not surprisingly, Robert Kennedy decided that he wanted to meet this Mickey Cohen in person—and nail him.

BY LATE 1958, Mickey Cohen was back in the rackets. His target was Los Angeles’s lucrative vending machine market. His modus operandi was pure muscle—threatening vending machine owners with bodily harm if they didn’t pay him for protection. As word spread that Cohen was back in business, old friends resurfaced, asking favors of the sort that Cohen had once dispensed so freely. Among them was Columbia Pictures boss Harry Cohn.

Cohn had the temperament of a first-class gangster. “Bullying and contemptuous” (other common descriptions include “profane,” “vulgar,” “cruel,” “rapacious,” and “philandering”), an ardent admirer of Benito Mussolini (whose office he re-created for himself on the Columbia lot and whose picture he proudly displayed even
after
the Second World War), Cohn delighted in the fear his presence could create.

But in 1958, Cohn had a five-foot, seven-inch, 125-pound, 37-23-37 problem that all his swaggering and bullying couldn’t resolve. Her stage name was Kim Novak. Novak was Columbia Pictures’s—and Hollywood’s—biggest star. Cohn had nurtured her career for years, grooming the young model as a successor to Rita Hayworth, purchasing the inevitable set of nude photos from a “modeling” session in the actress’s youth, and carefully protecting her image. His efforts had borne fruit. In 1957, Novak had smoldered as Frank Sinatra’s old flame in
The Man with the Golden Arm
. The chemistry between the two had been so hot that they’d paired up again in
Pal Joey
.

Novak’s sex appeal was not confined to the silver screen. Marilyn Monroe, 20th Century Fox’s screen siren, was almost a parody of the blonde bombshell. (It’s no surprise that breakthrough movies such as
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
and
How to Marry a Millionaire
cast her in comic roles.) Novak made a different impression. The alabaster-skinned beauty with the deep-set hazel eyes, platinum silver hair, and Slavic features projected
a sleepy, “come hither” sensuality. And come hither they did. Frank Sinatra and Aly Khan were among the many men linked romantically to Novak during this period. There was an undeniable glamour (and great publicity) to having Columbia’s leading lady chased by some of the most eligible men in the world. But at some point in early 1958, Novak seems to have begun a relationship that Harry Cohn had never anticipated. That relationship was with Sammy Davis Jr.

Sammy Davis Jr. was black. He was also a Broadway star, having recently completed a triumphant turn in the musical
Mr. Wonderful
. Davis was one of the more interesting figures of the era. He came from a venerable African American vaudeville family on his father’s side. (His mother was Puerto Rican.) In addition to his prodigious musical and dancing gifts, he was a gifted raconteur and a talented photographer. He was also Jewish, having converted after a terrible auto accident in 1954 that cost him an eye. This didn’t boost his standing much in Cohn’s eyes. The Columbia Studio mogul hated the fact that his alabaster sex goddess was involved in a romantic relationship with a one-eyed African American entertainer—so much so that he went to Manhattan mob boss Frank Costello with a request. Cohn wanted the Mob to end Davis’s relationship with Novak, using whatever means proved necessary. So Costello called Cohen (at a private number on a secure phone).

“Lookit, ya know that Harry Cohn?” Costello asked Cohen, according to Cohen’s later account of their conversation.

Mickey said that he didn’t know Cohn personally but that he knew of him.

“Well, lookit,” Costello continued. “There’s a matter come up—the guy’s all right, and he’s done some favors for us back here, and I want ya to listen to him out, to make a meet with him, make a meet with him for whatever he wants and go along with him in every way ya can.”