Once Again, One Johnny Rocco, More Or Less, Is Not Worth Dying For-With Robert Mitchum, Jane Russell and Gloria Graham’s “Macao” (1951) In Mind

Once Again, One Johnny Rocco, More Or Less, Is Not Worth Dying For-With Robert Mitchum, Jane Russell and Gloria Graham’s “Macao” (1951) In Mind

As Told To Lance Lawrence by Frankie Devlin

Macao, starring Jane Russell, Gloria Grahame, Robert Mitchum, 1951

Frank McCloud, he of the U.S. Army officer corps and a fistful of serious medals slogging through hell-hole Europe during World War II said it best, said it best one night when we were in the Park Plaza Hotel in Boston trading shots of whiskey shortly after the war, maybe three years after, and he was trying to put his pre-war life back together, trying to get back in the publishing business but was meeting resistance at every level -“One Johnny Rocco, more or less, was not worth dying for.” Meaning he was fed up to his eyebrows with defending this and that, defending democracy when the old crap was just rising back up again after he thought the war had put an end to that. See Frank had run into Johnny Rocco, everybody back then knew Johnny ran every evil thing dope, gambling, numbers, high and low-end pornography, women doing everything possible with man, woman, beast and that was just the top of the iceberg, as the king-pin gangster boss out of Chi town, Chicago down in the Keys, down in Key Largo I think it was not Key West, when Johnny was doing some evil scheme to get back on top. When Frank told me that, that dust up he had with Johnny I was all ears. Despite his keen observation Frank went head to head with Johnny once Johnny made the fatal mistake of trying to mess with Frank’s woman. Under those circumstances all bets were off, all wisdom floated down the Gulf, as they should but Frank’s advice is still stand-up stuff.

Soldier Cocrane should have listened to those words, listened to his fellow ex-soldier it would have saved him a lot of grief. Soldier from the time he was a kid out of Brooklyn hustling milk money from young kids had been nothing but a two-bit grifter, a small-time operator who had been run out of the States. Some say it was over a woman, another man’s woman, in a bar, drinking, and that was that. He either killed the other guy, or so grievously wounded him that he died later in the hospital. Took the guy’s car, wallet and woman spent a few days running her to ground and when the news came in slipped out the back door one night with her tied to the bedposts. Here is where chance is a funny goddess, can play mean tricks. He decided to head west instead of east that sultry night when things got too hot on the news of the other guy’s death and Soldier decided he was built for love not cages.

Like every small time grifter, every two-bit operator who tried to horn in on a good thing that was already somebody else’s nut  Soldier got run out of a few places in the Orient too, the usual, Singapore, Hong Kong, Saigon so only one place was left-the sinkhole, lands’ end the colony of Macao in the days when that was something out of the Wild West in America. Late Chance Ranch some guy called it when he was writing a novel based on the place. Every illegal venture in the world, dope, gambling, women again being just the normal evil stuff and descending from there to deep hells with sadistic adventures the least of it. Let’s put it this way, the way that safe from harm novelist put it in one of the books he which he set in Macao-life was cheap, cheap and expendable.  Soldier had hopped the boat with about three bucks in his pocket, the clothes on his back-and an idea. An idea he would ask Vin Halloran to put him to work. Yes, that Vin Halloran, the American gangster who “owned” Macao, owned every Portuguese colonial official and cop worth owning and had everything tied up with a bow. 

There, maybe elsewhere too they mention his name in hushed tones. One hundred years from now their progeny will be speaking in hush tones about Vin, about the days when men were not afraid to get blood on their hands- or order the hit.                    

Not a bad idea on Soldier’s part since Macao was the end of the road. If he couldn’t score there he might as well have taken a ride in some sampan and put a hole in the bottom. He tried to move up in class, maybe be an enforcer, a hit man, a repo man for Vin. Made sense since Soldier was rugged enough, big broad shoulders, barren chest, good enough looks that no woman would throw him out of bed and so no public eyesore for Vin to bother about like some of the help whom he had to keep strictly for night alley night work. Except on the trip over from the mainland he met this Jane, Jane something but you know as well as I do it was alias so don’t worry about last names. A brassy buxom no holds barred dame, hell, lets’ call things by their right name, a tramp, any man’s woman, any man with some dough and a bottle maybe, or dope she looked the type. Without getting hung up on silly morality in those days, now too the last I heard, no decent dame was heading to Macao when Vin was running the show. Period. So, although she claimed to be a song bird, a canary, and did have one of those smoky voices she would have had a hard time getting her cabaret license in New York City. Especially when Billie was around. She was either going to some high-end whore-house Vin ran for Asian businessmen with a taste for the wild side or into the South China Sea. Maybe join Soldier in that holey sampan.            

Here’s the funny part, not so funny maybe but you never know what will twist a man’s mind. Vin went for her, went big, gave her a spot singing and a nice nest. Turned out she could sing a bit but even then she was nothing but bedrooms and booze. Worse, worse for her and maybe she would not have to bother with that sampan gag was this other dame, this Gloria something, again don’t worry about last names because when the smoke cleared she would have another one didn’t want Janie girl around her man. Period. The Soldier-Jane match-up was not made in heaven. No way.  

Back to Soldier and his dreams since this Jane would probably land on her back whatever happened. That good idea, that enforcer, gunsel, hit man idea went nowhere. Vin was not in the market for gringo enforcers since he had half the Tong Society on the payroll so Soldier was down on his heels. Vin gave him five bucks and the air. Then this sleaze-ball salesman, a guy he had almost met on the boat over, made Soldier a proposition, makes him a sub-salesman, no, independent contractor, I guess you would call it.  Except it would all turn out to be a ruse, bullshit. See he was really New York City cop who was on Vin’s trail because another NYC cop had been trying to bust Vin and would up down in some sinkhole for his efforts. Vin had started out in New York and the cops there were looking to clean up their cold files docket by bringing his in for the third degree. The problem for the coppers was that Vin was invincible in Macao in those days as long as he didn’t go into international waters, the three-mile limit. Smart guy, mostly, that Vin and maybe the locals were not wrong to whisper his name in their dreams after all.       

Dink salesman, Bill Bendix, or something like that although he used another name, names, conned Soldier into doing his legwork for some commission, a few thou which must have looked good to Soldier since was living off the cuff. The deal the Bendix put forward was to sell Vin a high-end diamond necklace cheap and Soldier would get his cut from that end. Except silly Billy forgot to say said necklace was already owned by one Vin Halloran who had been trying to sell the damn thing in Hong Kong where his agent fell down, copped a plea and gave the necklace up to get to some safe house in America.

Vin therefore took umbrage when Soldier presented the proposition. Threw him in irons, ready to throw him into the South China Sea with or without sampan if necessary. It is hard to read what this Jane was thinking, making she had had sweaty dreams, although who knows really but she switched sides. Queen Jane was giving up her kingdom with Vin for no known reason when she decided that she should share her fate with Soldier who was getting help from that blonde bundle of lust who was looking to get Jane the hell out of Macao. When the story came out later it seems that Vin was hard on his women like a lot of guys, like Johnny Rocco, hell, like Soldier with that fluff he killed that deadass guy over. Once Jane, and Gloria too, gave the drift on Vin and his sadistic habits, once Soldier claimed Jane for his own, that taboo messing with a guy’s woman is what tagged Vin for the undertaker, for the big step off. This is what I never figured about a smart guy like Vin though he decided to go to Hong Kong to get that freaking two-bit necklace (against his whole operation profits) stepping out of the three mile zone and easy bait for the international police once Soldier decided to drop the dime. That stoolie business got him maybe a new lease on life since the coppers were going to go to bat for him with the New York authorities. Got him feeling good about doing his good deed to save the world from bums like Vin, guys whom he too thought would vanish once the war cleaned up the world’s mess.  

Still Frank’s advice would have saved Soldier a lot of grief since two things happened after Vin went to sleep with the fishes. Gerry O’Leary, the rising American gangster out of Albany, New York moving up the food chain took over Vin’s operations, streamlined everything and made plenty of profitable changes like cutting the bribery payroll putting some poor Portuguese coppers on public relief or something.  And Jane decided she liked the idea of luxury on Macao better than being some housewife in the Bronx and dumped Soldier for Gerry. Yeah, Frank had it right, right as rain. (I heard later she was running that high end whorehouse for Asian businessmen with a taste for the wild side and Gloria was running the gambling tables. Jesus.)  

When Legendary Bank Robber Pretty James Preston Made The Bankers Squeal-And All The Women Sweat-With Bruce Willis, Billy Bob Thornton And Cate Blanchett’s “Bandits” (2001) In Mind-A Special Guest Commentary

When Legendary Bank Robber Pretty James Preston Made The Bankers Squeal-And All The Women Sweat-With Bruce Willis, Billy Bob Thornton And Cate Blanchett’s “Bandits” (2001) In Mind-A Special Guest Commentary   

By Special Guest Scott Allen, contributing editor North Adamsville Ledger

Bandits, starring Cate Blanchett, Billy Bob Thornton, Bruce Willis, 2001  

The legendary Pretty James Preston, bank robber, solo bank robber, would have had the so-called “Sleep-over bandits,” Terry and Joe, a couple of cons, a couple of holy goofs really, masquerading as bank robbers in the film Bandits, for lunch and had time for a nap. And I am just the guy who knows that hard fact for after all I was the guy who put together the legend, wrote up Pretty James’ exploits right up until the end. See I was nothing but a young cub reporter, a clog in the back- room police beat death march for the heralded North Adamsville Ledger in the 1970s when Pretty James was robbing, arms in hand, every bank and department store not entombed in concrete around Eastern Massachusetts when I saw my chance for a by-line in maybe the Boston Globe, maybe television. anything but that stinking police backroom that smelled of stale coffee and staler donuts. My “in” was that I knew Pretty James in high school and once I connected with him, once he knew he could trust me as far as he could trust anybody I became essentially his publicity flak, his press agent to make that legend that he always craved deep down inside. Don’t get me wrong Pretty James wanted the dough, and plenty of it fast and easy but that legend business was never far below the surface when we would meet in downtown Boston across from the JFK Federal Building which he insisted on to put a thumb in the government’s eye just for kicks, because he could do the deed.   

(By the way Pretty James’ mode of operation, modus operandi okay, was always to show plenty of firepower when on a job. One night over beers at Shacky’s he told me that was the only thing, other than surprise, that will keep everybody afraid to breathe, including bank guards and department store security. Somehow he got some M-16s, AR-15s which are semi-automatic assault rifles they used in Vietnam where they were not worth crap, would jam up in the mud, and would go into with one in every hand. Although people still don’t believe it thinking I made it up as part of the Pretty James legend on an early job he did actually fire the guns, in the air, after he left the building just to prove that he was willing to do what was necessary to get the dough-easy or hard. For a long time, almost ten years he never had to do any more shooting, so he probably was right to “show the colors” early on. All I did was verify with a witness on the street that he had fired the weapons when I did my report on the action, nothing more.)              

In lots of ways touting Pretty James was a piece of cake, easy once he started consulting me, always theoretically to be sure, about what actions would draw some attention to him, what the world wanted from a lone gunman essentially in the days when bank robbing still had some cache. Pretty James had plenty of advantages-one being that he was a stone-cold bank robber whose instincts until the end were unerring, knew what would draw and what would not. Big granite-etched banks which in those days of symbolic show were pictures of safe harbors for a depositor’s money were prime targets. As the banking industry went suburban, went to cheapjack trailers and small storefronts they were not although as Pretty, lets’ just call him Pretty from here on in to save space since you know who I am talking about, kept telling me even I could stick-up, his term, half of them. When he decided to vary up his game and hit department stores he avoided the ones that had kids’ clothes and toys as too dangerous while, as will become apparent in a minute a women’s clothing store was the cat’s meow. Hell, some women, and I still have my notes and still have my disbelief would go shopping just to see if Pretty was going to hit their shopping spree place that day. As already noted, better unlike Terry and Joe who were something out of the late Jimmy Breslin’s The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight worked alone, didn’t have to deal with informers who got caught, sharing plans that might go awry-or the dough. Even better, from a commercial legend point of view and a newspaper’s as well Pretty went into the bank or store in broad daylight with no ruse just plenty of nerve and firepower. He could lead off the late edition or the 6 o’clock news and jump ratings. Best of all he really was “pretty” a wiry good- looking guy in the mold of the bad-ass biker criminal that Nick Nolte and Eddie Murphy chased in 48 Hours so all the women would sweat over him, and in the real contact cases cover him and hide him out. I remember in high school girls who were supposed to be social butterflies, who were on the top of the totem pole, who wouldn’t dream of even noticing a low-rent biker were known to show up at Pretty house and get taken whatever way they wanted. You didn’t go to Pretty’s at midnight for anything else but to curl his toes. Sweet.

          

Sure, I will get to the two deadbeat amateur bank robbers Terry and Joe, along with their collective squeeze, their so-called hostage, Kate and how they took a page from the late George V. Higgins’ The Friends of Eddie Coyle caper that Jimmy Skaggs started way back when grabbing the bank manager and holding his or her family hostage while they brought the manager to his little bank and grabbed the cash-no sweat. The only thing they did, a variation if you will, was grab the bank personnel the night before. Big deal. But first let me explain how I worked my Pretty legend magic once I got his go ahead.

Every reporter, hell, maybe everybody who can write more than a sentence or two knows that half, maybe more, of what you put out in print, in behalf of making a legend is pure bullshit, crap. Here is what most of those who can write don’t know though people, the great unwashed masses, lead such dull existences that they will believe almost all of what they read or heard about-if it makes them feel good, if they connect. Like I said I already had a running start with the women, young and old as it turned out because of Pretty’s looks to make the clincher though I needed the guys. I will say that Pretty, determined, single-minded Pretty, was hard on his women, those who protected him, and those who wanted to. I won’t say at this late date he was a “love them and leave them” guy but he surely was no hearts and flowers to the ladies guy, except that last gal, that Sally something and here I will be on safe ground not giving a last name because even a “simp” knows that once she blew town she changed that moniker more than once. Toward the end I would get letters from some disheartened women who tried to protect Pretty, hide him out and while none of them finked on him to the coppers they also didn’t think he was that great in the sack, seemed preoccupied with the next hit, the next target, what it would take to keep the trail hot. That is when I knew I would have to double-down on his reputation, advise him a little to get even more daring with his exploits.       

I played the old Robin Hood gag that writers have been using forever-taking from the rich and giving to the poor. What a laugh if you knew Pretty. Maybe he left a fifty- cent tip for some diner waitress he was looking to screw, looking to have play his flute as he called it, but the guy was nothing but a self-indulgent fool, would go through the dough living high off the hog at the Ritz for months at a time with a different woman, maybe two, every night, stuff like that. But giving dough away was not his thing, he told me so flat-out and I kind of knew from my own family that he hungered for a lot of things he didn’t have as kid. I made his giving a hundred here, two hundred there to his women like charity with a little twist of paying off the whole of Babylon thrown in. Pretty never paid for his women, never paid for sex and you can believe than, huh, take it to the bank. I had him giving dough to the families of those in “the projects” over in Adamsville where he grew up and also to the Sacred Heart Church where he went once, maybe twice as a kid. Pure gold, although don’t go to either location looking for examples of how much he gave to anybody. Zilch. Still an easy sell especially once he branched out into an occasional department store heist and people would be waiting in line, especially older women, older meaning then in their thirties, maybe with a couple of kids, a tired ass of a husband and a bleak future to see if he was going to show up and rob that place that day and maybe they would get some of his largesse.           

That is the public bullshit, the crap for public consumption but go back a bit to where I described Pretty as a stone-cold bank robber, a guy who robbed whatever he robbed in broad daylight, armed to the teeth and taking no prisoners as the saying goes. I don’t know if Pretty knew about Willie Sutton, an early famous bank robber who was credited with the observation when asked later about why he robbed banks-that is where the money is.  I never mentioned Willie or his observation you don’t crowd one legend with tales of another, especially if you are tasked with making the new guy’s up but Pretty went after the dough with something like that kind of concentration to get the dough. A few people, a few heroes who tried to stop him took the fall and early on I used the old gag that being a hero was for cops and professionals leave Pretty alone, get out alive. In the end though I couldn’t save him “rep” when on that last caper, the big Granite National Bank job over in Braintree he wasted four customers who tried to rush him after a silly bank guard who thought the bank’s money was his or something took a shot at him and Pretty unloaded. Ran into the streets, they say he was looking down the block, looking for that Sally who had his ride, or maybe that is the way I wrote it was gunned down in a hail of bullets. That Sally never did surface, never contacted me in any way to give her side of the story but I like to think for one fucking time in his too short life Pretty tried to protect somebody by taking those slugs without a murmur. Maybe that is why she never peeped to me. Never did get that Globe job though. Yeah, Pretty was a piece of work while he lasted.

Now to the holy goofs, the Sleepy Hollow Bandits or whatever they called themselves who have given me something to whale on courtesy of site manager Greg Green who took Seth Garth’s advice and hired me to do this one-shot special guest reviewer job. I didn’t know Seth then back when Pretty was tearing up the place but met him later when he mentioned that he had read everything I had written about Pretty being a hometown North Adamsville boy. He is the one who encouraged me to tell the tale about a real bank robber not some misplaced schoolboy antics which went out with Bonnie and Clyde. And I have but part of the deal was to tell what was seriously wrong with the legend these dopes Terry and Joe were trying to put together.

You already know about their stealing Jimmy Skaggs’ playbook move to ease the way on getting into the bank. That though was old even back in the 1970s because the coppers through an informer, the guy who sold Jimmy’s guys the guns, were able to wrap that caper up without a muss or fuss. The worst thing though was maybe the guys had heard of Willie Sutton, its hard to say because their first freaking bank robbery was done without plan, without thinking things through and Pretty would tell you, Willie too, you need a plan, plan, plan plan, especially if you are going to last for ten years like Pretty did without catching day one of jailtime. I won’t even go into the double-dipping, actually triple-dipping since they had a third guy as a driver to split the dough with. Pretty would have freaked big time on that shares stuff. He told me once he actually took a cab from a bank robbery scene in Stoughton, the car was across from the bank, he got in, where to and that was it. Gave the cabbie ten bucks and thought he was a great guy for doing so. His haul one hundred thou not bad for a day’s work minus that ten bucks. (I was always careful about how much the bank takes were since it was in the coppers and banks’ interest to jack up the take to make the “perp” look harder than he was and for the bank to grab some easy fed insurance money. I also took a skeptical eye to whatever Pretty said his haul was since in the interest of his legend he might jack up the heist price. On the Stoughton caper, for example, the take was fifty thou not one hundred so maybe that ten bucks to the cabbie really was big to Pretty)       

You know how hard Pretty was on his women, except maybe that last one, mainly us them to hide him out, fuck them and then move on, no strings around him, no revealing plans or ideas. The cardinal sin of these holy goofs, this Terry and Joe comedy act if you think about it was grabbing that weirdo Kate, not because she wasn’t a good-looking little redhead but because when you throw a woman in the mix you get nothing but trouble with a capital “T.” You know this Kate stirred both men, and she played them on that seesaw. Got them crazy for no good reason. Let me tell you what Pretty told me about the one time he thought about taking a woman along, some twist he met at a gin mill in New York while he was on “vacation.” She was maybe nineteen and build for trouble, big trouble if a guy let himself get involved with her. Well Pretty did for a while. Got hot as nails for her. Decided that he needed a look-out (probably what he expected Sally to do on that last doomed caper I don’t know since the last time I saw him was in a morgue) and so he brought the twist along. When showtime came she vanished, went long gone and the caper depended on that look-out job she was supposed to perform since this bank was across from a police station. He barely got out alive with twenty-five thou (actually ten and some change) and never went that route again. You know I could go on and on about these goofs, about Pretty but you can see by now that Pretty would have had them for lunch. Maybe dinner too.