This space is dedicated to the proposition that we need to know the history of the struggles on the left and of earlier progressive movements here and world-wide. If we can learn from the mistakes made in the past (as well as what went right) we can move forward in the future to create a more just and equitable society. We will be reviewing books, CDs, and movies we believe everyone needs to read, hear and look at as well as making commentary from time to time. Greg Green, site manager
I have on more occasions that I wish to remember
have taken issue with the policies of the French government especially as they
have dove-tailed with the war interests of the American government in its
endless wars including today in the enflamed Middle East. I am sure that in the
future I will be at loggerheads with that same government. But not today, today
I stand as every serious leftist must with the people of Paris, with the people
of France who have been subjected to another round of criminal actions by those
damn jihadists who do not distinguish between military targets and ordinary
citizens, have made the whole world subject to “collateral damage.”Or maybe they do distinguish targets but take
the coward’s way out and head for “soft targets” in their maniacal sense of
what constitutes “victory” in their distorted savage minds.
Today though I do not want to dwell on the
deaths of the innocents in the “night of the long knives” just past but on what
Paris means in the history of civilization, what it means in the great scheme
of human progress. Why it is the most visited city in the world. Why whoever
has gone there will always have that memory front and center.
Everybody obviously knows the museums, so many
it takes a couple trips to each one to even scratch the surface. That walk, that
dreaded walk on Sunday, down the (or is it up) Champs Elysee with what seems
like all of Paris out in its finery to celebrate the day. Is mesmerized by the “city
of lights” highlighted by the dazzle of the Eiffel Tower at night. The weekend
deluge of those seemingly endless green bookstalls all open to the passing traffic
on Rue Saint Germaine. The homage to their God of the masterful builders of
Notre Dame and the million other churches ringing their eternal bells around
the city. The numberless plaques on the bridge columns to those who defended
Paris from outside forces or as in the case of the Commune their own government.
The painter quarters at Montmartre with its own sense of style. The traffic along
the Seine, the river of life, from big barges bringing Paris products from the outside
world to tour boats and private pleasure vessels. All this and more.
But what I am thinking about most today is those
ubiquitous outdoor cafes, populated seemingly in all weathers by the
people-watching ordinary citizens of Paris. Yeah, that Paris is the one we all
stand in solidarity today as they go about their now sorrowful tasks. Ah, Paris.
Smedley Butler Brigade -Veterans For Peace Armistice Day Program
On Armistice Day- There Is A Wall In Washington
The following short remarks were addressed to group of fellow veterans and other peace and social activists at a Boston Armistice Day commemoration by Frank Jackman.
There Is A Wall In Washington
The specter of the Vietnam War still haunts my generation, the generation of ’68. I am a Vietnam era veteran and although I was trained as an 11 Bravo, an infantryman, a grunt, cannon fodder I did not serve in Vietnam for a whole lot of reasons that need not detain us now because I don’t want to talk about my story but about Ralph Morris’ story, or rather about his younger brother, Kenny Morris’ story, yeah, this is Kenny’s story. Some of you may have heard this story which was part of a longer story that I read at last month’s Midnight Voices so bear with me since on this day when we are trying to cry in the wilderness against the endless fruitless wars and the lives they have taken, the lives of our brothers and sisters, for no good reason it bears repeating.
I met Ralph Morris, a Vietnam veteran who served in the Big Red One, the Ist Division, a unit which saw plenty of action during his time “in country” in 1968 and who is a member of Veterans for Peace from Troy in upstate New York last March at a rally, unfortunately a small, too small, rally, in front of the White House protesting the continuing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan on the 12th anniversary of the invasion of Iraq. We talked for a while during the rally and subsequent march through the city and found that we had a common duty when we were in Washington. He would always go to the “black granite” as he called it, the Vietnam War Memorial down the Lincoln Memorial end of the National Mall to share a moment, and to shed a tear, for the fallen he wished to acknowledge from his home town and from the Big Red One.
And for a different reason Kenneth Morris, his younger brother Kenny, who had actually joined the Army before him in 1966. Joined to fight the red menace, stop the dominos from falling or whatever irrational reason the sitting government gave at the time since Kenny was as patriotic as the next man, maybe more so, just like most of us back then, maybe questioning the wisdom of the government’s actions but not challenging them. Kenny had served with distinction in the Ist Brigade of 101st Airborne Division in Vietnam, had earned a fistful of medals, maybe not as many as our own Bob Funke but plenty unlike Ralph who said he was just lucky and had guys around him who saved his ass. Kenny like Ralph got out of that hellhole alive. Got back to the “real” world in one piece for a while. Did okay for a few years, got a job, had a girlfriend, went places, then the other shoe fell. I don’t have to tell this audience where this story is going. Something snapped, some horror Kenny had witnessed or had taken part in during the war got to him. It started when Kenny began setting fire alarms off around the neighborhood which at first were overlooked by the family. Then the midnight walks started Kenny going naked down Ferry Street. Eventually Kenny got VA help, drugs and therapy, which kept his demons away, for a while. When those failed institutionalization, again for a while. Kenny was eventually released when the trend was to get guys out of institutions and into half-way houses. Then one night in 1977 shortly after his release Kenny jumped off the Mohawk River Bridge north of Albany heading toward Saratoga Springs on U.S. 87. Gone.
So yeah Ralph that March day shed a tear for Kenny too. You know there is no wall in Washington for the Kennys of the Vietnam War ….but maybe there should be.Yeah, the specter of the Vietnam War still haunts my generation of ’68. Kenneth Morris, presente.
Out In The Be-Bop
1950s Night- The Time Of Motorcycle Bill
From The Pen Of
Joshua Lawrence Breslin
There was a scourge in the land, in the
1950s American land. No, not the dreaded but fatalistically expected BIG ONE
that would send old mother earth back to square one, or worst, coming from the
Russkies. Sure that was in the air and every school boy and girl had their
giggling tales of having to hide, hide ass up, under some desk or other useless
defense in air raid drill preparations for that eventually. Sure, as well, the
air stunk of red scare, military build-up cold war “your mommy is a commie
turns her in.” But that was not the day to day scare for every self-respecting
parent from Portsmouth to the Pacific. That was reserved for the deadly dreaded
motorcycle scare that had every father telling his son to beware of falling
under the Marlon Brando sway and spiraling down to a life, a low life of crime
and debauchery (of course said son not knowing of the word, the meaning of
debauchery, until much later just shrugged his innocent shoulders). More
importantly every mother, every blessed mother, self-respecting or not (with a
gentle nod from Dad) warned off their daughters against this madness and
perversity.
Of course that did not stop the sons
from mooning over every Harley that rode the ride down Main Street, Olde Saco
(really U.S. Route One but everybody called it Main Street and it was) or the
daughters from mooning (and maybe more) over the low- riders churning the metal
on those bad ass machines. Even prime and proper Lily Dumont, the queen of
Saint Brigitte’s Catholic Church rectitude on Sunday and wanna-be “mama” every
other waking minute of late. And the object of her desire? One “Motorcycle
Bill,” the baddest low- rider in all of Olde Saco.
Now baddest in Olde Saco (that’s up in
ocean edge Maine for the heathens and others not in the know) was not exactly
baddest in the whole wide world, nowhere as near as bad as say Sonny Barger and
his henchmen outlaws- for- real bikers out in Hell’s Angels Oakland as
chronicled by Doctor Gonzo (before he was Gonzo), Hunter S. Thompson in his
saga of murder and mayhem sociological- literary study Hell’s Angels.
But as much is in life one must accept the context. And the context here is
that in sleepy dying mill town Olde Saco mere ownership, hell maybe mere desire
for ownership, of a bike was prima facie evidence of badness. So every precious
daughter was specifically warned away from Motorcycle Bill and his Vincent
Black Lightning 1952 (although no mother, and maybe no daughter either, could
probably tell the difference between that sleek English bike and a big pig
Harley). But Madame Dumont felt no need to do so with her sweet sixteen Lily
who, maybe, pretty please maybe was going to be one of god’s women, maybe enter
the convent over in Cedars Of Lebanon Springs in a couple of years after she
graduated from Olde Saco High along with her Class of 1960.
But that was before, walking home to
Olde Saco’s French- Canadian (F-C) quarter, the Acre, on Atlantic Avenue with
classmate and best friend Clara Dubois, Lily heard the thunder of Bill’s bike
coming up behind them, stopping, Bill giving Lily a bow, and them revving the
machine up and doing a couple of circle cuts within a hair’s breathe of the
girls. Then just a suddenly he was off, and Lily, well, Lily was hooked, hooked
on Motorcycle Bill, although she did not know it, know it for certain until
that night in her room when she tossed and turned all night and did not ask
god, or any of his associates, to guide her in this matter.
One thing about living in a sleepy old town, a sleepy old dying mill town, is
that everybody knows everybody’s business at least as far as any person wants
that information out on the public square. Two things are important before we
go on. One is that everybody in town that counted which meant every junior and
senior class high schooler in Olde Saco knew that Bill had made a “play” for
Lily. And the buzz got its start from none other than Clara Dubois who had her
own hankerings after the motorcycle man (her source of wonder though was more,
well lets’ call it crass than Lily’s, Clara wanted to know if Bill was build,
build with sexual power like his motorcycle. She had innocently, perhaps,
understood the Marlon mystique). The second was that Bill, other than his bike,
was not a low life low- rider but just a guy who liked to ride the roads free
and easy. See Bill was a freshman over at Bowdoin and he used the bike as much
to get back and forth as to do wheelies in front of impressionable teenage
girls from the Acre.
One day, a few days after their
Motorcycle Bill “introduction,” when Lily and Clara were over at Seal Rock at
the end of Olde Saco Beach (not its real name but given it because it was the
local lovers’ lane and many things had been sealed there including a fair share
of “doing the do”) Bill came up behind them sans his bike. Now not on his bike,
without a helmet, and carrying books, books of all things, he looked like any
student except maybe a little bolder and a little less reserved. He started
talking to Lily and something in his demeanor attracted her to him. (Clara
swore, swore on seven bibles, that Lily was kind of stand-offish at first but
Lily says no.) They talked for a while and then Bill asked Lily if she wanted a
ride home. She hemmed and hawed but there was just something about him that
spoke of mystery (who knows what Clara thought). She agreed and they walked a
couple of blocks to where he was parked. And there Lily saw that Vincent Black
Lightning 1952 of her dreams. Without a word, without anything done except to
tie her hair back she climbed on the back of the bike at Bill’s beckon. And
that is how one Lily Dumont became William Kelly’s motorcycle “mama.”
Eddie Daley’s Big Score –With Paul Newman and Robert Redford’s The Sting In Mind
A Sketch From The Pen
Of Frank Jackman
Eddie Daley, Edward James Daley, to the
1940s slapdash Dorchester triple-decker tenements within earshot of the
rattling Redline subway born, dreamed, dreamed big dreams, ever since he was
knee-high to a grasshopper as the old time used-up now corny expression had it,
of making the big score, making easy street, and in the process leaving behind
a legend that guys, corner boy guys and grifters would talk about long after he
was gone. Talk about in reverent hushed whispers about the guy, Eddie Daley,
thereafter to be dubbed the “king of the grifters” who pulled the biggest con
that there ever was, and walked away from it free as a bird. Not all big
scores, cons, even if consummated, had that final part, that walk away free
part, just ask the shade of Frankie Finn who pulled the big Shiloh Fur scam
worth two million easy (a lot of money back in the 1950s even when split four
ways and a fifth cut for the fence plus his expenses although just walking
around money today), pulled it off with just four guys, a good number for the
haul, but who “forgot” that he was dealing with one “Rocket Kid,” Johnny
Silver, in his entourage who after the heist put two between the eyes of his
three confederates, figuring one is easier to count that three no matter than
two of the guys were his long time corner boys. The Rocket Kid, Johnny, was
subsequently “hit” by one of Buddy Boyle’s boys, everybody though Rolling Rex
Buddy’s main contract man did the deed since he had not been seen around for a
while, when he tried to fence the stuff since Buddy was the front money man on
that caper and Frankie Finn’s cousin to boot. Buddy already rolling in dough
had his own way of figuring one is easier to count when he was the one. So that
walking away free part was no small part of the leaving a legend behind
scenario.
Eddie’s dream might seem strange to the
squares, to those who live life on the square, wake up and do the nine to five
bit, or whatever the time bit these days with flexible hours, take two weeks’
vacation in Maine summer, raise and put three kids through college at great
expense and get a gold watch or a pat on the back when they are turned out to
pasture. Yeah, that dream definitely might seem odd to those who have never
been from hunger, not just “wants” hunger like a million guys have, maybe more,
but no food on the table hunger when the old man drank away the week’s paycheck
at the Dublin Grille or hand-me-down clothes from older brothers in style or
not hunger that ate deeply into every way that Eddie thought about things from
very early on. Those who never worried about big scores, or cons since they had
it coming in whatever they had to put out in expenses would never figure
Eddie’s dreams out.
See Eddie was a what they called,
called back in the old days, back in the 1930s, and still called them back in
Eddie’s coming of age time in the 1960s when he came of age in that Dorchester
section of Boston where he triple decker tenement grew up a natural-born
grifter. When Eddie first heard that word used, strangely after he had already
done his first con and somebody on the corner, that hang out corner being Mel’s
Variety on Neponset Avenue near the Fields Corner subway stop, called him a
born “grifter” he faked it and said yeah and then next day went to the library
and looked it up in the dictionary and came up with this-“A grifter is someone
who swindles you through deception or fraud. Synonyms include fraudster, con
artist, cheater, confidence man, scammer, hustler, swindler, etc.”
Eddie smiled the smile of the just on
that one. Yeah, a grifter, is a guy like him who figured some angles, any
angles, a guy who did this and that, did the best he could without working some
nine to five hump job. [Here is a practical corner boy, not Mel’s but Jack
Slack’s bowling alleys corner down in Carver about thirty miles south of
Dorchester but still in “from hunger” land definition- “A grifter to fill in
the gaps for the unknowing and clueless was a guy, sometimes a dame, although
usually where there was a dame involved she was a roper especially if the mark
was hopped up on some sex thing, who spent his eternal life figuring how to go
from point A to point B, and point A was wanting dough and point B was getting
it by any means necessary but mainly by stealth. By the way do not discount
women in the grifter society one of the best who ever lived was a gal who went
by the name Delores Del Rio, named herself after the 1940s movie star, who took
some duke over in Europe for a cool two million in jewelry after she got him
all jammed up and picked him clean leaving him with some fake jewels worth
about six dollars in Woolworth’s, beautiful.]
So Eddie started figuring the angles
very early on, very early on indeed and would regale, if that is the right word
for it, the corner boys in front of Mel’s Variety Store on Neponset Avenue with
tales of his daring do once he started hanging out there when he began high
school at Dot High. Of course that was all kids’ stuff, baubles and beads
stuff, since nobody expected a kid to have the talents for grifting right out
of the box (having the heart, the “from hunger” wanting habits heart was a
separate and maybe more pressing question) but there are certain guys, certain
Eddie guys, who cling to those dreams pretty hard and give themselves a workout
getting in shape.
From what one guy, Southie Slim, one of
the Mel’s corner boys before he moved on to other stuff told me Eddie started
pretty early, started simply conning other kids out of their milk money in
elementary school over at the Monroe Trotter School. Here is the skinny on that
first round according to Slim who got caught out himself before he picked up
the grifter life for a while until he found out dealing high-grade dope to the
Beacon Hill crowd was a great deal more profitable, and socially smart too once
you added in willing women. Eddie somehow had picked up some dice, yeah, a pair
and he would bet other kids, boys or girls it did not matter, their milk money
on the results. Of course he somehow had “loaded” them so he would win. Now
that was a fairly easy thing but here is where Eddie learned his craft. To keep
play going he would let the other kids win occasionally, just enough to keep
them interested rather than be a greed-head like big bully Matty Dugan down at
my elementary school, Myles Standish, down in Carver who just strong-armed a
kid a day for his (or her, it did not matter) milk money. But the real tip he
picked up young as he was that as long as kids, people, think they can“pick you clean” you will always have a
willing pool of suckers, of people to swindle, small or large but think
large.
One night, one slow Friday night year
later after he had settled deeply into the routine of the life, Eddie was
cutting up touches about his old days while smoothing down high-shelf scotch (a
no-no when you are on the hustle by the way save that for slow Friday nights
when you are cutting up old touches Eddie said), about how he moved up after
that dice thing ran its course as all such scams do if for no other reason that
the grifter gets tired of the play, and he related what happened after that
first scam when he got to the Curley Junior High School. Here is how it went,
the basic outline since Eddie was kind of cagey about some of the details like
the guys he was talking to that night were going to run right out and pull the
scam themselves. Eddie basically ran a pyramid scheme on his fellow students.
He conned the kids into giving him their money by saying he knew a guy, a
friend of his older brother, Lawrence, who worked as a stable boy at the track
and who knew when the fix was on in a race and who could place bets for him and
get some bucks fast. Eddie convinced a couple of guys that if they put all
their dough together they could buy a ticket and make some easy dough. And it
worked for a while since Eddie in his devilish way paid off the guys with his
own dough. Each guy getting maybe a buck which to a “from hunger” kid was a big
deal. Word got out and soon plenty of kids, even girls were looking to get in
on easy street. And so he would dole out some more dough. Then he pulled the
plug, told everybody that he was going in for a big score that he was going to
put twenty dollars on a sure thing that the stable boy had tipped him to. In
the event he actually got about thirty five dollars collected altogether. Of
course the horse ran out, never came close so all was lost. Hey, wait a minute
have you been listening? Eddie didn’t know any stable boy, didn’t make any bet,
so minus his seed money expenses he cleared twenty-five bucks. Here is what
Eddie learned though know the “clients” (Eddie’s word) who you are dealing with
and don’t be too greedy. He did that same small con for a couple of years and
it worked like magic, got him his money for the jukebox at Jimmy Jack’s Diner
on Gallivan Boulevard and movie money too. Small con wisdom but still wisdom.
Eddie as he got older, got into high
school, got hanging around with his corner boys at Mel’s, got restless, always
had that idea in back of his mind that he would pull a big score if he learned
all the tricks of the trade, if he could get onto something big. For a while in
high school it looked like he was on the fast track, he learned how to work the
charity circuit for walking daddy (his term) walking around money using the old
homeless but proud gag that those private charity donors love that he picked up
one day when he was playing hooky from school and ran into an old con man,
Railroad Bill, on a bench at Boston Common near the Park Street Station who
gave him the tip. Eddie would laugh at how easy it was to pull off walking into
let’s say the United Methodist Church Social Services office up on Beacon
Street dressed in his very real hand-me- downs and unshaven making him look
older but not too old (meaning the old telltale sign that the guy had been “on
the bum” too long to be proud and work his way out of his current jam) going
through his rough things but wanting to get back on track if he only had a the
price of a week’s rent in one of the rooming houses that dotted the other side
of the hill then (a few still there even today, significantly fewer though).
That was good for ten or twenty at a time although the down side of that caper
was that you could only use it once, maybe twice. The upside was that there
were numerous private social service agencies like that looking for somebody
“worthy” to give the dough to.
With that walking around money Eddie would
work a variation of his kids’ stuff milk money run, he would sell lottery
tickets (in the days before the state got its greasy hands into that racket),
for different charities, say he was raising it for blind kids or to send kids
to summer camp. Offer as prizes radios, televisions, maybe a record player,
stuff like that which people wouldn’t mind spending a dollar or “three for five
dollars” on to help some crippled-up kids, give them fresh air, or some other
small break or something. So he would grab the dough and then have one or more
of his corner boys rip off what was needed over at Lechmere Sales or someplace
like that (usually using at first “Five Fingers” Riley or “Rat” Malone who
started that racket early once they figured out that if you were fearless in
grabbing stuff nobody was going to catch you, and that worked for a long time
until they “graduated” to armed robberies and did consecutive nickels, dimes
and quarters in various Massachusetts state pens).
See nobody gave a good damn if the
charity he was hustling for ever got the dough all they knew was that for a
buck, or three for five, they had a chance for their own television, radio, or
record player important to hard-pressed high school kids who would not have
those items otherwise. Needless to say the corner boys he used were good and he
paid them off well like he should to keep them in line, another lesson learned,
and so he honed his skills.
When Eddie graduated from high school
and was to face the workaday world though he panicked a bit, decided that he
needed to move up a step if he was going to avoid the fate of his belabored
father, belabored by drink, yes, but also hard work on the docks, not always
steady and with a brood of kids and a nagging wife to contend with. If the
nine-to-five was not for Eddie neither was staying down in the depths either.
(A history teacher had mentioned one time in class that all of her charges
should seek to move up the latter of society at least one jump ahead of their
parents and that kind of stuck with him.) So he started going into downtown
Boston, started hanging around the Commons regularly unlike in high school
where he would go just when playing hooky but really to blow off steam when
something exploded at home in that damn crowded apartment, started to listen to
guys to see if they had any ideas like that time “Railroad Bill” gave him the
scoop on the private charity gag, had been on easy street at one time. He
didn’t bother with the eternal winos and junkies for they had nothing to say
that he could use but to guys and there always were guys who maybe had been on
the hustle and got waylaid, or just got old in a young man’s racket and so
maybe had some words to share. And before he knew it he met Sidewalk Sam and
Bright Boy Benny a couple of guys who told him about old time scams, about how
guys survived by their wits in the hard-ass Depression days. And come some old
Friday night, a slow girl-less Friday usually, Eddie would hold forth about
what he had learned in the world, learned from Sidewalk and Bright Boy.
Here, for example, is what he told the
boys one Friday night, one “Five-Fingers” Malone-less Friday night marking the
first time he got bagged for doing a robbery, unarmed that time, of a gas
station and was doing a six month stretch at Deer Island, which will give you
an idea of where Eddie was heading, a story of a scam that seemed impossible to
pull off given what they were trying to do. Unless you knew how very greedy
some guys, even smart guys were. Let’s call it the wallet switch, an old scam
that Eddie would perform a couple of times later, successfully. You need two
guys for this, at least. In this case two used to be “from hunger” Great
Depression grifters Denver Slim and Gash Lavin. And you must know your mark’s
movements pretty well and whether they have dough on them, a more usual
circumstance than you might think back then than now that we are in this age of
the ATM and cashable credit cards among those a shade to the left of the law
(and a whole new Eddie-less generation tech- savvy grifters with their dreams,
and stories they are telling their confederates on slow Friday nights). I won’t
go into the preliminaries about setting the mark up, but they knew their guy,
knew his movements and knew what he was carrying, so just rest assured that
Denver and Gash had seeded their mark. Well actually Denver had seeded the
mark, one Ricardo “Slice” Russo (you figure out the why of that moniker, okay),
who was the bag man for Lou Thorpe’s numbers racket in New York City, yes the
Lou Thorpe who ran wild back in the day and made a splash in Vegas to top off
his career but this is earlier when he was greedier than Midas and so was
particularly susceptible to any scheme that put money in his waiting hands.
Once a week Slice headed for Chicago on
the midnight train to pay off Lou’s confederates there (at the high end of the
rackets there are always confederates to pay off, cops too so it is just part
of the overhead to keep on the streets. Guys down the bottom of the food chain
don’t have such financial worries they are too busy keeping one eye out for
looming John Law.)
Now bag men are pretty low in the food
chain of any criminal enterprise but are like Eddie and every other Eddie-like
dreamer also groomed on the con, on easy street dreams. What Denver did was to
ask Slice, whom he cornered by evoking “Shark” Mahoney’s name, a mutual
acquaintance, as he was heading to the station on the way to Chicago to drop
off three thousand to a guy, “Bones” Kelly, also known to both men, on Division
Street in that city for him. That money had been placed in a wallet, a black
leather wallet similar to the one Slice was carrying the twenty thousand
pay-off in, and when Slice got to Chi town he gave the wallet to the Division
Street guy, to Kelly, the one with three thousand in it, three thousand in
counterfeit money as Kelly later found out. See Slice had figured that doing
Denver’s delivery was like finding money on the ground especially when he
thought up the fake dough angle. So tough luck, Denver. Worse though, worse for
Slice anyway, the mob’s wallet also had twenty thousand in counterfeit money
when he delivered the wallet to an office in the Loop.
What had happened was that Gash had
been on that train, had in the course of bumping into Slice switched wallets
and got off in Cleveland leaving Slice to his troubles. But here is what you
have to know, know about the mob. They thought Slice, a troublesome bag man and
so an easy fall guy was pulling a fast one on them when he explained what he
thought had happened and he wound up in the Illinois River face down before
anybody investigated anything. Beautiful work by Denver and Gash who headed out
West for a while just to be on the safe side but also know this-if you are
running on the high side expect some blow-back, nasty blow-back if you don’t
walk away clean. Just ask Slice
One night, another of those aimless
nights when there was no action, or maybe Eddie was cooling out from a con, a
wise move since overdoing the con scene leads inevitably to trouble, usually
fist, gun or John Law trouble, he told the guys a story, a story about the granddaddy
of all the scores, a haul of almost half a million back in the 1930s when half
a million was not just walking around money like it is today. A story that
Nutsy Callahan, another one of the Great Depression guys he would listen to
over on the Commons told him about one afternoon after he had played out some
luscious honey over on Tremont Street who had “curled his toes” and he was a
bit too restless to head home (Eddie wasn’t much for girlfriends or serious
female company on his way up and maybe it was better for him to just catch a
quick “curl the toes” on an off-afternoon with some passing fancy because no
question women are far tougher to deal with that the hardest scam). The way
Nutsy told the story implied that he might have been in on the caper, although
like all good grifters, grafters, percentage guys, and midnight sifters, he
would put the account in the third person just in case the statute of
limitations had not run out on whatever the offenses were, or, more likely,
some pissed off Capo or his descendants were still looking to take some shots
at guys who pulled such scams.
Nutsy had told Eddie a few lesser scams
that he had been involved in and Eddie told a few lies of his own but the
important thing for Eddie, or rather Eddie’s future was that he was looking to
break out of the penny-ante grifts and ride easy street so he was looking for
ideas, long ago ideas really because just maybe with a duke here and a juke
there the thing could be played again. Eddie didn’t bother to tell Nutsy that for
Nutsy would probably not have told the story or as likely dismiss Eddie’s
chances out of hand. So Nutsy told the story and Eddie’s eyes went bonkers over
the whole set-up.
This one involved “Top Hat” Hogan so
named for the simple fact that as long as anybody had known him, or could
remember, he always wore a fancy day top hat although rarely, very rarely, with
any accompanying evening clothes. Some of his girl friends said he wore the
damn thing when he was in bed with them and that was just fine because Top Hat
was a walking daddy when it came to loving his women. Top Hat had been widely
assumed to have been the brains behind the Silver Smith Fur scam, the Morgan
Bank scam and the Golden Gate Mine dust-up which people talked about almost
until the war (World War II if you are counting). So Top Hat under any
circumstances was a number one grifter who any guy with any dough, any serious
dough, had better check up on to see if Top Hat had been in the vicinity if he
wanted to keep said cash. The other key guy, and the reason Top Hat, who had
been semi-retired at the time of this caper and rightfully so having run the
rack already, was a raw kid, a kid with promise but not much else then, was
“Jet” Jenkins. And the reason that Top Hat even considered teaming up with a
raw kid like Jet, was that he was the son of Happy Heddy Jenkins, a fancy woman
who had “curled his toes” back in his younger days. Heddy had had some good
days and bad days but one of the bad days had been meeting up with the famous
gambler, Black Bart Benson, one of the great flim-flam, flim-flam meaning
simply a cheater without mercy and guys, leg-breakers if anybody had a problem
with that, poker players of the day.
Old Bart had nevertheless had run into
a streak of bad luck at cards which even cheaters face at times, had borrowed
and lost almost a one hundred thousand dollars from Heddy (who ran on the best,
friendliest, and easiest to enter if you had the money whorehouses in Chicago).
Somehow things had taken a turn for the worst after Black Bart left Heddy high
and dry and she was back on cheap street trying to raise a helter-skelter
growing boy with short funds. Not so Black Bart who had cheated his way to a
million dollar bonanza when his luck changed. (That cheating not known,
obviously, to the guys taking the beating at the card table but Heddy knew her
Bart and imparted that wisdom onto her son.) When Heddy sent Jet to see if Bart
would ante up the cash he had borrowed from her he dismissed Jet with a flick
of his hand, and after a serious beating by one of his leg-breakers had him
dumped him in some back alley in Altoona one night. Bart had, with a laugh, as
his boys administered that beating, told Jet that he should sue him in court to
get his money back as he wasn’t in the mood to give some bent whore dough that
she had gotten from her whorehouse dollies. So Heddy, so Jet, and after hearing
about what Bart had called Heddy, so Top Hat were primed for revenge. But more
than revenge because that is easy, kids’ stuff, but to send Bart back to cheap
street hustling winos with three-card Monte tricks or stuff like that.
The key to understanding Black Bart was
that like a lot of con artists, no, most con artists, no, make that all con
artists, is that beside being easy prey to any scam especially a scam that
plays to their greed they always assume that they are smarter than whoever is
making the proposition and can double-back on it to their profit. Top Hat had
easy pickings when he ran across guys like Bart. Here is the way that Top Hat
worked his magic, although when Nutsy finished telling Eddie the lay Eddie
thought the venture had too many moving parts, too many guys in on the score
once Black Bart was brought down.
It went like this. “Buggy” Bannon knew
Black Bart, knew he was always interested in an easy score so Buggy put the
word in Bart’s ear about some silver and gold mining stock that was about to go
through the roof once the worst parts of the Depression were over. So Buggy,
who had worked with Top Hat on the Silver Smith scam and so was trustworthy, or
as trustworthy as any guy working on a scam can be introduced Top Hat to Bart
as a chief stockbroker for Merrill Lynch. Then Top Hat went through the traces,
got Bart hooked in with the knowledge about the gold and silver stock. Of
course Top Hat had had “Horseless” Harry sent up a nice brochure in color all
about the various possibilities of the mining stock and Bart got interested,
saw quick dollar signs. Of course even an over-the-top greedy guy like Bart had
to see some real stuff, some real stockbroker operation, so Top Hat had rented
out space in a building in the financial district and created out of sheer
nothing a stock market room complete with ticker-tape, running around employees
(all grifters from out west so that Bart would not recognize them) or and
investors milling around.
That was the part that Eddie thought
was over the top, the too many moving parts aspect, but in any case it all
looked good to Bart. Here is the carrot Top Hat told Bart to invest a few
thousand to see how it went. And so Bart did, bringing to the stock room five
thousand in cash as all con artists did then in the days before working kited
checks and credit cards and stuff like that opened out new ways to bilk people,
including smart guys. A few days later Top Hat delivers ten thousand to Bart,
all fresh dough, and so they are off to the races because now he sees that this
thing could make him really rich. Of course Top Hat knowing that you have to
bring a guy, a sucker along, knowing you needed to whet his appetite had just
added five of his own money to Bart’s to bring in the bonanza (writing it off
as overhead just like any other legal or illegal operation).
Bart, although no fool and who still
had some suspicions, was no question hooked though as Top Hat fed him another
stock tip and told him he should let the ten thousand ride, which he did. About
a week later Top Hat delivers twenty-two thousand to Bart and he was really
hooked, really wants to put more money down. Especially when that twenty-two
went to fifty grand a few weeks later. Bart said to Top Hat that it was like
finding money on the street. Then Top Hat really got to him, let him know that
in South Africa, a known gold, silver and diamond mother lode to everybody in
those days that a new field was within days of being explored and discovered
and that Bart should be ready to go big and get in on the ground floor. Here is
the beauty of the thing though. The financial pages were almost in a conspiracy
with Top Hat because they were also projecting some speculation about new
minefields. One day Top Hat told Bart to get all the cash he could gather
because that South African stock, low, very low at the time would be going
through the roof once the discovery was confirmed. So a few days later Bart
brought a suitcase filled with cash, about a million maybe a little less, and
pushed it over to Top Hat. Top Hat went to the cashier (“Hangman” Henry of all
people) and brought back a receipt to Bart.
Now you can figure out the rest. A few
days later news of that new minefield did come in and that stock did rise
although in a world filled with gold and silver with nobody to buy stuff yet
not as much as you would have expected but still a good take. Bart then called
Top Hat to tell him to cash in. No answer at Top Hat’s number. Bart then went
to the stock exchange room to find nothing but a “for rent” sign on the doors.
As for Top Hat and Jet well they were on the train back to New York with that
one hundred grand for Heddy and a twinkle came into Top Hat’s eyes about those
old days when she “curled his toes,” and might again. Beautiful.
That story etched in his brain Eddie
Daley started putting together a few ideas in his head, getting on the phone to
a few guys (fewer than Top Hat had in his operation), and started making some
dough connections for financing. Out in the grifter night they still talk about
Eddie Daley, whereabouts unknown, “king of the grifters” after he took Vince
Edwards the big book operator for about a million and a quarter in cold hard
cash. You now know the back story on that one.
NEW
WARS / OLD WARS – What Could Possibly Go Wrong?
The New York
Times today published a
story on its front page today about stepped-up US air attacks
on ISIS-controlled oil fields in Syria. Revenues from the oil fields is said to
provide $40 million a month to finance the Islamic State. Nowhere in the
article is it mentioned that the ISIS oil is transported and sold on the black
market in US ally Turkey.
Tell
President Obama and Congress:
MORE
DIPLOMACY, LESS WAR IN SYRIA!
As the war in Syria
continues to rage, the US took two contradictory steps in the past week. The
convening of an international conference in Vienna with all the major interested
outside parties, including Iran for the first time, was a positive development.
On the other hand, the announced dispatch of US special forces into the Syrian
war zone without authorization by Congress or the UN continues the policy of
Presidential unilateralism which ignores international law, the constitutional
role of Congress, and sound policy.
As
Welch observes: “The legal framework justifying this war is loosely tied to the
fumes of a Congressional authorization approved in response to the 9/11 attack
on America over 14 years ago.” “I am deeply concerned by escalating mission
creep in Syria."—Congresswoman Barbara Lee
That’s
an absurd construct, argues Welch. “A civil war in Syria did not exist 14 years
ago. ISIS did not exist 14 years ago. Neither the United States nor Russia were
conducting military operations in Syria 14 years ago,” notes the congressman,
who says it is time for Congress to focus on the question of whether the United
States should be engaged in a new war in the Middle East… There should be no
question that a congressional debate is required—and needed. Americans should be
brought into this discussion, and the way to do that is by raising the issue in
Congress. The House and Senate should reject the flimsy excuse of a 14-year-old
AUMF and vote on whether to authorize the growing intervention that the
administration is now implementing across Iraq and Syria. More
House
Lawmakers Call on Speaker Ryan to Bring AUMF to House Floor for Debate and
Vote
The
letter to Speaker Ryan is led by Representatives Jim McGovern (D-MA), Tom Cole,
(R-OK), Barbara Lee (D-CA), Walter Jones (R-NC), Peter Welch (D-VT), and John
Lewis (D-GA). Click here to view the letter… “We do not share the same
policy prescriptions for U.S. military engagement in the region, but we do share
the belief that it is past time for the Congress to fulfill its obligations
under the Constitution and vote on an AUMF that clearly delineates the authority
and limits, if any, on U.S. military engagement in Iraq, Syria and the
surrounding region,” the lawmakers added. “Congress can no longer ask our brave
service men and women to continue to serve in harm’s way while we fail in
carrying out our constitutional responsibility in the area of war and peace,”
the lawmakers concluded. “As long as the House fails to assert its
constitutional prerogatives and authority, the Administration may continue to
expand the mission and level of engagement of U.S. Armed Forces throughout the
region. We strongly urge you, Mr. Speaker, to bring an AUMF to the floor of the
House as quickly as possible.” More
H.Res.508 -
Expressing the sense of the House of Representatives that the President of the
United States should use the full authority of his office to convene
international negotiations intended to stop the civil war in Syria
has been cosponsored by just Reps. Moulton and McGovern from our
state; let your own House Member know that you want them to sign on.
You
can urge your representative to co-sponsor the Himes resolution here.
Friday,
November 13:
The U.S. - Saudi
Alliance: Disaster for the Middle East, 7:00 pm to 9:00
pm,First Church in Cambridge • 11 Garden Street • near Harvard Square T
stop • Cambridge. The US-Saudi relationship is a key reason for the
instability and terror inflicted across the Middle East by murderous sectarian
groups, repressive governments and US and Saudi bombing campaigns. Breaking up
this destructive US-Saudi relationship will be a major step towards peace in the
region. Medea Benjamin Code Pink, speaking on the corrupt US-Saudi
alliance; Code Pink is a co-founder of the Coalition Against the US-Saudi
Alliance; Rabyaah Althaibani on war & human rights abuses in her
homeland of Yemen. Sponsored by United for Justice with Peace, Cosponsored by:
American Friends Service Committee, Massachusetts Global Action, Massachusetts
Peace Action, UNAC (United National Antiwar Coalition), and Women's
International League for Peace and Freedom.
5pm -
RALLY: Stop Supporting Saudi Arabia and other Persian Gulf
Tyrannies, @MBTA-Harvard Square
Sen.
Tom Udall: KEEP U.S. TROOPS OUT OF SYRIA
Efforts
to support so-called moderate forces in Syria have failed so far. Many of the
weapons we provided to rebels under the failed train-and-equip program are now
in the hands of militants affiliated with al-Qaeda or other jihadist groups. It
is a mistake to believe that continued involvement on the ground would do
anything other than put our troops directly in danger. We should not increase
our military footprint in Syria without a realistic mission that has a chance of
success… Further, U.S.
boots on the ground put the United States on shaky legal ground under both the
War Powers Act and international law. Congress has not provided an authorization
for the use of military force in Syria, and we have not been invited by Syria,
as we have in Iraq, to provide support for groups opposed to ISIL.
That
is why I introduced legislation with Republican Sen. Mike Lee of Utah and
Democratic Sen. Chris Murphy of Connecticut to prevent further escalation of
American military involvement in Syria. It allows for humanitarian aid and
intelligence gathering against America’s foes. More
S.2239 - Protecting Americans from the Proliferation of
Weapons to Terrorists Act of 2015 Prohibits
the obligation or expenditure of funds made available to the Central
Intelligence Agency, the Department of Defense, the National Security Council,
the National Security Agency, or any other U.S. agency or entity involved in
intelligence activities for the purpose of, or in a manner which would have the
effect of, supporting military or paramilitary operations in Syria.
Makes
an exception for funds obligated for non-lethal humanitarian assistance for the
Syrian people provided directly by the U.S. government through nongovernmental
organizations and contractors or foreign governments.
So far only three
cosponsors: Sen. Tom Udall [D-NM], Sen. Mike Lee [R-UT], Sen. Christopher S.
Murphy [D-CT]. You can call Sen. Warren (202-224-4543) and Sen. Markey
(202-224-2742) to ask that they also cosponsor.
FREE
SYRIAN ARMY DECIMATED BY DESERTIONS
The
FSA, once viewed by the international community as a viable alternative
to the rule of the Syrian President Bashar al-Assad, has seen its power wane
dramatically this year amid widespread desertions… The FSA began suffering battlefield setbacks as early as 2013, including some to Islamist rebel groups in northern Syria. This prompted some
members of the US House Intelligence Committee and the Obama administration to
lose faith in the FSA… The desertions have taken a toll on the
FSA's strength. Determining the total number of FSA fighters is difficult, said
Columb Strack, a senior Middle East and North Africa analyst at global
information company IHS. "The FSA is made up of more than 2,050 factions," he
said. He estimates that FSA groups in southern Syria have about 35,000 fighters. He
noted that estimates for northern FSA groups prove harder because the FSA "is so
fragmented there"… Desertions from the FSA have been common in Aleppo and
northern Syria more generally, where Islamist groups such as the Nusra Front,
which is affiliated with al-Qaeda, are more powerful… Moreover, he noted that
the better funding, arms and strength of Islamist rebels had made "far more
recruits - and even many moderate combatants - join such groups", since 2012,
whereas the FSA is currently dealing with many desertions. More
Ninety-seven
years ago, on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918, fighting
ceased in the "war to end all wars." People went on killing and dying right up
until the pre-designated moment, impacting nothing other than our understanding
of the stupidity of war. Thirty million soldiers had been killed or wounded and
another seven million had been taken captive during World War I. Never before
had people witnessed such industrialized slaughter, with tens of thousands
falling in a day to machine guns and poison gas… Believe it or not, November
11th was not made a holiday in order to celebrate war, support troops, or cheer
the 15th year of occupying Afghanistan. This day was made a holiday in order to
celebrate an armistice that ended what was up until that point, in 1918, one of
the worst things our species had thus far done to itself, namely World War I.
More
British
War Cemetery, Beirut
In
the Middle East we are still living with the colonial legacy of World War
I
“Known
Only to God”
The
Bond Between War and Football: It Started Right Here
Re:
the Globe story last week that much of the military-inspired pageantry
at football games is a recruitment effort paid for by the Department of Defense.
The teams on the receiving end of that largesse (the Patriots, Falcons, Bills
and Ravens top the list) have bristled at the notion that they have been in it
for the money… Football and war are intrinsically inseparable… The link between
our military institutions and our athletic ones started right here in Boston.
Four Bostonians, who were of fighting age during the Civil War and then went on
to prominence in American intellectual life, did more than anyone else to forge
the bond between our armed forces and our sports teams (the name "Patriots"
didn't win the nickname contest back in 1960 for nothing). More
*
* * *
TWO LOCAL
CONFERENCES
Tomorrow!
-
Saturday, November 14 (** CORRECTION** from last
week’s “November 21”)
A NEW DAY?
Organizing
to Change US Policy on Israel and Palestine
12:30 –
4:30pm, Harvard University, Jefferson Lab 250, 17 Oxford St, (behind the Science
Center and next to the Law School)
Speakers:
Rami Khouri, a Palestinian-Jordanian and a U.S. citizen, is attached to
Middle East research centers in Beirut and at Harvard and Tufts; he is editor at
large of the Daily Star newspaper in Beirut.
MJ Rosenberg, after thirty-five years in
government and four years at AIPAC, has become a champion of Israeli-Palestinian
peace and a vocal opponent of the "pro-Israel" lobby.
Nadia Ben-Youssef,
the first US
Representative of Adalah, The Legal Center for Arab
Minority Rights in Israel, is now working to promote a human-rights-based
approach in US policy toward Israel/Palestine.
The conference will bring
together activists from local organizations and movements to ask:
·What is the current state of US
politics and policy regarding Israel-Palestine?
·What new opportunities arise from
the growing partisan divide on the issue?
·What lessons, if any, are there
from the struggle against South African apartheid?
·How can we organize more
consistently and effectively to pressure our elected representatives?
In addition to other important
efforts--such as direct solidarity, BDS and public education--we need a
simultaneous campaign to contest US government policies, which enable Israeli
occupation, oppression and military aggression.
The conference aims to establish
the organizational basis and mechanisms for more effective work with our Members
of Congress.
*
* * *
Lobbyist-Paid Israel
Junkets Undermine our Democracy
You may have
followed the recent news stories about past and upcoming Israel trips by
Massachusetts public officials — paid for by local lobbying groups… Of course,
we know that these all-expense-paid junkets are an important part of the
pro-Israel political machine that influences public policy in our country. What
is new is the media spotlight on this practice, which has been operating quietly
for many years. Scores of other public officials have been on these trips
previously.
Click here to see if
your State Senator is one of the junketeers and to learn more.
*
* * *
Saturday,
November 21
BUILDING SUSTAINABLE
SECURITY
9am to 5:30pm
Harvard Law School, Wasserstein Hall
In the name of
national security, our country's policies are causing multiple, systemic
crises. These include climate catastrophe, extreme
inequality, constant wars, deep-seated racism, mass incarceration, and a
militarized culture. Only large social movements can remove these barriers to
genuine security and construct a society based on Sustainable
Security.
This conference
will explore three pillars of sustainable national and world
security:
·A fairly-shared global prosperity
based on economic, social, and racial justice
·Emergency action to address
climate change and build a new, fossil-fuel-free energy system
·A Foreign Policy for All based on
even-handed diplomacy, ending our disastrous military interventions, abolition
of nuclear weapons, and reclaiming war resources for the urgent needs that face
our world
Confirmed Speakers: Noam Chomsky,
Michael McPherson (Exec. Dir Veterans for Peace), Harris Gruman (SEIU.
RaiseUpMass), Carl Williams (MassACLU), Cassandra Bensahih (EPOCA), Barbara
Madeloni (Pres. MTA), Chung-Wha Hong (Grassroots Int’l), and others; topical
workshops.
