Boardwalk Empire: The Birth, High Times And Corruption of Atlantic City (40 page)

Kuehnle and Friends

The Commodore accompanied by Congressman John Gardner, County Clerk Louis Scott, and Sheriff Smith Johnson. Photo circa 1910.

Alfred M. Heston

Atlantic City’s No. 1 cheerleader. For more than 20 years he published annual handbooks describing a life of enchantment waiting for all who came to the resort. Photo circa 1900.

Enoch “Nucky” Johnson

The master at wearing two hats, Nucky was both the most powerful Republican in New Jersey who could influence the destinies of governors and senators, and a racketeer, respected and trusted by organized crime. Photo circa 1938.

Enoch L. Johnson Benevolent Society

With the help of his supporters, Nucky maintained an elaborate social service program, which provided a safety net for Atlantic City’s working poor. Photo taken 1935.

Birthday Boy

Nucky celebrating his birthday and having one of the many times of his life. Photo taken 1949.

Francis S. “Hap” Farley

Possibly the most powerful legislator in the history of New Jersey. Despite being deeply involved in the workings of a corrupt organization, Hap exercised restraint and is remembered as a master of the Trenton legislative process. Photo taken 1937.

Hap and the Governor

Hap’s agenda
always
came first. Seen here with Democrat Governor Richard Hughes. Farley had an excellent relationship with Hughes and every governor he worked with. He wielded more power than they did and they knew it. Photo taken 1966.

Greetings from Richard Nixon

Hap was a key supporter of Richard Nixon at the 1968 Convention. Here he proudly waives a telegram announcing Nixon’s commitment to appear at a fundraiser.

11

It’s a New Ballgame

Not even Don Rickles’s raunchiest jokes could get their attention. The dinner honoring casino executive Tony Torcasio had drawn more than 700 people, but hardly anyone was listening to the comedian’s monologue. Atlantic City’s Mayor Michael Matthews was the main topic of conversation at every table, and Rickles’ jokes were lost on the crowd.

During the cocktail hour, word spread that earlier in the evening several FBI agents appeared at city hall with a warrant demanding entry to search the mayor’s office. Long-time Matthews enemy Patrick McGahn repeated gleefully to everyone with whom he spoke, “The little jerk is finally going to get what he deserves.” The people on hand knew immediately this was more than gossip. Many guests left the dinner early to catch the local television coverage on the mayor’s problems. Matthews’ reputation being what it was, everyone assumed the worst and many couldn’t wait to hear the news reports.

Each table had at least one person with a Mike Matthews story—whether philandering with showgirls (Joey Heatherton was a favorite), the betrayal of a supporter, or his drunken foolishness—there were more than enough stories to fill the evening. The only people who didn’t chime in were heavy contributors to Matthews’ campaign. Those who remained sat silent, barely touching their food, numb at the thought that Mayor Mike wouldn’t be around to deliver on their investment. One mumbled softly, in disgust, “Oh shit, now I gotta do business with the nigger,” referring to Matthews’s likely successor, James Usry.

Mike Matthews was like two people, and you could never be sure which one you’d find. Of medium height and slight build, he was a stylish dresser who wore his 52 years well. His looks favored his Italian mother, and many women found him boyishly handsome, his graying hair enhancing his appearance. Matthews liked to party, and his mornings after could be rough. On his better days he could pass for a maitre d’ at a fancy restaurant or the manager of a hotel, but after a long night on the town, he often looked like someone you’d expect to find scrubbing cars at a car wash or frying cheese steaks over a grill in a hoagie shop. Matthews was educated as an accountant, and as an officeholder he used his accounting skills to root out waste in government. He had the potential to be a serious reformer and while serving in county government fought corruption and forced badly needed changes. But he could also be coarse and crude, engaging in a shoving and spitting contest in public with a political opponent. Afterward, he saw nothing wrong with his conduct and wasn’t the least bit embarrassed.

Matthews’s political climb had been quick. In 12 years he moved from city council in the neighboring town of Linwood, to the Atlantic County Board of Freeholders, to the New Jersey Assembly, and then Atlantic City Commissioner, holding both positions at once. His election to the city commission followed several bitter court battles concerning his residency. Although a native of the resort, Matthews had moved out with thousands of others when Atlantic City’s fortunes were on the decline. Following the legalization of gambling, he gained a renewed interest in his town. His political enemies fought his return, but Matthews emerged from the courts as an eligible candidate. Finally in June 1982 after the adoption of a new form of government, which was likewise contested in the courts, Mike Matthews was chosen mayor by less than 200 votes in a run-off election.