Hard Times (32 page)

Oh, many policemen in that era were thieves. Legal thieves. I accepted it as such and performed accordingly. We didn’t have no problems. It was an era where there was no bread on the table. So what was the difference whether I put the bread on the table by my endeavor or they put the bread? I performed with a hundred policemen in my time. I can’t say nothin‘ for ’em, nothin’ against ’em. I would say they were opportunists. I would say that they were merely persons that didn’t perhaps have the courage to go on and do what I did. Nevertheless, they were willing to be a part of it. A minor part, that is.

The era of the times led into criminality, because of the old precept and concepts were destroyed against everyday reality. So when a policeman or a fireman was not being paid, how in the name of God could you expect him to enforce what he knew as the concept of law and order, when you see the beer barons changing hundred-dollar bills, and the pimp and the whorehouse guy had hundred-dollar bills, and the guy digging the sewers couldn’t pay his bills? So how could you equate these things?

A good example is Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker. They were a product of the era. Dillinger—it wasn’t that he was really a tough. No, he was just a product of survival. Actually, Dillinger was a country bumpkin. He realized the odds were stacked against him and performed accordingly. I knew Dillinger. Yeah, I met him on the North Side. And Dillinger was nothing like people wrote about him. The times produced Dillinger. Pretty Boy Floyd. Baby Face Nelson.

They were dedicated heist men and in the end were killed, to achieve their purpose. By themselves, they didn’t need an army.

Al Capone sublet the matter. Capone quickly removed himself from the danger zone, aside from murdering Anselmi and Scalisi with a baseball bat. Bugs Moran to the end—he died for a bank heist in Ohio. They were from two different bolts of cloth. One was a dedicated thief. And one was an intriguing Mediterranean product of guile, et cetera. So you’d have to say that Moran was dedicated while Capone was an opportunist.

 

 

By every way known to the human brain. All my brothers were in the penitentiary. I had one brother in Jefferson City, another one in San Quentin, another one in Leavenworth, another one in Louisiana. At that time, I am a fighter. I started boxing in 1925. Fourteen years till 1939. And it’s a bloodthirsty thing.

 

 

Gravitation. Being on the road simulated that fate, trying to grab a buck and so forth. Five different years, Ring Magazine rated me the most devastating puncher in the profession, pound for pound.

 

 

Survival. If it worked out that you were on top, you made a living. And if you were three or four shades below the top, you scuffled for a buck. Fighters were very, very hungry.

I made some pretty big scores. But I spent it practically all on getting my brothers out of penitentiaries around the country. At that time, the one in San Quentin stood me thirty thousand, the one in Jefferson City stood me twenty-five thousand. Those were big give-ups in those days.

I lived from the bottom to the top. I lived as good as you could live. I run the gamut of having a butler and a chauffeur to a flop joint, into an open car over night.

 

 

I had many injuries in between. My hands, you can see. (He holds out his gnarled, broken knuckles.) In the meantime, I had to step out and make a dollar otherwise. It was never within the law.

I’ve switched craps, I’ve run up the cards, I do the complete bit. Every way known to the human brain. I’m probably a rare species that’s left.

 

 

Muscle if you hope to leave with the money. Muscle everywhere, yes. Because for some unknown reason, muscle has been going on since the Roman Army conquered the field with a way of life.

When you enter an endeavor unsuccessfully, then the planning was incorrect. The risk was above the gains, and you stumble along the way. And the windup is a rude awakening with numbers strung out over your back. Unsuccessful in your modus operandi. Sagacity, ingenuity, planning … it involves much weighing, odds against failure, odds against gain —if you care to be in a free society.

I spent much time in jail. That’s why I’m a student of the matter.

 

 

It was alleged—

 

 

The newspaper report came out as $75,000. We took eight and were happy about the whole thing.

 

 

I was a cheater. After studying under Count Lustig and Ace Campbell, I considered it beneath my dignity delivering a barrel of beer. Although I drink beer. I hustled with crap mobs, on the crimp, the weave, the holdout —the reason I didn’t do the rum running is you can hire a mooch with muscle. But can you hire brains? Big firms have not succeeded in doing this.

I have met only several proficient men in my time. One of them was Jack Freed. (Cups hand over mouth, whispers.) D-e-a-d. He worked right up to the edge of his demise. This is in the evening, when you are not at home. He was dedicated to his labor. He spent half his lifetime in the penitentiaries. One of my closest friends. I, of course, assisted him, from time to time. He accused me of rattling my coat one night, making entrance. I, who have endeavored in every participation known to the human brain, where art, subterfuge and guile is involved.

 

 

Incarcerated. Nothing proven substantially. I was a victim of circumstances. What they were, I didn’t say. Yes, I spent a year in Salinas, California, amongst other places. The highlight was when I was nineteen. If 1 get convicted, I’m going out to join my brother in San Quentin. My brother was doing twenty years there. If I’m not convicted, I’m going up to visit him. I’m going to San Quentin, one way or the other
.

 

 

I did. As a free man. I was fortunate enough in having one of the greatest criminal lawyers of all time defending me.

 

 

It’s so different today, it’s unfathomable. You can’t conjure what the difference is. Today everything is a robot. Today everything is mechanical. There is very little ingenuity. Everything today is no-personal, there is no
personality whatsoever. Everything today is
ipso facto, fait accompli.
In my era they had to prove their point. Today, you don’t have to prove your point.

Back then Ace Campbell steered Arnold Rothstein,
⁸⁶
with Nigger Nate Raymond, into one of maybe the biggest card games was ever involved. I was a small feature of it in the Park Central Hotel in New York. Ace changed the weave (laughs), and when Rothstein wound up a half-a-million loser, he said he was cheated. Rothstein became jaded after he lost the half a million, no longer had any interest. No interest in life. After the card game broke up, he said he was no longer interested in this, that or the other. He refused to pay off. So Nigger Nate Raymond held court with him. And that was the end of that.

 

 

The S & W people
⁸⁷
had the implements that they held court with. That’s all. Rothstein didn’t have to pay off. You understand what I mean? I know, because I assisted in the operation with Ace. But let that be as it may. It was unfortunate, yes. But that was his demise.

 

 

Naturally, it was part of your wearing apparel.

 

 

One of the fellows who was a pimp in Chicago is the boss of one of the grandest hotels in Las Vegas. I assisted him in a few small matters. But true to all pimping, he forgot me entirely as he advanced into the autumn of life.

 

 

The ones that were adroit enough branched into other fields. If they didn’t have any knowledge, they fell by the wayside. I achieved some small success in race tracks. Machine Gun Jack McGurn
⁸⁸
couldn’t stand the traffic. He got his brains blowed out, branching into other fields.

The night Prohibition was repealed, everybody got drunk. It was the only decent thing Roosevelt ever did in his Administration. I was not one of his admirers. I tried to fire him on four different occasions. If I ever had a person work for me that displeased me, it was Roosevelt. I voted against him four times.

 

 

Him being a con man, taking advantage of poor, misguided, gibbering idiots who believed in his fairy tales. The New Deal, the various gimmicks, the NRA … the complete subterfuge, artifice and guile….

 

Some say Roosevelt saved our society.
…

 

I dare say it would have been saved if Roosevelt’s mother and father had never met.

 

 

I didn’t have a thing to do with that, because I was above that. Nevertheless, the people that were involved in it did it merely to get some meat on the plates, some food in the kitchen. It was no more, no less. Survival. None of the connotations of social dissent that has crept in since then. Merely an abstract way of eating….

 

 

Very simple. They’d commit suicide today. I don’t think they’re conditioned to stand it. We were a hardier race then. We’d win wars. We didn’t procrastinate. We’d win them or lose them. Today we’re a new race of people. They’ll quit on a draw—if they see any feasible way to see their way out to quit with any dignity, they’ll quit. Back then, you had a different breed of people. You got $21 a month going into the army or the navy. So them guys, they went to win the war. There’s been an emancipated woman since the beginning of the war, also.

 

KID PHARAOH
interjects: “The American woman during the Depression was domesticated. Today, as we move into the late Sixties, if you go into any high school, you don’t see any classes of cooking any more. You don’t see any classes at all in sewing. None of them can boil water. They’re all today in business in competition to the male animal. Why should a Playboy bunny make $200 a week? If a veteran goes to war, puts his life up … can’t raise a family.”

Doc:
“… a lot of country bumpkins in the city wanting to look at poor, misguided, gibbering idiot waitresses. That they’ve stripped down like a prostitute, but hasn’t sense enough to know that it’s on her alleged sex allure that the poor misguided chump is in the place. In the end it amounts to absolutely nothing. A hypothesis of silly nothingness … undressed broads serving hootch, that cannot fulfill… .”

KID PHARAOH:
“… his dick directs him, like radar, to the Playboy Club. In a high moral society—in Russia—guys like Hugh Hefner would be working in the library.”

If she had two drinks with him, and she didn’t lay her frame down, she was in a serious matter. She could have one, and explain she made a mistake by marrying some sucker that she was trying to fulfill her marriage commitment. But in the Thirties, if you had a second drink and she didn’t make the commitment where she’s going to lay her frame down for you, the entire matter was resolved quickly to the point and could end in mayhem. She was in a serious matter.

 

 

Oh yes, it was much easier then. The Federal Government now has you on practically anything you do. They make a conspiracy whether you accomplish the matter or not. Today, it’s fraught with much peril, any type of endeavor you engage in. A nefarious matter. It constantly comes under the heading of a federal statute. The Federal Government then collected taxes, and just a few interstate things, as white slavery, and that was about it.

Today, the Federal Government has expanded into every field. If you use a telephone, as an example, and you put slugs in it, that’s a penitentiary offense. Strange as that may seem. So that will give you an idea how far the Federal Government has encroached on a citizen’s prerogative.

 

 

Definitely. He was perhaps the lowest human being that ever held public office. He, unfortunately, was a despot. I mean, you get an old con man at a point in high office, he begins to believe the platitudes that are expounded by the stupid populace about him.