Joe Bruno's Mobsters - Six Volume Set

by Bruno, Joe

  News of Guinan and Fey's new venture traveled fast up north. The New York Times wrote, “Striking the high mark of the Florida real estate boom, their venture was a bonanza. The profits were enormous. So conspicuous was the Guinan-Fey success that both were hounded by real estate brokers, hoping for a quick turnover. Miss Guinan had an answer that repulsed all advances. She said 'Listen suckers. You take them by the sun. I take then by the moon. Now, let's don't interfere with each other’s businesses. ”

  For some unknown reason, Fey and Guinan had a fallout in Miami. Fey stayed in Miami while Guinan packed her bags and headed for New York City, where she opened her own 300 Club at 151 West 54th Street.

  Fey was not amused, nor was he very happy about the split, because the fact was, Guinan was his meal ticket to success. As a result, in New York City, Guinan bought herself a bulletproof sedan and hired a slew of gangster bodyguards, just in case. Knowing Guinan had as many friends in the underworld as he did, (Lucky Luciano, Frank Costello and Owney Madden among them), Fey backed down from any planned aggression against Guinan, and instead he sent her flowers and a few diamonds to soothe over the misunderstanding. Guinan replied in kind with some presents of her own.

  (On New Year’s Day, 1933, Fey was shot to death by one of his own employees, after Fey announced to the employee that he had to take a cut in pay.)

  On February 16, 1927, Guinan's 300 Club was raided by federal agents and the New York City police. Guinan spent nine hours in custody at the 47th Street police station before bail could be arranged. It was Guinan's sixth arrest, but the only time she had spent more than a few minutes in the slammer.

  However, Guinan, the quintessential entertainer, made the most of her predicament. Without any prompting from anyone, Guinan went into full-entertaining mode. To the astonishment and pleasure of the other arrested party-goers, reporters, photographers, and even the police and federal agents, Guinan sang her entire repertoire of songs to the crowd for almost the entire nine hours of her stay. No one said a word, nor did anything to stop her. And when Guinan was finally released from jail, she left to resounding applause. Even the lawmen were clapping.

  Three days after Guinan's jail ordeal, famed evangelist Aimee Semple McPherson made her grand entrance into Guinan's 300 Club. McPherson was vehemently against drinking and carousing, and when she arrived at the 300 Club most people thought trouble was a-brewing. But nothing could have been further from the truth. Guinan immediately diffused the situation. She introduced McPherson to the crowd, saying, “Let's give a big hand for the brave little woman!”

  McPherson, a charmer herself, addressed the room by saying, "This is an experience such as I never had in all my life."

  Then she admonished Guinan and all the other party-goers in attendance, by saying their behavior was not good for the well-being of their souls. Then before she left the premises in the wee hours of the morning, McPherson invited everyone to attend her revival meeting later that same day.

  Guinan took that invitation seriously, and just a few hours later, Guinan and a dozen or so of her dancing girls, dressed to the nines in fur and diamonds, arrived at McPherson's Glad Tidings Tabernacle on West 33rd Street. The newspapers had been tipped off about Guinan's arrival, and as the photographers snapped away, Guinan shook hands with McPherson and told the crowd that McPherson was “a marvelous woman.”

  Finished with her compliments, Guinan barked at her girls, "Come on, my chicks, let's get on to the club."

  Over the next several years, Guinan opened and closed several night clubs, or to be more exact, the Feds and the New York City police closed them for her. These clubs included Club Intime, Salon Royale, and the Argonaut, which was the last nightclub Guinan owned.

  In 1927, while the Feds had closed down Salon Royale for six months, Guinan decided to use her newfound free time to produce and star in a Broadway review called The Padlocks of 1927, which was little more than an extension of the stage shows she put on at her nightclubs. While Guinan belted out her best songs to the crowd, Guinan's girls danced and caroused on stage wearing padlock belts, but little else.

  Sadly, the show was a huge flop, so Guinan went back to Hollywood and starred in an all-talking movie called Queen of the Night Clubs. But alas, that movie flopped as badly as The Padlocks of 1927 had on Broadway, putting Guinan back to square No. 1.

  In 1930, Guinan was still trying to make a go of it at the Argonaut. But the Depression had hit New York City hard, and the Prohibition agents were intent on closing every speakeasy in town; and Guinan's was the most visible. With profits dwindling and the Feds breathing down her neck, Guinan's manager, John Stein, convinced Guinan to close down the Argonaut, before the Feds did it for her, and take her show across the pond to Europe.

  Guinan and 40 of her girls, and a jazz band for accompaniment, boarded the French liner Paris. Her first destination was London, England. But while the Paris was still out at sea, Scotland Yard detectives notified Guinan that she and her crew was not welcome in England. For some reason, Guinan's name was on a Scotland Yard list of “barred aliens.” The British government also felt, that because of the Depression that had stretched to Europe, their own entertainers would lose work if Guinan and her scantily-clad girls were allowed to perform there.

  Guinan was indignant. She issued a statement to British reporters, saying that, “I will gladly give a check for a hundred thousand dollars to any charity if anyone can substantiate statements made against my character. What has England against me? My parents were born in England.”

  Her parents were actually born in Ireland, but as usual, Guinan did not always have the best relationship with the truth.

  However, the British would not budge, so Guinan and her crew continued on to Havre, France. When the ship arrived in Havre, it was immediately boarded by French special police. They examined the Guinan gang's passports, and they said that the Guinan gang must stay on the ship until it returned to New York City. The reason the French police gave Guinan was, “that instead of obtaining visas required of entertainers, who intended to exercise their profession in France, the 'Guinan gang' had come equipped only with tourist authorization.”

  Yet, the real reason for the French government’s refusal to let the “Guinan Gang” into their country was stated in the Paris newspapers. They wrote, “The French Syndicate of Entertainers have been protesting to Premier Pierre Laval against the employment of foreigners ... and this circumstance may have actuated the special decree.”

  Guinan again was livid at being refused entrance to a European city.

  “I have been turned back at the frontier for reasons which are vague, even in the minds of Frenchmen,” she told French reporters. “I am an American citizen, and I have never been convicted of a crime (which was true. She was arrested many times, but never convicted). There is no scandal about me, and my passport is O.K.!”

  Still, the French would not budge, and although Guinan's gang was allowed off the ship to see the sights, they were not allowed to perform their show.

  On June 3, 1930, Guinan's gang was ordered to travel back to New York City on the Paris. Guinan had already spent $50,000 for the trip to Europe and was destined to spend the same amount of money to get back to America. But as a bone to Guinan, the French Lines agreed to take Guinan's gang back to America, in first-class accommodations, at no charge.

  As she boarded the ship to leave France, Guinan told French reporters, “I was a sucker to come 3,000 miles to go to jail, when every jail in America is waiting for me.”

  Then she winked at the reporters and said, “But – you know – an indiscretion a day keeps depression away.”

  Guinan returned back to New York on June 9, and she immediately started arranging her new venture – a Broadway review called Too Hot For Paris.

  Within weeks, Too Hot For Paris was such a huge success, Guinan decided to take her show on the road for a one-year engagement. The tour, which was sponsored by the Orchestra Corporation of America, booked 200 one
-and-two night stops in cities and towns across America.

  “This show can be set up on a prairie if need be,” Guinan told the press. “We even carry our own applause.”

  The show, originally scheduled to travel only for a year, was still going strong into 1933. Guinan even implemented some of her Wild West routines into the show, which went over big in places like Texas, Colorado, and Nevada.

  Guinan interrupted her trip only to head to Hollywood in early 1933 to star in her last movie, Broadway Through a Keyhole, which stared Paul Kelly, singer Russ Columbo, Eddie Foy Jr., and Constance Cummings. The screenplay was written by syndicated columnist and radio commentator Walter Winchell, who had been a frequent visitor at many of Guinan's nightclubs.

  Broadway Through a Keyhole opened at the Rivoli Theater on November 1, 1933, but Guinan was not there to see the opening. Instead, Guinan's gang had embarked on a grueling tour of the Pacific Northwest. In Oregon, Guinan suddenly became ill, but she sucked it up and continued on the tour to Vancouver, British Columbia.

  On the night of October 30, 1933, Guinan played to a packed house. But immediately after the show, Guinan was in such horrible pain she was rushed to the Vancouver General Hospital. There Guinan was told the bad news by Dr. MacLachlan that she had amoebic dysentery and that an immediate operation was necessary to save her life. Guinan was in such horrible pain, she told the doctor she was willing to die, if only to stop the pain. Then she re-iterated to the doctor what she said many times in court - that she had never touched a drop of alcohol in her life.

  On November 4, before she was wheeled into the operating room, Guinan received the last rights from the Reverend Louis Forget of St. Patrick's Church. Then she told her advance man, Eddie Baker, that if she died to return her body to New York City. “I’d rather have a square inch of New York City than the rest of the world,” she told Baker.

  The next day, Mary Louise Cecilia “Texas” Guinan died at 8 a.m at the age of 49.

  On November 11, Guinan's body was returned to New York City. She was taken to the Campbell Funeral Church on Broadway between 66th and 67th Streets. In a single afternoon, more than 12,000 people viewed Guinan's body.

  The New York Times wrote, “Miss Guinan's body was dressed in a white chiffon sequin gown – she had been partial to sequins. In her left hand was a rosary and upon the third finger a large diamond. Another diamond of comparable size was upon the little finger of her right hand. Around her neck was a diamond pendant. Part of the silver-colored coffin was covered with orchids.”

  The following day, more than 7,500 people were gathered in front of the Campbell Funeral Church for Guinan's funeral. But only a few hundred people with admittance cards were allowed inside the chapel.

  After the funeral ceremony, Guinan's body was taken to the Gates of Heaven Cemetery in White Plains, New York. The police estimated that more than 500 cars joined in the funeral procession.

  On December 5, 1933, one month to the day after Guinan's death, Prohibition, which had made Guinan rich and famous, was repealed.

  Give the little lady a great big hand.

  McFarland/Richardson Murder Case

  She was a famous New York City stage actress named Abby Sage. But after her ex-husband, Daniel McFarland, murdered her lover, journalist Albert Deane Richardson, it was Sage's lifestyle that was put on trial, not just McFarland.

  Daniel McFarland was born in Ireland in 1820, but he emigrated to America with his parents when he was four-years-old. McFarland's parents died when he was 12, leaving him an orphan. Determined to make something of himself in America, McFarland worked at hard labor in a harness shop, saving his money so that he could attend college. By the time he was 17, McFarland had saved enough cash to attend a distinguished Ivy League university, Dartmouth. At Dartmouth, McFarland studied law, and he did extremely well. Upon graduation, McFarland passed the bar exam, but instead of practicing law, McFarland took a position at Brandywine College, teaching elocution, the skill of clear and expressive speech.

  In 1853, McFarland traveled to Manchester, New Hampshire, where he met a beautiful 15-year-old girl named Abby Sage. Abby came from a poor but respectable family; her father was a weaver. However, Abby was quite bright, and soon she became a teacher as well as a published writer. Four years after they had met, McFarland and Abby Sage married. She was just 19; he was twice her age.

  Later Abby wrote in an affidavit concerning McFarland's murder trial, “At the time of our marriage, Mr. McFarland represented to me that he had a flourishing law practice, brilliant political prospects, and property worth $30,000, but while on our bridal tour he was forced to borrow money in New York to enable us to proceed to Madison, Wisconsin, which was decided upon as our future home. We had resided in this town but a short time when he confessed that he had no law practice of any consequence, and that he had devoted himself solely to land speculation, some of which had resulted disastrously.”

  In February 1858, the married couple moved to New York City. McFarland told Abby that in New York City he had a better chance of selling the $20,000 to $30,000 worth of property he owned in Wisconsin. However, McFarland sold nothing at first, and soon Abby had to pawn most of her jewelry to pay the rent.

  With the bills piling up and still no money coming in, McFarland figured it was better if he went at it alone. As a result, McFarland sent Abby back to her father's home in New Hampshire. In late 1858, McFarland was finally able to sell some of his Wisconsin properties. Soon after, he brought Abby back to New York City, and they settled in a rented cottage in Brooklyn. There their first son, Percy, was born in 1860, and a second son, Daniel, in 1864.

  McFarland's land-selling business went flat, and he started drinking heavily.

  Abby later wrote: “At first Mr. McFarland professed for me the most extravagant and passionate devotion, but soon he began to drink heavily, and before we were married a year, his breath and body were steaming with vile liquor. I implored him to reform, but he cried out: 'My brain is on fire and liquor makes me sleep.' ”

  At the start of the Civil War, the McFarlands briefly returned to Madison. Soon McFarland realized, under the right circumstances and with the right training, his beautiful, young wife could be the better wage-earner of the two. To implement his plan, the McFarlands traveled back to New York City in order to school Abby to become an actress.

  In New York City, Abby tried her hand at dramatic readings, and she discovered she had a talent for the stage. One thing led to another, and soon Abby was acting in several plays and making the tidy sum of $25 a week. Abby's career advanced so quickly, soon she appeared opposite the great actor Edwin Booth in the Merchant of Venice (Edwin Booth was the older brother of John Wilkes Booth, the man who shot and killed Abraham Lincoln). Abby also supplemented her income by writing several articles about children and nature. She even penned a book of poetry entitled Percy's Book of Rhymes, after her son Percy.

  Abby's artistic achievements allowed her to increase her circle of friends. She became fast pals with newspaper magnate Horace Greeley, his sister Mrs. John Cleveland, and New York Tribune publisher Samuel Sinclair and his wife.

  However, his wife's successes did nothing to placate the wild nature of McFarland. He used his wife's new friends and their connections to get himself a political appointment.

  Abby later said, “Through the influence of Horace Greeley, founder of the New York Tribune, I procured a position for him (McFarland) with one of the Provost marshals.”

  Soon, McFarland became jealous of Abby's new friends and his drinking increased exponentially. McFarland kept the money Abby made from her acting and writing, and he spent it all on booze. McFarland started opening Abby's private mail, and if he didn't like what he read, he would threaten to kill Abby and himself.

  “By this time he had become a demon,” Abby said. “He would rise in bed, tear the bed clothing into shreds and threaten to kill me. When he became exhausted, he would tearfully beg my pardon and go to sleep.”

&nbs
p; One time McFarland became so enraged, he struck Abby in the face, so hard, it caused her to stumble backwards. From that point on, their relationship changed dramatically.

  “There was a look in his eyes that made him burst into a paroxysm of tears and to beg wildly that I should forgive him,” Abby said. “But from that moment, I could never tell him that I loved him or forgave him, because it would not have been the truth.”

  In January 1867, the McFarlands moved into a boarding house at 72 Amity Street in New York City. Soon after, Albert Deane Richardson, who was in his mid-30’s at the time, moved into the same boarding house. Richardson was already known to Abby, since they had met at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. Richardson had an orange-colored beard and hazel eyes, and was considered to be a very distinguished-looking individual of the highest character.

  Richardson, born in Massachusetts, was one of the most famous reporters of his time. He was well known for his writings as a war correspondent for the New York Tribune during the Civil War, and he also spent time acting as a spy for the Northern army.

  In 1862, Richardson was captured by the South at Vicksburg, and he spent a year and a half in two separate Confederate prisons. In December 1863, while imprisoned in Salisbury, North Carolina, Richardson and another war correspondent escaped from prison and traveled four hundred miles on foot, until they reached the Union lines in Knoxville.

  At the time of his imprisonment, Richardson had a wife and four children. When he returned home, he discovered his wife and infant daughter had died. Richardson assumed the support and care of his three other children, which at the time of his death, were 13, 10, and 6.

  Back at his desk at the New York Tribune, Richardson capitalized on his Civil War heroics by writing about his escape. The title of his newspaper article was Out of the Jaws of Death and Out of the Mouth of Hell. It was considered one of the finest pieces of journalism that came out of Civil War era.