If I had known about made men then I would have known that Whispers was nowhere near a made man. He hung around downtown and did whatever he had to do. He knew everybody, and he had more experience downtown than I did. Sunday nights he would sit with Skinny Razor and his wife at the Latin Casino. By now, after Apalachin, I already knew that Skinny Razor was Angelo’s underboss. That meant Skinny Razor from the Friendly Lounge was the number two man in Philly.
Having the same last name, I’m quite sure Whispers wanted people to think that he was up there with John “Skinny Razor” DiTullio. He wanted to increase his status and look like a made man.
The only thing is that Whispers had the worst breath known to man or beast. He suffered from halitosis so bad you’d think he was growing garlic in his belly. No amount of chewing gum or mints did him any good. So he was only allowed to whisper when he talked to people. Nobody wanted a full dose of Whispers’s breath when he opened his mouth. Of course, out of respect and knowing his proper place in things, he wouldn’t have done much talking anyway when he sat with Skinny Razor and his wife at the Latin.
After we had a little something to eat, which wasn’t an easy thing to do sitting across from him, Whispers and I left the Melrose and took a walk around the block. Whispers explained to me that he had pushed a lot of money to a linen supply house, more money than he had ever loaned out before. It was his big stake, and it was turning into a big mistake.
Linen supply was ordinarily good money. They supplied fresh linen to restaurants and hotels. It was like a big laundry. They would pick up the linen, wash and iron it, and deliver it fresh. It was a license to print money.
But this linen supply house Whispers had pushed money to was having a hard time of it. It was getting competition from the Cadillac Linen Service down in Delaware, which was beating them out of contracts. If it kept going that way, it would take forever for Whispers to get all of his big stake back. The only money the linen company was able to afford was the vig, and sometimes they were late with that. Whispers was more than a little bit concerned that he could even lose the whole capital he had loaned.
I didn’t know what he was getting at for me, but I listened. Did he want me to drive down to Delaware and show a gun and collect his money? You don’t pay ten grand for that service. Delaware’s only thirty or so miles south of Philly. Ten grand then is like fifty grand today or better.
Then he peeled off two grand and handed it to me.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“I want you to bomb or torch or burn to the fucking ground or do whatever you choose to do to disable the Cadillac Linen Service. Put those fuckers out of business. That way my people will get back their contracts and I can get back my money out of this fucking thing. I want this Cadillac business permanently disabled. No flat tires. No scratching the paint. Gone for good. Closed down. A thing of the past. Permanent press. No starch on the shirts. Go fucking let them collect their insurance if they got any—which being Jews you know they do—and let them learn to leave my customers the fuck alone.”
“You said ten grand.”
“Don’t worry. You get the other eight when you achieve success in closing them the fuck down for good. I don’t want them starting up again in a couple or three weeks and then I’m out ten grand besides.”
“When do I get the other eight?”
“That depends on you, Cheech. The more damage you do the quicker I’ll know they are permanently out of business. I want you to burn those Jew fucking washerwomen to the ground. You were in the war; you know what the fuck to do.”
“Sounds good. The money part is all right. I’ll look the place over. I’ll see what I can do.”
“You were in the war, Cheech. Listen, I took you out here by the Melrose away from the neighborhood to talk because this has got to be just between you and me. You understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t want you using nobody else to help you neither. I hear you can keep your mouth shut. I hear that you work alone. I hear good things about your work. That’s what I’m paying the strong money for. Ten grand is strong money for this. I could get it done for a grand or two. So don’t say nothing to Skinny Razor or nothing to nobody. Ever. You hear? You start opening your mouth about what you’re doing and it reflects bad on you. You hear?”
“You sound a little nervous, Whispers. If you don’t think you can trust me, get somebody else.”
“No, no, Cheech. I never used you before, that’s all. Just between you and me. If we gotta talk again, we come out here to talk. Downtown we just say hello, that’s all, like regular.”
That night I went straight home. I took the two grand and handed $1,500 straight to Mary for child support. I told her I hit the number on a $4 bet. The bookies paid 600-to-one, but you always gave the bookie a $100 tip for each dollar bet. Most bookies took it out automatic. She was very appreciative, and she knew I was keeping $500 for myself. Mary was getting used to getting cash in different amounts at different times whenever I got it.
The next morning I drove down to the Cadillac Linen Service and started to look the plant over. I drove around the block a few times. Then I parked across the street and went over and took a quick peek inside the plant a little. It looked easy to get in the place. A place like that in those days had no burglar alarm or any kind of real security. There was nothing to steal and there were no homeless or crack addicts to worry about breaking in. It looked like a big job, but it was big money I was getting. Not the couple of hundred to drive to Jersey to straighten somebody out.
Then I came back at night to see what it looked like after dark. When I went home I thought about it and started working on a plan, and the next day I went back for another look, cruising past the place a few times. I figured I’d burn it down to the ground. That way I’d get my other eight grand right away. It had to go up in flames fast before the firemen could put out the fire, so I’d soak the whole place real good with kerosene.
The next day I walked into the Friendly Lounge, and Skinny Razor said there was somebody in the back who wanted to talk to me. I walked down to the back room with Skinny Razor right behind me. I went into the room and there was nobody in there. I turned to leave and Skinny was standing in my path. He shut the door and folded his arms.
“What the fuck you doing at Cadillac?” he asked me.
“Trying to make a little money, that’s all.”
“Doing what?”
“For a guy.”
“What guy?”
“What’s going on?”
“I like you, Cheech. Angelo likes you, but you got some explaining to do. They seen a blue Ford like yours with Pennsylvania tags on it, and they seen a giant motherfucker get out of it. That’s you; that’s how easy that was. That’s all I’m going to say to you. You did the right thing not trying to deny it. Angelo wants to see you right now.”
Now I’m walking over there and I’m thinking, what the hell is going on? What kind of shit has Whispers got me into?
I walked into the Villa d’Roma, and Angelo was sitting at his table in the corner and who’s sitting there with him but Russell. Now I’m doing some serious thinking. What have I got myself into, and is it something I can get out of? These are the same powerful men they wrote all that stuff about after Apalachin, but now these men are not sitting here in the capacity of my friends anymore. Like I said, growing up around my old man, I knew when something was wrong. Something big was wrong, and I was in the jackpot. It looked like a court-martial. But a court-martial for desertion in the face of the enemy, not just some bullshit AWOL drinking spree.
Now maybe I didn’t know much when I first started hanging around downtown with my Italian friends from Food Fair, but by then, after Apalachin and after the Senate hearings they had been having on television, I knew these were not people you disappointed.
Then it dawned on me that the restaurant was empty except for the bartender in the front room, and I could hea
r the bartender making moves to come out from behind the bar. Every sound was magnified for me like when you’re on a landing craft heading for an invasion on a beachhead. All your senses are sharpened by the occasion. Crystal clear I heard his footsteps walking around from the bar, and I heard him lock the door and put a closed sign up. The locking of the door was a loud snap that almost echoed.
Angelo told me to sit down.
I sat in the chair he pointed to. Then he said, “All right, let’s have it.”
“I was going to put Cadillac out of commission.”
“For who?”
“Whispers. The other Whispers.”
“Whispers? He fucking knows better than that.”
“I was just trying to make some money.” I looked over at Russell and he had no expression on his face.
“You know who owns Cadillac?”
“Yeah. Some Jews in the laundry business.”
“You know who’s got a piece of Cadillac?”
“No.”
“I do.”
“You know who?”
“No. I do. I do got a piece. Not I do know who got a piece.”
I almost wet myself. “I didn’t know that, Mr. Bruno. That’s something I did not know.”
“You don’t check these things out before you go around doing things in this part of the country?”
“I figured Whispers already checked it out.”
“He didn’t tell you it was the Jew mob?”
“He didn’t tell me a thing about that. He told me it was some Jews. I figured it was just some Jews in the laundry business.”
“What else did he tell you?”
“He told me to keep this matter to myself; that I should work alone. That’s about it.”
“I’ll bet my next meal he told you to keep it to yourself. That way you’d be the only one looking bad here when you got seen maneuvering around down there in Delaware.”
“Should I give him back his money?”
“Don’t worry, he won’t need it.”
“I’m real sorry for not checking. It won’t happen again.”
“You get one mistake. Don’t make another one. And thank your friend here. If it wasn’t for Russ, I wouldn’t be wasting my time. I’d have let the Jews have you. What do you think they were made with, a finger? They’re not fucking stupid. They’re not going to let somebody drive around their block and not check them out.”
“I certainly apologize. Thank you, too, Russell; it won’t happen again.” I didn’t know if I should have called him Mr. Bufalino, but I was so used to calling him Russell by that point in the thing that “Mr. Bufalino” would have been too phony. It was bad enough calling Angelo “Mr. Bruno.”
Russell nodded and said softly, “Don’t worry about it. This Whispers had aspirations. I know these people who get too ambitious. They want the whole pie. They get jealous of other people moving up. He saw you sit down with me and drink with me and eat with me and sit down with our wives, and I don’t think he liked that. Not a bit did he like that. Now you gotta square this up right here and now and do the right thing. Listen to Angelo here, he knows what it is.”
Russell got up and left the table, then I could hear the bartender open the door for him and he was gone.
Angelo said to me, “Who else is involved with this besides you and Whispers?”
“Nobody that I know of. I didn’t tell a soul.”
“Good. That’s good. This fucking Whispers put you on the fucking spot, my young fellow. Now it becomes your responsibility to make this come out right.”
I nodded my head and said, “Whatever I gotta do.”
Angelo whispered, “It’s your responsibility to take care of this matter by tomorrow morning. That’s the chance you get. Capish?”
I nodded my head and said, “Capish.”
“You gotta do what you gotta do.”
You didn’t have to go down the street and enroll in some courses at the University of Pennsylvania to know what he meant. It was like when an officer would tell you to take a couple of German prisoners back behind the line and for you to “hurry back.” You did what you had to do.
I got a hold of Whispers and told him where to meet me later that night to talk about the thing.
The next morning it was front page. He was found lying on the sidewalk. He had been shot at close range with something like a .32, the kind of gun the cops used to call a woman’s gun because it was easier to handle and had less of a kick than even a .38. Being a smaller caliber it didn’t do the damage a .38 does, but all you need is a little hole if you put it in the right place. The good feature is that it makes a little less noise than a .38 and a whole lot less noise than a .45. Sometimes you want a lot of noise, like in the middle of the day to scatter bystanders; sometimes you don’t want a lot of noise, like in the middle of the night. What do you want to go around disturbing people’s sleep for?
The paper said it was an unknown assailant and that there had been no witnesses. So laying there on the sidewalk he really did not need his money back. I never could find my .32 after that, the one that Eddie Rece had given me to show to that Romeo in Jersey. It must have ended up someplace.
That morning I just sat there staring at the paper. I must have sat there for over an hour. I kept thinking, “That could have been me.”
And it would have been me if it weren’t for Russell. Whispers knew what he was doing. I didn’t even know it was the alleged Jew mob that owned Cadillac. I just thought it was some Jews. Whispers was going to leave me out there. I was the one the Jew mob would have seen nosing around, and I was the one they would have whacked after the thing happened. Whispers would have gotten the place burned down and after the Jews got done with me he never would have had to pay me the other eight grand.
No questions asked one way or the other, either before or after I did the job, I would have been gone to Australia. If it weren’t for Russell, no questions asked I’d have been history right then and there, and I wouldn’t be here now talking about all this stuff. I owed that man my life. And that was only the first time.
Whispers knew the rules. He broke the wrong rule, that’s all.
When I finally got off my ass and went around to the Friendly, I could tell that everybody that sat down with Skinny Razor had a bigger respect for me. Skinny Razor bought me a bunch of drinks. I went to the Villa d’Roma and checked in with Angelo and gave him a report. He was satisfied. He bought me dinner on the house, and he told me to just be careful who I got involved with next time. He said that Whispers knew what he was doing and that he was greedy.
Then two men came in and sat down with us. Angelo introduced me to Cappy Hoffman and Woody Weisman. They were the two Jewish mobsters who owned Cadillac with Angelo. They were real friendly to me, very courteous men with good personalities. When Angelo left with them, I stayed at the bar in the front room. The same bartender who locked the door behind me yesterday wouldn’t take my money for my glasses of wine. Even the waitresses could tell I was getting all this respect and they started flirting. I tipped everybody real good.
Looking back on that twenty-four-hour period between the time I met with Angelo and Russell and the time I met with Angelo again, after that particular matter with Whispers on the sidewalk, it got easier and easier not to go home anymore. Or it got harder and harder to go home. Either way, I stopped going home.
Once that line was crossed into the new culture there was no more confession on Saturday, no more church with Mary on Sunday. Everything was different. I had been drifting downtown and now I was all the way down there. It was a bad time to leave the girls. It was the worst mistake I made in my life. But no time is a good time to leave your wife and kids.
I got myself a room around the corner from Skinny Razor’s and I took my clothes over there. I still went down to the Teamsters hall for trucks, and I still had the ballroom jobs, but I kept getting more and more jobs from downtown. I was now running. I was a part of the culture.”
; chapter eleven
Jimmy
It is no doubt difficult for some people today to appreciate the degree of fame or infamy that Jimmy Hoffa enjoyed in his heyday and before his death, a span of roughly two decades from the mid-fifties to the mid-seventies.
While in his heyday he was the most powerful labor leader in the nation, how can that mean anything in these times when labor leaders are virtually unknown to the general public? Labor union strife? Bloody labor wars? The closest thing to a labor war today is a threatened baseball player’s strike and whether the major league baseball season will be shortened and whether there will be a World Series. However, in the first two years following World War II, years in which Frank Sheeran looked for steady work and got married, there were a combined total of 8,000 strikes in 48 states. That’s more than 160 separate strikes per year per state, and many individual strikes were nationwide.
Today Jimmy Hoffa is famous mostly because he was the victim of the most infamous disappearance in American history. Yet during a twenty-year period there wasn’t an American alive who wouldn’t have recognized Jimmy Hoffa immediately, the way Tony Soprano is recognized today. The vast majority of Americans would have known him by the sound of his voice alone. From 1955 until 1965 Jimmy Hoffa was as famous as Elvis. From 1965 until 1975 Jimmy Hoffa was as famous as the Beatles.
Jimmy Hoffa’s first notoriety in union work was as the leader of a successful strike by the “Strawberry Boys.” He became identified with it. In 1932 the nineteen-year-old Jimmy Hoffa was working as a truck loader and unloader of fresh fruits and vegetables on the platform dock of the Kroger Food Company in Detroit for 32¢ an hour. Twenty cents of that pay was in credit redeemable for groceries at Kroger food stores. But the men only got that 32¢ when there was work to do. They had to report at 4:30 P.M. for a twelve-hour shift and weren’t permitted to leave the platform. When there were no trucks to load or unload, the workers sat around without pay. On one immortal hot spring afternoon, a load of fresh strawberries arrived from Florida, and the career of the most famous labor leader in American history was launched.
I Heard You Paint Houses Page 10
