Boardwalk Empire: The Birth, High Times, and Corruption of Atlantic City

by Nelson Johnson

  The decade of the ’50s saw enormous growth in New Jersey’s metropolitan areas. The 1960 census produced numbers that aroused the politicians from the urban counties. The population figures revealed glaring disparities. A study prepared by Rutgers University presented the following conclusions: The senators from the 11 smallest counties, who constituted a majority of the State Senate, represented only 19 percent of the state’s total population; Essex County, with the state’s largest city, Newark, was 219.7 percent underrepresented in terms of relative population; Cape May County was 83 percent overrepresented using the same standard. With a population of approximately 160,000, Atlantic County was 44 percent overrepre-sented. These numbers were typical of many state legislative districts throughout the United States, and they added up to trouble for the status quo.

  In 1962 the U.S. Supreme Court decision of Baker v. Carr established the principal of “one person, one vote,” ordering federal and state voting districts to be of equal size. The Baker decision had an almost immediate impact. Never before had there been such a flurry of political action in response to a Court’s decision. Within hours of the ruling, lawsuits were filed in both state and federal courts challenging the existing schemes of legislative representation. One of the lawsuits spawned by the Baker decision was brought by Christopher Jackman, a union leader and Democratic political activist from Hudson County, who later became speaker of the New Jersey Assembly. Jackman was seeking to force the state legislature to reapportion its districts based upon population. The State Supreme Court ruled unanimously that the districts of both the senate and assembly must be based upon population.

  One of the Justices was Farley’s old ally, Vincent Haneman, whom Farley had recommended for appointment to the Supreme Court. Haneman voted with the Court but didn’t join in its opinion, choosing to write one of his own. His opinion begins, “There comes a time in the career of practically every judge when he must embrace a theory of law to which he does not personally subscribe.” Haneman continued, tracing New Jersey history from pre-Revolution days when the colony was divided into East and West Jersey. He explained that New Jersey had always had an upper and lower house in its legislature. Representation in the senate had been “based upon territory as distinguished from population” throughout state history. Each time the State Constitution was revised, this practice was preserved. Haneman saw no reason it shouldn’t continue but knew he had to yield to the U.S. Supreme Court. Justice Haneman’s opinion reads like an apology to an old friend.

  The Court’s decision was a political disaster for Hap Farley. Being one of 40 with control over no more than a dozen votes was a major setback from being one of 21 with the power to produce a majority for any bill he wanted.

  Trenton wasn’t the only place where Farley’s power was slipping. While on the surface the local Republican organization appeared as potent as ever, with its candidates sweeping one election after another, its foundation was crumbling. The cornerstone of Farley’s empire had been ravaged. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the political ward system was falling apart. Government reforms emanating from federal and state government had finally taken their toll. Nucky Johnson’s finely tuned system for dispensing services and patronage, and grooming political workers and candidates was destroyed by social welfare programs and civil service.

  The underpinnings of the political ward system were the delivery of constituent services and control of political spoils. The social welfare programs instituted by Roosevelt’s New Deal during the Depression grew and multiplied until Atlantic City’s downtrodden no longer had to go to the precinct captain every time they had a problem. Unemployment and welfare payments meant Atlantic City’s poor could make it through the winter without having to ask the Republican Party for a handout. It took more than a generation for the effects of Roosevelt’s social liberalism to make an impact on the ward system, but when they did, the result was permanent. Constituent services were no longer a political plum for voters loyal to the party; now they were a right.

  Control over patronage was also a problem. Although Jimmy Boyd and his lieutenants kept a tight rein over every person hired, civil service gave city and county employees a degree of freedom they had never known. At first Boyd worked around civil service by limiting the number of classified positions and manipulating eligibility for promotion tests, but gradually it took hold, and as it did his discipline over the ward workers diminished. A city employee could now thumb his nose at the ward leader. Failure to perform one’s political chores no longer meant dismissal. Involvement in ward politics was now voluntary.

  The final blow to the power of the ward system was the change in the voting attitude of the resort’s Black community. For more than 50 years the Northside could be counted on for large pluralities for the organization ticket. But Hap never had the loyal following among Blacks the way the Commodore and Nucky had. And again, Roosevelt’s New Deal played a decisive role. For millions of disadvantaged Americans, in particular African-Americans, FDR was a beacon of hope. Roosevelt’s presidency forged a coalition dedicated to making government work for the have-nots, and Black voters were a keystone of this national coalition. Locally, Blacks had no one to vote for other than the organization’s candidates. However, as America entered the ’60s and African-Americans began the battle for civil rights, Atlantic City’s Blacks became involved in partisan Democratic politics. The switch in loyalties came in part as Blacks recognized the racist tactics of the Republican machine. An investigation of county voter registration records, published by The Press, revealed that voting cards had been marked to indicate race. When news of this hit the street, the Black community was outraged. African-American voters were now beyond the control of the ward workers. They could no longer be herded to the polls and their votes sold to the Republican Party. Black voters needed only the right Democratic candidate in order to become a threat to Farley and his machine.

  Hap Farley knew the world was growing hostile toward his brand of politics, yet he refused to retire or change his methods. In 10 campaigns no one even came close to defeating him. It didn’t matter that his opponents were Farleycrats; in fact, the ability to select opposition candidates was proof of how totally he controlled Atlantic City’s politics. That kind of power is intoxicating and only an extraordinary person could have given it up voluntarily.

  The first real challenge to Farley’s reign as senator came in 1965. It was the first election after the Jackman decision and the initial plan for legislative reapportionment called for Atlantic and Cape May counties to be lumped together creating a single senate district.

  Several years after the 1952 City Commission election, Farley’s foe, Marvin Perskie, moved out of town, relocating his law practice to Wildwood in Cape May County. Farley used his influence with the local judges and his contacts in the business community to ensure that Perskie had no future in Atlantic City as a politician or an attorney. Marvin Perskie was not a beaten man, just realistic. There was no point continuing to bang heads with Hap’s machine. Perskie left town, but he never forgave Farley. The two were bitter enemies. By 1965 Perskie had established himself in Wildwood and was eager to make another run at Farley. Despite the influence of the Farleycrats, Perskie was certain of gaining the Democratic nomination from the support of the Democrats of Cape May County and mainland Atlantic County.

  Farley remembered the campaign Perskie had waged in ’52 and wasn’t anxious to face him head on. According to one observer, “Farley was scared to death of Marvin.” Shortly before the filing date for the primary, the senate gerrymandered the districts and combined Gloucester County with Atlantic and Cape May counties to create an unusual district. This new voting district was too large to meet the equal population requirement, but Farley solved this problem by having two senators elected from the three counties. Farley chose Gloucester County because at the time it was represented by a popular incumbent, Republican John Hunt. With a running mate like Hunt, Farley had a substantial advantage over Persk
ie, who had no base of support in Gloucester County. Farley had stacked the deck against Perskie. Rather than go down to defeat in the senate contest, Perskie chose to run for assembly, where he won handily.

  Through the efforts of a small but growing number of independent Democrats, Perskie’s place on the Democratic slate was filled by Leo Clark, a former FBI agent. Clark was born and raised in Atlantic City, having attended Holy Spirit High School where he was a star athlete. He went on to graduate from Notre Dame University, followed by an impressive career with the FBI. More importantly, Clark wasn’t a Farleycrat and he made a strong candidate who was not afraid to attack Farley.

  With prompting from Perskie and local attorney Patrick McGahn, Leo Clark banged away at Farley charging him with corruption and conflict of interest. Clark zeroed in on the sad state of the resort’s deteriorating economy and blamed one-party rule for the town’s ills. Apparently someone was listening and Clark gave Farley the biggest scare of his life. Clark beat Farley by more than 500 votes in Cape May County and made a respectable showing in Gloucester losing by a similar tally. The difference in the election was in Atlantic City where Jimmy Boyd’s Fourth Ward could still crank out the votes. Clark lost by little more than 4,000 votes, which was the closest Farley had come to defeat in 28 years. While the Leo Clark campaign ended in defeat, it was the beginning of a legitimate Democratic Party in Atlantic County.

  The next election in 1967 was a farce. There had been a second court ruling and another redistricting approved by the legislature and the voters at a general election. Again it had been proposed that Cape May and Atlantic counties would form a senatorial district. Perskie had been chosen as a Democratic candidate and spent that spring and summer attacking Farley. Perskie labeled Farley a “political dinosaur” and charged that he headed “one of the vilest political machines that still exists in the United States.” Perskie was on target, but his efforts were for naught. This time it was the State Supreme Court that came to Farley’s rescue. In response to a lawsuit challenging the senatorial districts in Union and Passaic counties, the Court inexplicably decided to do a complete redistricting of the entire state. The Court hadn’t been asked to consider anything but Union and Passaic counties, but revamped the districts of all 21 counties on its own initiative. As a result of the Court’s ruling, Cape May was placed with Cumberland County, leaving Atlantic County by itself. Marvin Perskie was denied again.

  The Court’s ruling came in July, and neither Leo Clark nor any other independent Democrat would jump into the campaign at such a late date. The Farleycrats were the only ones organized, and they chose a political unknown, Harry Gaines, who dutifully went to the slaughter. Predictably, Farley was re-elected to a four-year term by a margin of more than 13,000 votes.

  Farley’s re-election didn’t frighten his critics. They felt Perskie would have beaten him if the Supreme Court hadn’t toyed with the senate districts. Hap was responsible for the appointment of Vincent Haneman and as a longtime member of the Judiciary Committee had reviewed every court appointment for more than 25 years. Rather than being discouraged, Farley’s detractors strengthened their resolve. They received assistance from the local media, in particular, the Atlantic City Press. In late 1969 and early ’70, Atlantic City’s only newspaper ran a series of articles based on the investigative reporting of Bernard Izes and John Katz. Corruption had been the norm in Atlantic City’s government for so long that bribery, graft, and payroll padding were standard practices of doing municipal business. Three generations of Atlantic City residents had known nothing but dishonest government. The Press decided to shine some light on Farley’s organization.

  Izes and Katz didn’t have to be detectives to uncover material for articles on political corruption. The Republican machine was an open book. The reporters began with the city’s uniformed employees, where they found that 9 out of 10 Atlantic City firefighters made annual contributions to the Atlantic County Republican Committee. Of the 221 men listed on the 1968 fire department payroll, all but 19 were contributors. In response to these reports, Fire Chief Warren Conover stated that all the contributions were voluntary and said that there was no pressure, with the firefighters merely being told, “If they want to pay, it is time to get it in, but there is not any retribution against anyone who doesn’t want to pay.” Contrary to Conover, the Press investigation revealed that deputy fire chiefs were given lists of names of those who had refused to contribute to the organization. These firefighters were routinely skipped over on the civil service promotion lists. In one instance, a firefighter was passed over for nine years while a vacancy he was qualified to move into went unfilled.

  Izes and Katz’s investigation revealed that payroll padding with political hacks was rampant in city and county government. No-show employees were found to exist in every department of city hall. The reporters established there was a direct link between the no-show employees and the precinct workers. As had been the tradition for nearly 70 years, the loyalty of the Republican political workers was rewarded at the expense of the local taxpayers. A sampling of the payroll padding exploited by Farley’s machine ran the gamut: An investigator in the revenue and finance department spent 100 percent of his time either selling insurance out of his home or working at the Republican Party headquarters; a luxury tax investigator had a fulltime job as a bus driver and never reported to city hall except to receive his check; an assistant supervisor of weights and measures had never made a single inspection and spent all his time as a car salesman; a health inspector, who was a loyal precinct captain, worked full-time at a local hotel and had someone pick up his checks for him.

  Another area exposed by Izes and Katz was graft on public contracts and extortion of businesses regulated by the city. They revealed that nothing had changed in city hall since the conviction of the Commodore. Everything had its price and if you wanted to do business with city hall, you had to kick back a percentage of your profits or you were blacklisted. Businesses that were regularly inspected for potential health or fire violations didn’t get a clean bill of health unless they paid. If you didn’t pay the inspector, you were shut down.

  If it involved city hall, no business transaction was routine. A liquor license could only be transferred by using Stumpy Orman as the broker for the sale. Eddie Helfant or Ed Feinberg had to be used as the attorney to make the application to the city. If you didn’t use the proper people or grease the right wheel, you got nothing out of city hall. Izes and Katz’s articles ultimately prompted an investigation by the U.S. Attorney’s office resulting in the indictment of Mayor William Somers and several commissioners and city officials. These defendants were dubbed by the local media as the “Atlantic City Seven” and were all convicted by a federal jury of bribery, extortion, and abuse of the public trust. Each of the convicted defendants remained silent and Farley was never indicted.

  The sun was setting on Frank Farley’s career, but he refused to accept it. The first half of his life had been devoted to sports, the second half to elective politics, and he was a champion in both worlds. For nearly 70 years the gratification derived from excelling in competitive activities had been Hap Farley’s life. He had never known life without the excitement of combat, whether on the playing field or in politics. It wasn’t possible for him to step down gracefully. Like an aging boxer who believes he can win one more title bout before retiring, Hap Farley was destined for a knockout.

  Farley’s fortunes were tied to those of his city. As the boss of his town’s politics, he was the one the voters would eventually hold accountable as things got worse for the resort. It was only a matter of time before Farley’s constituents would turn on him and seek a new leader in hopes that someone else could turn things around.

  In addition to the resort’s deteriorating economy and exposure of corruption in its government, there was growing discontent within the Republican organization. The exodus of middle-class Whites from Atlantic City during the ’50s and ’60s to the mainland communities along Shor
e Road, namely Absecon, Pleasantville, Northfield, Linwood, and Somers Point, produced a dramatic change in the county Republican organization. These mainlanders didn’t have the loyalty to Farley’s machine their parents and grandparents had for the political ward system. They were more educated, more affluent, employed at jobs unrelated to tourism, and not beholden to the Republican Party. Atlantic City’s influence in county politics had been diluted. The power was now more evenly distributed, and the Shore Road Republicans were growing tired of Farley. They wanted a change in party leadership.

  Politicians begin thinking about the next election as soon as the last one is over. Once the polls have closed and the votes are tallied, would-be candidates and their supporters begin vying for position in the next contest. Coalitions are formed and commitments made early in this unending process. The several months after an election may appear uneventful to the general public, but this is the time when politicians make their decisions concerning who will be rewarded or punished for their role in the previous campaign. It’s a critical period in the political process. What the public sees later is window dressing. While Hap Farley had worked tirelessly in the 1970 general election and his candidates were all victorious—albeit by slim margins—there were those within the Republican organization who began to view him as a liability to the party. Before the month of November was over, the dissatisfaction that had been simmering for several years boiled to the surface.

  Less than 10 days after the ’70 election, Farley had a revolt on his hands. It began with a resolution adopted by the Linwood Republican Club. The Linwood group was only one of several mainland Republican clubs that was growing restless with the Farley-Boyd stranglehold on the party. The statement endorsed by the Linwood GOP called for “political and governmental reform in Atlantic County” and warned that their party was “in need of more enlightened leadership to meet head-on the needs of today. Policies of the past must be abandoned.” It was a bolt of lightning.