Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

by Jack Martin

  Earl Long was at his desk in the office he unofficially occupied in the Capitol, trying to decipher some reports on parish voting patterns, when Governor King burst in, face red with excitement.

  “Mr. Long! Mr. Long! I’ve got to talk to you!”

  Long frowned at the genial, nonentity that his brother had placed in the governor’s mansion. “Calm down, Governor. What is it?”

  “I’ve got the state coroner’s final report on your brother’s death. You got to see it!”

  Earl Long rubbed his tired eyes. “I’ve been at these damn papers for too long. Just tell me what it says.”

  “Well, in summary it says your brother died when a .32 caliber bullet perforated his kidney and small intestine, causing fatal bleeding.”

  “So? We know that bastard Weiss shot Huey with a .32.”

  King paused to take several deep breaths before saying, “Mr. Long, the coroner had a ballistics test done on the bullet, just as a matter of routine. Mr. Long, I don’t know how to say this…”

  “Spit it out!”

  “The bullet … it didn’t come from Weiss’s gun.”

  Earl Long stared slack-jawed at the Governor for a moment, then almost shouted, “Of course the goddamned bullet came from that Jew’s gun! It was a .32!”

  King vigorously shook his head. “But it wasn’t the gun that fired the bullet that killed Huey.”

  “I was there myself. So were you. We saw Weiss fire twice!”

  “In this report, they say they did pick up two .32 slugs at the scene. One smashed the watch of a bodyguard next to Huey, breaking his wrist; the other buried itself in the woodwork of a bench.”

  Earl Long was silent for a full minute before saying, “It must have been a ricochet from one of the shots fired by the guards. They must have shot Weiss thirty, forty times after his gun jammed. One of the slugs must have gone wild, bounced off the marble floor, and hit Huey.”

  Again King shook his head. “The coroner thought of that and checked on the guns of every last one of the guards. They were all .38s or .45s.”

  Long and King stared at each other. Finally, the dead senator’s brother asked, “Then who killed Huey?”

  “We probably will never know,” replied Governor King, taking out a large handkerchief and mopping his brow. “Mr. Long, this is a goddamned mess! What am I going to tell the press? What am I going to tell the people?”

  “You tell them nothing!” snarled Earl Long. “You’re right, we’ll probably never find out who actually fired the bullet. But that doesn’t matter. His political enemies were behind it. We’re going to pound them with responsibility for Huey’s murder, pound them so hard that Huey’s people will stay in power in Louisiana for the next generation! But if there is public doubt as to who fired the bullet, they might be able to wiggle free of the responsibility. We need to bury this, bury it so deep it will never see the light of day. Governor, you take this report back to the coroner and tell him it is unacceptable. He needs to change it to show the bullet that killed Huey came from Weiss’s gun. The coroner and any of his people having knowledge of this report should be told if they tow the line, they will be taken care of. If they don’t, then they will also be taken care of. Just in a different way.”

  King visibly gulped. He now knew for certain what he had only suspected: Earl Long was just as hard and ruthless as Huey had been. The governor gingerly took back the report and said, “Yes, Mr. Long.” as he tiptoed out of the office.

  Earl Long swiveled his chair to the window and stared out of it blankly for some time. Finally, his voice almost breaking with emotion, he murmured, “Who fired that bullet, big brother? Who killed you?”

  “That’s it, then,” said Hoover, tapping a pencil on the final report given to him by Bierce. “Long is dead, the worst of the Midwest bank robbers are dead, the plot against the President’s life … dead. Good job, Agent Bierce.” The words seemed to come unwillingly from Hoover. His mouth looked as if he had been sucking a lemon.

  “There is still the matter of the long term threat from the Nazis to this country,” replied Bierce. “I spoke personally to the President on that, but he seems to feel he has it all under control.”

  The Director pointed a finger at Bierce like a gun. “Now, that’s something else I wanted to talk to you about. You went over my head to Roosevelt without clearing it with me. I won’t have it! I don’t care how good an agent you are, I won’t have it. In the future, if you ever feel the need to talk to the President or the Attorney General, come to me first. You know me, if you’ve got a good reason, I will grant you permission. But I have the final say on such political contacts. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” responded Bierce, his face blank.

  Having delivered his reprimand, Hoover relaxed the expression on his face. “As for the Nazis, I agree with you that they pose as great a potential threat to this country as the Bolsheviks. But as you saw in your talks with the intelligence people, now is not the time to press it. We need more evidence to open their eyes to the threat. I’m establishing a special counter-intelligence unit, and I would like you to be part of it.”

  “I would be honored, Director. Would this new unit also be looking into the activities of Noyes organization in New England”

  Hoover seemed to mull the notion over for a few moments, then said, “I think that would be a good idea. We’ve had our eye on the late Mr. Noyes for some time, but he was excellent at covering his tracks. Now that we know he was conspiring with potential enemies of this country, the Bureau can pursue his organization with more vigor. You’re going to need to see some highly classified documents on a raid made on a coastal village in Massachusetts in 1928 to understand the … peculiar threat that could come from that organization, and then you will need to make a trip to see some prisoners being kept in the Naval Penitentiary in New Hampshire.”

  Hoover looked out his window at the darkening sky. “It’s Friday, and it’s late. Go home and get some rest over the weekend. I will have the files ready for you Monday morning.”

  “Thank you, Director.” Bierce rose from his chair, bowed slightly, and left the office.

  Hoover sat with a thoughtful look on his face for several minutes. Then, he opened the lower right-hand drawer of his massive desk, and removed a large file with “Bierce, Harry” neatly typed on the cover tab. He flipped past several tabs containing routine personnel documents until he came to one that had only a photographic copy of an old glass-plate picture. Hoover had always taken an interest in the American Civil War, and in his extensive readings he had come across this picture. With some difficulty, he had traced down the original at the Smithsonian, and had it enlarged and photographed.

  The photograph was one of many taken in the summer of 1865 during the victory parade in Washington of General William Sherman’s returning army. On the reviewing stand stood grim-faced President Andrew Johnson, inadequate successor to the martyred Abraham Lincoln. To one side of the president stood Secretary of War, Edwin Stanton and Chief of Staff, General Henry Halleck. On the other side, General Ulysses Grant and Sherman himself stood. Between the shoulders of the dignitaries in the front row could be seen some lesser officers in a second row: General Rawlins, the bearded, pale-faced chief of staff to Grant; Colonel Parker, a full-blooded Indian on Grant’s staff, whose Native American features were unmistakable; and a third officer.

  The third officer was a small, slight man, dressed in the uniform of a staff lieutenant colonel. His light colored hair was swept back to fall to his shoulders, pale eyes seemed to stare directly into the photographer’s camera through wire-rimmed spectacles. Aside from the length of his hair, the officer bore an uncanny resemblance to Harry Bierce, exactly as he appeared today, even though the photograph had been taken seventy years previously. Hoover had made discrete inquiries among a number of Civil War historians, but none could put a name to this blond officer.

  Hoover sighed as he considered the photograph. He supposed it was possible t
hat the officer just happened to have an amazing resemblance to Harry Bierce, perhaps his father or an uncle. Some sort of relative. Still, Hoover did not think so. Something in his gut told him different, and he always listened to his gut. He remained still, studying the picture intently as he had the past several nights.

  Harry Bierce had not gone directly to his apartment after his late meeting with Director Hoover. He had wandered the streets of Washington for several hours, deep in thought, ignoring the numerous homeless who shuffled aimlessly along the streets, until he found himself on the bridge between Georgetown and Arlington, staring eastward along the course of the Potomac.

  He was now alone, except for the occasional passing car. To his left, he took in the brilliantly illuminated Capitol Dome, completed during the Civil War as a symbol of Abraham Lincoln’s faith that the country would endure. To his right, on the Virginia side of the Potomac, he saw the former home of Robert E. Lee illuminated by spotlights, and the center of a cemetery holding the remains of tens of thousands of young men who had given their lives for the United States. Bierce shook his head solemnly at the thought. So much sacrifice, so much waste, just that America might survive as one. And he knew there was to be more such sacrifice in the near future, much, much more. Not just of lives and treasure, but of principles and honor. He hoped that such sacrifices would not be in vain, that America would continue to be the last, best hope of the world.

  He reached into his coat pocket and removed the small Colt .32 automatic he had taken from the Bureau evidence room, the gun that had killed the Mayor of Chicago and that had nearly killed Franklin Roosevelt. It was exactly the same as when he took it, except that now, one cartridge was missing from the magazine. He looked around to make certain he was unobserved, then he hurled the gun far out into the river, where it disappeared with a small plunk. A barely visible ripple spread out from where the gun had disappeared. He turned north and began walking in the direction of his apartment on DuPont Circle. He knew he should try to get a good night’s rest.

  There was going to be so much to do. So very much to do.

  AFTERWORD

  This is a work of fiction. For reasons of the plot, massive liberties have been taken with the historic record. To name a few: Mayor Cermak died in a hospital the day after he was shot, not in the car; the “Night of the Long Knives” took place a full year before the assassination of Huey Long, there is no indication whatsoever that Vice President Garner was anything but a loyal American, and there is no indication whatsoever of a Nazi connection with the Long organization.

  On the other hand, some of the seemingly unbelievable events mentioned in the novel really did occur. To name a few: before he died in the hospital, Cermak really did tell Roosevelt that he was glad that it had been him who was shot, not the President-Elect. Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow really did accomplish the seemingly impossible feat of freeing two of their gang members from a Texas prison, the dying prison officer really did extract a promise to kill Bonnie and Clyde, rather than capture them alive (a promise that Hamer honored), and although confusion surrounds the issue to this day, it seems possible that Huey Long was not killed by a bullet fired from Dr. Weiss’s gun.

  Although this story is fiction, it was my intention to give the reader a flavor of the times that were so important to making us the country we are today while sharing an entertaining story. If I have done those two things, my job is done.

  The following are brief notes on some of the historic figures who appeared in this story.

  Clyde Barrow (1909-1934) and Bonnie Parker (1910-1934) - Brought up in a Dallas, Texas slum, Clyde Barrow was arrested for stealing cars at the age of fifteen. Thrown into prison with adults, he was repeatedly sexually assaulted until he finally beat one of his assailants to death with a pipe. The authorities were not overly concerned and brought no charges. When he was released, he made no effort to go straight, but embarked on a career of increasingly serious crime and violence. Bonnie Parker was married at fourteen. When the marriage, not surprisingly, broke up, she went to work in a diner, where she is reputed to have met Barrow in 1931. Bonnie and Clyde immediately took off in a joint life of crime. They and other members of their gang killed at least nine police officers and five unarmed civilians before Frank Hamer and his men brought their murderous rampage to an end. Starting with the release of a film in 1967, pop culture began to romanticize them and their exploits. One wishes the families of their fourteen victims could be heard on this subject.

  Ana Cumpanas (1889-1947) - A Roumanian immigrant, Ana Cumpanas pursued a career as a prostitute and madam in Chicago. In return for a $5,000 reward and a promise not to be extradited, she led John Dillinger into an FBI ambush wearing a bright orange dress (not the red dress of legend and newspaper accounts). The promise not to extradite her was not kept. She was deported to her native land in 1935, where she lived the rest of her life in obscurity.

  John Dillinger (1901-1934) - The son of a poor Indiana farmer, John Dillinger got an early start on his life of crime. Released from prison in 1931, after serving nine years for robbing a grocery store of $50, he immediately began a crime spree that would end only with his death. Forming a gang with a fluctuating membership, he would specialize in bank robberies; his crimes ranging across the nation from Florida to Arizona, Indiana to South Dakota. Despite being a stone-cold killer, his good looks and outrageous antics caused newspapers and their readers to look upon him with some indulgence. One time when he was captured, he bluffed his way out of jail with an “automatic” that he had carved out of a bar of soap and darkened with shoe black. He had learned how to walk on his hands while in prison, and amused his gang members (and hostages) with stunts based on that skill. Despite dozens of successful bank robberies, life on the run was expensive. At the time he was killed outside the Biograph Theater in a federal ambush, he was found to have only a few hundred dollars.

  John (“Cactus Jack”) Garner (1868-1967) - A long-time Texas Congressman who attained the position of Speaker of the House in 1931, Cactus Jack Garner was Franklin Roosevelt’s only serious competition for the Democratic Presidential nomination in 1932. As part of a deal to seal his nomination, FDR gave Garner the Vice-Presidential spot. During his time as Vice President, Garner drifted further and further from Roosevelt, being isolationist, anti-labor, and anti-black. The final straw for the President was when Garner unsuccessfully challenged him for the Presidential nomination in 1940. In retaliation, FDR replaced Garner on the ticket with Henry Wallace. Wallace caused his own problems for Roosevelt, but that is a story for another day.

  Frank Hamer (1884-1955) - Hamer was a legendary Texas Ranger. In his career he had survived being shot seventeen times and, in turn, had killed no less than fifty-three armed criminals. His reputation in Texas was such that armed, cornered desperados would often quietly surrender when he simply announced his name. In the 1967 movie about the exploits of Bonnie and Clyde, he is portrayed as stupid, cowardly, and vindictive. Vindictive he might be, but never stupid or cowardly. When the movie was released, Warner brothers was sued by Hamer’s widow and son for defaming his character. The studio settled out of court for an undisclosed sum.

  Heinrich Himmler (1900-1945) - A physically small man with the face of a timid teacher and the soul of a demon, Himmler rose continuously in the Nazi regime from being the head of Hitler’s personal bodyguard until by 1944 he was clearly the second-most powerful man in Germany. Always maneuvering to gain more and more power and authority for himself, he became head of all police forces, including the dreaded Gestapo. He was the architect who created the infrastructure of murder squads, death camps and factories to implement Hitler’s genocidal Holocaust. An agnostic with a hatred of all Christianity, especially Catholicism, he directed a massive campaign to implement a kind of pagan Nazi state religion which even Hitler found to be a bit strange. He believed in all kinds of mystic fads, and in the middle of Nazi Germany’s fight for existence, he devoted considerable state resources to “provi
ng” various fringe theories. He took over various advance weapons projects, such as the Me-262 jet fighter and the V-2 ballistic missile. He even found time to dabble, unsuccessfully, in secret attempts to influence American politics. In the last months of the war, he attempted to negotiate a separate peace with the Western Allies, actually believing that they would make him head of a post-war Germany. Captured by a British patrol, he committed suicide by swallowing cyanide, taking fifteen minutes to die in agony. It was a far, far easier death than he deserved.

  John Edgar Hoover (1895-1972) - Appointed head of the scandal-ridden Bureau of Investigation in 1924 (it only became the Federal Bureau of Investigation in 1935) and remaining in that post until his death in 1972, J. Edgar Hoover was a controversial figure in his lifetime, and remains so till this day. Using tactics that were questionable, even by the looser standards of his time, he reformed a corrupt and incompetent organization into a model for the world. He was accused of politicizing the agency by threatening elected officials with release of embarrassing information. Without defending what was, in essence, blackmail, I believe this was usually done to prevent these officials from politically interfering with the agency, and to maintain its status as an impartial protector of the public. In the years since his death, the Bureau has been increasingly politicized, to the detriment of its effectiveness. Although many of the tactics the Bureau used during his stewardship are of unquestioned unconstitutionality, it should be noted that there was little criticism when he used such tactics to break up the Midwestern crime spree of the 1930s, Axis espionage/sabotage efforts of the 1940s, organized crime activities of the 1950s, and Ku Klux Klan violence of the 1960s. It was only when the FBI turned such tactics against groups favored by the intellectual elite that such people swiftly discovered their objections to the tactics. It should be remembered that Hoover was a product of his time, and that he was personally incorruptible, bequeathing to his country a nonpolitical national police.