Cohen’s cell (B-226) on the second tier of B-Block. He was living in this cell during the famous 1962 Alcatraz escape of Frank Morris and the Anglin brothers which took place along the very same corridor.
Cohen was transferred to USP Atlanta in January 1963, only a couple of months prior to the closure of Alcatraz. On August 14, 1963, fellow Atlanta inmate Berl McDonald—who had served time on Alcatraz with Cohen—escaped a secure prison compound, entered an electronics repair training facility, and wielding a three-foot iron pipe, snuck up from behind Cohen. He bludgeoned the unsuspecting Mickey into unconsciousness. Cohen recounted the attack:
“I was in the television room watching the noon news program with my back towards the corridor. I don’t know if the fucking building fell on me or what happened, and the next thing I know, I came outa the coma I had been in for two weeks.”
Berl Estes McDonald
McDonald escaped this secure compound at USP Atlanta, scaled a 10-foot wall and entered the television repair shop where he attacked the unsuspecting Cohen while he was seated watching a newscast. Cohen and McDonald had served time together on Alcatraz.
Cohen sustained a critical head injury that resulted from the shards of skull fragments that had to be removed from his brain tissue. He underwent extensive neurosurgery and following a two-week coma, doctors inserted a steel plate to replace the mangled bone fragments in the rear region of his skull.
On January 6, 1972, Cohen was released from Atlanta and returned to Hollywood. He had been misdiagnosed with an ulcer, which turned out to be stomach cancer. Though he survived the brutal attack without any known mental deficits, he would be completely disabled for the remainder of his life. He spent his final years in solitude.
Mickey Cohen died peacefully in his sleep in a posh Los Angeles apartment in 1976 at the age of 62. He was interred at the Hillside Memorial Park and Cemetery in Culver City, California.
* * *
DEAN JENNINGS
TIBURON, CALIFORNIA
June 3, 1958
Mr. David M. Heritage, Warden
McNeil Island Penitentiary
Washington
Dear Mr. Heritage:
I have been commissioned by the Saturday Evening Post to do a three-part study on Mickey Cohen. The purpose of this series is not to glamorize Cohen, but rather to examine all of the circumstances that had made him what he is, and to ask the question: how does he get away with it?
Last week, for instance, during one of my interviews with Mickey, he said:
The prison guard carried money for him and that he used this money to buy certain favors and privileges.
That he, Cohen, was permitted to telephone his wife frequently, and that the privilege not granted to most prisoners.
That he was able to have his favorite delicacy brought into the prison whenever he wanted, which was often.
That he was permitted to be a host at parties or social gatherings for other Jewish inmates.
That his own personal cook was allowed to send him cakes and cookies from Los Angeles.
That he was permitted to take showers for 30 or 40 minutes. As you may know, this is one of Mickey’s idiosyncrasies and now at home he remains in the shower for 90 minutes.
That he was allowed to change clothing four times a day, as he did before he went to prison.
Many of Mickey’s statements have been evaluated by a former McNeil Guard named Don Gaertner, who is now living in Los Angeles. Mickey says that he persuaded Gaertner to give up his job at the prison and come to California. He says that he helped Gaertner get started in the insurance business because Gaertner was good to him at McNeil.
Undoubtedly, the administration of McNeil was not aware of these goings-on, and I would be most grateful for any comments you care to make. I am especially interested, of course, in knowing how Mickey arranged all of these things.
At the moment, Mickey is repeating that way of life, the mistakes and the offenses for which he was sent to McNeil back in 1951. But this time he seems to have baffled both the Los Angeles police and the federal government, and evidently has found a way to the close up the loopholes.
We are interested in determining how he manages to thumb his nose at both the public and the law, and I have already found some answers. You are welcome to call Ben Hibbs, editor of the Saturday Evening Post, and confirm the assignment on which I’m working. I have already written a similar letter to Warden Wilkinson at Atlanta who, I understand, was the Warden at McNeil during most of the time when Mickey was there.
Sincerely yours,
Dean Jennings
* * *
June 12, 1958
Mr. James V. Bennett, Director
Attached is letter received from Dean Jennings who describes himself as a writer and who plans an article for the Saturday Evening Post. I might comment on the items Mr. Jennings quotes Mickey on:
I have no knowledge, nor do I have any rumor, of a guard having carried money for Cohen, although one of our officers did report that one of Cohen’s visitors attempted to give him $100 during a visit.
Cohen was not permitted any special privileges on the telephone and I don’t recall him ever using the phone to call his wife.
He was able to buy ice cream the same as any other prisoner, as it was sold in the commissary.
He never “hosted” parties or social gatherings for other Jewish inmates. He was allowed to attend Passover dinners in connection with Jewish religious holidays, the same as other Jewish inmates.
I am sure that cakes and cookies from his “own personal cook” in Los Angeles were never received.
He would like to have taken long showers, and our shower procedure is not regimented to the extent that men are forced out after one or two minutes. He had no more shower privileges than any other man, although I recall a complaint he made on one occasion when one officer turned off the hot water to convince Cohen that shower time was over.
He was not given more work clothing than any other inmate.
I had never heard of the officer, Don Gaertner, until I received Mr. Jennings letter but I did find a card on him that shows that he was employed as a correctional officer on February 12, 1951 and resigned on January 3, 1953. Possibly he is the one who carried Cohen’s money, if anyone did.
I will not reply to Mr. Jennings letter unless I hear from your office.
D.M. Heritage
Warden
* * *
September 26, 1961
Dear Warden Madigan,
I want to thank you for my visit with Meyer Harris Cohen on September 22nd. Mr. Cohen’s brother, Harry, was also visiting him at that time and therefore I had little opportunity to visit with him myself. I would appreciate it very much if it would be possible for me to see him for another day, and also on my next visit. Even though I was very happy to see Mr. Cohen, it was hardly worth the time and expense it took me, since I only had a fraction of the two hours to visit with him myself. I would appreciate anything you can suggest or do to help this matter.
I will be able to visit Mr. Cohen again on October 13th and 14th. I request permission to visit him on either or both of these days. Whichever is convenient on your calendar.
Thank you very much for your time and trouble. It is sincerely appreciated.
Sincerely,
Claretta Hashagen
* * *
September 29, 1961
Dear Miss Claretta Hashagen:
We have your letter of September 26, 1961 with reference to visiting arrangements with Meyer Cohen, and in which you state you would like permission to visit him on either October 13th or 14th.
For your information, the rules and regulations as set forth in so far as visiting privileges for inmates at this institution are concerned; permit only one visit per month. We can appreciate your concern over visiting at the same time as other members of Mr. Cohen’s family, however to permit Mr. Cohen more than one visit per month would not be fair to the other inmates in this instituti
on. Therefore, it must be understood if we grant permission for you to visit on October 13th, no other visits may be scheduled for Mr. Cohen for the month of October. It would be appreciated if you would consult with the members of Mr. Cohen’s family and determine just what arrangements can be made convenient to all concerned. Perhaps arrangements could be made whereby you could visit one month and they visit the next. Please advise.
Sincerely,
O.G. Blackwell
Warden
* * *
October 2, 1961
Dear Warden Blackwell,
I received your letter in answer to mine concerning visitation with Mr. Meyer Cohen. I will write Mr. Cohen’s brother, Harry, and asked him if I may see Mr. Cohen this month; and if he will visit with him for the month of November. I am certain he will be more than cooperative.
Mr. Blackwell, I will therefore make definite arrangements to visit Mickey on the thirteenth of this month. Would you kindly send me a pass for this date?
Mr. Blackwell, your cooperation, time, and effort to answer my letter so promptly and sincerely has certainly been appreciated. Thank you for my pass in advance.
Thank you so much,
Sincerely,
Claretta Hashagen
* * *
Following the brutal attack by McDonald in August of 1963, Cohen was unable to walk without an aid and was rarely ever seen in public.
Friday, May 17, 1963
From: Meyer Harris Cohen (Michael Mickey Cohen)
To: United States Atty. Gen. Robert Kennedy
Dear Sir:
I am sort of taking it for granted sir, that my first letter reached you? Since my transfer from Alcatraz, which allows no newspapers, it truly has been a treat and a privilege to once again be able to read our country’s daily newspapers.
But I must enclose a couple of more newspaper items of the past few days to add to the ones I enclosed in my first letter. These newspaper items are not to turn one’s stomach, and make one so bitter that he must lose his proper perspective. Certainly Sir, there couldn’t have been this much of a difference in my class of citizenship, than some of the other persons convicted of some type of tax offense, only to be lucky enough to draw another judge to be tried before.
My sentence of fifteen years, at my age of sixty, without even giving me the benefit of an “a” number, seems so unjust, unfair, and un-American next to the sentences that have been given to others for the same offense, such as straight out fines, or misdemeanor types of prison sentences, that I just can’t believe, Mr. Bob Kennedy, after speaking with you on three occasions, that you are going to hold still, or uphold this kind of uneven justice. Not for my judgment of you and your sense of fair play.
Sincerely and humbly,
Mickey Cohen
James “Whitey” Bulger, AZ-1428
Looking Back...
James “Whitey” Bulger
James Joseph “Whitey” Bulger, Jr. is an organized crime figure from South Boston, Massachusetts. Bulger began his sentence for armed robbery at USP Atlanta in 1956 and was transferred to Alcatraz in November 1959. In July 1962, he was transferred to USP Leavenworth.
Bulger’s story is complex and the mysteries around him continue to unfold. For his story is not that of a typical crime convention. He spoke the language of an old South Boston neighborhood. Bulger thrived in a world that had fallen into moral shreds, where violence and corruption permeated. He would become a notorious crime boss, rising to the highest echelon of Boston’s criminal syndicate. Life Magazine described him as a modern day Al Capone, known for his measure and balance in managing one of America’s largest criminal enterprises. Time Magazine wrote in part:
James Bulger’s story reads like the plot of a thousand mobster films. An Irish-American boy grows up in the poor neighborhood of South Boston — Southie — turns to a life of crime and ends up leader of the Irish Mob. Smart, charismatic and generous to those he liked, Bulger — whose blond hair earned him the nickname Whitey — was both feared and revered. At the height of his power ... he was allegedly taking a share of almost every drug and racketeering operation in Boston.
Bulger became as much a symbol as a man; depicted as a Robin Hood-style outlaw dedicated to protecting the neighborhood and its residents. Bulger allegedly masterminded a protection racket that targeted drug kingpins and those running illegal gambling operations.
For his ability to evade the law, Bulger rose to the top of the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted Fugitive list. He was finally captured in Santa Monica, California, on June 11, 2011. Following his arrest, federal prosecutors indicted Bulger for 19 murders.
EARLY YEARS
During his incarceration prior to his trial in June 2013, Bulger engaged in an extensive interview with the author of this book. These very brief excerpts from those interviews offer Bulger’s firsthand memories and insight into the experiences that lead him into crime:
I received my nickname “Whitey” when I was just a young kid. I had real white hair that started way back, long into my youth. The cops would see a few of us and chase us off the street corners. I was usually the most identifiable, and therefore became their focus. The merchants would give these cops gifts for their efforts to keep us away from their storefronts. A bottle of whiskey was the usual gift. Boston had laws back then that it was illegal for stores to sell alcohol on Sundays and holidays.
The local druggist was my archenemy, and he often sold booze illegally. The cops were on the take; they were rewarded for looking the other way. This was good for the druggist as he had a brisk business. But despite this, he always had a big car, lived in a wealthy neighborhood, and offered “credit” to the poor folks (essentially everyone in the projects), then charged top dollar and cheated everyone that he could. As an example, if hard candy was two for a penny (few kids had as much as a penny during the Depression) and the kid was young, he would give the kid one piece. I caught him doing this more than once. Also, milk came in glass bottles and the cream would rise to the top. The druggist would take all of the cream off of each bottle and use the cream in a big stainless steel machine to make ice cream, then sell the milk, less the cream, to people at regular price.
I could see all of this happening at a young age and I deeply resented it. I felt that the druggist was a lowlife and was stealing from good people in our neighborhood. These were hard working people and many were down on their luck. They didn’t deserve the hand that they were being dealt and they didn’t have any recourse. It was no wonder that the druggist could drive a new Buick Roadmaster. It was tragic, considering that only one person on my block had a car and it was an old beat-up Dodge. So on top of this, he would chase the kids off the corner, like he owned the neighborhood. My friends and I would defy him, and his brother and wife would mutter slurs like “Dirty Irish.” I was stubborn and would argue and engage with them.
More than once, he paid cops to grab me and give me a beating. Two cops, one of whom was known as “Red”, once grabbed me, put me in their police car, and then drove me over to the city dump. It’s now the site of the John F. Kennedy library. They’d threaten me with a beating every time they saw me if I didn’t stay off the corner, and proceeded to slap and punch me, and also inflict pain by using a club across my legs, and deliver hard kicks. Then they they’d drive off, leaving me to walk home.
I’d run back and then the other kids would tell me that Red came back, entered the drugstore, and went into the back room. His meeting was likely to deliver the news about what they did to me. He’d come out smiling, and we figured that he was rewarded for my beating. I later threw two sidewalk bricks through the druggist’s window and from that moment on, Red was always on the prowl trying to get me. We all ran from the cops because they would rough us up if they caught you.
Often the cops would park around my house and get me when I was coming in. I’d run or come over the rooftops, and it was a game for the cops. Years later, we would stone them from the roof. And if they saw five or ten o
f us they would holler, “We’ll get you Whitey,” because my white hair stood out.
There were no rights for the poor back then. Cops would kick doors down, drag you down to the police station, and give you a good rough beating. In the rich neighborhoods, cops would knock on the doors gently, speak softly, and then look forward to their Christmas gifts. It’s just like I’ve been quoted in the media many times with the statement: “Christmas is for cops and kids.” I saw many a person clubbed down into a bloody pulp by cops for just being drunk and not moving fast enough. I know about more than one kid who was shot to death for almost nothing.
On a hot summer night, my mother and her friends were sitting out on the doorstep; we witnessed cops chasing a “stolen car”, shooting at it, and the kid driving was probably only fifteen or sixteen years old. He jumped out and started running, and then was shot in the back and he collapsed. The cops ran up and start clubbing and kicking him and all of the neighbors started screaming at them to stop. The kid’s name was Danny Cummings. It happened all the time in those days.
I saw a little kid in a stolen pickup truck drive into Columbus Park. The cops were stretched out sleeping on a park bench in the dark, and the kid drove by the cops. The cops sprung up and started screaming “Stop” and then they fired their guns into the back of a truck, hitting the kid in the back of the head and killing him instantly.
Letters from Alcatraz Page 13